Hot Contact

“I have to make a stop first,” she said. “Can I bring lunch with me?”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

“Is there anything I shouldn’t bring? Allergic to shellfish or anything?”

“No allergies here.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.” She hung up then went in search of something to wear to meet his parents. His father. A man she’d never met, a man whose name she didn’t know until a month ago, but whom she’d hated for twenty-five years.

Arianna pulled into a circular driveway of an impressive Spanish Colonial mansion and parked near the garage. She bypassed the front door to jog down a side path into the backyard where she saw several linen-covered round tables with umbrellas set up near the large, tiled swimming pool. The view of the Hollywood Hills was incredible.

She spotted her mother twining elegant leaf garlands around the umbrella poles. Arianna forgot what today’s event was. A fashion show, perhaps? Something to raise money for a worthy cause, probably. That was what her mother did for a living ever since she’d married Estebán Clemente, international movie mogul, when Arianna was twelve.

Estebán had changed their lives in immeasurable ways. But one topic was never brought up for discussion—Arianna’s father.

“Mom!” she called.

Paloma Alvarado Clemente never hurried. She carried herself with grace and dignity, her skin and make-up flawless, her striking silver and black hair styled in a fashionable bob. She wore brightly colored designer clothing, and jewelry that clinked and clanked—a striking silver necklace and bracelets crafted by artisans from her native Mexico.

Paloma waited for Arianna now, a serene smile on her face, her arms opening wide to gather her daughter close. Her perfume wrapped Arianna in memories. She nestled for a few seconds longer than usual.

“Everything looks beautiful, Mom. What’s the big event?”

“A luncheon for my book club.”

Arianna leaned back. “I didn’t know you were in a book club.”

Her mother brushed the hair from Arianna’s face and smiled. “We started it a few months ago. It’s mostly an excuse to eat and gossip. We take turns hosting.”

“And you’re doing your own decorating? I’m impressed.”

“That’s part of the rules. I didn’t iron the tablecloths myself,” Paloma added in a whisper.

“A small cheat, Mom.”

Paloma walked them to a table where she continued winding the leaf garland up the umbrella pole. Taller than her mother, Arianna took over as it reached the top then taped it there.

“You are looking demure today, mija,” Paloma said, eyeing Arianna’s jeans and white blouse.

“Good. That’s the look I was going for.”

“Are you undercover?”

“No.” Well, sort of, she thought. “I’m meeting someone.”

“Someone special?” her mother asked.

“Mike Vicente.” Her heart pounded as she said the name.

“No.” Paloma’s face went ashen. She clasped her daughter’s hands. “You cannot. Arianna, you cannot. I forbid it.”

Arianna squeezed back. “I have to know, Mom.”

“Why? What good can come from this now, after all these years?”

“My good.” See how important this is to me, Mom. “I need to find out what happened to my father.”

“If they didn’t know then, how can they know now?”

“A lot has changed. They’re using DNA to solve old cases now.”

Her mother shook her head.

“I’ve been having nightmares. Dad’s trying to tell me something.”

“Even if I believed in such things, why would he wait until now?”

Arianna willed her mother to understand. “Because something is different now. The truth is waiting. He wants me to find it.”

“Mija, I am begging you to leave it alone.”

“Madre, I can’t.” She forced the words out. “I can’t rest until I know. I had hoped for your support, but I’ll go ahead without it.”

“I cannot endorse this. I cannot.”

Arianna pulled her mother into a powerful hug. “I love you, Mom. I’ll keep in touch.”

After a few moments her mother hugged her back, her embrace fierce, as if she could stop her daughter from leaving. Finally she let go. “Vaya con Dios, mija.”

“You, too, Mom.” Arianna swallowed the lump in her throat and jogged back to her car. Her next conversation wouldn’t be any easier.

From his parents’ bedroom Joe could see the street, and every car that passed by. He didn’t know what Arianna drove, but he imagined it was dark and sleek, like her. Something quiet and powerful. But maybe she would surprise him—again.

Her asking to meet his parents had almost left him speechless. After so many years as a detective he was accustomed to the routinely unpredictable nature of his work—things were often not as they seemed—but his relationships had been fairly predictable…if he didn’t count Jane returning his engagement ring. That had caught him by surprise.

A dark blue BMW pulled up in front of the house. No surprise, after all. The trunk popped open, then she climbed out of the car, looking casual in jeans and a white top. Her shiny almost-black hair was down, the length just past her shoulders, which answered his question of last night. He missed the flamenco costume.

She shaded her eyes and looked at the house. He hurried down the stairs to meet her at her car, where she was unloading an ice chest.

“I hope you’re hungry,” she said, passing him the chest.

“Always.” Joe noticed she wasn’t making eye contact, unusual for her. The first time he met her he’d noticed how much eye contact she made, then noted it again last night. She started to walk past him, a grocery bag in hand. “Arianna.”

“Hmm?”

Distracted wasn’t the right word for her demeanor. She seemed nervous. Or anxious, maybe. “Hi. How are you?” he asked.

“Good, thanks. How are you?” She kept walking up the pathway to the house, a small, neat structure that his parents had owned since before he was born. “What a sweet house.”