Read Tango with a Twist (Smashwords edition.) Page 26

  #scenebreak

   

  We walked to Tango’s house to borrow her mom’s car. Apparently, the “movie house” was too far to walk. Before I could make a joke about her words for theater, red and blue flashing lights caught my eye.

  “What now?” she breathed, then broke into a dead run.

  Pal prowled around outside the house, but she blew right past him. “Mama? Papi?”

  I followed her inside. Holy giant family, Batman. As an only child, huge families always kinda freaked me out. All those people in one house. Wow.

  Her mom grabbed her tight and they talked in Spanish.

  Officer Friendly planted himself nearby and made a big show of brandishing his tablet, fingers poised to type. “And what do you know about this, Fox?”

  “About what?”

  “In my room?” Tango shouted, grabbed my hand and dragged me to an addition at the back of the house. The entire family was agitated as we passed them. Then we made it to the bedroom.

  Wow. There were about ten dozen roses in vases around the room. Tango stopped in the doorway and wrapped both arms around me. “Dios Mio.”

  Her mother joined us and handed her an envelope, already opened. “We have no idea how he got in here with no one noticing,” Mrs. Tango’s-Mom said. “There’s been someone home all day and a police officer outside.”

  Tango ripped a letter out of the envelope. Crisp bills cascaded to the floor. “I’m truly sorry about the car?” she read. “It was an accident? What the hell?” She held it out to me with mucho disgust in her face. “He signed it: Twist, like the dance.” She threw the paper away and stormed into the room, turning and taking in all the flowers. “Jesus.”

  I bent down to pick up the money and the letter for her.

  “It’s five thousand dollars, mija,” he mother said. “What boy has that kind of money?”

  Corey did. Woody drove a beemer. Taco drove a fairly new Mustang. Ephraim rode with Woody. I notice cars. But for all we knew the stalker was the bank manager or a doctor. Or the mailman.

  Tango ran her hands through her hair. “He was in my room, Mama. In my room, in my house.” She reached to grab a vase, but I held her back.

  “They need them for evidence,” I said.

  She struggled.

  “He’s right, Tango,” Officer Friendly said. “We might be able to trace where he bought the flowers. He might have left fingerprints.”

  Tango grew still in my arms.

  “They were all bought at different places.” A heavy-set, bald man approached. He ran a hand over Tango’s hair. Her dad?

  “How can you tell?” I asked.

  He smiled. “I own the cemetery and the funeral home. I know my flowers.” He extended a hand. “Sonny Montez.”

  I disengaged one hand from Tango to shake the hand. “Ethan Fox, sir. If there’s anything I can do.”

  He smiled and glanced at his wife. “He’s just like his father.” He gave my hand a hard squeeze before releasing it. “I played football with your dad,” he said. He lost the smile as he surveyed the room. “When I find this pinche pendejo. . .”

  “Get in line,” Tango said. She led me out of the room.

  Officer Friendly blocked the hallway, pointing at the letter and cash in my hands. “We need that for evidence.”

  As I handed it over, Tango grabbed a couple of twenties. “You don’t need every bill,” she declared, her stony expression daring Warren to challenge her. She dragged me past him. “Movie’s on me,” she said. “Please get rid of this shit by the time I get home.”

  The look on her face made it clear no one should bother trying to stop her.