Sixth Grave on the Edge

by Darynda Jones

  Her question took me by surprise. Even I wondered what I was really doing there. Did I simply want to see the woman who might have given birth to the man of my dreams? Did I want a glimpse of the man who may have been his human father?

  Reyes was the son of Satan, forged in the fires of hell, but he’d been born on earth to be with me. To grow up with me. He’d done his homework and chose a steady, professional couple to be his human parents. He’d planned for us to go to the same schools, shop at the same stores, and eat at the same restaurants. Sadly, even the best-laid plans go awry.

  “I’m not really sure, Aunt Lil.” What had I been hoping to see? A glimpse of Reyes’s past? Of his future? What he would look like in the years to come? Since it had been only a few days since a crazy man tried to kill me, I was trying not to rush terribly headlong into any situation, no matter how innocuous it might seem on the surface. I’d decided to take the week off. Reckless behavior would just have to wait until I’d healed a tad more.

  “Goodness, that won’t do. You can’t just call me Aunt Lil willy-nilly. We’ll definitely need code names. What do you think of Cleopatra?”

  I chuckled softly. “I think it’s perfect.”

  “Oh! Trench coats! We’ll need trench coats!”

  “Trench coats?”

  “And fedoras!”

  Before I could question her further, she was gone. Vanished. Vamoosed. I loved that woman. She took eccentric to a whole new level. Still, I had work to do, and sitting at a stakeout just to catch a glimpse of the Fosters was ridiculous. I started Misery, then picked up the Cheez-Its and stuffed a handful into my mouth the very second the phone rang. Naturally. Because when else would it ring?

  I hurried and chewed before answering my bestie’s ring. Cookie worked cheap, which made her the best receptionist in all of Albuquerque, in my humble opinion. But she was also very good at her job. I’d set her on the task of finding everything she could about the Fosters. She was as fascinated as I was.

  After another quick sip to wash down the crumbs, I finally answered. “Do you think if I lived on Cheez-Its and coffee alone, I’d ultimately starve to death?”

  “They had another son,” she said, her voice full of awe.

  I had no idea what that had to do with my question. “Does he eat Cheez-Its?”

  “The Fosters.”

  I bolted upright. “Can you repeat that?”

  “The Fosters had another son.”

  “No way.”

  “Way.” I heard her fingernails clicking on the keyboard as she worked her magic. “Very much way.”

  “After Reyes?”

  “Yes. Three years after the abduction.”

  “Do you know what this means?” I asked, my awe matching her own.

  “I certainly do.”

  “Reyes Farrow—”

  “—has a brother.”

  #Holyshit.

  2

  Note to self: Thanks for always being there.

  —T-SHIRT

  I sat stewing in a foggy kind of astonishment. Cook did, too. We sat in absolute silence, broken only by the sound of Cheez-Its crunching between my teeth, for several tense seconds.

  “Are you still on your stakeout?” Cookie asked at last.

  I swallowed. “Yes. I think Mrs. Foster came home, but her garage door closed before I could catch a glimpse. I have, however, bonded with the naked dead man in my passenger seat.”

  “Well, there’s that.”

  “Right? He has a tat. I’m sending you a picture.”

  “Of his tat?” she asked, surprised.

  “Of my drawing of his tat. Hold on.” I sent the pic with the caption Don’t judge underneath it. “Okay, how are things back at the fort?”

  “A Mr. Joyce came in and insisted on seeing you today. He seemed really agitated. He wouldn’t leave his number or anything. I told him you’d be back this afternoon. Is this a new kind of Rorschach test?” She was referring to my drawing.

  “Turn it sideways.”

  “Oh, okay. Andrulis.”

  “Do you know him?” I asked, my voice edged with hope.

  “Nope. Sorry. I knew an Andrus once. He was hairy.”

  I checked out Mr. A. “This guy isn’t that hairy. He is well endowed, though.”

  “Charley,” she said, appalled. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

  “Dude, it’s right there. It’s not like I can miss it.”

  “Oh, poor man. How would you like to be walking around naked for all eternity?”

  “You just described my worst nightmare.”

  “I thought your worst nightmare was that one where you are eating a hot pickle and it burned your lips and they swelled until you looked like you’d had injections.”

  “Oh, yeah, there’s that one, too. Thanks for bringing all that back up again. I should sleep beautifully tonight.”

  “Did you call your uncle?”

  My uncle Bob, a detective for the Albuquerque Police Department, had the hots for Cookie, and Cookie had the hots for him—but neither one would make the first move. I got so tired of watching them pine for each other that I decided to do something about it. I set Cookie up on a date with a friend of mine to make Uncle Bob, or Ubie as I liked to call him in my therapy sessions while trying to explain why I had a debilitating fear of mustaches, jealous. Maybe a little competition would light a fire under his ass. The same ass Cookie had a major thing for.

  “Sure did. How’s our plan coming along?”

  “You mean your plan?”

  “Fine, how’s my plan coming along?”

  “I don’t know about this, Charley. I mean, if Robert wanted to go out with me, he’d ask, right? I’m not sure trying to make him jealous is a good idea.”

  It always took me a minute to figure out who Robert was. “Are you kidding? It’s a fantastic idea. It’s Uncle Bob we’re talking about here. He needs motivation.” I gave one last glance to the Fosters’ house before driving off.

  “What if he loses interest?”

  “Cook, have you ever lost interest in a pair of shoes because someone else was looking at them?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Didn’t it make you want them even more?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  I turned onto Juan Tabo and started back toward the office. “Okay, I’m headed that way. How about lunch?”

  “Sounds good. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  My office was on the second floor of the best brewery the Duke City had to offer. It’d recently undergone a change of ownership when Reyes bought it from my dad. The idea of Reyes as a business owner warmed the cockles of my heart. Whatever those were.

  “He has a brother,” I said, still stunned at the possibilities of it all.

  “He has a brother,” she agreed.

  This I had to see.

  * * *

  I wound around tables and chairs to get to Cookie. Fortunately, she’d grabbed us a spot before the mad rush hit. Ever since Reyes took over, the place had been jumping. Business was always pretty good, but with a new owner who was also a local celebrity— Reyes made national news when the man he’d gone to jail for killing was discovered alive—and the addition of a brewery in the building adjacent to the bar, patronage had tripled. Now the place was packed with men who wanted the fresh brews and women who wanted the brewer himself. Hussies.

  I walked stiffly past the worst hussy of them all: my former BFF, who’d apparently decided to move in. Jessica had been at the restaurant every day for over two weeks. Most days more than once. I knew she was hot for my man, but holy cow.

  Clearly, I’d have to say yes to Reyes soon. This was getting ridiculous. He needed a ring on his finger—and fast. Not that that would stop them all, but hopefully it would thin out the horde.

  A tatter of giggles erupted from Jessica’s table as I passed. She was probably telling them the tale of Charley Davidson, the girl who claimed to talk to dead people. If she only knew. Then agai
n, if she were to die soon, I’d totally ignore her. She’d want me to talk to her then.

  “You brought me a flower,” Cookie said as I plopped down across from her, collapsing into the seat with a dramatic flair I usually reserved for the evening cocktail hour.

  “Sure did.” I handed the daisy over to her.

  “So, a homeless guy?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. He was at the corner up the street and walked through traffic to hand it to me.”

  “How much?” she asked, a knowing smirk on her face.

  “Five.”

  “You paid five dollars for this? It’s plastic. And filthy.” She shook it to get the layer of dirt off. “He probably stole it off someone’s grave.”

  “It was all I had on me.”

  She shook her head in disappointment. “How can they always pick the suckers out of a crowd?”

  “No clue. Did you order?”

  “Not yet. I was just glad to get a table. That man came back in, Mr. Joyce. He’s still agitated and was not happy you wouldn’t be back to the office until one.”

  “Well, he’ll just have to hold his horses. PIs have to eat, too.”

  “And I see your bestie is back again.”

  I glanced back at Jessica’s table. “I think she should have to pay rent.”

  “I concur wholeheartedly.”

  A slow warmth spread over me as I spoke. The heat that forever surrounded Reyes curled around me like smoke. I could feel him near. His interest scorching. His hunger undeniable. But before I could seek him out, another emotion hit me. A cooler one, harder though no less powerful: regret. I turned and watched as my dad made his way to our table.

  “Hey, Dad,” I said, nudging a chair with my foot.

  He pushed it back to the table. “I just came in to finish up the last of the paperwork.” He looked around Calamity’s. “I think I’ll miss this place.”

  I was sure he would, but nostalgia was not the emotion I felt emanating from him.

  “Why don’t you sit down, Leland?” Cookie asked.

  He snapped back to us. “That’s okay. I have a few errands to run before I head out.”

  “Dad,” I said, my lungs struggling for air underneath the oppressive sadness and regret pouring out of him, “you don’t have to go.” He was leaving my stepmother for a sailboat. Not that I blamed him. A sailboat would at least be useful. But why now? Why after all these years?

  He waved off my reservations. “No, this will be great. I’ve always wanted to learn how to sail.”

  “So, you start by planning a trip across the Atlantic?”

  “Not across,” he said, his smile a ploy to set my mind at ease. “Not all the way.”

  “Dad—”

  “I’ll take it slow. I promise.”

  “But why? Why all of a sudden?”

  He released a hapless sigh. “I don’t know. I’m not getting any younger, and you only live once. Or, maybe twice in my case.”

  “I had nothing to do with that.”

  “You had everything to do with it,” he countered, and placed a hand over his heart. “I know it. I feel it in here.”

  He swore I’d cured him of cancer, but I’d never healed anyone in my life. It wasn’t in my job description. I dealt more with the other side of life. The after side.

  “Don’t leave her because of me. Please.” If he was leaving my stepmother for my benefit, because of how she treated me, he was a day late and a dollar short. He should have done it when I was seven, not twenty-seven. I could handle her. I’d learned how the hard way.

  Cookie pretended to be studying the menu as Dad shifted uncomfortably.

  “I’m not, pumpkin.”

  “I think you are.” When he dropped his gaze to the sugar jar instead of answering, I added, “And if that’s the case, you’re doing it for the wrong reason. I’m a big girl, Dad.”

  When he looked back at me, his expression held a desperate passion. “You’re amazing. I should have told you that every day.”

  I put my hand over his. “Dad, please sit down. Let’s talk about this.”

  He checked his watch. “I have an appointment. I’ll come see you before I leave. We’ll talk then.” When I narrowed my eyes on him, he added, “I promise. Take care, pumpkin.” He bent and kissed my cheek before heading out the back door.

  “He seems very sad,” Cookie said.

  “He’s lost, I think. Consumed with regret.”

  “Are you okay?”

  I drew in a deep breath. “I’m always okay.”

  “Mm-hmm.” The doubt in her expression only fueled my need to mock her in public.

  “So, what made you think fuchsia pinstripes would look good with yellow?”

  “You’re deflecting.”

  “Duh. It’s what I do. What’s today’s special?”

  “True. But really,” she said, straightening. “Does this look bad?”

  She looked fantastic, but I could hardly tell her that.

  I’d felt Reyes near me, watching the interaction with my dad. I spotted him when I looked toward the board that listed the daily special. He was wearing an apron and had a towel in his hands, drying them as he pushed off the bar and strolled toward us.

  Cookie saw him, too. “Holy mother of all things sexy,” she said, her eyes drinking him in.

  “Right there with ya.”

  “Will I ever get used to that sight?” she asked me, not daring to take her eyes off him.

  “The adorable sight of Reyes Farrow in an apron?”

  “The adorable sight of Reyes Farrow period.”

  A giggle escaped me before I said, “Well, you know what they say: Practice makes perfect.”

  “Exactly. I’ll need lots of practice.”

  “Me, too.”

  A table of women old enough to be his grandmothers waved him down before he got to us. He stopped and listened to them gush over his cooking but kept his sparkling gaze on me. It stole my breath. Everything about him stole my breath. From the way he dried his hands on that towel to the way he lowered his lashes shyly when they propositioned him.

  They propositioned him!

  What the bloody—!

  “We’re very limber,” one of them said, pulling on the apron string Reyes had wrapped around his waist and tied in front.

  Cookie was in the middle of taking a much-needed drink of cold water and burst into a fit of coughs at the woman’s brazenness.

  When Reyes looked back at me, he caught me with my mouth open in astonishment. I slammed it shut, hoping I hadn’t in any way resembled a cow. But he turned back to the women as though suddenly interested in the wares they were peddling. As if.

  Cookie wheezed beside me, trying to get air through her abused esophagus, but I couldn’t worry about that now. I had to win my man back from these silver foxes. One of them had a walker, for goodness’ sake. How limber could she be?

  “Excuse me, busboy,” I said, snapping my fingers in the air to get his attention.

  He ignored me, but I caught the grin he was wearing. I also felt the pleasure my attention gave him. It radiated from his essence and brushed over my skin like hot silk.

  “Busboy,” I repeated, snapping more loudly. “Over here.”

  He finally apologized to the flirty foxes, explaining that his heart belonged to another before he strolled to our table. “Busboy?” he asked, stopping in front of us and leveling a look of concern on a red-faced Cookie.

  She took another sip and waved a hello.

  I gestured to his apron. “You look like a busboy.”

  “In that case, can I clean anything for you?”

  “You can clean your dirty mind,” I said, teasing him. “Having fun?” I indicated the table with a nod.

  “They were complimenting my cooking.” He leaned in very close. “According to consensus, I’m really good at scrambling things.”

  They’d nailed that one. He was really good at scrambling my insides. My emotions. My girlie bits. “That’s wonderful
,” I said, pretending not to care, “but we need lunch.”

  “Didn’t you hear? I’ve been demoted to busboy, so you’ll have to ask your server about lunch. I don’t think busboys can take orders.”

  I pulled the apron string in much the same way as the flirt did. “You’ll take my order, and you’ll like it.”

  A soft, deep laugh reverberated out of him. “Yes, ma’am. Can I suggest the Santa Fe chicken with Spanish rice?”

  “You can, but I’ll have the margarita chicken with fries smothered in red chile.”

  “I’ll have the Santa Fe chicken,” Cookie said quickly, so falling for his ploy. He’d probably ordered too many chickens from Santa Fe and now had to hand-sell them to get rid of them. How different could chickens raised in Santa Fe be?

  He flashed her a grin that was so beautiful, my heart skipped several pertinent beats. “Santa Fe chicken, it is. Would you like iced tea with that?” he asked me. When I hesitated, trying to decide between tea and an extra-large nonfat mocha macchiato with caramel sauce on the bottom and a dollop of whipped cream, he said, “It’s a yes/no question.”

  I almost burst out laughing. Ever since he proposed to me on a sticky note, he’d been asking me a lot of yes/no questions to reiterate the fact that his proposal was also a yes/no question.

  I shrugged. “Sometimes it’s not that black-and-white.”

  “Sure it is.”

  Cookie, knowing where this was headed, decided to study her menu again.

  “Then my answer is yes.”

  He stilled, waiting for the punch line. He knew me very well.

  “Yes, I’ll have tea with my lunch and an extra-large nonfat mocha macchiato with caramel sauce on the bottom and a dollop of whipped cream after.”

  Without missing a beat, he said, “Tea, it is.”

  He started to turn, but I stopped him with a hand on his arm.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. “You seem—” I lowered my voice. “—warmer than usual.”

  “I’m always okay,” he said, mimicking what I’d said to Cookie earlier. He caught my hand in his and brought the back of it to his lips, kissing it softly. The heat from his mouth was searing.

  It wasn’t until Reyes walked away that I realized the room had grown silent. Every eye was on us. Well, every female eye was on us. I glanced at Jessica and our gazes locked for an uncomfortable moment. She was jealous, and that fact didn’t make me happy. Why was she jealous when she didn’t have any claim to Reyes? Then again, jealousy was in a whole category by itself. One that sat right between instability and insecurity. But her jealously raked across my skin like fingernails.