Seventh Grave and No Body

by Darynda Jones

  “You,” she continued, pointing her gavel at me. “In my chambers.”

  Holy crap on a cracker. This could not be good.

  I looked at Ubie in helplessness and grew even more mortified when I saw the humor playing about his mouth. Annnnd we were back to Traitor Joe.

  “You, too,” the judge said, scowling at Joe with a stern look of disapproval.

  It took every ounce of strength I possessed not to say in a singsong voice, Ubie got in trouble.

  At least I wouldn’t go down alone. I’d drag everyone with me that I could.

  “What about the captain?” I called to her as people stood all around us, waiting for the bailiff to excuse them.

  “Him, too,” she said.

  Sweet! Surely I could deflect some of the blame for my disrespectful behavior in her courtroom over to them. They should have known better, inviting me into a courtroom. It was their own fault. This was assuming, of course, that my trespass into her courtroom was the reason for Judge Quimby’s orders. If it was about that other thing, we were all screwed.

  I tossed a shrug to Reyes as we were led into the judge’s chambers. He had stiffened, not wanting to let me out of his sight, but he’d just have to hold that thought. Nothing to be done for it now.

  The Iron Fist walked out of a side room, a toilet flushing in the background. “I had to go something awful.”

  I knew how she felt.

  “Sit down, gentlemen,” she said to Ubie and Captain Eckert as she sat behind a massive desk. It was all very stately.

  Since there were only two chairs, I took that as my cue that I was meant to stand. I stepped to the side so that Ubie and the captain didn’t have to stare at my ass.

  The door opened again and both the prosecutor and counsel for the defendant stepped inside. Now it was getting awkward. And cramped. The ADA scrubbed his face again when he saw me. Maybe he had allergies that made his face itchy.

  “Now, Miz Davidson,” Quimby began, riffling through papers as she spoke, “what on God’s green earth made you think stepping into my courtroom was a good idea?” She stopped riffling and leveled one of her infamous glowers on me. It rivaled my own infamous death stare and was a thing to behold, especially when her top lip twitched, as it did now. I’d have to add that to my death stare. I could twitch. No, wait, I could twerk. Different body part entirely.

  “I needed to talk to my uncle,” I said, hanging my head in shame. “I didn’t realize you were presiding today.”

  “Really?” she asked, tapping a stack of papers into place. “The name on the door outside didn’t give it away?”

  “I – I’m having problems comprehending what I’m reading today. I have a condition.”

  “Interesting.” She looked over at my partners in crime. “Detective, Captain, would you care to elaborate?”

  “I’ll try, Your Honor,” Ubie said. “I called her in on a case, and she needed some information. I apologize. I should have met her outside.”

  “Yes, you should have. Captain?” she asked him.

  He shook his head. “I got nothing.”

  “I didn’t expect that you would.”

  “You know,” I said, trying to put an end to the torture, “about that last incident. If I’d known that guy had schizophrenia, I never would have made that face. But daaaang, girl,” I added, going the homegirl route, “you were the bomb. I mean, those moves were tight.” I did an exaggerated head nod and threw in some gang signs for good measure.

  Uncle Bob closed his eyes, unable to watch.

  “Seriously, girl, the way you threw me over your shoulder like that? Sheeeee-uht. I had lower back pain for days.”

  “I will hold you in contempt,” she said, her voice a dangerously low octave. “Don’t you ever pull that gangsta garbage in my presence again. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” That didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. “But what if we’re at a bar and a rival gang comes up threatening to shank our asses and all we have is our wit and acting skills?”

  “Are you mentally challenged?” she asked me. She was serious.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Then shut up.”

  “Okay.” Gah. Testy. Unlike hers, mine was a legitimate question.

  “So, what were you saying about the defendant?”

  I blinked in surprise. Uncle Bob blinked in surprise. The captain blinked in surprise. The ADA and the defendant’s lawyer – a pretty blonde with big bones and a tired face – just kind of stood there.

  “I’m sorry?” I asked.

  “Oh, now you don’t have no sass for me, huh?”

  I wasn’t sure a judge should use a double negative like that.

  “What were you saying about the defendant? And don’t look at me like I just stole your lollipop. I know all about you and your antics, little girl.”

  “Your Honor,” the ADA said. He was young, hungry for the top spot, and working his ass off to get there. He certainly didn’t have time for underlings like me. He’d actually said that to me once when I tried to tell him the man he was investigating was on to him. He would have saved a lot of time and a lot of face if he’d just listened to me.

  God, if I had a nickel for every time I’d said that.

  “I don’t know what this woman has told you, but she is always causing trouble. I have no idea why APD puts up with her, besides the obvious.” He cast a sideways glance at Uncle Bob, implying nepotism, and that’s where I took offense. Not about the nepotism but about the glance. Nobody cast sideways glances at Ubie but me.

  I straightened. “Look here, Nick,” I said, leaving off the last part of his name: the Prick.

  “Did you just speak in my presence after I told you to shut up?” Quimby asked.

  I bit my bottom lip. “No.”

  “That’s what I thought. I will not ask the same question three times. I have my limits.”

  When everyone turned to me, I said, “May I speak?”

  “If, and only if, you have something to say about this case that might be of benefit to anyone in this room with a law degree.”

  There were three things wrong with this picture that I could decipher right off the bat. First, a judge never asked people if they had information pertinent to a case. Wasn’t that the lawyers’ job? Judges presided. Lawyers deposed. Second, she’d actually called a recess to get said information. Things like that just didn’t happen in real life. And third, what would make her want to listen to anything I had to say, whether it was about a case or not?

  I cleared my throat and said, “In that case, the defendant’s completely innocent.”

  Nick the Prick threw his hands in the air. “Gosh, if only we’d had you during the months-long investigation into this crime to tell us these things. However did you break the case?”

  “Mr. Parker,” the judge said, “would you please let me do the questioning here?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” His face darkened to a purplish hue. Disturbing? Yes. Entertaining? Even more so. “But, begging Your Honor’s pardon, why would you even listen to her?”

  I was right there with him.

  The judge gave him her full attention. “Because her instincts have a way of… How shall I put this?”

  I shrugged, at a complete loss.

  “Her instincts have a way of bearing fruit.”

  Aw. She thought I was fruity. I got that a lot.

  She placed a much gentler glare on me than normal. It made me very uncomfortable. “Any thoughts on who actually killed Mrs. Johnson’s husband?”

  After a hesitant nod, I said, “Her sister did it.”

  “Of course she did,” Nick said, tossing his hands in the air again. He was such a drama queen.

  “I can prove it,” I said, growing desperate.

  Every gaze landed on me.

  I swallowed hard and said, “She’s wearing a necklace underneath her sweater. I think it’s significant. I think it’s the poison she used to kill her brother-in-law.” Wh
en everyone just sat there, gaping at me, I added, “She was fondling it, secretly rubbing her sister’s nose in it.”

  “Detective?” Judge Quimby said, raising her brows at Uncle Bob. “Did you question the defendant’s sister?”

  Ubie shifted in his chair. “We did, Your Honor, but she was never a suspect. In fact —” He shook his head in disbelief. “— she was the one who convinced us of her sister’s guilt.”

  The defendant’s lawyer spoke with a confidence she hadn’t had moments earlier when she said, “Your Honor, may I ask for a continuance until we can look into this further?”

  “You have twenty-four hours.”

  The fatigue slid from the woman’s features. “Thank you,” she said, beaming at me. “I know my client is innocent. Thank you for this opportunity to prove it.”

  I nodded. “You might want to get that necklace. Like, now.”

  “Your Honor?”

  “Go,” she said. Standing from behind her desk, the judge waved a dismissive hand. “All of you, out.”

  I was the first to obey, practically sprinting toward the exit. Of all the strange events in my life, that was by far the weirdest I’d had in hours. But the day was early.

  The defendant’s sister had been detained by security before I even got out of the building. I stopped and watched as they escorted her to a waiting patrol car. They could question her, but if she didn’t give up the necklace, they’d need a warrant. Hopefully, the Iron Fist would help with that as well.

  Uncle Bob stood down the hall, gripping his phone. He was both angry and relieved. I couldn’t blame him. He worked hard on these cases. It couldn’t be easy to have me waltz in and tell him he was wrong, with no real proof to back it up. He had to take a lot of what I said on faith, just like Kit. It made me appreciate them all the more. And if everything went as planned, we’d just stopped an innocent woman from going to prison. Nothing felt better than that.

  Well, perhaps one thing. Reyes walked up behind me, his heat reaching me long before he did, and its warmth saturated my clothes. My hair. My girlie bits.

  “Did you save the day again?” he asked while wrapping his arms around me, his mouth at my ear, his warm breath fanning across my cheek.

  “Hopefully. For one person, anyway.”

  “And that’s enough?” he asked. “Saving one person?”

  I turned in his arms. “I wish I could have been there during your trial. I would’ve told Uncle Bob you were innocent, too.”

  “I don’t think even the great Charlotte Davidson could have kept my ass out of prison. Earl made sure there was more than enough evidence for a conviction.”

  It still crushed my heart every time I thought about him spending so many years behind bars for a crime he didn’t commit. At that moment, I could think of nothing worse.

  His eyes, a deep, shimmering chocolate with gold and green flecks, narrowed in warning. “You aren’t feeling sorry for me, are you?”

  He knew not to dismiss my empathy where he was concerned. There was little I could do about it, and he knew that. At least, he’d better if he didn’t want a spanking.

  My mouth tilted into a playful smile at the thought, and he grew intrigued, but before he could ask me about it, Ubie walked up to us.

  “Parker’s having a fit,” he said, the humor in his voice unmistakable.

  I tore my gaze off my affianced. “ADA Parker does that.”

  “I think you do that to him.”

  “It’s his own fault,” I said, slipping out of Reyes’s hold so we could walk out the exit. He laced his fingers into mine, and I paused for just a moment. He’d never done that before. Just held my hand as we walked. His warmth spread up my arm and over my chest to settle around my heart. I continued walking beside Uncle Bob. “So, what’s this case?”

  “Ah, yes, I have a copy of the file for you in the SUV. We’ve had two suicide notes over the last couple of weeks.”

  “Cookie told me,” I said as he led us across a parking lot to his department-issue dark gray SUV.

  He grabbed a file out of the front seat, handed it over to me. Reyes took the occasional peek over my shoulder while I perused, but for the most part, he kept a weather eye on our surroundings.

  “Just notes,” Uncle Bob said as I looked through the case file. “Both people who wrote them have disappeared.”

  “They killed themselves?”

  “We have no idea. But we just got another one a couple of hours ago. Woman says her husband left a note in the middle of the night and just disappeared.”

  “Was there any sign of a struggle?”

  “Don’t know. Haven’t been to the scene yet. We have a team over there now.”

  I read one of the notes, typical yet sad, then the next. All kinds of stuff about how the author didn’t deserve to live the glorious life they’d been given. In fact, both authors used the word glorious. That could not be a coincidence. The third note was very different, but it had the same word in it: glorious. “They’re remarkably similar,” I said, marking other strange phrases in all three letters, but the handwriting was unique. As were the signatures.

  “Yes, they are. We have three almost identical suicide notes and no bodies.”

  I looked up at him. “So, really? They just disappeared?”

  “Far as we can tell. No signs of any kind of struggle at the first two scenes, and none of them had ever attempted suicide before. We figure they were forced to write these notes by the same person, then taken somewhere else and were either killed or are being held hostage.”

  I leaned against his door. “So, the notes were just to throw you guys off? To stall you? What?”

  “You tell me,” he said with a shrug. “I thought maybe you could, you know, poke around and see if they were still alive.”

  “I can ask Rocket,” I said. “What’s the connection among the three?”

  “We haven’t found any, besides the notes themselves.”

  “Okay, you keep looking and I’ll go talk to Rocket after lunch.”

  “Lunch?” he asked, his interest piqued. “You buying?”

  I snorted. “Not even. But I do know an incredible cook at this local pub.” I tossed a wistful smile to Reyes.

  He winked, offered Ubie a head nod, then took my hand into his again and led me to Misery.

  “So,” I asked, enjoying the warm, sunny day and the feel of Reyes’s hand in mine, “are you holding my hand because you want to get in my pants or because you’re afraid I’ll escape?”

  “You couldn’t escape if you wanted to.”

  He did not just throw down that gauntlet.

  “And, in case you missed the memo, we have twelve angry hellhounds on our asses.”

  I leaned behind him to check out the aforementioned backside. “Can’t say that I blame them. If I were a hellhound, I’d be after your ass, too.”

  A reluctant dimple appeared at the side of his mouth.

  “Actually,” I said, rethinking that statement, “even if I were an angel, I’d be after your ass. Or a saint. Or a gerbil. I like this.” I indicated his hand in mine. Or, well, mine in his since his was fairly swallowing mine. I stepped in front of him as we strolled to Misery and walked backwards for a minute until I could resist no longer. I jumped into his arms.

  He laughed softly and cradled my ass, pulling me closer. “What’s ‘this’?”

  “Romantic. Like in the movies.” I leaned in and kissed a dimple. “No, wait!” I hopped out of his arms, leaned into him again, placed the back of one hand over my brow, then bent backwards, hoping he’d catch me.

  He did. First one arm went around my waist to keep me from falling; then the other went under my knees. “And this?” he asked, lifting me into his arms.

  I arched farther back. “It’s even more romantic,” I said, keeping my eyes closed. “Like in a paperback novel, when the Duke of Hastings catches the girl who has just fainted into his arms.”

  He stopped then, and the world was ours. There were no
onlookers. No cars whizzing by or people talking a short distance away. It was just the two of us.

  He pulled me against his chest and I nestled my head into the crook of his neck, but I kept my arms limp at my side. I had a role to maintain, and being an English debutante in the middle of an Albuquerque parking lot was not as easy as it might seem.

  “And what does the duke do with her?” he asked, his voice suddenly hoarse.

  Completely lifeless, I let my head fall back again, effectively giving him access to my neck. “Whatever he desires.”

  He took advantage, causing a slew of microscopic earthquakes to quiver through me.

  I had to run a couple of errands with Reyes in tow, but when I was done, I dropped him off at his office, aka the kitchen of Calamity’s, then headed up to my office, which sat above said bar and grill. I had a special package and a couple of bags hampering my normally pantherlike movements. Thus, with arms filled to the brim, I missed a stair and had to drop to one knee to keep from falling back, ramming the edge of said stair into my shin and causing a sharp pain to rocket through me. I cursed just loud enough for the whole of Albuquerque to hear.

  “You okay?” Teri called up to me from the bar. I’d taken the inside stairs, but the only barrier between Teri and me was an intricate wrought-iron balustrade. My misstep was visible for all to see. Thankfully, they were still minutes away from opening for the day.

  “I’m good,” I said, but Reyes’s head was out the door of the kitchen instantly. “No, I’m good.” I had to assure him I wasn’t being attacked by a hellhound. “Go back to work. Nothing that an ice pack and a mild surgical procedure can’t fix.” My shin was throbbing and each movement after caused a jolt of agony.

  I struggled to my feet as he looked on and continued up the stairs to the back entrance of my offices. I was carrying precious cargo. I was on a mission, and no stair on earth was going to stop me. Of course, if I’d tumbled down them, knocking my head a few times and landing in a heap at the bottom of the staircase, that might have stopped me.

  The coolest thing about this bar was the old-fashioned ironwork laced in with the dark woods of the pub. The metalwork led to an ancient iron elevator no one actually used, because it was as slow as molasses in the Artic, but it looked awesome. I’d secretly wanted to live in this building for a long time. It was built by the same people who’d made our apartment complex. But that building had no elevator, iron or otherwise.