Eleventh Grave in Moonlight

by Darynda Jones

  “You were there for quite a while.”

  Try days. “And that’s unusual because…?”

  “You parked. You never got out. You didn’t live in the neighborhood, but you sat down the street for some time.”

  “Of course.” Wasn’t he the perceptive one.

  “So, the next time you did a drive-by, I took down your license plate and had a friend run it.”

  “Isn’t that illegal?”

  “Very.”

  “And resourceful,” I added.

  He lifted a shoulder in modesty.

  “What have your parents told you?”

  “That my mother was in labor for thirty-six hours. That she eventually had to have a C-section. That she nursed me until I was two.”

  “I see.” When we’d looked into the case before, we were almost certain Shawn Foster had been abducted by the Fosters as well, and that they’d gone through a shady adoption agency, one that had only been open a few months and had facilitated only three adoptions, Shawn Foster being one of them. “But you don’t believe them?” I asked. Why would he be here if he did?

  “I don’t. For several reasons. And I don’t think you do, either.”

  I still had to wonder if he knew anything about Reyes. I gestured toward the file. “May I?”

  “Of course.”

  He leaned back while I thumbed through the folder he’d brought. It was mainly pictures, notes on inconsistencies in his parents’ stories, statements from relatives who didn’t remember Mrs. Foster ever mentioning the pregnancy to them, and one final slip of paper in the back that pretty much sealed the deal. A DNA test. The Fosters were most definitely not his parents. Not even close.

  “Do your parents know you did the DNA test?”

  “No.”

  “So, you believe you were adopted?”

  “Do you?” he challenged.

  “What do you mean?”

  He rubbed a hand over his mouth in thought, his blue eyes studying me. “You’ve been looking into this for quite some time. I’d like to know why. And what your thoughts are.”

  “Mr. Foster—”

  “Shawn, please.”

  “Shawn, all I have are thoughts without a single shred of evidence to support any of them. I couldn’t possibly divulge my ramblings without proof. It would be very irresponsible.”

  “Well, that answers that.”

  “What?” I asked as he stood, grabbed the file, and turned to leave. “Wait. That answers what?”

  “You’re just like them.”

  “Wait, please.”

  He swung around and marched toward me until I had little choice but to take a step back. When we were nose to nose, he answered, his voice low, his face flushed. “Lies. Runarounds. It’s all I’ve gotten my whole life, and I’m done. I’ll find out the truth myself, one way or another.”

  The anger in his expression, the pain emanating out of him, the glittering wetness between his lashes, cut sharply into my chest. I wanted to help him, but I didn’t know what to do. I’d promised Reyes to stay out of what he considered his business and his business alone. But Shawn had come to me. Surely Reyes would understand.

  And, quite frankly, Reyes could bite me. He was my business.

  Shawn turned again, but I took hold of his arm. He stopped but didn’t look at me, and I could tell he was embarrassed by his behavior.

  “There is a reason I was looking into your case. I have no evidence whatsoever, but I believe you were abducted by the Fosters.”

  He must’ve believed the same thing. He registered no surprise at all. “Why do you think that?”

  “Because—” I stopped. Took a deep breath. Wondered if I was taking my life into my own hands. I could only be killed by another god. And Reyes was another god.

  Oh yeah. He was going to kill me.

  “Because,” I continued, opening the bag to let the cat out of it, “because my husband was abducted by them as well.”

  * * *

  After two hours and seven cups of coffee split between the three of us—since Cookie had helped me with the initial investigation, I’d invited her into the meeting—we came to the conclusion that Shawn was definitely one of the three adoptions that the shady agency had overseen.

  I couldn’t imagine how the agency got away with it. There were rules and regulations up the wazoo for a business like that. State inspections and licenses that had to be approved. The paperwork must have just slipped through somehow. Or perhaps someone was paid to look the other way.

  We went over everything Shawn knew and everything we’d found out with a fine-tooth rake. Shawn wanted to know more about Reyes. I had already said too much. And besides, I got the feeling he knew a lot more about Reyes than he was letting on.

  Thankfully, he understood when I told him I needed to confer with my partner in crime before filling him in. Of course, one search and he could know way too much about Reyes, if he didn’t already—namely, that he’d spent a decade behind bars for a murder he didn’t commit. But what little I did say about Reyes hadn’t surprised him in the least. Almost as though he already knew him.

  The longer we talked, the stronger the feeling that there was more to Shawn Foster than met the eye. I would catch him studying me. Not in the usual way a man might study a woman, but in a curious way. Like he was trying to figure me out. But that was cool. I was trying to figure him out, too.

  “Okay, we’ll get started on this. Are you sure you want to go home, Shawn?”

  He’d stood and taken his cup to the counter where the Bunn sat. “What do you mean?”

  I walked over to him as Cookie gathered papers. “I mean, are you going to be able to keep up the charade a little longer? I don’t think you should tell your parents—”

  “You mean the crackpots who abducted me?”

  I bowed my head. The resentment was already getting a foothold. “Yes. I don’t think you should tell them just yet. Let us look into this a little more. See what we can dig up.”

  He nodded. “I won’t say anything.”

  “I’m worried what will happen if you do.”

  “Charley, I’ve been living with this for a long time. The doubt. The suspicion. A few more days isn’t going to make any difference.”

  “I live in the Causeway, the apartments behind us. Third floor. First door on your left. You are welcome anytime, day or night.”

  “Thanks,” he said. It was a brush-off. He didn’t believe me.

  “No, I mean it. In fact, I think you should come stay with us either way. Just until we get this sorted out.”

  He let a grin overtake his features. “And what would my brother say?”

  I laughed softly. His brother. Reyes.

  “Maybe you should tell him about all this first.”

  “He’s kind of awesome, actually. He’d be totally cool with it.”

  “Okay, well, I’ll think about it.” He said good-bye to Cookie, and just as he was about to walk out the door, he turned and said, “There is one more thing I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  “Shoot.”

  He narrowed his eyes, looked me up and down, then said, “Why the hell are you so bright?”

  4

  Why yes, I have discovered the joy of cooking. It’s when my husband does it.

  —MEME

  “What does this mean?” Cookie asked.

  I’d put Shawn off for a while. No way was I going to tell him about my whole grim reaper gig. Or better yet, the god thing.

  “He must be like Pari,” I said.

  One of my besties, a tattoo artist with more ink pigmentation than skin cells, could see just beyond the veil that separated this plane from the next. The one that lies between the tangible world and the intangible. But instead of seeing the departed, instead of seeing an actual being, she saw mist. But she also saw my light. In fact, she had to wear sunglasses around me.

  Shawn seemed fine without the shades, but he definitely saw my inner glowworm. I decided to leave i
t at that. If I pried further into what he could see, he would’ve had cause to pry further into what I was, so I didn’t ask if he could see the departed. If he could see ghosts. I just told him I had a connection to the supernatural realm that was … complicated.

  That seemed to satisfy him. For now.

  “Okay,” I said, snapping out of my musings, “how about you look into that agency some more? And maybe do a more thorough background check on the Fosters. I want to know everything about them. Where they were born. Where they went to school. How they met. Surely there is something in their past that will help explain their present.”

  “Already on it. You know, there’s something we haven’t discussed yet.”

  “Yeah?”

  “If this does come out, especially your husband’s part in it, the Loehrs could be summoned for a deposition or even to testify in court.”

  “Crap. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Since they’re in hiding with your daughter, I thought that might be a bad idea.”

  “No, you’re right. We’ll just have to keep Reyes’s abduction out of it altogether. If that’s possible.”

  “Shawn will go along with that. I’m certain.”

  “I think so, too. He seems like a great guy.”

  “He does,” she said. “Wait. What about the other two?”

  “The other two?”

  “The other two adoptions that shady agency facilitated. Where did those kids come from?”

  I sat behind my desk again. “Yeah, I wondered about that, too. Maybe you should look into those. You know, in your spare time.” I was such a slave driver.

  “Do you think your friend Agent Carson could help?”

  “With the case, probably. With the fact that your blouse is still inside out?” I eyed her doubtfully.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Why didn’t you remind me?” She took off for the restroom, appalled. “I’m meeting Robert for lunch.”

  “Get a quickie while you can!” I said with a giggle.

  * * *

  I sat at a table in Calamity’s, Reyes’s bar and grill, and watched my husband leave his office and head toward me. I’d offered to make him lunch. He was the master chef in the family, but I’d watched just enough Food Network to be dangerous. I figured it was high time I cook for him. There was just one problem with my master plan. I’d gotten so busy this morning that I didn’t have time to cook, so I’d had to improvise.

  He moved with the grace of an animal, his dark hair and intense gaze captivating the room. Most eyes turned toward him. Most breaths caught. Most conversation came to a standstill.

  When he sat down, I pushed one of two plates toward him. Each had three rows of crackers with tuna salad on top and a fat, orange carrot on the side as garnish. The carrots still had their peels and stalks on them, stalks that took up half the table. But I’d run out of time.

  He eyed his plate, his expression filled with traces of humor and doubt.

  “Don’t knock it until you try it,” I said. “We’re having whores-de-vours.” I gazed up at him. “Who doesn’t adore whores-de-vours?” When he didn’t answer, I took the opportunity to add, “And carrots.”

  “I had no idea you were so fond of hors d’oeuvres.”

  “Love. Them.” I snapped off the tip of my carrot and ate, crunching it as loudly as I could.

  “More than my huevos rancheros?”

  Damn, he had me there. His huevos, rancheros or otherwise, were pretty fantastic.

  He lifted a cracker as though it had a viral infection and took the whole thing in one bite. Then his face—no, his doubts!—transformed. He nodded in appreciation and ate another.

  I took a bite, too, and marveled as I savored the best tuna salad I’d ever had. It was tuna salad, for his Brother’s sake.

  “This is really good,” he said, a little surprised.

  “It’s phenomenal.” I was even more than a little surprised.

  He finished off his first line of whores, then asked, “What’s your secret?”

  “No idea,” I said with my mouth half-full. “I didn’t make it. I got busy.”

  He cast me a look of horror but recovered quickly. “Who made it?”

  “No idea again. I scraped it off the sandwich Sammy brought for lunch.”

  He choked, coughing lightly before asking, “And how did Sammy take that?”

  “I don’t think he knows yet.”

  “And the carrots?”

  “They were there. Just seemed kind of fitting.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “An entire kitchen at your disposal and you had to resort to thievery to feed me. What kind of billion-heiress are you?”

  For that, I stole one of his crackers. “Billion-heiress implies an inheritance. I married into money, thank you very much. I’m officially a trophy wife.” When he continued to watch me with an uncomfortable mixture of appreciation and humor, I put down the cracker and said, “So, what did you want to talk about?”

  “I think you know.” His deep voice washed over me like warm water. Or honey. Or rum. Add some lemon and I could pass for a hot toddy.

  “What did you do to ruffle Jehovah’s feathers?”

  How did he know I did anything to ruffle his Brother’s feathers? “How do you know I did anything to ruffle your Brother’s feathers?” When he only stared, silently judging me for, like, ever, I caved. “What gave it away?”

  “That would be the army of angels tailing you.”

  Damn. I knew he’d notice. Then again, they were a little hard to miss. They were just so … there. Angels. Everywhere. With their wings and their swords and their dark eyes following my every move. Make one tiny threat to take over the world and bam! Heaven’s version of the Secret Service rains down on you, throws you to the ground, and puts you in a headlock. Metaphorically.

  “Fine. Michael and I had a bit of a tiff.”

  “The archangel?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “You had a tiff with an archangel?”

  “Just a little one. Nothing to worry about.”

  “And it’s like angel stew on Earth because?”

  “I kind of told him I was taking over the world, but he got all up in my face.”

  “Ah. When did this big showdown happen?”

  “A few days ago. Right after—” I bowed my head, thinking of that horrible day. Of how many people we could have lost. Of what Reyes had lost. “Right after the incident. Speaking of which, how are you doing?”

  He folded his arms. “We’re not talking about me.”

  “But don’t you think we should? You lost your sister, Reyes. It’s okay to grieve, you know. We all do it. All of us humans, that is.”

  A laugh that was full of sorrow escaped him, but he brushed it off. As usual. “What are we going to do about this?”

  “About what?”

  “About the angels on your ass.”

  “Oh, that. Don’t worry about them. They’re just watching. Waiting. Making sure I don’t actually follow through on any of my threats.”

  “There was more than one?”

  “Well, there was the one biggie and then a few that were more or less implied. They apparently take that crap really seriously.”

  “I can’t imagine why.”

  “Right?” I took another bite, then asked, “Do you miss her?”

  He filled his lungs and eyed me with frustration before giving in. “I miss her. Of course I miss her. How could I not? But just knowing that she’s out there watching over Elwyn helps.”

  “I agree.” I said. Having someone like Kim watching our daughter eased the discomfort about one one-hundredth of a percent. But every little bit … “It’s like a salve. Like a Band-Aid on an open, gushing wound.”

  He looked away, unwilling to give me any more. I didn’t push.

  “I’ve come to a decision,” he said, looking back at me.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He gave me a long, slow once-over. “I t
hink you need a bodyguard.”

  I laughed out loud that time. “A bodyguard?” I thought about it while poking my carrot with a fork. “Well, I already have a guardian, and she’s pretty awesome.” That guardian was a departed Rottweiler named Artemis.

  “I know, but she can’t protect you against an angel. They’re powerful, Dutch. Very powerful. And just because they can’t kill you doesn’t mean they aren’t going to give it their all. I don’t think you’d be willing to do what was necessary to stop one if it came after you.”

  “But they’re the good guys.”

  “In most situations, yes. But in this situation, I’m not so sure.”

  “I did threaten Him.”

  “You had a legitimate complaint. Jehovah—that’s not His real name, by the way—knows that better than anyone, but I don’t think He’s going to give up His toy box just because you’re angry with the way He governs His action figures.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t expect He would. Wait. That’s not His real name? What’s His real name?”

  “I’m not going to tell you something you already know. When were you going to tell me about your conversation with Michael?”

  “That is an excellent question. Are you going to tell me His name or not?”

  When he looked at me that time, his irises shimmering with something deep, something dark, he asked, “Why? So you can trap Him in the god glass, too?”

  I gasped, completely offended. Not that I’d had any doubt that our conversations would one day lead to the pendant I carried in my pocket 24-7. The 600-year-old pendant that contained a substance called god glass, an opalescent stone that shimmered like a thousand galaxies. Inside it was the aforementioned hell dimension, the one Jehovah created for His rebellious little brother, a.k.a. my husband. And it all sat in an intricate glass-covered pendant, barely bigger than a quarter, with delicate scrolls and ornate markings.

  Because I hadn’t known how Reyes would take the news when he found out he, too, was a god, because I hadn’t known if he would change into the malevolent being I’d been led to believe he was, I kept it hidden. Until I had to use it, that is. I’d trapped one of the two truly malevolent gods who’d joined Team Satan in it. And now that god, along with a nasty demon named Kuur, was locked in a dimension with dozens of innocent souls.