Sixth Grave on the Edge

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 again, 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.

Jealousy from Reyes was one thing, but jealousy from humans had a different taste, a different texture. It was hot and abrasive, like putting on scratchy burlap clothes right out of the dryer.

“When are you going to answer him?” Cookie asked, drawing my attention.

“When he deserves an answer,” I volleyed.

“So, saving your life countless times doesn’t warrant an answer?”

“Sure it does, but he doesn’t need to know that.”

One corner of her mouth tilted mischievously. “True.”

And that was one thing I never felt from Cookie. Jealousy. She was just as hot for Reyes as anyone, but she was never jealous of our relationship. She was happy for me, and therein lay the heart of a true friend. I’d thought Jessica was my best friend, but looking back with my 20/20 hindsight, I realized I’d felt jealousy radiate from her on several occasions in school. That should have been a clue, but I’d never been accused of being the brightest bedspread in the hotel.

“Okay, how are you going to get him over?”

“Well, since he lives right next door, I thought I’d just pound on the wall.”

“Not Reyes. Robert.”

Who was Robert again? Oh, right. “You let me worry about Uncle Bob.”

Cookie was getting nervous for the seven millionth time, so I went through my plan again from beginning to end. I loved going over it anyway. Mostly because it was brilliant, but also because if Cookie didn’t go along with it, all that brilliance would go down the drain, kind of like my self-esteem every time I ran into Jessica.

“This first date is just the primer. I’ll get him over right as your date is picking you up. He’ll be so blindsided, he won’t know how to react. What to say.” I giggled like a mental patient at that. “I’ll explain to him that you joined a dating service.”

“What?” Cookie balked. “He’ll think I’m desperate.”

“He’ll think you’re ready for a relationship.”

“A desperate one.” She fanned herself with the menu, her doubt evident in every swish.

“Cook, lots of people join dating services. It doesn’t have the stigma it used to.”

“Then what?”

“Then you’ll go on another date.”

“With the same guy?”

“Nope, a different guy.”

Fear caused panic to spike inside her. “What? Who? You said this would be quick and painless.”

“It will be. I’m not sure who date number two will be. I have only so many friends who will let me use them unscrupulously.”

Cookie groaned.

“This will work, Cook. Unless you want to do something really crazy and just ask him out yourself?”

“I couldn’t,” she said, shaking her head vehemently. “What if he says no? And then it would be really awkward between us for the rest of our lives. We’d have those awkward silences that make my eyebrows sweat.”

“Oh, yeah, those are pretty awful. Anywho, it’s date number three that will be the clincher. If he doesn’t ask you out before then, we may have to hire an actor.”

“An actor?”

“Cook, we’ve already been through this. Why are you questioning everything?”

“I think I’ve been in denial. But now that it’s really happening, I feel like those people who say they can bungee jump, but when they’re actually standing on the bridge, the reality of the situation hits them in the face.”

“Yeah, never bungee jump. Reality isn’t the only thing that hits you in the face.”

“At least the bungee rope didn’t leave a scar.”

“Thank goodness. So, for date number three, we need someone good. Someone who can be sexy and a butthead at the same time. Someone—” It hit me before I even finished the thought. “I got it.”

Cookie lunged forward. “Who?”

A slow, evil grin spread across my face. “Never you mind, missy. If we get that far, you’ll know soon enough. In the meantime, I have some bargaining to do.”

A loud bout of laughter echoed around me, and I glanced toward Jessica’s table. She was with the same three friends she was always with, and it made me wonder what they did for a living. They came to lunch here together almost every day. And were often here in the evenings as well. Did none of them have families? Responsibilities? A life?

I thought back to our big blowup in high school. Jessica had said some pretty nasty things. She’d turned on me so fast, my neck hurt. As well as my heart. A fact that she seemed to revel in. When I confronted her and asked her point-blank why she didn’t want to be friends, she told me I had no redeeming qualities. What the hell did that mean?

Cookie noticed where I was looking. She patted my hand to draw me back.

“Do you think I have redeeming qualities?”

She curled my fingers into hers. “You’re totally redeemable. You’re like a thirty percent–off coupon. No! A forty percent–off coupon. And I don’t say that lightly.”

“Thanks.”

Again, I felt Reyes’s heat before I saw him. He brought out our food personally, a service Jessica and her friends didn’t receive. Neither did the silver foxes, though they didn’t seem to mind. They kept winking at him, and one licked her lips suggestively. It was so wrong.

“Oh,” I said after he set our plates down, “I forgot to ask you. If you were a utensil, what would you be?”

He straightened. “Excuse me?”

“A utensil. What would you be?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, then asked suspiciously, “Why do you want to know?”

“It’s for a quiz. It’s guaranteed to let us know if we are compatible. You know, for the long haul.”

“Really?” he asked. He pulled out a chair, turned it around, and straddled it to sit with us. “You have to take a quiz to see if we’re compatible?”

“Yes,” I said, trying to recover from that last move. He was just too sexy, straddling that chair, crossing his sinewy arms over the back of it. “Yes. This stuff is important, and they have a ninety-nine percent success rate. It said so.” I dragged out my phone, brought up the online quiz, and held it out to him. “Right here. See?”

He didn’t even spare it a glance. Cookie was busy cutting into her Santa Fe chicken and fending off an inappropriate smirk.

“You can’t trust anything on the Internet.”

“Can, too,” I said, completely offended.

“So, if I posted a comment saying I was an Arabian prince from Milwaukee?”

“Yeah, but you’re a big fat liar. You don’t count. I mean, look at your dad. Pathological liar numeral uno. Lying is in your genes.”

He leaned forward. “There’s only one thing in my jeans right now.”

“Are you going to take my question seriously or not? This could be the key to our futures.”

“I have a key in my jeans pocket. You could search.”

He was completely blowing off our chance at happiness. “What are you, twelve?”

“Centuries, maybe.”

“You’re twelve centuries old?”

He winced. “You know how older women say they are twenty-nine?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m kind of doing that.”

“No, really, how old are you? Wait!” A thought hit me. Hard. Like a baseball thrown from the pitcher’s plate at Wrigley Field. “How old am I?” I hadn’t really thought of it in those terms. I was supposedly from an ancient race of beings from another universe, another plane of existence. How old was I?

“A machete,” he said, getting up and righting the chair.

“What?”

“If I were a utensil.”

“Does that count as a utensil?”

He winked at me. “It does in my world.”

“Okay, fine. I’d be a … a spork! Wait, what does that mean? I’m not sure a machete and a spork are very compatible.”

He took hold of my chin and lifted my face to his. “I have a feeling a machete and a spork can work very well together.”

Before I could argue, he bent and pressed his mouth to mine. The heat scorched at first, then penetrated my skin and spread through me like warm honey. The kiss, barely a peck, ended too soon as he rose, surprised Cookie with a quick kiss on her cheek, and went back to the kitchen, giving me a spectacular view of his ass.

Cookie gasped and touched the spot where Reyes’s lips had brushed, stars bursting from her eyes. “I want that,” she said, suddenly determined.

I looked back toward the door Reyes had disappeared through. “Well, you can’t have it. It’s mine.”

“No, not that. Not him.” She shook out of her stupor and said, “I mean, yeah, I’d take him in a heartbeat, but I want that. I want what you two have, damn it.” She set her jaw. “Let’s do this. Let’s set up that stubborn, rascally uncle of yours until he begs me to be his girl.”

“Yeah, Cookie,” I said, raising my hand for a high five, but she floundered. “Don’t leave me hangin’.”

“But what if he doesn’t ask me out?”

After waving toward a couple I didn’t know who’d just stepped in the front door to save my dignity, I lowered my hand and said, “I think the more important question is, do you think a machete and a spork are very compatible?”

“Charley, you have to quit taking those ridiculous quizzes.”

“No way. I have to know.”

“Fine, but why a spork?”

“Because I’m versatile. I can multitask like nobody’s business. And I like the way it sounds. It’s so … sporky.”