Sixth Grave on the Edge

3

Coffee doesn’t ask silly questions.

Coffee understands.

—BUMPER STICKER

We weren’t back in the office ten minutes before the door to the front entrance opened. I’d expected Mr. Joyce, the agitated man with the issues. Instead I got Denise. My evil stepmother. Thankfully, Mr. Joyce was right behind her. He afforded me the perfect excuse not to talk to her.

Her pallor had a grayish tint to it, and her eyes were lined with the bright red only the shedding of tears could evoke. I honestly didn’t know she had the ability to cry.

“Can I talk to you?” she asked.

“I have a client.” I pointed to the man behind her to emphasize that fact.

Giving her chin a determined upward thrust, she said, “You’ve had clients for two weeks now. I just need a minute.” When I started to argue again, she pleaded with me. “Please, Charlotte.”

Mr. Joyce was holding a baseball cap, wringing it in his hands. He seemed to be growing more agitated by the second. “I really need to talk to you, Ms. Davidson.”

“See?” I pinned Denise with a chastising scowl. “Client.”

She turned on the man, her face as cold and hard as marble. It was an expression I knew all too well. “We just need a minute,” she said to him, her tone razor sharp. “Then she’s all yours.”

He backed off, raising a hand in surrender as he stepped to a chair and took a seat.

My temper flared to life, and I had to force myself to stay calm. I was twenty-seven. I no longer had to put up with my stepmother’s insults. Her revulsion. Her petty snubs. And I damned sure didn’t have to put up with her invading my business and bullying my clients. “That was not necessary,” I said to her when she turned back to me.

“I apologize,” she said, doing a one-eighty. She turned back to Mr. Joyce. “I’m sorry. I’m in a very desperate situation.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, dismissing her with a wave. He clearly had problems of his own.

With all the enthusiasm of a prisoner walking up to the hangman’s noose, I led Denise into my office and closed the door. My temper flaring must have summoned Reyes. He was in my office, waiting, incorporeally.

Then I remembered. He didn’t like Denise any more than I did. Blamed her for most of my heartache as a child. Of course, she’d caused most of it, but Reyes could be … testy when it came to my happiness or lack thereof.

“Want me to sever her spine?” he asked as I sat behind my desk.

“Can I think about it and get back to you?” I asked, teasing. Kind of.

Denise looked toward the wall he was leaning against, the one I was looking at, and naturally saw nothing. But where her usual response would be to purse her lips in disapproval, she wiped at her lapel and sat down instead.

“What do you want?” I asked her, my tone as cold as her heart.

“I’m sure you know that your father has left me.”

“At last.”

She flinched like I’d slapped her. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Are you really asking me that?”

“I love your father.” She almost came up out of her chair. “I’ve always loved your father.”

She had me there. She’d always been an attentive wife to him. Of course, attentive included her agenda, which was manipulative, conniving, and venomous. I couldn’t believe that I could dislike someone so much, but Denise had always been that splinter in my relationship with my father. She did everything in her power to keep us apart. Her jealousy was bizarre and childish. Who on earth was afraid of a father’s love for his child? It just made no sense to me. It never had.

And yet she was never that way toward my sister, Gemma. In fact, she and Gemma were fairly close. I had a feeling Dad’s leaving Denise affected Gemma much more than she was willing to admit. She knew how I felt about our stepmonster, and the fact that she couldn’t go to me when she needed support made me a very bad sibling. But the truth was, she couldn’t. I had no warm and fuzzies where Denise was concerned. She’d made sure of that from day one.

“I—I need you to talk to him. He’s been sick and, and he’s not thinking straight.”

“And what do you want me to say?”

She leveled an exasperated glare on me. “I want you to convince him to come back home where he belongs. He’s still weak. He still needs medical attention.”

“I’m sorry,” I said with a soft, humorless chuckle, “you want me to convince my father to stay with you? The bane of my existence? The woman who made my childhood a living hell? After everything you’ve put me through, you want my help? Are you insane?”

Too bad Gemma, a licensed psychiatrist, was at a conference in D.C. I’d call her and schedule an appointment for Denise ay-sap.

“What have I ever put you through?”

My temper flared again, and I bit my tongue, literally, to keep my emotions under control. When I lost control, the earth shifted beneath me. An earthquake in the middle of Albuquerque would do no one any good.

Reyes straightened as though worried I’d lose control as well. I closed my eyes and took several gulps of air. This wasn’t me. I didn’t hate people. I didn’t make them pay for their misdeeds. Too many departed had crossed through me. Too many times I’d seen what people went through, what they’d endured that made them become the people they were when they died. Until I’d walked a mile in her shoes, I could not judge Denise so completely. That would make me no better than she was. I opened my eyes to her stone face, the face that brought nothing but hurt feelings and knotted stomachaches. Maybe two miles.

“I just have one question,” I said, trying to hold the resentment from my tone lest I sound like her. “Why?”

“Why?”

“Yes, why? Why did you hate me from day one? Why did you treat me like a thorn in your side? What on God’s green earth did I ever do to you?”

She sighed in frustration and let her true colors show through. Her impatience with me, with anything I had to say. “I did no such thing, Charlotte. I don’t hate you. I never have.”

I leaned forward and gave her my best Sunday smile. “I’ll tell you what. When you can admit that you hate me with every fiber of your being, I’ll help you win back Dad. How does that sound?”

“I will never say such a horrible thing.”

I’d offended her. Sweet. “So you can feel it, you just can’t admit to it?”

She squeezed the pocketbook in her lap, her fingers flexing involuntarily. “Charlotte, can we talk sensibly?”

“Wait a minute,” I said as understanding dawned. “You’re here because Dad is fed up with the way you treat me, and you’re thinking that if we become besties, he’ll come back to you.”

“I’m here because I want us all to get into counseling together. Not just Leland and me, but all four of us, including your sister.” Reyes crossed his arms over his chest and went back to holding the wall up while I stood simmering in my astonishment.

She was a piece of work. “How about you go into counseling for you? Get over yourself. And when that happens, when you can be honest with me, we’ll talk again.” I was being so mean. I wanted to applaud myself. I wasn’t a mean person by nature, so it took a lot of energy to bring out the beast in me and stick with it for more than thirty seconds. Damned ADD. But I was so proud of myself. No more being a carpet for someone else to walk on. I was my own girl, and no one was walking on this carpet but me.

“Charley,” Cookie said through the intercom.

I poked the button. “Yes, Cookie?”

“Um, are you almost done? I need coffee.”

“Oh, sorry! I’ll get it made and bring you a cup.”

“Thanks. And can you bring me the box of Nilla Wafers while you’re at it?”

“Can do.” I jumped up and headed for the Bunn. “Priorities,” I said to Denise. “That’s what life is all about.” I filled the tank with water and scooped coffee into the basket. “And coffee. From now on, I am my own priority.” I picked up the box, fished out a Nilla wafer, and stuffed it into my mouth so I could talk with it full. “No more Chawley cawpet.” Or, well, mumble with my mouth full. Denise hated that shit. “Chawley—” I swallowed. “—Charley carpet has been ripped up, and the only thing left for people to walk on is cracked, splintered wood.” God, I was good at metaphors.

“I tried,” she said, rising and perching her purse strap on her shoulder.

“Yes. Yes, you did. And a noble effort it was.” I gestured toward the door, hoping she’d take the hint. “I’m not sure what all this is about, anyway. It’s not like we could really go into counseling. He’s leaving soon for the open sea.”

She turned back to me, her face full of surprise. She blinked and I felt an understanding wash over her; then she plastered on a fake smile, one full of pity with a heaving sprinkling of contempt. One I had seen far too many times in my twenty-seven years. “And here I thought you could detect lies.”

She strode to the door and opened it before I could stop her. “Wait. What lies?”

“I’ll tell you what,” she said, turning the tables, reveling in the power she’d just acquired. “When you can grow up and take a little of the responsibility for our failed relationship, I’ll tell you what your father’s really up to.”

Without another word, she walked out, leaving me speechless.

What my father was really up to? What did she mean by that? Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to investigate now, but Uncle Bob and I were going to have a long talk the minute I was finished with Mr. Joyce. In fact, that would be my excuse to get him to go over to my apartment that evening. Nothing like killing two birds with one stone. But that sounded so bad. What did those poor birds do to anyone? I decided to change that particular cliché to “Nothing like killing two bad guys with one bullet.” Better. Maybe it would catch on, become accepted worldwide. A girl could dream.

Mr. Joyce was already standing, waiting his turn with the impatience of a kindergartner waiting for his afternoon snack.

“Come on in,” I said to him, gesturing to the chair across from my desk as I headed to the Bunn to complete my promise to Cookie. She’d need CPR if I didn’t get her a cup soon. “So, what can I help you with?”

I poured Cookie’s cup, knowing full well she was interrupting my “meeting” with Denise only to save me from her. I adored that woman. Cookie! Not Denise. After taking the coffee to her and handing her the box of wafers with a wink, I started to close the door between our offices as she took a sip of the piping fresh brew. She rolled her eyes until I saw only white. It was kind of creepy. We were kindred spirits to the core.

“It’s a little embarrassing,” Mr. Joyce said after I offered him a cup, poured my own, then sat behind my desk. Reyes had disappeared as he was wont to do once any immediate danger was dispelled.

“Why don’t you start from the beginning?” I felt the agitation he was sporting externally, but I also felt anxiety and extreme fear. Like gut-wrenching fear.

“Um, okay.” He twisted the baseball cap in his hands before pinning me with his gaze, taking a deep breath, and blurting out, “I sold my soul to the devil and I need you to get it back for me.”

That was new.

I blinked a few times, took a slow sip, then asked, “Did it fetch a good price?”

“What?” he asked, surprised by my reaction.

“Your soul. What’d you get for it?”

He bit down and charged forward. “Ms. Davidson, I’m not kidding.”

“I can see that.”

“I’ve talked to a few—” He glanced around, worried we’d be overheard. “—individuals in your field, and they all recommended I hire you. Said if anyone could get it back, you could.”

“Really? And what kind of individuals are in my field?”

“You know,” he said, setting his ball cap on my desk and easing forward to whisper. “The supernatural kind.”

“Ah. Right. Because they’re on every street corner. So, this demon you sold your soul to—”

“Devil,” he corrected, punching the air with an index finger. “He was the devil.”

“Okay, first of all, the devil is never on this plane this time of year, so if the guy who bought your soul says he’s the boss man himself, he’s lying.”

“Seriously?” he asked, surprised. “Well, maybe he didn’t say he was the devil, but he had powers, you know? He had an intensity I felt every time he looked at me, like the weight of it alone could crush me. And he has my soul. It’s gone. I can’t feel it anymore.” He patted his clothes as though searching for his wallet.

Wonderful. Mr. Joyce was crazy. I took out a pen and pad. “Okay, can you describe your soul in detail? I’ll put out a BOLO.”

He leaned back, annoyed with me. It happened. “I thought that you of all people would understand.”

I put down my pen. “Why me of all people?”

“I know what you are,” he said. “He told me.”

“The devil told you?”

“No, the guy.” He raked a hand through his hair. “The guy who took my soul. Maybe he just took it for the devil. I don’t know.”

As entertaining as this was, I needed to call Uncle Bob and ask him what was going on with my dad. No way did I call Dad. If he didn’t want me to know something, I damned sure didn’t know.

“Okay, well, thanks for coming in, Mr. Joyce, but—”

“Hedeshi!” he shouted, remembering a name. A name that I knew well.

“Hedeshi is dead,” I said, wondering how he knew the name of the demon sent to kill me. Thankfully, I had the son of Satan and a guardian departed Rottweiler named Artemis backing me up, or I wouldn’t have been there at all.

“Right, he told me about Hedeshi. Said he was dead. During the card game, he’d—”

“Card game?”

“The poker game,” he said, growing more agitated by the second. “The one where I lost my soul.”

I clasped my fingers together. “Let me get this straight. You gambled your soul away?”

“Well … no. Not exactly. I needed money. He knew it. Used it against me.” Shame washed over him in one bright-hot wave. “It was for a good cause. I needed money and he had the highest game in town, so I took a chance. I hocked everything we had just to get a seat at the table, and then I lost every penny.” He scrubbed his forehead, embarrassed. “When he saw how distressed I was, he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, so I said yes. I sold him my soul.”

“Of course you did. Hedeshi,” I reminded him.

He squinted his eyes, trying to remember. “The guy, the dealer, said there was a grim reaper in town wreaking all kinds of havoc on his brethren. Said you managed to kill one of the top generals from hell, a man named Hedeshi.”

How on earth did some dealer from an illicit card game know that? “And how do you know I’m this grim reaper?”

“Because everyone told me,” he said, his voice getting louder. “Look, can you just go talk to this guy? Just get it back? I’ll pay you.”

“I thought you didn’t have any money. That was why you were at the card game in the first place.”

“Yeah, well, I got some. I got a lot. Selling one’s soul is very profitable.” He bowed his head, and the heartache that spread through him stung the backs of my eyes. “Turns out even money can’t cure cancer.”

Son of a bitch. The big C. My most hated enemy.

“Look, I just need my soul. He can have everything back. I just need my soul to be with her. I promised.”

So, a woman he loved had died, and now he wanted his soul back so he could be with her. That was also new.

“You’re the only one who’s ever stood up to one of these guys. No one else will even try.”

“There’s a good reason for that. They’re rather deadly.”

“I’ll do anything. You can have it all. The money. The cars. Everything. My husband and I are devastated.”

And once again, I was taken aback. Just when I thought I knew what was going on. “Your husband?”

“Yes. Paul. We got married in Massachusetts the minute they legalized it.”

“Then who is this ‘she’ you promised to spend eternity with?”

The huge tears shimmering in his eyes as he looked up at me stole my breath and my heart in the same moment. “Our daughter. She was only three when she passed away from neuroblastoma. I got her the best medical care money could buy, but it made no difference.” He took out his wallet and retrieved a picture out of it. Two actually. Handing them to me, he asked, “Do you know what it’s like watching a three-year-old girl die of cancer? She was so brave. She only wanted one thing—our promise that we’d be with her in heaven someday.” His voice broke as I studied the pictures. A gorgeous girl with blond ringlets and huge blue eyes graced the first one. The second one had been taken after a few rounds of chemo, her bald head, no less beautiful, shining in the sun as she flew down a slide, her smile as wide as the New Mexico sky. “We both promised her we’d see her again. Paul doesn’t know what I did for all of this. He doesn’t know I can’t keep our promise.”

I wasn’t sure if it was his sorrow or mine that formed a lump the size of a softball in my throat. Either way, I couldn’t stop the emergence of tears as I gazed at the angel in her fathers’ arms. “When did she pass?” I managed to ask, my chest tightening.

“Yesterday.” And with that, he collapsed into a mass of tears, sobbing into his hands uncontrollably. I rounded the desk, wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and sobbed with him. This was the part I didn’t handle well. The people-left-behind part. Their sorrow was like a boulder on my chest.

I felt Reyes, felt his heat before the door opened and he stepped inside. He didn’t interrupt. He stood back and watched over me as I let the pain of death crush me into dust.