Third Grave Dead Ahead

Chapter 15

With a lingering sadness after my visit with Kim still tightening my chest, I walked up to a dilapidated mobile home and knocked on a rusted door. The village of Corona sat nestled in the picturesque mountains of southeastern New Mexico. With less than two hundred people in residence, it had a small-town charm all its own. And it was a good two-hour drive from Albuquerque, which explained why it took me a little over an hour to get there. A man whom I’d assumed to be the last name on Reyes’s list, Farley Scanlon, opened the door, an annoyed scowl bunching his brows.

Well built with shoulder-length brown hair intermingled with a streak or two of gray, a long mustache and goatee, and a strip of leather around his neck with a silver pendant, Farley proved to be one of those men in his late fifties who only looked in his late fifties up close.

“Hello,” I said when he settled his frown on me in question. I noted the hunting paraphernalia in the background of his decrepit trailer. “My name is Charlotte Davidson.” I fished out my PI license because he didn’t look like a man who trusted easily. “I’m a private investigator working on a missing persons case.”

He eyed my ID a long moment before returning his steady gaze to me. “Well, I ain’t killed no one, if you’re asking.” The barest trace of a smile slid across his scraggly face.

“That’s good to know.” I smiled back, waited another heartbeat to give him time to adjust, then said, “Unfortunately, there are plenty of other things a man of your reputation can go to prison for.”

His breathing remained calm, his gaze steady. But the emotion that hit me with hurricane force was full of both anger and fear, and I wondered which part of that was directed at me. It was probably too much to hope he was afraid of me.

I took out my notepad and started checking off the itemized list I’d basically pulled out of my ass. “Okay, we have a few months for obstruction of justice. Three years for possession and distribution of a controlled substance. Ten years for conspiracy to commit murder.” I leaned in and smiled. “And that’s if the judge is in a good mood.” He looked like the conspiracy-to-commit-murder type, so I’d taken a chance. He didn’t argue the fact.

“What the fuck do you want?” he asked, shifting away from me.

“Wait,” I said, holding up a finger and continuing to read, “I also have nine months for accessory after the fact, but a good lawyer can probably get that reduced to time served once the trial starts, because it could take a while, if you know what I mean.” I snorted.

The anger quickly overtook the fear.

I closed the pad and eyed him a good twenty seconds. He waited, his jaw working hard.

“Here’s what I can offer you,” I said, and he shifted his weight again, itching to be rid of me. “I’ll give you one chance to tell me where Earl Walker is before I call the police and have your ass arrested on all these charges right here and now.” I couldn’t really have his ass arrested, but he didn’t know that. Hopefully.

The shock that hit me was so palpable, so visible, I felt as if I’d blindsided him with a left hook. Clearly, he was not expecting the name Earl Walker to enter into the conversation. But his reaction had nothing to do with thoughts of lunacy. He was wondering how I knew. Guilt was so easy to sense. It was like picking out the color red in a sea of yellow.

“I don’t have time for this shit,” he said, readying to walk past me.

I put both hands on the doorjamb to block his path.

He cast an incredulous stare at me. “Really, sweetheart? You want to do that?” When I shrugged, he just sighed and said, “Earl Walker died ten years ago. Look it up.”

“Okay, two chances. But that’s my final offer.” I wagged my finger at him in warning. That’d teach him.

“Honey, he’s dead. Ask his son,” he said with a knowing smirk. “His kid’s been sitting in prison ten years for killing him. Ain’t nothing you or the law can do about that.”

“Look, I’m not here to give you any trouble.” I showed my palms in a gesture of peace, love, and goodwill toward men. “You and I both know he’s no more dead than the cockroaches that scurry across your kitchen floor every night.”

His eyebrows seemed glued together.

“This isn’t your fault,” I said with a lighthearted shrug. “No one needs to know your name. Just tell me where he is, and you’ll never see me again.” I was so going to hell for lying. I had every intention of watching the man rot in prison.

Farley’s mouth formed a grim line as he took out a hunting knife that would have made Rambo proud and began cleaning his nails with the tip of the blade. Like Rambo might have had needed a manicure. The move was very effective. My first thought was how much it would hurt when the blade slid into my abdomen, pushing easily past the muscle tissue and through those ovaries with which I had no intention of procreating. Then Farley looked past me and stilled. With the reluctance of a man who forgot to take his Viagra before his weekly visit with his favorite prostitute, he slipped the blade back into its sheath.

He must have seen Garrett parked in the distance, not that I dared take my eyes off him to check. He reached over and grabbed a jacket.

“I don’t have anything else to say.”

“’Cause you’re a big fat liar?” I asked. It was a fair question. That scum-of-the-universe Earl Walker was alive.

A wave of anger washed over him. He probably didn’t like to be called fat. I giggled, but because I wasn’t stupid, I did it on the inside. On the outside, I raised my brows, waiting for an answer.

“No, because Earl Walker is dead.”

I nodded in understanding. “Possibly. Or it could be you’re just a big fat liar.”

His free hand curled into a white-knuckled fist, but his face remained neutral. All things considered, he was pretty good. Probably played a lot of poker. “I have a meeting.”

He forced his way past me even though I was blocking the door, his shoulder hitting mine in a desperate act of machismo.

I called out to him as he stalked to his truck. “Is it the weekly Big Fat Liars Anonymous meeting?” Nothing. He climbed in and slammed the door, but his window was down, so I took another pot shot. Mostly because I could. “Big Fat Liars bridge club?”

He glared as his engine roared to life.

“A Big Fat Liars Tea and Recognition Ceremony?” When he pulled the gearshift into drive, I shouted, “Don’t forget to stick out your pinkie!” Teas were so tedious.

After he drove off, I glanced over at Garrett. He’d exited his vehicle and was leaning against it, his legs crossed at the ankles. For once, I was glad he was there, but I refused to let him know that. I climbed into Misery and called Cook.

“Are you still alive?” she asked.

“Barely. This one liked big knives.”

Her startled gasp sounded in the phone. “Like Rambo’s?”

“Exactly.” Either she was getting better at this, or we really did have ESPN. “And even though he wouldn’t give me the time of day if my life depended on it, he knew one thing for certain.”

“Big knives are scary?”

“Earl Walker is alive.”

The phone was silent for a moment; then she said, “Wow, I’m not sure what to say. I mean, Reyes said he was, but—”

“I know. I don’t know what to think either.”

“So, Earl’s girlfriend, the dental assistant, switches dental records so the cops think it’s really him,” she said, thinking out loud.

“Yes, and Earl picks someone with the same general facial structure and build, murders him, puts him in the trunk of his car and burns it.”

“And he makes sure Reyes is arrested for his murder,” she said.

“Then kills his girlfriend one week after Reyes is convicted.”

“So, was this Farley Scanlon with the big knife an accessory?”

“That part’s not quite as clear,” I said, sliding my key into the ignition, “but he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt Earl Walker is still alive.”

“Well, we have to find him. We have to get Reyes out of jail. Well, really out of jail. Not just escaped out of jail.”

“I agree. I’m going to grab something to eat at this little café—”

“Oh, you love small-town cafés.”

“I do. I’ll be back in a couple.”

“You know, I had a thought about that,” she said, her voice hesitant.

“Yeah?” I pulled out of Farley’s dirt drive. Circling back around, I missed dismembering Garrett by a hairsbreadth as he jumped back into his truck, then offered me a questioning glare in my rearview. It made me smile.

“Yeah. Why don’t you ride with Garrett and we can pick up Misery tomorrow?”

“Why would I do that?” I asked, appalled.

“Because you haven’t slept in fourteen days.”

“I’m good, Cook. I just need a little coffee.”

“Just make sure he stays close. And make sure Rambo doesn’t come after you. They always come after you.”

I tried to be offended, but just couldn’t muster the energy. “Okay.”

“How was your visit with Kim?”

After a long, labored sigh, I said, “She was really happy when I got there. I’m pretty sure she was suicidal when I left.”

“You do have that effect on people.”

I pulled into the lot of a small café with about two customers to its name. Garrett pulled into the other side of the lot, turned out his lights, and waited. He had to be hungry, but no way was I inviting him in. He could bite my sexy tailed ass.

“Sit wherever, honey,” a round waitress in jeans and a country blouse said when I walked in.

A bell overhead sounded as I closed the door. The café had all the country charm I loved with none of the commercialism. Antique kitchen items together with farming equipment hung on the walls and sat perched on barn wood shelves. Vintage tins punctuated the décor, everything from saltine crackers to sewing oil, and the nostalgia brought back memories from my childhood. Or it would have, had I been born in the thirties.

It did bring back the memories I’d gleaned off a man who’d crossed through me when I was a child. He’d raised sheep in Scotland, and castrating sheep is a big part of that occupation. Unfortunately, once something is seen, it cannot be unseen.

After a few minutes, the bell sounded again and a tall bond enforcement agent with a fetish for midget porn strolled in like he owned the place.

“Hello, handsome,” the woman said, making me grin. “Sit wherever you’d like.”

Garrett nodded, strolled to a corner table at the opposite side of the diner, and sat facing me.

“What can I get you, hon?” the waitress asked, holding pen and pad at the ready.

“I would kill for a green chile cheeseburger and an iced tea.”

“Green burger and tea it is. With fries?”

“And extra ketchup.”

“I’ll have the same but with chips,” Garrett called out. He probably didn’t want me getting my order first and finishing before he did.

The waitress looked over at him and chuckled. “He must be hungry.”

“I can’t take him anywhere,” I said, shaking my head.

When she walked away to get our teas, I asked him, “Why didn’t you come to my rescue when trailer park guy pulled a knife on me?”

His grin flashed bright in the low light. “I’m just tailing you. I can’t let you know I’m here. If I had interfered, you would know.”

The waitress paused a moment before heading toward me with my tea. “He has a point,” I said to her. She offered a hesitant smile, obviously unsure of what to think. “Hey, can you make sure I get my burger first?”

“Your voice carries really well,” he said, his voice carrying really well.

With narrowed eyes, I said, “Shush, you tailgater, you. This is between—” I glanced at the server’s name tag. “—Peggy and me.”

He shrugged defensively. “I would’ve come to your rescue eventually.”

“Oh, yeah? When? After I’d been gutted and lay bleeding to death in a ditch somewhere?”

“Absolutely,” he said, clasping his hands behind his head. “I mean, I wouldn’t jump in the ditch and try to suppress the bleeding or anything, but, sure. I’d call for help or something.”

Offering my best smile ever, I said, “You’re a real saint, Swopes.”

“My mom says the same thing.”

The realization that Garrett actually had a mother kind of disturbed me. But only for about twelve seconds. I rarely held thoughts in my head any longer than twelve seconds. Damn my ADD.

We sat in silence awhile as I jotted down some notes. I glanced up from underneath my lashes a few times to check on Garrett. He obviously took his tailing duties seriously, considering he had yet to take his eyes off me. The smell of the burgers and green chile on the grill had my mouth watering. By the time Peggy brought our burgers, I was moments away from drooling uncontrollably. Either from the smell or the lack of sleep. I couldn’t be sure which.

“So, why are we here?” Garrett asked between bites. The asshole slipped Peggy a five-spot to bring him his burger first. Never trust a man with a penis.

“The man Reyes went to prison for killing isn’t dead,” I said, salting my burger before I’d even tried it.

“Are you serious?”

That got Peggy’s attention, too. She glanced over at me as she wiped down the next table.

“Can I get a coffee to go?” I asked her.

“Sure can.” She headed to the pot as I took a bite of one of the best burgers I’d ever had. Or I was just really hungry. It was hard to tell.

“And you’re going to find him?” Garrett asked after she strolled off, an annoying mixture of humor and doubt in his voice.

“Thanks for the vote,” I said, swallowing hard and washing the bite down with an iced tea chaser.

He shook his head. “Instilling confidence isn’t really my thing.”

“No!” I said, shocked.

“You ’bout done?”

“Holy cow, are you finished?” Having barely taken two bites, I blinked in surprise.

“Yep. It’s a man thing.”

“That can’t be good for the digestion.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, a grin brightening his features that may have been attractive, had I found nice-looking men with amazing skill appealing. Good thing I didn’t.

Ten minutes later, we paid simultaneously and walked out the same way.

That’s when I saw it. My heart leapt into my throat. My hands covered my mouth in shock. I ran, stumbling forward. “Misery!” I yelled in my best melodramatic tone.

“Holy shit,” Garrett said, walking up to us, Misery and me, as I wrapped my arms around her fender. At least I think that’s what the thing on the side was called. “You get very Shakespearean sometimes.”

Misery’s tires had been slashed. All four of them, and probably the spare on the back as well. Brutally. Heartlessly. And quite annoyingly.

“How much you want to bet,” Garrett said, kneeling to analyze the vandalism, “these slashes were made by a big-ass hunting knife.”

“I’m fairly certain they were. Farley Scanlon is a big fat liar!” I yelled into the dark atmosphere. I opened my phone to call the police.

On the bright side, two hours later, Misery had some brand-spanking-new radials. She looked good. I filed a report with the police, explaining who I was and my encounter with Farley Scanlon. The big fat liar. Maybe he didn’t like being called fat, but since he wasn’t, I really didn’t see the harm.

“Are you good to drive?”

I frowned at Garrett. “Why do people keep asking me that?”

“Because you haven’t slept in two weeks?”

“I guess. I’m fine. Just, I don’t know, stay close.”

“Roger that.” He walked to his truck and started it up, waiting while I paid for Misery’s new rubber. She was so worth it.