Second Grave on the Left (23 page)

“Well, if you’ll take a look…” The older one was rifling through her Bible again. “As a witness, it is our obligation to separate ourselves from wrongdoers, to purge evil persons from among us, and—”

“Right, right, that’s great.” I interrupted her with a wave of my hand. “But what I really need to know is, can you see, or
witness,
” I said, adding air quotes for effect, “demons?”

They glanced at each other. The younger one spoke this time, her shoulders straightening in confidence. “Well, demons are simply fallen angels who sided with Satan, the ruler of the world in these end times. It is our responsibility to remain chaste and faithful—”

“But have you ever seen one?” I said, interrupting again. At this rate, I would never get invited to a service.

“Seen one?” the older woman asked hesitantly.

“Yes. You know, in person?”

They shook their heads. “Not physically, no. But if you’ll look at this passage—”

Man, she liked that Bible. I’d read it and could definitely understand its appeal, but I didn’t have time for this. My three minutes were probably up as it was. “No offense, but—and I mean this in the most respectful of ways—you’re not helping.” I closed the door, a little saddened by the confusion on their faces. I just thought that maybe they had happened upon a demon or two on their treks through the city. If I was alone in this, if Reyes was really gone, I needed a way to detect them. But surely Reyes wasn’t gone. He couldn’t be.

I continued my trek to the outhouse and realized the old saying was right: Denial really wasn’t just a river in Egypt.

*   *   *

After dragging my boneless body into the office an hour later, I stood studying Cookie’s attire. She was wearing a purple sweater with a red scarf thrown around her neck. I tried not to worry.

She looked up from her computer. “Okay, I got a hold of Janelle York’s sister. She was on her way home, but she was kind enough to answer a few of my questions.”

Cool. “And?” I asked, pouring myself a cup. Because sometimes three just isn’t enough.

“She said that Janelle got heavily into drugs after Mimi moved to Albuquerque. Her parents thought it was because they’d had a falling out, but when I asked about Hana Insinga, the sister said she’d tried to talk to Janelle about the disappearance when Hana went missing. Janelle, Mimi, and Hana were in the same grade. But Janelle was outraged when she asked, told her never to mention Hana’s name again.”

“Wow, that’s a volatile response to such an innocent question.”

“That’s what I thought. And Warren’s cousin Harry who always asks for money?”

“Yeah.”

“Dead end. He’s been in Vegas for over a month, working at a gambling casino.”

“As opposed to a nongambling casino?”

“I also spoke to our murdered car salesman’s wife,” she continued, ignoring me.

“You’ve been busy.”

“She had the exact same story as Warren. Her husband started to withdraw, to get depressed. She said he worried constantly and told her the oddest thing.”

I raised my brows in question.

“He told her that sometimes our sins are too great to be forgiven.”

“What the hell did they do?” I asked, thinking aloud.

Cookie shook her head. “Oh, and she thought the same thing that Warren did. She thought her husband was having an affair. She said large sums of money went missing from their savings. I assured her he wasn’t having an affair.”

I cast her a teasing glance. “Just because he wasn’t having an affair with Mimi doesn’t mean he wasn’t having one at all.”

“I know, but that woman was a wreck. No need to make her suffer more. He wasn’t having an affair. I’m sure of it. Speaking of wrecks, how are you doing?” she asked, concern drawing her brows together.

“Wreck?” I balked, feigning offense. “I’m good. The sun is shining, the superglue is holding. What more could a girl ask for?”

“World domination?” she offered.

“Well, there is that. Have you talked to Amber today?”

She sighed heavily. “It seems my daughter is going camping with her dad this weekend.”

“That’s cool. Camping’s fun,” I said, careful to keep my tone light. I knew why the thought upset her, but chose not to mention it. When Amber stayed with her father, Cookie went into a kind of depressed state. Come Friday, that would have changed. Now her happy fix would have to wait until after the weekend. I felt for her.

“I guess,” she said, her voice noncommittal. “You look tired.”

I picked a couple of file folders off her desk. “So do you.”

“Yeah, but you were almost murdered last night.”

“
Almost
being the pertinent word in that independent clause. I’m going to do some research and then I’ll probably go talk to Kyle Kirsch’s parents in Taos. Can you call and make sure they’ll be home?”

“Sure.” She dropped her gaze and started thumbing through some papers. “He lived,” she said as I turned to go to my office. “Your attacker. After five pints of blood.” I paused midstride, restrained the emotion that threatened to surface, then continued into my office. “Oh, and I’m going with you to Taos.”

I figured she’d want to go. Just before I closed the door, I leaned out and asked, “You didn’t happen to leave me a note, did you? On Mr. Coffee?”

Her brows furrowed. “No. What kind of note?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” I didn’t figure Cookie would threaten my life, but I had yet to find out if she was a black widow. She did have a dead guy in her trunk, and one could never be too certain these days.

I sat down at my desk, my thoughts cloudy with a chance of rain. He lived. That was good, I supposed, but he would always be a threat. I almost wished Reyes had been there, had taken him out, or at least incapacitated him so he would never be able to hurt anyone again. An age-old question surfaced despite its uselessness. Why did monsters like that get to live when good people died every day?

A soft knock brought me out of my musings as Cookie poked her head into my office. “Somebody’s here to see you,” she said, as though annoyed.

“Male or female?”

“Male. It’s—”

“Does he look like a Jehovah’s Witness?”

She blinked in surprise. “Um, no. Do we suddenly have a problem with Jehovah’s Witnesses?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. I closed the door on a couple this morning. Thought they might send their homies after me.”

She shook her head. “It’s your uncle Bob.”

“Even worse. Tell him I’m out.”

“And who do you suppose he’s going to think I’ve been talking to all this time?”

“Besides,” Uncle Bob said, pushing past Cookie, “I heard your voice.” He leveled a chastising glare on me. “Shameful, asking Cookie to lie for you. What did you do to those Jehovah’s Witnesses?”

“Nothing. They started it.”

He sat across from me. “I need your statement about last night.”

“No worries. I typed it up.”

“Oh.” He brightened and took the paper I handed him. His face fell as he read. “I heard a sound. A bad guy swung a knife at me. I ducked and cut his throat. The end.” He breathed in a heavy sigh. “Well, that needs some work.”

“But I’m just a girl,” I said, a bitter edge to my voice. “It’s not like I’ve solved dozens of cases for you and my father both. It’s not like I should have to worry my pretty little head with nasty things like details. Right? God forbid I know anything about anything.”

He worked his jaw a long moment, probably calculating his odds of getting out of my office unscathed. “How about we do this later?” he asked, tucking my statement into a folder.

“How about?”

Just as Uncle Bob stood, Cookie buzzed me on the speakerphone.

“Yes?”

“You have another visitor. It’s Garrett. I’m not sure if he’s a Jehovah’s Witness or not.”

Oh, the other traitor. Perfect. “By all means, send him in.”

As Garrett and Uncle Bob passed each other, Ubie must have tipped him off with a warning expression. His brows shot up in curiosity just before he strode over to pour himself a cup of java and folded himself into the chair across from me. I sat tapping my fingernails on my desk, waiting for the opportunity to tear into him.

He took a long draw then asked, “What’d I do?”

“You knew about the guy threatening my dad?”

He paused, shifted in his chair, so freaking busted, it wasn’t funny. “They told you?”

“Why, no, Swopes, they didn’t. Instead, they waited until the guy knocked the fuck out of my dad and readied him for spaceflight with duct tape then tried to kill me with a butcher’s knife.”

He shot out of his chair, cursing when he spilled coffee in his lap. Apparently nobody had called him. “What?” he asked, swiping at his jeans. “When? What happened?”

“I can print my statement out for you, if that would help.”

He sat back down, eyeing me warily. “Sure.”

I printed my statement, happy that all the work I’d put into it wouldn’t go unnoticed. He took it, read my four sentences for a really long time that had me wondering if he was dyslexic, then looked back at me. “Wow, that’s a lot to take in all at once.”

“It was for me, too,” I said, the sarcasm dripping from my tongue unmistakable.

“You cut his throat?”

I leaned toward him, my voice menacing as I said, “I do things like that when I’m angry.”

He worked his jaw a moment. “How about I come back later?”

“How about?”

As he strode out the door, he paused and turned back. “We need to interview the previous owner of Cookie’s Taurus. She’s going to be home late this afternoon. You in?”

I unglued my teeth to answer. “I’m in.”

“I’ll leave the info with Cookie. Right now, I have a phone call to make.”

When I gave myself a minute to calm down, I realized that an anger had come over Garrett just before he left. An explosive kind of anger one would be wise to steer clear of. I’d have to find out who’d rained on his parade later.

“Mr. Kirsch is expecting us this afternoon,” Cookie called out from her office, since the door separating our offices was open. “His wife is out of town, but he said he’d be happy to talk to us about the Hana Insinga case.”

I stood and walked to the doorway. “It’s almost three hours from here. We should probably get on the road.”

“He asked that we bring the case file.”

“Of course.”

We packed up and headed out the door for our journey to one of the most beautiful places on Earth: Taos, New Mexico.

“I handed Garrett Mistress Marigold’s e-mail address and gave him the short version,” Cookie said when we jumped into Misery. “He’s going to e-mail her, try to get her to spill about why she wants the grim reaper to contact her. But for now, I could tell you dirty jokes on the way, if that would help cheer you up.”

I turned the key with a smile. “I’m okay. Just annoyed.”

“You have every right to be. I’m annoyed and I wasn’t attacked. Or slashed open with a butcher’s knife. Stevie Ray Vaughan?”

We both looked down at my stereo, slow grins coming over our faces. “This should be a good trip,” I said, turning it up. Any trip starting out with Stevie Ray was good.

Most PIs would simply call the former sheriff of Mora County instead of driving three hours, but I could tell much more about a person with a face-to-face. There would be no question as to what Mr. Kirsch knew about the case by the end of the day. If he knew his son was involved in something illicit, I’d know. Maybe not the finer points, but I’d have a good idea if he was involved in any kind of cover-up.

Cookie worked the entire way, gathering intel and making calls. “And you worked for Mr. Zapata seven years?” she said into her phone. Mr. Zapata was our murdered car dealer, and she was speaking to one of his former employees. “Mm-hm. Okay, thank you so much.” She closed her phone and cast me a weary gaze. “I hope when I die people only remember good things about me as well.”

“Another testament to Zapata’s pending sainthood?”

“Yep. Same story, different day.”

“Whatever they did back in high school,” I said, taking a right on Mr. Kirsch’s block, “nobody but nobody is talking about it. At least we know one thing about this group of kids.”

“What’s that?” she asked, making notes on her laptop.

“They were all really good at keeping a secret.” I pulled into Mr. Kirsch’s drive. “Where did you say his wife is?”

Cookie closed her laptop and looked up. “Wow, nice house.” Most houses in Taos were nice. It was an expensive place to live. “She’s up north visiting her mother.”

“You know what?” I asked, climbing out of my Jeep. “When this case is over, I vote we join her. I mean, north is a good direction.”

“We should go to Washington State.”

“Sounds good.”

“Or New York,” she said, changing her mind. “I love New York.”

I nodded my head. “I only like New York as a friend, but I’m in.”

*   *   *

Congressman Kyle Kirsch’s father looked as though he had been a force to deal with in his day. He was tall and lanky, solid muscle even now. He had graying sand-colored hair and sharp cerulean blue eyes. Retired or not, he was a law enforcement agent through and through. His stance, his mannerisms, every unconscious habit pointed to a long and successful career bringing down criminals. He reminded me of my own father, which forced a pang of sadness to surface. I was so angry with him and yet so concerned. I decided, for the good of all present, to focus on the concern. We were going to have a long talk, the two of us. But for now, I needed to know if Mr. Kirsch was involved in Hana Insinga’s disappearance.

“I remember the case like it was yesterday,” Mr. Kirsch said, his eyes scanning the file like a hawk eyeing a meal. I doubted much got past him. “The entire town banded together to find her. We sent search parties into the mountains. We had flyers and bulletins in every town for a hundred miles.” He closed the file and settled his startling gaze on mine. “This, ladies, is the one that got away.”

Cookie and I glanced at each other. She sat beside me on a leather sofa, her pen and notebook at the ready. The Kirsches’ home was decorated in the blacks and whites of Holstein cows and the subtle tans of the New Mexico landscape. The décor was a charming mix of country and Southwest.