Sixth Grave on the Edge (2 page)

I eased forward and pressed against the steering wheel, angling for a better look at the driver when my aunt Lil’s voice wafted toward me from the backseat.

“Who’s the hottie?” she asked, her blue hair and floral muumuu solidifying around her as she materialized in my rearview.

I tossed a wink over my right shoulder. “Hey, Aunt Lil. How was your trip to Bangladesh?”

“Oh, the food!” She waved a hand extravagantly. “The people! I was in heaven, I tell ya. Not literally, though.” She cackled in delight at her joke.

Aunt Lil had died in the ’60s, a fact she’d only recently discovered. So, she couldn’t have actually eaten or interacted with the native population. At least, not the living native population. I’d never thought about her visiting the departed when she traveled. Now,
that
would be fascinating.

She hitched a thumb toward my newest friend and wriggled her penciled brows. “You gonna introduce us?”

The garage door rose and the driver pulled inside but didn’t close the door. It gave me hope. I just wanted a glimpse. A tiny peek.

“He’s not very talkative,” I said, squinting for a better view when the driver’s-side door opened, “but I think his last name is Andrulis. It’s on his tattoo.”

“He’s got some ink?” She leaned forward and spotted Mr. A’s package. It was hard to miss.

“Good heavens,” she said, her eyes rounding in appreciation.

Before I could get a look at the driver, the garage door started closing. “Darn,” I whispered, tilting my head in unison with the descending door until it completely blocked my view.

I’d seen a woman’s foot as she stepped out of the car before the door closed completely. That was about it.

“He’s certainly been blessed,” she said.

I laid my head against the steering wheel and expelled a loud breath as disappointment washed over me. I’d been handed a file that could hold many answers to the puzzle that was Reyes Alexander Farrow, my nigh fiancé, and the Fosters were a big piece of the puzzle. Their first son had been kidnapped while napping in his room. Because there was never a ransom demand and no witnesses, the trail went cold almost immediately despite a massive search and public pleas from the parents. But the FBI agent assigned to the case never gave up. He’d always believed there was more to the case than just a kidnapping. And so did his daughter. We’d worked a couple of cases together in the past. She knew about my rep for solving difficult crimes, and she’d asked me to look at this cold case that had been the bane of her father’s existence.

And that was the day that Reyes Farrow’s kidnapping fell into my lap.
He
was the child who had been abducted almost thirty years prior. I glanced down at the file stuffed between my seat and the console. So much potential there. So much heartache.

“Don’t you think?”

I blinked back to Aunt Lil. “Think what?”

“That he’s been blessed.”

“Oh, yeah, I do.” I couldn’t help another glance. “But it’s just so … there. So unavoidable.” I tore my gaze away and pointed to his tat. “So, the name Andrulis. Does that ring any bells?”

“No, but I can do some investigating. See what turns up. Speaking of which, I have an idea I want to run past you.”

I shifted around so I could see her better. “Shoot.”

“I think we should work together.” She jammed a bony elbow into my side encouragingly, her arm passing through the seat to poke me.

“Ooooh-kay,” I said with a light chuckle.

“Ha! I knew it was a good idea.” Her face brightened, the grayish tones of life after death lightening just a little.

It could work. We could be the Dynamic Duo. Only without capes, sadly enough. I’d always wanted to do good deeds in a red cape. Or, at the very least, a mauve towel.

After taking another sip of my now lukewarm mocha latte—which was better than no mocha latte any day of the week—I asked, “Are you planning to draw a salary?”

“The way I see it, we should split the take fifty–fifty.”

I stifled a grin. “That’s the way you see it, huh?”

“Oh, and we probably need code names.”

Her suggestion made me choke on my next sip. “Code names?” I asked through the coughs.

“And code phrases like, ‘The sun never sets in the east.’ That could mean, ‘Switch to plan B.’ Or it could mean, ‘Let’s grab a bite to eat before the men come over.’”

“The men?” She’d really thought this through.

“Or it could mean, ‘How do you get blood out of silk?’ Because as PIs, we’ll need to know stuff like that.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” The file caught my attention again, and I turned back to the Foster house. “Blood can be stubborn.” Maybe I should just walk up and knock on the door. I could say I was helping a friend with an old case. I could ask if there were any new developments we hadn’t been informed of. I could ask if they knew that the man recently released from prison after doing ten years for a crime he didn’t commit was their son. I could ask if they knew what he’d been through, what he’d suffered at the hands of the man who raised him. But what good would adding guilt on top of guilt do anybody?

“Are you okay, pumpkin cheeks?”

I shook out of my thoughts. “Yeah, it’s just … well, two hours down the drain, and for what?” I gestured toward the Fosters’ house. “A foot in a sensible shoe driving a sensible car.”

She looked across the street toward the house. “What were you hoping to see?”

Her question took me by surprise. Even I wondered what I was really doing there. Did I simply want to see the woman who might have given birth to the man of my dreams? Did I want a glimpse of the man who may have been his human father?

Reyes was the son of Satan, forged in the fires of hell, but he’d been born on earth to be with me. To grow up with me. He’d done his homework and chose a steady, professional couple to be his human parents. He’d planned for us to go to the same schools, shop at the same stores, and eat at the same restaurants. Sadly, even the best-laid plans go awry.

“I’m not really sure, Aunt Lil.” What had I been hoping to see? A glimpse of Reyes’s past? Of his future? What he would look like in the years to come? Since it had been only a few days since a crazy man tried to kill me, I was trying not to rush terribly headlong into any situation, no matter how innocuous it might seem on the surface. I’d decided to take the week off. Reckless behavior would just have to wait until I’d healed a tad more.

“Goodness, that won’t do. You can’t just call me Aunt Lil willy-nilly. We’ll definitely need code names. What do you think of Cleopatra?”

I chuckled softly. “I think it’s perfect.”

“Oh! Trench coats! We’ll need trench coats!”

“Trench coats?”

“And fedoras!”

Before I could question her further, she was gone. Vanished. Vamoosed. I loved that woman. She took eccentric to a whole new level. Still, I had work to do, and sitting at a stakeout just to catch a glimpse of the Fosters was ridiculous. I started Misery, then picked up the Cheez-Its and stuffed a handful into my mouth the very second the phone rang. Naturally. Because when else would it ring?

I hurried and chewed before answering my bestie’s ring. Cookie worked cheap, which made her the best receptionist in all of Albuquerque, in my humble opinion. But she was also very good at her job. I’d set her on the task of finding everything she could about the Fosters. She was as fascinated as I was.

After another quick sip to wash down the crumbs, I finally answered. “Do you think if I lived on Cheez-Its and coffee alone, I’d ultimately starve to death?”

“They had another son,” she said, her voice full of awe.

I had no idea what that had to do with my question. “Does he eat Cheez-Its?”

“The Fosters.”

I bolted upright. “Can you repeat that?”

“The Fosters had another son.”

“No way.”

“Way.” I heard her fingernails clicking on the keyboard as she worked her magic. “Very much way.”

“After Reyes?”

“Yes. Three years after the abduction.”

“Do you know what this means?” I asked, my awe matching her own.

“I certainly do.”

“Reyes Farrow—”

“—has a brother.”

#Holyshit.

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.”