Sixth Grave on the Edge (29 page)

“I wish you were going to be there,” Cookie said to me.

“Me, too, but if he sees me there, he’ll know something is up.”

By the time they left for the date, Cookie looked a little green in the gills.

“Chin up, hon. This is our last try.”

“But is all this really necessary?” she asked, clearly wanting to back out. “Again, if he wanted to ask me out, he would have, right?”

“Do you even know my uncle Bob?”

“Okay, you’re right.”

She took her date by the arm and let him lead her down the stairs to a waiting limo. This would be good.

*   *   *

Minutes later, it seemed, my new phone rang. Reyes and Garrett and I had been discussing the prophecies and the Dealer. Garrett agreed to meet with him, to try to figure out what on earth was going on. But for now, I had an untraceable phone calling my name.

I slid my finger across the screen to answer. “Hey, Cook, how’s it going?”

“Charley,” she said, almost screaming at me, “get down here, now! Robert’s going to kill him!”

I scrambled to my feet. “What? Where are you? What happened?”

“They’re fighting. Robert confronted us, and your actor guy thinks it’s all part of the script. Robert’s going to kill him! Get down here!”

I was running out the door before I knew it. “Where are you, exactly?” I asked, taking the stairs down three at a time. Garrett and Reyes were right behind me.

“We’ll take my truck,” Garrett said, heading in that direction.

We followed him and hurried inside as he started the engine.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“They’re behind that little Italian place by the theater.”

“Which theater?” he asked as he pulled out. I sat in the middle between Garrett and Reyes, trying to calm Cookie down.

“Put Uncle Bob on the phone,” I said to her.

“I tried. He won’t listen. He’s furious, Charley. He thinks this guy is some kind of stalker or something.”

“Did you tell him what we talked about?”

“Yes! I did everything just like we discussed. I called Robert and told him I was on a date from that online service, but that my date was making me very uncomfortable. I told him I didn’t feel safe and asked if he would come pick me up. That was it! I didn’t say anything else, but Robert stormed in when he got here, put the guy in a choke hold, and dragged him out. They’re arguing now. Just hurry, Charley. Please!”

“We’re almost there,” I said, thanking the creator for giving Garrett a lead foot. “Just try to get Uncle Bob on the phone. Tell him it’s me.”

“O-okay, I’ll try.” I heard arguing in the background, then Cookie trying to talk to an insane man who went by the name of Robert Davidson.

“Just stay back, Cookie,” he growled at her.

Then I heard scuffling and Cookie screamed and I buried my head in my hands. What had I done?

“Charley!” Cookie cried into the phone, “He has a gun!”

“What?” I couldn’t believe this was happening. “No! No, no, no, no, no! Cookie you have to tell Uncle Bob it was all an act. Cookie?”

In the next instant, a sharp crack splintered the air, and the phone went dead.

*   *   *

I scrambled over Reyes before Garrett came to a complete stop, but Reyes grabbed my arm and held me until he could get out, too, and run over to the melee with me. Cookie stood in the lamplight behind a shopping strip by the theater complex. A crowd had gathered, and I heard sirens in the distance as I came to a screeching halt beside her.

She was in tears, her head down, her shoulders shaking.

Then I saw Uncle Bob. He was covered in blood, and Cookie’s date was unconscious on the ground. I threw my hands over my mouth to stop a scream from escaping.

Cookie must’ve really sold it. She must’ve convinced Uncle Bob she was scared of this guy, and Uncle Bob reacted. I never dreamed in a million years he would react so blindly, with so much rage.

I stumbled forward to check the guy’s pulse. His heart raced beneath my fingers and I almost passed out from relief. I immediately tore open his shirt to look for the wound. Perfect, unmarred skin gleamed in the lamplight. I saw no wound. No gushing blood. No sign that a near-fatal struggle had just occurred.

I heard Uncle Bob’s voice in my ear. He’d leaned down, his mouth at my ear, and whispered, “Is he dead, or do I need to put another bullet in him?”

The words faded as I sensed a more salient emotion. Something wasn’t right.

I turned to look up at Uncle Bob; his expression was grim, and the emotion pouring out of him matched that look. But it wasn’t him. It wasn’t Uncle Bob I was feeling, his usual cautious reaction to any adrenaline-spiking situation. He was a seasoned cop.

And he smelled wrong.

While his shirt was covered in blood, my olfaction did not pick up its signature coppery scent. It picked up—I sniffed the air—tomatoes. Ketchup, to be exact. Then I realized it wasn’t rage flowing through Uncle Bob’s veins, but resentment. And the man I was examining felt anything but fear. Or agony after having been shot. That was what was wrong. Different.

I’d been duped.

I scrubbed my fingertips over my face and looked up at Ubie. “When did you figure it out?”

He reached down and helped Cookie’s date, who was grinning, up off the pavement. “If you’re going to set Cookie up with a date to make me jealous, the guys you set her up with should at least be straight.” Cookie’s second date was with a friend of mine. A gay friend. How had Ubie known that?

I stood and brushed myself off. Cookie glanced between us, partly relieved and partly confused. “You picked up on that, did you?”

“Yes, Charley, I did.”

“How did you know this was all a setup?”

“Give me a little credit. I
am
a detective. And neither one of you could lie your way out of a paper bag.” He turned and glared at Cookie. “You need to take a class or something.”

“We are excellent liars,” I said, defending our honor. “And this was my idea, Uncle Bob. Cookie didn’t even want to go along with it.” Had I just blown Cookie’s only chance to hit it with my uncle?

“Believe it or not, I figured that out as well.”

“How?”

“Cookie would never come up with something this harebrained.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “I resent that remark.”

“And she would never go so far as to hire an actor.”

Troy, the actor in question, grinned some more. “How’d I do?” he asked Uncle Bob.

“You have a fine career ahead of you, son.”

“And,” Cookie said, completely offended as well, “Charley may be a horrible liar, but I’m an expert.”

“You keep telling yourself that, sweet cheeks.”

“But how—no when—did you two get together?” I asked him, indicating both Ubie and Troy.

“I subpoenaed your phone records and got the number off them.”

I gasped to show how indignant I was. “That is illegal!”

“So is just about everything you do on a daily basis,” he said to me. “I felt I needed to put you in your place on this one, hon. That’s why I called in Wynona Jakes.”

“You mean the fake psychic was a setup?” I asked—so appalled, I was almost speechless. Almost. “I can’t believe you’d set me up like that.”

“And how does that feel?”

Again, I was almost struck speechless. Almost. “Uncle Bob, we were doing this for your own good. You needed a swift kick in the rear, and you got one. If you’d just asked her out in the first place—”

“Is this an example of that whole ‘blaming the victim’ thing you’re always ranting about?”

I shut my mouth, refusing to answer.

He turned to Cookie, who stood in both shame and humiliation. I sucked so bad sometimes. I thought for sure this would work.

“Well?” he asked her, holding out a hand.

“Well?” she asked back.

“We going out or what?”

Her mouth opened, then closed again. Then opened. Then—

“Yes!” I said for her, sidling up closer to my curmudgeonly uncle. “Yes, you are going out.”

A pink hue blossomed over Cookie’s face. “Yes, we’re going out, Robert. Right now before you change your mind.”

His grateful expression warmed the cockles of my heart. As Cookie retrieved her purse from another onlooker, I wrapped my arm in his and leaned my head against his shoulder. “So it worked, then.”

He pressed his mouth together under his trim mustache, loath to admit it. “Yes,” he said at last, “it worked. But you guys sure went to a lot of trouble for nothing.”

Cookie had stepped forward, and I handed him off to her. “Not nothing,” she said, rising onto her toes and kissing his cheek. “Not even close to nothing.”

A fiery blush suffused Ubie’s face the exact moment a wave of nausea washed over me. I took that as my cue to skedaddle.

*   *   *

After Garrett dropped Reyes and me off, I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and put on my favorite pair of pajamas. The bottoms were baby blue with little red fire engines all over them, and the bright crimson top read
LIFE’S SHORT. BITE HARD
. After forcing a goodnight kiss on Mr. Wong’s cheek, I strolled to my room and pulled back my Bugs Bunny comforter.

My room felt so big now. So open. It was weird.

I snuggled deep into the covers, adjusted my pillow until it was just right, then lay down until the top of my head rested on Reyes’s shoulder. He was in the exact same position, only upside down on his bed. We lay facing each other, nose to nose, our breaths mingling. The scent of him reminded me of rain in a forest. I raised a hand to his face, let my fingers brush down his cheek and over his mouth.

He did the same, pushing my hair back with a large hand, tracing my jaw with his fingertips. “Don’t think that just because there’s no wall between us you can take advantage of me.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare.”

He fell asleep cradling my head, his heat rolling over me in scalding waves, and yet I wasn’t too hot. I fell asleep wondering how that was even possible.

I could sense the sun coming up over the horizon the next morning but fought my body’s natural inclination to rise with the chickens. It was still early; I was certain of it. Surely I could get in another half hour before duty—or the need to visit the little
señorita
’s room—called. Then I felt it. The undeniable knowledge that someone was looking at me. Someone was sitting and breathing and fidgeting in my space bubble.

I let my lids drift open to reveal the smiling face of a little girl.

“She’s awake!” she screamed, and I bound upright, trying to blink the sleep from my eyes.

A little boy ran into the room and scrambled up on the bed beside his sister. “What happened to your wall?” he asked, his huge dark eyes wide with wonder.

But now the little girl sat with her tiny arms crossed over her chest, stabbing me with a scalding glower, albeit an adorable one. Oh, yeah, she wanted me dead.

“Why do you have two beds?” the boy asked next. He was bouncing on his knees, clearly wanting to jump. “You look older than the last time we saw you,” he added. “And you have bedhead.”

“Oh, my goodness.” A woman rushed into the room to scoop up the two children and set them on the floor. “I am so sorry, Charley.”

I waved a dismissive hand at Bianca. She was married to Reyes’s best—and pretty much only—friend, Amador. The two little munchkins at her side, one beaming and one glaring the heat of a thousand suns, were their children, Ashley and Stephen.

Amador walked in, nodding his head in approval. “Hey, Charley. I like what you’ve done with the place.”

“Thanks,” I said, climbing out of bed and smoothing my pajamas. Nothing like greeting guests in my pajamas.

Amador read my T-shirt, raised his brows playfully, then said, “Reyes told Ashley about the you-know-what.”

I walked around the bed and gave his lovely wife a hug. “The you-know-what?”

“You know,” he said, coming in for his own hug before I scooped up the rascal doing jumping jacks at my feet. “The, er, Post-it note.”

“Oh.” I looked down at her.

“No,
’jita
,” Bianca said, kneeling down to scold her daughter, “you don’t glare at people that way. It’s very rude.”

Reyes walked in, two cups of coffee in hand and an impish expression on his face.

Amador slapped him on the back. “No, I do,” he said, surveying the area. “I like the blending of two cultures, the definitive lines separating the two: minimalist and, well, not minimalist.”

“Oh, heavens,” Bianca said, “you will never get hired at
Architectural Digest
if you don’t learn the lingo.” She glanced around my area of our connected rooms and nodded, having made up her mind. “Minimalist and lavish.”

I laughed softly. “I like it.”

She took Stephen from me so I could accept the coffee Reyes had brought me. She must know me better than I thought.

“Can we do our beds like this, Mama?” Stephen asked Bianca. “Pleeeeeease?”

I hid a look of amusement behind my cup as I took a sip. Then I stifled a shiver of delight.

“Are you going to say yes?” Ashley asked me accusingly. Her lower lip quivered as I bent down to her.

“I’m still thinking about it. What do you think I should say?”

“I think you should say no. You’re too old for him anyway.”

“How old do I look?”

“I’m so sorry,” Bianca said, her smile suddenly nervous.

“Is that yours?” She pointed to a tiny doll made out of strands of soft rope. My sister, Gemma, had given it to me when we were kids.

“It sure is.” I took it down as Reyes and Amador discussed the finer points of Reyes’s décor, or lack thereof, in his room. Clearly my side outshone his, and Amador felt bad for his friend. It probably wouldn’t take long for my stuff to leach over to his side anyway. Poor guy. He was the one who took down the wall. He removed its only protection.

“Do you like it?” I asked Ashley. Maybe I could bribe her into liking me. I was so not above bribery.

“I guess.”

“I got two words for you,
pendejo
,” Amador said to Reyes. “Eight ball.”

Reyes tossed me a grin before he and Amador went to his luxurious pool table in the room adjoining his living room. Barely visible from where I stood, it was carved from dark woods with a rich cream-colored top. Good thing he knew the owner of the building. Neighbors rarely appreciated the noise of a billiards table in an apartment building.