Sixth Grave on the Edge (3 page)

“Well, he’ll just have to hold his horses. PIs have to eat, too.”

“And I see your bestie is back again.”

I glanced back at Jessica’s table. “I think she should have to pay rent.”

“I concur wholeheartedly.”

A slow warmth spread over me as I spoke. The heat that forever surrounded Reyes curled around me like smoke. I could feel him near. His interest scorching. His hunger undeniable. But before I could seek him out, another emotion hit me. A cooler one, harder though no less powerful: regret. I turned and watched as my dad made his way to our table.

“Hey, Dad,” I said, nudging a chair with my foot.

He pushed it back to the table. “I just came in to finish up the last of the paperwork.” He looked around Calamity’s. “I think I’ll miss this place.”

I was sure he would, but nostalgia was not the emotion I felt emanating from him.

“Why don’t you sit down, Leland?” Cookie asked.

He snapped back to us. “That’s okay. I have a few errands to run before I head out.”

“Dad,” I said, my lungs struggling for air underneath the oppressive sadness and regret pouring out of him, “you don’t have to go.” He was leaving my stepmother for a sailboat. Not that I blamed him. A sailboat would at least be useful. But why now? Why after all these years?

He waved off my reservations. “No, this will be great. I’ve always wanted to learn how to sail.”

“So, you start by planning a trip across the Atlantic?”

“Not across,” he said, his smile a ploy to set my mind at ease. “Not all the way.”

“Dad—”

“I’ll take it slow. I promise.”

“But why? Why all of a sudden?”

He released a hapless sigh. “I don’t know. I’m not getting any younger, and you only live once. Or, maybe twice in my case.”

“I had nothing to do with that.”

“You had everything to do with it,” he countered, and placed a hand over his heart. “I know it. I feel it in here.”

He swore I’d cured him of cancer, but I’d never healed anyone in my life. It wasn’t in my job description. I dealt more with the other side of life. The after side.

“Don’t leave her because of me. Please.” If he was leaving my stepmother for my benefit, because of how she treated me, he was a day late and a dollar short. He should have done it when I was seven, not twenty-seven. I could handle her. I’d learned how the hard way.

Cookie pretended to be studying the menu as Dad shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m not, pumpkin.”

“I think you are.” When he dropped his gaze to the sugar jar instead of answering, I added, “And if that’s the case, you’re doing it for the wrong reason. I’m a big girl, Dad.”

When he looked back at me, his expression held a desperate passion. “You’re amazing. I should have told you that every day.”

I put my hand over his. “Dad, please sit down. Let’s talk about this.”

He checked his watch. “I have an appointment. I’ll come see you before I leave. We’ll talk then.” When I narrowed my eyes on him, he added, “I promise. Take care, pumpkin.” He bent and kissed my cheek before heading out the back door.

“He seems very sad,” Cookie said.

“He’s lost, I think. Consumed with regret.”

“Are you okay?”

I drew in a deep breath. “I’m always okay.”

“Mm-hmm.” The doubt in her expression only fueled my need to mock her in public.

“So, what made you think fuchsia pinstripes would look good with yellow?”

“You’re deflecting.”

“Duh. It’s what I do. What’s today’s special?”

“True. But really,” she said, straightening. “Does this look bad?”

She looked fantastic, but I could hardly tell her that.

I’d felt Reyes near me, watching the interaction with my dad. I spotted him when I looked toward the board that listed the daily special. He was wearing an apron and had a towel in his hands, drying them as he pushed off the bar and strolled toward us.

Cookie saw him, too. “Holy mother of all things sexy,” she said, her eyes drinking him in.

“Right there with ya.”

“Will I ever get used to that sight?” she asked me, not daring to take her eyes off him.

“The adorable sight of Reyes Farrow in an apron?”

“The adorable sight of Reyes Farrow period.”

A giggle escaped me before I said, “Well, you know what they say: Practice makes perfect.”

“Exactly. I’ll need lots of practice.”

“Me, too.”

A table of women old enough to be his grandmothers waved him down before he got to us. He stopped and listened to them gush over his cooking but kept his sparkling gaze on me. It stole my breath. Everything about him stole my breath. From the way he dried his hands on that towel to the way he lowered his lashes shyly when they propositioned him.

They propositioned him!

What the bloody—!

“We’re very limber,” one of them said, pulling on the apron string Reyes had wrapped around his waist and tied in front.

Cookie was in the middle of taking a much-needed drink of cold water and burst into a fit of coughs at the woman’s brazenness.

When Reyes looked back at me, he caught me with my mouth open in astonishment. I slammed it shut, hoping I hadn’t in any way resembled a cow. But he turned back to the women as though suddenly interested in the wares they were peddling. As if.

Cookie wheezed beside me, trying to get air through her abused esophagus, but I couldn’t worry about that now. I had to win my man back from these silver foxes. One of them had a walker, for goodness’ sake. How limber could she be?

“Excuse me, busboy,” I said, snapping my fingers in the air to get his attention.

He ignored me, but I caught the grin he was wearing. I also felt the pleasure my attention gave him. It radiated from his essence and brushed over my skin like hot silk.

“Busboy,” I repeated, snapping more loudly. “Over here.”

He finally apologized to the flirty foxes, explaining that his heart belonged to another before he strolled to our table. “Busboy?” he asked, stopping in front of us and leveling a look of concern on a red-faced Cookie.

She took another sip and waved a hello.

I gestured to his apron. “You look like a busboy.”

“In that case, can I clean anything for you?”

“You can clean your dirty mind,” I said, teasing him. “Having fun?” I indicated the table with a nod.

“They were complimenting my cooking.” He leaned in very close. “According to consensus, I’m really good at scrambling things.”

They’d nailed that one. He was really good at scrambling my insides. My emotions. My girlie bits. “That’s wonderful,” I said, pretending not to care, “but we need lunch.”

“Didn’t you hear? I’ve been demoted to busboy, so you’ll have to ask your server about lunch. I don’t think busboys can take orders.”

I pulled the apron string in much the same way as the flirt did. “You’ll take my order, and you’ll like it.”

A soft, deep laugh reverberated out of him. “Yes, ma’am. Can I suggest the Santa Fe chicken with Spanish rice?”

“You can, but I’ll have the margarita chicken with fries smothered in red chile.”

“I’ll have the Santa Fe chicken,” Cookie said quickly, so falling for his ploy. He’d probably ordered too many chickens from Santa Fe and now had to hand-sell them to get rid of them. How different could chickens raised in Santa Fe be?

He flashed her a grin that was so beautiful, my heart skipped several pertinent beats. “Santa Fe chicken, it is. Would you like iced tea with that?” he asked me. When I hesitated, trying to decide between tea and an extra-large nonfat mocha macchiato with caramel sauce on the bottom and a dollop of whipped cream, he said, “It’s a yes/no question.”

I almost burst out laughing. Ever since he proposed to me on a sticky note, he’d been asking me a lot of yes/no questions to reiterate the fact that his proposal was also a yes/no question.

I shrugged. “Sometimes it’s not that black-and-white.”

“Sure it is.”

Cookie, knowing where this was headed, decided to study her menu again.

“Then my answer is yes.”

He stilled, waiting for the punch line. He knew me very well.

“Yes, I’ll have tea with my lunch and an extra-large nonfat mocha macchiato with caramel sauce on the bottom and a dollop of whipped cream after.”

Without missing a beat, he said, “Tea, it is.”

He started to turn, but I stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “You seem—” I lowered my voice. “—warmer than usual.”

“I’m always okay,” he said, mimicking what I’d said to Cookie earlier. He caught my hand in his and brought the back of it to his lips, kissing it softly. The heat from his mouth was searing.

It wasn’t until Reyes walked away that I realized the room had grown silent. Every eye was on us. Well, every female eye was on us. I glanced at Jessica and our gazes locked for an uncomfortable moment. She was jealous, and that fact didn’t make me happy. Why was she jealous when she didn’t have any claim to Reyes? Then again, jealousy was in a whole category by itself. One that sat right between instability and insecurity. But her jealously raked across my skin like fingernails.

Jealousy from Reyes was one thing, but jealousy from humans had a different taste, a different texture. It was hot and abrasive, like putting on scratchy burlap clothes right out of the dryer.

“When are you going to answer him?” Cookie asked, drawing my attention.

“When he deserves an answer,” I volleyed.

“So, saving your life countless times doesn’t warrant an answer?”

“Sure it does, but he doesn’t need to know that.”

One corner of her mouth tilted mischievously. “True.”

And that was one thing I never felt from Cookie. Jealousy. She was just as hot for Reyes as anyone, but she was never jealous of our relationship. She was happy for me, and therein lay the heart of a true friend. I’d thought Jessica was my best friend, but looking back with my 20/20 hindsight, I realized I’d felt jealousy radiate from her on several occasions in school. That should have been a clue, but I’d never been accused of being the brightest bedspread in the hotel.

“Okay, how are you going to get him over?”

“Well, since he lives right next door, I thought I’d just pound on the wall.”

“Not Reyes. Robert.”

Who was Robert again? Oh, right. “You let me worry about Uncle Bob.”

Cookie was getting nervous for the seven millionth time, so I went through my plan again from beginning to end. I loved going over it anyway. Mostly because it was brilliant, but also because if Cookie didn’t go along with it, all that brilliance would go down the drain, kind of like my self-esteem every time I ran into Jessica.

“This first date is just the primer. I’ll get him over right as your date is picking you up. He’ll be so blindsided, he won’t know how to react. What to say.” I giggled like a mental patient at that. “I’ll explain to him that you joined a dating service.”

“What?” Cookie balked. “He’ll think I’m desperate.”

“He’ll think you’re ready for a relationship.”

“A desperate one.” She fanned herself with the menu, her doubt evident in every swish.

“Cook, lots of people join dating services. It doesn’t have the stigma it used to.”

“Then what?”

“Then you’ll go on another date.”

“With the same guy?”

“Nope, a different guy.”

Fear caused panic to spike inside her. “What? Who? You said this would be quick and painless.”

“It will be. I’m not sure who date number two will be. I have only so many friends who will let me use them unscrupulously.”

Cookie groaned.

“This will work, Cook. Unless you want to do something really crazy and just ask him out yourself?”

“I couldn’t,” she said, shaking her head vehemently. “What if he says no? And then it would be really awkward between us for the rest of our lives. We’d have those awkward silences that make my eyebrows sweat.”

“Oh, yeah, those are pretty awful. Anywho, it’s date number three that will be the clincher. If he doesn’t ask you out before then, we may have to hire an actor.”

“An actor?”

“Cook, we’ve already been through this. Why are you questioning everything?”

“I think I’ve been in denial. But now that it’s really happening, I feel like those people who say they can bungee jump, but when they’re actually standing on the bridge, the reality of the situation hits them in the face.”

“Yeah, never bungee jump. Reality isn’t the only thing that hits you in the face.”

“At least the bungee rope didn’t leave a scar.”

“Thank goodness. So, for date number three, we need someone good. Someone who can be sexy and a butthead at the same time. Someone—” It hit me before I even finished the thought. “I got it.”

Cookie lunged forward. “Who?”

A slow, evil grin spread across my face. “Never you mind, missy. If we get that far, you’ll know soon enough. In the meantime, I have some bargaining to do.”

A loud bout of laughter echoed around me, and I glanced toward Jessica’s table. She was with the same three friends she was always with, and it made me wonder what they did for a living. They came to lunch here together almost every day. And were often here in the evenings as well. Did none of them have families? Responsibilities? A life?

I thought back to our big blowup in high school. Jessica had said some pretty nasty things. She’d turned on me so fast, my neck hurt. As well as my heart. A fact that she seemed to revel in. When I confronted her and asked her point-blank why she didn’t want to be friends, she told me I had no redeeming qualities. What the hell did that mean?

Cookie noticed where I was looking. She patted my hand to draw me back.

“Do you think I have redeeming qualities?”

She curled my fingers into hers. “You’re totally redeemable. You’re like a thirty percent–off coupon. No! A forty percent–off coupon. And I don’t say that lightly.”

“Thanks.”

Again, I felt Reyes’s heat before I saw him. He brought out our food personally, a service Jessica and her friends didn’t receive. Neither did the silver foxes, though they didn’t seem to mind. They kept winking at him, and one licked her lips suggestively. It was so wrong.