Fifth Grave Past the Light (27 page)

I felt bad that their first impression of me was one of a shivering pile of injuries.

One of them stepped closer. The African-American woman who smiled. I could see the chipped red paint on the tips of her fingernails. Then I felt something. Her. Her essence. She stepped forward and crossed and in that instant I saw her brother spraying her with a water hose in front of the boy she liked in grade school. I saw her sixteenth birthday cake and the mint green gown she wore to the ball her parents threw in her honor. I saw her first child being born. A boy named Rudy. And I saw her appreciation for what I’d done. I’d caught the man who stole all that from her, and she was grateful.

And Renee, her name was Renee, left me something in parting. As did the next.

I blinked past the dizziness I still felt and watched. Another woman stepped to my side, held out a foot, and dropped as though she were walking off the edge of a diving board. She fell through me, Blaire was her name, and I saw her tie-dyeing T-shirts at summer camp, riding horses on her grandfather’s farm, and kissing a boy named Harold under the bleachers at a football game.

Next came a woman named Cynthia. She baked apple pies for her mom when she was little but got into drugs after her dad left them. Lisa had a turtle named Leonardo and dreamed of being a ninja. Emily had been born with a mild case of autism. Despite the obstacles life had thrown at her, she had made it to college. Her mother cried her first day there. She cried more on her thirtieth, when Emily had forgotten her room key and a nice maintenance man named Saul opened her door for her.

LaShaun. Vicki. Kristen. Delores.

I breathed in their gift, and it rushed through me like a tidal wave.

Maureen. Mae. Bethany. One by one, over and over until only Faith stood beside me.

Their gift was strength. They’d given me all they had left, all the power and energy to heal they could conjure, they left it behind for me. It coursed through me, warming and mending.

When all but Faith had crossed, Reyes stood and walked to the bathroom. Faith petted my hair, then ducked back under my bed, unwilling to follow the others just yet. I heard water running, felt his arms as he lifted me, his chest as he carried me. He peeled my clothes off gently. I had some minor burns, but they didn’t compare to my back and my injured leg. When I was completely undressed, he lifted me again and lowered me into the water.

I braced myself as it rushed over the slashes along my back. Who knew a belt buckle could do so much damage? After a moment, I realized my fingernails were digging into his flesh. He didn’t seem to mind, but I relaxed and released my hold as I sank farther into the water. He took the bar of soap and began to lather his hands. I should have been embarrassed, but I wasn’t. His touch was so gentle as he washed me, his large hands roaming over my body, and yet there was nothing sexual about his caress. This time it was nurturing, not demanding. It was healing, not expectant. He laid me back and massaged shampoo into my scalp, rinsed, then lifted me out of the water.

I felt a thousand times better. The gasoline smell had subsided and was replaced with a fresh, fruity blend of scents. The strength of Saul’s victims raced through me as Reyes dried me off, wrapped me in a blanket, and laid me on Sophie while he changed my sheets. I just barely remembered being carried back to my room, being slid between fresh sheets, being given a pain medication of some kind.

The one thing that seemed to hold true, no matter the circumstances, was that when I was injured, I got really sleepy. The more severe the injuries, the sleepier I got. So I slept the entire next day, only waking to give Uncle Bob the bare bones of what would become my statement – minus the whole almost-being-raped thing, which I couldn’t talk about just yet – and to chat with a very distraught Cookie, who swore she would never, ever, ever forgive me for not waking her.

But every time I woke up, Reyes was there, sitting against the wall next to me, holding my hand, and giving me room to heal. Artemis kept a watchful eye on me as well. Literally. Like her head sat constantly perched somewhere on my body, and that thing had to weigh thirty pounds. Faith stayed under my bed, and I wondered how she was doing. All her friends had crossed, but when I tried to talk to her about it, she shook her head, signed the word
more,
then scurried back under my bed, so I left it alone.

I needed to contact Nicolette, tell her she was right, someone did die on that bridge. I felt a very strong desire to open her up and study her, but looking through her innards would probably get me nowhere. Still, she could be a valuable asset. I’d have to save her number in my phone. And I had yet to smooth things over with Rocket and Blue. That debacle would take some time.

On the upside, my eyesight went back to normal. Reyes said I could see things from my other realm, the one that I was bound to as a portal. I wondered if I could see
into
that other realm. If I could spy on heaven. I put it on my to-do list as something to try when total boredom set in. Fortunately – or unfortunately, depending on one’s perspective – that didn’t happen often. In fact, boredom might be a nice reprieve from the daily bump and grind that was life as a grim reaper.

Two days later, I was about as spic-and-span as a surly girl with a limp could be. My hair smelled better, and I could almost walk without wincing. Cookie and I went to pay our final respects to Misery, but I couldn’t just leave her there. I called Noni Bachicha, who, besides being a gun fanatic and concealed carry instructor, just happened to be the best body man in the Southwest. And he also happened to be the only body man I knew. He said her frame was bent. Apparently, that was bad, but my frame was a little bent, too. I told him we’d be even more perfect for each other. I begged. Pleaded. And I may have thrown in a small fit for good measure. So he picked up Misery for me and took her to the car hospital, where he promised to give her the best of care.

On the bright side, Noni was now a little scared of me.

After that, I’d promised Dad a few days ago I would tend bar for him, so Cookie and I headed back that way. It was nice working almost side by side with Reyes. The room overflowed with patrons once again. Sadly, Jessica was among them. Who knew the best thing Dad could ever do for his business was to hire a sexy, falsely convicted ex-con?

I glanced up to see FBI Special Agent Carson walk in.

“I thought you worked upstairs,” she said, taking a seat in front of me.

“Yeah, I’m tending bar tonight. My dad’s shorthanded. How’s the serial killer thing going?”

She grinned as I continued to wipe down the bar. “Thanks for solving that, by the way. You sure make my job easier.”

“You are very welcome. Can I get you anything?” It was nice having her there. She took my mind off the small, laserlike glances I kept getting from Jessica.

“What’s your specialty?”

“Oh, you know. Madness. Mayhem. Debauchery. And even with all that going for me, I can still make a mean mojito. Or —” I held up an index finger. “— if you’re feeling really adventurous, I make an incredibly decadent Death in the Afternoon.”

Her brows shot up. “Color me intrigued.”

I laughed and started preparations for my masterpiece. “This drink was invented by Ernest Hemingway,” I explained, pouring champagne into a fluted glass. “And it was considered quite avant-garde in the thirties.”

“God, I love history.”

“Right? Especially when it involves Papa.” I took out an absinthe spoon, set it across the top of the flute, placed a sugar cube on top of that, and trickled absinthe over the sugar cube until it dissolved into the champagne. The gorgeous lime green liquid rose to the top, sat there a few seconds, then slowly emulsified, blending with the champagne until the entire concoction had an iridescent milky shine. I removed the spoon and handed it to her.

She examined it, took a deep breath, then drank. She waited. Thought about it. Took another drink. Thought about it again.

“You’re killing me, Smalls,” I said.

“I like it.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” I said, adding a grunt. “You’ll give me a complex.”

“As if.” She took another drink. Thought about it. Took another.

I cleaned up my mess and started on a new order before looking down at the file folder in her hand.

“So what’s up?”

Her fingers tightened around the file. It was old, its edges frayed, but it wore its coffee stains like a champion. Clearly, it had been read and reread dozens of times. “Remember my telling you I had a few cold cases I wanted you to look at?”

I put out a tray of mixed drinks for Sylvia to deliver, although she hated when I called her that. “I sure do. I thought you were talking about beer,” I said, teasing her.

“Well, this is the main one I would love to see solved. It wasn’t even my case. It was my father’s, and it haunted him until the day he died.”

“Uh-oh, now I’m intrigued.” I opened the file for a quick look.

“Kidnapping case,” she continued, “about thirty years ago. Nothing added up, from the parents’ testimony to the suspects to the kid himself. It was just a bizarre case from day one.”

“The kid himself?” I asked, even more intrigued. What would be odd about the kid?

“A ten-month-old baby was taken out of his crib while his mother napped.”

I perused the file. “No pictures?”

“That’s just it. One of the oddities of the case. All photographs of the child were stolen as well.”

I eyed her doubtfully.

“Tell me about it,” she said, taking another sip. “Nothing made sense. At first they thought a neighbor took him. She kept stalking the family, watching their every move, sending them threatening notes accusing the mother of witchcraft, of all the bizarre things.”

“Witchcraft? That was very medieval of her.”

“Preaching to the choir. But that still isn’t the most unusual part. Even odder were the markings on the baby’s body.”

“Markings?” I asked, suspicion needling the back of my neck.

“Yes, according to the baby’s doctor, there’s a rare syndrome that can happen when the mother is pregnant with twins but one of them dies very early in the pregnancy. The surviving twin absorbs the cells of the other and basically has two sets of DNA running through his body.”

“Okay, and the markings?”

“Well, sometimes when that happens, the twin’s body will have light marks like stripes on his body. But supposedly they can be seen only in a certain light. I don’t know. That’s the only explanation the doctors could come up with to explain the marks on him.”

“They looked like stripes?” I asked.

“Not sure. My dad said they looked more like tattoos.”

My lungs seized. After all this time, surely the very case I’d been wondering about for years did not just land in my lap. I had another explanation for those marks, one that involved the son of Satan and maps to navigate the gates of hell, but I wasn’t going to tell Agent Carson that. I liked that she thought I was only a little crazy. Bona fide lunatic could drive a wedge between us, and I valued our friendship too much for that. And the fact that she was my only contact at the FBI.

I glanced over my shoulder to make sure Reyes wasn’t listening in. “I would love to take a look at this case. Can I keep the folder awhile?”

“If I can keep this drink for a while.”

“It’s all yours,” I said. “Would you like another?”

“Let me make sure I can walk after this one. I’ll get back to you.” She searched for an empty table. “I was going to eat. I’ve been hearing nothing but rave reviews about the food here.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure it’s the food everyone is raving about.” When she raised a questioning brow, I added, “We got a new cook. He’s like a supermodel on steroids.”

“Reeeeeally?” she purred, looking toward the kitchen. “You know, the FBI has certain liberties when it comes to kitchen inspections.”

Trying to subdue a sudden case of the giggles, I said, “And you can eat at the bar.”

“That’s true. Can I eat in the kitchen?”

“Charley!”

I jumped and looked over as Uncle Bob charged toward me. What the hell did I do now?

“Why aren’t you in bed? Oh,” he said, spotting Agent Carson, “hi.”

“Detective,” she said. “How’s business?”

He leaned forward, as though sharing a secret. “Pretty good, if you know what I mean.” He indicated me with a nod and winked at her.

She grinned. “I do indeed. We need more of her.”

He gasped theatrically, tossing in a hand over his heart and an expression of horror. “Bite your tongue. I can barely handle this one. Speaking of which —” He stabbed me with the scariest, most feared glower in his arsenal. The legendary one that set criminals on edge and made his colleagues giggle behind closed fists while they pretended to cough. It was a thing of beauty. “— what the hell are you doing out of bed?”

“Working.”

“Why?”

“It’s Dad’s fault. He went to my apartment, grabbed me by the hair, and dragged me over here kicking and screaming.” I turned to the man who’d just walked up to stand beside me. “Oh, hey, Dad. We were just talking about you.”

“Leland,” Uncle Bob said, “I don’t think Charley needs to be working right now.”

“That’s what I said. She insisted. Said she was going stir-crazy. Threatened to put a curse on me if I didn’t let her.”

“That’s not the way I remember it.”

“Can you do that?” Ubie asked. “Can you put a curse on someone?”

I loved that man.

Flashing him an evil grin, I went back to work, wiping the bar. It seemed like the right thing to do, since I was getting paid to be there.

And here came the last member of the gang.

“Twitter!” Cookie said, pointing at me as she sat beside Agent Carson.

I tossed my rag on the bar and stood up for myself. “Don’t tell me what to do, missy!”

“No, that’s how all these women know about your man and where he works. He has his own hashtag. It’s crazy.”

Why that would surprise me, I had no idea. He had entire websites dedicated to him while he was in prison – why should I have expected any less when he got out?

“Does he really have a Ferrari?” she asked.

“A what?” I asked, stunned.

“According to the Twitter-verse, that man is decked out.” She waved at the rest of the gang as she settled onto the barstool.

A Ferrari? Clearly we needed to bang less and talk more. If he did, where was he keeping it? I would totally have noticed a Ferrari, especially if one were sitting beside Misery.

Uncle Bob quit staring at my receptionist, sat on the opposite side of Agent Carson, and told Dad, “I need that new cook of yours to whip me up some nachos.”

“You gonna pay?”

“Do I ever? Oh, and I found out who bought the asylum you’ve been so worried about, pumpkin.”

I’d just picked my rag back up. I stopped wiping the bar again, realizing it was never going to get clean at this rate. “And?”

He handed me a thick envelope and hitched a brow as though I should already know. “It seems you did.”

“That’s odd. I don’t remember buying an abandoned mental asylum. I’ll have to look at my bank statement.”

“According to this, you’re the new owner.”

I paused, befuddled, then after a quick succession of blinks that got me nowhere fast, I opened the envelope to find a deed with my name on it. “Reyes,” I said, stunned. “It had to be Reyes.”

“Reyes Farrow?” Dad didn’t know about Reyes and me and our sordid past or even sordider present. If he’d known, I wondered if he would’ve hired him.

“Yes, it had to be Reyes. Who else? I knew that man had a million dollars. And he drives a Ferrari?” I looked toward the kitchen. “But why would he do this?”

“Well, I didn’t know how to tell you this, pumpkin,” Dad said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “but Reyes Farrow bought this place as well with the stipulation that the offices upstairs be yours. I was wondering about that last part. Is there something you want to tell me?”

“No. And what?” My voice raised an octave. “You sold Calamity’s?”

“We were supposed to hammer out the details yesterday, but he said he had a sick friend to look after, so we’re going to the abstract company tomorrow.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m retiring. And after what he paid me, I can do it very comfortably. I’ve decided to do some traveling.” His gaze dropped to the floor. “Alone.”

“Just a man and his thoughts, huh? What about the old ball and chain?”

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this way, but your mother and I are separating.” When I pressed my mouth together, he corrected, “Stepmother. We’re just – We’re going in different directions.”

“I don’t know what to say, Dad. ‘Hurray’ just seems wrong.” And it did. He loved her. Or at least he did at one time. I couldn’t help but wonder how much of Charley went into that decision.

I looked down at the deed in my hands. Surveyed the bar. My offices upstairs. I just didn’t know what to say.

“Well, I think a round of nachos are in order,” Uncle Bob said, still thinking about his belly instead of my newfound —

Wait. What the heck was I going to do with an abandoned mental asylum?

“We’ll discuss this as well as other things later,” Ubie added, the threat almost crystal clear, only not because it had a milky film on the top. He shot me his glower again and I had to resort to coughing behind my closed fist.

When one side of the room quieted and a scorching heat crept around me, I turned to watch my man bring two plates out of the kitchen. He smiled and placed two plates of nachos in front of my initiated gang members.

“Enjoy,” he said, flashing a nuclear grin when Agent Carson only stared. Who could blame her?

“Mr. Davidson,” he said, acknowledging Dad before leaning over the bar to hand Uncle Bob some extra napkins. His mouth brushed across my ear. “Can you take a break?” He wore a cook’s apron. It was the cutest thing I’d ever seen in my entire life, and I fell just a little harder.

“From what I hear, you’re the boss, so you tell me.” I raised the deed. “What’s this?”

He lowered his head as though embarrassed. Reyes Farrow embarrassed? Unfathomable.

“It’s yours,” he said, fiddling with a small piece of paper in his hand. “I know how important Rocket is to you, so I just thought I’d buy it. Make sure the city doesn’t tear it down or anything. We’ll need to fix up the outside a little to keep the city off your back, but the inside is all Rocket’s.”

For the second time that day, I was at a loss for words. Then I remembered the outbuildings. “I noticed you tore down Donovan’s house.”

He lifted his gaze until it locked with mine. “He’s alive because he left town. His house chose to stay. It paid the price.”

I laughed. “Fair enough. And you bought Dad’s bar?” The astonishment I felt filtered into every word.

“Yeah, about that,” he said, hedging, “I’m going to have to charge you a pretty penny for those offices. That’s prime real estate. And there are some late fees that will have to be worked out.”

“Reyes, I don’t know what to say. Did you buy anything else I need to know about?”