Dead Spots (Scarlett Bernard #1)(20)

Jesse’s parents’ home in Los Feliz was big and sprawling. His mom and dad had taken a basic ranch house and built on to it every ten years or so until it reminded Jesse of a hospital—new additions and corridors that made it hard to find anything. The house was hardly sterile, though—his mother had overdecorated it to the point of suffocation, which Jesse, his father, and his older brother tended to smile about.

When he pulled into the driveway, Carmen Cruz was outside the house watering the mums and dahlias that crowded the porch. Max, his parents’ pit bull mix, was prancing—there was no other word for it—in circles around her, trying to catch the falling water in his mouth. As Jesse pulled up, Max went on high alert, immediately charging the newcomer with affection that bordered on assault.

“Hey, buddy,” Jesse said happily, crouching down to let Max lick his face. “Long time no see.”

“Hijo, you were here last weekend,” Carmen said, coming up for a kiss. She was short and stocky, with good looks that hadn’t faded with age. Last year, she’d finally cut off all her long hair, and Jesse still missed seeing it when he looked at her.

“True, but in dog time, that’s like years and years.” He kissed her cheek.

“Ah, I see. Am I to assume that this unannounced visit will involve me cooking you breakfast?”

“Only if you want to. I can always hit the McDonald’s drive-through,” he said mischievously, happy to be in the familiar rhythm of teasing her. It was about as far as he could get from werewolves and dead bodies in the dark.

“God forbid! All right, follow me. Max, come.” She slapped her leg at Max, who was eyeing the flowers as though he might lick the moisture right off them. “There’s water in the house, silly dog.”

In the kitchen, his mother stirred up some híjoles caramba, Mexican omelet, while Jesse sat at the counter and drank coffee. He hated the taste of all coffee, but he’d been pretending to enjoy his mother’s for years and had no good reason to give up the charade.

For a moment, he wanted to blurt out the story of the last few days—the werewolves, the girl, the whole thing—but he swallowed it. It was exciting to know that vampires were out there, but he still didn’t want to piss them off or involve his mother. Instead, he asked, “Is Dad working this morning?” trying not to wince at each sip of his coffee. While her back was turned, he dumped in a few more spoonfuls of sugar.

“Yes, he had an early meeting, but my call time isn’t until ten-thirty today, which is why I am here puttering around,” Carmen replied, “accidentally” dropping a piece of sausage in front of Max.

“Mamá, you know if you feed him like that, he’s going to expect to get scraps all the time.”

“That’s why I make it look like an accident,” she said, as though Jesse might be a little dim-witted. He smiled. Her face became very serious. “I saw on the news about the murders in La Brea Park. That is in your district, yes?”

“Yes. I’m assigned to the case. Just a grunt, though.”

Carmen made her guilt-inducing clucking sound. “Oh, hijo, why you must do this work I will never understand. Your brother said the television show he is working on is looking for a new police consultant. Maybe—”

“Mom,” Jesse cut in, “I don’t want to have this discussion again. I’m a cop. It’s what I do.” She sighed theatrically, sliding the finished omelet across the counter toward him and grabbing a fork out of the drawer to accompany it. “I know, I know. It’s just that your father and I worry so much. We should never have let you watch so much Matlock.”

Ordinarily, Jesse would have laughed and reassured her by emphasizing his low status on any case, but he was suddenly playing on a different level, and there were more risks. The thought was sobering.

His mother cleaned up the kitchen and played with Max while Jesse finished eating. He looked around the sunny room, with its Mexican paintings and vases of flowers, and felt a great swell of gratitude for his family. He thought about Scarlett Bernard, who had such a sadness about her.

“Hijo, you have a dreamy look on your face,” Carmen said, with mock reproach. Then her eyes lit up. “Is there, perhaps, a girl?”

He rolled his eyes. “Jeez, Mamá, you’re terrible.”

“That is a yes!” she crowed, raising her hands triumphantly.

He couldn’t help but smile at her. “It’s not like that. I did meet a girl yesterday, a witness, but there isn’t anything between us.”

His mother waited, raising her dark eyebrows.

“Okay, there is something about her,” he admitted. “I’ve met a lot of women in LA, and she’s...different.”

“I see,” she said, her voice mischievous.

Jesse ignored this. “Thank you for breakfast, Mamá,” he said, wiping his mouth and rising to hug her. “I gotta get to the station and catch some bad guys.”

“Sí, but take care, mijo, okay? Be careful with my little boy.”

Jesse rolled his eyes good-naturedly and left his parents’ house feeling like he’d just gotten eight hours of sleep.


An hour later, however, he was back at the precinct and fading quickly. Despite the coffee he’d had earlier, Jesse was chugging Coke like there was no tomorrow, the acidy taste churning in his empty stomach. He tried to remember the last time he’d pulled an all-nighter, but it had been years ago. Ages.