The Trouble with Twelfth Grave (Charley Davidson #12)(19)

The sister agreed with a nod before squeezing Maya to her.

“Why would someone do this?,” Maya continued. “She’s been through so much, but she just picked herself back up and shook it off. She was so special. She was so … unique. It’s like killing a mermaid or a unicorn. Why would someone do that?”

I found it interesting that she used mythical creatures to describe her wife.

“She was just so special,” she repeated, her breath hitching. “You have no idea.”

After that, Maya broke down again and crumpled into her sister’s arms. They both sobbed, and when the ME finished with the scene and brought out the body in a body bag, it took another team of officers to keep her back. She would be able to see her, just not until after the autopsy.





6

I always carry a knife in my purse …

you know, in case of cheesecake or something.





—T-SHIRT


Uncle Bob and Angel stayed behind to continue the investigation, but Osh, Garrett, and I left the gas station feeling even more frustrated than when we’d gotten there. Reyes had gone feral, the world was being devoured by an alternate hell dimension, and a supernatural entity was killing humans on this plane.

We pulled behind Calamity’s in Garrett’s truck.

“I need food,” Osh said. “And a shower.”

“Late night?” I asked.

“Very.”

“You aren’t winning souls at the card tables again, are you?”

“What?” He winked at me, then opened the door and stepped out so I could vacate the premises. Garrett was going to give him a ride home.

“Are you going to be okay?” Garrett asked, his voice soft with concern.

Osh scoffed. “You know she can kill you with her pinkie, right?”

“I’ll be fine,” I said, ignoring him. “Let me know if you find out anything new.”

“Will do, if you’ll return the favor.”

“Of course.” I started to scoot out, but he put a hand on my arm.

“Charles,” he said, his voice edged with warning, “that’s the deal. We share info, right?”

I narrowed my lids. “Right.”

“And I don’t mean three days after the fact.”

Ah. He was still bent about that. “So, the same day. Gotcha.”

I gave him two thumbs-ups, then scooted across the seat and out the door. Osh offered me an encouraging grin before he climbed back in.

“Do we need to move this up?” Garrett asked.

We’d planned on luring Reyes into a trap the next day. Garrett had to get a few supplies first.

“No. We’ll stick with the plan and meet up tomorrow morning.”

“You got it,” he said.

The truck roared away, as trucks are wont to do, and I headed around front to the outside stairs. I was just about to take said stairs, my mouth watering at the thought of a hot cup of java juice, when my friend Pari called.

I pushed a nifty button on my phone. “Hey, Pari, what’s up?”

“Hey, Chuck. I’ve been meaning to call. See how you were. See if you’ve managed to destroy any small countries.”

“Hey, I’ve only destroyed parts of small countries. Never a whole one.”

“Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night, babe.” She was pretending to be okay. I could hear a slight tremble in her voice. Pari was not exactly the trembling sort.

“Pari, what’s going on?”

“Oh, not much. The usual. Could you drop by sometime today? There was a detective here.”

Alarm shot through me. Pari had a habit of hacking government facilities. “A detective? What happened? Are you okay? Did you hack the Pentagon again?”

“I’m fine. And no. He just had a couple of questions. You know, the usual stuff. Where were you on the night of the fifteenth between the hours of 9:00 P.M. and 4:00 A.M.? Can anyone corroborate that? Is there any particular reason you don’t want to take a polygraph test?”

“I’ll be there in five.”

“’Kay. Thanks.”

I hung up, wondering if I should run upstairs and tell Cookie, but her car hadn’t been at our apartment building. I’d tell her later.

I walked the two blocks to Pari’s shop and went in the back door. She’d prepared for my visit. Door to the public area closed. Shades on. Coffee brewed. Good girl.

The minute I stepped inside, however, I felt it. The tremble in her voice may have been slight over the phone, but the tremble in her emotions felt like the earth shaking under my feet. Alarm rushed up my esophagus and tightened around my throat, almost cutting off my air supply, which was a rather extreme reaction to Pari’s emotional state.

Then I realized I was mimicking her physical response to whatever had her on edge. It had to be bad. Pari was as cool as a cucumber in the Arctic. Her vocabulary didn’t include the word panic.

I feigned nonchalance and strolled into her office. She was sitting at her desk, pretending to work in a red, sleeveless halter that showcased her ink.

She looked up and acted surprised to see me so soon, but I felt relief flood every cell in her body.

“Oh, hey,” she said, all sunshine and smiles.

She stood to hug me, then gestured toward a chair. I sat across from her and took the cup she offered. She made a killer cappuccino.