Sixth Grave on the Edge

by Darynda Jones

He said it was because his death had devastated her and he didn’t want her to have to go through that again, but she seemed to handle the prospect of another explanation better than he did. Could there have been something more to Angel’s reluctance? I’d wondered that a lot since she came into my office that day. It had been only two weeks. She wouldn’t be put off for long. I could tell by the determined set of her jaw. She wanted answers. Answers I could give her only if I betrayed Angel.

  She finally had enough of waiting and leaned down to peer at me under the table. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

  I crinkled my nose, busted beyond belief, then popped up out of Cookie’s lap, wondering in the back of my mind what that would look like. “Oh, hey, Mrs. Garza! I didn’t see you.”

  After taking a long moment to fold her arms over her chest, she said, “You sent more money this month.”

  “Right, um, your relative’s estate was larger than we’d originally been told.”

  “It magically got bigger?” She was such a stunning woman. Even at fifty, she had an amazing body and fantastic hair. Combine that with her thick Spanish accent and her rich, husky voice, and she was what Garrett would call a TKO.

  “It did get bigger. Weird, huh?”

  “Right,” Cookie said, nodding in agreement. “Totally weird. That was one eccentric aunt you had.”

  “Uncle,” I corrected her.

  “Uncle. Aunt,” she said, going in for a save. “I think he was a cross-dresser.”

  Not bad. Not bad.

  Mrs. Garza slid into the booth with us. “I’m not here to cause problems, Ms. Davidson.”

  This was not going to end well. “Call me Charley,” I said. “And this is my assistant, Cookie.”

  She blinked at her. “Your name is Cookie?” she asked her. No one had ever questioned that, but she was right. It was an odd name. And yet it fit her so perfectly.

  “Sure is.” She held out a hand, and Mrs. Garza shook it.

  “I am Evangeline.”

  “Oh, we know,” Cookie said. “We make out a check to you every—”

  “So,” I said, interrupting her before she said too much, “what brings you to our neck of the woods?”

  “You. This money. This tío de tu imaginación.”

  Well that was uncalled for. “I have a couple of imaginary friends,” I said, correcting her, “but my uncle is very real.”

  “No, my uncle,” she said.

  “Does your uncle know you think he’s imaginary?”

  Just when I thought she might grow frustrated enough to storm out of the room, she stopped and implored me. “I just have some questions. For him. For Angel,” she said, pronouncing it Ahn-hell.

  “I don’t know anyone named Ahn-hell.”

  Cookie shook her head, too, completely baffled. She was getting really good at this stuff. Of course, she was not lying. She’d never seen the little punk, though I’d described him to her on several occasions. Every time, a starstruck expression would come over her face. She liked the kid. So did I. Usually.

  Evangeline held up hand. “Spare me. I know who you are. I know what you can do.”

  I kept waiting for the subject of our conversation to pop in. He always seemed to sense what his mother was up to. While I wanted to tell her, to let her know what a great kid she had and how well he was doing, Angel was so vehemently against it, I didn’t know what to do.

  “Charley,” she said, leaning in to me, “I insist.”

  Maybe if I just explained why I couldn’t tell her. Then again, that would be confirming her suspicions, but I had a feeling she was like a pit bull with a stuffed Elmo. No way was she giving up until everything was out in the open, polyester guts and all.

  There was one place Ahn-hell wasn’t allowed. “Follow me,” I said, scooting out of the booth and leading her to the women’s restroom.

  “Is he in here?” she asked, kind of appalled.

  “No, that’s why we are. He is no longer allowed in the women’s restroom.”

  She stilled. I’d just confirmed all her suspicions. All her hopes. Who wouldn’t want to be able to talk to a lost child? I couldn’t imagine what she went through when Angel died. He told me she was devastated. Understandably so. But the thought of the agony she’d suffered tightened around my chest as I watched her face. Every emotion known to mankind flashed across it.

  “So, what everyone says about you is true.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. That whole chess-team thing was a big misunderstanding.”

  I didn’t amuse her. She was lost in her thoughts. In her hopes and, deep down, her dread. “You can speak with the dead.”

  “I can, but only when they want me to, for the most part. Evangeline,” I said, knowing I was going to regret everything I was about to say. Angel was going to kill me. “He doesn’t want you to know he’s … he’s still with us.”

  A hand with impeccably finished nails covered her mouth. She leaned against the counter, clearly afraid her legs would give. I let her absorb, mull, and otherwise process everything she was going through. After a long while, she said, “Why—?” Her voice hitched. She swallowed and started again. “Why doesn’t he want me to know about him?”

  “He’s afraid you will mourn all over again.”

  “All over again? I’ve never stopped.” After a moment, she asked, “Is he well?”

  I bit down, not wanting to give her any more information than I absolutely had to. “Yes, he is. But like I said, he is vehemently against me telling you any of this. If he finds out, he will be very angry with me.”

  Her chin rose. “It’s my right, Ms. Davidson. I have more of a right to know about him than you do.”

  “No, I agree. It’s not me, Evangeline. I don’t know why he—”

  Before I could finish, a young male voice filtered toward me, its tone even, calculating. “You did not just do what I think you did.”

  He appeared across from me by the women’s stalls. I didn’t know what to say. If I spoke to him, she’d know he was there. He rushed toward me, absolutely livid, and literally wrapped a hand around my throat, pushing me back against the wall. The paper towel dispenser bit into my back on impact, but I let him be angry with me. He had a right. I’d promised him. I’d promised him I wouldn’t say anything. Ever.

  “You did not tell her about me.”

  Evangeline said something, but it was drowned out by the blood rushing in my ears. He was furious, uncontrollably so.

  I felt Reyes, but he didn’t appear with his raging anger like I was worried he would. He revealed himself slowly, methodically.

  Dangerously.

  I had no idea what he could do to Angel, nor did I want to find out.

  Placing my hand on the one he had wrapped around my throat, I spoke softly to Angel, soothingly. “Sweetheart, I know you’re angry. But she figured it out on her own, hon. Just like I told you she would.”

  Reyes moved closer and I raised a hand, silently begging him not to hurt Angel.

  Angel sensed him. He glanced to the side, applied one last ounce of pressure to my throat, then pushed off me, turning and letting his anger consume him.

  “I’m okay,” I said to appease Reyes, but he stayed put right where he was, hovering incorporeally close by.

  Evangeline looked on, a slight rush of terror surging inside her.

  I held on to my throat and shook my head at her. “I’m okay. I just swallowed wrong.”

  “Please stop lying to me, Ms. Davidson.”

  Lowering my head, I took several deep, calming breaths, then focused on Angel. He had never, in all the years we’d been together, raised a hand against me. He’d never even come close.

  The cat was out of the bag and I was no longer going to pretend otherwise. I would take full responsibility, but I would not be treated that way. “Why are you so against this?” I asked him. “What the hell, Angel?”

  “My Ahn-hell?” Evangeline asked, hope sparkling in her eyes. “Is he here?”
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  “Tell her no,” he said, glowering at me. “Tell her he’s not here. He’s never been here.”

  “I won’t do that. She already knows.” I stepped to him. “She’s smart, hon, just like you told me.”

  “Too smart,” he said, working his jaw in resentment. “She’ll figure it out.”

  “That you’re here?” I put a hand on his shoulder as Evangeline held both of hers to her heart.

  The glare he cast me was so toxic, so full of vehemence, my lungs seized under the weight of it. “That I’m not her son.”

  It was my turn to be surprised. He’d knocked the wind right out of my sails with that statement. I stood unmoving, trying to absorb what he’d said. Trying to figure it out. “What are you talking about?” I asked him at last. “Then just who are you?”

  I felt it the minute the thought came to his head. He was going to disappear on me. I could just summon him back, but he was not getting away that easily. I grabbed his arm before he could go.

  He tried to pull out of my grip, but I held fast and asked, “What are you talking about?”

  He suddenly seemed embarrassed, as though he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It took him a long time to talk, but I waited, rather impatiently, refusing to let him off the hook.

  “My middle name is Angel. Her son’s first name was Angel, and we both had the same last name: Garza. We took that as a sign that we were supposed to be brothers. I loved him more than anyone. I lived at the home with all the other outcasts.” When he looked at me, the pain in his eyes swallowed me whole. “With all the other kids whose parents didn’t want them. Mrs. Garza was always so nice to me. We’d pretend that she was my mom, too. I loved being at his house. I loved that she looked at me like I was any other kid. Not like a kid from the home.” He turned away again. “How do you think she would look at me if she knew I was the kid who killed her son?”

  Despite my determination to hold my reactions at bay, I gasped. Evangeline wanted to ask me what was happening, but she knew enough to keep quiet for the moment.

  “Angel, what happened that night?”

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “We got in a fight with a group of neighborhood kids over some ice cream bars. Angel, the other Angel, wanted to scare them. He stole his mom’s car and the gun she had under her mattress and we went looking for them. I drove. I was a better driver than he was. When we found them, he started shooting, but there were kids there. Little kids. I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t. Or maybe he didn’t hear me. He wasn’t really trying to hit them. He just wanted to scare them, but I was worried he would accidentally shoot a kid. So I wrecked the car on purpose.”

  I stepped to him and touched the wound on his chest. “This is a gunshot wound,” I said, trying to understand. He’d told me years ago they’d struggled for the gun and it went off. He never told me the other kid died as well. He’d definitely never told me he was the other kid.

  “No. I flew out of the car and landed on something sharp, like rebar. But Angel died, too. I didn’t think it would be that bad. I just thought the crash would bruise us up or something. But I killed us both. I killed my brother.”

  “Is he still here, like you?”

  “No. Angel crossed the minute he died. Went straight to heaven. I watched him go, and I figured I’d go to hell for killing him, but I never did. I was just there. I was so lost and alone until you came along.”

  I covered my mouth with a shaking hand. “Angel.”

  “And then I thought I could make it up to his mom. I figured, when you offered me a job, that I could help her out.”

  “So, all the aunts and uncles and cousins you tell me about?”

  “They were his. Not mine. I never had anyone. I just wanted to make it up to her. To all of them.”

  My heart broke into a million tiny pieces. He died trying to do the right thing, and the guilt had been eating him alive all this time. “What is your real first name?”

  “Juan. Juanito Ahn-hell Garza. Angel.”

  I pulled him into my arms. He didn’t want me to. He didn’t want my forgiveness. But after a moment, he broke down and cried into my hair, his shoulders shaking softly.

  * * *

  Together, we told Evangeline the truth.

  “Your son is in heaven, where he should be,” I told her, worried she would resent my making such a bold statement when she’d only wanted to talk to him.

  But she didn’t take the slightest bit of offense. Her face brightened after a moment. “Please tell him that I never blamed him. I knew my son, Juanito,” she said, her eyes bright with emotion. “Don’t you ever feel like that was your fault. We know what you did. We know you were trying to do the right thing.”

  Angel put a hand over his eyes.

  “Angel?” I said. “Is there anything you want to say to her?”

  “I always wished she was my mom.”

  I delivered the message to a tearful and overjoyed acceptance. “And I always wished you were my son,” she said.

  If ever there was a time I wished a departed could touch the living, it was now. They both could use a hug. I did the next best thing and pulled them both into my arms.

  * * *

  “I came here for a reason,” Angel said after Evangeline left.

  Even after everything, I got the impression he was still embarrassed. “Do you still want me to call you Angel?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I was going by Angel, too, before I died.”

  “Okay. Why did you come here?”

  “I found that Marika chick and her kid. They’re at the Target on Lomas and Eubank buying diapers.”

  “Oh.” I looked at my watch. “Okay, are they still there?”

  “Yeah. They just got there a few minutes ago. She had some errands to run.”

  The departed didn’t always have a good sense of time, so I hoped he was right.

  I put a hand on his cheek. “I am so proud of you.”

  He shifted away from me, uncomfortable. “Why would you be? I told you, I killed my best friend. And I lied to you for years.”

  “You did not kill him, Angel. It was an accident that occurred when you were trying to do the right thing, if you’ll remember. I’m proud of you whether you want me to be or not.”

  “Then can I see you naked now?”

  “Why would I let you see me naked now?”

  “Because I’m hurting inside.”

  I barked out a laugh. “You’re going to be hurting a lot worse when I’m done with you.”

  He lowered his head. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

  “It’s okay. I lied to you, too. I never slept with Santana.” Carlos Santana was his idol, so naturally I’d told him I’d had sex with him after a concert once.

  “Oh, that’s so wrong!”

  “Dude, you’ve been committing identity fraud for over a decade. Don’t talk to me about wrong.”

  “No way. That’s wrong. You can’t just talk about Santana like he’s a piece of meat.”

  Oy.

  20

  There should be one line at every store

  for people who have their shit together.

  —TRUE FACT

  I rushed over to Targé and wandered to the diaper aisle. No Marika. Or, well, no woman with a baby. Garrett had described her to me, but I’d never seen her. They were probably already gone. I had no idea how I was going to get DNA off them. The baby wouldn’t be a problem. I could swab his bottle while Mommy wasn’t looking. But how would I ever get hers?

  This was going to get messy; I could tell.

  I walked the entire store three times before giving up. I didn’t want to summon Angel to help. He needed some time. Surely I could handle hunting down one mother and a baby without him. Or not. I’d missed them, or so I thought. As I headed out of the store, I spotted a dark blond woman with a baby in the store’s tiny cafeteria. She was drinking a soda and reading a book as the baby nursed a bottle in his stroller.

  I wa
lked up and ordered a coffee, chancing the occasional glance over my shoulder. She was a very pretty woman, and yet for some reason not what I figured Garrett would go for. She just looked like a mom. Probably because she had a baby. Maybe that was what was throwing me. Imagining Swopes in a domestic capacity was a little more than my brain could handle.

  She tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear as I sat in a booth across from her. Clearly a woman of good taste, she was reading a historical romance. I loved historical romances. And contemporary romances. And paranormal romances. And young adult romances. Pretty much anything in front of the word romance would do it for me.

  “Is that good?” I asked her, referring to her book with a nod when she glanced at me.

  “Oh, yeah, it is.” She closed it and offered me a better view.

  “It looks awesome. I love that genre.”

  She turned to her son when he cooed at her. “Me, too.”

  “And your baby is adorable.”

  A brilliant smile brightened her face. “Thank you.”

  I rose a couple of inches for a better view into the stroller. Garrett had been right. Her son was clearly multiracial. I wanted a better peek at his eyes and was just about to ask for one when the store manager walked over to her.

  “Hey, little guy,” he said, pretending to steal the boy’s bottle until he laughed. Then the man turned to me, and the resemblance to Garrett Swopes was uncanny. Dark skin. Silvery eyes. “Hello,” he said, tipping an invisible hat before kissing Marika on her cheek and sitting down with his family.

  * * *

  I called Garrett on the way home. “So, I just saw your ex and her adorable baby. Clearly you are not the father.”

  He was not amused. “Did you get the samples?” he asked.

  “No, I did not. It’s going to be a little difficult to just walk up and swab her baby’s mouth. And even more awkward when I start swabbing hers. What am I going to say, Swopes? ‘Excuse me while I take a DNA sample for my paranoid friend’?”

  “Did you even look at him?”

  “I did,” I said, “and I agree. He is multiracial and has your eyes, but guess what.”

  “What?”

  “So does her boyfriend.”