Fifth Grave Past the Light: Number 5 in series (Charley Davidson)

by Darynda Jones

  My Spidey sense tingled. Maybe the cases were connected. All the women in my apartment had blond hair. It was thin, but I’d done more with less. “Did you get a name?”

  “No. Sorry. I’m channeling these people. How often do you think to yourself, ‘My name is Charley Davidson’?”

  “Well, I do that a lot, but don’t use me as a measuring stick.”

  Nicolette Lemay could see into the future. I’d never met anyone who could do that, though I did meet a guy once who said he could see in the dark because he had secret wolf eyes. I bought it at the time. I was four.

  11

  To save time, let’s assume I know everything.

  —T-SHIRT

  Cookie called as I headed back to the office.

  “Are you skipping class?” I asked. “You can’t let one humiliating incident —”

  “I’m not skipping. We get breaks.”

  “Oh. Sorry,” I said, snacking on some Twizzlers I’d found in my backseat. They were a little brittle, but I had strong teeth. “Just so you know, I think I’m in love with the person who decided to sell Twizzlers in a two-pound bag. What mad genius came up with that idea?”

  “Right? So, what did you find out about Zombie Chick?”

  “She’s totally not dead. I’ll explain later. It’s a little bizarre.”

  “This coming from the grim reaper. I just wanted to let you know that Noni told us a construction crew found what is looking like a mass grave on a ranch in southern New Mexico. They’ve found the remains of three bodies that he knows of. All female. And, Charley, they’re all three blond.”

  I sat back, feeling like the wind had just been knocked out of me. “That would explain a lot. I’m not sure why the discovery of the grave would have them all running to me, but it had to be the catalyst somehow. Maybe they didn’t like others on their turf. Do you think ghosts have turf wars?”

  “I think ghosts have all kinds of pent-up angst. So, is Noni married?”

  “Cookie!” I said, pretending to be appalled. “Focus on your instructor’s words, not his ass.”

  “Have you seen his ass?”

  I groaned inwardly and made a mental note to get Cookie laid. “Get back to class, and thanks for this. I’ll call Ubie and ask him what he knows.”

  “No problem. But, really, is he?”

  “Do you still hate me with every fiber of your being?”

  She hesitated, then conceded. “No, I guess not.”

  “Yes, he’s married, and his wife is a champion markswoman.”

  “Damn. Another one slips through my fingers.”

  “I am not touching that.” I hung up with a chuckle and called Ubie.

  “Hey, pumpkin,” he said.

  “You didn’t think to mention the mass grave?”

  “What mass grave? How did you know about that? They just found it late Friday afternoon. It was being kept quiet for the time being.”

  “You didn’t happen to tell Noni Bachicha, did you?”

  “Son of a – I may have. I had a few beers at his house last night.”

  “He grilled you for info and you caved like an unstable salt mine.”

  “Thanks for the visual.”

  “You’re welcome. Mass grave?”

  “I’m at the bar about to head out there, not that we have jurisdiction or anything, but we’ve joined forces with the state ME, the FBI, and local law enforcement to get this under control. I volunteered to assign a task force from APD to assist with the efforts.”

  “That explains your working on a Sunday.”

  “Yeah.”

  “With a hangover.”

  “How do you always know?”

  “Because you always sound like you have a cold.”

  “It’s about a three-hour drive, if you’re interested.”

  “I’m interested,” I said, trying not to sound desperate.

  “Why don’t you meet me here?”

  I drove to Calamity’s and parked in my usual spot. The spot where I’d put up a sign saying no parking: violators will suffer from several exotic std’s for which there is no cure. It seemed to do the trick. My landlord didn’t especially like my tactics, but everyone was a lot happier when I had a parking space. I walked over to the bar and ducked in the back door.

  The place was packed. On a Sunday. At lunch. On a Sunday. And once again, women seemed to be the main enthusiasts.

  “What’ll you have?” Ubie asked when I walked to the table he’d snagged. I couldn’t believe it. Jessica was there again. What the freaking hell? Had she moved in?

  Emaciated from watching Nicolette eat her breakfast burrito, I said, “I’ll have my usual breakfast fare.”

  “You got it, pumpkin.” He waved over our server. She was new, so I didn’t know her name. Because of this, I was forced to call her Sylvia. “She’ll have huevos rancheros with scrambled eggs, and I’ll have a carne adovada burrito smothered in red.”

  “So, we’re going to the actual site, yes?” I asked him as Sylvia wrote down our order.

  “Yes, and I know how you are with dead bodies.”

  Sylvia paused then restarted, pretending not to hear us.

  “How am I with dead bodies?” I asked.

  “Squeamish.”

  “Oh, right.” Dead people I could handle. Dead bodies not so much.

  “It amazes me that you deal with dead people all day every day, but toss a dead body at you, and you turn into a girl.”

  “I am a girl,” I said, utterly offended. “And I happen to know plenty of men who would rather eat fried worms than come face-to-face with a dead body.”

  “Okay, sorry. That was sexist.”

  He best be sorry. “So what’s up with this new cook, Sylvia?”

  “Um, it’s Clair.”

  That was disappointing. Now I knew her name, but she’d always be Sylvia to me. “That’s too bad. And the new guy?”

  She grinned and ducked her head shyly. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Sylvia had a little crush on him. Or her. Either way. “He’s a really good cook.”

  He it was. And she had a point. “Okay, well, thanks.” That was about as useful as a chocolate teapot.

  She headed for the order station when a large man in dire need of anger control therapy stormed into the place with fire in his eyes. He took hold of her shirt collar, and she was too startled to do much about it. Poor thing.

  “Doesn’t anyone know this is a freaking cop hangout?” I asked aloud. “Why do they do these things?” I jumped up, hurried over, and flashed my PI license. “APD,” I said, illegally impersonating an officer in a room full of off-duty officers, but no one else was jumping to Sylvia’s rescue. I looked over at Uncle Bob. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back to watch the show.

  “What seems to be the problem?” I continued.

  “This man is the problem. Look at this.” He jabbed a phone in my face with a picture. Then he scrolled for me.

  It took a moment for me to focus, but it took only a microsecond for me to recognize the man in the images. Reyes. Shot after shot, photos of Reyes scrolled past me. What the fuck?

  “This is my wife’s phone,” he said, his voice screeching until the entire room quieted and a familiar heat rose around me.

  Uh-oh.

  “I want to talk to this asshole immediately.”

  I looked over as Reyes walked up beside us wearing Sammy’s apron and wiping his hands on a towel.

  “What are you doing here?” But he didn’t have to answer. Suddenly it all made sense. The women. The heat. The food. “You’re the new cook?” I asked him, stunned.

  “You,” the man with questionable intelligence said. “My wife comes in here every day to eat because of you. And she takes pictures!” He shoved the phone toward Reyes, but Reyes had no intention of entertaining the guy’s accusations. He kept a deadpan expression on him, refusing to look at the phone, until I thought the man would explode.

  I decided to intervene. “Oh, my god
!” I said to Reyes, my eyes radiating accusations at him. “She took your picture? Just what kind of game are you playing? You’re under arrest, mister.”

  His mouth tilted and a dimple emerged on one cheek as I took his wrist and threw him against a wall. Or, well, urged him toward it. I held him against the cool wood with one hand and frisked him with the other. Slowly. Deliberately caressing parts of him I had no right to caress in public. I ran my hand over his buttocks, caressed first one pocket, then the other. Then I slid my hand under the apron and did the same to his front pockets. He tensed when my fingers brushed across his crotch. Feeling the heat surrounding him magnify, I ran my palms down his thighs, front and back, then up over his stomach and ribs. I had no idea frisking could be so fun. Thankfully, we were partially hidden by a rubber tree plant.

  Though I wasn’t doing it to make anyone jealous, the lethal glares coming from half the women in the place told me they were not as amused as I was. Or Reyes. At least he got my sense of humor. And he didn’t mind my groping him in public. Welcomed it, if the sultry look in his eyes was any indication.

  The man stood back, not sure what to think. That was my secret weapon. Confuse ’em and keep ’em guessing long enough to run away.

  I brought out the most powerful tool I had in my arsenal. “If you resist,” I said into Reyes’s ear, “I’ll be forced to Taser you.”

  He looked at what I had in my hand. “That’s a phone.”

  “I have an app. You’ll probably experience nerve damage. Slight memory loss.”

  His grin widened. He reached back, took hold of a belt loop, and pulled my hips into his.

  Finally deciding to join in, Uncle Bob walked over, his gait unhurried, his expression bored. “What’s the problem?”

  I held up a hand. “I have this, Detective.”

  Just then I got another text from Cookie.

  Apparently my situational awareness sucks.

  Oh, my god. I was busy groping my man. I texted her back.

  Apparently, so does your timing.

  I looked back at Reyes. “Have you learned your lesson, sir?”

  I could feel a wave of jealousy swirl around me like a hot wind. After all, he was the reason the place was drowning in women. If looks could kill, I would have been writhing in agony, well on my way to the afterlife, clutching my throat and fighting for air with one eye slightly larger than the other.

  Another woman said, “You can’t arrest Reyes because this bee-yoch is obsessed with him.” They knew his name even? I was always the last to know.

  “Oh, right,” I said, letting him go. “She has a point.”

  Reyes leaned into me. “No, she doesn’t.”

  The man decided to take his life into his own hands and grab my arm. “Do you think this is funny?”

  “Is that a trick question?”

  But I realized Reyes had stilled. He stepped closer and pulled me out of the man’s grip. “You don’t want to do that.”

  “Look, sir,” I said, now trying to appease two angry men, “this is clearly a conversation you need to be having with your wife. And just so you know, half the people in this place are cops.”

  Surprised, he turned to scan the area.

  But Reyes was still simmering. He stepped even closer to the man so only we could hear him. “I’m not a cop. And I just got out of prison for killing a man. If you want to go outside, I can explain exactly how I did it.”

  The color drained from his face.

  “Zimmerman,” Uncle Bob said, calling out to one of the uniformed officers, “why don’t you take this gentleman outside and convince him that what he just did was wrong.”

  “But I’m eating,” Zimmerman said. When Ubie cast him one of his death stares, Zimmerman cursed. Now he was mad and he was going to take it out on the guy. I hoped he gave him a ticket. A bad one that required community service or anger management classes.

  “Thanks, Uncle Bob.”

  “I had to stop you. I think half the women in here were plotting your death.”

  “You’re probably right.” I turned to Reyes and took his arm in mine to steer him back toward the kitchen. “Okay, I’m fine. No harm, no foul. And look at you. I can’t believe you’re filling in for Sammy.”

  He shook out of his anger. “I was having lunch. Your dad needed a cook. I offered.”

  “Wait, you didn’t… break Sammy’s leg?”

  After rewarding me with a soft, deep laugh, he said, “No, I’m pretty sure Sammy broke Sammy’s leg.”

  “You realize you have a fan club?” I indicated the room with a nod.

  “Yeah, that tends to happen.”

  “Must be a bitch,” I said, teasing him.

  “You didn’t come over last night.”

  “Right, um, I had to get some paperwork done.”

  “You realize you can’t lie to me.”

  “I know. I’m not lying so much as stretching the truth.” We were at his stop. I leaned against the bar.

  Reyes looked past me. “Your uncle is watching us.”

  “He does that. We’re grabbing lunch, then heading out to a crime scene down south.”

  “Okay, if you have to go. I’m not sure what I’ll do with all these women around.”

  Jealousy spiked in me so fast and so sharp, Reyes sucked in a breath, the air hissing through his teeth. He closed his eyes, leaned his head back, let my emotion roll over him.

  I bit down, embarrassed. “Are you enjoying that?”

  “No,” he said, panting. “A little. It’s like being hit with a hundred razor blades at once, each leaving a tiny cut as it passes.”

  “Ouch. That sounds horridly unpleasant.”

  He lowered his head, regarded me from underneath his lashes. “Someday you’ll figure out I’m not like other guys.”

  “Actually, I figured that out a while back.”

  “Nothing and no one interests me besides you. But what’s the deal with the redhead?”

  My stomach clenched at the thought of him even noticing Jessica’s red hair. He sucked in another sharp breath.

  “Sorry,” I said, trying to get a hold of my sudden streak of jealousy. “We were friends in high school. It did not end well.”

  The recognition on his face surprised me. “That’s her?” he asked, his expression hardening.

  “Her? You know about her?”

  He looked down at me, regarded me as though wondering how much he should say. “I could feel your emotions even back then. I didn’t even know you were real, but I could feel everything you went through growing up. Your stepmother was a constant source of pain. I considered breaking her neck several times.”

  Horrified, I said, “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “I’m not. But that one.” He looked over at Jessica again. “I’ve never felt such pain from you. Such absolute devastation.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Great. I would hate for you to be unaware of how gullible I am. How easily I can be duped.”

  His features softened and he lifted my chin. “You trusted her. You believed you could tell her anything. That doesn’t make you gullible.”

  I scoffed. “Kids, right? And besides, I have Cookie now.”

  “Want me to sever her spine?”

  “Cookie’s?” When he only smiled at me patiently, I shook my head even though his offer was so much more tempting than he could’ve imagined. Oddly enough, however, I didn’t hate Jessica. I hated what she did, who she’d become, but I hated worse the fact that even to this day, I wanted her friendship. Her acceptance. Her approval. She was like a redheaded version of my stepmother, and I was forever seeking that unconditional love that had been denied me. Pathetic as that sounded.

  Except with Jessica, I’d had it. For a little while anyway. She was like the sun. We laughed and cried together. We cuddled and watched scary movies. We made pancakes and pizza and drank Kool-Aid from wineglasses. And we told each other our deepest and most guarded secrets. So at a sleepover one night, afte
r she’d shared her belief that she once saw her grandmother’s ghost in her hallway, I shared with her as well. I told her I could see ghosts. She’d seemed fascinated. Intrigued. So I continued.

  I hadn’t known at the time that I was, in fact, the grim reaper, but I told her about my abilities. How I helped my dad and uncle with cases by talking to the victims. How the departed could cross through me if they wanted to, a fact that boggled even my own malleable mind.

  I’d gone too far. I’d scared her.

  No, I’d lost her.

  She seemed frightened at first, then repulsed. Revolted that I could be so inane as to believe I had superpowers. Her reaction surprised me so much, I didn’t argue when she called her parents in the middle of the night to come get her. When she refused to answer my calls the rest of the weekend. When she crusaded the next week at school to single-handedly have me branded a crazy witch wannabe. As sacrilegious and sanctimonious. I didn’t even know what sanctimonious meant at the time. If I had, I would’ve known where the true recipient of such an accusation stood. Oceans apart from me. In the blink of an eye, our friendship was over.

  The second half of my freshman year was the hardest thing I’d ever gone through. The only bright spot I remembered was Reyes. I’d met Reyes. True, he was being beaten unconscious at the time, but it was still a pivotal moment for me. I thought back to the first time I’d touched him. He was doubled over, clinging to a Dumpster for support, dry heaving and coughing up blood. His muscles constricted with pain, corded around his arms, and I saw the smooth, crisp lines of his tattoos. A little higher, thick, dark hair curled over an ear.

  Gemma had been with me. She’d raised a camera from around her neck to illuminate our surroundings, and Reyes, squinting against the light, lifted a dirty hand to shade his eyes. And his eyes were amazing. A magnificent brown, deep and rich, with flecks of gold and green glistening in the light. Dark red blood streaked down one side of his face. He stole my heart and I’d wanted him from that moment on.

  “Where’s your head?” Reyes asked me.

  I snapped back to him. “Sorry. Where were we? Right, no spine severing for you, mister.”