Summoned to Thirteenth Grave (Charley Davidson #13)

by Darynda Jones

  Unable to answer, he worked his jaw, his lids at half-mast as something that resembled resentment flashed across his face.

  “What was that?” I asked, not able to read his emotions clearly, as usual. “Why resentment?”

  He shook his head. “We’re gods, Dutch. You’re right. What could stop us from being there for her? We’re immortal. The only way we can die, the only way, is if another god kills us. So you kill me, right?”

  “Wrong,” I said, alarmed.

  “And then what? Who kills you? Because I know you, and short of death, nothing would keep you from being at our daughter’s side. And you don’t seem particularly suicidal.”

  He had me there.

  “So who kills you?”

  12

  You never know what I’ll have up my sleeve.

  Today, for example, it was a dryer sheet.

  —TRUE FACT

  Reyes and I were sitting stock-still on I-25, the commuters and the evacuators merging into one mass exodus.

  “Nobody kills me,” I said, answering his question. “And I certainly don’t kill you. Maybe it’s something else. Maybe, I don’t know, we get stuck in traffic. Like now.”

  Reyes growled.

  I ignored.

  I looked in the rearview at Meiko instead as he bounced up and down to catch sparkles in the air. “Seat belt, mister.” I laughed out loud when he toppled over the seat and devolved into a fit of giggles. “He’s never been in a car,” I said to Reyes. “He wanted to try it out.”

  Reyes took my hand, drawing my attention back to him. “You know, you can grieve.”

  We both knew he wasn’t talking about Meiko. I dipped my head. “No, I can’t. Not yet. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

  “Take this exit,” he said, pointing. “Let’s take an alternate route.”

  The exit was only about fifty feet in front of us. “Okay, but it’s going to take a while.” Total gridlock sucked.

  “Or not,” he said, a challenging grin on his handsome face.

  “Point taken.”

  There was just enough room for Misery to squeeze by on the right and veer wildly onto the exit. God, I loved veering.

  I tightened my hold on her steering wheel. “If there are any cops up here, you’re paying the ticket.”

  “Deal.”

  We exited off I-25 about a half mile from where we merged onto it and drove back to HQ since the alternate route passed right by it.

  “That was fast,” Cookie said when we walked in.

  “Just the opposite, actually. Where’s Amber?”

  She pointed down the hall in the opposite direction of my and Reyes’s suite. “In the TV room.”

  I stilled and turned back to her. “There’s a TV room? Why didn’t anyone tell me we had a TV room?”

  Cook shrugged, completely uninterested, her eyes glued to her computer screen.

  After releasing a long sigh of utter annoyance, I started for the TV room. “No one tells me anything.”

  Having given Meiko a taste of life in Misery, I took him back to Amber and Quentin and once again set them on the task of garnering any info they could. Then Reyes and I headed out to the state office for a second time, this time with Gemma in tow.

  Just under an hour later, we pulled up outside the Official Building that Houses the Office Where One Acquires Certificates of Life and Death. It wasn’t actually called that, but it sounded much cooler than the Santa Fe State Office.

  “We’ll be right back,” I said to Gemma as Reyes and I hopped out.

  Well, I hopped. He was way too cool to hop. He, like, glided.

  “Can’t I come?” she asked, just as I slammed the door.

  I pointed to my ear and shook my head. “Sorry! I can’t hear you!”

  She’d been talking nonstop on the way up, and there was only so much Gemma a girl could take, especially when humanity was on the brink of extinction.

  She sat back and crossed her arms in disappointment.

  Getting my mother’s death certificate proved easier than I’d assumed. I had all the necessary documentation, so I filled out a quick form, and voilà.

  We sat on a bench outside to look it over.

  “There was an autopsy,” I said in surprise. “Her doctor ordered it.”

  Gemma leaned closer to get a better look. “Why would he order an autopsy if she died of natural causes, as it says right there,” she said, pointing, “and her death wasn’t suspicious?”

  Reyes looked at her. “Maybe we should ask him.”

  I dug my brand-new phone, a.k.a. Donovan’s burner, out of my bag and called Cookie. It barely began to ring when she picked up.

  “I have three words for you,” she said, using way more than three words.

  “Male pattern baldness?” I asked, taking a stab.

  “No.”

  “Stop following me?”

  “Um, no.”

  “Be the change?” I could do this all day.

  “Thaniel Lee Just.”

  “Just what?”

  “That’s his last name.”

  “Just?”

  “Yes. It’s Pari’s guy.”

  “I forgot she was seeing someone. Is he cute?”

  “Well, she is seeing someone, who is a she. This is not her. This is the cutter. The possible serial killer?”

  “Oh, right.” I didn’t really have time to deal with a possible serial killer, but then those three little words played over again in my mind: possible serial killer. “That was fast. How’d you find him?”

  “Thankfully, there aren’t many truck drivers in New Mexico named Thaniel. I narrowed it down from the list—”

  “How many were on it?”

  “On what?”

  “The list? How many guys named Thaniel?”

  She hesitated a long moment, then said, “One.”

  “So it pretty much narrowed itself down.”

  “You could say that, but I still did the work.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “I earn my keep.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Now you’re just humoring me.”

  “What? I would never humor you. I’m not that humorous. You totally earn your keep. And pretty much mine as well. And probably a little of Reyes’s, too. He’s a bit of a slacker.”

  “As I was saying, I hunted down a picture.”

  “See? Hunting is hard work. I’m more of a gatherer.”

  “And I showed it to Pari. It’s him. He drives for a company called Sundial Shipping. I called pretending to be an aunt from out of town who wanted to surprise him.”

  “Did you use your toothless elderly man voice? I love it when you use your toothless elderly man voice.”

  “Charley, that was one time. And I had a cold. And why was he toothless?”

  “Because you were slurring your words.”

  “I couldn’t breathe.”

  “And it worked beautifully.”

  “Besides, I was trying to be a stripper named Tiffany.”

  “Oh, right.” I cringed. “Yeah, don’t ever do that again. What’d you get on this guy?”

  “Address. Phone number. The amount of sick days he’s taken lately. He’s either really sick or something’s up. Do you think he’s infected?”

  I thought back to the timeline. “It would make sense except for the fact that he went to see Pari two weeks ago. That was right around the time we accidently released the Shade, and Pari said most of the names he’d carved into his skin had been there a while.”

  “True.”

  I heard her typing in the background along with the sound of a child’s voice asking where babies come from. Poor Amber.

  “Okay, it doesn’t look like he’s been admitted to any hospitals, so that’s a good sign.”

  “It is. Text me his info. I’ll swing by and ask him if he’s taken any lives lately. But first, can you find out where a Dr. Scott Clarke hangs his hat? He was my mother’s ob-gyn. I want to go se
e him after I get a look at the autopsy report.”

  “They did an autopsy on your mother?”

  “They did. Do you find that as odd as we do?”

  “It’s not completely unheard of, but if she died in childbirth, they usually chalk it up to natural causes.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay, I’m on it.”

  “Thanks, Cook. You might want to check on Amber.”

  “Oh, okay. Any particular reason?”

  “I think she’s about to tell Meiko where babies come from.”

  “Good lord.”

  * * *

  Reyes and I pulled into the parking lot for the Office of the Medical Investigator in Albuquerque. We ordered Gemma to stay in the Jeep again, much to her chagrin, and started inside when Reyes took hold of my arm and pulled me to a stop.

  “There are a lot of bodies in here,” he said, like that was supposed to mean something.

  It took me a sec, but I caught on, rolled my eyes, and held up my right hand. “I promise not to bring anyone back from the dead.”

  “And we all know how good you are at keeping promises.”

  Beyond offended, I pursed my lips and held up an index finger. “One person. I brought one person back from the dead.”

  “Lie.”

  “I brought one person back from the dead whose soul had already left her body.”

  “And?”

  “And are you ever going to let me live that down?”

  “No. I need something to hold over your head for all eternity. And?”

  “And.” I stepped closer, staring him down. Or up. Either way. “I would do it again in a heartbeat. I would bring her back.”

  “I know you would. And?”

  Now I really was confused. “And what?”

  “And you’re sorry and you’ll never bring anyone else back from the dead.”

  “And,” I started, but I stopped and lowered my gaze. “And I can’t make that promise.”

  “Dutch,” he said, his tone warning.

  “We don’t know what the future holds, Reyes. Would you rather I lie to you?”

  “No.”

  “Then I’m sorry, but I can’t promise I’ll never bring anyone else back.” Ignoring the heat of his wrath, I strode past him and into the building.

  We walked to the receptionist’s desk and asked for my buddy Wade, the chief medical investigator. She gestured toward a row of chairs and picked up her phone, so I had to sit next to a grouchy god while we waited for Wade. After an eternity of sulking, I heard footsteps.

  “Sup, Powers?” I asked, jumping up as Wade walked down the hall toward us.

  “Davidson.” He took my hand in a firm shake. “What’s your uncle up to?”

  “Lying. I need an autopsy report, and you seem like the kind of guy who cuts up dead people. Wait, that came out wrong.”

  He tamped down a smile and turned to Reyes.

  “Oh, this is my husband, Reyes.”

  “Yes, I remember you.”

  Surprised, I asked, “You two know each other?”

  “No,” Wade quickly corrected. “Just, you know.” He cleared his throat. “From the news.”

  Reyes held out his hand.

  Wade took it and said, “Glad all that was straightened out.”

  Reyes had been convicted for a murder he didn’t commit. He did ten years in a super max before they figured out the man he was convicted of killing was, in fact, still alive.

  “Me, too,” Reyes said, releasing the tension in Wade’s shoulders with a disarming grin.

  He let Wade off the hook for what could have been a very awkward situation, earning himself a crap-ton of brownie points.

  God, I loved brownies.

  Wade refocused on me. “So, this autopsy report, is it for a case you’re working on with your uncle?”

  “Yes.”

  He waved to get the receptionist’s attention. “Okay, I’ll need a case number.”

  “I mean, no.”

  He crinkled his forehead. “Charley, I can’t just—”

  “It was performed on my mother.”

  Wade drew in a breath of understanding. “Ah, well, in that case, we’d better go to my office.”

  We followed him back to his office, and thirty minutes later—apparently, someone had to go to records to get it—we had a hard copy of my mother’s autopsy report.

  I quickly read over it. “It doesn’t look like there was anything unusual.”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “According to the autopsy, she died of cardiac arrest.” I frowned at him. “Doesn’t everyone on the planet technically die from cardiac arrest?”

  “Well, yes, but here at the Office of the Medical Investigator, we like to look for extenuating circumstances. What might have caused said cardiac arrest. Like a double gunshot wound to the head. For example.”

  “That would do it.”

  Reyes skimmed the paper. “But there’s nothing like that here?”

  “No, sir. I knew the medical examiner. He was very good. If there had been anything of note, he would have found it.”

  “Knew?” I asked him.

  “Yes. I’m sorry to say he died a couple of weeks ago.”

  Damn it. I wanted to talk to him.

  I cast a sideways glance at Reyes, then back to Wade. “Interesting timing. Was he sick?”

  “Not that I know of, but many people keep stuff like that a secret.”

  “True dat, Wade. Thanks for this. Oh, hey, how’s the old ball and chain?”

  “Good. Still hates to be called the ball and chain.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Still? I was hoping she’d gotten over that.”

  He gifted me with a mischievous smirk. “Trust me, the stars will burn out first.”

  I leaned in and whispered, “Best not tell her I said hi, then.”

  “Good idea.”

  We started to walk out when I turned back and asked, “Is the coffee still free here?”

  13

  The doctor called today.

  Apparently my blood type has changed from

  “O Positive” to “Mountain Roast.”

  —MEME

  “This is so frustrating. We’re looking into her death with no idea why. No idea what we’re looking for. It’s like searching for a needle in a haystack the size of Kansas.”

  We walked out of the OMI with nothing more than what we went in with. Besides a cup of coffee. I stuffed the report into my bag and took another swig, feeling the burn as the bitter liquid scorched my throat. Reyes had scorched places even more sensitive, so I was good.

  “I’m beginning to wonder if this isn’t a wild-goose chase,” he said.

  “I would too if not for Mocha Cappuccino.”

  He stopped and turned to me. “I know I’m going to regret this, but what does a caffeinated beverage have to do with any of this?”

  I put a hand on his shoulder and chuckled. “A caffeinated beverage. You kill me. Mocha Cappuccino, or MoCap for short, was my BFF in Marmalade. She’s the one who told me to look into my mother’s death. She said I’d find the answers there. And she never steered me wrong, not in a hundred years.”

  He crossed his arms. “So, this wraith was female?”

  “Oh, I have no idea. I did worry about that. I didn’t want to offend any of them by giving them a name linked to a gender they didn’t identify with.”

  He pinched the bridge of his perfect nose. “How many were there?”

  “Genders?”

  “Wraiths.”

  “Dozens. I think. It was hard to tell. I only associated with a few.” I bent closer. “I don’t want to brag, but we were kind of the cool clique, if you know what I mean.”

  He bit down, and I couldn’t tell if it was from mirth or frustration or both. Quite possibly both. “What did you name the others?”

  “Oh.” I looked up in thought and counted off with my fingers. “Okay, there was Salted Caramel Macchiato, Pumpkin Spice Lat
te, Iced Café Americano—he was the edgy one of the group—Peppermint Mocha Frappuccino, Chai Latte, London Fog, and Hot Chocolate. And trust me when I say that boy was hot.” I snorted and elbowed him in the ribs. “Who am I forgetting?”

  “It’s okay. I’m not sure why I asked.”

  I figured I’d annoyed him, but when I looked up, he had an affectionate expression on his face. Tender. Almost amorous. Amorous enough for the pitter-pats of my heartbeats to trip and pile into one another.

  Rising onto my tiptoes, I eased close until we were nose to nose. “If you’re going to look at me like that, Mister Man, we may have to go back to HQ and try out that other cot.”

  A wall of heat crashed into me. He backed me against the stone exterior of the building and pressed his lean body against mine. “You like playing with fire,” he said, stating the obvious.

  “If that’s not clear by now, gorgeous, I’m not sure what else I can do to convince you.”

  He grinned and went for the jugular, his mouth searing a trail from my throat to my ear.

  My phone chimed with Cookie’s special ringtone, shouting out, “Yeah, baby, yeah!” Reyes sighed and leaned back just enough for me to pull my phone out of my bag.

  “Cookie sent the address of the ob-gyn.”

  “I guess we should go. Since MoCap said to.”

  A grin stole across my face. “MoCap’s not the boss of me,” I said, imitating my favorite five-year-old.

  When I climbed into Misery’s passenger seat, Gemma frowned at me.

  “What?” I asked, the picture of innocence.

  “I can’t take you guys anywhere.”

  She really couldn’t.

  “It’s embarrassing.”

  It really was.

  Reyes climbed in, and she glared at him, too. He ignored her as he drove us to Dr. Clarke’s house. Misery liked him, the way he handled her, the way he pushed her into drive and then slid her into park, so it was cool. We found the house with ease and pulled to a stop in front.

  “Can you two try to behave?” Gemma asked.

  Reyes turned and flashed one of those killer smiles at her. Her expression took on a dreamlike quality, and I knew all was forgiven.