Third Grave Dead Ahead (21 page)

“Yeah, I guess it would be,” I said with a grin. “So, you knew what name I’d use, but how did you find me from there?”

“Um, connections.” She scooted back in her chair, a guilty expression on her face.

“Are those connections, mayhap, illegal?”

She gasped. “No! Well, okay, I’m not entirely certain. I know a guy who knows a guy.”

Coming from anyone else … “So, he…?”

“Traced your IP address.”

“Wow.” I was a little impressed. “And you built that website with the database about angels and demons?”

She nodded.

“And you heard Charley’s fake name from the angels?” Cookie asked.

“Yes, I hear all kinds of things. You would not believe what is going to happen next week if something isn’t done.” She rolled her eyes. “Which it won’t be. It never is. Nobody ever listens.”

“You’re a prophet,” I said, a little floored.

“Oh, pfft.” She waved away the notion with a hand. “Not really. Not in the traditional sense. I mean, I don’t prophesy. I just listen to those who do. It’s rather naughty, if you think about it.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I am just so floored.”

“Me, too,” Cookie said. “I mean, you’re just not what we were expecting.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot. But the sisters want to know all about you. Oh, and Reyes, of course.”

Uh-oh. “So, how much do you know about Reyes?”

“Well, let me think. He is the son of Satan who was born on Earth to be with you, the grim reaper, though the sisters don’t really like that label. They feel it limits you. Anyway, his name is really Rey’aziel, which means ‘the beautiful one.’ He is also a portal, like you. Oh!” She bounced back to us. “And he is powerful enough to bring about the apocalypse.”

“You’re very informed.”

“Yeah, like I said, blah, blah, blah.” She opened and closed her hand like someone talking nonstop. It was too funny. “So you know he can end the world?” she asked.

“Yeah, I got the memo.”

“But … I don’t understand.” Her brows cinched together. “You saved his life when the demons were going to kill him, and again when he was going to take his own life. Then you bound him to this plane, locked him on to it.”

“Yeah, I did, huh?” After I’d vanquished the demons torturing Reyes by tapping into my inner floodlight—apparently demons are allergic—Reyes decided to take his own life to make himself less vulnerable. I stopped him, then bound him inside his physical body. But the fact that Sister Mary Elizabeth knew what I’d done, knew anything about me or Reyes, was a tad unsettling.

“I mean, the reasons are all there,” she continued. “I’m just still a little surprised that you’d save his life knowing what you know.”

“What reasons?”

“You two. You and Rey’aziel. You’re magnets. Literally.” She held up two index fingers to demonstrate. “You’re drawn together by sheer force of will.”

“Oh, that.”

“I mean, it was written. It’s not like I didn’t know you would do it. It’s just, if the demons get ahold of you…”

“Yes, I’ve heard. Very bad,” I said, ignoring the tightening in my stomach.

“Very bad indeed, but don’t worry, they’re going to send you a guardian right after a time of great suffering for you.”

“Suffering?”

“Yes,” she said with a nod.

“I’m not really that into suffering. Will it be bad?”

“Suffering usually is. Especially when the angels prophesy about it.”

“That sounds horridly unpleasant. And they’re going to send me a guardian? But, I thought Reyes was my guardian.”

She snorted. “Rey’aziel? Your guardian?”

“Yes,” I said, a little taken aback. “He’s always been there for me. He’s watched over me and saved my life several times.”

“Well, that’s true, but he’s not your guardian. He’s … I don’t think you understand the situation.”

“What situation?” I asked, wary.

“He’s, well, he’s very powerful.”

“Yeah, got that memo as well.”

“And he’s … I’m just not sure how to say this.”

“Sister Mary Elizabeth, there aren’t many things you could say that will offend me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh, good, then I’ll just say it. He’s kind of like your Achilles’ heel.”

“My what?”

“You know, your kryptonite.”

“So, Reyes is my weakness?” I asked, more confused than offended.

“Exactly. You’re in love with him. You can’t make sound decisions when he’s around.”

“She does have a point,” Cookie said, nodding in agreement.

“Pfft. Please. I make sound decisions all day. With my eyes closed. And my hands tied behind my back.”

“Exactly,” she said, her mouth a grim line, “which happens often when he’s around.”

The fact that she knew that was oddly embarrassing.

“So who is it, then? This guardian?” I took a long draw on my java. I’d need all the spunk I could get if I was scheduled for a time of great suffering. Suffering, great or otherwise, tended to leech the spunk right out of me.

“I don’t know his name, but I do know he’ll bring a balance. Oh, and he hasn’t died yet.”

“Okay.” I leaned back in thought. “So he’s going to be a departed?”

“Yes.” She glanced at her watch. “He’s going to die in two days, eleven hours, and twenty-seven minutes.”

“Wow, that’s pretty specific. I don’t actually kill this guy, do I?” I laughed nervously. I would hate to kill my very own guardian angel. He might take it personally.

“Of course not,” she said, chuckling along with me. “Not directly.”

“Well, good.” I took another shot of coffee before her words sank in. “Wait, what does that mean?”

“What?”

“Not directly.”

“Hmmm,” she hummed, glancing at the ceiling in thought, “I’m not really sure. That’s all I got. I hadn’t had my tea yet. Sometimes I miss things before tea.”

“Holy cow.” I put both feet on the floor and sat up straight. “I’m going to be indirectly responsible for someone dying?”

“Yep.”

“Well, that sucks ass.”

“Yes, it does.”

“Can you ask them who it is?”

“Who what is?”

“This guardian I’m going to murder indirectly.”

“Oh, of course.” She laughed softly. “But, ask who?”

Perhaps her decision to remain chaste was for the best. “The angels.”

“Oh, right. No.”

“Why not?” I asked, glowering a little.

“I told you. I don’t talk to angels. I just sort of hear them.” She turned to Cookie. “Is she still not sleeping?”

Cookie shook her head.

“How did you—?” I stopped myself. “The angels? Really? They gossip that much?”

“You have no idea.”

*   *   *

I showed Sister Mary Elizabeth to the door, then turned back to Cookie. “Is it just me, or was that weird?”

“Both.” She eyed me with a wary suspicion. “So, you’re going to off someone.”

“Not directly,” I said defensively. “I mean, who knows how many people I’ve killed indirectly. You, too, for that matter.”

“Me?” she asked, appalled. “Okay, I’m going to find out if a man named Keith Jacoby was in the Cayman Islands around the time of the doctor’s first wife’s death.”

“Perfect. I’ll do a little research on Reyes’s case and the names he gave me.”

“That’s so wild what she said.” Cookie sat behind her desk. “How she actually hears angels.”

But was that really the most important part? “Did you catch the time-of-great-suffering thing?”

Her expression softened. “Can you just make sure I’m not around when it happens?”

“No can do,” I said, strolling back to my office with a negating wave of my hand. “If I have to suffer, then so does everyone else within a ten-mile radius.”

She pursed her lips. “What ever happened to taking one for the team?”

“Was never much of a team player.”

“Sacrificing yourself for the greater good?”

“Not that into human sacrifice.”

“Suffering in silence?”

I stopped and turned back to her, my eyes narrowing accusingly. “If I have to suffer, I’ll be screaming your name at the top of my lungs the whole time. You’ll be able to hear me all the way to Jersey, mark my words.”

“You’re very testy today.”

Fifteen minutes later, I stabbed the intercom thingy on my desk. “Remember that dental assistant at Reyes’s trial? She said Earl Walker was scared of Reyes, and she just happened to work for the same dentist who identified Earl through his dental records?”

“Sure, I remember. Sarah something,” she said.

“Sarah Hadley. And guess where Sarah Hadley is now.”

“Jamaica?”

“Why would she be in Jamaica?”

“You told me to guess.”

“Listen to this—”

“You realize I can hear you without the annoying intercom.”

Cookie and I both leaned forward and looked at each other through the doorway.

“But this is more fun,” I said. “More
Star Trek
kie.”

“More annoying?” she asked.

When I pressed my lips together and waited, she caved.

“So where is she?”

“Okay, check this out.” I brought up the article. “Sarah Hadley was found dead in her apartment Monday morning by her landlady while responding to complaints that Hadley’s television was too loud.” I looked back at her.

“No way,” she said, leaning forward again.

“Way.”

“Like, this Monday?”

“No, that’s just it. Reyes’s trial ended over ten years ago on a Thursday, right?”

“Right.”

“She was found dead the following Monday right after his trial.”

“Walker killed her. He was tying up loose ends.”

“It would seem so. Not only that, he was a hairsbreadth away from going to prison himself for scamming elderly women out of their money—winner—and was facing a fifteen-year prison sentence.”

“Then he’s conveniently murdered?”

“About five minutes before his case went to trial.”

“Lucky guy.”

“Yeah. Or a conniving one.”

“So, Sarah Hadley switches the dental records, thus proving the man Earl Walker chose to take his place in the afterlife was actually Earl Walker—”

“What? I can’t hear you.” I waved my hand and pointed to my ear and then at the intercom. “You need to speak into the intercom.”

After a loud sigh, she pressed the button. “—then she testifies against Reyes at his trial, and good ole Earl repays her by—”

“Beating her to death with a bookend.”

“I think Earl has issues.”

“And I think he has about a gazillion years of jail time waiting for him.” I jumped up, walked into Cookie’s office to grab my coat, as that was where I’d left it, walked back into my office, then pushed the intercom button again. “Okay, I have addresses on the names Reyes gave me. I’m heading out. And hopefully I won’t kill anyone.”

“You still have days before that happens. Don’t worry about it.”

“True, and thankfully one of the men on the list is already dead, so there’s no killing him again.”

“And the others?”

“One is here in Albuquerque, and one is in Corona.”

“The beer?”

“Sadly, no. The town.”

“We have a town named Corona?”

“I know, right? Who knew? I’m going to interview the guy here first. Wish me luck.”

“Wait!” she said as I walked past her desk.

I turned to her, but her finger was still on the button and she was giving me this impatient glare.

Oh fine. I’d started this. I once again walked into my office and pushed the intercom button.

“So, you’re saying I look like a cupcake?”

14

Time to make today my bitch.

—T-SHIRT

I steered Misery in the general direction of south until we came to a crumbling group of apartments behind another crumbling group of apartments behind an abandoned group of apartments that made the first two look like the Ritz.

“Charley’s House of Cards,” I said into my phone while pulling in to the lot of the worst of the apartment buildings.

“Yost’s first wife was cremated,” Cookie said.

“What?” I turned the ignition to off. “But her death was suspicious. And they let him cremate her?”

“Apparently. He had it done on the islands before he brought her back to the States.”

“Why do these people not check with me first?”

“No hit on the alias yet. Still looking.”

“Okay, let me know. Soon, because the odds of me getting out of this neighborhood alive are nowhere near good.”

“I knew it. I should have come with you.”

“So we could die together?”

“True. Well, good luck.”

I kept the phone to my face even after we’d hung up. A phone made the perfect excuse not to notice the people ogling me as I strode to apartment three. It didn’t actually have a
3
on the door, but I was pretty good at counting in the single digits.

I rapped on the door of one Mr. Virgil Gibbs, and a thin man, hunched over with age and abuse, answered. He had dark hair and a graying beard.

“Hi,” I said when I got his attention. He was busy looking at a group of men looking at me. “My name is Charlotte Davidson, and I’m a private in—”

“Maybe you should come inside, sweetheart.”

He stood back but kept a wary eye around us.

“Okay.” I was so going to die. I stepped inside nonetheless. He didn’t look super agile. Surely I could outrun him.

His apartment wasn’t bad, considering. A couple empty beer bottles on an end table. A television complete with foil-laced antenna sticking out. No dirty ashtrays, which surprised me. Or underwear on the couch.

“You want a beer?” he asked, the fact that he was missing a few teeth becoming evident with the question.

“No, thank you.”

He stepped to the fridge to get one for himself. “What did you say your name was?”

“Charlotte Davidson. I’m a private in—”

“Davidson?” he asked, twisting off the cap and eyeing me with a squint of blue.

“Yes, I’m a—”

“Well, if you don’t want a beer, what do you want?”

If he’d let me finish a freaking sentence, we’d get through this much faster. “Wait,” I said, walking to the window. “Is my Jeep safe out there?”