Third Grave Dead Ahead
Page 25
“The light?” I asked, all innocence and myrrh.
“Of course. When he was … right before he died, he said he saw a light, only it was coming from a woman with brown hair, gold eyes, and—” She cast a quick glance at my feet. “—motorcycle boots.”
“Really?” I asked, stunned. “He saw me? I mean, he should’ve gone into the other light. You know, the main one, the direct route. I’m mostly reserved for those who’ve passed and didn’t go up immediately.” I glanced down at myself, annoyed that I couldn’t see what the departed saw. My brilliant, come-hither beacon. “I totally need to check my wattage.”
“He said bite me?” she asked, already over the fact that I was a light the departed went into. It would hit her later.
“Yes,” I said with a wary grin. “What did he mean?”
A smile that resembled those searchlights on cop cars flashed across her face. “He meant he wanted to marry me. It was kind of our code.” Her long fingers picked at a thread on her Super Dog shirt. “We never liked to argue in front of people, so we made up codes for everything, even the good stuff.”
“Ah,” I said, understanding her earlier outburst, “and ‘I love you very much’ was code for—?”
With a sheepish smile, she said, “I would rather suffer the sting of a thousand fire ants on my eyeballs than look at your face another minute.”
“Oh, wow, so you came up with a code for that, huh?”
She giggled, but soon the grief caught up with her again and her smile faltered. She caught it and pushed it back up for my benefit.
“No,” I told her, placing a hand on her shoulder, “you don’t have to pretend for me.” In an instant the tears reappeared and she hugged me again. We sat like that a long time as boys and men alike passed by the room to look in, mostly for a glimpse of the girl-on-girl action.
6
Ask me about my complete lack of interest.
—T-SHIRT
The minute Jenny started putting two and two together and asking me questions about how I got the message from Ronald and could I communicate with the other side, I suddenly had to be somewhere. Thankfully, she understood and offered to buy me another chili dog before I left, as mine had literally become chilly, but by then, I was out of the chili dog mood and had careened into hankering for a guacamole burger from Macho Taco. Plus Macho Taco had excellent coffee. Which would explain my presence there.
I decided to call the FBI agent who’d been assigned to the Yost case, see what I could dig up. “Yes, is this Agent Carson?” I asked as I sat at a booth and piled jalapeños onto my guacamole burger.
“This is her,” the woman on the other end of the phone said.
“Oh, awesome.” I plopped the bun back on, licked my fingertips, then groped through my handbag for a notepad. Instead, I came up with a napkin that had some long-forgotten phone number on it. It would have to do. I flipped it over and clicked my pen. “My name is Charlotte Davidson and I’ve been hired by Teresa Yost’s family to look into her disappearance,” I said, lying a little.
“Well, then, you must be in contact with them. You probably know everything we do.” Her tone was sharp and brooked no argument, but there were few things I liked better than brooking arguments. I’d dealt with the FBI before, and not just those annoying Female Body Inspectors. I’d dealt with the real FBI on several occasions. Apparently, one of the prerequisites to becoming a federal agent was the inability to play well with others.
“Oh, I’m sure I do, about the case. I was actually wondering about Dr. Yost.”
“Really?” Her interest piqued. “Didn’t he hire you?”
“Well, yes and no. Let’s just say I haven’t accepted any money from him. I’m out to find Teresa Yost, not to make friends.”
“That’s good to hear,” she said, a smile in her voice. “But I’m still not sure—”
“Nathan Yost was arrested in college. While going to medical school, in fact. Surely, you’ve checked into that.”
After a long silence where I tried really hard not to ogle a transvestite in the most beautiful ruby stilettos I’d ever seen, she said, “It’s nothing you can’t find out on your own.”
“True, but this is faster. I’ll make a deal with you.”
“This should be good.” I heard the squeak of a chair as if she’d leaned back in it, possibly to put up her feet. “So?”
“I’ll call you the minute I find her.”
It was odd. She didn’t scoff, bark with laughter, grind her teeth in annoyance, at least not that I could hear. She just said, “And I get partial credit?”
“Of course.”
“Deal.”
Wow.
“The arrest in college was due to a complaint by an ex-girlfriend.”
Okay, way too easy.
“She said Yost became agitated when she tried to break up with him, told her one stick was all it would take. Her heart would stop in seconds, and no one would be able to trace it back to him. She got scared and moved in with her parents the next day.”
“I can see why.”
“They convinced her to press charges, but it was all hearsay. No concrete evidence, no other reports of abnormal behavior on file, so the DA’s hands were tied.”
“That’s really interesting. One stick and her heart would stop, huh?”
“Of course. When he was … right before he died, he said he saw a light, only it was coming from a woman with brown hair, gold eyes, and—” She cast a quick glance at my feet. “—motorcycle boots.”
“Really?” I asked, stunned. “He saw me? I mean, he should’ve gone into the other light. You know, the main one, the direct route. I’m mostly reserved for those who’ve passed and didn’t go up immediately.” I glanced down at myself, annoyed that I couldn’t see what the departed saw. My brilliant, come-hither beacon. “I totally need to check my wattage.”
“He said bite me?” she asked, already over the fact that I was a light the departed went into. It would hit her later.
“Yes,” I said with a wary grin. “What did he mean?”
A smile that resembled those searchlights on cop cars flashed across her face. “He meant he wanted to marry me. It was kind of our code.” Her long fingers picked at a thread on her Super Dog shirt. “We never liked to argue in front of people, so we made up codes for everything, even the good stuff.”
“Ah,” I said, understanding her earlier outburst, “and ‘I love you very much’ was code for—?”
With a sheepish smile, she said, “I would rather suffer the sting of a thousand fire ants on my eyeballs than look at your face another minute.”
“Oh, wow, so you came up with a code for that, huh?”
She giggled, but soon the grief caught up with her again and her smile faltered. She caught it and pushed it back up for my benefit.
“No,” I told her, placing a hand on her shoulder, “you don’t have to pretend for me.” In an instant the tears reappeared and she hugged me again. We sat like that a long time as boys and men alike passed by the room to look in, mostly for a glimpse of the girl-on-girl action.
6
Ask me about my complete lack of interest.
—T-SHIRT
The minute Jenny started putting two and two together and asking me questions about how I got the message from Ronald and could I communicate with the other side, I suddenly had to be somewhere. Thankfully, she understood and offered to buy me another chili dog before I left, as mine had literally become chilly, but by then, I was out of the chili dog mood and had careened into hankering for a guacamole burger from Macho Taco. Plus Macho Taco had excellent coffee. Which would explain my presence there.
I decided to call the FBI agent who’d been assigned to the Yost case, see what I could dig up. “Yes, is this Agent Carson?” I asked as I sat at a booth and piled jalapeños onto my guacamole burger.
“This is her,” the woman on the other end of the phone said.
“Oh, awesome.” I plopped the bun back on, licked my fingertips, then groped through my handbag for a notepad. Instead, I came up with a napkin that had some long-forgotten phone number on it. It would have to do. I flipped it over and clicked my pen. “My name is Charlotte Davidson and I’ve been hired by Teresa Yost’s family to look into her disappearance,” I said, lying a little.
“Well, then, you must be in contact with them. You probably know everything we do.” Her tone was sharp and brooked no argument, but there were few things I liked better than brooking arguments. I’d dealt with the FBI before, and not just those annoying Female Body Inspectors. I’d dealt with the real FBI on several occasions. Apparently, one of the prerequisites to becoming a federal agent was the inability to play well with others.
“Oh, I’m sure I do, about the case. I was actually wondering about Dr. Yost.”
“Really?” Her interest piqued. “Didn’t he hire you?”
“Well, yes and no. Let’s just say I haven’t accepted any money from him. I’m out to find Teresa Yost, not to make friends.”
“That’s good to hear,” she said, a smile in her voice. “But I’m still not sure—”
“Nathan Yost was arrested in college. While going to medical school, in fact. Surely, you’ve checked into that.”
After a long silence where I tried really hard not to ogle a transvestite in the most beautiful ruby stilettos I’d ever seen, she said, “It’s nothing you can’t find out on your own.”
“True, but this is faster. I’ll make a deal with you.”
“This should be good.” I heard the squeak of a chair as if she’d leaned back in it, possibly to put up her feet. “So?”
“I’ll call you the minute I find her.”
It was odd. She didn’t scoff, bark with laughter, grind her teeth in annoyance, at least not that I could hear. She just said, “And I get partial credit?”
“Of course.”
“Deal.”
Wow.
“The arrest in college was due to a complaint by an ex-girlfriend.”
Okay, way too easy.
“She said Yost became agitated when she tried to break up with him, told her one stick was all it would take. Her heart would stop in seconds, and no one would be able to trace it back to him. She got scared and moved in with her parents the next day.”
“I can see why.”
“They convinced her to press charges, but it was all hearsay. No concrete evidence, no other reports of abnormal behavior on file, so the DA’s hands were tied.”
“That’s really interesting. One stick and her heart would stop, huh?”
