Third Grave Dead Ahead
Page 28
Before heading home, I hit the Chocolate Coffee Café for a mocha latte, Macho Taco for a chicken burrito with extra salsa, and a twenty-four-hour convenience store for a couple packages of microwave popcorn and some chocolate to tide me over for the night. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stay awake, though. I’d have to watch action movies, or horror, something bloody. Even then, I figured I had a 50/50 chance.
What had Reyes said? He wasn’t angry because he didn’t want to be there, but because he did? I didn’t know how to take that. My innards were in turmoil, but leaning toward happy, as desperate and pathetic as my innards were. Mostly ’cause Reyes did things to them. Delicious, devilish, heart-stoppingly decadent things. Damn him.
Before I could ponder myself into an orgasm, I opened my phone and called Cookie.
“Hey, boss. Where are you?” she asked.
“I just picked up something to eat. What about professional belly dancers?”
“Um, I don’t know, maybe with horseradish.”
“No, our new careers. We have to look to the future now, and I’ve always wanted to learn how to do the wave with my stomach. Not to mention the fact that my belly button could use the exposure. Almost no one knows about it.”
“You’re right,” she said, playing along. “I don’t even know its name.”
I gasped and glanced down. “I don’t think Stella heard you, but you need to be more careful. Oh, I meant to tell you, I think that server at Macho Taco with the short hair and strange eyebrows is Batman.”
“I’ve wondered about her. Did you want to discuss anything that actually pertains to a case?”
“You mean besides the fact that our Dr. Yost was married before?”
“You’re not going to believe this, but I was just about to call and tell you the same thing. It’s like we’re connected or something, like we have ESP.”
“Or extrasensory perception.”
“Exactly. I got a number on Yolanda Pope and left a message on her cell.”
“Most excellent. I’m dying to get the story behind those charges she filed on one Mr. Nathan Yost. In the meantime, I want you to get everything you can on Yost’s first wife.”
“Got it. I’ll put everything I’ve found so far on your counter. You’re on your way home, right?”
“I am indeed,” I said, turning onto Central.
“See. I didn’t even need to ask.”
“I know. It’s weird.”
“How many cups of coffee have you had today?”
I counted on my fingers before remembering they should remain on the steering wheel at all times while driving. “Seven,” I said, swerving to narrowly miss a horrified pedestrian.
“Just seven?”
“And twelve-halves.”
“Oh, well, that’s not bad. For you. Maybe now that you’ve talked to Reyes, you can get some sleep. Maybe, you know, he’ll stop.”
“Maybe. Sleep sounds really nice about now,” I said, the mere mention of it weighing me down, coaxing my lids closed before remembering they should remain open at all times while driving. So many rules. “I’m not sure, though. I get the feeling he doesn’t have any more choice in the matter than I do.”
“It’s all so cosmic,” she said, a wistful sigh in her voice.
“It’s definitely something. Okay, I’m almost home. Be there in a jiff.”
* * *
At exactly 8:23ish I stumbled across the threshold of my apartment, food, coffee, and DVDs in hand, while fishing through my bag for my phone. I had a text from Garrett. He was probably going to bitch me out for waking him before the sun shone that morning. I flipped it open. It read,
Four: You’re killing me.
I texted back.
Clearly I need to try harder.
“Hey, Mr. Wong,” I said after dumping the contents of my arms on the kitchen counter.
While Garrett’s list of the top five things you never want to say to the grim reaper was interesting, I had a better list for him. A to-do list. Vacuum. Clean out my fridge. Do the dishes in his underwear. Though why he would have dishes in his underwear was beyond me.
Just as I began perusing the research Cookie had put by Mr. Coffee—she knew me so well—someone knocked on my door. I found the prospect appealing. Maybe I’d won a million dollars. Or maybe someone was going to try to sell me a vacuum cleaner and would offer a free demonstration. Either way, it was a win–win.
I put down my chicken burrito and opened the door to my good fortune, realizing I would do anything I could think of to stay awake.
Cookie’s daughter, Amber, stood on the other side. Well, not the other side, just the other side of the door. She would have been tall for a twenty-year-old, but she was only twelve, which made her really tall. I could’ve sworn she was much shorter that morning. Fresh out of the shower, her long black hair smelled like strawberry shampoo and hung in wet tangles over her shoulders. She wore pink tank-topped pajamas with capri-styled bottoms covering the longest, skinniest legs I’d ever seen. Dancer’s legs. She was like a butterfly on the verge of bursting out of her cocoon.
“Are you going to watch TV on your TV?” she asked, her huge blue eyes completely serious.
“As opposed to on my toaster?” When she pressed her mouth together and blinked, waiting for a response, I caved. “No, I’m not going to watch TV on my TV.”
“Good.” She grinned and bounced past me.
What had Reyes said? He wasn’t angry because he didn’t want to be there, but because he did? I didn’t know how to take that. My innards were in turmoil, but leaning toward happy, as desperate and pathetic as my innards were. Mostly ’cause Reyes did things to them. Delicious, devilish, heart-stoppingly decadent things. Damn him.
Before I could ponder myself into an orgasm, I opened my phone and called Cookie.
“Hey, boss. Where are you?” she asked.
“I just picked up something to eat. What about professional belly dancers?”
“Um, I don’t know, maybe with horseradish.”
“No, our new careers. We have to look to the future now, and I’ve always wanted to learn how to do the wave with my stomach. Not to mention the fact that my belly button could use the exposure. Almost no one knows about it.”
“You’re right,” she said, playing along. “I don’t even know its name.”
I gasped and glanced down. “I don’t think Stella heard you, but you need to be more careful. Oh, I meant to tell you, I think that server at Macho Taco with the short hair and strange eyebrows is Batman.”
“I’ve wondered about her. Did you want to discuss anything that actually pertains to a case?”
“You mean besides the fact that our Dr. Yost was married before?”
“You’re not going to believe this, but I was just about to call and tell you the same thing. It’s like we’re connected or something, like we have ESP.”
“Or extrasensory perception.”
“Exactly. I got a number on Yolanda Pope and left a message on her cell.”
“Most excellent. I’m dying to get the story behind those charges she filed on one Mr. Nathan Yost. In the meantime, I want you to get everything you can on Yost’s first wife.”
“Got it. I’ll put everything I’ve found so far on your counter. You’re on your way home, right?”
“I am indeed,” I said, turning onto Central.
“See. I didn’t even need to ask.”
“I know. It’s weird.”
“How many cups of coffee have you had today?”
I counted on my fingers before remembering they should remain on the steering wheel at all times while driving. “Seven,” I said, swerving to narrowly miss a horrified pedestrian.
“Just seven?”
“And twelve-halves.”
“Oh, well, that’s not bad. For you. Maybe now that you’ve talked to Reyes, you can get some sleep. Maybe, you know, he’ll stop.”
“Maybe. Sleep sounds really nice about now,” I said, the mere mention of it weighing me down, coaxing my lids closed before remembering they should remain open at all times while driving. So many rules. “I’m not sure, though. I get the feeling he doesn’t have any more choice in the matter than I do.”
“It’s all so cosmic,” she said, a wistful sigh in her voice.
“It’s definitely something. Okay, I’m almost home. Be there in a jiff.”
* * *
At exactly 8:23ish I stumbled across the threshold of my apartment, food, coffee, and DVDs in hand, while fishing through my bag for my phone. I had a text from Garrett. He was probably going to bitch me out for waking him before the sun shone that morning. I flipped it open. It read,
Four: You’re killing me.
I texted back.
Clearly I need to try harder.
“Hey, Mr. Wong,” I said after dumping the contents of my arms on the kitchen counter.
While Garrett’s list of the top five things you never want to say to the grim reaper was interesting, I had a better list for him. A to-do list. Vacuum. Clean out my fridge. Do the dishes in his underwear. Though why he would have dishes in his underwear was beyond me.
Just as I began perusing the research Cookie had put by Mr. Coffee—she knew me so well—someone knocked on my door. I found the prospect appealing. Maybe I’d won a million dollars. Or maybe someone was going to try to sell me a vacuum cleaner and would offer a free demonstration. Either way, it was a win–win.
I put down my chicken burrito and opened the door to my good fortune, realizing I would do anything I could think of to stay awake.
Cookie’s daughter, Amber, stood on the other side. Well, not the other side, just the other side of the door. She would have been tall for a twenty-year-old, but she was only twelve, which made her really tall. I could’ve sworn she was much shorter that morning. Fresh out of the shower, her long black hair smelled like strawberry shampoo and hung in wet tangles over her shoulders. She wore pink tank-topped pajamas with capri-styled bottoms covering the longest, skinniest legs I’d ever seen. Dancer’s legs. She was like a butterfly on the verge of bursting out of her cocoon.
“Are you going to watch TV on your TV?” she asked, her huge blue eyes completely serious.
“As opposed to on my toaster?” When she pressed her mouth together and blinked, waiting for a response, I caved. “No, I’m not going to watch TV on my TV.”
“Good.” She grinned and bounced past me.
