“My stepsister, I mean,” said Andie, her heart pounding and her mind racing as she backpedaled her way out of blowing her own cover. “I have a stepsister who is useless. So unless you’re planning to put me in handcuffs and drag me to the airport, I’ll see you in a week.”
Bahena unleashed his patented stare of intimidation, but Andie gave it right back to him. She had him pegged for the kind of man who didn’t respect any woman who wasn’t prepared to spit in his eye, and it was time to turn on the attitude.
“Have a nice flight,” she said as she started for the door.
“Lisa,” said Bahena.
She stopped and turned quickly-quickly enough to disabuse him of the notion that her real name was anything but Lisa.
“I’ll give you till Friday,” he said.
Andie didn’t nod her agreement, and she sure as hell didn’t thank him. She opened the door and left the heliport without another word, kicking herself for the lapse about a sister. And wondering if she could ever come back.
Chapter Forty-two
It’s nowhere near as bad as twenty years ago,” said Theo, “but it’s straight out of the bad old days.”
Jack parked his car down the street from the cemetery, directly across from Tucker Elementary-where Theo had gone to school in the sense that, on occasion, he had physically occupied space there. Charlotte Jane Memorial Park was part of Theo’s old neighborhood, just two blocks away from where someone had slit his drug-addicted mother’s throat and left her to die on the street. Theo had been just thirteen when he’d found her body outside Homeboy’s Tavern.
“I know you hate coming around here,” said Jack. “But I didn’t know what to think when Mays called and said he had to meet me at McKenna’s grave. Every time I start to see Mays as a potential ally, he says something that makes me think he’s nothing but trouble.”
“You want me to kick his ass?”
“No,” said Jack, groaning. “Chuck Mays thinks he’s the smartest person in the world, which means I don’t want it to come down to my word against his if there’s ever a dispute about what was said between us.”
“So you want me to threaten to kick his ass.”
“No. Just keep your mouth shut and listen. Believe it or not, life doesn’t always come down to kicking somebody’s ass.”
Theo glanced at the school’s graffiti-covered entrance, shook his head, and chuckled. “Dude, you wouldn’t have lasted five minutes at Tucker Elementary.”
It was late Sunday afternoon, but the cemetery was open to the public until sundown. They climbed out of the car and walked to the west entrance on Charles Street. The sidewalk was dimpled and rutted with symbols that gangs had etched into eternity when the cement had been poured twenty years ago. Jack even found one from the Grove Lords-Theo’s old partners in street crime. The rusted iron gate creaked as it opened, and Jack spotted Chuck Mays and Vince Paulo standing beneath the two large oak trees that Mays had described to Jack in his directions. Jack led, and Theo followed. The sun was low enough in the sky to cast long shadows, and they’d passed just two rows of old tombs when Theo broke into his singing voice, quietly but predictably invoking the memory of Michael Jackson:
“It’s close to midnight, something something, something dark
…”
Theo’s recollection of the lyrics expired quickly, but he was still humming the tune as they reached McKenna’s grave. Jack silenced him with a glare and introduced Theo to Mays and Paulo as his “investigator.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Theo had worn many hats throughout their friendship-all of them size XXL.
“Sorry about your friend Neil,” said Vince.
“Ditto,” said Mays.
It was already feeling awkward, standing around McKenna’s tomb in an old Bahamian cemetery, talking about Neil in the past tense.
“I appreciate that,” said Jack.
“It changes things, doesn’t it,” said Mays, “having skin in the game?”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” said Jack.
Mays glanced at Theo, gestured toward the bench beneath the oak tree, and said, “Have a seat, big guy.” He wasn’t being polite. Theo was the tallest man in the group, and Mays clearly wasn’t used to looking up at anyone.
“I’m good,” said Theo.
Jack said, “What is it that you wanted to show me, Chuck?”
“You see where you’re standing?” asked Mays.
Jack looked around, orienting himself. Family plots marked GUILFORD and SANDS were directly behind him. His left foot was practically touching McKenna’s tomb. “What about it?” said Jack.
Mays’ expression turned very serious. “This morning when I came here, I saw Shada kneeling in that exact spot.”
Jack glanced at the plaque beside McKenna’s grave: IN MEMORY OF SHADA MAYS, it read. “You’re one strange guy, Chuck. Let’s go, Theo.”
Mays grabbed Jack by the arm and said, “I saw her.”
“Yeah, and I once had a client who looked down at his grilled cheese sandwich and swore he saw the Virgin Mary. Now let go of my arm.”
“This is not a joke.”
Theo grabbed Mays, his huge hand making Mays’ considerable forearms seem slight. “Let go,” said Theo.
Mays released, and so did Theo, but the tension hung in the air between them. It was palpable, no gift of sight required.
“Chuck is telling the truth,” said Vince.
Jack still had doubts, but if Vince was vouching for his friend, Jack owed them the courtesy of an ear. “Did you talk to her?” asked Jack.
“No,” said Mays. “She ran as soon as I spotted her.”
“How close did you get?”
“Twenty yards.”
“Show me an eyewitness who was standing twenty yards away, and I’ll show you a dozen first-year law students who could rip him to shreds.”
“I know it was her,” said Mays.
“How can you be sure?”
“She left me a message.”
Jack did a double take. The story had suddenly taken on an entirely different quality. “What kind of message?”
Mays went to McKenna’s grave and knelt beside it. “Have you ever heard of a memory medallion?”
“No,” said Jack.
“It’s nothing super-high-tech, but it’s about as computer savvy as graves get.” He brushed away a little dust from a metal plate on the stone marker. It was about the size of a quarter.
“It’s an added feature you can order through just about any funeral company,” said Mays. “The marker comes with a weatherproof portal. If you know the password, you can hook up a USB cable and view photographs or read stories that others have left. Or you can leave something for others to see: pictures, poems, stories. Or you can do what Shada did this morning: leave a message for your husband.”
“That makes no sense,” said Jack. “Let’s put aside all the other questions raised by her resurrection from the Everglades. If she wanted to get in touch with you after all this time, why wouldn’t she just call or e-mail
