First Grave on the Right

“Ah,” he said, understanding my point. “Official business. Got it. I’ll let you know if anything comes in.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

He smiled, held it for a moment, then leaned down to whisper in my ear. “But if you ever come into my bar with a bruised and swollen face again, we’re going to have a serious talk about your official business and everything it entails.”

Damn. I thought I’d gotten away with it. I thought I’d convinced him that my ass-kicking was more of an educational experience than a scarred-for-life one.

My shoulders deflated. “Fine,” I said, adding a slight whine to my normally nonalcoholic voice.

He kissed my cheek and took off to cover the bar. Apparently, Donnie hadn’t come in yet. Donnie was a quiet Native American with long black hair and killer pecs. He didn’t care enough about me to give me the time of day, but I pretty much had the time-of-day thing covered anyway. And Donnie was nice to look at.

Uncle Bob closed his cell phone and placed his full attention on me. It was unsettling. “So,” he said, “you want to tell me what was happening when I walked into your office this morning?”

Oh, that. I shifted in my chair uncomfortably. Making out with air must look ridiculous to the ordinary passerby.

“How bad was it?” I asked him.

“Not bad, I guess. I thought you were having a panic attack or something. But then I realized Cookie and Swopes were just staring at you, so I figured whatever it was couldn’t have been life-threatening.”

“Right, because Swopes would have been right there, giving me mouth-to-mouth or something else heroic.”

Uncle Bob tilted his head as he thought back. “Actually, it was more the look of utter longing on Cookie’s face.”

A bubble of laughter rose from my throat. I could totally see the euphoria in Cookie’s expression. Uncle Bob sat patiently, his furry brows raised in question as he waited for an explanation.

Well, he wasn’t getting one. “You know, Uncle Bob, we might want to steer clear of this particular subject, you being my uncle and all.”

“Okay,” he said with a nonchalant shrug, pretending to drop the subject. He sipped from his iced tea, then added, “Swopes seemed pretty upset, though. Figured you might know why.”

“I do. He’s an asshole.”

“He’s a little moody sometimes, I’ll give you that.”

“So was Josef Mengele.”

“But in his defense,” he continued, doing his best to placate me, “this whole rift between you two is my fault. If I’d just kept my mouth shut. Darn those lagers.”

“Well, lagers didn’t turn Swopes into an asshole. I’m pretty sure he was born that way.”

Uncle Bob sucked in a long, deep breath, then dropped the subject for real. “I can see where this is not going. But dammit, Charley, I have a job to do.” I blinked in surprise, and he grinned. “I have to go harass your dad.” He rose from the table and patted my shoulder, which was his way of saying we were good.

I slipped my hand onto his. “Harass him some for me, will you?”

After a soft squeeze, Uncle Bob strolled over to the bar, claiming — loudly — to be an investigator from the CDC. I cringed. Dad found few things less humorous than the thought of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention paying him a visit. It lay somewhere between an IRS audit and a class action lawsuit.

I glanced back at the lawyers. They were sitting around the table — Uncle Bob had pulled out chairs for them — and talking amongst themselves.

“Do you know when your funeral is?” Elizabeth asked Sussman, her voice tainted with sadness.

He lowered his head. “They’re meeting with the funeral director this afternoon.”

She put her hand on his. “How is Michelle doing?”

“Not well. I need to get back to her.”

Uh-oh. He was going to be one of those departed who stays behind to take care of his family. Similar to the idea that Barber could pale in shock, a ghost taking care of his family was physiologically impossible. I’d have to try to dissuade him from that path when all was said and done.

“What about you?” Barber asked Elizabeth. “Do you know when your funeral is?”

“I haven’t heard either.” She hedged closer to him. “So, are you going to yours?”

Barber shrugged. “I don’t know. Are you going to yours?”

“I figured I might.”

“Oh yeah?”

Elizabeth smiled and scooted closer. “I’ll make a deal with you.”

“Uh-oh.”

“If you’ll go with me to my funeral, I’ll go with you to yours.”

Barber thought about that for a moment, then gave a reluctant shrug. I tried not to crack up. They were like junior high kids trying to convince themselves they didn’t really want to go to the school dance.

“I guess we could do that,” Barber said. “You in, Patrick?”

“What?” Sussman seemed a thousand solar systems away. He forced his attention back to his colleagues. “I don’t know. Seems kind of morbid.”

“Come on,” Elizabeth said. “We can listen to all the wonderful comments about us from the relatives who hated us most.”

Sussman sighed. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course we are.” Elizabeth patted his hand, then glanced at me. “Don’t you think he should go to his funeral, Charlotte?”

“His funeral?” I asked, caught off guard. “Oh, well, sure. Who wouldn’t kill to go to their own funeral?”

“See,” she said, patting his hand again.

“I hope we’re not buried in the same cemetery,” Barber said. “I don’t know if I could handle an eternity with you two as my neighbors.”

Sussman snorted and Elizabeth socked him on the arm.

“I’m just saying,” he said, a wide grin spreading across his face as Elizabeth glowered playfully at him. He turned to me then. “So, Reaper, what’s next?”

I had to think about that one. “First of all,” I said, poking him with an index finger, “that’s Ms. Reaper to you, bub.”

He chuckled.

“And second, I should probably take a look-see at your files on this case.”

“Sure,” Elizabeth said. “We have an emergency key hidden at the offices.”

“Oh!” I said, raising my hand and squirming in my seat like a third grader with a UTI. “Is it in one of those fake rocks that looks like a real rock but it isn’t because it’s fake?”

“No,” they said simultaneously.

“Oh, sorry. Go ahead,” I said to Elizabeth, since I’d interrupted her.

“And we’ll have to give you the security code in case Nora isn’t there. If she is, you might have a difficult time getting anything without a warrant.”

“Right. I didn’t think of that. I’m sure Uncle Bob could get me one.”

“If not,” Sussman said, “you might want to consider breaking in tonight and getting the files then.”

We all turned to him. He didn’t seem like a B and E kind of guy.

“What? It’s not illegal if we give her permission.”

True enough. “Though I’m not sure the authorities would agree with you, I like it.”

Sussman grinned. “I had a feeling you might.”

“Can I ask you guys a couple of questions,” I said, realizing it might be a good time to bring up Reyes, “about this morning?”

“Of course,” Barber said. Elizabeth dropped her gaze, seemed to withdraw. Not overtly, but I read people well enough to know when the atmosphere changed. I was curious to know what happened, and what could make her so reluctant to speak with me about it.

Shifting back to Reyes, I decided to get the embarrassing part out of the way. “I’ve decided to get the