was the fact that there wasn’t a single mention of the abuse he’d endured. Wouldn’t being almost beaten to death by your father count for something?
As badly as I wanted to go back to sleep, I knew it wouldn’t happen. My mind was racing too hard, too fast, even though I had a very good reason for wanting to go back to sleep, to fall into oblivion, come what may. For the first night in a month, Reyes didn’t visit me. He didn’t slip into my dreams with his dark eyes and warm touch. He didn’t trail kisses down my spine or slide his fingers between my legs. And I couldn’t help but wonder why. Did I do something wrong?
My heart felt hollow. I’d become quite addicted to his nightly visits. I looked more forward to them than to my next breath. Maybe my trip to the big house would shed some fluorescents on the situation.
As I was brushing my teeth, I heard shuffling in the kitchen. While most women who live alone would be alarmed by such an occurrence, I just chalked it up to job security.
I stepped out of the bathroom and squinted against the harsh light. “Aunt Lillian?” I asked, limping to the snack bar and scooting onto a stool. Aunt Lillian’s small frame was being swallowed by a floral muumuu, which she had accessorized with a leather vest and love beads straight out of the sixties. I’d tried over the years to figure out what she’d been doing when she died. I just couldn’t make anything click that would require muumuus and love beads. Other than playing a wicked game of Twister on LSD.
“Hey, pumpkin head,” she said, her ancient smile bright, albeit toothless. “I heard you stumble your way to the bathroom, so I figured I’d earn my keep and make us some coffee. Sure looks like you could use some.”
I grimaced. “Really? How sweet.” Damn. Aunt Lillian couldn’t really make coffee. I sat at the counter and pretended to drink a cup.
“Is it too strong?” she asked.
“No way, Aunt Lil, you make the best.”
Pretending to drink coffee was similar to faking an orgasm. Where in the supernatural afterlife was the fun in that? But caffeine withdrawal was the least of my problems. I still couldn’t get Reyes’s no-show out of my head. Maybe I did do something wrong. Or didn’t do something I should have. Maybe I needed to be more proactive in bed. Of course, that would imply that I actually had anything tantamount to control during our
“You seem … distracted, honey pot.”
Well, I wasn’t voted Most Likely to Become Distracted for nothing.
“Do you have a temperature?”
I glanced back. “I’m sure my temperature’s fine, Aunt Lil. Thanks for asking.”
I neglected to mention that, yes, I did indeed have a temperature. Every being on Earth has a temperature. Even dead people have a temperature. It’s not a good one, but it’s there.
“And thanks so much for the coffee.”
“Oh, anytime, sweetness. Would you like some breakfast?”
Not if I planned to make it through the day. “Oh, no, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I need to get in the shower, anyway. Big day ahead.”
She leaned in and grinned conspiratorially. I often wondered if her hair had been that blue in real life, or if it was an effect of her being incorporeal. “You goin’ after some bad guys?”
I chuckled. “You know it. The baddest.”
She sucked in a dreamy breath. “Ah, to be young and reckless. But really, pumpkin,” she said, sobering and leveling a very serious stare on me, “you need to stop getting your ass kicked. You look like hell.”
“Thanks, Aunt Lil,” I said, easing off the stool with a grimace, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She smiled, revealing an empty cavern where her dentures had been. Apparently, they didn’t make it to the other side. I’d never been sure if Aunt Lillian knew she was dead or not, and I never had the heart to tell her. I really should, though. I finally had a coffeepot that worked, and my departed great-great-aunt decided to make herself useful.
“By the way, how was Nepal?” I asked.
“Ugh,” she said, raising her hands in helplessness, “humid and hotter than a june bug in August.”
Since the departed weren’t affected by the weather, I had to hold back a grin.
Just then, Cookie crashed into the apartment, took one look at me, and rushed forward, her sky blue pajamas skewed and crinkled. “I fell asleep,” she said in a breathless rush.
“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at night?”
“No,” she said, looking me over with a mother’s eye, “well, yes, but I meant to check on you hours ago.” She leaned forward and peered into my eyes. Why, I had no idea. “Are you okay?”
“I’m alive,” I said. And I meant every word.
Only half convinced, she smoothed her pajama top and looked around. “Maybe I should make us some coffee.”
“Why?” I asked, my tone accusatory. “So you can slip me another roofie?”
“What?”
“Besides,” I said, indicating Aunt Lillian with a nonchalant nod of my head. “Aunt Lil already made coffee.”
I watched — and tried really hard not to giggle — as Cookie’s hopes for a caffeine high were dashed on the mocking rocks of irony. She hung her head and took the cup I handed her. “Thanks, Aunt Lillian. You’re the best.”
She’s a trouper, that one.
I set Cookie on the arduous task of going through Mark Weir’s court transcripts — which Uncle Bob had left on my desk — and checking Barber’s flash drives. Hopefully Barber wasn’t into fetishes. And if he was, hopefully he wasn’t into leaving evidence of such a thing on a flash drive where anyone could find it. Those things were much better off in a password-protected file buried deep in the underbelly of one’s hard drive with an inconspicuous file name. Something like Hot Firefighters in Love. For example.
My cell broke out into a chorus of Beethoven’s Fifth, and I did the find-the-needle-in-the-haystack thing while cruising at ninety in a seventy-five, marveling at how a cell phone could make itself so obscure in one tiny handbag.
“Hey, Ubie,” I said after a three-hour search.
“Must you call me that?” he asked in a groggy voice. He seemed almost as caffeine deprived as I was.
“Yep. I got the files you put on my desk. Cookie’s going through everything now.”
“And what are you doing?”
“My job,” I said, pretending to be offended. As badly as I wanted to ask him about Reyes’s conviction, I wanted to be face-to-face, where I could read his every expression. Or read things into his every expression, whichever worked best to my advantage. I still couldn’t believe he was lead detective on Reyes’s case. What were the odds?
“Oh, okay,” he said. “They found a partial on the shell casing from the Ellery site.”
“Really?” I asked, suddenly hopeful. “Did you get a hit?”
“This isn’t
“Sure am. I’m headed to the prison in Santa Fe to check out some intel.”
“What intel?” he asked, suspicion altering his voice.
“It’s … another case I’m working on,” I hedged.
“Oh.”
That was easy.
“Hey, what does
“Uncle Bob,” I said reproachfully, “have you been in that Hungarian chat room again?” I tried really hard not to giggle, but the thought of some Hungarian chick calling Ubie “the bomb” was just too much. I cracked up regardless.
“Never mind,” he said, annoyed.
