Eleventh Grave in Moonlight(7)

* * *

After two hours and seven cups of coffee split between the three of us—since Cookie had helped me with the initial investigation, I’d invited her into the meeting—we came to the conclusion that Shawn was definitely one of the three adoptions that the shady agency had overseen.

I couldn’t imagine how the agency got away with it. There were rules and regulations up the wazoo for a business like that. State inspections and licenses that had to be approved. The paperwork must have just slipped through somehow. Or perhaps someone was paid to look the other way.

We went over everything Shawn knew and everything we’d found out with a fine-tooth rake. Shawn wanted to know more about Reyes. I had already said too much. And besides, I got the feeling he knew a lot more about Reyes than he was letting on.

Thankfully, he understood when I told him I needed to confer with my partner in crime before filling him in. Of course, one search and he could know way too much about Reyes, if he didn’t already—namely, that he’d spent a decade behind bars for a murder he didn’t commit. But what little I did say about Reyes hadn’t surprised him in the least. Almost as though he already knew him.

The longer we talked, the stronger the feeling that there was more to Shawn Foster than met the eye. I would catch him studying me. Not in the usual way a man might study a woman, but in a curious way. Like he was trying to figure me out. But that was cool. I was trying to figure him out, too.

“Okay, we’ll get started on this. Are you sure you want to go home, Shawn?”

He’d stood and taken his cup to the counter where the Bunn sat. “What do you mean?”

I walked over to him as Cookie gathered papers. “I mean, are you going to be able to keep up the charade a little longer? I don’t think you should tell your parents—”

“You mean the crackpots who abducted me?”

I bowed my head. The resentment was already getting a foothold. “Yes. I don’t think you should tell them just yet. Let us look into this a little more. See what we can dig up.”

He nodded. “I won’t say anything.”

“I’m worried what will happen if you do.”

“Charley, I’ve been living with this for a long time. The doubt. The suspicion. A few more days isn’t going to make any difference.”

“I live in the Causeway, the apartments behind us. Third floor. First door on your left. You are welcome anytime, day or night.”

“Thanks,” he said. It was a brush-off. He didn’t believe me.

“No, I mean it. In fact, I think you should come stay with us either way. Just until we get this sorted out.”

He let a grin overtake his features. “And what would my brother say?”

I laughed softly. His brother. Reyes.

“Maybe you should tell him about all this first.”

“He’s kind of awesome, actually. He’d be totally cool with it.”

“Okay, well, I’ll think about it.” He said good-bye to Cookie, and just as he was about to walk out the door, he turned and said, “There is one more thing I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Shoot.”

He narrowed his eyes, looked me up and down, then said, “Why the hell are you so bright?”





4

Why yes, I have discovered the joy of cooking. It’s when my husband does it.

—MEME

“What does this mean?” Cookie asked.

I’d put Shawn off for a while. No way was I going to tell him about my whole grim reaper gig. Or better yet, the god thing.

“He must be like Pari,” I said.

One of my besties, a tattoo artist with more ink pigmentation than skin cells, could see just beyond the veil that separated this plane from the next. The one that lies between the tangible world and the intangible. But instead of seeing the departed, instead of seeing an actual being, she saw mist. But she also saw my light. In fact, she had to wear sunglasses around me.

Shawn seemed fine without the shades, but he definitely saw my inner glowworm. I decided to leave it at that. If I pried further into what he could see, he would’ve had cause to pry further into what I was, so I didn’t ask if he could see the departed. If he could see ghosts. I just told him I had a connection to the supernatural realm that was … complicated.

That seemed to satisfy him. For now.

“Okay,” I said, snapping out of my musings, “how about you look into that agency some more? And maybe do a more thorough background check on the Fosters. I want to know everything about them. Where they were born. Where they went to school. How they met. Surely there is something in their past that will help explain their present.”

“Already on it. You know, there’s something we haven’t discussed yet.”

“Yeah?”

“If this does come out, especially your husband’s part in it, the Loehrs could be summoned for a deposition or even to testify in court.”

“Crap. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Since they’re in hiding with your daughter, I thought that might be a bad idea.”

“No, you’re right. We’ll just have to keep Reyes’s abduction out of it altogether. If that’s possible.”

“Shawn will go along with that. I’m certain.”

“I think so, too. He seems like a great guy.”

“He does,” she said. “Wait. What about the other two?”

“The other two?”

“The other two adoptions that shady agency facilitated. Where did those kids come from?”

I sat behind my desk again. “Yeah, I wondered about that, too. Maybe you should look into those. You know, in your spare time.” I was such a slave driver.

“Do you think your friend Agent Carson could help?”

“With the case, probably. With the fact that your blouse is still inside out?” I eyed her doubtfully.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Why didn’t you remind me?” She took off for the restroom, appalled. “I’m meeting Robert for lunch.”

“Get a quickie while you can!” I said with a giggle.

* * *

I sat at a table in Calamity’s, Reyes’s bar and grill, and watched my husband leave his office and head toward me. I’d offered to make him lunch. He was the master chef in the family, but I’d watched just enough Food Network to be dangerous. I figured it was high time I cook for him. There was just one problem with my master plan. I’d gotten so busy this morning that I didn’t have time to cook, so I’d had to improvise.

He moved with the grace of an animal, his dark hair and intense gaze captivating the room. Most eyes turned toward him. Most breaths caught. Most conversation came to a standstill.

When he sat down, I pushed one of two plates toward him. Each had three rows of crackers with tuna salad on top and a fat, orange carrot on the side as garnish. The carrots still had their peels and stalks on them, stalks that took up half the table. But I’d run out of time.

He eyed his plate, his expression filled with traces of humor and doubt.

“Don’t knock it until you try it,” I said. “We’re having whores-de-vours.” I gazed up at him. “Who doesn’t adore whores-de-vours?” When he didn’t answer, I took the opportunity to add, “And carrots.”

“I had no idea you were so fond of hors d’oeuvres.”

“Love. Them.” I snapped off the tip of my carrot and ate, crunching it as loudly as I could.

“More than my huevos rancheros?”

Damn, he had me there. His huevos, rancheros or otherwise, were pretty fantastic.

He lifted a cracker as though it had a viral infection and took the whole thing in one bite. Then his face—no, his doubts!—transformed. He nodded in appreciation and ate another.

I took a bite, too, and marveled as I savored the best tuna salad I’d ever had. It was tuna salad, for his Brother’s sake.

“This is really good,” he said, a little surprised.

“It’s phenomenal.” I was even more than a little surprised.

He finished off his first line of whores, then asked, “What’s your secret?”

“No idea,” I said with my mouth half-full. “I didn’t make it. I got busy.”

He cast me a look of horror but recovered quickly. “Who made it?”

“No idea again. I scraped it off the sandwich Sammy brought for lunch.”

He choked, coughing lightly before asking, “And how did Sammy take that?”

“I don’t think he knows yet.”

“And the carrots?”

“They were there. Just seemed kind of fitting.”

He leaned back in his chair. “An entire kitchen at your disposal and you had to resort to thievery to feed me. What kind of billion-heiress are you?”

For that, I stole one of his crackers. “Billion-heiress implies an inheritance. I married into money, thank you very much. I’m officially a trophy wife.” When he continued to watch me with an uncomfortable mixture of appreciation and humor, I put down the cracker and said, “So, what did you want to talk about?”

“I think you know.” His deep voice washed over me like warm water. Or honey. Or rum. Add some lemon and I could pass for a hot toddy.

“What did you do to ruffle Jehovah’s feathers?”

How did he know I did anything to ruffle his Brother’s feathers? “How do you know I did anything to ruffle your Brother’s feathers?” When he only stared, silently judging me for, like, ever, I caved. “What gave it away?”