Sixth Grave on the Edge(3)

“He’s not very talkative,” I said, squinting for a better view when the driver’s-side door opened, “but I think his last name is Andrulis. It’s on his tattoo.”

“He’s got some ink?” She leaned forward and spotted Mr. A’s package. It was hard to miss.

“Good heavens,” she said, her eyes rounding in appreciation.

Before I could get a look at the driver, the garage door started closing. “Darn,” I whispered, tilting my head in unison with the descending door until it completely blocked my view.

I’d seen a woman’s foot as she stepped out of the car before the door closed completely. That was about it.

“He’s certainly been blessed,” she said.

I laid my head against the steering wheel and expelled a loud breath as disappointment washed over me. I’d been handed a file that could hold many answers to the puzzle that was Reyes Alexander Farrow, my nigh fiancé, and the Fosters were a big piece of the puzzle. Their first son had been kidnapped while napping in his room. Because there was never a ransom demand and no witnesses, the trail went cold almost immediately despite a massive search and public pleas from the parents. But the FBI agent assigned to the case never gave up. He’d always believed there was more to the case than just a kidnapping. And so did his daughter. We’d worked a couple of cases together in the past. She knew about my rep for solving difficult crimes, and she’d asked me to look at this cold case that had been the bane of her father’s existence.

And that was the day that Reyes Farrow’s kidnapping fell into my lap. He was the child who had been abducted almost thirty years prior. I glanced down at the file stuffed between my seat and the console. So much potential there. So much heartache.

“Don’t you think?”

I blinked back to Aunt Lil. “Think what?”

“That he’s been blessed.”

“Oh, yeah, I do.” I couldn’t help another glance. “But it’s just so … there. So unavoidable.” I tore my gaze away and pointed to his tat. “So, the name Andrulis. Does that ring any bells?”

“No, but I can do some investigating. See what turns up. Speaking of which, I have an idea I want to run past you.”

I shifted around so I could see her better. “Shoot.”

“I think we should work together.” She jammed a bony elbow into my side encouragingly, her arm passing through the seat to poke me.

“Ooooh-kay,” I said with a light chuckle.

“Ha! I knew it was a good idea.” Her face brightened, the grayish tones of life after death lightening just a little.

It could work. We could be the Dynamic Duo. Only without capes, sadly enough. I’d always wanted to do good deeds in a red cape. Or, at the very least, a mauve towel.

After taking another sip of my now lukewarm mocha latte—which was better than no mocha latte any day of the week—I asked, “Are you planning to draw a salary?”

“The way I see it, we should split the take fifty–fifty.”

I stifled a grin. “That’s the way you see it, huh?”

“Oh, and we probably need code names.”

Her suggestion made me choke on my next sip. “Code names?” I asked through the coughs.

“And code phrases like, ‘The sun never sets in the east.’ That could mean, ‘Switch to plan B.’ Or it could mean, ‘Let’s grab a bite to eat before the men come over.’”

“The men?” She’d really thought this through.

“Or it could mean, ‘How do you get blood out of silk?’ Because as PIs, we’ll need to know stuff like that.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” The file caught my attention again, and I turned back to the Foster house. “Blood can be stubborn.” Maybe I should just walk up and knock on the door. I could say I was helping a friend with an old case. I could ask if there were any new developments we hadn’t been informed of. I could ask if they knew that the man recently released from prison after doing ten years for a crime he didn’t commit was their son. I could ask if they knew what he’d been through, what he’d suffered at the hands of the man who raised him. But what good would adding guilt on top of guilt do anybody?

“Are you okay, pumpkin cheeks?”

I shook out of my thoughts. “Yeah, it’s just … well, two hours down the drain, and for what?” I gestured toward the Fosters’ house. “A foot in a sensible shoe driving a sensible car.”

She looked across the street toward the house. “What were you hoping to see?”

Her question took me by surprise. Even I wondered what I was really doing there. Did I simply want to see the woman who might have given birth to the man of my dreams? Did I want a glimpse of the man who may have been his human father?