“Where are we going?” he asked.
“They’re behind that little Italian place by the theater.”
“Which theater?” he asked as he pulled out. I sat in the middle between Garrett and Reyes, trying to calm Cookie down.
“Put Uncle Bob on the phone,” I said to her.
“I tried. He won’t listen. He’s furious, Charley. He thinks this guy is some kind of stalker or something.”
“Did you tell him what we talked about?”
“Yes! I did everything just like we discussed. I called Robert and told him I was on a date from that online service, but that my date was making me very uncomfortable. I told him I didn’t feel safe and asked if he would come pick me up. That was it! I didn’t say anything else, but Robert stormed in when he got here, put the guy in a choke hold, and dragged him out. They’re arguing now. Just hurry, Charley. Please!”
“We’re almost there,” I said, thanking the creator for giving Garrett a lead foot. “Just try to get Uncle Bob on the phone. Tell him it’s me.”
“O-okay, I’ll try.” I heard arguing in the background, then Cookie trying to talk to an insane man who went by the name of Robert Davidson.
“Just stay back, Cookie,” he growled at her.
Then I heard scuffling and Cookie screamed and I buried my head in my hands. What had I done?
“Charley!” Cookie cried into the phone, “He has a gun!”
“What?” I couldn’t believe this was happening. “No! No, no, no, no, no! Cookie you have to tell Uncle Bob it was all an act. Cookie?”
In the next instant, a sharp crack splintered the air, and the phone went dead.
* * *
I scrambled over Reyes before Garrett came to a complete stop, but Reyes grabbed my arm and held me until he could get out, too, and run over to the melee with me. Cookie stood in the lamplight behind a shopping strip by the theater complex. A crowd had gathered, and I heard sirens in the distance as I came to a screeching halt beside her.
She was in tears, her head down, her shoulders shaking.
Then I saw Uncle Bob. He was covered in blood, and Cookie’s date was unconscious on the ground. I threw my hands over my mouth to stop a scream from escaping.
Cookie must’ve really sold it. She must’ve convinced Uncle Bob she was scared of this guy, and Uncle Bob reacted. I never dreamed in a million years he would react so blindly, with so much rage.
I stumbled forward to check the guy’s pulse. His heart raced beneath my fingers and I almost passed out from relief. I immediately tore open his shirt to look for the wound. Perfect, unmarred skin gleamed in the lamplight. I saw no wound. No gushing blood. No sign that a near-fatal struggle had just occurred.
I heard Uncle Bob’s voice in my ear. He’d leaned down, his mouth at my ear, and whispered, “Is he dead, or do I need to put another bullet in him?”
The words faded as I sensed a more salient emotion. Something wasn’t right.
I turned to look up at Uncle Bob; his expression was grim, and the emotion pouring out of him matched that look. But it wasn’t him. It wasn’t Uncle Bob I was feeling, his usual cautious reaction to any adrenaline-spiking situation. He was a seasoned cop.
And he smelled wrong.
While his shirt was covered in blood, my olfaction did not pick up its signature coppery scent. It picked up—I sniffed the air—tomatoes. Ketchup, to be exact. Then I realized it wasn’t rage flowing through Uncle Bob’s veins, but resentment. And the man I was examining felt anything but fear. Or agony after having been shot. That was what was wrong. Different.
I’d been duped.
I scrubbed my fingertips over my face and looked up at Ubie. “When did you figure it out?”
He reached down and helped Cookie’s date, who was grinning, up off the pavement. “If you’re going to set Cookie up with a date to make me jealous, the guys you set her up with should at least be straight.” Cookie’s second date was with a friend of mine. A gay friend. How had Ubie known that?
I stood and brushed myself off. Cookie glanced between us, partly relieved and partly confused. “You picked up on that, did you?”
“Yes, Charley, I did.”
“How did you know this was all a setup?”
“Give me a little credit. I am a detective. And neither one of you could lie your way out of a paper bag.” He turned and glared at Cookie. “You need to take a class or something.”
“We are excellent liars,” I said, defending our honor. “And this was my idea, Uncle Bob. Cookie didn’t even want to go along with it.” Had I just blown Cookie’s only chance to hit it with my uncle?
“Believe it or not, I figured that out as well.”