Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet (30 page)

He wagged a finger at me. “Uh-uh-uh. No peeking, Miss Charlotte.”

This was more information from Rocket than I’d had in a while. He knew things that
were going to happen. That was clairvoyance if I’d ever heard it.

I thought of my dad. Wondered how much time he had. “Can I give you a name?”

“But I have something to show you.”

“I’m kind of tied up right now. Leland Gene Davidson.”

His lashes did that fluttering thing they did when he was shuffling through millions
of names. “Three are dead. Two are still alive.”

“Okay, but the ones who are still alive, do you know when they’re going to die? Is
it soon?”

“Not when. Only if.”

“But, is he floating?”

“No. Not floating.”

Well, this was like driving a supercharged Challenger on the highway to nowhere. I
gave up and decided to choose another route. “Rocket, can I tell when someone is going
to die?”

He stopped and regarded me with a look of utter puzzlement. “Of course you can tell
when someone is going to die. It’s your job.”

I thought as much. I wondered when I was going to die. “Am I floating?”

“Miss Charlotte, you’re the grim reaper,” he said with a snort. “You’re always floating.”

“So, I could die for real? At any second?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.” That was disappointing. “Well, thanks for giving it to me straight.” I blew
dust out of my bangs.

“You could be killed by a bicycle. Or crushed by a big rock. Or stabbed with a knitting
needle.”

“Okay.”

“Or even pushed down some stairs.”

“Right, I got it. Thanks.”

“Or you might be shot in the head with a gun.”

“Rocket! I’m good. Seriously, no more elaboration needed.” But he grabbed my arm,
and all the innocence drained from his face. He wasn’t a little boy anymore. He knew
too much. Had seen too much. “Or,” he said, his voice taking on an eerie depth, “you
could be killed by the one you love most. Along with everyone else.”

Well, that sucked more ass than liposuction.

He let go of my arm and stood to inspect the area. I knew what he was feeling. I felt
the same thing even before Reyes materialized, and I wondered how long he’d been there.
Never having been a fan of Reyes’s, Rocket disappeared the moment a sea of black robes
burst into the room, undulating around me until they settled at Reyes’s feet. He spoke
from the shadow of his hood, refusing to show his face. “You agreed to be tied up
when there is a legion of demons after you?”

“Yes. I didn’t really think of it in those terms.”

He released an exasperated sigh and started forward. “Someday, I will understand how
that mind of yours works.”

I snorted. “Good luck. It seemed like a good alternative to dying outright at the
time.”

“When exactly was your life in danger?”

“Are you going to help me out of this or not?”

He kneeled beside me and pushed back the hood of his robe to reveal his exotically
handsome face. A face that had fresh lacerations over its brow and cheekbone.

Startled, I asked, “You’re still fighting them? Hunting them?”

His head cocked to one side. “Did you actually expect me to stop?”

“How long can this go on? How many are there?”

He was inspecting the duct tape. “Only a handful now. There are very few humans on
Earth who can see what these can see. My brethren are running out of options.”

“You’re not killing them, are you? They’re innocent. They’re just people who happen
to be able to see the departed.”

“I kill them only if I have to. Are you going to question my every move while you
are duct-taped to a chair?”

“Sorry. I was just hoping you’d stop hunting them.”

“They won’t stop trying to get to you, Dutch. Hedeshi lied.”

“I know. I just meant … You’re getting pretty beat up in the process.”

His sensual mouth tilted up at one corner. “Worried about me?”

“No.” I added a
pfft
just to emphasize how much I was not worried.

“You didn’t look worried with that guy’s tongue down your throat.”

Great. He did see that. “Jealous?”

“No.”

“’Cause you seem jealous.”

His lashes lowered as he narrowed his eyes at me, but the high-pitched voice of a
departed nine-year-old with masochistic tendencies drifted down from the stairwell
before he could reply.

“I found a knife!” Strawberry said.

Holy shit. “Get me out of this,” I said to Reyes, wiggling my fingers. “Hurry before
she comes back.”

16

Don’t judge me because I’m quiet.

No one plans a murder out loud.

—T-SHIRT

After Reyes got me out of the restraints then did his usual disappearing act, citing
an extreme need to be elsewhere, I exited the asylum and walked past a couple of bikers
hanging out at Donovan’s. I wondered if they knew about the robberies. Or that he
wouldn’t be back for a while. Mustering as much nonchalance as possible—and hoping
that whatever was in my hair wasn’t too noticeable—I started down the street toward
a convenience store nearby. This wasn’t the safest neighborhood to be walking through,
even in the early afternoon.

I scraped my hair back into the hair tie, then dug my phone out of my pocket and texted
Donovan, letting him know that I’d barely escaped with my life and my virtue intact.
Then I called Garrett.

“Swopes,” he said, all business. He had caller ID, for heaven’s sake.

“I need a ride.”

“You need a therapist.”

“True, but I need a ride first.”

“Why? Where’s your Jeep?” He sounded winded, like he was running. Or having sex. Surely
my timing didn’t suck that bad.

“Misery’s at the scene of a bank robbery.”

“I’m not even going to ask.” He was learning.

“I’ll be at the Jug-N-Chug off Broadway.”

“That strip club?”

“No, and ew. The convenience store.”

“Oh. I was hoping you’d changed professions.”

“Dude, you do not want to see what I look like dancing with a pole. I did it once
at a bridal shower, and let’s just say it did not end well.”

“You pole-danced at a bridal shower?”

“It’s a long story. Are you going to come get me or not?”

“I guess. It’ll take me a few to get there.”

“Well, hurry. I have shit to do. And I could be arrested as an accessory, so I need
to get on this.” I still had to check on Harper and do some more investigating on
her behalf. My imminent arrest as an accessory to bank robbery would cut into my crime-solving
time.

“Are you using that handbag that has the word
fuck
written all over it again? I warned you about taking that out in public.”

“Not
for
an accessory.
As
an accessory. Just come get me.”

“Okay.”

I hung up and called my friendish-type contact at the local FBI office. We’d met on
a case a couple of months ago, and I liked her. She made me smile, and she hardly
ever threatened to arrest me. We got along great. And I knew she’d be a good ally
if I happened to show up in the aftermath of a bank robbery as a suspect.

Since I didn’t have a candy wrapper to help me with the bad connection I was about
to have, I resorted to using vocal sound effects. When Agent Carson picked up, I started
my performance. “Agent … Agent Carson,” I said, panting into the phone.

“Yes, Charley.” She seemed unimpressed, but I wasn’t about to stop now.

“I—I know who the kshshshshshsh are.”

“I’m a little busy right now, Davidson. What is a Ksh, and why do I care?”

“I’m sorry. My kshshsh … is kshshsh … ing.”

“I repeat. What is a Ksh? And why do I care if it is ksh-ing?”

She was a tough one. I knew I should have waited and bought a Butterfinger at the
Jug-N-Chug. Those wrappers crackled like Rice Krispies on a Saturday morning. “You
aren’t listeni—kshshsh.”

“You’re really bad at this.”

“Bank ro-ksh-ers. I know who they kshshsh.”

“Charley, if you don’t cut this crap out.”

I hung up and turned off my phone before she could figure out what I was trying not
to tell her and call back. The whole thing would have been more convincing if she’d
found me tied up on the floor of an asylum. Luckily, that rarely happened.

*   *   *

I made it to the store in record time, but all I could afford was a banana. They were
on sale, and the mocha lattes were ungodly. I totally forgot to ask Reyes for my million
dollars. This being too poor to buy coffee was for the birds.

Cookie called just as Garrett pulled up. I’d turned my phone back on as a precaution
when a man in an old Cadillac kept asking me if I wanted to sample his antifreeze.

Still trying to blend with the locals, I answered the phone saying, “’Sup, girlfriend?”

“Are you in a bad part of town again?”

“You know it.” I climbed into Garrett’s truck and completely ignored him. It was fun.
“But I did learn something today.”

“Yeah?”

“If you must eat a banana in public, never make eye contact.”

“Good to know. So, I looked into the activity around the time all this started, when
Harper’s parents were married. It’s mostly small stuff, except for a murder in the
Monzano Mountains, but that was solved. There was also a missing persons case that
was never solved, a little boy, but that was in Peralta. As far as I can tell, neither
had anything to do with the Lowells.”

“Well, okay. Thanks for looking.”

“Oh, and that shrink will see you, but only if you skedaddle over there. He’s has
a couple more appointments today, then he’s headed out of town.”

“Oh, perfect timing. If you come across anything else.”

“I know where to find you.”

I hung up and offered Garrett my full-ish attention. Actually, a guy arguing with
a newspaper dispenser captured most of it, but what was left, I handed over to Swopes
freely.

“Hola.”

“So, where are we going, or are we just going to sit here until I run out of gas?”

I was just about to answer when Agent Carson called back. Darn it. I should have turned
off my phone again.

I pointed east, ordering Swopes that way, then answered the phone. When I started
to do the
ksh
thing, she said, “Don’t even think about it. Why is your Jeep at the scene of a bank
robbery?”

“Oh,” I said, panting again, “thank God you got ahold of me.” I swallowed hard. Garrett
shook his head and focused on his driving. I was totally behind him on that decision.
“That’s what I was trying to tell you. I was taken hostage.”

“Yes, I’ve seen the surveillance footage.”

“Right, so you know—”

“Do you realize how many years you’ll get for this?”

Well, crap. “I really was taken hostage. Kind of. And I can tell you who the bank
robbers are.”

After a long pause in which I was certain she was recovering from the shock of her
good fortune, she said, “I’m listening.”

“But you have to let Uncle Bob in on it.”

“Okay.”

“Are you there now? At the bank? I can be there in a few.”

“Davidson, who robbed this bank?”

I let out a long stream of air, stalling as long as I could, letting Donovan get a
few feet closer to Mexico, then said, “A handful of men from a local biker club called
the Bandits, but I need to talk to you about them before you go off half-cocked.”

“I never do anything half-cocked.”

I didn’t doubt that for a New York minute. “The guys were being blackmailed and whoever
set up that gig knew that money would be there, but he doesn’t work at the bank. So,
who else would know about it? Like maybe an armored car driver? Or the spouse of someone
who works there?”

I could hear shoes clapping on the sidewalk as she searched for someplace more private.
She whispered into the phone. “Are you saying this was an inside job?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. These guys did it, absolutely, but they had no choice.”

“Well, you’re always entertaining, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, thank you.” She was so nice. “I’ll meet you at my Jeep.”

“I’ll be here.”

I hung up, then asked Garrett, “Can I hire you for the rest of the day?”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “I just got off a big case. I can take an afternoon
away from the office.”

He didn’t actually have an office so much as a truck. I took in the vast array of
papers and file folders and take-out containers that lined his backseat. “I thought
this was your office.”

“It is, more or less. I meant that metaphorically.”

“While I’m impressed you know what that word means, I have to be honest. I don’t have
any money to pay you.”

“Figures. So where’s your Jeep?”

I was a little surprised he didn’t know. He must not have been listening to the radio.
Surely, the robbery was all over the news. “Well, my Jeep is at the Bernalillo Community
Bank, but I need to run a couple of errands first, and I don’t have much gas.”

“Didn’t you just tell that agent you’d be right there?”

“I said I’d be there. I didn’t say when. And you’re the one who keeps telling me I
need therapy.” I beamed at him. “Let’s go see a psychotherapist.”

He shrugged and followed my directions to Harper’s current psychotherapist’s place
of business. It was a small building right out of the seventies, complete with a lava
rock exterior and metal beams protruding over the walkway.

I went in as Garrett sat outside in the getaway truck, wondering if he could get arrested
for his part in my evading a federal officer. I assured him that was not the case.
And he believed me. I’d hate to be in his shoes if I were wrong, and if push came
to shove, I was so throwing that man under the bus. I could claim he forced me into
his vehicle at a convenience store and held me captive for two hours.

He made a great scapegoat.

I took off my shades and announced myself to a very stoic receptionist before sitting
in the waiting area. After a solid twenty minutes, I was finally shown in to the doctor’s
office. Harper’s psychotherapist was a dwarfish man with gray hair and tan, prunelike
skin. He sat with his hands folded in his lap and his face set to
no comment.