Darynda Jones - Second Grave on the Left

“No offense, but you’ve been a stone bitch to me for years.” I blinked toward Gemma as we sat at a table in Dad’s bar. Sammy was making us huevos rancheros and Dad was filling our drink order. Denise had followed us there as well, and even Uncle Bob excused himself from work for a bite to eat.

“The congressman can wait,” he’d said with a grin. Right before he said, “Care to explain the slice across your back?”

And then I patted his belly and said, “You know, if you keep eating like you do, I might have to start calling you Uncle Blob.”

And he said, “That wasn’t very nice.”

And I said, “I know, that’s why I said it.”

And he said, “Oh.”

And then we came here.

Gemma shifted in her chair. “I’m working on that, okay? I mean, do you know what it’s like growing up with the amazing Charley Davidson as a sister? The Charley Davidson?”

I’d taken a sip of the iced tea Dad handed me and promptly choked on it. After a long and arduous coughing fit, I gaped at her as best I could. “Are you kidding? You were always the perfect one. And you had issues with me?”

“Duh,” she said, rolling her eyes. We were much more alike than I remembered. It was creepy.

“You don’t even say hi to me,” I argued. “You don’t even look up when I walk into a room.”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.” Her gaze dropped self-consciously along with my jaw.

“Why would you think such a ridiculous thing?”

“Because you told me never to speak to you again. Not even to say hi. And never, under any circumstances, was I to ever look at you again.”

What? I totally didn’t remember that. Well, there was that one time. “Dude, I was nine.”

She shook her head.

Okay, there was that other time. “Twelve?”

Another shake.

“Well, whatever, it was a long time ago.”

“You didn’t mention a time limit. You obviously don’t remember, but I do, like it was yesterday. And besides that, you were always so secretive. I wanted to know so much more, and you wouldn’t tell me.” She lifted her shoulders. “I always felt so left out of your life.”

It was my turn to shift uncomfortably. “Gemma, there are just some things you’re better off not knowing.”

“And there she goes again,” she said, tossing her arms into the air.

Dad had sat across from us, and he laughed. “She does the same thing to me. Always has.”

“Really, guys. I’m not kidding,” I said.

“Charley is right,” Denise said. “She needs to keep that stuff to herself.” We were venturing into Denialville again, which was not nearly as fun as Margaritaville. There was nothing Denise liked less than talking about Charley.

“Denise,” Dad said, placing a hand over hers, “don’t you think we’ve insisted on that long enough?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve always pushed her aside, refused to acknowledge her gifts, even when the evidence was staring you in the face.”

She gasped. “I have never done any such thing.”

“Mom,” Gemma said. She genuinely liked the woman. It boggled my mind. “Charley is very special. You know that. You have to know that.”

“And that’s why I did it,” Dad said, his face turned down in shame. “I knew that if Caruso came after you, sweetheart, you’d make it through unscathed. You always do.”

I wouldn’t say I’d come through the ordeal unscathed. I did have superglue holding my chest together. Well, for a few minutes. The cut healed almost immediately, but I didn’t have the heart to tell the doctor. Which was another aspect of me my family didn’t know, how quickly I healed.

“Dad, why didn’t you just tell me about him?”

A deep and sorrowful shame swallowed him whole, and I reached over and took his hand, afraid he would disappear. “I didn’t want you to know anything about Caruso if it could be helped. About what I did. We were hoping to find him before he could act on his threats.”

“Dad, you can tell us anything,” Gemma said.

“But you don’t understand. He was right.” Dad’s face fell in disgrace. “I was the reason his daughter died. We were in a high-speed chase, and I fishtailed him. He skidded into the guardrail, bounced off, and careened down a short embankment on the other side. His car rolled, and his daughter was thrown out.”

“Dad — oh, my gosh,” I said, exasperated with him. “That makes it his fault. Honestly, he’s in a high-speed car chase with children in the car?”

After a long sigh, he nodded. “I know, but it didn’t make it any easier to stomach.” He glanced back at me. “I just couldn’t tell you. But I did. Your turn.”

“Oh, man, that was totally a setup.”

Uncle Bob snorted.

“He’s right. You gotta give us something.”

Holy macaroni, if they knew I was the grim reaper … No. No way was I going there.

“For starters,” Dad said, “how did you do that thing the other night?”

“Do what?” I asked as Donnie, Dad’s Native American bartender, brought us our food. I took a moment to gaze at his chest; then I snickered when I caught Gemma doing the same. We high-fived under the table. “Hey, Donnie.”

He looked up and frowned. “Hey,” he said, his tone wary. He’d never taken to me.

“That thing,” Dad said when Donnie left. “The way you moved.” He leaned in close and said under his breath, “Charley, there was nothing human about the way you moved.”

Gemma’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. “What? How did she move?”

Even Denise suddenly became very interested as she mashed her eggs and red chili together.

As Dad explained what I did, how I moved to everyone, I looked over at Strawberry Shortcake. She had appeared at my side. I scooted Gemma over with my hip and made room for her.

“Hey, pumpkin,” I said as she climbed onto the bench seat with me. When Dad stopped and the whole table stared, I rolled my eyes. “Okay, really, everyone here knows I can talk to the departed.”

“We know,” Gemma said. “We just want to eavesdrop.”

“Oh. Well, okay, then.”

Denise feigned an extreme interest in her food. I half expected her to snort or throw a fit, but I think she was realizing she was outnumbered. For once in her life.

“What’s up?” I asked Strawberry. “Is your brother dating ho’s again?”

“Charley,” Gemma admonished.

“No, he really does,” I explained. “He might need an intervention.”

“I don’t know.” Strawberry shrugged, her blond hair spilling over her shoulders. “I’ve been at Blue’s house. That old building. It’s really fun. And Rocket’s so funny.”

My heart kick-started when she mentioned Rocket. “So he’s okay?”

“Yep. Says he’s good as gold.”

With a sigh of relief, I wondered if Blue might have found Reyes’s body. I hated to say it out loud, but … “Did she find him? Did she find Reyes?”

Uncle Bob stilled. He was the only one at the table who knew anything about Reyes and the fact that he had escaped from prison, so to speak.

Strawberry shrugged. “No, she said only you can find him. But you’re looking with the wrong body part.”

My gaze darted to my crotch before I caught myself. “What does that mean?”

“I have no idea.”

“Well, did she tell you—” I leaned in and whispered. “—which body part I should use?”

Everyone at the table had leaned in as well.

“She just said to listen.”

“Oh.” I sat back, confused. “Did she tell you what I should be listening for?”

“I don’t know. She talks funny.”

“Okay, well, tell me exactly what she said.”

“She said to listen for what only you can hear.”