Darynda Jones - First Grave on the Right

Okay, this was just weird. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No. I just wanted you to know that. For future reference and all.”

When I realized he might have been alluding to Reyes, I sucked in a soft breath. “Angel, do you know something about Reyes Farrow?”

He flinched and looked up at me in surprise. “No. I don’t know anything about him. You got a job for me or what?” he asked, changing the subject.

Damn. Nobody knew anything about Reyes, but everyone sure seemed to stand at attention when I mentioned his name. I’d kill to know what was going on.

I filled Angel in on our case with the lawyers and the wrongly convicted Mark Weir. He couldn’t wait to meet Elizabeth, naturally. Then I sent him to see if he could come up with a connection between the kid who’d died in Mark’s backyard and the missing nephew.

“Oh,” Angel said before he left, “Aunt Lillian’s here. I like her.”

I tried not to look disappointed. “I like her, too, but her coffee sucks. Mostly ’cause it’s nonexistent.”

He snickered and went on recon. In the meantime, Aunt Lillian took off with Mr. Habersham, the dead guy in 2B. I didn’t even want to know what that was about. A knock on the door had me rushing to zip up my boots. I was meeting Uncle Bob in twenty, and I couldn’t imagine who would be at my door this early in the morning.

Smoothing my brown sweater over my jeans, I glanced through the peephole and came to a screeching halt, metaphorically, when I saw Officer Taft. No way was this happening. Not now.

I opened the door slowly, mostly because it hurt. My entire body hummed in a dull, continuous ache. “Yeah?” I asked, peeking through the slit.

“Hey,” he said, looking at me like I was half crazy, “I was just wondering if I could have a word with you.”

“What kind of word?” I couldn’t open my door farther. I knew she was there. I could feel the heat of her laser glare trying to sear my gray matter. And singe my hair.

“Is this a bad time?” he asked, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m sorry to bother you—”

“Yeah, yeah. Got it. It’s okay. What do you need?”

“I just think that, well, strange things have been happening.”

Damn. My shoulders slumped against the door, and I eased it wider to reveal the blond-haired, blue-eyed spawn of Satan. Plastering my hands over my eyes, I cried, only a little melodramatically, “No! You did not do this to me! You did not bring her to my home, my sanctuary.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his gaze darting around in fear. “It’s true, huh? I’m being haunted.”

Demon Child sighed in annoyance. “Not haunted. Just watched.”

I freeze-framed my tantrum and eyed her. “That’s called stalking, dear, and is in fact frowned upon in most cultures.”

“Can you … can you see someone?” Taft asked, leaning in to whisper.

“Dude, she can hear you. Just come in before the neighbors start talking.” That was an excuse. The neighbors had started talking the moment I moved in. But may as well move the circus inside, let them burrow in my humble abode, take root on my furniture, raid my refrigerator.

I gestured for Taft to sit on the sofa while I took the opposite chair. “I’d offer you coffee, but my Aunt Lillian made it.”

“Um, okay.”

“So, what do you want to know?”

“Well, it’s just that strange things have been happening lately.”

“Mm-hmm.” I was trying really hard not to yawn.

“You know, like I keep hearing this bell that sits on my mantel, but no one’s there.”

“I’m there,” she said, looking up at him. “I’ll always be there. I love you so much.”

I glared at Demon Child. “Seriously? This early?”

She stuck out her tongue at me.

“I’ve heard stuff around the station about you. You know, blah, blah, blah. ”

I kind of lost my train of thought and left Taft to his own devices as my gaze drifted to the spot where Reyes had stood only hours earlier. I’d never encountered anything like him. In fact, I’d never encountered anything supernatural besides the departed. No poltergeists or vampires or demons.

“Why are you so bright?” Demon Child asked. “You look kind of dumb.”

Well, maybe demons.

After tossing her my best sardonic scowl, I decided to piss her off. I was pissed for having to put up with her ass. It seemed only fair.

“Officer Taft is talking, dear. Shut up.”

The anger that sprang into her eyes was a little funny. I was seriously going to have to convince her to cross. Angel and I could play exorcism again. He hated playing exorcism. Mostly because he looked silly, writhing around on the floor, pretending to burn from the holy tap water I was throwing on him.

“Look,” I said, interrupting Taft. “I get it. And yes, you have a little girl following your every move, probably the one from that accident you told me about. She has long blond hair, silvery blue eyes — but that could be ’cause she’s dead — and pink pajamas with Strawberry Shortcake on them.” I glanced over at Taft. “Oh, and she’s evil.”

Taft was a cop through and through. He’d learned how to keep a poker face, so it took me a moment to see the anger simmering inside him. The energy that was building encircled him in a mirage, like when you see water on the road where there is none.

Was it something I said?

He bolted to his feet, and I followed suit. “How the fuck do you know that?” he asked through gritted teeth.

What? “Um, because she’s standing right beside you.”

“Where I’ll always be,” she said. “Forever and ever.”

Not if I had anything to say about it. Strawberry Shortcake was becoming a nuisance.

Taft nearly came unglued. His anger arced out like a Tesla coil. He stepped toe to toe with me, and I steeled myself against whatever he might bring. But I swore on all things holy, if I got hit, tackled, or pushed through a skylight one more time this week, I was going on a killing spree. Starting with him.

He stood in my face a solid minute, whispered a hoarse, “Fuck you,” then stalked out the door.

Okey dokey. As interesting as that was, I had a date with Uncle Bob. And destiny.

After stuffing Reyes’s file in my shoulder bag, I locked up and headed to the office. Strawberry Shortcake followed, and it hit me that her initials were SS. Appropriate, but seriously, could this day get any worse?

“He doesn’t want me around, huh?” she asked, swinging her little arms at her sides. I barricaded my heart.

“Nope,” I said, checking my phone for messages. “Neither do I.”

She stomped her foot in a fit and stalked off. That was way easier than I thought it would be. When I had more time, I’d deal with the SS. For now, I had people to see and places to be.

Dad wasn’t in yet, so I took the outside staircase, slowly ’cause it hurt. The sun shone bright, making the day seem deceptively warm. On my long and arduous journey to the second floor, I went over what I had to do for the day. Number one, Yucca High. Ubie could flash his badge and get all kinds of cooperation. I needed transcripts and class rosters. Surely someone would remember Reyes. How could they forget him? I could cross-reference the students in each of his classes and find out who shared more than one class with him. The more exposure, the more likely they’d remember him. And his sister.

In one smooth move, I dumped my coat and bag on a chair, turned up the heat, then sashayed — somewhat rigidly — to the coffeepot for my morning fix. That’s when the world fell out from under me. Was it karma? Was my less-than-caring attitude toward Taft coming back to bite me on the ass, hot as it was? I checked and double-checked, searched and prayed, only to be left utterly and completely without a single coffee ground.