Sixth Grave on the Edge Read Free Page A

absolute silence, broken only by the sound of Cheez-Its crunching between my teeth, for several tense seconds.
    “Are you still on your stakeout?” Cookie asked at last.
    I swallowed. “Yes. I think Mrs. Foster came home, but her garage door closed before I could catch a glimpse. I have, however, bonded with the naked dead man in my passenger seat.”
    “Well, there’s that.”
    “Right? He has a tat. I’m sending you a picture.”
    “Of his tat?” she asked, surprised.
    “Of my drawing of his tat. Hold on.” I sent the pic with the caption Don’t judge underneath it. “Okay, how are things back at the fort?”
    “A Mr. Joyce came in and insisted on seeing you today. He seemed really agitated. He wouldn’t leave his number or anything. I told him you’d be back this afternoon. Is this a new kind of Rorschach test?” She was referring to my drawing.
    “Turn it sideways.”
    “Oh, okay. Andrulis.”
    “Do you know him?” I asked, my voice edged with hope.
    “Nope. Sorry. I knew an Andrus once. He was hairy.”
    I checked out Mr. A. “This guy isn’t that hairy. He is well endowed, though.”
    “Charley,” she said, appalled. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
    “Dude, it’s right there. It’s not like I can miss it.”
    “Oh, poor man. How would you like to be walking around naked for all eternity?”
    “You just described my worst nightmare.”
    “I thought your worst nightmare was that one where you are eating a hot pickle and it burned your lips and they swelled until you looked like you’d had injections.”
    “Oh, yeah, there’s that one, too. Thanks for bringing all that back up again. I should sleep beautifully tonight.”
    “Did you call your uncle?”
    My uncle Bob, a detective for the Albuquerque Police Department, had the hots for Cookie, and Cookie had the hots for him—but neither one would make the first move. I got so tired of watching them pine for each other that I decided to do something about it. I set Cookie up on a date with a friend of mine to make Uncle Bob, or Ubie as I liked to call him in my therapy sessions while trying to explain why I had a debilitating fear of mustaches, jealous. Maybe a little competition would light a fire under his ass. The same ass Cookie had a major thing for.
    “Sure did. How’s our plan coming along?”
    “You mean your plan?”
    “Fine, how’s my plan coming along?”
    “I don’t know about this, Charley. I mean, if Robert wanted to go out with me, he’d ask, right? I’m not sure trying to make him jealous is a good idea.”
    It always took me a minute to figure out who Robert was. “Are you kidding? It’s a fantastic idea. It’s Uncle Bob we’re talking about here. He needs motivation.” I gave one last glance to the Fosters’ house before driving off.
    “What if he loses interest?”
    “Cook, have you ever lost interest in a pair of shoes because someone else was looking at them?”
    “I guess not.”
    “Didn’t it make you want them even more?”
    “I wouldn’t go that far.”
    I turned onto Juan Tabo and started back toward the office. “Okay, I’m headed that way. How about lunch?”
    “Sounds good. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
    My office was on the second floor of the best brewery the Duke City had to offer. It’d recently undergone a change of ownership when Reyes bought it from my dad. The idea of Reyes as a business owner warmed the cockles of my heart. Whatever those were.
    “He has a brother,” I said, still stunned at the possibilities of it all.
    “He has a brother,” she agreed.
    This I had to see.
    *   *   *
    I wound around tables and chairs to get to Cookie. Fortunately, she’d grabbed us a spot before the mad rush hit. Ever since Reyes took over, the place had been jumping. Business was always pretty good, but with a new owner who was also a local celebrity— Reyes made national news when the man he’d gone to jail for killing was discovered alive—and the addition of a