Eighth Grave After Dark (27 page)

One of her father's best customers was a man named Crichton, a crime boss, though she didn't know it at the time. The shooter wanted him, but the rival family had also wanted to make a statement, to kill anyone they could on the boss's turf.

Mo jumped when the gun went off, and she watched as the man, seeing her shocked expression, aimed the gun right at her. But the sack had fallen off her father's shoulder. He'd been shot in the head, and the sack took the two shots that were meant for her head.

The car sped off, leaving the agonizing screams of the survivors in its wake. Mo stood there in a cloud of flour with a death grip on her father's hand. But the angle of his grip was wrong. She turned and saw that he was lying facedown in a pool of his own blood.

The sounds died away. The cloud settled, looking like snow all around her. And her father lay motionless. Then everything went away for a very long time. She ended up spending several months in a psychiatric hospital. Her mother, thank goodness, refused to let them perform insulin therapy on her. She saw it no less barbaric than electroshock. When the doctors told her to just sign her daughter away to them, claiming she would never come out of her stupor, she took her daughter out that very day, brought her home, and made her chicken soup.

Mo felt to the day she died it was the chicken soup that had healed her, and though she never spoke again, she did find her way back to reality, slowly at first, and over time her mother and sister helped her recover.

She and her sister grew even closer. They made up signs, their own secret language, so Mo could talk to her, and while her mother insisted she learn real sign language, she never forgot the language she and her sister made up.

Her good memories hit me, too. Her cousin's birthday party where she ended up bringing a puppy home because her cousin was angry that it wasn't a pony. So her aunt gave it to her to teach her son a lesson. The boy had a pony a month later, thus her cousin learned nothing from the experience, but that was okay, because Mo and Bea had a puppy named BB, short for Big Boy, that they served tea to and taught to sneeze on demand. And I now had irrefutable proof that dogs did indeed go to heaven, because that was who Mo saw first when she stepped through me, followed by her sister and then her parents.

*   *   *

It took me a moment to recover after she passed. I was so happy for her, to be in the place she belonged, with her family again. I was also sad that it took over seventy years for her to be reunited with them, but from what I understood, time didn't matter much on the other side.

Cookie texted me asking me where I was at.

Right here. Where are you?

Right here. Why can't I see you?
she asked, playing along.

I descended the stairs, still walking a little slower than I'd like, and strolled through the house toward our office.

Garrett was busy in the dining room, scouring a small portion of the text that he felt might be relevant to our situation, namely being held hostage by a group of angry hellhounds. I didn't dare disturb him, but Osh did. He was in there, too, and he tossed a Cheez-It at him. Garrett didn't acknowledge the Daeva or his antics.

Osh turned toward me as I walked past, his eyes narrowed. Had he figured out my plan? How could he have? It was a freaking awesome plan. No way would anyone figure it out. Not in a million years.

“So,” Cookie said when I walked in, “I have a plan.”

“Me, too.” I sat in my chair and snatched the file papers out of her hand.

“This is everything I could find out about Colton Ellix. He has the usual. Poor social skills. Very arrogant despite it. He was accused of stalking a girl when he was in high school, but that was long before they took that sort of thing seriously. He told the principal they'd been secretly dating, and when people found out, she accused him of stalking. The principal laughed it off, chalking it up to teenage hormones.”

“What happened with the girl?”

“That's just it. She disappeared about a month later. She was never found.”

“So, he's been doing this awhile.”

“I don't know,” she said, pointing out another report. “He has never, not once, had another report filed on him. No complaints. Just always kept to himself.”

“That doesn't mean he hasn't abducted more girls.”

“True, but look at this.” She lifted out a spreadsheet. I was allergic to spreadsheets, so I opted not to touch it. “I have a detailed account of everywhere he's lived. The high school incident happened in Kentucky. But his family moved around a lot, mostly in close range to other relatives. I get the feeling they were mooches. Once that relative got sick of them, they moved on to the next, claiming one hardship after another until someone new took them in.”

“So, not a stable home life.”

“Not at all, but I've searched and searched. There were absolutely no missing persons cases in any town they lived in. At least, not while he lived there. I even widened the search to a hundred miles. Nada. And that's taking into account when he left his family. He was only sixteen when he moved in with a friend.”

“Still no missing persons?”

“Not one that wasn't solved. But here's the most interesting part,” Cookie said, getting excited. “Look at the girl who went missing when he was in high school.”

She showed me a picture of a girl who could have been Faris's twin. “Wow.”

“Right? I mean, that can't be a coincidence.”

I sat back and compared their pictures. Every feature was strikingly similar.

“You know what this means?”

“Yes,” she said, nodding. Then she shook her head. “Well, no, not really.”

“It means he was relatively new to it. He wasn't seasoned.”

Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she tried to grasp what I was getting at.

“It means that he made mistakes. Probably a lot of them. Sure, he planned this. Thought it through. Went over every detail with a fine-toothed comb, but I promise you, he screwed up.”

“Of course. He had to have. Repeat killers learn how to avoid mistakes as they go, how to cover their tracks better.”

“They eventually screw up. They all do, but this guy had only done this once. And since he didn't do it again, I would say he probably didn't mean to kill the girl the first time. Maybe he genuinely thought that if he could just get her alone, he would win her over. When she either cried and scared him or tried to fight him, he killed her.”

“Maybe she threatened him and he panicked.”

“Could be. Either way, I think the first one was an accident.”

“But when the guy he starts doing odd jobs for turns out to have a daughter that looks just like his former crush?”

“Those old feelings come bubbling up and he can't resist trying to win her again. I'm just wondering which feelings came to the surface.”

“What do you mean?”

“Was it the old feelings of love or was it the feelings of betrayal? I think Faris's life depends on which emotion held more sway. So what's your plan?”

“I think you should go get him and drag his ass back here.”

I sat speechless. “Cook,” I said at last, my voice a harsh whisper, “how did you know what I was going to do?”

“No way,” she said, just as shocked as I was. “I have to admit, I was mostly kidding. I mean, go where? He's already crossed, right? Then—”

This time she sat speechless. “You are not thinking what I'm thinking.”

“Bet I am,” I said with a wink.

“Charley, no.” She stood, scanned the halls to make sure no one was looking, then closed the door with a soft click. She sat in front of me and whispered, “Charley, you can't be serious. I mean, he's … there. Look at what we are dealing with here. Hellhounds at our gates. Spies in the closet. Departed trying to push you down mountains. If that's what's up here, what do you think will be down there?”

I shifted in my chair. “I didn't think of that. I haven't really worked out the particulars, but, you know, it'll be a surprise. They won't expect me.”

“That's for sure. I know you said Reyes went to hell to get that rock on your finger—”

I couldn't help a glance at the orange diamond on my ring finger, the cut stunning, the color surreal.

“—but he was born and raised there. He knew the layout. How on earth are you going to waltz in, find Mr. Ellix, interrogate him, then pop back out again without you-know-who finding out?”

“Reyes?

“Satan!” she screeched.

“Sorry,” I said, testy thing. “Like I said, I haven't worked out the particulars.”

“So, we're in agreement. That's a crazy idea and we will never have one like that again.”

“Cook, all our ideas are crazy. That's setting the bar a little high, don't you think?”

She squared her shoulders. “Yes, but they aren't all
that
crazy. You know, batshit.”

“Don't worry,” I said, patting her knee. “I have insider information.”

“From who?”

“Garrett.”

“You're going to make him go to hell again, aren't you? That poor guy.”

“What? No. I'm going to tell him … Well, I haven't gotten that far yet. It's a work in progress, but I'll figure it out. He can tell me what I need to know.”

“This is the worst idea we've had yet.”

“No way. Remember the time we tried to train that ferret to steal a file from that corporate guy's office and this guy died?”

“Oh, yeah. Okay, the second worst. Who would've guessed he was that allergic to ferrets?”

“I felt bad about that. And if he hadn't swindled the life savings from half the residents at Sunny Days Retirement Center, I would've felt
really
bad.”

 

13

NOPE. CAN'T GO TO HELL.

SATAN STILL HAS A RESTRAINING ORDER AGAINST ME.

—BUMPER STICKER

So, Mr. Ellix was pretty new to kidnapping. I could only hope he hadn't tried his hands at other parts of the gig. I prayed he hadn't violated her. If so, it would be even harder for Faris to recover. But it seemed like he'd wanted that girl's approval in high school. Her love. Maybe he was seeking the same from Faris. And raping her would not get her approval or her love.

That was a bridge I'd have to cross when I came to it. Right now, I needed a baby. And a beer.

I strolled into the dining room, carrying my beautiful daughter in my arms. I'd practically had to rip her out of Gemma's but I'd called dibs in the well, so she had to give in. I couldn't get enough of her. Of holding her. Of counting her fingers and toes, marveling at how long they were. She'd been swaddled in soft pink and gray and wore a crocheted beanie on her tiny head. Her fists were curled tight and resting on either side of her nose. It was the cutest thing ever. I'd been trying to figure out who she looked more like, but alas, I'd been in denial. Of course she looked like Reyes. Thick black hair. Impossibly long eyelashes. Straight, strong nose with a curve at the tip. Full, perfectly formed mouth. She was going to knock 'em dead. Like, literally. We'd have to teach her to use her powers for good.

Garrett looked up and didn't know which item to take from me first: Beep or the beer. He decided on Beep, then the beer. Probably a wise decision. As he bounced around with her, cooing about how she was going to save the world, I scanned the piles of copied documents. Many had Garrett's handwriting on them. Since going to hell, compliments of Mr. Reyes Farrow, he'd been obsessed with the prophecies. With the past, as well, and the future, and how Beep would one day destroy the underworld.

“So,” I said to him, thankful that Osh had left the building. Or at least the room. “I have a question for you.”

“No.”

Damn it. Osh had gotten to him.

“Then give me back my kid.”

He gasped at me melodramatically for Beep's benefit, though she slept through his whole performance. “Already using your child to get what you want out of people. That's shameful.” He looked down at Beep. “Your mother is like everyone at the nuthouse rolled into one. She's a nut roll. Can you say ‘nut roll'?”

Oh yeah. Garrett Swopes, the tough-as-nails bounty hunter who took bullets to the chest like others took splinters, had gone bye-bye.

*   *   *

I sat there for-like-ever while Garrett told Beep all kinds of stories about me that were mostly untrue. He tended to exaggerate. Honestly, like I would've gone out with Greg Nusser for backstage passes to Blue
Ö
yster Cult. Not even. I went out with Brad Stark for the backstage passes to Blue
Ö
yster Cult. I went out with Greg Nusser for tickets to 3 Doors Down.

Denise came to get Beep then, saying it was time for her bath and I needed to learn how to bathe her. Like I didn't know already. Sadly, it was much more complicated than I'd thought, mostly because a wet Beep was a slippery Beep. And she did not enjoy that one iota. Denise said she would grow to love bath time. Until then, I was totally investing in those noise-reduction headphones.

Next Cookie came to hold her, because God forbid she feel the touch of a mattress on her back. Then she and Gemma took turns feeding then burping her all while I sat waiting for Reyes to go do something. He was spending all his time with Beep and me. What the hell? Did men do that?

It was a nice feeling, though. All of us together like a real family, as opposed to one being held together with duct tape and hellhounds. Reyes made the most adorable dad, especially when he let her sleep on his chest as we sat in the theater and exposed her to the world of hobbits. His heat, I was sure, kept her toasty warm on the chilly autumn day.

Then, when I least expected it, Uncle Bob came in for his turn at the little doughnut. That's what he called her. She looked more like a cherry
é
clair to me. Reyes checked his watch and made some lame excuse about going for a run. He didn't run unless being chased. And even then, running from danger had never been his strong suit.