The Dirt on Ninth Grave - Darynda Jones Page 0,15

with a teasing grin. “Have a good day.”

He took off his glasses and began to clean them. “Yes. Absolutely. You, too.”

The brute had bitten through half the sandwich and was glued to the magazine again, but I doubted very seriously he had any interest in Mr. V’s copy of Antiques & Fine Art.

I’d had zero intention of getting involved when I walked in. By the time I left, I had zero intention of leaving it alone. Mr. V was in such a state of distress, I was impressed he could even speak. But how much longer would he be able to keep up the charade? He was cracking inch by inch. Whatever his new friends were up to, there were at least four involved. That bag held four sandwiches, none of which Mr. V could eat. He was allergic to eggs, yet he’d specifically ordered mayo on all four.

I opened the door and listened to the cheery chime of the bell, so at odds with the climate inside. This time the frigid air served only as a reminder that I was not dressed for the frozen tundra. But a picture caught my eye just as I was leaving. It was on a shelf, meant to display one of the antique frames that were for sale. It had a sign by it with a child’s writing that read, For sale: Frame $50. Parents $49.95 OBO.

I let the door close behind me and fought a shiver. To display the frame, Mr. V had put a picture of himself and his family in it. I knew that family; I just didn’t know they’d belonged to Mr. V. They came into the café a couple of times a week. His wife, Natalie, was gorgeous. She looked like an islander with exotic coloring and thick black hair. Her children were a combination of the blond-haired, blue-eyed Mr. V and the rich dark colors of his wife.

Their names were Joseph and Jasmine. Joseph was around ten, and Jasmine a few years younger, six or seven perhaps. I remembered them so vividly from our very first meeting partly because of the combination of dark hair on both of them and crystalline blue eyes.

“You’re really bright,” Jasmine had said to me as I took their order.

“Well, thank you.”

“Are you an angel?”

Joseph elbowed her without taking his eyes off his phone.

I laughed softly. “Not usually.”

“Sorry,” Natalie said. “Jasmine thinks she can see auras.”

“Wow.” I turned to her. “That’s a cool ability.”

“You don’t have an aura,” she said, in awe. “You are one.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet. Thanks.” I winked at her and asked Joseph what he wanted to drink.

“Coffee. Black.”

Knowing he couldn’t be more than ten, I looked to his mother for assurance.

She lifted a shoulder. “It’s his only vice,” she explained.

At his age, I should hope so. When I poured him a cup, he took out a chocolate bar from his coat pocket and dropped a square into the coffee.

“His only vice?” I asked Natalie.

She smirked. “Does that count as two?”

Ever since that first meeting, I automatically took Joseph a cup of coffee and added the caveat “Drink responsibly.” He would laugh from behind the cup or give me a thumbs-up while Jasmine studied me, tilting her head this way and that, looking for my wings. I’d fallen head over heels for them.

I leaned back against the brick wall of the building. Were they involved somehow? Were they in trouble? Once the cold got to be too much – about nine seconds later – I pushed off the building and headed back, playing out the hundred scenarios that might explain the bizarre events in Mr. V’s store. The men were digging near the west wall. The only thing beside the shop was a dry-cleaning business. Why would a group of Middle Easterners tunnel into a dry-cleaning business?

I stopped and glanced back at the cleaners. Everything appeared normal. It looked, well, like a dry-cleaning business. What could it possibly have that would convince a group of what seemed like perfectly sane men to tunnel into it?

I looked past the cleaners. The next building was vacant, and there was a wine shop beyond that. It was a very popular store. Tourists loved wine.

Who was I kidding? I loved wine. Who didn’t love wine?

Seeing as how the men were risking so much to tunnel into a dry-cleaning business in the middle of the day when they could be spotted and/or heard, there had to be something pretty spectacular in that building. But

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