Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet - Darynda Jones Page 0,14

toaster pastry minus the icing.

“Wait a minute. Where have you been?”

“Around. Just kind of hanging out in my apartment.”

“For two months?”

“Pretty much.”

“Hmm. Okay, well, lock the door!” she yelled. She was so pushy.

“She’s interesting.”

“Yes, she is.” I led Harper around a tight corner, made tighter by the boxes of supplies, and into a small back room. “It’s not much, but no one will think to look for you here, I’m certain of it.”

She took it all in with a gracious nod. I could tell she wanted to scrunch her nose in distaste, but refrained out of kindness. “This is perfect,” she said instead. What a great sport.

“Okay, I’m off to do investigative stuff. I’ll come back later tonight. You gonna be okay here?”

“Sure, I’ll be fine.”

I put a hand on her arm to draw her attention away from her new surroundings. “I’ll do everything in my power to find whoever is doing this to you. I promise.”

A tiny smile lit her face, and if I wasn’t mistaken, she was a little relieved. “Thank you.”

After leaving Harper standing in the middle of the tiny room, I spotted Pari’s apprentice, Tre. He was working on a girl’s tat who looked torn between anguish and desire. I could hardly blame her. Tre was like a Long Island iced tea: tall, unassuming, delicious enough to wet your whistle as well as other places, and packed a lethal punch when you least expected it.

“Hey, Chuck,” he said, nodding at me between buzzes of the needle. The fact that deep down inside, tattoo artists must enjoy the infliction of pain on others was not lost on me. I wondered if that trait spilled over into his personal life. I could handle pain if that’s what he was into. Not a lot, but …

“Hey, you,” I said, only a little worried I’d make him mess up. Mistakes were so permanent. Like nine-months-after-prom permanent.

He paused his efforts to ask, “Do you just call me you because you can’t remember my name?”

My shoulders wilted. “Darn. You caught me. No, wait, it’s here somewhere.” I tapped my temple in thought as he went back to his task. “Oh, right, is it Serving Tray?”

He shook his head, his brows drawn in concentration.

“Is it Lunch Tray?”

“No,” he said with a soft chuckle.

“Is it Ashtray?”

He paused again, and the girl shot daggers at me with her huge dark eyes. She was either jealous or in so much pain, she just wanted it over with, and I kept interrupting.

“Forget I asked,” he said, a boyish smile lighting his features.

What a heartbreaker. No wonder Pari’s female client base had tripled since he started working with her.

“See ya round, handsome.”

He winked and went back to work with a grin sparkling in his eyes. I felt sorry for the girl.

* * *

On the way back, I cut through the parking lot and made a beeline for Misery, my cherry red Jeep Wrangler. In the semi-open space of downtown Albuquerque, I felt naked. I’d been na**d in public once, so while this definitely synthesized that level of discomfort, this was different. More raw. More acute. More feral.

“He misses you, you know.”

I spun around to see a statuesque African American woman walking past me toward the back of Dad’s bar. I’d seen her a few times in the last few weeks and figured she was the new bartender Dad had been planning to hire when I refused the job. He’d wanted me to give up my PI business and work for him. Silly rabbit. She stopped and offered me a friendly, I-come-in-peace smile. To say that she was stunning would have been an understatement. She was like a shimmering skyscraper, jutting proudly into the sky and daring the world to try to knock her down.

“Your father,” she said, elaborating. Her exotic eyes held me captive for a full minute before she turned back to the bar. “You’re all he talks about.”

Clearly she knew about our falling out, but I had no use for anything she’d just told me. Even if it were true, my father did not deserve my forgiveness at that moment. Nor my attention.

I climbed into Misery and sank into her faux leather seats. She fit like a big red glove and felt just as warm. Well, not literally. The weather was chilly and her plastic windows were frosted over. I turned the key to let her warm up. She roared to life, then settled into a purr. It’d been a while since the two of us