Eighth Grave After Dark

I thought Reyes might laugh at me. Or at the very least, find my faux pas amusing, but when I looked over at him again, he was not laughing. He was not even smiling. He had darkened again, his expression almost dangerous as he took me in. He could feel my reaction to him and I, in turn, could feel his reaction to me. How he could have such a reaction with me looking like the Pillsbury Doughboy astonished me. He was kinky. I’d take it.

Once I got to the front, I stepped aside and turned, waiting for the gorgeous bride. The “Wedding March” began to play through the speakers and everyone stood as Cookie and Amber stepped out into the light of the warm fall afternoon. They strolled to the front slowly, taking their time, letting people snap pictures and whisper words of praise.

But my attention had turned to Uncle Bob, and I wished I’d thought to have someone record him, because his reaction to Cookie was worth all the coffee in Albuquerque. No, New Mexico. No! The world!

He sucked in a sharp breath of air at the sight of her, his mouth slightly open, his expression reflecting all the amazement and doubt that was so Uncle Bob. I could tell right then and there he wondered what she saw in him. And I wanted to tell him: That. That humbleness. That appreciation of her. That love for both her and Amber. No, not just love. Respect. He respected her. He respected Amber. He was truly grateful for them both. There was no greater gift.

When they reached the front, the minister raised his hands and gestured for everyone to sit. After the guests settled, he asked, “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”

Amber spoke, her voice quivering only a little. “I, her daughter, Amber Kowalski.”

She turned to Cookie, her blue eyes shimmering. She gave her a quick hug, then took Cookie’s hand and placed it gently into Uncle Bob’s, giving him permission to marry her mother. There was no higher honor. The happiness ricocheting inside me for my cantankerous uncle knew no bounds.

The minister smiled his approval, and I nodded to Quentin, who was sitting in the front row. He stood, took Amber’s arm into his, and led her to her seat. The whole exchange was formal and sweet and reverent, and once again I fought with every ounce of strength I had to hold back the floodtide threatening to erupt within me.

The minister went through the vows quickly, garnering an “I will” from both the bride and the groom. And while it wasn’t easy for me to take my eyes off the beautiful couple in front of me, I simply could not keep from staring at my husband. I had never seen anything so stunning. His dark skin in stark contrast to the white stiff collar beneath his jaw. His fresh haircut. His cleanly shaven jaw. Although I loved the scruffy Reyes more than pumpkin pie with whipped cream, this one was breathtaking. He was like Tarzan, Clark Kent, and James Bond all rolled into one. I half expected an Aston Martin to be sitting in our drive.

After being given the go-ahead, Uncle Bob wrapped one arm around Cookie’s waist and lifted her chin. Only then did I realize she’d been crying. He gave her the gentlest of kisses, the kind that attested to the immense love and respect he had for the woman he’d just married, and the crowd erupted in celebration. It was over. After all the preparation, all the work, all the anxiety, it was over. Fast. Much too fast. We still had the reception, of course, and then I would get to work on the case while Cookie enjoyed her pre-honeymoon honeymoon. It would consist of only one night at Buffalo Thunder, a stunning resort and spa in the Pojoaque valley north of Santa Fe.

Cookie had insisted they hold off on their real honeymoon until after Beep arrived. Odd how Beep had changed all our lives so implicitly. She even added her own little kink in the wedding when the guests started giggling because my dress was moving. I couldn’t tell if she was just trying to get comfortable or hosting a kegger. Either way, she was already stealing the show, trying to upstage.

I looked down at her with an attagirl grin.

The moment the crowd erupted, Uncle Bob whisked Cookie back down the aisle, which worked for me, as that was where the food sat.

“I have to admit,” I said to Gemma as we loaded our plates, “you did good.” I chose a kale salad with grilled salmon and an elegant cup filled with macaroni and cheese. I’d definitely be hitting that again, though I needed to leave room for pumpkin mousse, tiramisu, and chocolate truffles. And wedding cake! Couldn’t forget the wedding cake!

Gemma had decided on much of the wedding’s fanfare. The decorations. The type of food. All the extra stuff that made Cookie’s day so special. I owed her. There’d be no living with her now.

“Thanks, sis.” She shouldered me playfully.

Wyatt, her beau, asked, “How are you feeling?”

Reyes was close, as in right next to me, so I had to make it good. “Oh, it’s awful. I have to pee every thirty seconds. My ankles are swollen. I drool when I least expect it. And I keep getting this weird craving for sardines and green chile on melba toast.”

Wyatt had the decency to look aghast, but Reyes just grinned, focusing on the food instead of my suffering. The scoundrel.

“You hate sardines,” Gemma said to me.

“Exactly. It’s like I’m not me anymore and someone—or something—has taken over my body.” I gasped. “It’s Invasion of the Body Snatchers!”

Gemma giggled. “I think it’s called being pregnant.”

“Nobody cares about my suffering,” I said as Reyes took both our plates to a table.

Gemma and Wyatt followed us. “We care,” Gemma said. “Just not a lot.”