Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet

She stood again, her jaw set in frustration. “It always comes back to that, but I just don’t remember. For some reason, by the time my family got me into therapy and I’d started to analyze what could have happened, I’d completely forgotten that week. It’s not all that unusual. I mean, how much about your childhood do you really remember?”

She had a point. Even my childhood was pretty spotty, and I could recollect anything if I wanted to. I couldn’t imagine how much a normal kid would forget.

“But he said you’d changed after you came back.”

She looked at me, confused. “He hardly knew me. My parents dated and got married before we knew what happened. Let’s just say we were not brought into the loop on that decision.”

“That’s weird. I wasn’t brought into the loop with my parents’ marriage either.”

“Really? How old were you?”

“Twelve months.”

She giggled. “I can’t imagine why they didn’t ask your opinion.”

“I know, right? Well, if you don’t have anything, I guess I might have to actually do some investigative work.”

She grinned. “Isn’t that what you do?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Right.” I nudged her with my elbow. “I am a PI, after all.” Telling her I could talk to the dead and often used them to help me solve crimes might be awkward at this juncture. It would be best if she thought I had my crap together instead of scattered from here to Timbuktu, like, say, the crap on a cattle ranch. “Have you checked out Tre? He’s well worth the effort.”

Her shoulders raised in modesty. “Not yet.”

“Well, see that you do, missy. Hard manly flesh like that shouldn’t go to waste.”

“Okay. I promise.”

* * *

I stepped out of Pari’s shop just as my phone rang.

Speaking of whom, “Hey, Par.”

“Where the heck are you?”

I stopped and looked around. “Right here. Where are you?”

“You’re here?”

“Here where?”

“Charley.”

“Pari.”

“You’re supposed to meet my dates.”

“Oh, right. That’s where I am. I’m almost there.”

“Are you sure? Because we’re on a pretty tight schedule.”

“Positive.” Knowing it’d take me forever to get a parking space, I took off in a full-out sprint. I may not look good when I got there, but I’d be damned if I was late. Or, well, later.

Fortunately, the Frontier was a mere two blocks away. I thought about ordering a carne adovada burrito and a sweet roll before sitting with Pari and—did she say dates? As in more than one? But she might hurt me. Still, their sweet rolls were a thing of beauty.

The Frontier was an odd sort of place just across from the University of New Mexico. It ran the length of several partially divided rooms. I finally found Pari and her dates in the very last one. There weren’t many people in that part. Several students were having a Bible study group in one corner, and a homeless man named Iggy sat at a booth off by himself. Pari and her dates—literally, as there were three men sitting with her—were stashed in the farthest corner.

This wouldn’t be awkward at all.

She brightened when she saw me and motioned me over, looking only mildly ridiculous in her sunglasses, knowing I would be there.

“Hey, you!” She stood for a hug. “I haven’t seen you in forever. How weird that we’d run into each other here.”

Oh, okay, we were playing that game. I wished she would’ve filled me in. I thought we were playing the I-have-trust-issues game. Why else would she want me to sit there and measure their honesty while she grilled them?

“This is Mark, Fabian, and Theo. Guys, this is Charley. She sees dead people.”

I rolled my eyes. I closed them first so no one would see, but the minute my lids locked down, my eyes did somersaults.

She laughed and patted my back hard enough to dislodge my esophagus. Maybe she was perturbed that I was late. “Just kidding.” She waved a dismissive hand at them. “Nobody can see dead people. You should join us.”

Before I could answer, she shoved me into the nearest chair. This was going to be the worst dates I’d ever been on. Though she had good taste, I’d give her that. They all had varying degrees of dark hair and tan skin. Mark and Fabian were Hispanic, and Theo was Caucasian with something else thrown in for good measure. Possibly Asian.

“So, Mark,” she said, sitting beside me, “have you ever been arrested for kiddie  p**n ?”

Oddly enough, my forehead dropped into the palm of my hand.

But Mark was good-natured enough to laugh it off. “Well, so far nobody’s found my stash.”

After an appreciative laugh, she turned to Theo. “How about you?”

Theo was a little less accepting. “Am I being interrogated?”

Pari snorted. “What? Absolutely not. But have you?”

After an hour of the guys pretending they weren’t on an interview and me pretending I was just there to eat despite the fact that I never got any food, I came to one, noticeable conclusion: Pari was a big fat liar.

“So?” she asked after they’d left. I was exhausted. Trying to read every emotion while wading through hers was like trying to sprint in five feet of water.

“So?” I asked in return.

“Sooooo?” she asked again, believing that drawing out the O would make me spill quicker. She raised her brows and waited for my answer.