Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet

Before he could answer, I heard Uncle Bob’s voice. “Charley,” he said, lumbering up to me. His knee must’ve been bothering him again. “I didn’t expect you to come over. As far as we can tell, the building was empty except for that one woman. She is not happy to be out.”

I nodded. It had to be Ms. Faye—and, no, she would not be happy, but worry of a different nature knotted my gut. It must’ve shown.

“What is it, pumpkin?” Uncle Bob asked.

I offered him a weak smile. “Maybe nothing. I just … I hope it’s nothing.”

“Hon, if you know something about this case—”

“I’m not sure I do. Cookie’s looking into it now. If I get anything, I’ll call.”

He nodded.

“So, could Ms. Faye identify the arsonist?”

“Nope. Said it was too dark, but he was tall and thin.”

I wouldn’t exactly call Reyes thin, but I could see where Ms. Faye might. She had an odd way of seeing the world.

“Your Agent Carson has some pretty good leads on those bank robbers.”

“Yeah, sadly,” I said.

“Friends of yours?” he asked, his brows raised.

“Very good friends of mine. Well, except for one. He wants to take me out. And, no, not on a date,” I said, before he could ask.

“Oh, you mean like take you out take you out.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, glad we got that clear. How’s your other case coming along?”

I gave him my defeated expression. The one where my lips looked very much like they belonged in the duck family. “It’s not.”

“I’m sorry, kid. Let me know if I can help.”

“Thanks, Uncle Bob. And be careful with Ms. Faye. She has an arm on her—”

“Oh, no, already learned that.” He rubbed his shoulder. That woman was a menace.

I climbed back into Misery, going over what I knew to be fact in my head. Reyes had smelled like smoke. His shirt had been singed and he had scratches on his face, something Ms. Faye was very capable of, even with him.

For once in my life, I prayed I was wrong.

* * *

Since I was close, I decided to check in on Harper before heading to my next stop. I walked in the back to the sound of an ink gun buzzing away. One of them must’ve been working on a friend, because they didn’t open for hours.

I found Pari at her desk. “Hey, you, how’s Harper?”

“What did you do?” she asked, fumbling to find her sunglasses.

“Nothing.” I felt it was better to play innocent now while I could still lay claim to it. “Why? What’d I do?”

She slipped them on, then strode toward me. “Sienna is gone. She went back to New Orleans.”

I backed out, holding up my hands. “We didn’t do anything. She was into you, not me.”

“She came over yesterday, shaking and freaking out, saying something about you not being what you say you are.” She leveled a furious glare on me. “How did she find out?”

I couldn’t help but notice a smile on Tre’s face as he inked an octopus on a college kid’s back. The work was incredible. Behind the octopus was a labyrinth of steam-powered mechanisms. Wheels and cogs working together to push the hands of a huge clock that covered his left shoulder blade. But Tre was smiling for a different reason altogether. I was so thick sometimes. The guy was totally into Pari. He was thrilled that Sienna was gone.

I led Pari to a more private area. “My dad tried to shoot me. I ducked. That was it.”

“Your dad tried to shoot you?”

“Only twice.”

She lowered her head in defeat. “Sienna and I really connected. I thought she could be the one.”

“You’ve been seeing her for a day.”

“And it was a great day,” she said, her defensive hackles rising.

“Have you ever thought about looking closer to home?” I asked, hedging.

“What do you mean? Like, in my family? Because that’s normally frowned upon.”

“No, like in your house.” I nodded toward Tre as he added shadow to a tentacle.

At first her face contorted with a jolt of revulsion; then she rethought her expression. I could hear the cogs clicking as she peeked around the wall to take another look. “He is hot.”

“Duh.”

“But he’s just so … I don’t know, slutty.”

“You’re one to talk. Wait a minute.” I cast her a knowing smile. “You’re worried about the competition.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“Are—”

“Boss!” Tre called out, his voice full of mirth. “If you’re finished talking about my awesomeness, your client has decided on a color.”

She straightened. “Oh, that’s me. Tell Harper hey for me.”

“You got it.”

I wound toward the back room, but Harper wasn’t there. I checked the whole area, including the front of Pari’s parlor. No Harper. Darn. I was running out of time.

* * *

Since Mrs. Beecher had been so helpful the first time I spoke with her, I decided to question her again, only this time I’d focus on what Harper was like when she’d come back from her grandparents’ after the Lowells got married. I parked in front of her house again, admired her purple flowers again, and knocked on her door, wondering where Harper could have gotten off to.