Eleventh Grave in Moonlight (Charley Davidson #11)

“Or the CLS550.”


“That’s a Mercedes.”

Holy shit, she was good.

“Look, is the office manager in or not?”

After drawing in a long, deep breath that sucked most of the oxygen out of the room, she called out, “Eve!”

I froze in anticipation as Mrs. Foster, a.k.a. Reyes’s abductor, walked around a corner. Reyes had been right when we talked about them a few weeks ago. While Shawn Foster had light coloring to the extreme, Mrs. Foster had dark hair and eyes. She looked in her early fifties, her short hair curled and styled to perfection. Her crisp business suit and thick-heeled pumps perfectly matched. She looked about as much like a child abductor as I looked like, well, the grim reaper. But the moment her gaze landed on me, her emotions rocketed into overdrive.

She stopped short and stared a long moment before catching herself. “Can I help you?” she asked, walking forward.

Did she know who I was as well? Shawn Foster, her would-be son, had busted me casing their house. Had she done the same?

“Hi,” I said, offering her the same plastic smile I’d flashed her colleague. Thank goodness it was BPA-free. “I was wondering how happy you are with your copier.”

I tried to register the emotions bombarding her nervous system, but they were all over the place. Surprise. Dread. Suspicion. Distrust. But mostly extreme interest sprinkled with a healthy dose of fear. So, mostly negative.

“Salespeople aren’t supposed to come to the front desk during business hours. What was your name again?”

I held out my hand. “Buffy. Buffy Summers-s-s-sault.” I seriously had to quit watching Joss Whedon reruns.

“And you work for?”

“Malcolm Reynolds? Maybe you’ve heard of him? He owns Serenity Office Supply?”

Holy crap on a crack pipe, I was usually better at this. It was her reaction to me. She either knew who I was or … or what? Knew what I was? But how could she? Shawn could see my light. Could she as well? Was it a family thing? But he wasn’t even her biological son. I didn’t get it.

Or maybe she knew Shawn had hired me, which would make a lot more sense. I’d have to warn him.

“Okay, well, I think we’re pretty happy with our copier. Do you have a card, though? Just in case?”

“Yes.” I nodded to emphasize the fact that, indeed, I most definitely had a card. Just not on me. “Yes, I do. In my car.”

“How about a brochure?”

“Yep.” I nodded again. “In my car as well. I seemed to have forgotten everything.” I knocked on my head to make sure it was still attached. “Still there,” I said with a nervous laugh.

The entire time we spoke, the receptionist’s jaw dropped in increments until her mouth hung open at an odd angle. Add a little drool dripping down one side of her chin, and I was right there with her. Idiot. Of the blithering sort.

“You know what? I’ll go get our extra-special promo pack with all my information and be right back.”

Mrs. Foster inclined her head as though agreeing that might be best, but she reminded me of a duck. Or that saying about a duck where it’s just chilling on the surface, all calm and collected, but underneath the water it’s paddling its little webbed feet like crazy. She looked cool on the outside, but her insides were churning like a gathering storm.

I took off before I could do any more damage. So much for stealth. I only hoped she wouldn’t connect any of the dots. Shawn had come to me, after all. Unless he told her of his pursuit, she couldn’t know. I crossed my fingers just in case the act really did have some magical ability to bring one luck.

The look on my husband’s face when I stepped off the elevator, however, would suggest otherwise.





6

A lot of people are only alive because I shed too much hair to ever get away with murder.





—MEME


I stepped off the elevator into the parking garage and stopped short as I spotted my husband leaning against a concrete column about fifty feet from me. But he graced me with only a quick glance. I could feel his anger from where I stood. I’d been having problems lately deciphering his emotions, he was so tightly wound, but there was no mistaking the quiet rage pulsing around him.

He was angry about my investigation. Well, he’d just have to get over it. I raised my chin and started toward Misery. That’s when I noticed what he was glaring at, and my apprehension eased. A bit. He stood between me and an angel.

I considered walking over to him, but he shook his head and said softly, “Go.”

Darynda Jones's books