Second Grave on the Left (Charley Davidson, #2)

by Darynda Jones

I was only in that class to learn how to kill people with paper.

Thus, as the grim reaper, I understood dead people. Their sense of timing pretty much sucked. Not a problem. But this being woken up in the middle of the night by a living, breathing being who had her nails sharpened regularly at World of Knives was just wrong. I slapped at the hands like a boy in a girl fight, then continued to slap air when my intruder rushed away to invade my closet. Apparently, in high school, Cookie had been voted Person Most Likely to Die Any Second Now.

After scanning the near-empty lot once more, we strolled into the diner. I felt only slightly self-conscious in my bunny slippers.

With a sigh, I realized I was getting way too much exercise. I’d just have to counteract it later with cake.

His gaze slid over me like a veil of fire. He could ignite my deepest desires with a single glance. I decided right then and there no more reading romance novels by candlelight.

IF IT HAS TIRES OR TESTICLES, IT’S GONNA GIVE YOU TROUBLE.

“Then may the best detective win.” I strode out the door, realizing what a ridiculous statement that was, as Uncle Bob, a veteran detective for the Albuquerque Police Department, was the ace of spades when it came to investigations. I was kind of like a three of hearts.

“Meet? Now? Well, darn it, okay. You’re in the alley to my right? You’re that close? Are you crazy? You’ll be caught. Surely someone will suspect you might get in touch with me. Surely … Okay, fine.

his eyes suddenly drawn to my hand as I knocked the rocks and soil off my left butt cheek. “Can I help?” he asked, indicating my ass with a nod.

He’d tilted his head and was eyeing the general vicinity of my lower half as I knocked dirt and rock chips off it when he asked, “Can I help?”

“Why?” he asked, still suspicious. You’d think I never kept up my side of the bargain. I almost always, nigh 100 percent of the time, tried really hard to attempt to hold up my side of any bargain in any given situation.

My face must have shown my alarm. Garrett leaned into me. “Charley, what’s going on?” Reyes glanced at him then back at me. “Tell it to shut up.” And that was just rude. These boys were not playing well together at all. Reyes had grown jealous of Garrett without reason. There was nothing whatsoever between us. “He’s not an it, Reyes,” I said, practically inviting him to argue. “He’s the best skiptracer in the state, and he’s going to help me find you.” The gauntlet I threw at him made me sound like a third grader on a playground challenging the school bully to a showdown. Swings. Three o’clock. A slow smile spread across Reyes’s face as he looked back at Garrett, sized him up with one glance, then returned his attention to me. “How’s its spine?”

He turned to me, aghast. “She’s not a ho. Well, yeah, okay, she’s a ho, thus my dating her, but she knows?”

my cell rang out. It was Cookie. “Charley’s House of Excruciating Pain,”

Damn it. Reyes could be such a butthead. Freaking Antichrists.

“And stop dating skanks.”

Or maybe I’d have my bikini area waxed by a German female wrestler, which would be more fun than talking to my sister on the phone.

“Swopes,” I said, giving Cookie a wink, “we don’t care what you want to be when you grow up. We want to know what you found out about Cookie’s car.”

“I know. I suck at all of this supernatural stuff. But I fry a mean chicken.” “Oh, good. I hate it when the nice ones get fried.”

“Do you have to go? For realsies?”

She had a way with words.

“I don’t know, sweetheart, but I’ll find out. And I’d bet Garrett’s left testicle, it has something to do with our Senate hopeful.”

“Damn it. I always have to go first, then half the time, you girls chicken out and run away before showing me yours.”

“Pffft,” I pfffted,

I felt kind of bad, but he started it.

“I can print my statement out for you, if that would help.” He sat back down, eyeing me warily. “Sure.” I printed my statement, happy that all the work I’d put into it wouldn’t go unnoticed. He took it, read my four sentences for a really long time that had me wondering if he was dyslexic, then looked back at me. “Wow, that’s a lot to take in all at once.” “It was for me, too,” I said, the sarcasm dripping from my tongue unmistakable. “You cut his throat?” I leaned toward him, my voice menacing as I said, “I do things like that when I’m angry.” He worked his jaw a moment. “How about I come back later?” “How about?”

“Or New York,” she said, changing her mind. “I love New York.” I nodded my head. “I only like New York as a friend, but I’m in.

“See this? This i-e? When two vowels go walking, the first one does the talking.”

I jumped out of bed, stumbled a bit when a sheet plagued with separation anxiety attacked my foot,

WHERE AM I GOING AND WHAT AM I DOING IN THIS HANDBASKET?

NATIONAL SARCASM SOCIETY: LIKE WE NEED YOUR SUPPORT.

“Okay, starting with my left pinkie toe, we have Dopey, Doc, Grumpy, Happy, Bashful, Sneezy, Sleepy, Queen Elizabeth the Third, Bootylicious the Patron Saint of Hot Asses, and Pinkie Floyd.”

He grinned at her. Like grinned. Like flirty-grinned. Ew. I had a concussion, for heaven’s sake. I was already a bit queasy. And she grinned back! Calgon!

Oh, for the love of Godiva chocolate. This was unreal.

A knock sounded on the bathroom door. “Charley, honey?” “Yes, Ubie, dear?” “Are you awake?” He was funny. “No,”

I ran a hand down my face. My head hurt and not entirely because of the concussion. I thought I had this thing figured out. That’s what I got for thinking.

Mimi screamed really helpfully.

For the first time in my life, I was in a shoot-out. A real, honest-to-goodness shoot-out with a bad guy. And apparently, we both sucked. I aimed for his head and shot the light above it. And I had no idea what the hell he was aiming at, unless he was taking out the windows at the candy-making factory as part of some strategic maneuver to outwit us.

“Rey’aziel—” Without another thought, Evil Murtaugh squeezed. Wait. I wasn’t finished. But the world slowed and the bullet came to a rest in front of me. “Didn’t we discuss your timing issues earlier?” I glanced to my right as Reyes looked on, his robe undulating around him in glorious waves as if he were an ocean unto himself.

“You know, if you keep eating like you do, I might have to start calling you Uncle Blob.” And he said, “That wasn’t very nice.” And I said, “I know, that’s why I said it.” And he said, “Oh.”

“No, she said only you can find him. But you’re looking with the wrong body part.” My gaze darted to my crotch before I caught myself.