Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet Read Online Free Page B

stare, she asked, “You mean the offices we are no longer
     in?”
    I offered her a sheepish shrug. “Yeah, I forgot to cancel, and he painted them after
     we moved out. He was really happy that they were so clutter free.”
    “Well, that’s just fantastic.”
    Her enthusiasm seemed disingenuous. It was weird.
    “Surely, someone else owes us money,” she said.
    Then it hit me. The answer to all our prayers. Or at least a couple of them. “You’re
     right,” I said. Reyes Farrow owed me and owed me big. I grinned at Cookie. “I solved
     a case. I am due my usual rate, plus medical expenses and mental anguish.”
    She looked hopeful. “What case? Who?”
    The determined set of my jaw told her exactly who I was talking about. She got that
     faraway, dreamy look in her eyes. “Can I help collect?”
    “Nope, you have to get all this stuff sent back. How else are we going to eat for
     the next month?”
    “I never get to have any fun.”
    “It’s your own fault.”
    She cleared her throat. “How is any of this—” She spread her arms wide. “—my fault?”
    “That’s what you get for leaving me unsupervised. Don’t you have return receipts to
     fill out?”
    She lifted a handful. “Yes.”
    “From your apartment?”
    “Fine.”
    She took the receipts and started to leave me to my own devices. She would never learn.
    “Oh,” she said before opening the door, “I took your remote, so don’t even think about
     it.”
    That was so uncalled for.
    *   *   *
    After she left, I sat down and tried to think up a plan of action. If only I could
     get ahold of Angel. If anyone could find that low-down, dirty—
    “How did you do that?”
    I jumped at the sound of a voice coming from behind me. It was high. The jump. Not
     the voice. I pressed my hands to my heart and turned to the thirteen-year-old departed
     gangbanger who went by the name of Angel Garza. He stood in my apartment, wearing
     his usual jeans and dirty T-shirt with a bandanna wrapped around his head. “Angel,
     what the hell?”
    “What do you mean, what the hell? What did you do?”
    “What?” I asked, trying to calm my heart. I didn’t normally get that scared when Angel
     popped in.
    His dark brown eyes narrowed in question. “How did you do that?”
    “I don’t know. What did I do?”
    “I was at my cousin’s quinceañera one minute, then here the next.”
    “Really?”
    “Did you do that?”
    “I don’t think so. I just thought about you, and you were there.”
    “Well, stop it. That was weird.” He hugged himself and rubbed his arms.
    “This is cool. You never come when I need you.”
    “I’m your investigator, pendeja , not your lapdog.”
    “I can’t believe that worked.”
    “What are all these boxes?”
    “Did you just call me pendeja ?”
    Then he noticed me at last and got the familiar look in his eyes. “You’re looking
     good, boss.”
    “And you’re looking thirteen.” Throwing his age in his face always worked. He bristled
     and turned to study my new cheese pot. He wouldn’t like what I was about to ask him,
     so I stood and faced him head-on, my stance set, my expression hard. “I need to know
     where he is.”
    Surprise straightened his shoulders a moment, but he caught himself and shrugged.
     “Who?”
    He knew exactly who I was talking about. “He was just here a minute ago, standing
     outside my apartment building. Where is he staying?”
    Frustration slid through his lips. “You’ve stayed away from him for weeks. Why now?”
    “He owes me money.”
    “Not my problem.”
    “It will be when I can’t pay your salary.” To pay for his investigative services,
     I sent an anonymous cashier’s check to his mother every month. He couldn’t use the
     money in his rather sparse condition, but she could. It was a perfect arrangement.
    “Shit.” He disappeared through a wall of boxes. “Every time you get near him, you
     get hurt.”
    “That’s not true.”
    He reemerged but only