“Did he tell you his wife was missing?”
After grabbing a pen from her lab coat, she nodded and said, “He even asked if she’d called me. He said the police were at his house and would probably be over to talk to me.” She transferred some numbers onto a chart, signed it, then closed the file.
“And did they come?”
“Yes. An FBI agent came to my house late that afternoon.”
“Agent Carson?”
“Yes. Are you working with her?”
“In a way,” I said, trying not to stretch the truth too far. “So, there were no noticeable changes in his behavior in the days prior to his wife’s disappearance?”
“No, I’m sorry. I wish I could be of more help.”
Well, whatever happened, it didn’t sound premeditated. Then again, the guy was obviously good.
“After everything he went through before…”
I froze. “Before?”
“Yes, with his first wife.”
Those bells that ding between boxing rounds? Yeah, in my head. “Right, his first wife. Tragic.”
A tear that had been shimmering against her eyelashes finally pushed past them and slid down her cheek. She turned to get a tissue, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry. It’s just … I mean, for her to have died so suddenly.”
“Oh, no, I completely understand.” I tried not to notice how her curls vibrated when she blew her nose.
“For her heart to just stop, and while on vacation, no less. He was just so alone after that.”
Now we were getting somewhere. Didn’t Agent Carson mention something to that effect? One stick and her heart would stop? “I can’t believe it myself.”
I had to look into this ay-sap. And Jillian seemed more taken with the guy than I’d originally assumed. I wondered how much of her ignorance was him and how much of it was her. Puppy love was a powerful elixir. I should know. The things I did for Tim La Croix, my senior-year crush. Unfortunately, I’d been in kindergarten at the time, otherwise he might have taken note.
* * *
Before heading home, I hit the Chocolate Coffee Café for a mocha latte, Macho Taco for a chicken burrito with extra salsa, and a twenty-four-hour convenience store for a couple packages of microwave popcorn and some chocolate to tide me over for the night. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stay awake, though. I’d have to watch action movies, or horror, something bloody. Even then, I figured I had a 50/50 chance.
What had Reyes said? He wasn’t angry because he didn’t want to be there, but because he did? I didn’t know how to take that. My innards were in turmoil, but leaning toward happy, as desperate and pathetic as my innards were. Mostly ’cause Reyes did things to them. Delicious, devilish, heart-stoppingly decadent things. Damn him.
Before I could ponder myself into an orgasm, I opened my phone and called Cookie.
“Hey, boss. Where are you?” she asked.
“I just picked up something to eat. What about professional belly dancers?”
“Um, I don’t know, maybe with horseradish.”
“No, our new careers. We have to look to the future now, and I’ve always wanted to learn how to do the wave with my stomach. Not to mention the fact that my belly button could use the exposure. Almost no one knows about it.”
“You’re right,” she said, playing along. “I don’t even know its name.”
I gasped and glanced down. “I don’t think Stella heard you, but you need to be more careful. Oh, I meant to tell you, I think that server at Macho Taco with the short hair and strange eyebrows is Batman.”
“I’ve wondered about her. Did you want to discuss anything that actually pertains to a case?”
“You mean besides the fact that our Dr. Yost was married before?”
“You’re not going to believe this, but I was just about to call and tell you the same thing. It’s like we’re connected or something, like we have ESP.”
“Or extrasensory perception.”
“Exactly. I got a number on Yolanda Pope and left a message on her cell.”
“Most excellent. I’m dying to get the story behind those charges she filed on one Mr. Nathan Yost. In the meantime, I want you to get everything you can on Yost’s first wife.”
“Got it. I’ll put everything I’ve found so far on your counter. You’re on your way home, right?”
“I am indeed,” I said, turning onto Central.
“See. I didn’t even need to ask.”
“I know. It’s weird.”
“How many cups of coffee have you had today?”
I counted on my fingers before remembering they should remain on the steering wheel at all times while driving. “Seven,” I said, swerving to narrowly miss a horrified pedestrian.
“Just seven?”
“And twelve-halves.”
“Oh, well, that’s not bad. For you. Maybe now that you’ve talked to Reyes, you can get some sleep. Maybe, you know, he’ll stop.”
“Maybe. Sleep sounds really nice about now,” I said, the mere mention of it weighing me down, coaxing my lids closed before remembering they should remain open at all times while driving. So many rules. “I’m not sure, though. I get the feeling he doesn’t have any more choice in the matter than I do.”
“It’s all so cosmic,” she said, a wistful sigh in her voice.
“It’s definitely something. Okay, I’m almost home. Be there in a jiff.”
* * *
At exactly 8:23ish I stumbled across the threshold of my apartment, food, coffee, and DVDs in hand, while fishing through my bag for my phone. I had a text from Garrett. He was probably going to bitch me out for waking him before the sun shone that morning. I flipped it open. It read,
Four: You’re killing me.
I texted back.
Clearly I need to try harder.
“Hey, Mr. Wong,” I said after dumping the contents of my arms on the kitchen counter.
While Garrett’s list of the top five things you never want to say to the grim reaper was interesting, I had a better list for him. A to-do list. Vacuum. Clean out my fridge. Do the dishes in his underwear. Though why he would have dishes in his underwear was beyond me.