“Right,” she said, shaking her head, “sorry.” Then she gasped. “You knew they weren’t real FBI agents?”
“I had my suspicions.”
“And you led them into your office anyway? Alone?”
“My suspicions don’t always pan out.”
She thought about that a moment and calmed. “True. Remember that time you tackled the mailman and—”
I held up a hand to stop her. Some things were just better left unsaid. “Cancel looking into the business stuff,” I said, thinking out loud. “I’d bet my virtual farm that’s a dead end. Concentrate on finding a connection between Mimi and Janelle York.”
“Besides the fact that they went to high school together?” she asked.
“No. Let’s start there. Dig into both their backgrounds, see if anything stands out.”
Just then, Uncle Bob walked into the office. Or, well, stormed into the office. He was always so stressed. It was probably time for us to have the talk. He needed a girlfriend before he stroked. Or maybe a blowup doll.
“If you’re going to be a grumpy bear,” I said, pointing to the door, “you can just leave the same way you came in, Mr. Man.” I twirled my finger in circles, motioning for him to do an about-face, make like a sheep, and get the flock outta there.
He stopped short, eyeing me with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. “I’m not grumpy.” He sounded offended. It was funny. “I just want to know what you’ve gotten yourself into now.”
It was my turn to be offended. “What?” I asked. “Why I never—”
“No time for your theatrics,” he said, shaking a finger. That’d teach me. “How do you know Warren Jacobs?”
What the heck? Word traveled fast in the crime-fighting world. “I just met him this morning. Why?”
“Because he’s asking for you. Not only is his wife missing, but a car dealer he stalked and threatened to kill was found dead last night. Call me crazy, but I think there might be a connection.”
Son of a bitch, I thought with a heavy sigh. “Instead of plain old Crazy, can I call you Crazy Bob?”
“No.”
“CB for short?” When I only got a glare, I asked, “Then can I see him?”
“He’s being questioned right now and he’ll probably lawyer up any second. What’s going on?”
Cookie and I glanced at each other then spilled our guts like frogs in biology lab.
We told Uncle Bob everything, even the writing-on-the-wall thing. He took out his phone and ordered one of his minions to check out the diner. “You should have told me,” he said after hanging up, his tone scolding.
“Like I’ve had a chance. But since we’re on the subject, there are two men posing as FBI agents to get to her. And they want her bad.”
Alarmed, Uncle Bob—or Ubie as I liked to call him, though rarely to his face—took down their description. “This is serious stuff,” he said.
“Tell me about it. We have to find Mimi before they do.”
“I’ll get a hold of the local feds and let them know they have a couple of impersonators. But you should have called me when this whole thing started.”
“Well, I didn’t think I would need to, since you’re having me tailed and all.”
His jaw clamped down, totally busted. With a heavy sigh, he stepped closer, towering over me, and lifted my chin gently. “Reyes Farrow is a convicted murderer, Charley. This is for your own protection. If he contacts you, will you please let me know?”
“Will you call off the tail?” I asked in turn. When he hesitated then shook his head, I added, “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.
As I walked down the block to my friend Pari’s tattoo parlor, I scanned the street for the shadow Ubie’d assigned to me, with no luck. It had to be someone good. Uncle Bob wouldn’t send a rookie to watch over me.
I stopped in front of Pari’s shop, not because I particularly needed a tattoo, but because Pari could see auras. I could see auras as well, but I figured maybe I’d missed something over the years. How could I see auras and dead people and sons of Satan and yet in all my days never see a demon? Heck, I didn’t even know demons existed until Reyes told me, much less that they would be fighting tooth and nail to get to me. To get through me. My breath caught as another realization dawned. If demons existed, heck, if Satan himself existed, then angels surely existed as well. Seriously, how could I be so out of the loop?
Hopefully, Pari knew something I didn’t, other than the correct timing for a 1970 Plymouth Duster with a supercharged 440 big block. I didn’t even know cars had timing issues—speaking of which, it was still early in tattoo parlor time, so I was surprised to see Pari’s front door open. I stepped inside.
“I need some light,” I heard her call out from the back.
“On it,” came a male voice.
Then I heard scrambling in the back room as I walked up behind Pari. She was bent under a refurbished dentist’s chair, electrical wires in a heap at her knees.
“Thanks,” she said, quietly deciphering the wires.
“What?” the guy in the back room called out.
Startled, Pari jolted upright and hit her head on the seat of the chair before turning back to me. “Charley, damn it,” she said, raising one hand to shield her eyes and the other to rub the sting from her head. “You can’t just walk up behind me. You’re like one of those floodlights shining from a cop car in the middle of the night.”