“If I were your mother, I would want to know you were okay.”
“If you were my mother, I’d need therapy. I’ve had thoughts, you know.” He gestured to Danger and Will with a nod, but I didn’t let his confession – though it wasn’t exactly news – deter me.
“I would want to know what an awesome kid you are.”
One corner of his full mouth rose in a playful gesture. “You think I’m awesome?”
Uh-oh.
“Am I awesome enough to see you naked?”
Why did I bother? “Or I could just tell her what a perv you’ve become.”
“Okay, never mind. But you didn’t see her. She cried all the time, for months after I died. I can’t do that to her.”
Like I said, awesome. “Okay, sweetheart. I won’t tell her. But your mother is sharp and stronger than you give her credit for.”
“She’s as tough as they come.” Pride swelled across his chest. She was probably in her early thirties when he died. It had been at least twenty years.
I stepped back into my office. Mrs. Garza, who had also lost her husband after Angel died, was examining a painting on my wall. She turned to me, her expression still set on hell-bent.
“You’re right,” I said, defeat evident in my sagging shoulders. “I know who you are, Mrs. Garza. Would you like some coffee?”
I couldn’t help but notice how close she was to the dark elixir. I liked to stand near it, too. It was like standing next to a fire in the middle of winter, warm and comforting.
She relaxed her shoulders, but just barely. “I guess.”
I poured her a cup, then let her doctor it as she pleased while I sat back behind my desk.
After she sat down, I said, “I do put money into your account every month. A great-uncle of yours had me track you down a few years ago and he left provisions for you before he died.”
“Great story,” Angel said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Smartass.
Her brows knitted in suspicion. “A great-uncle? Which great-uncle?”
“Um, the great one on your aunt’s side.”
“I’m Mexican American, Ms. Davidson. Catholic. We like to procreate. Do you know how many aunts I have?”
“Right…”
“And we are very close.”
I was so going to that special hell. “This is a great-uncle that no one knew about. He was… a recluse.”
“Does this have anything to do with Angel?” She pronounced his name in true Spanish fashion. Ahn-hell. But her voice wavered when she said it.
“No, Mrs. Garza. It doesn’t.”
She nodded and got up to leave. “Like I said, I checked around. When you want to tell me the truth, you obviously know where I’ll be.”
“That was the truth,” I promised her.
She put her coffee cup down and left, completely unconvinced. And I was so good at lying.
I put an arm around Angel. “I’m so sorry, hon. I had no idea she knew about me.”
“She’s smart. She checked up on you. It’s not your fault.”
He walked back out the door and looked over the railing into the restaurant downstairs. “Why is he here anyway?”
“Who?” I walked over and looked down, too, but the place hadn’t opened for business yet. Empty tables and chairs sat strategically positioned, ready for patrons.
“You have another visitor,” he said, then vanished before I could say anything else. I was learning more about what I could and could not do, and I knew that I could’ve brought him back if I’d wanted to, but he needed some time to process what had just happened. With his mother so open and willing to know more, craving to know more, I was a little surprised that he still didn’t want me to tell her. It made me more curious. Was there something in particular he didn’t want her to know? Was he hiding something?
But sure enough, I had another visitor. I wasn’t meeting Mrs. Tidwell for another half hour, so I was surprised the front door opened again. I looked over as Captain Eckert, my uncle’s boss, stepped in, dressed impeccably as always. He wasn’t like the captains in the movies, with their ties crooked and their jackets in dire need of an iron, though that pretty much described Ubie to a T. Captain Eckert was more like an older cover model for GQ. His clothes were always pressed, his tie always straight, his back always rigid. I could only imagine the anal jokes that floated around the precinct.
“Captain,” I said, letting the surprise I felt filter into my voice. It was weird how every time I said the word captain, I wanted to tack on a Jack Sparrow at the end.
The last time we’d spoken was a few days ago when I’d basically solved three cases in one fell swoop. Possibly four. It was the wrong thing to do. He took note and had been curious about me, about my role at the station as a consultant, ever since. I wasn’t sure what to make of his curiosity. He seemed suspicious, but unless he knew that there was a grim reaper roaming the lands solving his cases for him, what on earth could he be suspicious about? “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”
He analyzed my offices a full minute before answering. With his back to me as he took in the same painting Mrs. Garza had, he said, “I’ve decided to keep closer tabs on any and all consultants the APD has on payroll.”
Crap. “Really? H-how many are there?”
“Removing any experts we occasionally use, like psychologists and the like, CIs and any consultants who are not actually on the payroll, that pretty much leaves just one.”