Five minutes after I sat down with Uncle Bob, Reyes brought out our food personally. The room quieted to a whisper, and several women actually raised their phones to snap pictures of him. This was ridiculous. This was beyond ridiculous.
Of course, he was kind of famous now. He’d done ten years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Everyone wanted his story. Reporters begged for an interview. And once the public got an eyeful of Reyes being released and escorted to a waiting car outside the courthouse, that same public clamored to know more about him. So, in a way, he was a celebrity.
But still, Jessica?
“Detective,” Reyes said to Ubie as he sat down his plate.
“Farrow, it’s good to see you getting out. Working.”
“You mean it’s good to see me become a productive member of society?”
I winced. Uncle Bob had sent him to prison all those years ago, but in his defense, Earl Walker’s setup was almost perfect. The evidence was too overwhelming despite Ubie’s gut, which told him Reyes didn’t do it.
Uncle Bob’s mouth thinned into a forced smile. “This isn’t poisoned, is it?”
Without taking his eyes off Uncle Bob, Reyes took his fork, cut into the burrito, scooped up a bite, and held it out to me. Then his gaze, still sultry and electrifying, locked with mine. I opened my mouth and wrapped my lips around his offering; then I closed my lids and moaned.
“Delicious.” When I looked back at him, his features had darkened. He watched me eat, his gaze hooded, his jaw hard. I swallowed, then said, “You’re really good at that.”
“I know.” He put the fork down and nodded a good-bye to us both before heading back to the kitchen. All eyes were on his ass, including mine.
“So,” Ubie said, “you two seem to be getting along well.”
“Don’t even think about it,” I said, staring at the door Reyes just went through.
“What?”
“Judging who I date.” Then I glared at him. “Like you’re any better with the trash you bring home.”
“Charley,” he said, offended.
But I was only preparing him, tenderizing him for my next statement. I leaned toward him and said, “I know you like her, Uncle Bob. Just ask her out.”
“Who?” he asked, suddenly fascinated with his burrito.
“You know who.”
He took a bite and nodded. “This is amazing.”
That was my cue. I rounded my eyes in horror, grabbed my throat, and did my best impersonation of a silent screen actress’s death scene. “No, he… he couldn’t have.” Only I talked. I choked out the words between gasps. “It’s… it’s poisoned.”
“Okay, I’ll ask her out.”
“Seriously?” I asked, straightening. “When?”
He took another bite. “Soon. Eat up. We have to get out of here.”
Good enough for now. I could torment him until he followed through with his promise. Cookie wasn’t going to wait around forever. She was gorgeous, albeit challenged in many ways, like coordinately, but that just made her all the more interesting in my book. Which was a bestseller called Charley’s Book. That gave me an idea.
“Hey,” I said, cutting a bite and stabbing it mercilessly, “I should write a book.”
“About me?” Ubie asked.
“I want it to be interesting, Uncle Bob. It would be about what it’s like to see dead people.”
“I think that’s been done already. There’s a movie, too.”
Darn it. Always late to the game. I slid my fork into my mouth and smiled as my taste buds broke into a rousing chorus of “I’m So Excited.” My god, that man was talented.
I left without saying good-bye to Reyes. The place was jam-packed. I didn’t want to disturb him. I still couldn’t believe he was working for my dad. I was stewing in that bit of news when Ubie broke into my thoughts.
“By the way, it’s been twenty-four hours,” he said as we headed toward I-25.
I knew he would ask about the arsonist. “I was going to take care of that little situation this afternoon, but since you insisted I come to this crime scene with you —”
“I didn’t insist. And at the moment, the arson case trumps this one. These bodies aren’t going anywhere. We can turn around right now and close the case.” He spun an index finger in the air.
“I don’t know for certain that we can. I promise, Uncle Bob, I’ll let you know the minute I’m positive.”
“Charley, if this person is innocent, we’ll figure it out.”
“It doesn’t always work that way, and you know it.” I hated to throw Reyes’s case in his face, but this was important. I needed to be sure.
He stiffened but didn’t argue. “I at least need to know who you suspect. What if something happens to you between now and then?”
“What could happen?” When his expression deadpanned, I shrugged. “Fine. I’ll text who I think it is to Cookie with explicit instructions not to tell you unless something dire happens. Like if I have a fatal allergic reaction to your cheap cologne.”
He didn’t like it, but he nodded in agreement. “Now, if you don’t mind.”
“Geez. Okay.” I took out my phone and texted Cookie.
“And my cologne’s not cheap.”
I snorted and typed.
Kim Millar. Save this name and don’t give it to Uncle Bob unless I die some time in the next day or two. Or if I go into anaphylactic shock and the prognosis looks bad. He will beg. Be strong.