When he didn’t answer yet again, I tsked. “Just remember, you brought on the wrath of the reaper all on your little lonesome. By the way,” I added, looking at Osh. “I was just kidding about the people who talk at the theater.”
“Damn it,” he said, feigning disappointment.
Now if I could only figure out a way to convince my husband to get some rest. Too bad there wasn’t a mark for that.
I stood and walked to the door to check on Cookie, but before closing it, I offered Reyes one last chance to come clean. “This is your one last chance to come clean,” I told him, deciding not to mince words.
He sat on the bed, leaned back, and folded his arms behind his head.
“I mean it. If you don’t tell me what you and Angel were talking about, why you were meeting, I can’t take responsibility for my actions.”
He grinned.
I tapped my toes in impatience.
He grinned wider.
“Okay, war it is. I have to warn you—”
Before I got much further into my intimidation process, a pillow slammed into my face. I stood there, eyes closed, mortified while the ball and chain laughed softly.
It was so on.
9
APPLICANTS MUST PASS AN ORAL EXAM BEFORE ADVANCING TO THE NEXT COURSE.
—NOVELTY UNDERWEAR
I went down to check on Cookie. Uncle Bob was still in the city. Working. On his wedding day. I felt so guilty, though I didn’t know why. I had nothing to do with his working. Just Cookie’s.
“Hey, you,” I said, watching Reyes in the kitchen from the corner of my eye. He was making us both a hot chocolate. God bless him. Chocolate had become my best friend in the absence of coffee, which I’d given up for Beep. Come to think of it, I’d given up a lot for her. I’d have to make sure she knew that. Remind her. Daily. “It’s almost ten o’clock, Cook. You have to go to bed.”
There was a small couch in the office, on which Amber and Quentin sat. Well, Amber sat. Quentin slept, his blond hair hiding his face, one arm hanging over the side, the other thrown over his head. He had a massive shoe on Amber’s lap, but she didn’t seem to mind. She sat reading, completely content.
“I’ve been going through everything,” Cookie said, apparently ignoring my prime directive. That happened a lot.
Reyes brought my hot chocolate in. “Anyone else?” he asked, offering his own mug. A true gentleman.
“I’ll take some, Uncle Reyes,” Amber said, her smile flirtatious.
He chuckled and handed her his mug. “What about you?” he asked Cookie.
She was so engrossed in her work, it took her a moment to blink up at him. When she did, she stopped, blindsided by the picture before her. He stood in a pair of lounge pants, black and red plaid, with a dark gray, form-fitted T-shirt. I felt a flush of heat radiate out of her—a feat, considering Reyes’s heat knew no bounds.
When she didn’t answer, he flashed her his famous lopsided grin and said, “Hot chocolate, it is.”
He winked at me before venturing back to the kitchen, and for a split second, I thought I saw odd lines across the back of his shirt, but I dismissed the thought when Cookie came back to earth.
“Did he say something?” she asked.
“He forgot the best part!” Amber said, scuttling out from under Quentin’s enormous shoe and following after her uncle Reyes. “You forgot marshmallows!”
“He’s getting you a cup of hot cocoa,” I told Cook.
“Oh, right.” She shook the fog out of her brain. “That man makes it impossible to concentrate.”
“He does, at that. So, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” She turned in her chair to face me.
“It’s about your pre-honeymoon honeymoon.”
“Charley, really, it’s no big deal.”
“I think it is, but not in the way that you are letting on.”
She shifted in her chair. “What do you mean?”
“It’s like you were relieved that you didn’t get to go.”
“What? There is a missing girl. There was nothing for me to be relieved about.”
“Which is exactly why I’m concerned.”
“Well, don’t be.”
“Hey,” I said, using reverse psychology, “at least when all this is over, you two will get the honeymoon of your dreams.”
That ripple of concern shuddered through her again. “Absolutely.”
“Cook,” I said when she turned back to her computer, “what’s going on?”
Her shoulders lifted as she filled her lungs before facing me again. After a quick glance down the hall, she said, “Robert is not my second marriage. He’s my third.”
A jolt of shock rocketed through me. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that!”
She slammed an index finger over her mouth to shush me.
“I tell you everything,” I whispered loudly. “I even told you about that time Timothy Tidmore tried to use Virginia as a garage for his Hot Wheels.”
“I know.” She hung her head in shame. “I know. But my first marriage lasted all of two days.”
“No way.” I wiggled closer, suddenly very intrigued. “What happened?”
“Well, I was in Vegas with my aunt and uncle. It was my eighteenth birthday and they were there for a trade show. Anyway, my cousins and I had a lot of free time and, well, I met a guy by the pool and we had a really great day and we … um … got married.”