I hung up and did a 360, checking out the patrons in the room. Everyone seemed legit. Or, well, alive at least. But I felt a departed close by. I could feel the coolness radiating off one, the gentle vibrations that hummed through me whenever one was near, and I caught the subtle hint of a cologne I hadn’t smelled in years. White Shoulders. It had been one of my favorites growing up.

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, I dialed Neil Gossett’s number for the second time that day.

“If you’re going to call me a slut again, you can save your energy. I already know.”

“Wait, did she call you back?” I asked. “You’re not actually going out with her?”

“No. And no.” Disappointment saddened his voice.

“Oh, okay. I’m calling about another matter.” I was half whispering into the phone even though Reyes was outside. But just in case… “Was there anything between Reyes and a crime boss by the name of —”

“Bruno Navarra, aka Bumpy.”

“Um, yes. That was a really good guess.”

“You know the three guys I told you about who attacked Farrow his first day in gen pop and he took them out in less that thirty seconds?”

I knew the story well. Neil had been a rookie guard, and what Reyes did that day had affected him greatly. He’d never forgotten it. “Of course.”

“They were Bumpy’s men.”

“No way.”

“Sorry to say. Bumpy’s not a nice guy.”

“And did a man named Zeke Schneider Sr. know him?”

“He did. Why?”

I couldn’t tell him any more than that. I was taking a huge risk as it was. If anyone figured out my connection to Zeke Schneider Jr., I could be accused of murdering him.

“Let’s just say that the man makes an impression.”

“So, you’re not mad at me anymore?”

“Gossett, I’m not mad at you. I met the woman this morning. She has a silver tongue, I’ll give you that.”

“Told you. So, did she mention me?” he asked, his voice filled with hope.

“You’re such a slut.”

12

I don’t want you to forget this moment.

In about a week, I’ll come up with a scathing retort.

— T-SHIRT

I’d called Dad and left another message while we headed toward the nursery where Anna Gallegos worked, but we were met with the same answers the families had given us. No one knew anything. Even Anna’s closest coworker – a man everyone called Gallagher because of his resemblance to the comedian – had no clue about the phone call. Anna had never told him.

So we were at a dead end once again.

“I feel like a salad,” I said as we climbed back into Misery.

“You don’t look like a salad,” Reyes answered.

“Maybe it’s the fact that we are at a nursery with plants and crap. You should totally make me one of your famous taco salads with grilled chicken in green chile and top it off with guacamole and sour cream.”

A delectable dimple appeared at one corner of his mouth. “I have a famous taco salad?”

“You do now. You should call it the Charley Davidson.”

He laughed softly as he buckled his seat belt. “Last week you wanted me to name a burrito after you.”

“And?”

“The week before that, it was a burger with both red and green chile.”

“Yes, Christmas style, like me. I’m multicolored and sparkly like Christmas. I’m not sure what your point is.”

I steered Misery back to the bar, turning south on Wyoming as Reyes lounged in my passenger’s seat, his powerful legs slightly parted. He rested one arm across the console, his long fingers absently touching the gearshift between us. I decided to find out a little more about this crime boss before I told Reyes that the man who’d attacked me worked for Bumpy. Angering most people wouldn’t get you killed. A crime boss was not most people.

He sat staring out the window and seemed a thousand miles away when he said, “If you keep looking at me like that, we aren’t going to make it to the grill.”

“I’m just so amazed at how fast you healed.”

He turned toward me. “You can, too, once you figure it out.”

“I hope I never have to.”

“I hope so, too. What else did you find out from your uncle?”

“What?” I asked in alarm. “Nothing.”

He paused a long moment before he said, “About the suicide-note victims.”

“Oh,” I said, relaxing, “not much. They still haven’t found a connection. We just don’t have much to go on at this point. They’re sending the notes off to the crime lab. Hopefully there will be some residual evidence that we missed.”

He nodded.

He’d been so quiet all day, it really had me wondering. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t I seem okay?”

“I don’t know.” I slowed to a stop at a light and regarded him suspiciously. “You seem a little distant today.”

He turned to look out the window again. “I’d be better if you didn’t lie to me.”

Damn it. I should have known he’d feel that. “It’s nothing.”

“Then why lie?”

“Because,” I said, having no plausible excuse. And I usually rocked at coming up with excuses on the fly. I thought about saying, Because you’re a sissy and I’m not, but that made no sense even to me. “I need to do some research before I can explain.”