“Gemma,” I said, shocked and dismayed. Not a lot – she was only human – but enough to push the limits of her discomfort to an all-new high.

With emotions set on full alert, now was the perfect time to find out if Officer Pierce was my serial killer. I loved my internal guilt-o-meter. Everyone should have one of these babies. It would eliminate a lot of problems. Or, on the flip side, it could cause a lot more. Maybe I’d keep mine to myself. And cancel that patent I’d applied for.

“Sir,” Pierce said to Uncle Bob, “what is this about?”

I stepped over to him, got a reading of his emotions, then hit him hard. “We found the mass grave,” I said, hardening my features and my voice. “We know what you did, and you, my friend, are under arrest for the murder of twenty-seven women.”

Uncle Bob’s emotions bucked when I said that, but he kept his apprehension to himself. For now.

The befuddled look on Officer Pierce’s face would have been comical in any other situation. “Murder?” he asked, questioning Uncle Bob. “What are you talking about?”

“Charley!” Gemma gaped at me. “Have you gone insane?”

“He’s a serial killer, Gemma, and you were about to be his next victim.”

There it was at last. That bristling of indignity. That spark of injustice that proclaimed his innocence. No one, not even the best liars in the world, could control their own gut reaction to that degree. He was innocent. Not the verdict I’d expected, but at least I had an answer. My shoulders wilted, and I sat on a barstool beside my man. He moved closer to me, the movement almost imperceptible.

“Never mind,” I said, waving to Uncle Bob, my innards deflating. “It’s not him.”

The appearance of a half smile on his face was enough to tell me he was relieved. Gemma rushed over to Pierce, put her arm on his in support.

“Your assistant is quite the actress,” Reyes said.

Cookie grinned as she walked over. “I have to admit, it was fun pretending like Reyes was assaulting me. Me!” she said, indicating the women at one particular table. Thankfully, none of them were Jessica. For once, she seemed to be elsewhere, but the entire table bristled when Cookie said that. It was fantastic.

As Uncle Bob tried to calm Officer Pierce and Gemma, Reyes leaned forward, wrapped Cookie in his arms, and kissed her full on the mouth. I plastered a hand over my mouth as she clutched on to him like a cat hanging from a tree limb.

He released her slowly; then he spoke in a voice loud enough for the table of women to hear. “If life were fair, Cookie Kowalski, you would be mine.”

Her jaw dropped open, and the knowing grin he offered her accompanied by a conspiratorial wink had her shoulders shaking with mirth.

Uncle Bob couldn’t take any more. He stepped in between them. “But life isn’t fair,” he said. “You of all people should know that.” He took Cookie’s arm and led her away. Hopefully to a chair because I wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand.

Reyes watched them leave, then raised his brows at me. “I think I ruffled your uncle’s feathers.”

“That was pretty amazing,” I said to him when he reached past me for his towel. “Thank you.”

He paused just long enough to put his mouth to my ear and say, “Thank me tonight.” Then, before the women at the table next to us realized he was coming on to me, he walked back into the kitchen.

Gemma turned on me like a wildcat protecting her young. “Charley, what is this about?”

Uh-oh. Fess-up time. “It’s about the fact that I thought Officer Pierce was a serial killer.”

He stared at me aghast. Gemma stared at me aghast. Officer Rodriguez stared at me aghast. The only one who wasn’t staring at me aghast was Uncle Bob. He was too busy trying to recover the ground he’d lost with Cookie. He’d have a hard time, considering the Adonis with whom she’d just sucked face, but I had faith in him.

“Ubie,” I said, interrupting, “I could really use some backup here.”

“You honestly think I killed someone?” Officer Pierce asked, astounded. “Why would you even —? I mean, I can’t even comprehend —”

“I get that a lot. But look.” I pointed to my face and then to his. “See?”

“My scars? You think that means I killed someone?”

“That’s what I thought initially, yes.” I could’ve sworn on a stack of Bibles the pixie under my bed was pointing me to him. His scars were exactly like my scratches. And then with Nicolette predicting the blond hair and the number eight tattoo…

“Charley,” Gemma said, her tone edged with warning, “he had an incident when he was nine.”

“Yeah, it’s called – Wait, nine?” I ogled him. “You got those scars when you were nine?”

“Yes, he saw a young girl fall to her death, but by the time the police got to them, she was gone.”

Could it have been the same girl? “Did she scratch you?”

He frowned at me. “How did you know that?”

“How old was she? This girl?”

“I don’t know. It was dark and she was dirty. She had on a nightgown.”

“If you had to guess.”

“Six. Maybe seven. I’m just not sure.”

“You tried to save her,” I said as realization dawned.

His gaze dropped to the floor. “Yeah, well, I failed.”