With a smile, I said, “Thanks, Cook.”

I kissed Amber good-bye, then went back to the apartment. Reyes was gone. He’d left his knapsack there. That wasn’t incriminating in the least. I threw on a black leather jacket and headed out to Misery. Garrett was back, sitting in his truck across the street. I paused, glanced around for Reyes, then opened my door and climbed in.

My cell rang as I turned the ignition.

“I need to speak with Charlotte.”

I didn’t recognize the male voice. “This is Charley.”

“This is Donovan.”

Nor the name. “Donovan?” I backed out and headed for the interstate. Garrett followed, naturally. How did he miss Reyes?

“From the mental asylum.”

I was in a mental asylum? When the fuck did that happen?

“The abandoned mental asylum that you break into on a semi-regular basis?” he added when I didn’t respond.

“Oh, right. The bikers.”

“Right,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Sure.” I wondered if Rocket had finally taken down the building.

“Artemis,” he started, then stopped.

I could hear the pain in his voice, and my heart seized. “Is she okay?”

“No. Apparently the poison did more damage than we’d thought, and when she was playing with you yesterday, she ruptured a kidney. She’s at the animal hospital now.”

A hand rose to my mouth before I could stop it. “Oh, my god, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not blaming you.” His voice cracked and he had to catch his breath. “I want to hire you.”

“What?”

“I want to know who did this,” he said, a chilling resolve hardening his voice. “And either you can find out, or I can.”

I assumed his methods would be a tad more brutal than my own. “No offense, but you can’t afford me.”

I was about to say I’d do it for free when he countered with, “I can afford ten of you.”

“I’ll find out. I’ll try to get over in the next couple of days. Don’t start without me.”

“That’s not soon enough.”

Darn it. “Okay, let me think.” I had to run out to Corona to be interrogated for murder. Other than that, my day was fairly open. “Barring an arrest, I can be there this afternoon. Are you going to be home?”

“I can come to you,” he said, “right now.”

“I’m headed out of town on a case. I’ll come there. I need to look around the neighborhood and ask you about your neighbors anyway.”

With a sigh of resignation, he agreed. “Okay. But if you’re not here this afternoon, I’m looking into this myself. I only called you because Eric wanted me to. He thinks you’ll have better luck.”

I assumed Eric was one of his gang members. Obviously one of the smarter ones.

“I’ll be there. I promise. Will you let me know if anything happens to her?”

“Sure.” He hung up without further ado. Why would anyone do such a thing? My heart broke. I could almost feel the guy’s pain through the phone connection, which would be a first.

I swung by for a mocha latte, then pointed Misery south when Garrett called. I almost didn’t answer, but he’d only call back.

“Where we headed, Charles?” he asked, a grin in his voice.

“Nova Scotia.”

“Looks like we’re headed back out to Corona. You really liked that burger, didn’t you?”

“Farley Scanlon was murdered last night.”

“Damn, you get around.”

“The sheriff’s office wants to talk to us.”

“Can a sheriff’s office really talk?” he asked, stepping up his game. He’d have to if he wanted to keep up with the likes of me.

“Good-bye, Swopes.”

“Wait, where were we?”

I made sure the sigh of annoyance I exhaled was blatant enough, even a child could understand. “Is that a trick question?

“Oh, right, number two. Ready?”

Of course, the list of things one should never say to a grim reaper. I blew out another breath for good measure. “Hit me.”

“This relationship will be the death of me.”

“Okeydokey,” I said before hanging up. Freak.

I called Uncle Bob on the way to fill him in on the situation. “I have to be honest with you,” I said when he answered, “I’m not sure you’ll ever get a woman with that haircut you insist on sporting.”

“Is that why you called?” he asked, only slightly miffed.

“Pretty much. And I might be charged with murder. Just wanted to let you know.”

“You murdered someone?”

Why do people always assume the worst? “No, I might be accused of murder. Big difference, Ubie.”

“Oh, how’s the missing wife case?”

“It’s there and yet nowhere. The guy won’t leave his danged house.”

“What can I do?”

“You can call Cookie. She’s swamped, trying to get information. We need to know where all his property holdings are. He could have Teresa held hostage somewhere. Also, I’d like to know what happened to Xander Pope’s daughter. Find out if she’s okay.”

“Xander Pope?”

“Yes. Yost could have hurt her.”

“In what way?”

“No idea. That’s why I have Cookie checking into it.”

“I’ll look into it and give Cookie a call. Does this murder rap have anything to do with an escaped convict named Reyes Farrow?”

“It does,” I said after taking a big swig of the mocha latte. “I think Earl Walker did it. He’s still alive, Uncle Bob, and he’s tying up loose ends. He killed his girlfriend shortly after Reyes’s trial, and now he’s after everyone else who might know he’s alive. Can you get someone over to Virgil Gibbs’s apartment?” Gibbs was the other name on Reyes’s list, the man I’d visited before I went to see Farley Scanlon in Corona. “He could be next, and while he’s not the most productive member of society, he doesn’t deserve to get his throat cut.”

“Walker’s going around cutting throats?” Ubie asked, alarmed. “Is Swopes still with you?”