A knock at the door had both of us glancing that way.

“It’s your friend,” he said, annoyance edging his voice.

“Cookie?” She never knocked.

“The other one.”

“I have more than two friends, Reyes.”

“I heard that,” Garrett said as I opened the door. His weapon was drawn before my next heartbeat. I totally needed to learn to do that. “Where is he?” He barged past me and scanned the area.

Reyes was still there. I could feel him. I just couldn’t see him anymore, and Garrett certainly couldn’t see him, not that it would’ve mattered. That gun would hardly be of benefit in a showdown with the son of Satan. “He’s not here.”

Garrett turned to me, his jaw clenching. “I thought we had a deal.”

“Calm down, kemosabe,” I said as I closed the door and strode past him to the watering hole. I needed caffeine. “His corporeal body isn’t here. His incorporeal body has scurried off to sulk.”

I heard a distant growl as I searched out my favorite mug, the one that said EDWARD PREFERS BRUNETTES.

“You’re drinking coffee this late in the evening?”

“It’s either this or a fifth of Jack.”

“And this whole thing with Farrow’s corporeal body, his incorporeal body … it’s kind of freaking me out.”

“Did you get a hit on Dead Trunk Guy?” I asked, just as Cookie walked through the door in her pajamas.

“Oh,” she said, surprised we had company. “Um, maybe I should change.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, frowning at her. “It’s just Swopes.”

“Right,” she said, covering her br**sts self-consciously. Like we could see any more than normal in her flannel PJs. A nervous giggle squeaked out of her as she strolled toward the coffeepot.

It was about time those two got to know each other. She’d had a crush on Garrett since the day he sauntered into my office on Uncle Bob’s heels. They’d been in the middle of an investigation and Garrett stayed in the waiting room, aka, Cookie’s office, so Ubie could ask me in private if I had any info on a murdered elderly woman from the Heights. That was before Garrett found out the truth about me. I don’t know what they’d talked about, but Cookie was never the same. Then again, it could have been the fact that she was alone for a solid ten minutes with a tall, muscular man whose mocha-colored skin made the gray of his eyes shine like silver in the sun.

He grinned, knowing exactly what he did to her, what he did to most women, before settling on the club chair that cattycornered my sofa.

“A kindergarten teacher,” he said, apparently answering my question about what he’d found on Cookie’s car as I added enough cream to my coffee to make it unrecognizable.

“Swopes,” I said, giving Cookie a wink, “we don’t care what you want to be when you grow up. We want to know what you found out about Cookie’s car.”

Her eyes widened. “My car?” she whispered.

“You’re funny,” he said absently, studying the corner where he knew Mr. Wong stood. Er, hovered. “The previous owner was a kindergarten teacher.”

“You mean, the person who owned the car before me?” Cookie asked, taking her coffee black and sitting on the sofa opposite him.

He smiled. I smiled, too, realizing that was probably the most she’d ever said to him at one time.

“Yep. And she’s had her fair share of speeding tickets.”

I sat next to Cook, realizing that even in her flannel jammies, she made big beautiful.

“Do you think it was a hit and run?” she asked.

“Not if he died in your trunk.”

“Oh, yeah.” She shook her head. “Wait.” Her mouth fell open. “Are you thinking she killed him? Put him in the trunk on purpose?”

“As opposed to accidently?” he asked.

She offered a shrug with an embarrassed giggle.

“She has a DWI,” he said. “And was arrested for another DWI that got thrown out of court due to a technicality.”

“Okay,” I said, thinking aloud, “so she’s on her way home from a party when Dead Trunk Guy steps off a curb—only he’s not dead yet—and she nails him, freaks out, stops to check on him, then realizes he’s still alive. So she stuffs him in her trunk … why? So he can’t report her?” After a moment, I said, “That makes no sense. If she was so worried about getting caught, why stop at all?”

“True,” Garrett said. “Your theory sucks.”

I wondered where Dead Trunk Guy was when I wasn’t in the shower. Probably back in Cookie’s trunk. “You’re just going to have to find out more,” I said to Garrett.

“Do you know about her fake dying plants?” he asked Cookie.

She pressed her lips together and nodded, twirling her index finger around her ear. Nobody understood the real me.

“So, what did you find out about Mimi?” I asked her.

“Oh, lots.” She sat up straight, excited to have the floor. “When Mimi was in high school in Ruiz, she moved to Albuquerque to live with her grandparents.”

We waited for more. After a moment, I asked, “That’s it?”

She grinned. “Of course not. The class rosters are en route.”

Ah, now I understood why she was so proud. The last case we had where we tried to get a class roster from a public school was like trying to get a deadbeat dad to donate a kidney. In the end, I had to recruit Uncle Bob, his rusty badge, and his reprehensible skill at flirting.