Fifth Grave Past the Light - Darynda Jones Page 0,1

weren’t invisible. Not to me, anyway. And I could see them because I’d been born the grim reaper, which was not as bad as it sounded. I was basically a portal to heaven, and whenever someone was stuck on Earth, having chosen not to cross over immediately after death, they could cross to the other side through me. I was like a giant bug light, only what I lured was already dead.

I pulled at my extra-tight sweater. “Is it just me, or is it really warm in here?”

His baby blues shot toward the kitchen again. “Hot is m-more like it. S-so, I – I couldn’t help but notice you t-tried to buy that guy over there a drink.”

I let my fake smile go. Freed it like a captured bird. If it came back to me, it would be mine. If not, it never was. “And?”

“You’re b-barking up the wrong tree with that one.”

Surprised, I put my drink down – the one I bought myself – and leaned in a little closer. “He’s g*y?”

Duff snorted. “N-no. But he’s been in here a lot lately. He l-likes his women a little… l-looser.”

“Dude, how much sluttier can I get?” I indicated my attire with a sweep of my hand.

“N-no, I mean, well, you’re a l-little —” He let his gaze travel the length of me. “— t-tight.”

I gasped. “I look anal?”

He drew in a deep breath and tried again. “H-he only hits on women who are more s-substantial than you.”

Oh, that wasn’t offensive at all. “I have depth. I’ve read Proust. No, wait, that was Pooh. Winnie-the-Pooh. My bad.”

He shifted his nonexistent weight, cleared his throat, and tried again. “More v-voluptuous.”

“I have curves,” I said through a clenched jaw. “Have you seen my ass?”

“Heavier!” he blurted out.

“I weigh – Oh, you mean he likes bigger women.”

“E-exactly, while I on the other hand —”

Duff’s words faded into the background like elevator music. So Marv liked big women. A new plan formed in the darkest, most corrupt corners of Barbara. My brain.

Cookie, otherwise known as my receptionist during regular business hours and my best friend 24/7, was perfect. She was large and in charge. Or, well, large and kind of bossy. I picked up my cell phone and called her.

“This better be good,” she said.

“It is. I need your assistance.”

“I’m watching the first season of Prison Break.”

“Cookie, you’re my assistant. I need assistance. With a case. You know those things we take on to make money?”

“Prison. Break. It’s about these brothers who —”

“I know what Prison Break is.”

“Then have you ever actually seen these boys? If you had, you would not expect me to abandon them in their time of need. I think there’s a shower scene coming up.”

“Do these brothers sign your paycheck?”

“No, but technically neither do you.”

Damn. She was right. It was much easier to just have her forge my name.

“I need you to come flirt with my mark.”

“Oh, okay. I can do that.”

Nice. The F-word always worked with her. I filled her in and told her the deal with Tidwell, then ordered her to hurry over.

“And dress sexy,” I said right before hanging up. But I regretted the sexy part instantly. The last time I told Cookie to dress sexy for a much-needed girls’ night out on the town, she wore a lace-up corset, fishnet stockings, and a feather boa. She looked like a dominatrix. I’d never been the same.

“S-so, she’s coming?” Duff asked.

“Possibly. She’s watching hot guys on TV. It all depends if her daughter is there or not. Either way, she should be here soon.”

He nodded.

As I sat waiting for my BFF, I took note of all the women in the bar that night. Calamity’s was kind of a cop hangout. Women certainly came in, just not by the droves. But this place was packed and noisy, and at least 75 percent of the patrons were women. Which was odd.

I’d been coming to the bar for years, mostly because my dad owned it, but partly because my investigations office was on the second floor, and in all that time, I’d never seen the place so disproportioned in favor of the feminine mystique except that one time I talked Dad into bringing in a male revue. He’d agreed for two reasons. One: I’d batted my lashes. Two: He thought a male revue was a guy who came in, tried the food, then did a review in the paper. I may or may not have encouraged that line of thinking. Dad would