Second Grave on the Left by Darynda Jones

Author:Darynda Jones
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Publisher: St. Martin’s Press
Published: 2011-08-17T07:39:33.765000+00:00

Chapter Eleven

YOU CAN OBSERVE A LOT JUST BY WATCHING.

—YOGI BERRA

“You never just Googled him?”

“Well, you didn’t either,” Cookie said when I’d asked about Reyes. We were driving back to Santa Fe. “I just browsed official databases to find his arrest record and conviction information. And I went to the News Journal’s site for articles about the trial.”

“And you never just Googled him?”

“You didn’t either,” she repeated, distressed. She was typing away on her laptop.

“Fan clubs!” I said, more than slightly appalled. “He has fan clubs. And mountains of mail.”

A sharp pang of jealousy slashed through my chest, ripping a hole in it. Metaphorically. Hundreds of women, possibly thousands, knew more about Reyes Alexander Farrow than I did.

“Why would anyone create a fan club for an inmate?” Cookie asked.

I’d asked Neil that very thing. “Apparently, there are women out there who become obsessed with prisoners. They scour news articles and court documents until they find prisoners who are attractive, then they make it their mission in life to either prove that prisoner is innocent—as they all profess to be—or they just admire him from afar. Neil said it’s almost like a competition for some women.”

“That’s just so wrong.”

“I agree, but think about it. The pickin’s are pretty slim for these men. Maybe women do it because they know they’ll almost surely be accepted by the prisoner. I mean, who’s going to reject a woman sending you love letters or going to the prison to visit? What do these women have to lose?”

Cookie cast a worried glance my way. “You seem to be taking all this exceptionally well.”

“Not really,” I said, shaking my head. “I think I’m in shock. I mean, holy cow, they tell stories.”

Cookie seemed to be in a state of shock as well. She was surfing a site on her laptop as I drove to one Elaine Oake’s house. Her eyes were wide and slightly lovestruck. “And they have pictures.”

“And they tell stories. Wait, what? They have pictures?” I decided, in the interest of transportation safety, to pull to the side of the highway. I hit the hazard lights then looked over at Cookie’s screen. Holy mother of banana cream pie. They had pictures.

An hour later, we stood at the doorstep of the woman I could refer to only as Stalker Chick. I mean, really? Paying guards and other inmates to get information on Reyes? To steal from him? Not that I wouldn’t do the same, but I had good reason.

A tall, thin woman opened the door. Her blond hair was cut short and styled to look messy, but I doubted that a single hair on her head was not exactly where she wanted it to be.

“Hello, Ms. Oake?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice holding the slightest hint of annoyance.

“We’re here to ask you about Reyes Farrow.”

“I have hours posted.” She pointed to a sign over her doorbell. “Can you come back then?”

I fished my PI license out of my back pocket. “Actually, we’re on a case. We’d really like to talk to you now, if you have a minute.

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