Agent Mayeux held up his hand to forestall the lesson in strangulation that I most certainly didn't want to hear.
"Take us to the body."
Without another word, Chris nodded and motioned for us to follow him to a gurney where a body lay under a gray sheet. I couldn't remember ever wanting to do anything less than I wanted to view this body, but something, make that everything, about Agent Mayeux's body language told me I wasn't going anywhere until I'd had a good, long look. Why, I still couldn't say with any certainty. The chances of my knowing this person were one in a million.
Chris took hold of the sheet. "Ready?"
I nodded, unable to think of a way to verbally express my utter stomach-clenching dread at what was about to happen.
"We're not unveiling a royal portrait here," Agent Mayeux grumbled. "Pull back the sheet."
Chris did as bid.
At first my eyes wouldn't focus properly. All I saw were body parts. Hands laid to the side of the body in a very still, very unnatural manner. A chest that didn't rise and fall with the breath of life. Auburn red hair that framed an unexpressive face. A face I knew. Well.
I sucked in my breath as the room began to spin. "Cat."
"What?" Agent Mayeux put his hands on the sides of my arms and turned me around to face him. "What did you say?"
"Cat." I could barely squeeze out the single word. Tears welled in my eyes. This wasn't a nameless victim. This was someone I'd known for years. And now she was dead at the hands of the Sidorovs. Literally. Her neck was a horrible collage of ugly, discolored bruise marks. I closed my eyes against the vision of what the last seconds of her life must have been like.
Agent Mayeux shook my shoulders. "Miss St. James, I need you to cooperate with me here. Come on, snap out of it."
I opened my eyes but couldn't make myself look anywhere but into the federal agent's eyes.
"You recognize her, don't you?" he demanded.
I nodded. "Yes, I know her." Knew her. Bile rose in my throat. "I can't look again." I stared up at him. "Can we go? Please?"
"You don't need another look?" Chris asked.
"No." I shook my head vehemently. The vision of what I'd seen would never leave my mind. Not if I lived to be one hundred years old. Three times over.
"You can give me a rock solid identification?" Agent Mayeux stared down at me for a long moment and I found myself unable to look away. "Promise me before we go."
I nodded again but knew that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted words. "I can," I forced myself to say. "I promise."
He motioned for Chris to cover the corpse. I watched, relieved that I didn't have to look at the body any longer, but something about watching the sheet pulled over her face made the room spin around me. I probably would have hit the floor if Agent Mayeux hadn't reached out to steady me.
"Easy now, Miss St. James. The worst is behind you."
I stared up at him as the spots in front of my eyes faded away. Me? It wasn't myself I was sick about it. It was the still form of the woman I'd once known that lay unmoving on a cold steel gurney that sickened me. No life should end like this. And then, as if a bucket of freezing cold water had been thrown in my face, I gasped. "Priscilla."
Without a word, Agent Mayeux propelled me out of the morgue. His grip on my arm was firm, but under the circumstances I welcomed the support. A vortex of questions and frightening images swirled around my mind. Walking twenty-five feet without support seemed a herculean task.
Once in the hallway, he deposited me onto a hard wooden bench. "Who's Priscilla?" he demanded.
I had to tilt my head way back to be able to look at him. "Please sit down," I said, my voice weak to my own ears. "I hardly think it's polite to stand there towering over me as if I'm a common criminal."
He folded his arms across the chest. "I'm not in the business of being polite."
I leaned my head back against the wall. "This is so surreal that I don't even know what's going on or what I'm supposed to do."
"Well, I do. My job is to catch the bastards that killed Priscilla."
"Priscilla?" I covered my heart with my hands, as if the simple action could protect it. "Do you think something has happened to her?"
"I believe we just saw proof of that." His frown was like a tornado funnel heading toward a prairie town. It didn't inspire confidence that all would end well. "Wait, I thought you just assured me that you could positively ID the victim."
"Of course I can."
He took out his phone and looked at me expectantly. "Spell her last name for me."
It was my turn to frown. "Whose last name?"
He arched an eyebrow. "Priscilla's last name."
I touched my fingertips to my temples. A headache the size of Texas had settled in between my ears. "She doesn't have a last name."
His eyes narrowed. "Miss St. James, I'm asking you for the last time. What is the name of the murder victim?"
"Cat." Hadn't I told him this twice already?
"Cat?" His confusion mirrored my own. "Then who is Priscilla?"
"My cat."
"Your cat? Then who is that woman in there?"
"Please, Agent Mayeux, try to keep up. I've just had a horrible experience, I'm heartsick about what the Sidorovs have done, and I'm desperate to go and see how my Aunt Ida Belle is faring."
He plopped down on the bench across from me. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously low. "Miss St. James, may I remind you that I am a federal agent of the United States government? That gives me the power to arrest any citizen who is obstructing justice. Do you understand me?"
I bit my tongue to leave unsaid some of the impolite comments that sprung to my mind. My exhaustion, my fears, and my ties to the Russian mob were not this man's fault, even if they had ended up being his problem. "Yes, of course I understand you, Agent Mayeux. But perhaps we could talk about your job another time? I think it's best if we get back to the subject at hand." I paused to give him a chance to speak but he didn't, so I forged ahead. "The woman we just saw is - was - Cat."
"Not Priscilla?"
"No, Priscilla's my cat. I believe I just told you that."
"You're testing my patience, Miss St. James." If his terse tone of voice was any indication, he was speaking the truth. "Forget about your cat. Tell me about Cat. The human Cat."
Forget about Priscilla? He might as well tell me to forget about breathing. But the one thing I did know was that if I didn't figure out what had happened to Cat, I wouldn't likely ever learn what had happened to Priscilla. I drew in a deep breath, exhaled, and squared my shoulders. "Cat is my cat sitter. Her proper name is—was—Catriona Carmichael."
He tapped this into his phone as I spelled her name for him. "Age?"
"I believe she's somewhere in her late twenties. I'm not certain because I hardly thought it polite to ask." Did that really need saying? Ladies did not press each other on such a delicate subject. Next he was likely to ask me her weight.
"Who's her next of kin?" he demanded, not looking up.
I thought a moment. "I only really know about Curtis. He's her everything, pretty much all she talks about." Tears filled my eyes. Poor Curtis. Whatever was he going to do now?
"Is Curtis her husband or her son?"
"Neither. Curtis is her cat."
His eyebrows rose. "Her cat?"
His incredulous tone set off a ripple of annoyance within me. "Yes, Agent Mayeux, Curtis is—was—her cat. Her prized Persian, just like Priscilla is mine. They're both beautiful animals, but I've always been partial to green eyed Persians, which my Priscilla is, whereas Curtis has—"
He held up his hand. "Stop right now. You're babbling. No one cares about the cats."
I stiffened. There he was wrong. I cared very much. But I held my tongue. I owed it to Cat to help the FBI avenge her death in whatever way I could, even if it meant I had to endure this man's company. "I don't know what else to tell you that will help. I've known Cat for several years in a professional capacity, but
I don't know anything about her personal life."
He sat silently watching me for a long moment before he spoke. "Why is she here in Sinful?"
"I don't have a clue," I said, but we both knew that wasn't true. I did know the connection between the Sidorovs and Catriona Carmichael.
Me.
Chapter Six
DURING THE NEARLY HOUR-long ride from the hospital morgue to the Sheriff's Department, Agent Mayeux fired questions at me, one after another, as if he were at the shooting range and I were the paper target. I felt full of holes by the time we were less than a mile from the hospital. "I can't think what else to tell you," I protested.
"When's the last time you heard from Catriona Carmichael?" he asked.
I didn't bother to turn and look at him. It was still the dead of night and therefore dark. But I already knew that he'd be wearing an impassive expression that would give me no clue to what he was thinking. "I believe I've already answered that question, Agent."
"Well, answer it again."
I sighed. "The day before I left Boston, Cat came to my apartment to pick up Priscilla."
"Why didn't you drop your cat off at the kennel?"
Kennel? Really? Obviously this man knew nothing about the care and feeding of prized Persian cats. Under normal circumstances, talking about Priscilla brought me great joy. But now, not knowing where she was or what had happened to her, I couldn't bring myself to speak her name. "Cat doesn't run a kennel," I forced myself to answer. "She provides tender loving care in her home to select animals. A part of the service she runs..." but I was too choked up to continue.
"Take a deep breath," he told me. "You've had a shock."
I closed my eyes against the image of Cat's bruised neck. But doing so didn't erase what my mind's eye saw. "I'm okay."
"How did she seem when she came to your apartment? Did she act differently toward you in any way?"
I considered his question. It hadn't been that long since Cat and I had seen each other, a couple of weeks at most. But so much had happened since then that a part of me felt as if I'd been here in Sinful forever. I replayed her visit in my mind but there was nothing the least bit unusual about it. "I'm sorry, but I can't think of anything at all that would be helpful."
"When's the last time you spoke to her?" He exited the highway and turned left onto Sinful's main street. "Surely you've checked in on your cat recently?"
I winced. I was grateful that the truck was dark enough to hide my reddened cheeks as the realization hit me full on. I was the world's worst pet owner. The world's worst pet-sitting client. Adding the world's worst great-niece to the list wouldn't be inaccurate. Priscilla was heaven only knew where, Cat was dead, and Aunt Ida Belle was in jail. All because of me.
"I know it's overwhelming but just take it one question at a time." Agent Mayeux slowed his truck as we approached the sheriff's office. "I need you to focus."
"I am focusing." Focusing on what horror I'd inadvertently brought to innocent bystanders by my association with the Sidorov family. "But it's not a pretty picture."
We remained silent as he parked under a street light just outside the jail. I struggled to keep my tears from spilling while I waited for what I knew was coming. A reprimand issued courtesy of the United States government, one I richly deserved.
"A woman you knew is in the morgue," he started out with, his voice so low I had to lean in closer to actually hear him.
I nodded. I couldn't speak for the lump in my throat.
"Your aunt is in jail, subjecting herself to humiliation from the residents of Sinful until this is cleared up." He paused for a long moment. "And your cat is missing-in-action. Quite possibly the victim of a mob hit."
"I am painfully aware of this, Agent Mayeux."
He switched off the truck's engine and unfastened his seat belt. But when he reached for the door handle, I had to stop him. I needed to know what was going to happen next.
"Wait, just wait a second. Please." I took a deep breath. "What are we going to do?"
He nodded in the direction of the jailhouse. "I need to confer with LeBlanc."
I waved my hand to dismiss the obvious. "No, I meant, what is the plan to avenge Cat's death?"
Agent Mayeux slipped out of the truck and came around to open my door, the first display of proper manners I'd seen from him yet.
"Out you go." He issued the command as if I were a Labrador. So much for propriety.
With as much dignity as I could muster, I climbed down from the truck's cab. I looked up at him. "What are we going to do after we're done here?"
His lip curled up in a snarl. "You and I are going to team up and wipe that Sidorov scum off the face of this earth."
I nodded. That was a plan I could live with.
NO SOONER HAD WE STEPPED into the building than I heard Gertie raising heck.
"Just open the damn door, Carter," Gertie demanded in a voice loud enough to wake the entire town. "If you don't, I'm going to call the mayor."
"Aww, come on, Gertie," we heard Carter respond. "It's the middle of the night. And you know that the only thing scarier than Celia during the day is Celia at night."
"Who cares? She can get her beauty sleep another night. It's not like it's going help her anyway. That woman is so ugly—" Gertie stopped speaking when she saw us. Her eyes lit up as she pointed toward Agent Mayeux. "Ah ha, the cavalry has arrived. Finally. Where in the blue blazes have you two been?"
I glanced up at Agent Mayeux to see how he would respond to Gertie in action. But if I'd expected an outward display of surprise or any other emotion, I was mistaken.
I hurried to Gertie's side. "How's Aunt Ida Belle?"
"How would I know? Celia's pet deputy won't let me in to see her." She winked at me.
Good heavens, she was enjoying this. I stared at her in wonder. In even the most awkward and uncomfortable of situations, she managed to find fun. I didn't know whether to be horrified or inspired by her reaction to life. What I did know was that I craved a moment alone with my Aunt Ida Belle. She may lack Gertie's joie de vivre but there was something steady about her that I really wanted to lean on about now.
"Where's LeBlanc?" Agent Mayeux stood behind me. His voice rang with impatience.
Gertie threw her hands up in the air. "Hiding, I wouldn't doubt."
The door to Carter's office opened and he stepped out into the hallway. "I heard that." He greeted us with a nod as he stepped around us. "Let me just lock the front door so we're alone."
We waited in silence for him to return. I wouldn't have blamed him if he'd decided to lock the door with himself on the outside. Locking up my Aunt Ida Belle couldn't have been easy, and listening to Gertie wail had to be sheer misery. Poor Carter.
No. Poor Cat. She was what I needed to focus my attention on. The rest of us were working a plan. She deserved vengeance. I'm not going to pretend that I was over the horror of seeing her body in the morgue. Her death was a tragedy that would haunt me for the rest of my life, this I didn't doubt. But now that the first wave of tears had passed, something hardened in my heart. I was angry. Vigilante angry.
Carter came back around the corner, a grim look on his face. "I don't know how much time we have before words starts to get out that Ida Belle was arrested. It's going to be a zoo out there in short order."
Gertie nodded her agreement, but his words made no sense to me.
"But it's the middle of the night," I protested. "It will be hours before the sun is up, and surely it will take a few hours more, if not a few days, for word to get around."
Gertie, Carter, and Agent Mayeux exchanged amused glances.
"She's from Boston," Gertie said to the men by way of explaining my apparent ignorance. "Honey," she reached over and patted my shoulder, "in a town the size of Sinful gossip spreads like a wildfire. I'd bet the contents of my purse that the phone lines have already started buzzing."
"Which may not be an entirely bad thing," Carter chimed in. "We want word circulati
ng that Ida Belle's been arrested for murder. The sooner Sidorov hears about it, the better."
I could feel frown lines form on my forehead as I tried to process that thought. "How do you think Boris is going to react when he sees that blame has fallen elsewhere?"
"He won't care." Agent Mayeux crossed his arms over his chest. "He doesn't want a connection to this. He just wants you to get the message that you're next."
I shivered. This was beyond surreal. I turned to Carter. "I'm ready to see my aunt now."
"I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that, Stephanie."
"Why ever not?" I cried. I whirled around to face the FBI agent. "Say something, do something, anything. Can't you pull rank?"
Instead of answering me, he gave Gertie a pointed look. "Why don't you two ladies have a quiet word while LeBlanc and I talk."
I opened my mouth to lodge a very vehement protest but stopped myself when Gertie laid a gentle hand on my arm.
"Let's do as they say," she said, steering me toward the other end of the hallway. She sat in one of two chairs set up against the wall and motioned for me to sit in the other.
A compliant Gertie? Could the night get any stranger?
"Stephanie, you need to stop fretting about Ida Belle. She'll be just fine."
I pointed toward the thick steel door that stood between us and lock-up. "She's in a jail cell, for crying out loud."
"She's been in worse situations, trust me. But we don't have time for those stories now. Maybe later."
Oh, no. Not maybe. Definitely later. These were stories I wanted to hear. Just so long as they weren't tall tales such as her "Fortune is a secret agent" lie.
"Now, did you see the body?" Gertie asked.
I blinked in surprise. I'd forgotten that she wasn't up to speed. No doubt Agent Mayeux was filling Carter in, so I did the same with Gertie. Her eyes widened when she heard that I'd recognized the corpse.
Gertie shook her head. "That poor girl. This just wasn't right."
One Night in the Bayou Page 4