by J. J. Cagney
The older man stopped, his feet at the edge of the bright, multicolored doormat. He turned his head so that his hawk-like nose stood out prominently against the turquoise doorframe.
“Thank you. For calling in the crime. Especially after Susan and Donald treated your family so badly.”
Miguel nodded. Cici caught a glimpse of a deep, unquenchable pain in his eyes. He opened the door to his home, muttering, “Goddamn gringos ruin everything.”
Cici crossed her arms over her chest. “That was kind of you, Sam.”
His eyes crinkled a little at the corners, but he didn’t smile. He turned in time to watch Jeannette climb into her Prius. She shot Sam a hot, angry look that scorched Cici, who still stood behind him.
“I’ve been known to have a moment.” Sam’s voice seemed sadder than usual.
Cici tilted her head and squinted as if something began to percolate in her mind. Something about Sam she should know. Before she managed to catch the thought, his phone rang.
He looked down at the display and scowled as he answered, “Chastain.”
He listened, and though Cici didn’t hear the words, she could tell that the conversation did not appeal to Sam at all. He remained silent, his lips compressed before the scowl on his face blackened. He clenched his free fist and slammed it against his thigh.
“When?”
Again, Cici couldn’t make out the words.
“Oh, he better.”
Sam stabbed his forefinger at the “End” button and then clutched his phone in his hand, his eyes squeezed shut. He took a deep breath as he pressed his phone to his forehead hard enough Cici worried he’d leave a mark.
The creepy-crawly feeling slithered over Cici’s skin. “What happened?”
“Justin’s gone.”
23
Things without all remedy should be without regard: what's done is done. — Shakespeare
“What?” Cici squeaked. “Wait. How?”
Sam tugged his hair free from its ponytail and ran his fingers through it, probably to stem a growing headache.
“I don’t know.”
Cici hustled after Sam as he strode toward his vehicle. His gait remained stiff, his face showing just how frustrated he was.
She slid into the car and buckled her seat belt. After a long pause when Sam stared at the steering wheel, he slammed his fist against the dashboard once, then again. His lips formed an “ow” and he shook his hand.
“Things without all remedy should be without regard: what’s done is done.”
Sam started the ignition. With the slow careful movements that were so much more a part of him, Sam pulled out onto the street. “I don’t remember that from the Bible.”
“It’s not biblical. It’s Shakespeare. From Macbeth.”
Sam grunted. “Not sure you choosing a line from a tragedy inspires me at the moment.”
“Better than being the tragedy,” Cici said.
Sam made another ugly sound in his throat. “We seem to be working toward that end diligently.”
“Where to now?” Cici asked.
Sam turned right and pulled into the veterinary clinic. “We visit your dog, and I think.”
“You’re babysitting me.”
He shot her a hot look. “You need it.”
“Don’t you have something police-y to do?” Cici asked. “I can visit Rodolfo alone.”
Sam turned and looked at her, his shoulders folded in in dejection and his eyes opaque. “Truth? I got nothing, and I’m pretty fried over Jeannette.”
Cici leaned in and hugged Sam. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder and kept his arms tight. Eventually, he drew back, his eyes still closed.
“Thanks.”
“You bet.”
Cici fidgeted. Finally, she got out of the car and walked up to the vet clinic’s entrance. Sam beat her to the handle and held the door open for her.
“Aren’t we a pair? I mean, I considered asking Justin to stay the night. Maybe then I would have been dating your prime suspect. Again.” Cici had never been gladder about keeping silent than she was about not asking Justin to stay that night.
Sam put his hand on her arm before she walked in. “You wanted Justin to stay the night?”
Cici glared. “No.” She swallowed but she didn’t have any saliva in her mouth, so she ended up coughing.
Sam shook his head. “That’s right. You two dated back in . . . what was it?”
“Tenth grade. For about two months. Don’t I feel dirty. Talk about falling for the bad boy.”
“Years ago. I’m glad you didn’t want him again now.”
“I didn’t,” Cici responded. “Not after he dumped me for Aci.”
Before Sam could reply, Cici greeted the young woman at the desk, who led them back to see the dog. This time, Rodolfo lifted his head and wagged his tail.
“Feeling better, boy?” Cici asked, crouching down to pet his ears. “Mona and I miss you.”
“I don’t think it’s Justin.”
“What?” Cici looked up at Sam. Rodolfo dropped his large head on her knee. Cici pet his ears, and he closed his eyes with a sigh.
“Whoever tried to hurt you the other night. That wasn’t Justin. I’m not saying he played it smart—and yeah, I think it’s his fault Anna Carmen’s dead.”
Sam settled onto one knee and pet Rodolfo’s head. He spoke to the dog in a quiet voice. Rodolfo licked his palm, eyes closing at the bliss of Sam’s touch.
“At least partially his fault. Justin’s involved. Up to his eyeballs,” Sam said, his voice meditative. “That’s why he didn’t rat his uncle out before. But he’s not the killer.”
Cici continued to stroke the dog’s silky ears, enjoying the feel of his warm fur against her palm. “Let me have this one, Sam. I know I’m supposed to forgive. But for right now, let me have the anger. It’s all that’ll keep me going tonight.”
Cici told Sam of her conversation with Miguel.
Sam nodded. “That’s my next course of action,” Sam muttered. “I need to find the girlfriend. I mean Ernesto’s wife,” Sam murmured. “Didn’t we hear they married? Had a baby? Okay. That’s what I need to focus on. Something tells me she’s the constant here. More so than Justin.”
“Why do you think that?” Cici asked.
“From what Miguel told you, the girlfriend knew Rosalia. Marco and Anna Carmen saw her picture. Donald either knew who she was or found out. I’m guessing he found out somehow and that’s why he was killed once he knew.”
“That’s why Donald died fifteen months after my sister? Because of someone’s identity?”
Sam pet Rodolfo’s ears. “I’m not sure, but the woman’s the central connection between all this.”
“What about Susan?” Cici asked.
Sam frowned as he ran his fingers through Rodolfo’s thick fur on his ribs. The dog’s breathing wasn’t as labored, and Cici hoped that meant he was improving.
“The killer worried Donald told her who the woman was.”
“You think it’s her? The girlfriend . . . wife . . . whatever.” Cici waved her hand. Rodolfo whined, clearly unhappy with Cici’s increased agitation. “You think she’s the killer?”
His eyes flashed with concern. “Good question. I think she’s the place we start. Because, Cee, as soon as word gets out that you spoke with Susan before her death, you’re going to have a bullseye on your head.”
Cici stopped petting Rodolfo’s ears. Her entire body shuddered.
“You really think that?” Cici whispered.
Sam stood in a quick movement, his knees popping.
“Yes. I, do. Whoever she is . . . they’re protecting her identity.”
24
If I be waspish, best beware my sting. — Shakespeare
Sam forced Cici to go back to the police headquarters for a third time—still not her favorite place. While Sam made calls, Cici offered to search the internet and social media feeds.
It’s not like she’d be able to focu
s on her sermon anyway—the sermon she was supposed to preach tomorrow.
They had some leads—and a dedicated police escort for Miguel Sanchez and Juan until they found the killer—but they still didn’t know the identity of Ernesto’s crush-turned-wife.
“The warden is out of town. He said he’s on a flight home and will get in touch in the morning,” Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck. He hadn’t put the elastic back in his hair, so now it slid forward, covering his face nearly to his jaw. He ran his fingers through it absently, much as Cici did when trying to alleviate an ache on her scalp.
“Why?” Cici asked.
“If we’re lucky, the woman’s name will be in the visitor rolls. If we’re real lucky, the prison may have a photo of her from their CCTVs.”
“What?”
“Closed circuit television,” Sam said.
“Oh. Can’t anyone tell us that? Like the secretary or something?”
“You want the secretary involved? Or talk to someone who is already involved—and maybe on Ernesto’s pay roll?” Sam asked.
Cici shook her head. “No. I really don’t.”
Sam stood and motioned Cici in front of him. They walked out of the building and Sam collected his city-issued sedan.
“I want to advise you to continue to have a protector with you,” Sam said. “Make it harder for the killer to get to you.”
Cici agreed immediately, too scared and drained to put up any fight. Sam asked to crash at Cici’s that night, unwilling to leave her alone and probably not that interested in being alone after his new revelations about Jeannette. Cici caught him a few times during the evening, looking down at his phone or frowning out the window.
They made it all the way through dinner and cleaning up the kitchen, both tense and jumpy. Mona picked up on their agitation and began to pace.
By the time Cici slid the last dish in the dishwasher, her head pounded from the tension there. Once again, she pulled out the freshly cleaned sheets and pillow and laid them on the couch while Sam used her bathroom. Once he was settled in for the night, Cici took a hot shower, letting the water soothe the worst of the kinks in her shoulders.
Wet hair dripping on her clean sleeping tee—she hadn’t wanted to wake Sam with her hair dryer—she padded down the hall to her bedroom. She petted Mona before climbing into her bed. As soon as she closed her eyes, the dream leaped into her consciousness.
Cici was in Anna Carmen’s body. The pain in her back took her breath and she couldn’t scream as she sank to the ground.
Cici fought this moment—she didn’t want to see it again—couldn’t watch her beautiful sister die again. But the dream sharpened. Came into focus with crisper clarity.
And this time, Cici caught the flash of metal and pretty translucent beads from the glasses chain that swung out behind the person in the black coat and hat.
25
Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war! — Shakespeare
Cici woke with a start, her breathing as ragged as her thoughts.
Soft sunlight drifted in through her window, too bright, almost garish in its deep, bold blush across the eastern sky.
“No. Way.”
Cici pressed her forehead to her raised knees.
No way.
Anna Carmen might not have known who the killer was, but Cici did.
What had Susan said? Something about perfume she couldn’t place.
The flowers Carole brought to the hospital.
Bugged. Sam found the transmitter, the microphone buried deep in the stems.
But why?
She hadn’t married Ernesto. Carole was a relatively recent widow. When had her husband died? While Cici was away—in her master’s program at Yale, she thought. So, if not her . . .
Oh.
The woman Miguel mentioned was young, maybe still a teen when they first met . . . Cici jumped from bed and slammed down the hall.
“Sam!” she called before she slid into the living room. His sheets and blankets were neatly folded at the foot of the sofa, the pillow placed on top. A note sat atop that.
Following a lead. Kevin Loomis will escort you to church. I’ll find you as soon as I can.
Cici snatched it up, moaning as she did so.
Sunday. Church.
She had to deliver a freaking sermon when she knew who killed her sister—and possibly why.
Cici glanced at the clock and yelped, scurrying back down the hallway to get dressed.
She tried to call Sam as she pulled on her bra and blouse, but his phone went to voice mail.
“I had a dream last night. I’m pretty sure I know who killed—” Cici quit talking and instead cowered in the corner of her closet as footsteps sounded down her hallway. Mona hadn’t barked.
Oh, no, not Mona, too. Please let her dog be alive, safe.
Then she heard a happy yip.
“Reverend?” a deep male voice said.
Cici practically melted to the floor in that moment.
“Be right out, Kevin,” Cici called through her closet door.
“Okay. Sam said I needed to take you to the church. Doesn’t your first service start in fifteen minutes?”
Cici wrestled into a pair of slacks and shoved her feet into a pair of pumps. No time to do more. She snagged her makeup bag and ran toward the kitchen.
“I need to let Mona out and feed her, and then we can go.”
After letting the dog out, Cici rushed into her small office, grabbing the notes she needed with the liturgy lesson. One of her deacons was slated to read that—as had been set on the calendar for the past month.
Her musical and choral director worked over two months in advance, based on the liturgical calendar, so the music would be sharp.
Cici glanced down at her notes, her heart pounding. They were reading from the Gospel of Mark today. Cici bit her lip as she stared at some of the lines from the reading, ‘“Truly I tell you, people will be forgiven for their sins and whatever blasphemies they utter; but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit can never have forgiveness, but is guilty of an eternal sin’—for they had said, ‘He has an unclean spirit.”’
“You all right there, Reverend?” Kevin asked, eyes wide as she hustled back to the small kitchen.
No, she wasn’t. Cici let Mona in and scooped out her food, letting it fall into the dog’s dish without requesting the normal shake or down commands. Mona looked at her in askance before she shoved her head into her bowl and began to crunch away at the kibble.
“Forgot to turn on my alarm,” Cici murmured.
“Oh. Okay. You just look like . . .”
“Let’s take my car,” Cici said. “You drive.”
She tossed her keys to Kevin.
“I’m not supposed to drive others’ vehicles in uniform, ma’am.”
“Well, this is an emergency. I need to put on some makeup so I don’t scare away my congregants. If you get in trouble with Sam, I’ll deal with it.” Cici motioned an X over her heart. “Reverend’s honor. Now, scoot.”
Cici slammed the back door and locked it before hustling Kevin out the front. She made him drive while she attempted to put on lipstick and mascara. Not an easy feat with shaking hands in a moving car.
Kevin parked and Cici hurried into the church, running straight toward her office to grab her robe and stole.
Carole met her there. “I was worried. I thought we might have to cancel the service.”
Cici froze, staring at the older woman for one heartbeat, two, before she shoved her arms into the white polyester robe.
“Overslept,” Cici mumbled. “Bad dreams.”
“Terrible business, all this going around. Have they caught Justin yet?” Carole made a deep sound in her throat.
“How are you related again?” Cici asked, studiously avoiding the older woman’s eyes as she draped the stole over her shoulders.
“By marriage.”
“Whose marriage?” Cici asked, striding past Carole. Her heart beat, thick
and heavy in her chest. She was pushing her luck and she knew it, but she needed to hear Carole’s side. Maybe . . . maybe this was just a misunderstanding.
“One of Justin’s uncles married one of the girls in my family.”
“Ah, that’s right.” Cici didn’t turn around; she kept walking toward the sanctuary. She heard the piano music, saw Kevin standing awkwardly by the glass doors that led into the inner sanctum.
Cici dipped her head toward the young man, acutely aware of Carole behind her. Without another word, Cici, her knees shaking and her heart thrumming louder than any bass note on the piano, walked through the double doors and raised her hands as the crowd began to sing the first hymn.
She made it through the sermon—falling back on a previous one she mostly remembered from her time in Jamaica Beach. Thankfully, her congregants seemed to enjoy her abbreviated version, and were more than happy to stroll out of church early.
Cici glanced around but didn’t see Carole.
“Kevin, will you walk with me to my office?”
The officer nodded. Cici cracked the door open, tensed and ready to run.
No one was there.
The note lay atop her Bible. The large gilt-edged version she typically kept on the credenza behind her desk. The book had been moved to sit in the middle of her desk and the paper was folded in half, upright so it was impossible to miss.
Big Tesuque. You have 20 minutes before I shoot Juan Sanchez.
This note was handwritten. Cici snatched up the note and ran to the vestibule.
No sign of Juan. Cici tried to regulate her breathing but she couldn’t remember if he’d been at the service.
A bluff? Cici wasn’t willing to take the chance—not with the Sanchez family who’d already been through so much.
A long dark ponytail striped with turquoise bobbed through the few remaining service goers.
“Jaycee!” Cici called, her voice cracking.
The girl turned, brows pulled low. One look at Cici and her eyes widened.