Jed glanced at the lump of human flesh, neatly tied with rope-like a gruesome gift. "It's a fresh kill. There's no rotting odor, only the smell of recent death. And some of the blood on his wounds looks like it hasn't dried out. Hell, he could have been finished off right here."
Jed moved closer. The body lay on its side, so the man's back was to him. Black hair, cut short. Jed circled the body, then bent down on his haunches and took a closer look. He felt as if he'd been poleaxed. He shot to his feet instantly.
Jaron! Jaron Vaden. Older. A mask of torment on his face. But there was no mistaking those dark Creole looks.
Why, damn it, man, why? What the hell were you thinking trying to double-cross Booth? You were probably his right-hand man. What would possess you to do something so stupid?
"What's the matter?" Dom asked. "You've got an odd look on your face."
Jed walked a few feet away from the dead man and kicked the fence so hard a sharp pain shot through his foot. A string of curses burst from his mouth as he curled his hands into fists.
"Hey, what's going on?" Dom took several steps toward Jed. "You know this guy?"
A shot of salty bile zipped up Jed's esophagus. It had been years since the sight of a dead body had caused him to puke. But then, it wasn't every day a man got a look at the end results of an old friend's life. There had been a time, back in their teens, when Jaron had been his best buddy. God, but they'd shared some good times.
"I knew him," Jed admitted. "He's Jaron Vaden. One of Booth Fortier's personal entourage. And Booth's wife's brother."
"He ordered his own brother-in-law killed?"
Jed snorted, then chuckled. "Yeah, it isn't the first time he's murdered a brother-in-law. When Booth sets out for revenge, no one is safe." Hadn't Booth killed Jed's own father? Why did it surprise him in the least that he'd have no qualms about killing Jaron?
"Look, if you'd rather not be here, I can handle things with the sheriff. You can go on back up to the house and-"
"I'll stay. I want to see the sheriff's reaction or the deputy's, whoever the hell shows up. I should be able to tell just by the way they handle things if Booth's got the law around here in his hip pocket."
"You think he's got somebody on his payroll?"
"Maybe. But it could be someone in the St. Camille police department, since the Garland Industries warehouse is in the city limits," Jed said. "No way to know for sure."
"So, you think Fortier ordered his goons to leave the guy's face untouched so that you'd recognize him? If that's the case, then it means your uncle knows you're back in Louisiana and that you're working for Grace Beaumont."
"Yeah, it looks that way, doesn't it?"
The distant sound of a siren told them the law wasn't far away. Jed wished there was some way to protect Grace from being questioned, but since she was directly involved, that wouldn't be possible. He could shield her from only so much, despite his desire to save her from more pain.
"So, how dumb do we play?" Dom asked. "Just how much information do we share with the sheriff?"
"Almost everything. No reason not to. After all, it's obvious that Booth knows almost everything. "
"You still think someone close to Ms. Beaumont is feeding Booth info?"
Jed nodded. "I've pretty much ruled out the Rowleys and I don't think Joy Loring is bright enough. Besides, she has no motive. My gut instinct tells me that Elsa Leone would never betray Grace."
"So that leaves the uncle and the rejected suitor."
"The report Sawyer sent on both of them didn't give me a clue." Jed had hoped a red flag would pop up in either Willis Sullivan's or Hudson Prentice's life, but that wasn't the case. "Uncle Willis is a solid citizen. He's respected and admired by all who know him. And Prentice is a golden boy, with an almost genius IQ. The guy's never gotten so much as a speeding ticket."
"They both sound too good to be true, if you ask me."
Before Jed had a chance to respond, two patrol cars pulled up in front of the open gate. Three men emerged from the vehicle. One, older, dressed in civilian attire, issued orders, then walked over to Jed and Dom.
"I'm Sheriff Adams. Want to tell me what happened here?"
"Are you sure I can't get you anything, Miss Grace?" Laverna asked for the fourth time in the past thirty minutes.
"Nothing, but thank you." Grace peered through the window in the front parlor, wondering how long it would take Jed and Dom Shea to finish up with the sheriff's department.
"Why don't you and Nolan go on back to bed. There's really nothing you can do for me."
Kate Malone cleared her throat. Grace looked at her questioningly.
"They might want to stay up a bit longer," Kate suggested. "My guess is the sheriff or one of his deputies will come on up to the house and ask all of us some questions."
"Oh, my!" Gasping, Laverna clutched the neck of her cotton housecoat.
"Don't fret," Nolan told her. "We don't know anything and we'll tell them so."
"Perhaps I should put on some coffee." Muttering to herself, Laverna meandered out of the parlor and down the hall.
"If you don't need me, Miss Grace, I'll go with Laverna. This whole murder thing, right at our doorstep… well, almost at our doorstep… has rattled her something awful."
Grace patted Nolan's shoulder. "You go on with Laverna. I'm all right. And after she fixes coffee, go to your quarters. If the sheriff needs to speak with y'all, I'll come get you."
"Yes, ma'am."
Once the elderly couple was out of earshot, Kate said, "They seem to be very devoted to you."
"They've been with our family for over three decades. They were here at Belle Foret before I was born." When she moved, Grace swayed slightly, her equilibrium momentarily unbalanced. Stress, she thought. The calm, orderly world in which she'd existed for over three years now had abruptly exploded into danger and violence.
"You look a bit unsteady on your feet. Why don't you sit down? If you'd like a drink, just point me toward the liquor cabinet."
"You've been so kind." Grace glanced out the window. Again. "But I don't think I can sit. And if Sheriff Adams is going to question me, I don't want him to smell liquor on my breath."
Kate laughed. Grace gave her an inquisitive stare.
"Sorry," Kate said. "I've lived in Atlanta for so long that I've almost forgotten what it's like to live in a small town and be concerned with what everyone thinks."
Grace smiled. "One's good reputation is priceless."
"I suspect that's a direct quote from your mother or grandmother."
"My grandmother," Grace said. "My mother's mother. I barely remember her. She died shortly after my sixth birthday, but I distinctly remember her imparting little pearls of wisdom whenever she came to visit."
"With me, it was my aunt Bernice. Pretty is as pretty does was one of her favorites."
"Where did you grow up?"
"A little town called Prospect. It's in Alabama, but it's not thirty miles from the Georgia border. A lot of the Old South remains, you know. Kind of like here in St. Camille."
"Sounds like we may have some things in common," Grace said.
"We probably do, only I've never been as rich as you are, Ms. Beaumont." Kate grinned. "My husband's family had money, but after our divorce I had to return to work to make a living."
"Do you have children?" Grace asked, then when she noted the sad expression in Kate's eyes, she regretted having asked. "I'm sorry. That was a personal question and none of my business."
"It's a perfectly normal question." Kate eyed one of the twin sofas that faced each other in front of the fireplace. "Let's sit down. Okay?"
When Kate sat, Grace joined her. But the nervous tension dancing along her nerve endings made her antsy. She felt as if a thousand tiny feet were jitterbugging inside her. It was all she could do to simply sit still.
"I don't have any children," Kate said.