"Service with a smile." Kate turned around and offered Grace a fragile smile.
"You know, I think I'd love a drink now. Do you like cappuccino? If you do, I'll fix us some."
"I love cappuccino. My absolute favorite is the flavored kind."
"Name your poison."
"You wouldn't happen to have raspberry flavoring, would you?"
Grace grasped Kate's hand. "Vanilla, cinnamon, caramel, cherry and… raspberry."
"Ms. Beaumont, I'm your friend for life," Kate said.
"Please, call me Grace."
Twenty minutes later when Jed and Dom walked into the kitchen, with Sheriff Adams in tow, Grace and Kate were seated at the table, just finishing off their cappuccinos.
Jed didn't know what he'd expected, but it hadn't been this. Grace and Kate appeared to be best buddies, acting as if they'd known each other for years. He was surprised to find Grace so calm. When he'd left her over an hour ago, she'd been a nervous wreck.
"Sorry to bother you, Ms. Beaumont." Sheriff Adams removed his baseball cap. "Sure am sorry to hear about what's being going on. Mr. Tyree here explained things and I must say I'm mighty shocked."
Grace rose to her feet and held out her hand. "Thank you, Sheriff. I suppose we should have let you and Chief Winters know what was happening, but I thought it best to try to handle things on my own until we had some sort of evidence."
He shook hands with Grace, then said, "Yes, ma'am, I understand." Adams shuffled nervously, and once again Jed was amused by the way even the law in LaDurantaye Parish kowtowed to Grace. "But now we've got ourselves a murder, and a damn brutal one at that."
Jed cleared his throat. Adams turned beet red. "Sorry, ma'am."
"That's all right. Now, may I offer you some coffee?"
Adams 's eyes rounded in surprise. "No, thank you, ma'am."
"Well, perhaps you'd like to get straight to your questions."
"Just got a couple. Mr. Tyree and Mr. Shea have filled me in on just about everything. And we already got us an ID on the dead man."
Grace paled instantly; her lips parted and her gaze flashed to Jed. "Who is… was he?"
"Booth Fortier's right-hand man," Adams replied. "Mr. Jaron Vaden himself."
"Fortier's right-hand man betrayed him?" Grace asked, a dubious tone to her voice.
"It's a nasty business." Adams scratched his head. "So, I gotta ask-did you know Mr. Vaden?"
"No," Grace replied. "I'd spoken to him… or at least I think it was him… on the phone. Twice. But I never knew his identity."
"Mmm-hmm. And you were here at your house with Mr. Tyree when somebody called to tell you there was a present waiting for you at the gate?"
"Yes."
"And you and Mr. Tyree have been in all evening?"
"Yes."
"Sorry, ma'am, but I had to ask."
"Believe me, Sheriff Adams, I wanted that man alive. Neither I nor Mr. Tyree had any reason to kill him."
"Oh, I know that, Ms. Beaumont. Like I said, I had to ask."
"Is that all, Sheriff?" Jed took a solid stand beside Grace.
"Yeah, that about covers it. For tonight. Guess there's no reason to question your staff."
"No, there isn't. The Rowleys are elderly and I assure you they know nothing."
Adams looked pointedly at Jed. "I want to be kept informed from now on."
"Certainly," Jed agreed.
"I'll see the sheriff out." Kate stood, then motioned to the kitchen door with a sweep of her hand, and Adams followed her without a backward glance.
Grace released a pent-up breath and turned to Jed. "What happens now?"
Before Jed could reply, Dom interrupted. "Kate and I will head on back to the hotel."
"Thanks," Jed said. "I'll talk to y'all in the morning about that other matter."
As soon as Dom left the kitchen, Grace asked, "What other matter?"
Should he come clean with her now? Jed wondered. Should he confess everything? At least about his personal life? "I'm going to pay a visit to Booth Fortier tomorrow and I also plan to attend Jaron Vaden's funeral."
"What?" Grace glowered at him, disbelief and a hundred questions in her blue eyes.
"If I asked you to take me on faith, to not question my motivation, would you?" When he reached for her, she side-stepped his grasp. "Yes, I'm keeping things from you. And yes, there's more to this situation than you know about, but-"
"But what? Don't ask any questions, don't expect to be fully informed by the agent and the agency I'm paying-and paying damn well-and take you on faith? Why? Because we slept together last night?"
"Damn it, Grace, can't you just trust me to take care of things, to take care of you?"
"No, I can't. I let Dean and Daddy do all my worrying and a lot of my thinking. I let them take care of things. But that was the old Grace." She tapped her index finger on her chest. "This Grace Beaumont takes care of herself."
"I'll have to get permission from my boss-" he didn't mention the FBI or Dante Moran "-before I can explain."
"Then get permission."
"I'll call him in the morning."
"Call him now."
"Now?"
"Yes," Grace said, a determined expression on her face. "Now."
Charmaine lay in bed, wide-awake. She had spent all evening wondering when Booth would come to her room, waiting for him to tell her Jaron was dead. The sadistic bastard would take great pleasure in detailing every moment of her brother's last hours on earth. Oh, Booth hadn't done the deed himself, but he had watched. Watched and enjoyed. Fresh tears sprang free; she didn't bother wiping them away. No doubt her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. Along with her bruises and cracked lip, she probably looked like hell. But what did that matter? With Jaron gone, it was only a matter of time before Booth killed her, too. He would try to beat the truth out of her, try to make her confess that she'd been involved in the plot all along.
Oh, God, what would Ronnie do? He was a strong, rugged man, but he was no match for Booth's unparalleled power. She had to find a way to protect Ronnie. She couldn't let Booth kill him, too.
As she racked her brain trying to think of some way to protect the man she loved and coming up with nothing short of killing Booth herself-a well-worn fantasy of hers-she heard a ruckus downstairs. The doorbell rang, then loud voices filled the house and the sound of footsteps, walking hurriedly, running. She crept from the bed and tiptoed to the closed door that connected her room to Booth's. She tried the knob, and when she found the door unlocked, she eased it open. Before even entering the room, she heard Booth snoring. Aric had no doubt carried him to bed after he'd passed out. Drugged to the gills. It would take a damn tornado to waken him.
Kill him now! an inner voice commanded. You're going to die anyway, she told herself. Do the world a favor and get rid of Booth Fortier. It would be one way to save Ronnie.
A weapon. She needed something more than her nail file. A knife? A gun? She stood at the foot of the bed and watched Booth. Suddenly she noticed the pillows stacked all around the head of the bed. Smother the bastard! Filled with a courage she'd never before possessed, Charmaine walked quietly toward her sleeping husband. Just as she reached out to grab a pillow, she heard someone calling her name. Nola was in her room!