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“Yes?” Carpenter whispered.
“I’ve got a package,” Shane said, still trying to catch his breath. “Another amateur? Can it wait? I’m with Lisa Livia at the movies. She’s had a rough day. And I thought?—”
“Casey Dean’s girl. The one with the RPG on the boat.”
“Oh.” Carpenter was silent for a few seconds. “Where?”
“The barn.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Thanks.”
Shane hung up and looked down at the body. The eyes had the blank look of the dead. Seeing nothing. Ever again. Soon they would cloud up, as if what remained of the soul was turning into mist. Not that he imagined Casey Dean’s girl had much of a soul.
His dark thoughts were interrupted by the sound of sirens in the distance, coming closer. Now what? Shane got to his feet and turned toward the door, then paused, looking down at the body. Carpenter had said twenty minutes. The sirens would be here before that. But they were coming for something, and he knew it wasn’t what had just happened in here. Which meant there was a very good chance Agnes was in trouble. If she’d gotten angry about seeing him with a naked stripper after everything he’d promised the night before, Cod knew what havoc she’d wreaked.
Shane took a quick look around the barn and found the stripper’s bag. A pink cell phone was in it and he pocketed that. Then he picked up the body and slung it on his shoulder. He carried it and the bag out the back of the barn and hid them behind some palmetto bushes, laying some fronds over them. Enough to escape a quick look from the cops.
He headed up the path and came to a halt as a dark figure came toward him, but he relaxed when he recognized the outline of the straw hat.
“Detective Xavier,” Shane called out.
“Mister Shane Smith.”
Shane walked up to the detective. “What brings you out here this late?”
“I might ask the same of you,” Xavier said, looking past Shane toward the barn. “Something going on in there?”
“Nope. Just checking on the damage from the bachelor party.”
Xavier nodded. “You all must have had a hell of time out here tonight. All sorts of mayhem.”
“Like?” Shane asked.
“Maybe I should check out the barn,” Xavier said. “Nobody in there anymore. Party moved out to the shore.” Xavier nodded. “Most likely you’re right. What’s important is what happened over yonder.” He gestured behind Shane, down the path. “What happened yonder?” Shane asked. “Your Miss Agnes,” Xavier said. Shane sighed. “What did she do?”
“She appears to have murdered her former fiancé, Taylor Beaufort. Which is why my associate Robbie Hammond arrested her and why he is currently on his way with her to the county jail.”
That’s my girl, Shane thought.
“I’m real sorry about this, Miss Agnes,” Hammond said as he locked the cell door behind her.
“That makes me feel so much better,” Agnes said, hugging herself against the cold. It wasn’t that cool in the jail, she knew that, but she’d been cold ever since she’d seen the fork in Taylor’s neck and felt his hand grab the edge of her apron in one desperate clutch before he died. “You can’t possibly think I killed Taylor. I was with Maria right there on the path?—”
“No, ma’am,” Hammond said. “I had just joined Maria when you screamed. You were in the woods with the victim.”
“You moron” Agnes said, shivering with rage and something else.
“Hammond, can you get her a jacket or something?” Maria said.
“Yeah, Hammond, get her a jacket,” a voice said from the bottom bunk said, and the woman there rolled over—a blowsy blonde who looked like she rotated in and out of the place on a regular basis— peered out at Agnes, and then sat up to get a better look. “Well, look what we got here. Betty Crocker. Nice apron, Betty. Mob Food? That how you got in here, cookin’ for the mob?”
“Humor,” Agnes said to her, shivering. “Har.” She turned back to the cell door. “Hammond, if I’d done it, why would I have screamed?”
“To make me think you hadn’t done it,” Hammond said, sticking his considerable chin out.
Agnes gazed at him for a moment, thinking of all the things she’d like to do to his stupid, determined face. “Hammond, you’re dumb as a rock, but Xavier isn’t. When he finds out you’ve arrested me on the thought process of an addled two-year-old?—”
