“Your mother has booked a flight at noon,” his guest reported. “I’m taking her to the airport. If your children have passports, you’d better hide them. She’s likely to panic and take them with her.”

  He hurriedly checked the table drawer. The passports were still there. He wasn’t entirely certain he was relieved. Apparently sensing that, Devil Woman dropped his notebook computer in front of him with a look of disgust and walked out.

  He could shout at her about taxis and hired cars, but she was making a point—she wasn’t his to order about. He was a fast learner. The twins were his, and he had some catching up to do.

  With a sigh, he lifted his aching leg under the table to rest it on the opposite chair, and gestured for the twins to take the chairs on either side of him. “Let’s look for all the A words first.” He opened their book and let them dive in. It was going to be a long morning.

  Only at noon did he understand how damned long a morning could be. Dragging his aching leg to the kitchen, he carried the ingredients for peanut butter sandwiches to the table, along with a carton of milk. The children climbed up to fetch their own plastic cups from the drain board. Sitting down, he realized he’d forgotten a knife. Rather than drag himself back up again, he ordered Nan to fetch one.

  Peanut butter was tough to spread on soft bread. By the time he had the twins fed, he realized he was starving and he hated peanut butter.

  The twins picked that moment to run out the backdoor without explanation. At that low moment, it hit him—Devil Woman had the car and could go anywhere.

  Like back to Leo’s storage cave and whatever in hell had happened in there.

  That did it. It was noon. People should be up and stirring in Afterthought pretty soon. He texted Jax for all the information he had on Katherine’s death. Then he texted Priscilla to tell her the news was bad, and she’d better get back here fast, or he’d call the police.

  As far as he was concerned, Pris on the loose was bad news.

  He wasn’t an expert on manipulation, but he knew how to do it.

  When she returned an hour later, white-faced and wide-eyed, Dante immediately regretted his selfishness. Except Alex chose that moment to tumble down the stairs and crack his head in his eagerness to reach her, and they both panicked together.

  Seventeen: Evie

  Afterthought, South Carolina

  * * *

  “We haven’t done this in a while.” Evie set a platter of pizza rolls on the pool table in the cellar where Reuben had taken up residence. Originally her aunt’s Victorian coal and storage cellar, it had been converted to a man cave in the 1970s.

  Reuben had taken it to space-age levels with more tech equipment than she’d known existed. He’d even had a separate electric line run in. She expected solar panels on the roof any day.

  This afternoon, he was running security camera footage from the night of KK’s death on a big screen TV while they all found food and seats.

  “Not needing a team meeting until now is good, right?” Jax grabbed a beer from the turquoise refrigerator Rube had bought from the thrift store. “It means we’re all working and solvent for a change.”

  “It means we haven’t had a juicy case in months.” Reuben performed magic and the TV screen split into footage from different cameras.

  “I’m thinking one juicy case every few months is all I can take.” Evie settled into the plush sofa and studied the half dozen images flashing on the screen. “Kit-Kat has to be the most useless ghost I’ve ever been saddled with. I can’t even figure out what’s keeping her here since she doesn’t seem to be fully aware that she was murdered.”

  “Too stupid to move on?” Jax sprawled on the cushion next to her with his laptop and beer. “I’m not a Brit lawyer, but it looks to me like KK and Lucia are personally liable for most of the company’s debt. The shares are not publicly held. The top tier of company stock is evenly divided between the officers, but the loan documents are signed personally by KK and Lucia. That’s not very bright. Incorporation should shield officers. It’s as if the banks refused to recognize the company.”

  Roark had taken his usual place in one of the computer chairs. He had Jax’s sister connected in a corner of his computer screen, but Ariel wasn’t paying much attention. She was a numbers person, not a conversationalist. She probably had the sound turned off.

  “Lucia’s farm is the basic collateral for their growing pyramid of loans, and that’s in her name, not the corporation.” The big Cajun opened a spread sheet on the computer. “The company buys her farm’s olive oil. Then they borrow against the oil to manufacture the lotions and other crap. When sales are good, everyone gets paid. When they’re not, they borrow against inventory.”

  “People, folks, I need people,” Evie reminded them. “Reuben, slow down those images and help me walk through Kit-Kat’s arrival at the party.”

  He rolled the cameras back to the hour the festivities started. “The Beautiful People all arrived in a block-long limo. I’ve always wanted to ride in one of those.”

  “Claustrophobic cave,” Jax scoffed.

  “And you know this how?” Evie helped herself to popcorn from Reuben’s machine.

  “Prom night. Bunch of us pooled our life savings. Booze and babes in a dark cave. Never letting Loretta do that.”

  Evie stifled a giggle and rolled her finger to indicate rolling the video forward. “So, we have Vincent entering with the first store clerk I met, the one KK calls his whore. Does she have a name?”

  “Rhonda Tart, if you believe that. Owns some of the bottom tier of stock they’re selling to employees.” Roark printed out a list, made a paper airplane, and shot it at Evie.

  She took another handful of popcorn, ignored the list of stockholders, and watched the rest of the limo party spill into the fashion factory’s foyer. “KK and Nick enter together, not looking cozy. Everyone looks angry, don’t they? Any background on him?”

  “Nicolas Gladwell, Vincent’s cousin’s youngest troublemaker son. Marketing major, ran up against the law as an adolescent, couldn’t land a job until good ol’ Cousin Vin took him in. Vincent’s family is large and mostly of dubious character,” Roark reported. “They own the warehouses where the olive oil and inventory are stored. Been raided a time or two for illegal goods before dey started Bella Gente.”

  KK’s aura rippled in angry, confused colors as she floated around the room, apparently examining Rube’s non-existent décor. Evie had to keep half her attention on the ghost for fear she’d destroy delicate equipment.

  “All right, so these two big oafs entering with Matt? Related also?” She studied the two men she’d labeled as male models.

  “His boyfriends,” Rube said, chomping into a pizza roll. “They both live with him and pose for ads in return. Why did I never think of a ménage a trois as a means of keeping a roof over my head?”

  Evie flung popcorn at him. “Because brains get you further, faster, and with less drama. Do they own employee stock too?”

  “Matt owns prime stock. Tweedle Dee and Dum don’t have money to invest. They may actually be bodyguards,” Roark suggested. “They have security backgrounds.”

  Jax whistled with interest and typed notes.

  “All right, then here comes the fun part.” Evie did her best to focus on the various images scrolling across the screen. “Larraine invites them all back to her private office while us peons begin to fill the lobby and guzzle cheap champagne wearing our silly suits. Do we have footage of that meeting?”

  “Nope, uh, no way.” Rube enlarged the frame of the limo party strolling down a corridor and entering an office. “Larraine refuses to allow cameras in her office. I’ve warned her about that.”

  Evie flung more popcorn at him. “Even gay men are clueless,” she concluded. “You really think she wants you to see her removing her wig to scratch her head or adjusting whatever she wears under those tight dresses to create her illusions?”

  Rube threw the popcorn back at her. “I’ve seen it all already. She’s just secretive.”

  Okay, that relationship was progressing. Evie ate the popcorn.

  “The security cameras in my office are all in reception, even if I can’t afford a receptionist,” Jax reminded her. “Some business matters are confidential.”

  “Anyway. . .” Evie rolled her hand again, determined not to ask any more ignorant questions about Rube’s relationship with the mayor. “Do we have any idea if refreshments may have been served behind closed doors?”

  “Larraine has a bar in there.” Rube fast forwarded through the empty hall images to the moments before the La Bella Gente group departed the office.

  “Larraine’s statement to the police—she offered champagne. They thanked her for the bottles in the limo, all except KK, who said she hates bubbly crap.” Jax was apparently reading from the police report. “It was later determined that during the drive from Charleston, both bottles in the limo had been opened and emptied. No traces of suspicious substance found.”

  “And the bottles in Larraine’s office?” Evie asked, just as the screen showed the limo party emerging with open bottles in hand. Crude, really crude.

  “They finished off the ones they’re carrying at the party. Better quality than what Pris served to the rest of us. Those bottles ended up in the recycle bin with all the others. Due to Pris’s efficiency, they were carried off before anyone really started investigating.” Jax huffed in disgust.

  “Which in small minds keeps both Larraine and Pris on the suspect list—except KK didn’t drink champagne. Lame. Lawson only reports what suits her message. We need our own blog to get the whole truth out.” Evie sipped from her iced tea and studied the less than merry group in suits.

  “Except the sheriff might object to broadcasting what ought to be official reports,” Jax reminded her.

  She stuck her tongue out at him, and he kissed her. She’d have to do that more often.

  Rube stilled the footage so they could examine the group emerging from Larraine’s office. “KK has her shot glass already. Not good.”

  “Larraine’s statement says Nick carried it in his inside pocket along with a small bottle of limoncello. The others verified this.” Jax flipped through the police reports Roark had hacked. “She started drinking it when the others toasted with champagne. We have no film of who may have touched the glass or bottle in the office.”

  “Maybe Nick’s just KK’s accessory, like an overlarge tote bag. What reason would he have to murder her? He’s simply a suit with pockets. They don’t even act like they’re together. She’s hanging back in the rear, arguing with the Tart.” Evie winced as Reuben resumed motion and KK smacked the other woman hard enough to make her stagger. “Ouch.”

  They watched in silence as the tall blond clerk stormed off, and KK sullenly led her drunken parade into the foyer.

  Rube enlarged another screen. “Rhonda fled to the restroom. No cameras in there either. She doesn’t appear with the group again. There’s a shot of her later leaving by the front entrance.”

  “Police records show she took a taxi back to the apartment she rents near the shop. No one admits the incident happened or why. They all had their backs turned.” Jax reached down for the plate of pizza rolls he’d left on the floor. “I don’t think a slap constitutes motive for murder though.”

  “Larraine didn’t see it?” Evie studied the frame again. Larraine had been leading the parade. KK only stalked up beside her after Rhonda fled in the other direction.

  “So, there they all are, looking sullen.” Reuben enlarged the frame showing the beautiful people huddling together near the podium while Larraine introduced them.

  “And grabbing more champagne. I’d be flat on my face after that much alcohol.” Evie watched as Vincent topped off everyone’s glasses, except KK’s.

  “Nick pours her more limoncello.” Rube pulled up that frame. “But KK leaves the glass on the table when she goes to the podium to speak.”

  Evie groaned as people crowded around the podium, obscuring the glass, the table, and the beautiful suits. Rube had the sound off, but Evie had already heard the boring speech. She studied KK up close now. “I wish I could see auras on film. She looks tense and not very happy. Pris said she sensed a lot of anxiety.”

  “Well, if she’d just learned they were nearly bankrupt, that would take the edge off the excitement, wouldn’t it?” Roark filled his mouth with popcorn while watching.

  “Actually, she’s starting to look a little queasy,” Evie decided. “She’s staggering as she comes down from the podium. Look, Nick has to catch her arm and help her. Of course, if she’s gone through that entire bottle, she ought to be flat out drunk.”

  “If the poison was in the bottle of limoncello, it’s had time to act. Depending on the quantity, cyanide is almost instantaneous.” Even Jax watched the video now.

  “What happened to the bottle?” Roark asked.

  “Watch.” Rube scrolled the video slowly forward as the crowd around the podium broke up and returned to food and gossip.

  Evie studied the action as Vincent emptied the small limoncello bottle into the shot glass. Matt handed the glass to KK. Nick stuck the bottle into his coat pocket. One of the male models handed KK a bowl from the buffet just before Pris arrived with the caviar.

  “Almonds?” they all asked at once as KK swallowed a handful of nuts from the bowl, then swigged her drink.

  An instant later, La Bella Gente’s CEO bit into Pris’s caviar and collapsed on the floor, convulsing. The almonds and the tray of appetizers disappeared beneath a dozen feet as everyone rushed to help—including Pris.

  All the cops needed was motive and her cousin was in a deep vat of trouble.

  Eighteen: Pris

  Italy

  * * *

  Pris fed the twins the next morning, still stewing in anger and disappointment at being manipulated into returning to the villa instead of exploring on her own as she’d intended. The damned selfish prince needed. . . to learn how to handle children.

  She dampened her roiling confusion, appreciating the reason for his deception. Dante had gone into total panic over a little blood. If she hadn’t been there. . . At the very least, he needed a nanny before she left him again.

  With the twins fed, she sent them off in search of their father and swiped the laptop Dante so carelessly left lying about. Carrying her tea and the computer, she locked herself in her bedroom.

  Evie had sent streams of information yesterday. Her ADHD-afflicted cousin hadn’t compiled or even read these reports, Pris knew, but she’d somehow mushed all the information into a concise summary.

  Limoncello, the most likely source of cyanide. Pris’s almonds and caviar to confuse the issue. Opportunity by everyone in Kit-Kat’s vicinity, including Pris—if she wasted time poisoning almonds or caviar. Means and opportunity obvious for all. Motivation—murky.

  She read Reuben’s research on cyanide. The poison salts could have been added to the almonds to accelerate death, or the nuts could have been used to obscure any lingering evidence in the shot glass, or both. Whoever had done this had been methodical and planned ahead and knew Kit Kat well.

  The cops had kept information to a minimum, but Jane the Lawless Lawson was spreading ludicrous rumors of jealous rivalry to stir up the mindless masses. Because Larraine’s sexual predilections were well known, the blogger hinted at Pris’s as well. Jane apparently thought all sex was unchristian or illegal. She described seductive glances at the wealthy newcomers and private meetings in closed offices. She produced evidence that Pris had once checked on the space La Bella Gente had rented for their still-unopened bistro—as if she might have resented someone else taking it over.

  Pris had evaluated almost every available restaurant space between Charleston and Savannah over the past year. Of course she’d investigated her hometown first. The space had been too large and expensive for her needs, so she’d moved on.

  The reporter hadn’t. Why?

  She read the report on Jane’s background and adolescent tragedy. Parents dying from cyanide did not explain her hatred of Pris and Larraine. Or of everyone else in the universe who wasn’t like her—ahhh, a clue.

  Pris wasn’t like Jane Lawson. True, she was white and cisgender and not the typical target of most of the reporter’s bigotry, but unlike the rest of her family, Pris didn’t attend church—as Jane did. As a caterer, Pris worked late on weekends. She liked sleeping on Sundays. That probably wasn’t enough to catch Jane’s critical eye—but Pris also had a reputation for being weird.

  Weird was pretty normal for her family, but people accepted reading tarot and talking to ghosts as entertainment, an acceptable means of making a living in Afterthought’s cotton fields.

  But because it took too much effort to block out morons, Pris wasn’t entertaining or sociable. Worse yet, she streaked her hair with dye according to her mood that day and didn’t abide by any dress code except her own. Everyone thought she was peculiar, including her own family upon occasion. But she had no one to account to but herself.

  Apparently, she should have consulted Jane about that.

  Childish voices interrupted her reverie before she could list all the ways Jane had probably concluded Pris was a witch and a suitable target for the narrow-mindedness that drove the columnist’s internet popularity.

  Furtive knocking followed the whispers.

  Well, she had promised Emma she’d look after the kids. Conte Dumquat had probably given up teaching the letter A.

  She unlocked the door and the twins tumbled in carrying a stack of Disney DVDs. They pounced on the laptop.

  Of course, Dumquat had worked out the best way to occupy the twins was in front of a screen—the one she was using, naturally. Not so dumb after all.

  “Give me a minute,” she told them, shooting off Evie’s emails to Dante’s mailbox. She hoped they exploded all his devices.