14 - J. T. Ellison [19]
At Father Ryan, Remy and Taylor had been friends, albeit briefly. They weren’t enemies, just didn’t hang in the same crowds. The woman was a drama queen, a scene stealer, an attention getter. When she found out her only child had been murdered on her old classmate’s watch, there would be hell to pay.
Taylor leaned against the wall and damned herself for not listening to the advice of her old buddy Fitz, walking out of this place and spending the next three days fretting over Chinese gobans and monogrammed bath towels. Despite a declaration that they didn’t want gifts, wedding presents were piling up. And all those unwritten thank-you notes just made her think of her mother. Kitty wasn’t available for the wedding, thank God. Though if she knew Remy St. Claire’s daughter had been murdered, she’d be back from Gstaad in a heartbeat. A brush with a minor celebrity would stoke Kitty for a few weeks, though she’d look down her nose and pretend it meant nothing. God, her mother was such a bitch.
Baldwin leaned against the wall next to her, toying with the curled-up end of her ponytail.
“Evanson called. The official requests have been approved. My team at the field office is available to you at any time. How do you want to handle this, Taylor?”
She appreciated his show of respect. Baldwin could have asked to step in at any time but had held off, allowing the locals to work the case with his peripheral involvement until now. The FBI’s active support would shift the dynamics, but they could use the help. “Let’s see what Price has to say.”
Marcus was signaling from the conference room. Taylor took a deep breath, then went in and sat at the long table. The speakerphone was on.
“Hey, Cap. How’s Florida?”
Captain Mitchell Price was on a long-overdue vacation. Or trying to be. Calling him in Florida was a sure sign that the shit was hitting the fan back in Nashville. He didn’t bother to play along.
“What’s wrong?”
“Other than our happy little Snow White murderer decided to off Remy St. Claire’s daughter, nothing much. How’s the fishing?”
Taylor almost laughed when the groan came through the phone loud and clear.
“Do I need to come back?”
“Well, I think we can handle it, but if Remy blows into town and there are cameras at the ready, the chief’s gonna get involved.”
“I got a call from Quantico. Baldwin there?”
“He’s right here. I asked him in this morning—the official request just came through. Two items came up from yesterday’s murder. The substance we’ve been trying to identify is a compound that has frankincense and myrrh in it. We’re about to discuss that right now. The second thing is he’s escalating. He killed that girl at the scene, and rimmed the neck wound in lipstick.”
The curse words were clear and loud, and Taylor envisioned the man’s mustache jerking up and down in response to the utterances. It almost made the conversation bearable.
When he finished cursing, he sighed.
“I’ll make a reservation.”
Baldwin tapped Taylor on the shoulder, then spoke. “Hey, Price, no need. I’ll send the plane for you.”
“Thanks, Baldwin, that’s mighty nice of you. I love having the Bureau on my cases. I’ll see y’all tonight. Let’s get St. Claire notified and get this ball rolling. Jeez, what a way to ruin a vacation.”
He clicked off, and Taylor looked at Baldwin, the question apparent on her face. He didn’t respond, so she asked.
“Should we…?”
Baldwin shook his head. “No, no, no, we are not canceling the wedding.”
“Could cause some bad press. Lead investigator heads off on honeymoon….”
“Screw them. No. We are not canceling.”
She patted him on the forearm. “Okay, sweetie, okay. Just throwing out options. I’m going to go get the Santa Barbara police on the phone, see if they can’t get a chaplain roused to go notify Remy. And see if Father Ross is available to go talk to her grandparents, since they were primary caregivers. We’ll need to interview them, anyway, find out what they know about Giselle’s last steps. You’re in it now. Get ready for the shit