Stranger, Seducer, Protector. Joanna Wayne

so they got along well.”

      “Did your grandmother live in this house right up until she died?”

      “All but the last six months of her life when she moved into a nursing/retirement center.”

      “Who took care of Sin during that time?”

      “Mrs. Findley, and sometimes her husband. My grandmother had left cases of food and given them a key to the house. She was here before us so now Sin thinks Caitlyn and I are the strays and she’s not too keen on letting us share the premises.”

      “Too bad she can’t talk. She might be able to tell us who the head belonged to.”

      Jacinth ran her fingers through her hair and a new shower of dust rained down on her shoulders. “Would you excuse me while I go wash up in some of the water I saved and put on something a bit more appropriate?”

      “Not at all. Take your time. If the cop shows up before you’re ready, I’ll let him in.” And hopefully the officer would be someone new on the force who didn’t know Nick. The less Jacinth learned about him the better, at least until he’d had time to win her trust.

      “You can wait in the den,” Jacinth called. “It’s to the left of the staircase, just opposite the Louis XIV style parlor. We veered away a tad from our adherence to strict historical accuracy of design in the small den and included a comfortable couch and chair along with the antique lamps and antebellum paintings.”

      “I’m sure my back will appreciate that.” Nick enjoyed the view as Jacinth walked away. Images of her slipping out of the nightshirt plagued his mind. A menacing yowl jerked him back to reality.

      He turned to stare at Sin who was glaring at him from the bottom step. “Got it, Sin. Jacinth is off-limits for reasons even you can’t fathom.”

      JACINTH HAD RINSED her long hair over the sink with a pan of cool water. It was still dripping when she caught sight of flashing blue lights in her driveway.

      She toweled it quickly and made a mostly unsuccessful attempt to smooth it back into place. She needed a shower so badly right now that she’d have paid triple overtime for a plumber.

      A quick check in the mirror assured her she looked as ill put together as she felt. But the cream-colored sweater she’d pulled on over a pair of worn jeans was at least better than talking to a cop in her nightshirt.

      She reached the top of the staircase as Nick ushered two police officers inside the door. One was tall and thin, his face ruddy and his sandy blond hair short and neatly combed. The other was probably a good ten years older than his partner. In his early forties, she’d guess, with a receding hairline and a slightly crooked nose.

      She motioned for them to join her upstairs. Nick led the way, his confident swagger making him look perfectly at home in this house that still made Jacinth feel like a trespasser from time to time.

      The cops flashed their badges and identified themselves. The young one was Jordon Sims. The older one was Mike Jones. His expression held a tinge of aggravation as if he expected this was some kind of teenage hoax.

      She introduced herself and got what sounded more like a grunt than a greeting in return. Mike immediately turned his attention to Nick.

      “You never get too far from trouble, do you?” Mike snapped.

      Nick smirked. “I’m lucky that way.”

      “I take it you two know each other,” Jacinth said, as the tension between them spiked.

      “Too well.” Mike let it go at that and scanned the area. “Where’s this body part that you claim fell from the wall.”

      Claim, as if her version were in doubt. “On the floor in the guest bathroom where it fell. Follow me.”

      She opened the door, pointed at the head and immediately started coughing. The dust had settled in the room like a milky cloud of poisonous smoke. Both Mike and Jordon stepped over the worst of the debris to reach the decomposing body part. Neither she nor Nick crowded into the space with them.

      Mike stooped for a closer look. “You have any idea how this got in the walls?”

      “Not a clue,” Jacinth answered. “The house has been standing since the Civil War.”

      “The head hasn’t been hanging around for nearly that long,” Mike quipped.

      “How long has it been hanging around?” Jacinth asked.

      “Can’t say for sure, but my guess is that the victim was living and breathing this time a year ago. We’ll get a more accurate estimate from the forensics team.”

      If the officer was even close to right, the decapitation took place after her grandmother had died or at least after she’d gone to live in the nursing home. It was a relief to know she couldn’t have been involved in any way.

      The frightening part was that the victim could have been killed in this very house after Jacinth and Caitlyn had inherited it.

      “Are you the current owner of the house?” Jordon asked.

      “Yes. Well, my sister and I own it together. We inherited it from my grandmother.”

      “How long have you lived in the house?”

      “Eleven months. We’d planned to fix it up and sell it, but then we fell in love with it and decided to stay.”

      Of course they didn’t realize then that it came with spare body parts. Or that the constant repairs needed to keep it livable would drive them to the edge of bankruptcy.

      She went over the facts about the inheritance from her grandmother, Marie Villaré.

      Jordon made notes. “Did your grandmother live alone prior to moving into the Sunnydale Retirement Center?”

      “As far as I know,” Jacinth said. “We weren’t close. In fact, I hadn’t seen her since I was small child.”

      Mike used the cuff of his shirtsleeve to wipe a smear of dust from the tip of his nose. “Why is that?”

      “My mother had issues with my father’s family and had severed all ties with them when I was just a toddler.”

      “Maybe for good reason,” Jordon said. “What about your father?”

      “He was murdered here in New Orleans over twenty years ago. I don’t really remember him.”

      “How old was Marie Villaré when she died?”

      “Seventy.”

      “Cause of death?”

      “She had a heart attack. She’d been diagnosed with coronary problems and diabetes just before moving to the Sunnydale Center.”

      Jordon continued to stare at the head as Mike stood and stepped away from it.

      “Helen Fizelle will have a field day with this one,” Jordon said. “Decapitation and missing body parts in a crumbling mansion on the edge of the French Quarter. Right up her alley.”

      “Who’s Helen Fizelle?” Jacinth asked.

      “She heads up the skeletal recovery team. Worked with the FBI’s Body Farm up in Knoxville a few years back. Nothing she likes better than a case like this.”

      “You won’t have to leave the head here until she can see it, will you?”

      “Nah,” Mike said, scrunching his mouth into a bizarre shape. “We’ll take pictures and then deliver the skeletal remains to Forensic Sciences. The CSU investigation can wait until morning to take a look around, seeing as how the crime scene is already polluted and not how the killer left it.”

      “But we’ll tape off the bathroom,” Jordon added. “You’ll need to stay out of it and leave things exactly as they are until the detective gives you the okay to clean it up. I’m sure a house this size has plenty