Green-Eyed Envy (11 page)

Once we’d demolished lunch, we turned to the grislier subject of autopsy reports. Sahana passed out several sheets of paper for us to review. She waited about five seconds before jumping in. Excitement lit her usually serious features, an excitement that was contagious.
She has something!
Finally, a break in the case.

“So I went back and double-checked, but you were right that neither of the previous Jove Does had their tongues removed or catnip placed into their mouths.
However
,” she drawled à la Trinity, a satisfied smile playing at her lips, “when I viewed the magical makeup of the catnip while in Raga song, I noticed something ve-eee-ry interesting. It matched the makeup of an unknown substance, traces of which had been found in the blood of all three Cats.”

I blinked. Hadn’t been expecting that. “Wait, are you saying they were all poisoned?”

Scott shook his head emphatically. “The Bastai may hate catnip for what it symbolizes, but it’s not poisonous to them.”

Sahana set a paper with a chart full of bars and text on the table. She tapped one of the lines. “Normally, no. But this was no ordinary catnip. It appears to be a magical hybrid that I can’t find in
any
of the books.” She raised a finger in the air. “True that none of your vics died from this toxic-to-them catnip. The dose was way too low for that. However . . . ”

She let her voice trail off dramatically. Hooked, line and sinker, I bit. “What?”

“My theory is that all were drugged with this catnip to first weaken them so they could be overpowered; and second, break down their bodies’ normal abilities to regenerate upon death.”

My pulse picked up speed. “Wait. Are you saying that this
catnip
is not only some kind of Kitty Cat Kryptonite, it automatically takes them from ninety-nine lives to
game over
? ”

“Well, I’d have to test it on a volunteer to be a hundred percent sure—but I don’t think anyone’s going to rush in for
that
case study.” We couldn’t help chuckling at that visual. “I was hoping you might see if Special Agent Cruz would be willing to donate some blood and tissue samples so I could compare how
her
samples respond to the catnip versus the samples from the corpses I’ve already tested. I don’t have any Cat friends myself or I would ask them.”

I jotted a reminder in my notebook. “No, Sahi, I’m sure she’d be happy to do that. And you’ve done
great
! We’ve been stumped on how the perp put their lights out permanently without decapitation or incineration.”

Trinity nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah,
great
work indeed. Although . . . ” She bit her lip and shot me a reluctant look.

Sheesh. Somebody
always
had to go and rain on my parade. “What?” I sounded much less eager to hear the conclusion to
that
dramatic pause.

“Well, if someone used the catnip to drug our vics, and the drug weakens Cats considerably . . . ” Ah hell. I
really
didn’t like where I suspected she was going with this. “Doesn’t that mean that a female
could
have pulled these murders off?”

Effectively doubling our already-sketchy list of suspects. Yeah, at least she hadn’t disappointed: I hated that conclusion every bit as much as expected.

IF SOMEONE BROUGHT MY IDEA OF HELL TO life and sent me there, it couldn’t have been worse than my debut as Sierra Nieves, Wedding Planner to the Stars and new transplant to Boston, Mass. My first mistake had been trusting Harper’s FBI associates to create my alter ego, which turned out to be even worse than my already-low expectations. She was, quite simply, a Diva with a capital D. Double D’s, actually—which I was reminded of every thirty seconds when one of Harper’s uncles let his gaze fall from my eyes to my overly ample assets.

Remember you’re playing a role,
I chanted to myself in the middle of the expensive catering venue, where five dozen of Harper and Penn’s “closest” family members had gathered for the hastily arranged engagement party. That none of the Cats or Hounds had yet killed each other was a very
good
thing. That I was about to let nerves and Rage get the better of me and kill several Cats myself was most certainly a
bad
thing.

Though it sure would have made me feel better.

“That old man looks down your shirt
one more time
and I’m coming in there.” Scott’s voice groused through the wireless earpiece that connected me to Trinity on the far side of the room and to Scott and Cass in an undercover van down the street. We’d decided that, for this first operation, it would be best to keep the risk of bloodshed down by having Scott sit out rather than mingle as one of the groomsmen. Especially in light of the room full of uptight Banoubs already itching for a fight they couldn’t (so far) indulge in. The two boys also had a bird’s-eye view of whatever I saw thanks to the camera disguised as a brooch pinned to my suit jacket.

My lips twitched from the urge to laugh at Scott’s comment, though Uncle Number 2 (or was he 3?) wouldn’t appreciate the humor. I turned the threatened laugh into a cough. “Excuse me.” I batted my eyelashes and edged away. “Frog in my throat and I really need to visit the ladies’ room.”
Before I Fury out and shove a frog down
your
throat.
Don Juan wannabes my ass—more like Don Lotharios.

Trinity cut me off as I made my way toward the high-end powder room, otherwise known as the ladies’ room. “You trying to make a run for it already?” she asked with a smile.

“Ha. Don’t I wish?” I jerked a thumb over my shoulder toward Don Juan Lothario. “I figured it wouldn’t exactly be diplomatic for me to rip apart one of Harper’s uncles.”

“Hmm.” She pretended to consider that for a moment. “You’re probably right. Then again, it might liven up this joint.”

Trinity
did
have a point. It was dullsville at the moment. Hounds were sticking with Hounds on one end of the room while Cats stuck with Cats on the other end, and never the twain did meet. Then again, considering that the two races had been at war for countless millennia, that might not have been such a bad thing. Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of someone I
really
didn’t want to talk to headed our way. I held out hope until she made direct eye contact and nodded. “Shit,” I muttered under my breath.

“What’s wrong?” Scott asked in my ear at the same time Trinity looked around and said, “What’s up?”

“Don’t look now, Trin, but Mama Hound coming our way at ten o’clock.”

Needless to say, Trinity looked.
Mama Hound
in this instance referred to Neema Banoub, famed matriarch of the Banoub clan. She also happened to be Scott’s maternal grandmother and a right royal bitch to boot. I’d been unlucky enough to encounter her a handful of times before this and only spoken with her on one of those occasions. Of course, she didn’t even know that
I
was
me
. She thought that I was the Double-D Diva herself, Sierra Nieves, Wedding Planner to the Stars.

Gods, I can’t even
think
that with a straight face. I can’t
believe
they actually thought that was a good pseudonym to run with.

Though I
did
have to give them bonus points for snappiness. Sierra Nieves did sound like a name someone would pick if they were going to work for the stars—or in a strip club. We had wanted to craft a cover that would appeal to both the Cats and the Hounds. Most of Harper’s family members were Latin Americans, as was the persona I currently wore, and she also had the benefit of being half-Hound and half-mortal, which would give me a good excuse to hang out with Scott more than might otherwise be seemly and give me something in common with Penn’s family—even if they
did
tend to sneer at “half-breeds.”

Of course, what would appeal
most
to the Hounds in the crowd was that she had worked with celebrities for years and was wealthy in her own right. When it came to the Banoubs, money
did
talk. Loudly. It was one of the reasons Liana had given up most ties to her family when she married Scott’s father. Morgan didn’t have more than two pennies to rub together when they fell in love, and that had made him a most ineligible bachelor in Neema Banoub’s eyes.

Of course, seeing how well Liana and Morgan had done for themselves in the years since might have caused some of the Banoubs to rethink their actions of four decades earlier. The Murphys had become, hands down, the preeminent supernatural mercenaries in Boston, and Liana’s prestigious boutique, Hounds of Anubis, was
the
place to go for arcane artifacts and odds and ends such as Kiara’s magical remedies. I guess that old mortal saying that hindsight is 20-20 wasn’t too far off the mark.

Trinity looked back at me and arched a brow. “Uh, I assume by Mama Hound you mean Penn’s mother?”

“Grandmother,” I corrected, eyes glued on the high-society maven gliding through the crowd.

“Okay, grandmother. What’s so bad about her coming over to talk to us?”

I shot Trinity an
Are you kidding me?
look. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Neema Banoub? The phrase
right royal bitch
was created just for her.”

Trinity’s lips twitched. “Isn’t that a really bad pun?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s a really
true
pun. She has
got
to be the biggest bitch I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something. And the one and only time we ever spoke did
not
end well.”

Her lips twitched again. “Well, luckily
you
, Miss Sierra Nieves, have never met her and vice versa. Maybe she’ll like you this time.”

“Ha. You know how badly I get along with Zalawski?”

“I think all of Boston knows how badly you get along with Zalawski.”

“Well, take that and multiply it by ten, and you might wind up in the neighborhood of how poorly Neema Banoub tends to get along with the unwashed masses.”

Trinity couldn’t hold back a snicker. “Unwashed masses? You, my dear, are
the
Sierra Nieves, Wedding Planner to the Stars. And filthy rich in your own right. Plus, you’re a Hound. Why
wouldn’t
she like you?”

I shook my head. “I’m only
half
-Hound. Trust me, that counts with these people.
Filthy rich
to a Banoub means counting assets in the billions, not millions. Not to mention,
the
Sierra Nieves is about as nouveau riche as it gets, which also matters to people like this.” I would have gone into further detail, but Hound hearing being what it was, I let my voice trail off and waited for Neema to close the distance between us.

Trinity, perceptive as usual, began talking about the innocuous subject of head counts and the current supply of fancy-schmancy hors d’oeuvres and even fancier-schmancier cocktails being served by the tuxedoed wait staff. Technically speaking, we were the ones in charge of this party, and it was our job to discuss those little details, boring as we might find them. Boring as
I
might find them anyway. Trinity seemed to be thriving on this undercover operation.

Neema, flanked on each side by her
acknowledged
daughters—Liana’s two sisters who
weren’t
in the proverbial dog house, one of which I presumed to be Penn’s mother, whom I’d never met—barely glanced at Trinity before turning her attention to me. Piercing golden eyes raked me up and down, found me wanting, but she deigned to speak to me anyway.

“Miss Nieves.” She gave a snooty nod. “I am Neema Banoub, grandmother of the groom, and I would like to have a word with you, if you please.”
Or even if you don’t.

I would have given Trinity an
I told you so
look if not for Neema’s hawk-eyed gaze. No sense offending her at the very first event of this month-long wedding extravaganza—unless I found out she had anything to do with the serial killings in my city. Then,
nothing
would stop me from offending her with extreme prejudice. And pleasure.

“Oh, Mrs. Banoub, what an honor to meet you. Would you like to go somewhere a little quieter?”

She accepted my fawning air as if it were her due, and, well, since all her life she’d been treated that way, I guess it was. I took her single nod as acceptance of my suggestion, murmured a pretend request to Trinity, and with a dramatic sweep of my arm, ushered the three women through a quiet hallway and into the little office reserved for event planners.

Once I seated them comfortably and poured each a glass of mineral water, I settled on a plush chair and smiled winningly. “Now then, Mrs. Banoub, please tell me what I can do for you?”

Neema turned that supercilious look on me again. “What
you
can do for
me
is make sure that little—” She bit her tongue when one of her daughters gently touched her arm. “ Ahem. What I mean to say is that it is critically important that this—this
affair
go off without a hitch. My grandson may be marrying that
young lady
, but that doesn’t mean I will accept an event beneath the Banoub standards. Now, while my grandson hired you without giving me so much as a say in the matter, I
am
paying for this wedding and as such expect to be kept informed every step of the way.”

I opened my mouth to give a polite response, but she just took a breath before marching on. “I’ve done my research, and you come highly recommended by two of my West Coast acquaintances.”

Damn. Maybe letting Harper’s FBI associates create my fictitious persona hadn’t been such a catastrophe after all.

“Because of that, I won’t insist my grandson hire someone else. However, I would prefer to reach an understanding with you. Since I will be paying for the vast majority of this affair, I expect it to live up to
my
expectations. Which, let me assure you, will be quite high indeed.”

Gods, I had a headache already. Between Harper’s lecherous uncles and Penn’s hands-on bitch of a grandma, I wasn’t even sure Jack could get me through this month.