Chapter 15

Juliet hit the cathedral when the drizzle stopped. Dark clouds had snuffed out the stars.

Her cell phone buzzed, and she checked the message.

Lady Juliet, make haste. Time is short.

She glanced back. Other than cop cars lining the street, the area surrounding the cathedral was dark and empty. She hurried up the steps, and the gargoyles in the spires snarled at her.

This had to be one of the worst days she’d ever had—other than those weeks after Rafe had sent her that letter, those weeks spent with Nate Walker. How could her life have crashed so quickly? She stood on the edge of losing everything, with Rafe as a witness. But she wouldn’t cry. She’d do what she always did. She’d rely on herself. She’d survive.

Once in the narthex, she sucked in the frigid, incense-filled air. Police checked the pews with flashlights, searching the transepts and sanctuary. Her sneakers scuffled on the marble floor. There were no overhead lights on, but every votive candle had been lit, illuminating the main church, keeping the corners in shadow.

“Miss Capel!” Detective Garza strode down the aisle toward her. “Are you alright?”

She met him halfway. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Father Quinn called a while ago.”

Not wanting to admit she’d walked fourteen blocks in the dark, dodging heroin addicts in the alleys, she focused on the two dozen cops. “What’s going on?”

Garza reached for her face but dropped his hand. “What happened?”

She turned and saw Father Quinn standing in the shadows next to the main altar. “I fell at the work site.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” She hiked her bag on her shoulder and regretted her short tone. Then she noticed the dark circles under Garza’s eyes and the hair that looked like he’d been running his hands through it all night. “Are you alright?”

“Besides finding a dead kid near the River Walk today, the murdered man out on your property, and the flood of heroin overdoses, I’m fine.”

“That’s awful.” She needed to remember that other people had problems too.

“I’m sorry.” He scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “I shouldn’t unload on you or talk about other cases. It’s unprofessional.”

“It’s alright.” She offered a half smile. “I know all about bad days.”

He took her elbow and led her to the main altar. “Have you been here since setting up for tomorrow’s funeral?”

“Not since my foreman, Bob, and I finished around seven p.m.” She peered over Garza’s shoulder to check out the ficus trees in the sanctuary, ivy roping along the altar rails, and white lilies in the two side chapels. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes.”

Father Quinn stood in the right transept, facing the altar that held the statue of Mary. He held a phone to his ear. Instead of his collar, he wore jeans and a blue golf shirt. The cold air was thick with the fragrance of vanilla-scented candles. “Good evening, Father.”

Father Quinn pocketed his phone. “Juliet? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine—” She stopped. Behind him the stone pots she’d just ordered, carved with her Juliet’s Lily logo, had been pulverized. All of the white Madonna lilies had had their heads cut off. The blooms outlined a pile of potting soil spread beneath the statue. In this four-foot-by-two-foot dirt rectangle, someone had scrawled the words JULIET, HERE’S SUCH A COIL. TO REVERSE A PRINCE’S DOOM, STOP THY UNHALLOW’D TOIL. “Who did this?”

“We were hoping you’d know,” Garza said.

“I’ve no idea.”

“Did you show her the other one?” Father Quinn asked Garza.

“There’s more?”

Garza led her past the main altar to the north transept. Father Quinn followed.

“I locked up at ten,” Father Quinn said, “and went to eat. When I returned, I noticed lights flickering through the transept window. Every candle in the church had been lit, the fuse box had been destroyed, and incense had been burned. Then I saw this.”

As in the other chapel, her pots had been destroyed, flower heads cut off to line another rectangle of dirt in front of the Altar of Reservation. This message said DRAW THE SHADY CURTAINS FROM AURORA’S BED. THY HUSBAND IN THY BOSOM THERE LIES DEAD.

“Miss Capel,” Garza said. “Do you know what this means?”

“No.” That was the truth. She had no idea what tonight’s vandalism or the crazy texts meant. The only thing she was sure of was Rafe was involved. She just didn’t want to discuss her relationship with her ex-husband.

Garza’s cell rang, and he held up a hand. “Excuse me. I need to take this.”

Since everyone was busy, she walked down a side aisle, staying out of the way. She sank into a pew and leaned forward, her head in her palms. What was going on? And more importantly, what was she going to do?

“Don’t scream,” a man said behind her.

She turned. Even in the shadows, she recognized Nate. She’d put up with a lot today. Two strikes of vandalism. A bank loan disaster matched by real estate issues. A narcissistic senator. A rogue ex-husband. A murder on her land. Crazy texts. Deke. And this cathedral disaster. But she wouldn’t put up with Nate. “Go. Away.”

“I’m here to help.”

She snorted. “Did Rafe send you?”

“Yes.”

“Then he doesn’t know what you did to me eight years ago?”

Nate’s green eyes begged her. That’s when she noticed the scar on his cheek, the worry lines around his eyes, his shaky lips. “Not yet.”

“You saw what Rafe did to Deke,” she whispered. “I wonder what he’ll do to you?”

“Kill me. But, for now, Rafe asked me to watch out for you until he can get here.”

“What for?”

Nate waved his hand around the cathedral. “You’re at the center of this mess.”

“Ridiculous.” Shivers ran up her back. But was it? Really? She left the pew.

He followed her to the confessionals. “If you can’t trust me, trust Rafe.”

Before she could respond, Garza maneuvered between her and Nate. “What’s going on?”

Nate held out his hand. “Nathan Wall.”

She snorted. Another lie? Why was she not surprised?

Nate sent her a warning glare. “I’m Montfort’s parole officer.”

Garza crossed his arms over his chest. “What are you doing here?”

Nate shoved his hands in his back pockets, his nonchalance loud and clear. “I heard about the incident from the police scanners. I knew Miss Capel had been setting up for a funeral. I decided to check it out.”

She started to reply but stopped. She didn’t want to give the detective any more reasons to ask questions about Rafe. She just wanted this night to end.

“You follow the ex-wives of all your parolees?” Garza asked Nate.

“Only the ones who need help.”

“Uh-huh.” Garza turned toward her. “May I speak with you alone?”

She nodded and followed him to the front of the church.

“Why is Wall here?”

“I don’t know.” Was that her sounding so exasperated? Probably. Except it didn’t matter because it was the truth.

From his slight scoff, he didn’t believe her. “Does Wall bother you?”

She pointed at the chapel. “All of this bothers me. The vandalism. The dead man on my land. My loan.”

“What loan?”

She told him the story, finishing with “Someone’s targeting me, and I don’t know why.”

Garza glanced back at Nate. “Do you know a man named Escalus?”

“No.” She followed Garza’s line of sight to see Nate texting. “Why?”

“According to the ME, that name was tattooed on the arm of the victim we found on Capel land. Same name I read in a journal the sheriff found in that rental car.”

“What journal?”

“This afternoon, Sheriff Boudreaux sent me a diary belonging to Escalus because it was written in Latin.”

The detective was full of surprises. “You know Latin?”

“Yes.” Garza showed her a photo on his phone. It was of the dead man’s arm with a tattoo of a sword piercing a heart and the name Escalus scrawled below. “The journal has a leather cover embossed with this same image, and his name was inside.” Garza swiped the screen, finding another photo. “This is the first page. Read the first line.”

She took the phone as the cathedral doors shut with a bang, and she saw Rafe grab Nate’s arm and drag him into the shadows.

“You should know,” Garza said in a conspiratorial voice, “that I’ve called my military contact. I’m looking into your husband’s release.”

“Ex-husband,” she said softly. Rafe had Nate cornered.

“Miss Capel, are you familiar with the graffiti around town with the words sans pitié beneath a skeleton hand holding a cutlass?”

The question startled her, and she gave the detective her full attention. “It’s the Prioleau family sigil.”

“It looks like a pirate flag.”

“During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the Prioleau family ran a pirate empire from the mid-Atlantic to the Caribbean. By the Revolutionary War, they were wealthier than King George. By the Civil War, they were the most powerful shadow family in the country. The Prioleaus are huge benefactors in this city now.”

Garza nodded, his gaze going back to Rafe and Nate. “The Prioleau tag was painted near a murder victim we found today. The boy had a hole in his neck. I was hoping the tag would be a clue.”

“Probably not.”

“Thank you. I couldn’t get anyone in the station to tell me what it meant.”

She could only imagine how hard it was for a man from New Jersey to fit in. In Savannah, if people didn’t know you, they knew your family. If they didn’t know your family, you were nothing. “I’d like to talk to Father Quinn. I have to fix this by tomorrow.”

“When you’re ready, I’ll have an officer take you home.” He nodded to her hand, and she realized she still held his phone. “Did you read the first line?”

She blinked before giving his cell back. Then she focused on Rafe, who leaned against a column, a few pews away, staring at her. The first sentence on the first page of the diary had started with one word. Romeo.