Labyrinth (17 page)

Cat’s words that first night at dinner rushed to the forefront of memory.
The woman must be pure of mind, have a heart of gold, and the body of Aphrodite.

Margot halted on the path. “It’s not possible,” she whispered. But knew it was. Cat had killed Bree Cullen in an insane attempt to free Colin Morrison from his enchantment.

Another, even more chilling thought struck. Had Cat’s delusions convinced
her the
dead Scottish lord was the murderer of
her
victims? But why kill Bree Cullen when Cat believed Margot was destined to free Colin? Cat was
psychotic,
her reasoning would never make sense to a sane person. Margot’s throat tightened. It hadn’t occurred to her Cat would kill a woman.

Dammit, after Charlie had told her about Bree Cullen, she should have given him the astrological charts. The files were evidence. Withholding them could stall the investigation, and Cat had to be stopped. Margot slowed as she pulled the Blackberry from her pocket and forwarded the files to Charlie.

Minutes later, Margot arrived at the stables. Charlie hadn’t replied, and she now wanted like hell to see what he thought. She stopped in front of the stall to find the mare lying on her side in the stall. Cat knelt beside her head; a man Margot assumed to be the vet knelt behind the horse, an arm buried elbow deep inside her.

“Sweet Christ,” Margot breathed.

The mare gave a half-hearted whinny. Margot shifted in order to see
better
. The mare’s large brown eyes appeared glazed.

Margot’s heart lurched. “What’s wrong?”

Cat ran a slow hand across the mare’s belly. “She’s in distress. She’s been down for half an hour now, and the foal hasn’t been active. If the water doesn’t break soon, they could both be in serious trouble.”

Margot lowered to her knees and stroked the mare’s nose. She didn’t nudge back as she had earlier. The vet withdrew his hand, picked up a towel, and began wiping arm and fingers. Cat looked at him, and he shook his head. She bent her head close to the mare’s nose and rubbed her cheek against the velvety skin beside Margot’s hand.

“Can you break the water sac?” Margot asked.

“By God,” the vet muttered in a thick Scottish accent, and Margot cried out as an ugly reddish bag expelling from the mare’s vagina.

The vet twisted, reached inside a black bag sitting behind him, and pulled out a scalpel. Margot stared as he quickly cut a long incision in the thick bag. The ugly mass deflated with an audible whoosh. He tossed the knife onto the towel beside him and pulled the ugly balloon from the mare’s vagina. She started to lift her head, but Cat eased her back onto the straw while making soft shushing sounds.

“What’s happening?” Margot demanded.

“The placenta has separated from the uterus.” Cat said.

The terror in her voice startled Margot and she laid a hand on Cat’s shoulder. “She’s obviously in good hands.”

Cat looked at Margot, eyes wide with an anguish that brought a rush of memory. Their senior year, they were out on the old highway with two dozen high school friends. Cat sat with Eric Olsen in his olive green 1972 Chevy Nova with a stock 350 V8 and thumper cam. Eric was the tri-county champ. A
Louisiana
boy had crossed the state line with two car loads of friends and issued a challenge that couldn’t be ignored; pink slips to the driver who circled the old Larson barn two hundred yards down the road, then made it back to the start line first.

Margot had been given the honor of starting the race by waving the pair of red lace panties she’d worn. The summer sun hung half-hidden by the tree-lined horizon behind her. She stood between the cars, legs spread, skirt rustling just enough that she figured the
Louisiana
boy would get a good look at
Mississippi
pussy. She held the panties out in front of her and the crowd hooted, pounded car hoods, and voiced cat calls.

The door to the
Louisiana
boy’s 1967 red Mustang convertible unexpectedly shoved opened, and everyone went silent when he got out and rounded his car, headed toward Margot. When he reached her, he wrapped an arm around her, pulled her close, and planted a wet kiss on her lips. He broke the kiss, clasped the hand that held the panties, pulled it to his face, and inhaled deep of the lace. The crowd went wild. Some girls in skirts stripped off their panties and waved them over their heads.

The boy released her, and everyone quieted as he said, “I get those as a souvenir after I win this race.”

“Sure thing, sugar,” Margot replied. “But it’ll be a consolation prize, ‘
cause
you’ll be walking back to
Louisiana
.”

A deafening roar of shouts drowned out the car engines as the kid walked back to his car and got inside.

Margot held the panties straight out in front of her. “Ready!” The cars jumped with the rev of engines. She lifted the panties above her head. “Set!” She cast a glance at Cat, whose left arm entwined Eric’s arm. Her right palm cupped the cock that strained against his tight jeans. He
pulsed
his hips three times against her hand, and gave Margot an
I’m ready
look.

Margot laughed and sliced the panties downward through humid air. “Go!”

Tires squealed on asphalt, and smoke rose from the rear tires as the cars caught traction and jettisoned forward. Wind caught her dress and blew it waist high. Hot draft blasted through her curls, then between her legs. Margot whirled and waved the panties in a frantic cheer before slipping one foot, then the next inside the leg holes. Heart pounding, she shimmied the elastic up to her hips as the cars grew smaller with each passing second.

Silence fell on the crowd. The two cars remained neck and neck as they neared the old barn. Margot counted off three seconds before they started into the tight turn that took them off the road and around the building, Eric on the inside.

Suddenly, Eric’s car flipped, tumbling over the Mustang’s trunk as the Nova rolled side-over-side. It made one final roll,
then
rocked to a stop on its roof. Margot lunged forward in unison with the first female screams. A collective instant of shock froze the boys,
then
some began to run, while those with cars leaped behind the wheels. Engines roared to life, and the boys who had been running jumped into any nearby car.

Margot reached Jimmy Phillip’s Pontiac Grand Prix as he started forward and she banged on the trunk. He hit the brake and she sprinted to the passenger side door and jumped inside. His terrified gaze met hers for an instant, then he jammed the accelerator to the floor and the car shot forward.

They reached the Nova seconds behind two other cars and Margot shoved open the door as Jimmy brought the car to a rocking halt. She raced to the passenger side door where two boys knelt, and fell to her knees. She screamed and recoiled at sight of Eric plastered against the rear passenger side window.
Cat.
Margot jerked her gaze in through the front passenger side window. Cat lay on her stomach, cheek pressed against the thin fabric that covered the roof interior.

Her frantic gaze latched onto Margot’s. Blood covered one side of Cat’s cheek and disappeared into her black hair. Her right arm lay at an odd angle at her side. Margot started to scramble inside after her, but strong hands seized her waist and yanked her back.

“Let me go,” she hissed, scratching wildly at the muscled body that dragged her upright and hugged her close.

He gave her a hard shake. “
Margot,
let the boys get her.”

She struggled another second, then stilled as the two boys reached inside and carefully pulled Cat from the car. They gently laid her on the ground and Margot clawed at the arms encircling her. He released her and she dropped to the ground, already crawling toward her friend.

“Eric,” Cat rasped.

Margot brushed trembling fingers over Cat’s forehead. “He’ll be all right, honey.”

But Margot had known that was a lie, just like she knew that Eric had crashed the car because Cat had given him the final orgasm of his life.
The ambulance arrived ten minutes later, too late to stop the internal bleeding.
They’d been kids,
stupid kids
, and a friend had died because of their stupidity. That day, when they faced the police and confessed what happened, Margot decided she was going to be someone who helped stop other kids from making stupid mistakes. The day after her eighteenth birthday she went to Hicks and told him she wanted to be a police officer. He told her to get an education and come back when she wasn’t a dumb kid anymore.

She did.

“The foal is trapped inside.”

Cat’s voice yanked Margot back to the present.

“The foal,” Cat repeated. “It’s trapped inside.”

Tears trickled down Cat’s cheeks.
Tears that hadn’t been there when Margot broke the news that her handsome young husband was dead.

Margot’s attention riveted onto the vet as he lowered himself onto the straw beside Cat, a syringe in hand. The rise and fall of the mare’s distended stomach quickened.

“If we don’t get the foal out, it’ll suffocate,” Cat said in a choked voice.

Margot swung her gaze back onto Cat’s tear stained face. “Suffocate?”

“He has no oxygen,” Cat said.

The coroner ruled Donny’s death a drowning.
Suffocation by water.

Margot fell back a pace.

Cat’s gaze returned to the mare. She brushed the golden brown hide with the care of a mother…or wife.

Margot turned and raced from the barn.

Chapter Seventeen

Margot showered and changed into a yellow cotton dress. Mercifully, the trembling she feared would buckle her legs had subsided to a quiver. She lowered herself into the wingback chair in front of the fireplace in her room. Heat bathed her legs from embers that burned red hot, but the warmth didn’t reach her heart. Castle Morrison held no charm for her. Blood money tainted everything here.

She glanced at the balcony doors. What passed for late afternoon sun filtered through the paned
glass.
She hadn’t returned to the stables to see how the mare and foal fared. If there was a kind God, they were all right, and if she had any luck, her sudden exit from the stables would be construed as the inability to watch the mare’s pain and not the rage that had threatened to push her to violence at watching Cat lavish love on an animal when she hadn’t shown a drop of compassion for her husband.

Margot had faced sawed-off shot guns, but her insides knotted at the prospect of sitting across the dinner table tonight from Cat. How the hell would she pull it off? Margot leaned her head against the chair. She just hadn’t allowed herself to consider how far she would have to go in order to play the role of friend. Hell, why not just sell her soul? It would be easier.

“Quit complaining,” she ordered. “Find proof of Cat’s guilt or get out.”

McNeil said Bree Cullen’s slipper was found at Castle Morrison. Margot rose, got her Blackberry from the nightstand, and returned to the chair. She settled, legs tucked beneath her, and checked for messages.
Nothing from Charlie.
Was it possible he’d left for an assignment? No, he would at least send her a note. Wouldn’t he? Her heart fluttered. He would.

Margot pulled up the website for the
Stornoway Gazette
in search of news of Bree Cullen’s disappearance and, half an hour later, her heart twisted at sight of the young blonde woman who smiled back from the photo inserted alongside the story. Donny’s death was the third murder in
Wilkinson
County
during Margot’s twelve years as Deputy Sheriff. Between hunting accidents, drug overdoses, car accidents, and backwater residents who grew old and died alone in their homes there were two or three deaths yearly. Margot had seen her share of death. But this was the worst kind. Like Eric in high school…or Donny; the young who weren’t supposed to die.