James Swain - Bad News Travels

Fear crept into her eyes, and her body tensed, as if preparing to take off running.

Beth stepped forward, and showed Sierra her badge. The young woman’s mouth dropped open.

“Special Agent Elizabeth Daniels, FBI,” Beth said. “This gentleman is Jon Lancaster, a retired police detective. We’d like a few minutes of your time.”

“What’s this about?” She sounded scared.

“We want to talk to you about a young woman that works here named Katya,” Lancaster said. “Do you know her?”

Sierra hesitated. Then she said, “Katya’s my friend.”

“Have you spoken to her recently?”

She nodded.

“Your friend’s in trouble, isn’t she?”

“Big trouble,” Sierra said under her breath.

“Do you want to help her?” Beth asked. “Because if you do, then you’ll tell us everything you know.”

“Okay,” Sierra said.

Lancaster glanced at Beth and saw her nod. He could feel it in his bones, and so could she. They were about to break this thing wide open, and get to the bottom of what had happened to Beth’s father in the months leading up to his death.

“Where can we talk in private?” Lancaster asked.

“Let’s go to the Cobalt Lounge,” Sierra said. “We can talk in private there.”

The Cobalt Lounge was located inside the Casa Monica hotel, the bar made of polished mahogany. Sierra picked a chair facing the entrance and kept one eye on the door. She acted nervous, and kept shifting in her chair. In Daniels’s experience, that was good, since people who were on edge often had things to get off their chest. She’d changed into shorts and a T-shirt before leaving work, and brushed out her hair. She smiled timidly as a waitress approached.

“Hey, Sissy,” she said.

“Well hey, Sierra, I didn’t recognize you,” the waitress said, happy to see her. “How you been keeping?”

“I’m doing okay. How about yourself? You still having those bad dreams?”

“Haven’t had one in a while. Don’t worry, they’ll come back. You talk to Katya lately? I tried to call her, but her line doesn’t work anymore. Did she leave town?”

“I don’t know where she’s run off to.”

“If you happen to see her, tell her that a couple of guys were asking for her. They gave me the creeps.” To Daniels and Lancaster she said, “Sorry for the chitchat. What can I get you folks to drink?”

They ordered iced tea, Sierra white wine. The waitress left, and Sierra stared at her image in the polished table. She seemed to be having second thoughts about talking to them, and Daniels decided to soothe any misgivings she might have.

“Are you feeling okay?” Daniels asked.

“Not really.”

“We’re here to help. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Yes, it’s a promise. Why does your friend have bad dreams?”

Sierra sucked on her vape like it was oxygen. “Sissy works too much, and it’s invaded her head. They’re called waitmares. A lot of restaurant servers have them.”

“I’ve never heard that before. What does she dream of?”

“Crazy stuff. In one of her dreams, she has twenty tables, and her customers are yelling, wanting their meals. In the second, she’s serving tables naked.”

“Maybe she should find another line of work.”

“Not around here. In this town, you wait tables or work in the kitchen. Before we start, can I ask you a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Is it true that lying to an FBI agent is against the law? I saw that on a TV show once, and wondered if the writers made it up.”

“Knowingly lying to an FBI agent is a felony,” Daniels said.

Sierra drew back in her chair. “Guess I’d better watch what I say.”

“You need to be completely honest with us,” Daniels said. “Don’t hold back, okay?”

“If you find Katya, are you going to arrest her?”

“Why would we do that?”

“I don’t know. I figured Katya was up to no good. She showed up in town a while back, started working at the museum as a tour guide. She was flat broke, barely scraping by. Next thing you know, she’s got a house and she’s wearing fancy clothes and pretty jewelry. I figured she was doing something illegal. Where else would the money have come from?”

“Was she prostituting herself?”

“No, ma’am. Sheriff doesn’t allow hookers. Runs them out.”

“Did you ask her where the money came from?”

“Sure. Said she had a sugar daddy. I said, ‘What guy around here has money like that to burn?’ She just laughed.”

The waitress served them. The glass of wine was on the generous side, and Sierra took a big swallow. It settled her, and she said, “Thanks, Sissy.”

“What are friends for?” the waitress asked.

Sissy departed, and Sierra continued to work on her wine.

“What do you know about the mummified hands that were turning up around town?” Daniels asked.

“Katya was behind that,” Sierra said.

“Where did she get them from?”

“They were stored in the basement of the museum. They originally came from Egypt, and were put on exhibit, but they grossed people out, and were stored away. Katya went into the basement after work one night and stole them.”

“Did she take anything else?”

“She stole a shrunken head. She stuck a cigarette between its lips, and put it out on Halloween as a prank.”

Daniels’s jaw tightened. Katya sounded like a twisted young woman, and she reminded herself that she and Sierra were friends. She glanced at Jon, wanting him to take over, and he jumped in without missing a beat.

“Did Katya put the hands on people’s doorsteps?” Jon asked.

“Not Katya. She’s not that brave. Stealing them was hard enough for her to pull off.”

“Then who did?”

“Her crazy friends. That’s my theory, anyway.”

“What crazy friends?”

“I only met them once. Katya had a party one Saturday night, and a whole bunch of people in town got invited. It was a wild scene. People were doing Ecstasy and having sex in the bedrooms, and there was lots of weed and booze. There were three Mexican girls there I didn’t know. They were rough trade.”

“How so?”

“They were all tatted up, and gave off this weird vibe, like they wanted to rob us. You know the kind of girls I’m talking about?”

“I do,” Jon said. “Do you think they were in a gang?”

“Maybe. Their stuff was in the bedrooms, so I got the sense they were staying. I never saw them around town, working in the restaurants or hotels, so I don’t know how they made money.”

“What led you to think they were responsible for putting the hands on people’s doorsteps?”

“Something happened later in the party that made me realize they weren’t normal. Everybody was flying high and getting down. One of the Mexican girls took her top off, and did this snake dance while holding the mummified hand from the museum. It used to be part of the Sacred Cat Rug exhibit. When the rug was found in Egypt, there was a mummified hand covered in jewels wrapped in it, which usually hangs with the rug. Katya borrowed the hand from the museum for her party. While the Mexican girl’s dancing, she started slapping people in the face with the hand, like she’s putting a curse on them. People didn’t like it, but she wouldn’t stop. It got way out of hand.”

“Where is the jeweled hand now?”

“In a safe. I guess it was too valuable to keep on display.”

“And when mummified hands started showing up in people’s yards, you decided the three Mexican girls were responsible,” Daniels said.

“Had to be. They were living in the house. And they were mean.”