Bonefire of the Vanities

by Carolyn Haines

  “Let’s step out on the balcony.” I moved toward the French doors.

  Outside with the doors closed, I continued. “We’re concerned for your safety, and for the cat.”

  “I’m here of my own free will, Miss Delaney.”

  “Miss Booth,” I reminded her. “Miss Sarah Booth.” I pointed at Tinkie. “And Mrs. Jones.”

  She held my gaze. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m here because I want to be. Heart’s Desire offers a chance I can’t find anywhere else.”

  This was tricky. I glanced at Tinkie for help.

  “Sarah Booth and I have reason to believe Heart’s Desire might not be on the up-and-up.”

  Mrs. Littlefield stiffened. “I’m not a dotty old woman. I’m in my right mind. And I’m not a fool. I’ve agreed to the ruse necessary to get you here so you can look out for me. Mr. Erkwell, at Madam Tomeeka’s insistence, convinced me it was in my best interest to hire you and bring you here, but I have no intention of leaving. I’m well cared for, and we’re making progress in contacting Mariam. Sherry believes we’ll get a breakthrough any day. Sherry has caught glimpses of my daughter, but Mariam’s confused. And timid.” She brushed past me and went back inside.

  “Did the Westins show you a video?” I asked.

  Marjorie walked to a liquor decanter on a table behind the sofa. She tried to hide it, but a sob broke from her. She poured a good measure of Scotch into a glass and added two ice cubes. It might be five o’clock somewhere else, but it wasn’t even lunch in Mississippi. She was getting a head start on the day.

  “My daughter drowned and it was my fault. I didn’t watch her closely enough. I want to speak with her before I transition. I have to know if her death was an accident or a deliberate act. Once I speak with Mariam, this will all be settled. Had I not been busy with a social engagement, had I known the true character of my son—” She broke off on a gasp of pain. “It’s all my fault.”

  Guilt consumed her, and I knew that nothing Tinkie or I said would change it. She was here to make amends with her dead daughter, and perhaps to join the child. And whatever the Westin women’s goal, I felt certain they were manipulating everything.

  5

  Mr. Palk reluctantly brought up a lunch tray to Marjorie, but he made it clear she was expected to dine with the other guests for dinner. Tinkie and I preferred for her to join the communal meal, because we needed to know who else was on the premises. Unfortunately, Marjorie was too upset to leave her rooms.

  So we tidied up around her—or I did, Tinkie was about as useless as tits on a boar hog—as we tried to talk sense into Marjorie and convince her to pack her things. To no avail. She wouldn’t consider leaving Heart’s Desire until she made contact with her dead daughter. She wasn’t even the least bit embarrassed to admit it. She totally believed that Sherry Westin could channel spirits.

  Tinkie handed me the lunch tray, and I returned it to the kitchen, hoping food was available for the hired help. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Palk took a page from the Dickens School of Butlers and fed us crusty bread and water.

  On the way to the kitchen, I passed several other employees who kept their gazes on the ground. Well trained by Palk the Bully. Laughter tinkled from the dining room, where a half-dozen people gathered. A pretty woman laughed at something. They looked hale and hearty. At least the guests weren’t being starved.

  “Miss Booth!” Palk’s voice reverberated in the cavernous room.

  “Sir?” I had about had it with him.

  “Are you lost?”

  “Indeed, I am.” I smiled sweetly. “I’m trying to find the kitchen, but the house is so big. I was confused.”

  He pointed and gave my shoulder a push. Had I not held the tray, I would have belted him.

  “Mr. Palk, I think you should know if you touch me again, I’ll hurt you.” I spoke in a calm voice. “I’m Mrs. Littlefield’s maid. If I tell her you’ve manhandled me in any way, I’m sure she’ll pack her things and leave.”

  Color climbed his neck and into his cheeks until his forehead almost glowed. Even his balding scalp looked hot. “I beg your pardon,” he said stiffly.

  I clutched the tray and went the way he pointed. I could feel daggers in my back. While I had risked making him an enemy, I had to make him lay off. Tinkie and I couldn’t snoop if Palk lurked around spying on us. I hoped I had scared him sufficiently to make him avoid us. I had no doubt if Mrs. Littlefield threatened to leave Heart’s Desire because of his conduct, he’d be a gone goose.

  I pushed through a swinging door into the kitchen and put the dirty dishes on a counter. Several young women were busy chopping, stirring, and washing up. Standing with her arms akimbo was a slender and quite beautiful Asian woman, obviously the mistress of the kitchen.

  “I’m Sarah Booth,” I said, holding out my hand. “I work for Mrs. Littlefield.”

  She clasped my hand in a firm grip. “Yumi Kato, master chef.” She took my measure as she held my hand.

  “Would it be possible to get some lunch for my coworker and myself?” Mrs. Littlefield had eaten, but Tinkie and I had not.

  “The maids eat in the staff dining hall. Mr. Palk does not allow special preparation of food for anyone.” Yumi glanced around. “But I shall make an exception this time. Robert! Prepare sandwiches for two.”

  “Thank you.” I leaned against a counter, but her frown made me push away. Yumi ran a tight ship, but I couldn’t imagine how difficult it would be trying to please a roomful of wealthy people.

  “Please do not reveal to Mr. Palk that I gave you sandwiches,” she said. “He is not pleased when the help requires special privileges. In the future, please come to the staff dining room.”

  The hierarchy of the hired help at Heart’s Desire was more rigid than the caste system of India. I understood efficiency and attention to detail, but Heart’s Desire pushed it to the extreme. I was highly agitato, as my hero Kinky Friedman would say. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to create a problem.”

  “Not a problem for me. For you, if you are caught taking food upstairs for your personal consumption.” She watched me with an opaque gaze. “I tell you this to help you. Come back in ten minutes. Your sandwiches will be ready.”

  I left the kitchen and stopped outside in a hallway to get a lay of the land. Footsteps tapped behind me.

  “Hi, Sarah, I’m Amanda.” The young woman held up a high five. “Good one on Yumi. I can’t believe you wangled sandwiches out of her. She’s such a bitch to work for. She sucks up to Palk and treats us like we’re insects.”

  “What’s her story?”

  “She just came two weeks ago. She’s impossible to please.” Tears started in her eyes but she blinked them back. “I can’t take it anymore. Everyone here is awful.”

  “I work for Mrs. Littlefield, not Heart’s Desire.”

  Her eyes widened. “She’s nice. It must be wonderful to work for a pleasant person. I never thought working here would be like this.”

  “Why don’t you leave?” I asked.

  “All of my life I wanted to work in a kitchen with a real chef, someone I could learn from. I can cook. No problem. I had a job at a great restaurant, but it closed last year. Bad economy. I thought Heart’s Desire might be an opportunity. I keep hoping one of the guests will see my potential.”

  “The kitchen has expensive equipment. A chef’s dream.”

  “It does, but this isn’t the job I thought I hired on to do. I only chop up vegetables or spices or wash salad greens. Once in a blue moon I get to make a dish. Yumi doesn’t like me. She says my accent makes me sound like I’m a hick.”

  Her voice was soft and held the lilt of the Vicksburg area. I found her tone soothing, and she was well spoken. Yumi obviously had a regional bias, not so unusual.

  “That’s too bad. How are the other guests?”

  Amanda looked down the hallway. “Let’s go outside so I can smoke a cigarette and we can have some privacy. Sometimes I think the rooms here are bugged.”


  Strange she would have the same reaction I did. Big Brother was obviously busy around Heart’s Desire.

  Once we were outside, she pulled a crumpled pack of Marlboros from her hip pocket and lit up. In an instant, the craving was on me. Instead of bumming a cigarette, I stuffed my hands in my pockets and leaned against the wall. We were on the east side of the house in an alcove beside the kitchen entrance. Out of the breeze and out of sight. Amanda took a seat on top of a garbage can and inhaled. “Man, I hate this job.” She wiped sweat off her forehead. Hades could not be hotter than the Delta in September.

  “Surely this isn’t the only job you could find?”

  “Layland isn’t the capital of industry and opportunity, and I don’t want to leave the Delta. I hoped this job would give me a chance to meet people, folks who might hire a private chef.”

  She’d approached her dream thoughtfully. Working in an establishment patronized by rich people was a good plan. “Not panning out the way you hoped?”

  “Since Yumi arrived, the rest of us are kept in the kitchen like slaves. We do all the tedious stuff—and Yumi takes the credit. Between her and Palk, we’re never allowed to speak with a guest. I’ll never get a chance to meet anyone if I follow the rules.”

  “You said Mrs. Littlefield was nice. What about the others?”

  “Mr. Addleson is okay. His wife is a little … Let’s just say she’s really pretty but not so bright.” She inhaled, clearly daydreaming about a different life. I hadn’t realized until that moment how young she was—maybe twenty-five.

  “What does Addleson do?”

  “Coal mining. He has this country estate in West Virginia near the Greenbrier. Shimmer, his wife, showed me a photo of it. Before Yumi clamped down on us. Anyway, the Addlesons’ place is incredible, Sarah. There’s this long drive with trees, and the foothills seem to rise up out of the backyard. And in the winter there’s snow. Like I said, I want to stay close to home, but I would like living in West Virginia.”

  “Maybe that’ll work out for you. Have you let them know you’re interested?”

  She shook her head. “They’d think I was mad. If I ever had a chance to show off some of my dishes, maybe they’d notice me and ask about me.”

  The pesky protocol of working for the rich and famous. “Shimmer is an interesting name.”

  “I think she made it up, to go along with the perfume she’s designed. Shimmer talks about it all the time. Even to the help. Or she did before Yumi ostracized us in the kitchen.”

  “Shimmer has created a perfume?”

  “It’s a cosmetic line, really, called Ribbons. She’s brought samples of the packaging to the dining table, which really annoyed Mr. Palk. He says dinnertime is not for show-and-tell. Anyway, the package is beautiful. Each one is tied with a pale blue shimmery ribbon. And what she showed me smells great.”

  “QVC will be beating down her door.”

  Amanda looked hard to see if I was making fun of her. I kept my face solemn. Just what the world needed, though, another fragrance by a wannabe celebrity.

  “Anyone else interesting here?”

  “A woman named Amaryllis.” At my look of confusion, she added, “It’s a flower.”

  Shimmer. Amaryllis. Next would be Fairy or Rainbow. The names sounded made up. “What’s her story?”

  “I overheard her talking with the elder Ms. Westin, Brandy. Someone close to Amaryllis died in a freak accident and she’s interested in connecting with the ghost of the dead person.” Even though no one else was about, she leaned closer. “Amaryllis thinks her friend may have been murdered. She’s twitchy as a rabbit.”

  Amanda had stepped into a puddle of interesting. “So do people ever hook up with the dead?”

  She tossed her butt to the ground, stepped on it, picked it up, and put it in the trash, all in one smooth motion. “They make us stay out at the servants’ quarters. We aren’t allowed to participate in the evening sessions. In fact, they force us out of the house at eight o’clock sharp. There are strange things here. You’ll see.”

  “What do they do at a ‘session’?”

  She shrugged and glanced anxiously at her watch. “I never saw one. Hey, I gotta get back. Yumi times our breaks.”

  “I’ll put in a word with Mrs. Littlefield. Maybe she knows someone who needs a chef.”

  Her face brightened. “You would do that? You don’t even know if I can cook.”

  I patted her shoulder. She was just a kid trying hard to build a dream. “I think you can cook. Intuition.”

  “Eat the asparagus tonight. I’m preparing it.” She stepped out of the alcove, checked both ways, then disappeared.

  I sniffed longingly at the lingering smell of cigarette smoke and headed back to the house. I tracked down Palk. “Security took my cell phone and car keys. I want to run and get a pack of smokes.” Smoking was likely taboo for Heart’s Desire employees, even those contracted to someone else.

  “If you wish to leave the premises, you must speak with Ms. Brandy Westin.” His mouth gleamed with teeth. “Though I doubt that will be allowed. You’re here until you’re released from duty or you leave with Mrs. Littlefield.”

  “Where might Ms. Westin be?”

  “She might be anywhere.” He waved a hand, enjoying himself. “But she isn’t available to the likes of you.”

  Good thing I’d quit smoking, but at least now I knew the score on getting in and out of Heart’s Desire. It was, indeed, Hotel California. We could check in but weren’t checking out any time soon.

  * * *

  Tinkie was playing gin rummy with Marjorie when I returned to the room with two ham sandwiches. My partner ignored me, which led me to believe she had plenty to reveal once we were alone. I had information for her, too. But first we needed to do some housekeeping or else Mr. Palk would be on to us.

  When the card game was over and the sandwiches consumed, Tinkie and I stripped the bed. Dusting was a snap, and it allowed me to check for hidden microphones or spyware. Nada. The room was clean.

  Marjorie chatted about her travels as we tidied up. When the room was shipshape, Tinkie and I sought a break under the shade of a beautiful mimosa tree in the side garden. We settled onto a wooden bench and I told her all I’d learned, and she filled me in on Marjorie’s loneliness.

  “She’s pitiful. I think she really has come here to die. The weight of the guilt and grief is simply too much for her now. She puts up a front when you’re around, but she’s on the edge, Sarah Booth.” Tinkie pushed her glitzed blond hair back from her face. The day was hot, and even in the shade of the tree, we wouldn’t be able to endure the temperature much longer. “She wants Tammy to bring the cat here. She won’t leave Heart’s Desire, but she wants Pluto with her.”

  “I’m sure the Westin women won’t tolerate a cat on the premises.” The future looked bleak for Pluto. Being a billionaire kitty was not all it was cracked up to be.

  “I tried to make Marjorie understand the smart thing to do would be to leave here, but she simply doesn’t comprehend it. She’s desperate to connect with Mariam. She’ll give up anything.”

  Tinkie’s pensive tone told me the heiress had gotten under her skin. Money couldn’t buy happiness. Marjorie was far from happy.

  “We need to get in touch with Cece. And Harold.” I had a special assignment for Cece. The whole matter of the video was strange. Cece, better than anyone I knew, might be able to make sense of it. Harold was already poking into the history of the Heart’s Desire property, and I needed some facts. How did the Westins even find out the property was available? Who sold it?

  “And Oscar.” Tinkie pushed my shoulder. “And Graf. You know you want to talk to him.”

  “The guards have our cell phones.” I wanted my communication device for more than a conversation. Since I’d become enslaved to a smartphone, I used it for photos, video, recording conversations, and much, much more. “Palk won’t let us leave. I tried to go buy a pack of cigarettes.”

&
nbsp; “Sarah Booth! You’ve quit!” Tinkie was no supporter of the demon tobacco.

  “I have. I just used it as an excuse to test how hard it would be to come and go. Apparently it’s impossible. They have the car keys.”

  “So what are we going to do? Marjorie told me when Harold called her, they brought a phone to her room.”

  “Find a phone. I checked as much of the house as I could, and I didn’t see a single telephone. Surely someone here has a cell phone.” Palk, Yumi—someone—had to place orders to vendors. A computer would do as well, but I hadn’t noticed one of those, either.

  “We’ll keep our eyes open for a way to communicate with the outside world,” Tinkie said. “Tonight, Sherry is conducting a séance to connect with Mariam.”

  “Marjorie has to demand that we be there to help her.”

  Tinkie’s chin lifted. Her smile was slow, but it chased away her gloominess. “That’s why I let her win at the card game. She’s eating out of my hand now. She’ll finagle us a pass into the big house tonight.”

  * * *

  For the first time I worried Marjorie’s health was at risk as we descended the staircase to the foyer. Tinkie and I flanked Marjorie, who stumbled once on the stairs and seemed to almost faint.

  When we grabbed her, she drew away from us and insisted that we continue to the “spirit room.”

  This was a part of the house I hadn’t been able to explore, because of Palk’s vigilance. The butler popped out from behind doors and shadows whenever I set a foot outside Marjorie’s suite.

  We passed the library and turned down a long hall. Palk opened a heavy door and we descended stairs to a subterranean level lit by flickering torches. Electronic torches, I noted, but the effect made me feel I’d walked backwards in time.

  At last we entered a room lit by at least six dozen candles. The flames, unwavering, blazed along every surface. Mirrors created the illusion of a room extending far into the distance. I could make out hulking pieces of furniture, what I’d seen described as spirit cabinets in my research, but the room was so dark, any number of tricks could have been hidden. This area would require a thorough search with a good flashlight.