Bonefire of the Vanities

by Carolyn Haines

  “Who hired him?”

  “Chasley. Bert was led to believe he was helping Marjorie.”

  “Holy relic of Saint John Kemble’s hand!” I didn’t dare say anything else, so I hung up. I felt Chasley staring at me. The slow smile told me he might not be psychic, but my thoughts were clearly showing on my face.

  “What?” Tinkie asked.

  “Where’s Marjorie? I want to see her right now.” My heart was pounding. Surely Chasley would wait until the new will was filed before he did anything to harm his mother. My brain was in high gear as the different clues we’d uncovered took on their true meaning. The DVD, the efforts to manipulate Marjorie with guilt over Mariam’s death. And ultimately, the real ghost of Mariam, who asked me to help her mother.

  “I don’t think Mommy wants to see you.” Chasley knew he had us.

  “You put something in Marjorie’s herbal supplements, didn’t you? You made her blood pressure unstable, and you gave her depressants. You’ve been working with Brandy Westin to manipulate all of this.” Chasley had taken matters into his own hands. I had no doubt he’d had plenty of help from Brandy Westin. And it had worked. He’d managed to win his mother’s affections. At least long enough to be named heir.

  “It doesn’t matter what you two suspect.” He reeked of smugness. “You can’t prove anything, and now Mother doesn’t care. She has her son back, and that’s all that matters to her.”

  “I want to see her.”

  “She’s asleep. Now, if you ladies would take your leave. I was preparing for bed myself. It’s been an exhausting twenty-four hours.”

  “We aren’t going anywhere until we speak with Marjorie.” Tinkie pulled the necklace from her purse. The diamonds flashed rainbow brilliance. “I believe she’ll want this back and I certainly am not leaving it in your possession.” Tinkie kept looking at me to see if she could figure out where my thoughts had gone. Even without knowing, she backed me up.

  “If I have to call the sheriff to remove you, I’ll do so.” Chasley signaled toward the door. “Out.” He made a grab for the necklace, but Tinkie snatched it from his grasp.

  “The sheriff is on his way,” I said, smug myself.

  A split second of unease crossed his face. “I’ll get Mother. Then you have to leave.”

  “We’re waiting.” I went to the parlor and took a seat with Tinkie right beside me.

  Chasley climbed the stairs three at a time. He was suddenly in a rush to produce Marjorie. As long as she was okay, there was little I could do to stop what I assumed was happening.

  “What did Cece say?” Tinkie asked as soon as we were alone.

  I told her about the connection between the video and Bert Steele.

  “What a skunk,” she said. “He used us.”

  “Sarah Booth, Tinkie, what are you doing here?” Marjorie walked toward us in a flowing silk caftan. Except for obvious signs of fatigue, she appeared fine. “Chasley said you insisted on speaking with me. I hope you don’t intend to make this a habit.”

  Her last sentence forced me to my feet. “We went into Heart’s Desire as maids to help you. You hired us, through Madam Tomeeka. We’ve put ourselves in danger, because we were there to protect you. We aren’t a habit, we’re private investigators. We’re here because we’re concerned about you and to return your property.”

  “Of course you are, dear. But I’m fine, as you can clearly see. I’ve released you from any concerns. Chasley and I will have time to repair our relationship. I have a chance to undo the damage I’ve done.” She went to Tinkie and held out her hand. “Now, I don’t mean to be rude, but give me the necklace and then you have to leave. I must rest. Your friend, Doc Sawyer, warned me how dangerous it was to exhaust myself.”

  My friend. Doc had been her friend, too. Once upon a time.

  The front door creaked, and we all turned to look as Pluto sauntered into the house.

  “That beastly cat!” Chasley lunged toward Pluto, who ran through the foyer and up the stairs. “Stop him!”

  “I’ll get him,” I said, snatching Chasley’s jacket hard enough to knock him off stride. I raced past him. “Give me a minute and I’ll put him back in the carrier. He must have gotten hot in the car.”

  Before Chasley could stop me, I ran up the stairs after the cat. Chasley was hot on my heels as I followed Pluto down the second-floor hallway to a closed door, where he stood on his back legs and used his front paws to turn the doorknob.

  Chasley screamed at him to stop, but Pluto darted into the room. I went after him.

  Inside the door, I stopped short. A woman who looked a lot like Marjorie Littlefield lay on the bed. Her chest barely rose and fell, and she appeared starved and dehydrated. I turned around to face Chasley—and a gun.

  “You simply couldn’t mind your own business, could you?” he said. “Another day or two, once the will had been filed, and she would be gone.”

  I saw it all then. The genius of it. Tinkie and I were hired so that if anyone questioned Marjorie’s death, we would say she’d been depressed, that she’d tried to do herself in at Heart’s Desire. It would be tragic, but nothing to cause suspicion. The real Marjorie would be murdered and buried in the woods, while the impostor would be handsomely paid to leave town. Chasley would have it all.

  “How much are you paying Brandy and Sherry?” I asked.

  He gave a lopsided smile. “Brandy drives a hard bargain, but I’ll have plenty to spread around.”

  “It’s a perfect plan.” I could admire the strategy even as I despised it. “This is your mother, Chasley. Look at her. Have you fed her in the last few days?”

  “She’s so drugged, she won’t miss a few meals.”

  “Where did you dig up the other Marjorie?” If he was like most insane criminals, he’d take the opportunity to talk about his own brilliance.

  “Out-of-work actresses willing to undergo a bit of plastic surgery are a dime a dozen. I just had to find the one who could pull it off and wouldn’t get upset over the untimely death of her double.”

  He was cold, and I wondered if he really had killed his sister. I wouldn’t put it past him. “You’ve been planning this for years.”

  “Good things come to those who wait.” He laughed at my reaction. “If you lived longer, you’d have to develop a sense of the absurd. As it is, you won’t have time to use it.”

  He aimed the gun at me. “I’d better get this done before the law arrives. I can’t have you creating trouble. I wouldn’t want to have the murder of a law officer on my record.”

  I closed my eyes. Some people could look death in the face, but I preferred to put my mind somewhere else. After I tried to warn Tinkie. “Run, Tinkie!” I yelled as loud as I could. “Run!”

  From downstairs, there was the sound of furniture crashing.

  The next thing I heard was a cry of pain. When I opened my eyes, Pluto hung off Chasley’s back, all four paws dug in. Chasley spun like a top, the gun whipping around. He tried to aim at me and fired once, but the shot went wide and I ducked to the floor.

  “Chasley!” the fake Marjorie screamed.

  “Smack her! She’s an impostor!” I yelled down to Tinkie.

  Chasley angled his body toward the wall, intending to crush Pluto. I couldn’t let that happen. I looped a lamp cord around one foot and pulled with all my might. Chasley went down like a big timber and Pluto jumped free. Before Chasley could scramble up or aim the gun, Pluto leaped on him with his signature move—front claws across the eyes. The scream that erupted from Chasley let me know the cat hit pay dirt.

  Without a qualm, I picked up the heaviest thing I could find in the room, an art nouveau bronze nude, and whacked him as hard as I could on the head. He didn’t even groan.

  Downstairs, dishes were breaking and furniture crashing. Pluto jumped on the bed with his mistress, licked her cheek once, then took the lead down the stairs.

  Tinkie and the fake Marjorie were locked together and rolling across the floor. I still held
the nude and made toward the tussling couple, but Pluto beat me there. He flew halfway across the room and landed on top of the woman’s head. From her shriek, I knew every claw connected.

  She let loose of Tinkie and tried to use her hands to clutch the cat. Pluto was too quick for her. He bit through a finger, and that took the fight out of her. For good measure, I whacked her on the head, too.

  I helped Tinkie from the floor, hearing sirens. Coleman had arrived. He could handle Chasley and the woman on the floor. Tinkie and I had to get the real Marjorie to the hospital. We needed a helicopter, and Coleman was just the man to fetch it for us.

  * * *

  Graf held me in his arms, the sun setting outside the bedroom window.

  “Thank goodness for Pluto,” he said as his fingers combed my hair in a way that relaxed me like nothing else. “He saved your life, Sarah Booth.”

  “And Marjorie’s. Doc says she’ll be fine once they clear the drugs out of her system and pump in some nourishment. She was severely dehydrated. Do you think she’ll want Pluto back?”

  “I hope not. But we’ll roll with whatever is best for our champion.” Trouble settled into the lines around his mouth. “How could Chasley do that to his own mother?” he asked. “I suppose it was greed. Money, the root of all evil.”

  My man was channeling Aunt Loulane. That was one of her favorite maxims. “He was going to kill his own mother. And Coleman said he confessed to killing his sister.” I understood greed and revenge and jealousy and all of the sins that caused folks to murder and destroy, but I did not understand killing family.

  “I can’t explain it. I’m just glad it’s over.”

  The bed shook as Pluto jumped up with us. Sweetie Pie lifted her head from the floor and gave a mournful howl. She was adjusting to the cat, who’d entered Dahlia House as if he owned the place and the rest of us were his servants. Typical cat attitude.

  Graf pulled Pluto up to his chest and let him settle there. “He’s a big boy, isn’t he?”

  “Once Dr. Lynne examines him, she’ll put him on a diet.”

  Graf picked up his paws and pretended to make him box. “Oh, no! A kitty diet. Ka-pow. Take that, you calorie restriction!”

  Pluto responded by biting his nose, to my complete amusement. “Pluto is not a cat to make fun of.”

  Pushing Pluto over to me, Graf got out of bed, the morning sun highlighting the perfection of his lean body. He was a joy to behold. A joy to touch. Even though my ribs were sore and my ear funky with glue, I was in a state of bliss. Graf was home with me at Dahlia House.

  “I’m cooking French toast,” Graf said. He’d taken my family recipe and improvised, making it his own.

  “And coffee?”

  “Whatever my darling desires.”

  “Would you pass me the script, please?” I was ready to think about another acting gig. I would never be a Hollywood star, but if the director of the movie could work around that fact, extra acting cash would be welcome. The whole episode at Heart’s Desire would have to be counted as life experience. Since the real Marjorie Littlefield hadn’t hired us, she wasn’t obligated to pay us. I wasn’t the first PI stiffed for a case, though Tammy assured me the real Marjorie Littlefield would generously compensate us for saving her and capturing Chasley.

  Graf handed me the script, kissed my forehead, and went to cook our long-delayed breakfast. It had been such a long time since I’d eaten a real meal that I was no longer hungry.

  I’d just readjusted my pillows when the phone rang. I answered and felt a rush of excitement at Coleman’s hello. “Heart’s Desire is shut down?” I asked.

  “Sure thing. And Lucas Faver has been charged with the murder of his wife. He confessed after Yumi sold him down the river.”

  “Were you able to find out anything about Sherry’s circumstances?”

  “She’s in New Orleans. Brandy is threatening to sue the sheriff’s office, but I removed Sherry, and once Doc took a look at her, he was able to counteract the sedatives she’d been given.”

  “Is she with Bert Steele?” I asked.

  “Check with Cece. She’s in charge of that aspect now. She had to head down to Sin City to take care of some details for the Black and Orange Ball. She told me to remind you that you will attend, even if she has to dress you in an orange jail jumpsuit.”

  I owed Cece that much. “Thanks, Coleman.”

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I am.”

  “Let Graf take care of you,” he said. “A man has to feel needed.”

  I caught the hint of sadness in his voice, but we both knew not to go there. “I will. And thank you, Coleman.”

  “Anything for my favorite girl detective.”

  I hung up and picked up the script. I’d begun to read when I caught the odor of cigarette smoke. Instantly I craved one. No matter how many years passed, the craving was on me at the first whiff of smoke. I peeked over the top of the script and felt my heart squeeze. A thin man in a pin-striped suit and fedora stood at my window, smoking a cigarette.

  The hair on Pluto’s back stood on end.

  It wasn’t until Jitty turned her profile that I realized who she was. I hated to say it, but she was stunning in a man’s suit and hat.

  “I can stand a certain amount of trouble,” she said in a gruff tone, then added in her own voice, “but you’ve given me more than my share.”

  “Oh, please. You thrive on trouble. You were all over Heart’s Desire. Just think, if I never took a case, you’d never have reason to leave Dahlia House.”

  “Take my advice, sugar, keep that fancy butt in your comfy bed and please our man.”

  I frowned. She was speaking a weird combination of Sam Spade and herself. “I don’t plan to move a muscle for the foreseeable future.”

  Jitty threw off the hat and shook her hair free. “You are sittin’ in the catbird seat, aren’t you? Got your man in the kitchen cookin’ for you, got your hound asleep on the floor, and your cat on the pillow.”

  “And my ghost aggravating the snot out of me.” But I grinned to take away the sting. I was glad to see Jitty. Glad to be home. Glad that Graf and I had patched things up and the road ahead was dotted only with joyous events like marriage, children, picnics at Dahlia House, and ultimately, the family cemetery where all my loved ones waited. Life could never be long enough, but mine was certainly sweet.

  “How long will Graf be home?” Jitty asked.

  I’d failed to ask. “Until he has to go back to Hollywood. I don’t want to know.”

  “And your next case?” she pressed.

  I shrugged, which made Pluto put a warning paw on my thigh. He did not like to be disturbed when he was snoozing.

  “Maybe the criminals will take a sabbatical,” she said.

  “Maybe.” I couldn’t help but devil her. “Unlikely but maybe. Too many secrets in the world for crime to vacation.”

  She pulled on her hat. “I know that, sweet thing. Everybody has something to conceal.”

  Acknowledgments

  A book takes such a long time to write that many people have a helpful finger in the pie before it’s baked. I want to thank the usual suspects: my wonderful agent, Marian Young; my editors, Kelley Ragland and Matt Martz, and the entire editing team at St. Martin’s Minotaur; and Hiro Kimura, whose covers capture the fun element of the books.

  Suzann Ledbetter kept a sharp pencil when she read the manuscript, along with Kathy Bergold and others. The people who read my books are an amazing resource. They often provide near-instantaneous answers to any questions I have about my own work. Amazing.

  Each book is a different journey. Some are easier than others, and all of the stories surprise me. This is the joy of writing. With each book, the characters reveal more of themselves to me. Tinkie has grown and changed in ways I didn’t imagine when penning Them Bones. And Jitty—that ghost truly has a mind of her own.

  For those of you on Facebook, please join the sassy ladies (and gentlemen) on the Caro
lyn Haines fan page. There is always mischief afoot.

  You can sign up for my newsletter on my Web site: www.carolynhaines.com. We’re planning another Daddy’s Girl Weekend. Since no one was arrested at the last one, we feel confident to do it again. The newsletter is the best place to keep up with our plans.

  And finally, I want to thank the booksellers who have hand-sold my books. Booksellers and readers who personally recommend my books to patrons, friends, and family have my total gratitude.

  ALSO BY CAROLYN HAINES

  SARAH BOOTH DELANEY MYSTERIES

  Bones of a Feather

  Bone Appétit

  Greedy Bones

  Wishbones

  Ham Bones

  Bones to Pick

  Hallowed Bones

  Crossed Bones

  Splintered Bones

  Buried Bones

  Them Bones

  NOVELS

  Revenant

  Fever Moon

  Penumbra

  Judas Burning

  Touched

  Summer of the Redeemers

  Summer of Fear

  NONFICTION

  My Mother’s Witness: The Peggy Morgan Story

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  BONEFIRE OF THE VANITIES. Copyright © 2012 by Carolyn Haines. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  www.minotaurbooks.com

  Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein

  Cover illustration by Hiro Kimura