Ham Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  “Thank you, Gordon.” All of my anger dissipated in a puff of cold wind. I was left shaking. “I never considered that I was violating my bail. Tinkie and I were trying to solve the case.”

  He nodded. “Sarah Booth, Coleman knows that. He sent me here to warn you not to leave the county again.”

  “He should never have charged me in the first place.” I put my cards on the table. “He knows I’d never hurt anyone. Not even Renata Trovaioli.”

  “You’re the best suspect and the person charged. He has to hold you to the letter of the law, Sarah Booth. Surely you can see that?” He was almost pleading.

  “No. I don’t see it.” My anger had returned. “I don’t see it at all. How can he charge me with a crime he knows I didn’t commit? That’s just wrong and you know it.”

  Gordon looked to Tinkie for help. “If he hadn’t charged you, everyone in town would have gone around whispering behind your back. Because folks know how he feels about you, there would never have been an end to the suspicions and whispers. It would have been that Coleman let you get away with murder for the rest of your life. He didn’t want that for you. He knew that would have driven you out of town and away from him.”

  Tinkie put her perfectly manicured hand up to her mouth. “Oh, my God. That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Stop melting!” I gave my full attention to Gordon. “He sent you here to tell me all of that?” I was so mad that my voice trembled. “He should have told me himself, the coward.”

  Gordon stepped back against the blast of my fury. “Of course he didn’t send me here to tell you that. Are you insane?” He held up a hand. “Don’t answer that!”

  “Sarah Booth, what in the world is wrong with you?” Tinkie put a restraining hand on my arm. “Gordon is trying to help, and you attack him.”

  “Why didn’t Coleman come to tell me that himself?” I thought something in my chest was going to split. My heart. It was breaking.

  “I’m handling the case,” Gordon said. “That’s why I’m here.”

  I tried hard to draw a deep breath, but it was impossible. My head was spinning and now Tinkie’s restraining hand became one of support as she felt me wobble.

  I sought a sensible question and finally found one. “How did you know about Memphis?”

  Gordon didn’t bat an eye. “Dewayne followed you. We figured you were going to the cosmetic shop, but we had to be sure.”

  I’d never seen the tail—because I hadn’t expected one.

  “Have you spoken with the owner of La Burnisco?” Tinkie was working the case instead of nursing hurt feelings.

  Gordon nodded. “I was there yesterday. They claim to know nothing about Renata Trovaioli’s lipstick. The owner said she’d never had an older man working for her, not even in a part-time capacity.”

  Which was exactly the same thing Tinkie and I had discovered, but a new flush of anger took me at the thought that Gordon hadn’t done better than I had at grilling the blonde. “You believed her?”

  Gordon gave me a look that made me realize I’d hurt his feelings again. “I didn’t believe or disbelieve her, Sarah Booth. What she said runs counter to your statement, but there has to be an explanation that doesn’t involve you putting cyanide in a tube of lipstick. You obviously got the lipstick somewhere, so why would you make up a place that actually exists and could be checked?”

  “I’m sorry, Gordon.” It was my turn to blush.

  “They have a book at La Burnisco. Every person who buys cosmetics signs the book.” He never dropped his gaze. “Your name wasn’t there.”

  “But I signed it. The old man insisted. I told him the lipstick wasn’t even for me, that I was just picking it up, but he insisted that I sign it.” This was getting crazier with each new twist.

  “Do you remember any other names on the book?”

  “I signed at the top of a blank page. There weren’t any other names.” I knew then the old man was part of an elaborate frame. How did he get in the shop, though, without the blond barracuda’s knowledge? “I bought that lipstick at La Burnisco from an old man who looked like Ebenezer Scrooge.” I had a recurring flash—and not a hot one. “My credit card will show the purchase!”

  Gordon shook his head. “We’ve checked that already. There’s no charge for lipstick from La Burnisco on your card, Sarah Booth.”

  “But that’s impossible!” I turned to Tinkie. “I gave Graf the slip with the charge on it to give to Renata so I could be reimbursed. The stupid lipstick was a hundred and fifty dollars!”

  “I know you gave Renata the lipstick, but I never got the charge fee. Renata told me before you came back from Memphis that she would personally take care of reimbursing you.”

  I couldn’t believe this. The charge had to be on my credit card. The old man had run my card—I’d watched him. “Was there a receipt in Renata’s things?”

  “No.” Gordon spoke softly. “That’s not even the worst of it, Sarah Booth.”

  “Oh, shit.” I needed a drink and sofa to fall onto. “Come inside.” They followed me into the house, and I went straight to the cut-glass decanters on the sideboard in the parlor. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flicker of movement in the dining room and knew Jitty was listening in. I poured a drink for me and Tinkie and offered Gordon some iced tea. When we were all seated, I nodded for him to tell me the rest.

  “We went to Sheffield’s Feed Store.”

  His pause was dramatic and I motioned him to continue. Sheffield’s was where I bought Reveler’s grain. Neil “Bad Boy” Sheffield owned the store. I’d known him since high school, when he’d taught me how to dirty-dance. He was an irresistible charmer who made me feel like a million dollars even when I went in the store wearing paddock boots and cut-off shorts, an ensemble guaranteed to make Tinkie’s well-groomed hair stand on end.

  “The clerk there, Nancy Bulgarelli, said you were in the store last week trying to buy poison. Said you needed it for raccoons in your feed room.”

  My perplexity must have shown on my face because Gordon waved a hand. “The problem is that Nancy has no reason to lie.”

  “I don’t have raccoons in the feed room and even if I did, I wouldn’t poison them.”

  “Sarah Booth would never hurt an animal.” Tinkie was incensed at the suggestion. “That’s the biggest tub of hog slops I’ve ever seen.”

  When Tinkie gets to talking about hog slops, things are on a dangerous slide. “Why would Nancy tell such a whopper?” I asked the question aloud, but it was mainly for my consumption. Nancy was a fifteen-year-old high-schooler with big blue eyes, a lingerie model’s figure, dimples, and a ninth-grader’s obsession with boys, but she was a sweet kid.

  “She admits she didn’t get a good look at you. She was stocking shelves on a ladder. She said you came in wearing a big gardening hat, went behind the aisle with the insecticides, and asked about strychnine pellets.”

  “I never did any such thing.” I swirled the ice cubes in my drink. “I’m beginning to see a definite pattern here, and it reeks of a setup. The person who really killed Renata has been working for at least a week to pin this on me.”

  Gordon rose and handed me the empty tea glass. “That’s exactly what I think, Sarah Booth. The problem is we have to prove it, and Nancy won’t budge off her story.”

  “If she didn’t get a clear view of me, why does she think it was me?” I’d have a talk with Nancy. She worked afternoons, and she’d be at the store the next day. I wouldn’t have to leave Sunflower County to find her.

  “She said you mentioned Reveler and that you left your phone number for Neil to call you when he got back from picking up feed in Clarksdale.”

  Up until that point, everything Gordon had said had served to anger me. When Reveler was mentioned, I felt as if someone had opened the door on a freezer and blasted me with icy air. Tinkie felt it, too. She slowly stood, her face so pale that her coral lipstick looked too dark.

  “Whoever is doing
this to Sarah Booth knows way too much about her life.”

  “Who might that be?” Gordon asked.

  I thought of the people who might hate me, and there were a few names on the list, but none of those people would think to kill Renata and pin it on me. Except for someone in the acting company.

  I looked at Tinkie and her mouth silently formed the word “Graf.” Neither of us spoke it, though. “I don’t know,” I said. Meaning that even if I suspected Graf I wasn’t going to say so.

  “Coleman has made a list, and Graf Milieu is at the top of the list. Of course, he can’t openly pursue that, Sarah Booth, because you’ve made it obvious that you have feelings for Graf and folks are already talking. To try to shift the focus to him would have folks saying Coleman is protecting you and trying to get rid of his competition.”

  “So what if that’s what folks say?” I’d never known Coleman to flinch before public opinion. He did what was right, not what was popular.

  “It’s not for him, Sarah Booth. He’s looking out for you. You’re the one who’ll have to live with the outcome of all of this.”

  Tinkie came over and put her arm around my waist. “He’s right, you know. Coleman’s playing it by the book so that no one will ever be able to say you did it and got away with it.”

  That was cold comfort.

  The Club’s auditorium was filled to capacity, and at least fifty unticketed people were standing outside, hoping for admittance. Keith was beside himself with glee, and he was running all around the auditorium acting very much like a Nazi commandant.

  “Sarah Booth! Sarah Booth!” He screamed my name as if he didn’t know exactly where I was.

  Bobbe finished blotting my makeup, and I started to slip from the chair when she touched my shoulder. “I need to talk to you.”

  The look in her eyes told me she was afraid of something. “After the show?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Don’t tell anyone.”

  “Okay.” I wanted to question her more, but the makeup room door flew open, and Keith stood there, panting.

  “A reporter from New York is in the audience. He wants to talk to you after the show.”

  I glanced at Bobbe and saw her face fall. “I have a commitment already.”

  “Sarah Booth, it’s Broadway Bound. You have to do the interview.”

  He looked so desperate. “Keith, you’ve had Broadway hits, why is this so important?”

  “Just do it, please.”

  “Fifteen minutes. That’s all I have.” Bobbe gave me a nod of agreement before she slipped from the room.

  “I didn’t want to say in front of Bobbe, but this whole thing with Renata’s murder and all has created such publicity.” Keith ran a hand through his thinning hair. “I’ve gotten calls from London and Tokyo and even Sydney. It’s becoming an international incident. If they don’t put you in prison, you’ll be a huge star, and I’m the one who discovered you! My career will soar!”

  “Thanks, Keith. Glad to know I got here on Renata’s corpse.” I brushed past him and went to the wings to take my place. Somehow, all of the glamour had evaporated from being on stage. Now, it was really going to be work to put on a performance.

  I made it to the final curtain with a pounding headache, and when Keith showed up backstage with a rotund little man with a tape recorder and notepad, I gave the interview, running through my routine denials of guilt in Renata’s death. At last, though, I walked back to the dressing room to find Bobbe.

  She was sitting in her makeup chair, tears running silently down her cheeks. When I closed the door firmly behind me, she turned to face me.

  “All I ever wanted was to be at home with my family. That isn’t a crime.”

  “Certainly not.”

  “We had an argument the morning she died. Several people heard it. I knew she’d screwed up the job at ABC for me, and I let her have it.”

  I took a seat on the stool that was normally her seat. “I shouldn’t have to point out that I’m the one charged with Renata’s murder, not you. You don’t have a reason to cry.”

  “As soon as they figure out you didn’t do it, I’ll be the prime suspect.”

  Bobbe was a beautiful girl, who looked as if she should be in front of the cameras, not backstage. I watched as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. “The sheriff will look at everyone, but it’s becoming clearer and clearer to me, Bobbe, that someone in this company did kill Renata. Graf saw you coming out of her dressing room right before the fatal intermission. He hasn’t told the sheriff, but he will.” Especially if the heat was turned up on him.

  She turned away. “I didn’t kill her, but I sure as hell wanted her dead.”

  “Well, that’s not a crime. Everyone who worked with her wanted her dead.” That wasn’t an overdramatization, either.

  “I put that lipstick on her lips.” She faced the makeup table and picked up a tray of lipsticks. “You know, I thought it was such a lovely shade that I was tempted to try it on myself.”

  “Thank God you didn’t!” The idea was appalling.

  “My fingerprints are on the tube. Once they figure you didn’t do it, how long will it be before I’m in the crosshairs.” She sobbed. “I don’t have friends down here. I don’t have money for a lawyer. What will I do?”

  I put my arm around her. She’d been on the road with the show for nearly thirty-six weeks without a break to go home. As I patted her back, I slid my cell phone from my pocket. “What’s your home number?”

  “You can’t call Danny!” She grabbed at the phone, knocking it to the floor.

  “What’s wrong?” I was more surprised than anything else. She obviously missed her husband and child, and I was only going to call them down here to be at her side during a crisis.

  “Don’t get Danny down here. If he starts drinking and running his mouth, he’ll only make it worse.”

  I nodded, understanding at last that life with a rock star could sometimes be rocky.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Promise me that if I am accused, you’ll take the case and prove me innocent. I’ll pay you, somehow.”

  “Don’t worry about the money, Bobbe. If you’re charged, Tinkie and I will do all we can for you.”

  Her smile was tentative. “God, why couldn’t you have been with the show all the time? That stupid bitch made it so much harder than it had to be. I hate her. I’m glad she’s dead.”

  And though Bobbe’s smile was warm, my heart felt a sudden chill.

  Chapter 9

  Dahlia House was cold and foreboding, as if the weather reflected the condition of my heart. What should have been a week of triumph left the taste of ashes in my mouth. I was good. Damn good, on the stage. I sipped my celebratory Jack Daniel’s and listened to the merry tinkle of my ice. Though the fire in the parlor fireplace crackled brightly and I’d turned on every light in the downstairs, nothing could block the fact that I celebrated alone.

  Hamilton would have carpeted the floor with rose petals for my arrival.

  Harold would have gently sucked my thumb and ignited the twinkle lights that set my heart aflutter.

  Scott Hampton would have penned a blues song about my performance as Maggie the Cat.

  The faces of the men from my past swept before my closed eyelids like an album of dead possibilities.

  I’d settled on Coleman. I’d let his Dudley Do-Right attitude and unspoken promises lure me into love. I’d checked the answering machine before I made a drink. There was no call from him, no word on Connie. He was as alone as I was—and it served him right!

  Though it would have been a sacrifice, I would have given up the stage to be with him during his time of strife. Nobody said it better than David Allen Coe. If Coleman’s needs were great, I would’ve lain with him in a field of stone.

  What he didn’t understand was that I had needs, too. Success brought its own share of gnawing anxieties. Either Coleman didn’t realize it, or he didn’t care. A dream that’d been nurtured, w
orked toward, and brutally battered, had finally come true for me. I needed someone to share the success. God, I needed his arms around me to anchor me to Dahlia House and Zinnia and Sunflower County, because I felt myself beginning to slip away just like Jitty faded.

  In my mind, I could clearly see a house on the Pacific bluffs, surf pounding against the rocks, the perfect weather warming my face. Reveler stood in a beautiful barn, un-bothered by flies and mosquitoes or humidity. Sweetie sniffed the ground around the small farm, happy to be a California hound. With her ears, she’d be a natural at surfing.

  It could happen, and the images tantalized me with possibilities.

  Around me was the home I’d known as a child. My New Year’s resolution was to give up the past. At first, I’d viewed my dream to be an actress as the past I was meant to leave behind, but what if it was this older past, this past of ancestors and wood worn smooth by the steps of dead generations? What if ...

  “Jitty?” I called her, knowing she wasn’t a ghost who answered summons. I needed her, though. I needed someone.

  “Jitty!”

  A shimmer of light floated into the parlor and Jitty materialized in black widow’s weeds. A heavy veil covered her face, and I couldn’t see the expression in her eyes.

  “Who died?” I asked.

  She lifted the veil, and the gentlest smile touched her face. “You’ll have to tell me that, Sarah Booth. It could be me.”

  “That’s impossible. You’re already dead.”

  “I’m here only as long as you need me.”

  I’d never considered that Jitty’s existence was so strongly linked with my own destiny. Actually, it was too terrifying to think about, but I had to ask.

  “If I left Dahlia House, would you stay here?”

  “All alone, in an empty house? What would be the fun of that?” she asked.

  “This is your home.” I almost choked on the word, overcome by a wave of sadness that body-slammed me.

  “Four walls and a roof don’t make a home, Sarah Booth. I’m here because of you.”