“Or a lawman,” Millie threw in. “But here they all come.”
Two cars pulled into the parking lot, and the missing men entered the café to another round of hugs, greetings, and a toast.
Surveying the smiling faces of my friends, I saw the ghosts of the past standing close behind them. My parents, Aunt Loulane, the people who’d loved and cared for me. But I pushed those sad thoughts aside and lifted my mug. “To the best friends ever.”
As we all raised our drinking vessels to toast, the door of the café slammed open so hard the jangling bell fell to the floor. Tinkie gasped as Sister McFee stepped inside. The Wicked Witch of the South’s grand entrance redux, and she eyed Tinkie like she was Toto.
“Well, well, if it isn’t a little celebration, and they’ve let Stinky attend. What’s with you? Have you all gone nose-blind?”
Oscar put his glass down and stepped toward Sister. “Either apologize to my wife or get out.”
“This is a private party,” Millie said. “You should leave.”
“The door was unlocked. If you want privacy, maybe you should lock your door.” Sister sauntered deeper into the room and picked up the bowl of grits I’d been eating. She sniffed it. “Someone loves clogged arteries, don’t they?”
“Leave now, before I arrest you.” Coleman grasped her arm.
“For what? Entering a diner? Oh, please, you might humiliate me by tattling to the tabloids that I set foot in a place like this, but you can’t arrest me.”
“This is a private party. You’re trespassing.” Coleman was deadly serious, and Sister was a fool if she didn’t heed his warning.
Cece pushed her camera in Sister’s face and took at least a dozen photos. She checked the shots. “Very flattering. Have you checked your nose lately? I think I have photographic evidence you’ve been practicing obsequiousness with someone.”
I couldn’t help it; I burst out laughing. “Good one, Cece.”
“What do you want, Frangelica?” Tinkie was the only one to ask the obvious.
“I was checking this dump for a location for my movie, but I can see that if I brought a camera in here, the lens would fog with grease.”
“Making a movie of that awful book that paints your dead brother as a murderer?” Tinkie asked. “The dead brother who can’t defend himself against your unfounded accusations?”
“So you’ve read my book.” Sister grinned. “Like millions of others.”
I put a hand on Tinkie to keep her from jumping the table and tearing Sister’s throat out. The animosity between the two was palpable.
Coleman tightened his grip on Sister and escorted her to the door. When she was outside, he closed and locked the door and closed the blinds. “I took the trash out,” he said to Tinkie, who burst into tears.
“She is just so damn mean,” Tinkie said, wiping her cheeks angrily. “I shouldn’t let her get to me, but she is the meanest person I’ve ever known.”
“She’s pretty mean,” Cece said. Her wicked grin told me she wasn’t above a bit of mischief. “So let’s pay her back in kind.”
“Do you have a plan?” I asked.
“Oh, you bet I do. We’ll plot together at a later date. I think Millie is ready to put the food on the table.”
In ten minutes, we’d brought out the holiday fare from the kitchen, formed a buffet, and filled our plates. Sister and her attitude were forgotten. We laughed and joked and told stories of the past year. Scott rubbed my short—but growing—hair and thanked me and Tinkie again for saving his blues club. Everyone put Oscar’s word, positivity, to good use.
We’d just dug into the pièce de résistance, Millie’s incredible Amaretto chocolate cheesecake, when we heard the sound of a glass-pack muffler or a motorcycle in front of the café. A loud knock followed.
Millie went to the door saying, “We’ll be open to the public at two—” She stopped in midsentence when she saw a tall, very handsome man wearing leather everything. Right behind him was a strikingly beautiful woman, also in black leather.
“Oh, my, god!” Millie squealed. “It’s Marco St. John and his wife, Lorraine. Come in, come in.” Millie ushered them into the room and to the table where Harold pushed forward two more chairs. “Have a seat and join us in a New Year’s Day celebration.”
“Smells delicious,” Marco said. “I love Southern cooking.”
Lorraine walked around the café, examining everything. “This is perfect,” she said. “The light, the ambience . . . It’s the place to bring Cleo alive. It’s the perfect setting. This is a place she’d come and talk about her ideas for Mississippi education. She’d meet with the man on the street. She’d mingle with the real people here. Not at that old mausoleum they call Evermore.”
“Cleo McFee often stopped by for breakfast or coffee and a slice of pie,” Millie said. “She was a lovely woman.”
“Who are those people?” I whispered to Tinkie.
“He’s a movie director. She’s a cinematographer. They’re the hottest film couple in Tinseltown. Oblique, Touched, Fever Moon, Morgan Creek, Dead at Midnight.”
I knew the movies, and they were some of my favorites. “What are they doing in Zinnia?” I asked.
“I’m afraid I know exactly what this is about,” Tinkie said. “It’s Sister’s book, Dead and Gone. They really are making a movie.” She sounded defeated. “I thought it was all a big bluff, but it isn’t. She’s going to have a movie made of her book. How is it possible that someone who is such a bully could be so talented?”
Oscar brought his wife another glass of champagne and gave me a concerned look. I was worried, too.
Marco and Lorraine dug into the holiday food with gusto. The moviemakers were surprisingly open about everything except the name of the movie. “We can’t say,” Marco said. “Once the deal is signed, we’ll tell you everything, because we’re going to need your help.”
While Marco and Lorraine ate, we peppered them with questions. Finally, Marco pushed back from the table. “Thank you for such wonderful food, but I’m here on business. I’m looking for Sarah Booth Delaney.”
I raised my hand. “Here.”
“May I have a word with you? Outside?”
I followed him out the door to a buzz of speculation. When the door closed, Marco leaned against the café wall. “I want to hire you to find out what really happened to Son McFee and his mother, Cleo.”
“Hire me?”
“Are you deaf?” He wasn’t being mean. He really thought I had a hearing problem.
“No, I’m not deaf, but why hire me?”
“You’ve read Frangelica’s book?”
I rolled my eyes. “No. But you can bet it’s a pack of lies.”
“Exactly. I’m making a movie of what happened based on the book. But I have a hunch there’s more to this story. I want to prove what happened to cause the accident, and to find out, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what happened to Son McFee.”
“You’re really interested in the truth?” I asked.
“Lorraine and I have our suspicions, but we want the truth. And I’m very serious.” He brought out his wallet and withdrew a personal check for ten thousand dollars. “This is a retainer,” he said. “I’ll hire you as a location scout for the movie so that will give you access to everyone and everything.” He pulled the check back. “But this could be dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” I realized I did sound deaf. “I mean, this is a cold case. Do you really think there’s danger?”
“Someone damaged one of Lorraine’s cameras. It was deliberate sabotage.”
“Okay.”
“For some reason, it’s very important to Colin and Sister McFee to make Son a villain. My experience as a filmmaker tells me that when someone promotes one and only one version of an unproved truth, there’s a reason for it. Colin has a lot to lose, and something tells me he isn’t the kind of man to go down without a fight. Are you still interested?”
This was a case I wanted. I hadn’t been close wit
h Son in college. He was a year or so older than me, but he’d always been pleasant. Where Sister was a total B, Son had been funny and kind. It might be true that Son was drunk or on drugs and lost control of the car. But right at the entrance to the Sunflower River Bridge? It didn’t feel right. It never had.
“Let me talk to my partner,” I said.
“Yes, we need Mrs. Richmond on board. Tell her I’ll give you both walk-on parts.”
“She’d love that.” Maybe Marco could cheer up my friend with a chance to be in a movie. It would be the best revenge ever against meanie Sister. “Let me ask her. I’ll be right back.”
Five minutes later, Delaney Detective Agency was on the payroll of Black Tar Productions. The new year was off to an auspicious start.
About the Author
Author photo © Norma Beardon
CAROLYN HAINES is the author of the Sarah Booth Delaney mysteries. She is the recipient of both the Harper Lee Distinguished Writing Award and the Richard Wright Award for Literary Excellence. Born and raised in Mississippi, she now lives in Semmes, Alabama, on a farm with more dogs, cats, and horses than she can possibly keep track of.
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Also by Carolyn Haines
Sarah Booth Delaney Mysteries
Rock-a-Bye Bones
Bone to Be Wild
Booty Bones
Smarty Bones
Bonefire of the Vanities
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
The Book of Beloved
Revenant
Fever Moon
Penumbra
Judas Burning
Touched
Summer of the Redeemers
Summer of Fear
Nonfiction
My Mother’s Witness: The Peggy Morgan Story
As R. B. Chesterton
The Darkling
The Seeker
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Begin Reading
Sticks and Bones Excerpt
About the Author
Also by Carolyn Haines
Copyright Page
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.
GURU BONES. Copyright © 2017 by Carolyn Haines. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover credit: Hira Kimura
e-ISBN 9781250138484
First Edition: March 2017
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