Bones To Pick

by Carolyn Haines

  “Suits me,” Dewayne said. “Lot less paperwork if all of this fades quietly away.”

  “We’ll handle it,” I assured him.

  He opened the back door of the patrol car and stepped away. And just in time. Tinkie hurled herself out of the car, grabbing at him.

  I stepped in front of her. “Tinkie, don’t make me call your daddy.”

  For most women, but especially a Daddy’s Girl, the threat of calling Daddy is the biggest switch of all. Tinkie halted in her tracks. She wobbled unsteadily, and I didn’t offer a hand. She had to make up her own mind without anyone touching her or trying to coddle her.

  “Mind your own business,” she slurred, but there was no fire behind her words.

  “I’ll take you to Dahlia House, and you can sleep it off.” I held her weaving gaze. “Or I can call your daddy to come and take you home with him.”

  She did the best about-face she could manage while tottering and lurched to the roadster and got in the passenger seat. She promptly opened the door and threw up all over the ground.

  “At least she had the presence of mind to open the door,” Cece said, one hand on her hip. “Now, Dewayne, who are the women pressing charges?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Marilyn Jenkins and Lorilee Brewer. It seems Tinkie threw a drink on them.” He shook his head wearily. “I wish Coleman was back at work.”

  I opened my mouth to echo his sentiments, but Cece cut me short.

  “Don’t worry, Dewayne, everything is under control.” Cece gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Remember, get her to drink a Bloody Mary with a raw egg in it. That’ll make her feel a whole lot better.”

  “Or give her salmonella.” I had no desire to see the offering of a raw egg returned to me.

  “Well, at this point salmonella would feel better than the hangover she’s going to have in the morning.” Cece turned and sashayed over to her car. “I’m off to visit Marilyn and Lorilee. I intend to catch them before they wash their make-up off and reveal scales. Wish them luck!”

  I walked into The Club and found Bernard sweeping up a mountain of broken glass. I didn’t want to imagine the scene that had occurred there so recently.

  “Bernard, are you okay?”

  He nodded. “Just feelin’ bad for Miss Tinkie.”

  “What happened?”

  “It all started when Miss Tinkie and Oscar got in a terrible fight.” He stopped sweeping and held the broom. “It was my fault.”

  That was impossible. “Why do you say that?”

  “Miss Tinkie came in and started drinking vodka martinis. After the fourth one, I tried to cut her off, but she started making a scene. So I called her husband to come get her. I should’ve minded my own business.”

  “It isn’t your fault, Bernard. Tinkie was primed for a fight with Oscar.”

  “She sure got one. They had it out, and then he left, and those other two women came up and said something smart to Miss Tinkie. She poured her drink on one and grabbed a drink off the bar and tossed it on the other one. Then all hell broke loose.”

  “If it’s any consolation, those women deserved whatever they got.”

  He still looked down. “I know. They were no-count women. They been in here before, complainin’ about everything. After the drink incident, I had to grab one of them and hold her. But that won’t make it any easier on Miss Tinkie.”

  I gave him a hug. “She’ll be fine. Please give Mollie my love.” His wife was the best seamstress in the state and had created my unforgettable gown for the Black and Orange Ball last Halloween.

  “Will do. You take care, and take care of Miss Tinkie.”

  “I promise.”

  When I got to the car, Tinkie was, thank goodness, out cold. I left the windows down as I drove through the clear night. The frigid air didn’t even make her eyelids flutter. When I got to Dahlia House, I was in the process of dragging her up the steps when I heard someone clear a throat. I turned to find Humphrey sitting in one of the rocking chairs.

  “Need some help?” he asked.

  “No, I think I’ll just leave her out here on the steps.” Tinkie was a petite woman, but she was deadweight. I was struggling, and he had to ask if I needed help.

  He laughed. “It might be easier to leave her there for several reasons. You can hose the steps down afterward.”

  “If you’re going to sit there and crack wise, you can leave.” I lugged her limp body up another step. At the rate I was going, it would be dawn before I got her inside.

  He sauntered over. “Allow me.” He lifted her in his arms and carried her inside.

  “Put her on the sofa,” I said, trailing behind.

  He did and stepped back. “She smells like a distillery, with a back note of something distinctly unpleasant.”

  “I know.” I got some warm, soapy water and a washcloth from the downstairs bathroom and set about bathing her face. Behind me, I heard the tinkle of ice and the splash of liquor. Humphrey appeared at my elbow with a Jack on the rocks.

  “For you. A little hair of the dog that bit her.”

  I rocked back on my heels and took the drink. Tinkie looked awful, and it was only a prelude to what she was going to feel in the morning. “I should call her husband. And her father.”

  Humphrey put a hand on my shoulder. “No, you shouldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Tinkie is a grown woman. She shouldn’t have to report to any man. Not her father or her husband. Secondly, you can’t patch up her marriage, no matter how much you may want to, Sarah Booth. If Tinkie wants to see her husband, she’ll have to call him. The hardest lesson in being a parent or a friend is to step back and let folks learn the lessons they need to learn.”

  I was amazed. “How much money did all that knowledge cost you?”

  “I haven’t been in therapy. I learned this from personal experience.” Humphrey perched on the arm of the sofa. He took an ice cube from his glass and held it to Tinkie’s lips. “My parents rushed to get me out of every fix I got into. If they’d left me alone, I would have had to grow up.”

  “Tinkie is grown.” I watched with fascination as he ministered to Tinkie. She’d actually parted her lips to accept the ice.

  “If you truly believe she’s grown, then you trust her to choose what’s right for her.”

  I closed my eyes and sipped my drink. He was right, damn him. “Okay.”

  “Let’s go out on the porch and talk.”

  I followed him out into the night. The sky was a dull black velvet sprinkled with the winkings of a million stars. I stood near the balustrade and felt his arms circle me. He pulled me back into his chest and wrapped his arms around me.

  “You’re shivering.”

  “It’s thirty-something degrees.”

  “Are you sure it’s not anticipation?”

  I smiled. Humphrey had the ego of the accomplished lover. “It’s not anticipation. I’m exhausted. And worried. And longing for something that can’t be.”

  “And honest. Maybe too honest.” He held me close. “You’re more than a conquest, Sarah Booth. You might be the woman who makes me grow up.”

  Staring into the night, I felt only sadness. “I’d stay a child if I were you. It’s a far better gig than being a grownup.”

  He laughed, and the touch of his warm breath near my ear made me realize how lonely I was. I stepped from his arms and turned to face him. “Thank you for your help tonight.”

  “I’m being dismissed.” In the soft moonlight, his face showed no anger.

  I touched his cheek. “I need a friend. And you’ve been that.”

  “How about we skip the serious relationship and go straight for the kinky sex?”

  I kissed his cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  He went down the steps. “I’m not giving up. I know there’s something in my bag of tricks that will turn you on.”

  I blew him a kiss and walked into the house and the very unladylike snoring of my partner.

>   “Oh, God, I’m dying!”

  I put the water in the coffeepot and ignored Tinkie’s howling. She had come to at about six o’clock, with a roiling stomach and her head pounding against an anvil. She’d refused the glass of water and buttered toast I’d offered her. In another few moments she’d be on her knees in the bathroom.

  As the coffee began to perk, I heard the bathroom door slam. I made some fresh toast and poured a glass of orange juice. After a little while, I took them to her.

  She sat pale and shaky on the old horsehair sofa. Her hand trembled as she took the toast. “I think I might die.”

  “No chance of that. You’ll recover.”

  “I have this vague memory of glass breaking.”

  “Good. When you get the bill from The Club, you won’t deny the wreckage.”

  Her face screwed up, and I got some aspirin. She swallowed them down without complaint.

  “Cece is talking to Marilyn and Lorilee on your behalf,” I told her.

  “Good.” She ate a little more toast. “I owe you an apology.”

  “Not me. Oscar maybe, and a half dozen other people, but not me.”

  “No, I put you in the middle of my marriage. That’s not something you do to a friend. I’m sorry, Sarah Booth.”

  “I’m sorry you’re hurting, Tink. But I know Oscar loves you. And you love him. Remember, the past is a nice place to visit, but it isn’t where you want to linger. You have to let it go.”

  Her jaw set in a stubborn line. “You make it sound so easy.”

  I knelt beside her. “Tinkie, of all the people in the world, I’m the last one to preach to you. I’m haunted by the past. That’s why I know it’s so important to let it go.” I patted her knee. “Or you could end up like me.”

  The doorbell rang, and Tinkie burrowed against the arm of the sofa. “If it’s Oscar, tell him I died.”

  I chuckled softly as I opened the door to Cece. She was ravishing in a black slack suit with a faux fur–collared vest embroidered with gold. Her stiletto boots clicked across the floor as she unerringly zoned in on Tinkie.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t the vandal of high society.” She tapped her toe, completely unsympathetic to Tinkie’s sorry state.

  “Go away,” Tinkie croaked.

  “I’m here for an interview. And to think, I turned down working for a really big newspaper in New Orleans so I could interview my friend about a drunken hair-pulling in Zinnia, Mississippi.”

  Tinkie forced herself upright. “If I recall, it was only a few weeks ago that I stood by you when you tackled a supermodel in the middle of the biggest high-society ball in the Southeast.”

  Cece grinned, her perfect white teeth glistening in the dim morning light. “How true, dahling. Birds of a feather and all that.” She sat on the sofa. “Gather round. I had the most interesting night. I almost came over here, but I feared one of you was sleeping it off and the other was merely sleeping.”

  “What happened?” I knew she’d been with Marilyn and Lorilee, respectively. It must have been a grueling night, but if Cece had gone without sleep, I couldn’t tell it.

  “Lorilee was the bitch I’ve known for years, but Marilyn. . .” She tapped her finger on the sofa arm. “Marilyn was very informative. Were you aware that Lorilee’s husband, Charles, was arrested last year for attempted murder?”

  Tinkie and I shook our heads. “No.” We were all ears.

  “It’s a rather strange and bizarre story and follows closely on the heels of Lorilee’s lust for the weed-eater boy.”

  Cece, knowing she held her audience captive, looked around. “A Bloody Mary would be nice.”

  I made three and forced one into Tinkie’s hand. It was minus the raw egg, but I thought it might revive her. “Now tell us,” I demanded of Cece.

  “About three weeks after Charlie caught Lorilee with the boy, Lorilee was out in her yard, running the weed eater.” She smiled. “Poetic justice, isn’t it?”

  I made a threatening gesture.

  “Okay, okay. Lorilee was weed eating around the garage when the lawn tractor suddenly shot out of the garage, riderless, and nearly ran her down. Because of the noise of the weed eater, Lorilee didn’t hear the tractor until it was almost on her. The only thing that saved her was a faucet. The tractor hit it and was diverted at the last minute.”

  “The tractor started on its own?” I found this too strange.

  “Spontaneous starting?” Cece was having way too much fun. “I’ve heard of that when people live under high-voltage power lines.

  “Death by mower.” Tinkie was at last smiling. “Now that would have been a real mess. Talk about compost.”

  “That’s disgusting.” But I couldn’t help laughing. “But even if the mower started by itself, how did it get gas?”

  Cece had the answer. “I checked out the police report in their hometown. It appears the gas pedal was stuck at full throttle. If the damn thing had hit Lorilee, it would have flattened her and kept on going.”

  “Spontaneous starting and a conveniently stuck gas pedal? I’m just not buying that this was accidental.”

  “Hence the fact that Charlie was charged with attempted murder,” Cece reminded us. “Lorilee dropped the charges when there were no fingerprints found on the mower. None. Not even hers.”

  “And the police let it go after that?”

  Cece nodded. “I’m certain they felt it was all set up by Lorilee in an attempt to put Charlie on the defensive if he sued her for divorce.”

  “That’s too crazy even for Lorilee.” I looked at Tinkie.

  “Do you think there was—” Tinkie was cut short.

  “A note?” Cece finished. “Absolutely. That’s why Lorilee charged her husband with attempted murder. She had written evidence that someone had threatened her.”

  “Does Lorilee still have the note?” I asked.

  Cece shook her head. “I’m not sure. Marilyn didn’t know that, but she did know that Quentin had found out about the arrest for attempted murder. Lorilee was livid. Charlie almost divorced Lorilee about the weed-eater boy and the false arrest, but then he backed off. Quentin was just about to drag it all out in the open again.” She grinned. “It would have been the end of Lorilee’s marriage for sure.”

  “And good motive for murder.” Tinkie rose unsteadily to her feet. “I need a shower.”

  “Indeed, you do,” Cece agreed. “While you’re cleaning up a bit, I’m going to make more Bloody Marys.” She grabbed the decanter of vodka and headed to the kitchen, pausing at the door. “By the way, Marilyn and Lorilee have agreed to drop the charges against you. You can thank me later.”

  “How did you do it?” Tinkie asked.

  “I pointed out that I might pick up where Quentin left off and write a second tell-all. They chose not to be a chapter.”

  “I didn’t realize they were that smart,” I said as I got a notepad and followed Cece into the kitchen. While she found celery, olives, and the other ingredients, I made a few notes to myself.

  “Did you know that Genevieve Reynolds received a threatening note, and then her mother was accidentally killed?” I wrote that down.

  “Killed how?”

  “Crushed by books. The note said Genevieve would die under the weight of her own intelligence.”

  Cece stirred the drinks and put them on the table. “May I make some cheese grits?”

  “Go for it.” I listed Marilyn Jenkins’s name. “Marilyn’s mother was killed by falling rocks while she was acting like a slut.”

  I had Cece’s undivided attention. She held the bag of grits in her hand, but she stared at me.

  “The note to Quentin said she would pay for dragging her family’s name through the mud. And now we find out that Lorilee was almost killed, and she received a note, too. We need to find out what it said.”

  Cece put the grits in the pot and turned down the heat before she picked up the telephone and dialed The Gardens’s number. “Lorilee Brewer,” she said in her imperi
ous tone.

  In a moment she continued. “Lorilee, whatever did that note say when you were threatened?”

  There was a pause. “‘Like wheat before the scythe, you will be cut down for your lust.’ Very interesting. Uh-huh, thank you.” She hung up and turned to me. “What’s going on?”

  Tinkie returned looking half-alive. She took the drink Cece had prepared without comment.

  “There’s another death we need to look into.” I glanced at Tinkie. “We need to go to West Memphis. Belinda Loper.”

  “The hairdresser?” Cece was intrigued.

  “Right. We need to find her sister, Jolene.”

  Cece refilled her Bloody Mary from the pitcher she’d made. “So Genevieve Reynolds, Lorilee Brewer, Quentin, and possibly Belinda Loper all received notes? This would make a fabulous story.”

  “And clear Allison,” Tinkie said. The beverage had obviously restored her brain function.

  “But it also means that the killer is still on the loose,” I pointed out just as the doorbell rang.

  We all jumped, and it was Cece who leapt up first and ran to the front door. There was no sign of a person, but a small package had been left on the porch. As we approached, we realized the package was moving.

  Humming, actually.

  “It’s a bomb!” Tinkie grasped our hands and pulled us back into the house. “Call the bomb squad.”

  I looked at her as she slammed and locked the door. “We don’t have a bomb squad.”

  “Then call the sheriff’s department!”

  “Brilliant idea,” Cece agreed, whipping out her cell phone and placing the call.

  Before anyone could stop me, I rushed out the door and kicked the package as hard as I could. If it was a bomb, it wasn’t going to blow up Dahlia House. The package flew across the lawn and landed in the driveway, rattling against the oyster shells.

  We took our positions, peering out the front windows, waiting for help to arrive.

  16

  Within six minutes we saw flashing blue lights headed toward Dahlia House. Acting sheriff Gordon Walters must have jumped in the patrol car and floorboarded it. The glance I shared with Tinkie told me we were both impressed.