Bones To Pick

by Carolyn Haines

  “Nothing like seeing the boys in brown jump to it,” Cece drawled. None of us made a move as the patrol car skidded to a halt ten feet from the package, which I now noticed was pink and wrapped with a red bow. I suddenly had a very bad feeling.

  “My, my,” Cece said as Coleman Peters stepped out of the car and walked toward the package.

  I unlocked the door and yanked it open. My bare feet slapped across the porch as I ran toward Coleman. “No! Don’t touch it!” I yelled.

  “My God, she thinks he’ll be hurt,” Tinkie cried, and I heard her running after me. Halfway across the lawn, I felt her arms tangle in my legs as she tackled me with a flying leap. I went down with a hu-ff-ff.

  “Don’t move!” Coleman ordered just as Gordon and Dewayne drove up in a second car. Gordon was wearing what looked to be a catcher’s outfit covered by a Kevlar vest.

  “Stand back, Sheriff,” Dewayne said. “I’m equipped to handle it.” He bypassed everyone and ran to the box.

  He stared at it, bending closer. “It’s not ticking. It’s humming.”

  I swallowed and made no effort to dislodge my legs from Tinkie’s grasp. We both lay in the grass, she in her attire from the night before and I in my flannel pajamas. I put my face down in the winter-dry blades and prayed that the ground would swallow me up.

  “Just a minute here,” Gordon said, tearing off the bow. “If this is what I think it is.” He lifted the box lid, pushed aside the layers of tissue paper, and pulled out a humming vibrator. It was very lifelike.

  “Good lord,” Coleman said.

  “It’s the Elvis,” Cece screamed, rushing over to it. “Watch.” She hit another button, and the vibrator began to gyrate.

  Cece pointed it at me with an accusatory glare. “You always had a thing for Elvis.”

  With as much dignity as I could manage, I said, “That does not belong to me.”

  Coleman’s blue gaze raked over me, and though I wanted to cringe, I didn’t. I wasn’t responsible for the things left on my porch.

  “There’s a note,” Cece said.

  I wanted to beg her to shut up, but I merely arched my left eyebrow.

  “It’s handwritten, and it says, ‘Warm up with The King; I’ll be by later tonight.’” Cece looked at me. “It’s signed Humphrey.”

  “Humphrey Tatum?” Coleman asked.

  “He has a thing for Sarah Booth,” Tinkie said softly. “He just won’t give it up.” She assisted me to my feet.

  I couldn’t speak. My tongue was paralyzed. I could only look at Coleman and wonder why he hadn’t called me. Not even once. And here he was back in town and back in uniform.

  “I guess the bomb scare is over,” Coleman said. He cast one unreadable look my way, walked to his car, and got in.

  Unable to do anything else, I stood frozen. He was leaving.

  Tinkie edged past me and walked to the patrol car. She lowered her head to speak directly to him, but her voice carried back to me.

  “What in the hell is wrong with you?” she asked him. “Are you in town, or are you moving?”

  He gazed straight out the front window, ignoring me. “I don’t know,” he answered. “That’s the whole problem. I don’t know what to do.” He stepped on the gas and shot down the shell drive, the faintest wisp of dust trailing after him.

  Cece still held Elvis as she walked over and put an arm around me. “This is a very expensive model,” she said, handing it off to me. “Whatever else you say about Humphrey, he gives top-of-the-line gifts.”

  “Right,” I said as the Elvis jerked in my hand. “Right.”

  Tinkie put her arm around me and gave me a squeeze. “I need to get home. Sarah Booth, we’ll head to West Memphis after the reading of the will and lunch. That is if you aren’t ... busy.” She winked at me.

  “That’s uncalled for.”

  “Where’s my car?” She turned around in the driveway, ignoring me.

  “At The Club,” Cece said. “I’ll take you to retrieve it. I have to get to the paper. After all, dahling, I’m on deadline.”

  Since no one wanted to stay and talk with me about Coleman’s odd behavior, I got a shower, dressed, and went to the jail to visit Allison. There was an ulterior motive: Coleman was bound to be in his office.

  But, of course, he wasn’t, and Dewayne would barely meet my gaze when I walked in.

  “Where’s Coleman?”

  “Had some business to finish up,” Dewayne said to his boots.

  “Where?”

  “Didn’t say.”

  “When will he be back?”

  “Didn’t say that, either.”

  I could see Dewayne had no intention of being helpful, so I pushed it. “Where’s Connie?”

  “Connie?”

  He could act like he didn’t know the sheriff’s wife, but I knew better. I arched both eyebrows and waited.

  “He didn’t—”

  “Say,” I finished for him. “I need to see Allison.”

  He seemed relieved to unlock the door to the jail, and as soon as I stepped through, he slammed and locked it behind me. Dewayne was taking no chances.

  Allison perked up as soon as she saw me. “Humphrey said you’d uncovered some leads.” Her face betrayed her hope. It was interesting to see that Humphrey was attempting to comfort her, even if it was with mostly false hope.

  “I need to ask you about the notes Quentin received, and I had these photos printed up from some disks I found at your cottage.” I handed her the pictures of their wedding preparations.

  She gave a little cry as she realized what they were and sank down to the floor of her cell to hungrily look at them.

  Since I wasn’t in a hurry, I watched her flip through them twice, stopping to study certain pictures as tears dripped off her chin.

  “I miss her,” she said, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. “When you find the person who killed her, it won’t change that she’s gone. I’ll still be suffering.”

  “I know.” And I did. Truth couldn’t undo loss.

  “What leads have you found?” Allison asked.

  I told her about the notes and the other deaths. She was an intelligent woman, and right behind comprehension was concern. “Then the killer is still out there.”

  I nodded. “That would be true.”

  “Who is it?”

  “I don’t know,” I had to admit. “Were Quentin’s notes mailed to her?”

  “Yes. Out of Memphis.”

  I jumped at that. “Memphis?”

  She nodded. “I remember distinctly, because we both tried to figure out who we knew in Memphis who might threaten us.”

  “And who did you come up with?”

  “The Loper girls, but the first note came before Quentin even considered putting Belinda and Jolene in her book.”

  “You feel the notes weren’t book related?”

  She thought about it. “Yes and no.”

  “Go on.”

  “Yes, because they each refer to paying for what’s been written, and no because they weren’t linked to anything specific involving the book.”

  “And you don’t believe Jolene Loper wrote them?”

  She shook her head. “No. Not the Jolene Loper I remember. Her idea of a note is one of those tacky cards with the words already printed.”

  I touched her hand on the bars. “We are trying, Allison.”

  “My brother says he’s impressed with you.”

  I dropped my gaze. “Humphrey has a unique way of showing his interest.”

  “I know. He’s worked so hard to prove he’s a deviant that he may have convinced himself.” Her gaze held mine. “But I remember him differently. I was younger. He was gone most of the time, but when he did come home, he would smile at me, and I felt like someone loved me.”

  I didn’t have to ask Allison if she’d heard from her parents. Dewayne would have told me had the Tatums visited. She was alone, except for Humphrey.

  “The reading of the will is at
ten.”

  “Are you going?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Me or Tinkie.” I didn’t intend to tell her that my heart lay at the board of supervisors meeting, where Coleman was due to show up.

  “If you see Miss Carrington, would you tell her to please stop by and see me?”

  “Sure. She’s your biggest defender.”

  She handed me the photos. “Give these to her. She took them. I told her she had a good eye.”

  I took the photos and put them in my purse. I’d drop them by The Gardens after the reading of the will. Right now, I wanted to find Coleman before either meeting began.

  Dewayne unlocked the door at my knock, and I checked Coleman’s office before I left. He was nowhere to be found. Outside, the sky had begun to cloud over. November storms were often cold and damp. I buttoned my jacket and headed to the roadster. There was one place Coleman might be where I could talk to him. I followed my instinct and drove to Opal Lake.

  It was a much better ride on horseback, but I didn’t have time to go home and saddle Reveler. I drove fast, the dead leaves skittering over the pavement behind me as I blasted down the highway.

  Opal Lake was a small, round lake tucked in a state recreation area. It was a parking place for high school kids, and for a few of us older adults. It was not an official rendezvous location for me and Coleman, but more than once we’d found each other there.

  This time I was in luck. I saw his old pickup before I saw him sitting under a sweet gum tree.

  “Sarah Booth,” he said, rising as I walked toward him.

  My first impulse was to slap him. Hard. Right in the face. Restraint cost me a lot, but I gritted my jaw and held my temper.

  “Your face looks like the sky—stormy weather.”

  I couldn’t read him. He was acting all down-homey, like I was a casual stranger. “What is going on with you? You show up at my house and act like I’m a stranger.”

  The mask dropped, and for a split second, I saw his pain. Then he was composed again. “I’m trying hard not to walk over there and take you in my arms.”

  My own heart rate jumped. I’d hoped that my sexual feelings for Coleman had been tamped down. But they hadn’t. I wanted him instantly, and I read the want on his face, too.

  “Why haven’t you called?”

  “Connie tried to kill herself last week. She’s in a hospital, tied in a bed. They have to restrain her. They’re running all kinds of tests.”

  “I’m sorry.” I forced myself to say the words. I was sorry. For Coleman. For Connie. For the situation. And for myself. We were all losers.

  “I think about you every minute of every day. And then I look at Connie, and I think she’s paying the price for the fact that I don’t love her anymore.”

  “Perhaps if she’d acted in a more lovable fashion.”

  He shook his head. “I blame myself.”

  “And me? Do you blame me, too?”

  Before I could blink, he had me in his arms. “I don’t blame you for anything, Sarah Booth.” He kissed my forehead and pulled me against him.

  He smelled of cold and sunshine and woods. I closed my eyes and leaned my head against his chest. A wave of sadness engulfed me, and I clung to him. For a moment, I thought my heart would break.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I see you. I hold you in my arms, and I know that it’s going to be okay.”

  At last I had control of myself. I pushed lightly, and he released me. The wind off the little lake had grown colder as the clouds blotted out the weak sun. I looked into his blue eyes.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to sell the house. The medical bills are piling up. Insurance covers a lot of it, but not all.”

  “And your job?”

  “I’m coming back to work.”

  I couldn’t help the smile. “Thank goodness.”

  “I don’t have a choice. I need the money, and I can’t take it if I don’t earn it.”

  “And Connie?”

  “The doctor says he wants to keep her isolated for two weeks. Then we’ll reevaluate. There’s just no telling what she told him.”

  That was true. Connie was a manipulative, conniving bitch. “And you’re meeting with the supervisors to ...”

  “Tell them I’m back on the job.”

  “Where will you live?”

  “I haven’t figured all of that out.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to offer Dahlia House. It was plenty big. We could both live there and never bump into each other. But I knew that wouldn’t be the case. We were both walking a thin line, and if we were physically together, we wouldn’t be able to resist each other.

  “My feelings are hurt, Sarah Booth.” His smile was tired. “I’ve been gone less than a month, and you already have a new beau. Humphrey Tatum. A man who gives interesting gifts.”

  “This from the man who has a wife. A pregnant wife.” My smile took the sting out of the words.

  He looked out at the lake. “If Connie were well, I’d divorce her so quickly, her head would spin around.”

  “I know.” That was Coleman’s curse. And mine, too. To abandon a sick and mentally ill wife was unacceptable. It was easier to live with unrequited love than guilt.

  “The doctor said he’d have the tests back in by Monday. Once a positive diagnosis is made, I’ll have a better idea where I stand. Connie’s not right mentally. She’s ...” He stopped.

  “I’m glad you’re back at work.”

  “Me, too. Maybe we can have lunch and talk about the Tatum case.”

  “Sure—” But my answer was interrupted by the querulous ring of my cell phone.

  “Sarah Booth Delaney, where are you?” Tinkie had recovered and was back in form.

  “I’m on my way—”

  “They’re going to read the will in about sixty seconds.”

  She was aggravated, but I held the trump card. “Maybe you could drink something and then vomit everywhere, you know, give me a chance to get there.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Coleman shake his head, but he was smiling.

  “Where are you?”

  “On the way.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you’re driving. There’s no wind rushing and all of that. What’s going on?”

  “I’ll tell you when I get there.” I shut off the phone and pulled my car keys from my pocket. “Duty calls. The reading of the will.”

  “I’ll see you after the supervisors’ meeting.”

  “I’ll count on that.” I drove out of the woods before I did something both of us would regret.

  By the time I got to Jocko Hallett’s office, the sky was gunmetal gray, and a brisk wind was blowing the remaining leaves free of the trees and sending them pell-mell through the air. I ran into the building, propelled by the wind.

  Tinkie was waiting for me in an outer office. “They won’t let us in,” she said testily. “And Oscar has gone out of town on a business trip, and I don’t know where.”

  “He’s probably aggrieved that you didn’t go home last night.”

  “I would have, if I’d been in any condition to drive.”

  I patted her knee. “Who’s inside for the will reading?”

  “Umbria and her husband. And Humphrey, as well as the lawyer.”

  “A nice cozy gathering.”

  “I hope they have a professional cleaning company lined up. I have a feeling blood is going to flow.”

  There was nothing for it but to have a seat and look through the stack of investment and travel magazines. Jocko’s clientele was better heeled than I was. I couldn’t afford investments or travel. I scanned the photographs of golden Tuscany and tried to eavesdrop on the loud voices coming from the conference room behind me.

  The door opened, and Umbria stormed out, followed by Rutherford. They glared at Tinkie and me and fled the office.

  Humphrey came out, his normally debonair façade mildly ruffled. He turned to speak to Jocko.

  “The wil
l is ironclad?” he asked.

  “T’s crossed and i’s dotted,” Jocko answered. He adjusted his four-in-hand tie, which I thought was a little much for Zinnia.

  Jocko spoke to Humphrey, but he addressed all of us in his bass-baritone. “I didn’t draw this will up, but Linda Feinstein knew what she was doing. Umbria can bitch and moan all she wants. Allison inherits. Everything.”

  To my surprise, Humphrey didn’t seem elated. His face showed only concern. “The will was sealed?” he asked.

  “Yes. I opened it myself.”

  Tinkie and I stood. Humphrey shook his head as he gazed at us. “This won’t look good for Allison.”

  “Maybe not,” Tinkie said. “But all is not lost. Sarah Booth and I have some leads.”

  I nodded agreement while keeping an eye on the lawyer, who was looking at Tinkie like she was the main course of an expensive menu.

  “Mrs. Richmond,” Jocko said. “May I have a word with you?”

  “Me?” Tinkie was surprised.

  “Your husband called this morning. He’s hired me to represent him in divorce proceedings.”

  Tinkie paled. “This is a joke, right?”

  Jocko stood taller. “Absolutely not. Oscar is hoping for—”

  He didn’t get to finish. Tinkie was out the door like a shot.

  17

  Zinnia’s Main Street was jam-packed with cars and shoppers as the pre-Thanksgiving sales began to draw folks in for holiday shopping. I maneuvered through the congested streets, looking for Tinkie’s Caddy. I’d already checked Hilltop, and the maid told me Tinkie had come home, checked through the house, and roared away again, sending a spray of gravel flying that cracked one of the front windows.

  I also gleaned the fact that Oscar had stayed up all night drinking and had left the house in a thunderous rage and without breakfast. Too late. I should have telephoned Oscar and told him Tinkie was safe at my house. We’d really pissed him off, and I wasn’t certain what the consequences might be.

  Worried for my friend, I drove out to The Gardens to give Virgie her photographs. I went straight to her room, and when the door creaked open at my knock, I walked in.