“Is the sheriff there?”
“Why, hey, Sarah Booth,” he said. “Coleman was here, but he left about ten minutes ago.”
“Do you know where he went?” I tried to sound nonchalant.
“Couldn’t rightly say. You want me to tell him you’re looking for him?”
“No.”
“Need some help handling that dangerous bomb you received?”
A flush crept up my neck. “No. Not tonight. See ya, Dewayne.” I hung up fast.
Millie’s was still open when I hit town, so I stopped for a burger. Most of the tables had been cleared when I sat down, but to my surprise, Marilyn and Lorilee were having dinner at a table in the front. In a far corner, Harold sat with a cup of coffee and some papers.
I’d barely taken my coat off and sat down when Lorilee came over. “Why, Sarah Booth, I heard you had a terrible scare.”
Everyone in the place stopped eating to listen.
“Drop it, Lorilee. I need to talk to you about something serious.”
“You’re the only person I know who could confuse a vibrator with a bomb. Makes me wonder if you’d know what to do with the real thing.”
Cutlery was on the table, and I wondered if a stainless knife would work as effectively as a wooden stake. “I’m not an expert in battery-operated toys like you.”
Marilyn had risen from her seat, but she didn’t move. She only stood and watched.
“I heard you and Tinkie and that newspaper person were all cowering in the house while your gift vibrated around the driveway.” She laughed. “That must have been a sight to behold.”
Before I could respond, Harold stepped to my side. “Lorilee.” He oozed charm. “I haven’t consulted your financial statements, but I have a tip for you—invest in sex toys rather than young boys. It’s far less expensive in the long run.”
Harold assisted me from my seat. “Let’s go to my place.”
“You, too, Harold?” Lorilee’s face contorted in a sneer. “What does she have that fascinates men so?”
“Perhaps it’s her kindness, Lorilee. Something you have none of, so are therefore doomed to a life of loneliness.”
We left without a backward glance.
Once out in the night, I kissed his cheek. “What a gallant rescue.”
“Nothing better than to slay the fire-breathing bitch. Are you still hungry?”
“Yes.”
“I have some pheasant soup I made yesterday.”
Harold was a gourmet cook, and I appreciated his talents. “That would be lovely.”
“Follow me.” He got in his Porsche and led me to his home.
When I turned down Harold’s oak-lined driveway, I stopped. Rope lights had been wrapped around the tree trunks and limbs, creating a fairyland. I remembered Harold’s Christmas party last year. He was a man’s man with a great sense of the magical.
He was waiting for me on the porch when I pulled up at the house. “Are you having another holiday party?” I asked.
“Yes. But I keep the lights up year-round.” He smiled. “I have a remote. I turned them on for you.”
He led the way to the kitchen, and while he heated the soup, I sliced bread. We sipped a dry red wine as we worked. When everything was prepared, we sat at the small kitchen table. “Much cozier than the dining room,” I said. The large table there seated twelve.
“Oscar never came back to work today.”
“I never found Tinkie.” A flicker of concern washed over me, and he must have read it on my face.
“They have to work it out alone.”
“I know.”
He smiled. “You’re a loyal friend, Sarah Booth.”
“Tinkie is more than just a friend. She’s like a sister to me.”
“You’ve changed her. She’s stronger, more confident. You’ve been good for her.”
“Oscar may not feel that way.” I ate a bite of the dark pumpernickel bread. “They love each other. It’s just that Tinkie’s hurting.”
Harold picked up my hand and held it gently.
“And you’re hurting, too.”
I squeezed his fingers. “Have you heard from Rachel?”
“Yes. She’s in Mexico.”
“Is she going to open some salons with a Latin flavor?”
He laughed. “She’s an amazing businesswoman. She combines financial savvy with an unerring ability to know what the public will pay for.”
“And you miss her.”
“Tremendously.”
“Call her.”
As if the phone company did my bidding, my cell phone rang. I jumped for it, pulling it from my coat pocket, knowing it was Tinkie.
“Sarah Booth, dahling,” Cece drawled, “I’ve found something that may interest you.”
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to Cece, but I’d so hoped it was Tinkie. I struggled to hide my disappointment. “What did you find?”
“Where are you? I want to show it to you.”
“I’m at Harold’s.” I watched his expression as I talked. He was curious.
“I’m on the way,” she said.
Before I could respond, she hung up. I closed the phone and looked at him. “Cece has something to show me, and she’s on her way here.”
He laughed. “An impromptu party. I’ll set another place.”
Cece was knocking at the door before I could pour the wine. “The lights are magnifique.” She breezed in waving a sheaf of papers, took the glass of wine I offered, and slid out of her coat. “Look at these.” She thrust the papers into my hand.
“We were just having some soup and bread,” Harold said, holding a chair for her.
I took my place and studied the newspaper clippings about the tragic death of Marilyn’s mother, Karla. Cece had pulled up the clips from the Birmingham newspaper, which covered the freak accident in great detail.
Cece’s attention had fallen on the soup, and she attacked the food with great gusto. “Harold, this is delicious. I’m impressed. I’m doing a column on holiday food for the Thanksgiving issue. I’d love to feature you.”
Ignoring Cece’s chatter, I read the articles. I was on the third story when I found what I wanted. Birmingham police officer Clyde Marshall talked about the threatening note that Karla Jenkins had received only the week before her death. The penalty for fornication is stoning.
I grabbed Cece’s hand. “Thank you, Cece. You found the note. Marilyn’s mother was definitely murdered.” The full impact hit me, and I grasped Cece’s hand in mid-swallow of soup.
“There’s a serial killer on the loose.”
Cece rolled her eyes. “Why do you think I rushed over here, dahling?”
I left Harold with orders to call Rachel. Were I not in the middle of a case, with a horse and a hound to care for, I would have been on a flight to Acapulco. Harold was just being hardheaded.
Even though it was after eleven o’clock, I tried Tinkie’s cell again. Still no answer. I drove by Hilltop, but the house was dark. Maybe they were home, sleeping.
When I got to Dahlia House, I stepped over a small package in front of the door. I’d had it with Humphrey and his wicked surprises. I kicked the bow-laden box hard enough to send it careening into the shrubs by the side of the porch. I wasn’t going to be suckered yet again by the mad humper.
When I got to the barn, Reveler was miffed at his late dinner. He turned his butt to me and ate. Sweetie, too, was pissed. She came out, sniffed my leg, and squatted to pee. No one was happy to see me. I slipped in the back door and fed her some meat loaf, hoping to win her over. No such luck. She ate and went to sleep in the dining room.
Exhausted, I tiptoed up the stairs. I didn’t have the strength for a confrontation with Jitty. She’d be mad, too.
I stepped onto the second-floor landing, expecting to hear her voice. There was only silence. I hurried to my bedroom, shucked off my clothes, and slipped beneath the quilts. I was asleep almost before I could turn off the bedside light.
M
y sleep was tormented by the dream cries of a baby. I awoke the next morning to the ringing telephone. Squinting against the late morning sun, I answered.
“Sarah Booth, this is Tammy Odom.”
Tammy, also called Madame Tomeeka, was an old friend with psychic abilities. “What’s wrong?” I wasn’t psychic, but I could detect worry in her voice.
“Where’s Tinkie?”
“At home.” On second thought, I added, “Isn’t she?”
“I had the strangest dream. Tinkie was ... afraid.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“No, that’s why I’m calling you. I tried to call her this morning, but she didn’t answer at the house or on her cell phone.”
This wasn’t good news. Tinkie wasn’t the kind of person to make her friends worry. “I’ll go over to her house.”
“Will you call me?”
“As soon as I know something.”
I’d just replaced the telephone when it rang again. Coleman’s low tones made me catch my breath as he said my name.
“Have you seen Tinkie lately?” he asked.
“No. I’m getting worried about her. I’m on my way over to Hilltop to see Oscar.”
“Don’t bother. He’s standing right here. She didn’t come home last night, and he’s beyond frantic.”
“Shit.” It wasn’t a ladylike expression, but it pretty much summed up the situation. “I’m on my way to the sheriff’s office. Keep Oscar there. I want to talk to him.”
“Hurry. He says he’s going home to call the governor. He wants the National Guard to help hunt.”
“Detain him.” I hung up the phone, grabbed some clothes, and rushed out of the house. Sweetie Pie gave me a condemning look, and Reveler bucked and went running to the back of his pasture. I couldn’t help it. I had to find Tinkie.
I floored it as I sped to the courthouse. It was Saturday morning, a busy time for downtown Zinnia. My high-speed passing created a tide of ill will, as pedestrians shot me the finger and shook fists at me. Too bad.
By the time I ran into the sheriff’s office, I was panting. Coleman nodded at me, but I turned my attention to Tinkie’s husband. “Oscar!”
He took one look at me and almost cried. “Did she say anything to you?” he asked.
This was touchy. I drew him into Coleman’s office and shut the door. “I never spoke with her, Oscar. Did you talk to her at all yesterday?”
He shook his head. “She called me yesterday morning, before I talked to you. I didn’t take her call. I was mad.”
I put my arm around him. “I know. I know.”
“You were with her. Did she say anything?”
This was going to be hard. “The last time I saw her, we were in Jocko Hallett’s office. He told her you’d hired him for the divorce. She was pretty upset.”
“I didn’t mean it. I never intended to divorce Tinkie. I was just mad, and I wanted to hurt her the way she’d hurt me.”
“We have to figure out where she went. Once we find her, you can talk to her, and everything will be okay.”
“Happily ever after” wasn’t my normal prognosis on relationships, but I did believe it for Tinkie and Oscar. They were meant for each other.
“I’ve called everywhere. Now her father is terribly upset.”
“He hasn’t heard from her?” I’d hoped Tinkie would call her daddy.
“Not a word.” Oscar sat down in a chair and put his face in his hands. “This is all my fault. Tinkie’s been impossible. I’ve been worried for weeks, but I shouldn’t have reacted in anger.”
“It takes two to tango, Oscar. This can’t all be your fault. But enough whining, let’s find her.” I opened the door and signaled Coleman in.
He stepped into the doorway, and though I was worried sick about Tinkie, I couldn’t help but feel a thrill. He was back. No matter that he was married, at least we could see each other, talk, solve cases. Find Tinkie.
“We’re both worried.” I gave him a rundown of what had occurred, leaving out the baby issue. Coleman had enough pregnancy problems of his own, and it was Tinkie and Oscar’s secret, not mine.
“You’ve checked all the usual places?” Coleman asked.
“I don’t know where she could be,” Oscar said. “I’ve tried her friends, her family, her usual haunts.”
I remembered Madame Tomeeka’s dream. I didn’t want to say anything to Oscar, but I needed to talk to Tammy. “I’ll check around. Call me on my cell.” I darted out the door and drove through town like a bat out of hell for the second time.
Tammy met me at the door before I could knock. Her house smelled of cedar and a roast that bubbled in the oven. The scent was so homey and comforting that I felt my shoulders begin to relax.
“Sit down,” she said, and the expression on her face made me tense again. Tammy was not a charlatan. She had a serious link to another plane, and though many people came to her for a reading of their future as an entertainment, I knew she had a gift.
“Tell me.”
“I’m worried.” Her hands rubbed each other on top of the table. “In the dream, Tinkie was afraid. She was in a glass, or something like a bell jar. She kept putting her hands against the glass and pushing, but it wouldn’t move. She called out, but no one could hear her.”
“Did you have a sense of where she was?” If I’d been concerned about Tinkie before, now I was terrified. There was a serial killer on the loose, and we’d been tracking him or her.
Tammy shook her head. “It’s confusing. The dream was so vivid. There were rulers all around her and shelves and shelves of books. Like a library. There was a table of cutlery, like knives and forks and things.”
Dreams were never straight-up informative messages. Library shelves could mean anything from knowledge to decoration. Tinkie had a huge library at her home. As did Genevieve Reynolds. And Harold. And me, for that matter. Lots of older homes had libraries that were the accumulation of generations of readers.
“Is there anything else?”
She worried her hands again. “That’s all I remember. Except Tinkie was wearing a navy suit and a white blouse with a bow tie.”
“She’s been wearing the uniform of the well-bred lady for several days now. It’s the case.”
Tammy nodded. “It didn’t suit her.”
I had a call to make. “Thank you, Tammy. I’ll let you know as soon as I find her.”
“If I have another vision, I’ll call.”
I hugged her tight. “Day or night.”
I jumped in the roadster and burned rubber as I left. Cell phone in hand, I dialed Oscar. I didn’t give him a chance to even say hello.
“Did Tinkie get any kind of note?” I asked.
“Note?”
“Like a threatening note. Like someone telling her to stop snooping. Something like that.” I tried not to let on to Oscar how concerned I was, but my voice gave me away.
“You think someone has kidnapped her because she’s snooping?”
“Oscar, did you check your mail?”
“I’m at home. Let me see.”
There was the sound of papers shuffling. I was headed toward Hilltop at ninety miles an hour.
“There’s nothing here except magazines and bills. Have you checked your mail, Sarah Booth?”
I did a 180 in the road and pointed the roadster toward Dahlia House. “No,” I said. “I’ll call you if I find something.”
On the way home, I dialed Coleman. “This could be serious,” I said. I told him about the notes and my theory about a serial killer. There was a long moment of silence.
“If this is true, Sarah Booth, Tinkie could be in real trouble.”
“The killer always sends at least one note. Oscar says nothing came to Hilltop. Let me check my mail.” I tore down the driveway, creating a cyclone of fallen sycamore leaves in my wake. As I skidded to a halt at the front door, I said, “I’ll call you in a minute.”
A week’s accumulated mail was piled on my desk, and I w
ent through it at lightning pace. Bills, bills, bills, a few advertisements, and more bills. Not a single strange envelope. I breathed a sigh of relief and then remembered the package on my doorstep. Humphrey. Was it possible Humphrey was the killer?
I dashed out the front door and jumped the balustrade to land in the huge azaleas. It took a little rooting around, but I found the package. It was white with a white bow. I opened it quickly.
There was nothing inside except a single sheet of white paper. My hands trembled as I unfolded it. The laser-printed words were crystal clear. Poke your nose where it doesn’t belong and it’ll get chopped off.
I staggered back against the porch. My heart was thrumming. The threat had been made against me, but it was Tinkie who’d been taken.
Legs wobbling, I went inside to call Coleman.
19
Coleman poured a hefty portion of Jack over ice and handed the glass to me. To my shame, my hand was shaking so badly, the bourbon sloshed over my fingers. I put the glass down and tried to breathe.
“She’s going to be okay.” Coleman knelt in front of me, his forehead furrowed. “You have to get a grip. Tinkie is going to be fine.”
It was a nice sentiment, but Tinkie was missing, and a murderer was still at large—a murderer who’d warned me about my nosiness. “Why didn’t I read the note last night?”
“Sarah Booth, stop it!”
The harshness of his tone was as effective as a slap. I gulped in some air and sat up straight. He was right. Wallowing in guilt and doubt wasn’t going to help anyone.
“Okay.” I inhaled again. “Okay, what can we do?”
“All of the victims you’ve named received more than one note, is that right?”
I tried to think. “We’re not certain about Karla, Marilyn Jenkins’s mother. There was only one mention of a note in the newspaper article.”
“It appears to me that the killer kills as a last resort. Once the victim has been warned and the warning unheeded, then he or she feels forced to kill.”
“Most serial killers are white males in their thirties.” I’d read a few profiler novels. Tinkie might accuse me of not being a reader, but it wasn’t true.
Coleman actually smiled. “Perhaps we can find Hannibal Lecter and ask him for some tips.”
Bones To Pick Page 18