“Where is Tinkie?” I didn’t care about tricking a confession out of Umbria. I didn’t care about any of it. I’d been remiss in not pursuing Umbria as a suspect. I’d known all along about her philandering husband, the inheritance, her place as favored child. All of that, plus her paranoid complex, made her the perfect killer.
“Why should I know where Tinkie is? I’m not her keeper. She’s nothing to me.”
“Umbria, I’m going to ask one more time.” I kept my voice level, but I rose to my feet. “What have you done with Tinkie?”
“Done?” She frowned at me. “Are you insane? I haven’t done anything with Tinkie Richmond. You’ve deliberately misconstrued everything to somehow blame me, and I don’t even know for what.”
“When was the last time you saw Tinkie?”
“Yesterday morning.” She grabbed her suitcase from against the wall. “I’m going to start packing, if you don’t mind. I have to get on my way back to Greenwood. I have an appointment with my masseuse.”
“Where did you see Tinkie?” I watched her closely, expecting her to pull a knife from amongst her undies.
“Here, at The Gardens. I’d just received a very upsetting note, and she bought me a drink.”
A chill swept over me. “An upsetting note?”
“What, are you going deaf now? That’s what I said. I got this threatening note about Rutherford, and I told Tinkie about it over a drink.”
“Do you still have the note?” I could barely swallow.
“Here!” She reached into the suitcase and pulled out a sheet of the now familiar paper. The typewritten note said: Control and decorum are the wife’s duties. Your husband’s deeds reflect on you.
“Is this why you stabbed Rutherford?”
“It has yet to be determined that anyone stabbed Rutherford. The last I heard, he fell on a knife. But I take the note to mean his behavior reflects poorly on me and my family.”
“So you put a stop to it.”
“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? But I did scatter that little covey of quail.” She grinned wickedly. “I took a shotgun filled with rock salt and peppered their asses. My daddy taught me to be an excellent shot. I don’t think those girls will be back.”
Rock salt wouldn’t kill them, but it would burn and sting. I hated to admit it, but I had a moment of admiration for Umbria. “When did you receive the note?”
“The day after Quentin’s funeral. It was in my mailbox here at The Gardens. I knew it was directed at Rutherford, and I knew if I didn’t act on it, something terrible would happen.”
“How did you know that?”
She frowned. “You ask a lot of nosey questions, Sarah Booth. I’m surprised you haven’t gotten a note.”
I must have looked like a gaffed fish because she nodded. “You did get one, didn’t you? Well, you’d better fix whatever the note talks about. Back in school, several of the girls got notes.”
“Back in school? At the Carrington—”
“Yes, where else. The notes were about conduct and comportment. Lisa Belk got one about wearing her skirts too short, and when she didn’t lower her hem, someone went in her closet and cut all of her clothes into shreds.”
“She wasn’t hurt? Her clothes were just shredded?”
“That’s right. My note was about ...” She turned away from me and walked to the window. “About boys. I was sleeping with several.”
“And you stopped?”
“I stopped doing it close to the school. I was more careful.”
“Other girls got notes?”
“A few. Lisa’s was enough to straighten up most of the girls.”
“Who wrote the notes?”
“They were never signed. Some busybody, like Genevieve, was always tattling on us, though.”
“What did Virgie say about the notes?”
“She was very sorry and offered to pay for Lisa’s wardrobe, and I think she did buy her some new clothes. I don’t remember that. I just remember that the girls in our class were more wary. It sort of put a damper on the entire year.”
“Thanks, Umbria.” I was ready to go. I had to make a call, and I didn’t want her to overhear me. “Can I have that note?”
She looked at it with distaste. “Why would you want it?”
“Evidence.”
She hesitated. “Why should I help Allison? She has everything.”
I didn’t bother trying to explain to Umbria yet again the ethical issues of an innocent person in jail. I snatched the note and ran out the door. To my surprise, I collided into Gertrude Stromm, who’d been eavesdropping at the door. I leapt her like a hurdle and kept running, leaving the two squawking women behind me.
As I drove toward Dahlia House to fetch Sweetie Pie, I tried to call Coleman. His phone rang and rang, which prompted me to beat my phone on the dash of the car. It didn’t make him answer, but I felt better. Then, I called Oscar.
“I may know where Tinkie is.”
He sounded like a man surfacing from ten thousand feet below the ocean for a gasp of air. “Where?”
“The Carrington School for Well-Bred Ladies.”
“Why would she be there?”
“Because Virgie Carrington is our killer.”
“Sarah Booth, that’s ridiculous. She’s an old lady.”
That was the crux of it. I’d completely overlooked her as a suspect because she was “an old lady.” But she wasn’t. She was in her sixties, and I’d seen her gardening. She was strong as an ox. “There’s one thing all of the suspects, except for Tinkie and me, have in common. They were all graduates of the school. They all got notes. They all were engaged in socially inappropriate conduct.”
“Tinkie is never inappropriate.”
I applauded Oscar’s loyalty, but he was living in a dream world. “Oscar, Tinkie’s a private dick. She’s inappropriate.”
There was a pause. “Virgie wouldn’t hurt her?” It was more of a question than a statement.
“Maybe, maybe not. I have to find Coleman, and I know just how to do it.”
“I’ll meet him at the office.”
“Good. I’m heading to the school.”
“Absolutely not!” He sounded very masculine and bossy. “You’ll wait for Coleman.”
“Oscar, you aren’t my husband or my father. I’m going after Tinkie. I owe her about three ‘saved from the jaws of death’ rescues.”
“Sarah Booth, Coleman is going to be very upset with you.”
He was right, but what else was new. Coleman was often upset with me and vice versa. “I promise not to act rashly and endanger Tinkie.”
“Be careful.” And as much as Oscar worried for his wife, he was also worried for me.
“I promise.” I hung up and wheeled down the drive to Dahlia House. Gordon was conveniently behind me, and I dashed to the patrol car.
“Virgie Carrington is the killer. I think Tinkie’s being held at the school. You have to find Coleman, right away, and tell him to meet me there.”
Gordon hesitated.
“Find Coleman. If Tinkie’s hurt and you don’t—”
He drove off, scattering dirt and leaves behind him.
I ran up the steps. To my aggravation, another package was propped against the door. Something about the size of silk ropes or a blindfold. I kicked it aside and rushed into the house, calling Sweetie as I ran upstairs and did a quick costume change into basic black. Virgie didn’t approve of women in pants, but if I was going to do some ass-kicking, I didn’t need to be hampered by a skirt.
Coming back down the stairs with Sweetie bounding beside me, I remembered my error in not opening a package and retrieved the one from the front porch. I tore the blue ribbon off it and pulled out a book. Women on Top. There was a note. Pick out your favorite fantasy, and I’ll make it come true.
The package was, indeed, from Humphrey. I dropped it on the porch and ran to the car with Sweetie on my heels. We took off, the fallen leaves a trail spiraling behind us.
Virgie was one smart cookie, and I needed a foolproof plan. Now that I was at the school, I realized perhaps I’d come unprepared. The last thing I wanted to do was to put Tinkie in more danger than she already was. I absolutely refused to believe that Tinkie was injured. In order to save her and protect myself, I needed a good plan.
I could pretend that I’d stopped by for a chat. That might throw her off guard enough for me to hunt for Tinkie. Or I could pretend I was there for a chat and turn Sweetie loose to find Tinkie, which was probably the fastest method.
Or, I could do reconnaissance around the building while I waited for Coleman and Oscar. That seemed a good place to start. Maybe Sweetie would even let me know which part of the school Tinkie was being held in. Then I remembered Tammy’s dream. Tinkie was in a solarium or sunroom. That shouldn’t be too hard to find, since it would have to be on the outside of the house.
The school was constructed as a squared-off U, with classrooms flanked by dormitories on either side. Virgie’s house was at the open end of the U. I scouted around the classrooms and dormitories just to be certain there was no solarium there. None. I moved on to her house.
The school was quiet, too quiet, and I wondered if the girls were on break. It was that time just before Thanksgiving when some schools began their holiday break. I couldn’t imagine being twelve years old and living at a school rather than at home with my parents. Some girls would prefer it, but it would have been a terrible punishment to me.
If there were young people in the building, I saw no sign of them as I slipped past the last segment of dormitory and on to Virgie’s house, which was lit up like a fairy mansion with its leaded-glass windows. In a word, magnificent.
The house had been built with a three-foot crawl space beneath it, which put the first-floor windows beyond my ability to see inside. Sweetie pranced beside me, oblivious to the danger we faced. I saw an old magnolia tree beside the house and decided that was the best vantage point to view the western side. “Stay,” I whispered to Sweetie, who lay down at the base of the tree.
I began the torturous job of hauling myself up the tree. As a child, I’d loved to climb trees. I’d spent many an afternoon climbing the tallest oaks around our house, daring the boys to climb as high as I could. What had been wrong with me?
By the time I got fifteen feet up the tree, I was trembling with exhaustion. Somewhere in the intervening years from childhood, I’d developed a real discomfort around heights. Luckily, I was still going up and had no need to look down. A problem would arise when it would become necessary to reverse my efforts.
I had a clear view of a sitting room, which was empty; a library, which seemed empty; a music room, also empty; the kitchen, which was empty; and part of a huge solarium. I focused my attention there. This room was unlit, and it took a lot of eyestrain to detect wicker furniture, a swing, what looked like a Ping-Pong table, and a lone figure, hands pressed against the glass.
Tinkie! She was alive! She wasn’t dead! I’d refused to even think of her as hurt, and there she stood, seemingly okay.
“She’s there. Tinkie’s in the house,” I whispered softly to my hound. But Sweetie wasn’t there. To my horror, I saw her loping across the lawn to the back entrance.
“Sweetie!” I was afraid to call her loudly. “Sweetie!”
In typical fashion, she completely ignored me and dashed to the back steps that led to the solarium. She bayed loudly, demanding entrance.
I saw the figure press against the glass. Sweetie had given herself away, but she’d also let Tinkie know that help was on the way. Tinkie looked up and scanned what she could see of the yard, looking for me. This time, I was the cavalry.
A front light snapped on, and Virgie Carrington stepped out on the porch. “What is all that commotion?” she called into the darkness. In one hand was a flashlight, and in the other a gun.
My heart rose in my throat as I watched Sweetie bound around the house and head for the front steps. The dog would never expect anyone to hurt her. She had free rein at Dahlia House and Hilltop, and expected it everywhere she went.
She flew up the steps and directly at Virgie. Virgie pointed the gun, but before she could fire, Sweetie ran right over her, knocking her to the ground. Sweetie rushed into the house, barking and baying.
Quick as a flash, Virgie was on her feet. She hurried back inside. The front door slammed closed.
Now she had my partner and my dog.
22
I had pinpointed where Virgie was holding Tinkie, which was important to any rescue attempt. What I couldn’t begin to say was what she’d done with my hound. Virgie didn’t strike me as the kind of person who would be agreeable to the idea of dog hair in her home.
I clambered down from the tree, happy to feel terra firma beneath my feet. I didn’t have time to bend and kiss the earth; I had to distract Virgie. And the best plan was simply to knock on her door and try to worm my way into her home. She couldn’t hurt Tinkie or the dog if I was there to stop her.
My car was down the driveway, which would alert Coleman and Oscar when they arrived. I walked up the front steps and rang the doorbell, bold as you please.
The door opened wide, and Virgie smiled at me. “Sarah Booth Delaney, what are you doing here? Don’t you know it’s rude to pay unexpected calls on people? A little sophistication would make your life so much easier.”
I couldn’t be certain, but I thought I detected a certain tightness of the skin around her eyes. “I do know it’s rude, Virgie, and I apologize. I need your help.”
Her smile widened. “Come right in.”
I stepped into the foyer and heard the door slam and lock behind me. Virgie was a bit overly conscientious about her safety. She stepped in front of me and led the way to a parlor on the other side of the house. There was no sign of Sweetie Pie anywhere.
“This has been an interesting night,” she remarked as she showed me into a wing chair. “I was planning on reading a novel and going to bed early. So what brings you to my school?”
“My partner has gone missing, and I’m worried about her.”
“Tinkie? Missing?”
I had to hand it to her, she was a good actress. She seemed genuinely concerned. “She disappeared yesterday, after I got a note warning me about my nosiness.”
Her face furrowed into a frown. “That’s terrible. Did Tinkie get a note, too?”
“I’m not certain.” The old fox was trying to figure out how much I’d put together. “I was hoping maybe you’d talked to her before you left Zinnia. She was at The Gardens, talking to Umbria.”
“Umbria!” She threw up her hands in disgust. “What a waste of time and money she’s turned out to be.”
“Did you hear that someone stabbed Rutherford?”
A smile touched her face. “Oh, really? Is he dead?”
“It wasn’t a fatal wound. He’s going to recover, but word on the street is that Umbria plied the knife, and he’s too afraid of her to rat her out.”
Virgie’s expression was one of sorrow. “I never understood why Umbria married him. She could have had her pick of decent men.”
“She was one of your most promising students, wasn’t she?” I had to keep her talking. Coleman and Oscar would arrive soon. All I had to do was occupy her until they did.
“Umbria had such potential. She understood how powerful she could be as the woman behind the man.” She paced back and forth behind the sofa. “She got it! But she could never apply it. She always found these worthless
men. If Rutherford Clark had one ounce of honest ambition, he could be governor of the state, with Umbria at his side.”
“I’ve only met Rutherford once, and it was another ‘p’ word that seemed to occupy all of his attention.” I had to find out how stable she was. If she was, indeed, killing people over social infractions, how would she react to a little verbal vulgarity?
She didn’t hesitate to show her disapproval. “No lady ever alludes to that word. Sarah Booth, I’d always heard that your mother raised you as a heathen, but surely she taught you that when you belittle the female gender with crass and vulgar references, you lessen all women.”
“Sorry.” I tried to look contrite. She was hanging on pretty well. I didn’t think she was going to flip out and come at me with a knife. Then again ... “Would it be possible for me to use your ladies’ room?” I rose.
Momentary annoyance flitted across her face. “This way.”
I followed her to a bathroom off the hallway. I had no doubt she’d stand guard while I did my business. I flushed the toilet, ran the water, went through the motions, the whole time trying to frame the layout of the house in my mind.
When I left the bathroom, Virgie was waiting in the hall, her black skirt and pale pink blouse perfectly crisp. “Your home is lovely, Virgie. Might I have a tour?” I smiled.
“Another time. I’m truly not prepared for a guest. Now that you’ve refreshed yourself for travel, I think it best that you leave.”
I hadn’t expected this turn of events. Proper ladies were supposed to be gracious above all else. I frowned. “I’m sorry. Might I have a glass of water before I go?”
“Are you deliberately delaying your departure?”
She hadn’t moved, but there was a change in her posture. I had to remember that she’d lured Quentin McGee into a cotton field and killed her, not to mention starting a landslide. She was physically competent.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just that I’m thirsty, and I thought well-bred ladies always offered a guest refreshments. Even an unexpected guest.”
Bones To Pick Page 21