Bones To Pick

by Carolyn Haines

  “She licked your face.” I gave her a kiss on the head. “Sweetie isn’t real tolerant of folks who try to nap.”

  “She wouldn’t stop. She kept on until I made myself get up. I was woozy and sick, but there wasn’t a chance she’d let me sleep.”

  “That’s my girl.” I stroked her long ears as she pretended to doze by my chair. “What happened after that?”

  “I heard a commotion, and I crept to the kitchen, where I found Virgie and Humphrey. Everything happened too fast for me to stop it. She accused him of double-crossing her, pulled the gun, and took him to the back door where she tried to negotiate her freedom. I had another spell of unconsciousness.”

  “And that’s when Sweetie saved the day,” Tinkie said. “She knocked Virgie off the steps and snatched up the gun so Virgie couldn’t reach it. If it wasn’t for Sweetie, we might all be dead.”

  That was true, but if it wasn’t for me, Coleman wouldn’t even be wounded.

  As if she sensed my thoughts, Tinkie knelt beside me. She took one hand, while Oscar held the other. “Sarah Booth, I’ve learned something very interesting about guilt in the last few weeks.”

  “What might that be?” She was staring at me so intensely, I wanted to draw back.

  “You have to believe me.”

  I gave a weak smile. “I always believe you.”

  “I didn’t believe you when you tried to talk to me about Oscar and the baby. My need to punish myself was greater than my common sense. And in punishing myself, I also punished Oscar and my friends. I don’t want to see that happen to you.”

  “I’m not much on self-punishment.” I spoke the lie with a smile.

  “All of us are. I think it’s part of the human condition, but I learned something from Doreen Mallory that I forgot until today.”

  Doreen was our former client who’d been falsely accused of killing her own infant child. She’d also been something of a miracle worker. Even though I’d greatly resisted her attempts to ease my pain, I had learned something from her.

  “Things happen for a reason, Sarah Booth. I forgot that when I thought of my baby. Now you have to remember it when you think of Coleman. He came here to do something he had to do—to protect the two of us. He was shot while doing that. But we don’t know that if he’d stayed home, something else horrible wouldn’t have happened to him.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Like what? He might have been vomited on while arresting a drunk?”

  Tinkie increased the pressure on my fingers. “Sarcasm won’t deflect the pain for long. Listen to me. If you don’t get a grip on this now, if something does happen to Coleman, you’ll carry the guilt the rest of your life. Like I carried the guilt for my child. It almost destroyed me, and it almost got Oscar, too.”

  “Sometimes people are guilty, Tinkie!” I couldn’t stop the rush of angry words. “Sometimes people do things and they deserve to suffer.”

  “Virgie deserves to suffer. You don’t.”

  “I could have done things very differently, and perhaps Coleman wouldn’t even be wounded now.”

  “You could have done them differently, and he might be dead.” Oscar patted my hand. “What Tinkie is trying to make you see is that we aren’t omnipotent. We can’t know the outcome of our actions, and even actions taken with the very best of intentions sometimes cause suffering. But the only people who are guilty are those like Virgie, who harm others without regard.”

  “I just want Coleman to be okay.” Once I said the words, I couldn’t stop the tears. My whole body shook, and there was no more need for words. Tinkie and Oscar wrapped me in their arms, and Sweetie Pie sat up and licked my face. And I allowed them to comfort me.

  The Clarksdale hospital was clean and quiet. I sat in the waiting room with a stack of magazines and a diet cola and waited. Tinkie had gone to the gift shop to find something for Coleman to read once he came out of surgery; she refused to behave in a way that implied he might not recover. Oscar had taken Sweetie back to Zinnia.

  Both Gordon and Dewayne had called to check on Coleman, but there had been no word from Connie, his wife. Perhaps no one had told her. I kept telling myself over and over that it was none of my business, but it didn’t do any good. In my heart, I was Coleman’s family. At last, when the doctor pushed through the doors into the waiting room, I stood to hear the news.

  “Mrs. Peters,” he said, wrongly assuming I was Coleman’s wife, “we repaired the damage to his lung and the shattered rib.” He paused, and the frown on his face told me he was worried. “The heart wasn’t damaged, which is very good news, but he lost a lot of blood.”

  “But he’s going to be okay?” I could hardly speak for the hammering of my heart.

  “He’s in stable condition now.”

  “You didn’t answer my question. Is he going to be okay?”

  He finally met my gaze. “We feel his prognosis for recovery is good.”

  What was wrong with this man? Double-talk wasn’t what I wanted to hear. “Will he or won’t he recover?”

  He sighed. “We’re not gods, Mrs. Peters. We can’t see the future. He should heal, but a lot depends on him. On how much he has to live for.”

  “You’re saying it’s up to him. He has to want to live.” I wondered what the doctor had seen that made him understand Coleman had been in emotional turmoil.

  “That’s right. He’s asleep now, but maybe you’d like to see him. Talk to him a little.”

  “I would.” I glanced around to see if Tinkie was in sight, but she was still buying magazines at the gift shop. “Is he in his room?”

  “Recovery. Don’t be shocked by his appearance. He lost a lot of blood. Just touch him and talk to him.”

  I followed the doctor down a green corridor and into a wing shut off by swinging doors. We entered a room with several beds, but only one was occupied. The man in the bed looked vaguely like Coleman. He was deathly pale.

  Tears started to my eyes, but I forced them back. Crying would do no good for either of us. The doctor nodded at me, and I walked to the bedside and picked up Coleman’s chill hand. I had to fight back the tears for a second time. Coleman and I had never had the luxury of walking down Main Street together, holding hands the way lovers do in movies. Heck, we were a long shot from lovers. We’d kissed, but that was it.

  I brushed the fine blond hair back from his forehead, noting the dark circles beneath his eyes. “Coleman,” I whispered, though there was no one else to hear me, “you have to recover. I need you.”

  His breathing was shallow but regular, but there was no sign that he’d heard me.

  “Tinkie and Oscar are fine. Virgie is in the Coahoma County jail, and Gordon is making arrangements to have her transferred back to Sunflower County to be charged with Quentin’s murder.”

  I felt the lightest pressure of his fingers. It could have been a muscle spasm, but it made my heart jump painfully in my chest. “Sweetie Pie is just fine, too. Humphrey wasn’t injured. Everyone is okay. It’s up to you now to get better.”

  In the movies, the camera would close in on Coleman’s face, and his eyes would open slowly. He would be fuzzy for a moment, and then recognition would begin. He would turn to me and smile and say, “I’ve always loved you, Sarah Booth.” And I would cry and kiss him, and somehow, magically, he would produce an engagement ring from the folds of the hospital bed and say, “I’ve been carrying this around for weeks now and could never find the right time to ask you to marry me.” And I would say, “Yes, of course. As soon as you’re well,” and he would say, “No need to wait for that. Let’s call one of the ministers visiting the sick in the hospital.” And miraculously, the door would open, and Father Smith would be standing there in his Episcopal collar, and he would perform the wedding on the spot.

  But this was real life, and Coleman’s eyes remained closed, his breathing shallow, and if he had the power to squeeze my fingers, he didn’t do it.

  I leaned down and kissed his scraped cheek. “I love you, Coleman.”
I had to tell him that. I’d never said it before, not when he was conscious. I’d never been willing to risk all that it meant. Now, I couldn’t help myself. “I’ve loved you for a long, long time. It doesn’t matter whether you can love me back or not, it’s just something I want you to know.”

  I kissed him again and stood up just as the sound of high heels tapped into the recovery room. Tinkie came toward us, her arms laden with magazines, books, candy, and flowers. Had I not recognized the sound of her heels, I might not have known who she was. She was completely hidden by her spoils.

  “I’m going to take all of this to his room,” she said, easing it down on the foot of his bed to rest her overtaxed arms. She took a good look at him and gave me a nod. “He’s a little peaked, but I’ve seen worse.”

  “The doctor said they’d repaired everything. It’s up to him to want to recover.”

  Tinkie walked to the other side of the bed and picked up his left hand. She squeezed it tightly. “Coleman Peters, you’d better get well. I won’t have any malingering on the job. Folks around Sunflower County need you, and I know one particular private investigator who can’t make it without you.” She kissed his hand and put it back on the bed.

  “I never thought I’d see Coleman so ... still.”

  “He said the same thing about you, Sarah Booth, when you were shot. He was hovering over you just like you’re doing with him. You probably don’t remember it, but you were pale, too. You looked so thin lying on that emergency room table. We were all afraid you’d die, but you pulled out of it just fine, and so will he.”

  I’d never appreciated Tinkie’s optimism more than now. “Thank you, Tinkie.”

  “Coleman will thank me, too, when he comes to.” She picked up her purchases. “I’m going to take these on to Room 43. Why don’t you stay here with him until they move him? Then we’ll decide what we should do about going home.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  I sat on the foot of his bed and watched the nurses come back and forth to check him. They told me there was no fresh bleeding, which was a good sign. They changed out the blood transfusion bag and gave him another one. Drop by drop, they were replacing what had leaked out of him. Surely it would soon make a difference, and his color would improve.

  An hour later, two orderlies came to wheel Coleman to his room. His condition had not improved at all, but the nurses who’d checked him said it wasn’t uncommon. He’d been heavily sedated for the surgery.

  I wasn’t soothed, but I could only follow his gurney past a nurses’ station and closed doors. The doctor was standing in the hallway with Tinkie, and there was an intimacy between them that reminded me of Tinkie’s former flirtations with handsome men of the medical profession.

  They looked up at me and both smiled. “Coleman is holding his own, Sarah Booth. That’s good. Very good. Each hour that passes gives him a better chance.”

  “Your husband is a strong, healthy man,” the doctor said, and for the first time I noticed his name, Larry Martin. He patted my shoulder. “He may stay sedated until tomorrow. Now would be a good time for you to go home and get some rest. We’ll take good care of him.”

  Dr. Martin pulled a prescription pad from his pocket, jotted a few words, tore off the sheet, and handed it to me. “Mrs. Richmond has told me a little of what transpired. I’ve written you a script for a few light sedatives. Have it filled and try to sleep. Believe me, when Sheriff Peters does wake up, you’re going to need all of your patience to deal with him. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who’ll be easy to manage while he recovers.”

  I took the prescription and put it in my pocket.

  “Thank you, Larry,” Tinkie said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I really owe you.”

  She took my arm and propelled me down the corridor before I could protest. In truth, I was suddenly exhausted. I’d had almost no sleep the night before, and the day had been a horror-movie blur.

  “I should stay.” It was a feeble protest at best.

  “I’ll take you home. Tomorrow you can come back and entertain him.”

  “Are you sure there’s going to be a tomorrow?” Tinkie wouldn’t fib to me about this.

  “Larry was concerned right after the surgery, but Coleman has had two pints of blood, and he’s holding his own. It’s looking much, much better.” She pushed through the doors to the parking lot. “I called the sheriff’s office with a progress report. Gordon told me the deaths of Belinda Loper, Betty Reynolds, and Karla Jenkins have been reopened based on our investigation. A reporter from the Memphis Commercial Appeal wants to interview us.”

  “I don’t want to talk to anyone.” I sank into the passenger seat of my car. Tinkie had the keys and refused to yield them.

  “That’s today. Wait until tomorrow. I think a photograph of the two of us at Coleman’s bedside would play well. We’ll have more cases than we can shake a stick at.”

  “You are the optimist, aren’t you?” Something was up with Tinkie. She was her old bubbly self. “Did that doctor give you some kind of happy drugs?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Then what’s wrong with you? You’re positively perky.”

  “Sarah Booth, I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, after you’ve had a chance to rest up.”

  26

  I sat in the barn, listening to Reveler munch his grain. For the first time since Coleman had been shot, I felt my heart settle to its normal position. Sweetie Pie curled at my feet in the hay, and I leaned back against a bale and closed my eyes, inhaling the lingering scent of summer that had been baled in the dried grass. The hospital would call me as soon as Coleman regained consciousness. The doctors and nurses were still under the misimpression that I was his wife, so they swore they’d call. All I could do was wait. And hope that everything would be okay.

  “Not everyone you love is going to die.”

  There was the rustle of silk, and I didn’t have to look to know that Jitty had joined me. Never before had she left Dahlia House to venture to the barn. Jitty, with her elegant wardrobe and other worldly beauty, was not interested in farm life.

  “Slow night at court?” I asked, keeping my eyes closed.

  “The intrigues of society pale beside the needs of family.”

  I sat up and looked at Jitty shimmering in the dim barn light. Her gown was truly spectacular, a pale champagne with gold stitching. “I’m okay,” I assured her. “You look ready for an audience with the king. Why don’t you go on about your business? I’m truly fine.”

  “Pride is the most dangerous of all the sins, Sarah Booth.”

  She’d called my bluff, so there was no point lying. Jitty knew me too well, and she could hear the hurt in my voice. “Okay, I’m as fine as I can be with Coleman lying in a hospital bed.”

  The ball gown rustled provocatively. “Let’s take a walk.”

  Jitty had never been one for voluntary exercise. I rose slowly, forcing Sweetie to stretch and yawn. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  She may have left the court behind, but she was still mysterious. I supposed it was the prerogative of a ghost. I followed her out of the barn and into the chill night. I noticed the Christmas garland I’d used to decorate the banister of the back steps. The holiday was only a couple of weeks away, and I hadn’t bought the first gift.

  Instead of heading to the house, Jitty turned beside the barn, directing me toward the back pasture. My curiosity was piqued, and I fell in step beside her. It would do no good to beg her for information. Jitty had all the time in the world and wouldn’t be hurried.

  We followed along the fence, our way lighted by millions of stars and a half-moon strong enough to cast shadows. It was a beautiful, crisp night, and I inhaled the cold air.

  “When your mama was worried or tired or unsettled, she’d come out here,” Jitty said. “She had a special place where she said she could think more clearly.”

  I hadn’t thought of that in a long tim
e. My mother was a great one for tramping over the land when she was upset. She often said the land was where she found the things that were important, and that a walk over the property cleared her head. My mother had loved Dahlia House and all the land surrounding it with deep passion. When I’d first come home from New York City, I’d almost lost the property to the bank. I’d understood then how much my mother cared for this place, because I felt that love, that connection, as real as blood. Now, strolling beside Jitty, I felt it again.

  Walking among the moon shadows cast by the trees, I put aside my fear and felt the comfort of the land. Here was where I belonged. When all else failed, this land was still here, alive and growing, sustaining.

  “I knew you’d feel better out here,” Jitty said.

  “How did you know?”

  “It’s always worked this way for the Delaney women.”

  Now that was an interesting twist. The land had been in my father’s family, yet it was my mother who’d fallen under its spell. “Only the women?”

  She shook her head. “Not only, but most deeply. When things were at their worst during the War Between the States, there were times when Alice wanted to quit. She could have gone back to Charleston, West Virginia, where she had a sister. But she couldn’t leave this place. She’d dreamt the dream of the land, and she couldn’t leave.”

  “Is that why you’re here, Jitty?”

  “This was never my land.” She chuckled softly. “No, I stayed for Alice. I loved her like a sister. And now I stay for you.”

  As we walked side by side, I considered the gift of her presence. She nagged and tormented and prodded, but I’d come to count on her being at Dahlia House. In a sense, she was my family.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Keep walking. There’s something for you to see.”

  We passed the family cemetery, the stones cold and gray in the winter night. This is where I thought we’d stop, but we didn’t. We walked in silence until we came to a grove of old oaks, limbs spreading out to touch the ground. Acorns crunched underfoot, and the air was cold and pure.