Bones and Arrows: A Sarah Booth Delaney Short Mystery

by Carolyn Haines

  “That would be a big help. I’ll deputize you,” DeWayne said.

  “Coleman said to deputize me?” I couldn’t believe it.

  “He said I’d need your help. If I deputize you, you would have the power to arrest.”

  “Be careful. You know power goes to my head.”

  DeWayne shook his head. “You can investigate and arrest, but you cannot touch any prisoners. Repeat after me.”

  I followed the simple ceremony that made me an official deputy sheriff of Sunflower County. When it was over, DeWayne handed me a badge. “I know you really want to tune someone up. Coleman warned me about your propensity for violating prisoners. Just remember, at the end of the day, we both answer to the sheriff.”

  And that was warning enough.

  By the time I’d written my requests for reports on Wiley Ryan’s criminal past, using the official email DeWayne gave me, and sent them off, Valentine’s Day was a memory. I’d survived the romantic holiday alone, and not even Jitty was going to be able to give me grief about my single status.

  I went home and fell into bed where dreams of hairy cupids tormented me throughout the night. At one point I awoke to the sound of strange music to find the cat-headed goddess Bastet dancing around my bed.

  Jitty was determined to drive me to drink. Pluto sat like a sphinx on a folded quilt, ignoring the Egyptian goddess of felines, sexuality, protection, and perfume. I had to admire Pluto’s dignity, and his refusal to play into Jitty’s hands. She was a dedicated tormentor. And of course, my kitty was named after the Roman good of the underworld. Jitty couldn’t get a thing over on him.

  “Jitty, if you don’t stop that music and dancing around wearing that cat head, I’m going to get up and call a priest to exorcise you.”

  “Priests can’t bother me. I’m a goddess not a haint. I’m just tryin’ to give you some lust mojo. Da-yum! You are determined to die an old maid.”

  I threw a pillow at her, but it just went straight through and hit the wall. “Get out of my bedroom. Now!”

  A black sistrum shook at the foot of the bed and then it was gone—and Jitty along with it. Pluto stretched lazily and came to sleep spooned against me. “Jitty better stop pushing love at me or I’m going to become a nun,” I mumbled to Pluto, who only purred louder.

  The next morning I awoke with a sense of mission. The day for lovers was behind me, and the calendar marched toward Spring, when the days would grow longer and the loneliness would abate. It was a good day for investigating. I’d find out who had clocked Tinkie’s real cupid, and who had robbed her guests. It was time to shake the lead out.

  DeWayne sent over the reports from the Birmingham P.D.--Wiley Ryan was wanted in Alabama as well as Louisiana for robberies that used the same MO as the thefts at Tinkie’s party.

  Wiley had attended bachelor parties and jumped out of cakes, Christmas parties as an elf, and sweet sixteen parties as a fairy tale character. At each party, the guests and hosts had been robbed.

  But there had never been an act of violence.

  Of particular interest was the fact that Wiley was a native of Panther Holler, Mississippi.

  In a community of less than four hundred people, which was the last census report for Panther Holler, someone had to know Wiley. It was a quick drive south of Zinnia. I dialed my partner. “Time to shake, rattle, and roll,” I said briskly. “Pull on your drawers, we’re driving to Panther Holler. We might be able to find your stolen property. Chop-chop, your chariot is en route.”

  “You are a sadist,” Tinkie said in a monotone.

  “Yep. Be ready in thirty minutes. I’m on my way.”

  I was showered and dressed in just over ten minutes and out the door with Pluto and Sweetie Pie. When I pulled onto the drive at Hilltop, Tinkie was waiting, her little Yorkie, Chablis, in her arms. The camellia leaves in her hair told me she’d done some investigating on her own.

  Even though she didn’t feel great, Tinkie was dressed to the nines in designer jeans, boots, and a black wool tunic with red dots appliquéd down the left side. She looked terrific, except for the vaguely green tint to her skin.

  “Lovely shade you’re wearing. Are you trying out for the role of Wicked Witch of the West?”

  “Don’t say it. I drank too much.”

  “I had no intention of saying a thing.” I’d certainly had my share of bad nights and I wasn’t one to cast the first stone.

  I chatted and Tinkie listened as we made the drive to the small community not far from the Mississippi River. A feed store and a quick stop were the heart of Panther Holler, but there was also a mechanic and a hair salon. I stopped at the feed store and went in to ask about Wiley Ryan.

  The elderly woman behind the counter could have been eighty or a hard forty. It was impossible to tell. She wore a plaid flannel muumuu that looked a lot like a nightgown.

  I wandered around the offerings of seeds, horse and cattle feed, fencing supplies, halters, and grooming tools. When I was certain we were alone in the store, I picked up some brushes and a currycomb and went to the counter.

  She ignored my pleasantries but took my money. When she’d sacked my purchases, she handed them to me. “Those brushes have been there for over five years. What is it you really want?” She was nobody’s fool.

  “I’m looking for Wiley Ryan’s family.”

  She stared at me a long minute. “Why?”

  “He may be involved in a robbery.”

  “That banker fellow over in Zinnia?”

  I nodded. News traveled fast in the Delta. “The Richmonds are friends of mine. In fact, Mrs. Richmond is out there in the car.”

  She got up and went to the front of the store and stared at Tinkie and the animals. “She don’t look too uppity, holding that little dog.”

  I didn’t respond to the uppity comment. “Can you tell me where to find Wiley Ryan’s family?”

  “I’m his mama.”

  Well, it wasn’t exactly the answer I’d expected. I’d pretty much called her son a thief to her face. “I didn’t—”

  “Wiley’s been in trouble with the law in the past. He told me he’d cleaned up his act, and I told him not to bring his bad behavior back home to Mississippi. If he had to plunder and steal, he was told to keep it across the state line. If he robbed that toga party, he messed up big time, but I don’t think he did it. Wiley wouldn’t do that. He’s got too much sense.”

  “Mrs. Ryan, a young man was attacked last night.”

  She pushed her dyed brown hair back from her face. “I heard. Wiley’s a thief, but he ain’t the kind to harm someone. Don’t be tryin’ to pin that on him.”

  “He came to the party last night as Cupid. The young man who’d been hired to play Cupid was knocked unconscious and dragged into the shrubs. He was hit hard enough that the blow could have killed him or done permanent damage.”

  “It might not look good for Wiley, but he ain’t violent.”

  The front door opened and Tinkie slipped into the room with Chablis in her arms. “Did you get a lead on Wiley?” she asked. “It’s cold out there in the car.”

  “Tinkie, this is Wiley’s mother.”

  She gave Mrs. Ryan the once-over as she walked to the counter. “Mrs. Ryan, we’re private investigators. Where is your son?”

  “Wiley may have robbed your friends, but he didn’t hit anyone. With Wiley’s record, an assault charge will put him in prison for the rest of his life. I’m not overly trustin’ of our legal system,” she said, going back behind the counter. “Why should I tell you anything?”

  “If Wiley will return the things he stole, maybe we can help him.”

  “And maybe you can get him killed.” Worry flitted across her face before she regained control. “Talking to private dicks ain’t never got my people anything other than trouble.”

  Her cell phone rang. She checked the number but didn’t answer. For a long moment, silence stretched between the three of us. Then the phone rang again. She finally took the call. �
��Yes?” Her face changed and she looked at us fearfully.

  “What’s wrong?” Tinkie asked.

  “Someone took a shot at Wiley. He said they’re trying to kill him. They got him pinned down.”

  “Who’s after him?”

  “He ain’t givin’ me the details. The boy is under fire at my house. I gotta go help him.”

  “I’ll call the sheriff,” I said.

  “No!” She grabbed the phone from my hand. “No lawmen. My boy ain’t goin’ to jail.”

  “You’d rather he be dead than in jail?” Tinkie asked.

  “Neither.” She reached under the counter for a shotgun. “I’ll save my boy without help from any of you, especially a badge.”

  I realized then that I had a badge. I’d forgotten I was a deputy. Now wasn’t the best time to bring it up. “Put the gun away.”

  “Make me.” And Mama Ryan was out the door. For a frumpy older woman in a flannel nightgown and purple Barney slippers, she moved fast. She was in her truck and on the highway headed north by the time Tinkie and I loaded up and followed.

  The Ryan home was down a narrow dirt path, brilliantly called Pig Trail Road, that ended at a brake surrounded by tupelo gum trees. The trees told me the area was sometimes underwater. This would be mosquito heaven in a warm month.

  When we arrived, Mrs. Ryan got out of her truck and sent two quick blasts of buckshot into the trees. “Get out of here,” she yelled.

  Tinkie and I instinctively ducked down in the front seat, pulling the critters with us. “She’s not right in the head,” Tinkie said. “She might have killed someone.”

  “I think that was her intention. She’s protecting her son, and just so you know, DeWayne deputized me last night.” I had to tell her sometime.

  “Dammit, Sarah Booth, why didn’t you just arrest her?” Tinkie asked. “We could have taken her back to Zinnia and you could have given her a tune up.”

  “We weren’t in Sunflower County, and I promised DeWayne I wouldn’t abuse the badge.” I mumbled the last part.

  “Do you think she would have known you were out of your jurisdiction? It’s not like we could really arrest her. You could have detained her. Put the cuffs on her. Then we wouldn’t be hunkered down in the floorboard of your car praying we don’t get blasted.”

  She had a point, but I had other matters on my mind. I peeked over the dashboard. “She’s going inside. We have to follow.”

  Mama Ryan had almost reached the front steps when a bullet tore into the door of the cabin. She jumped back and dropped to the ground beside the wooden steps. She pumped five more rounds into the woods. “Come out, you coward,” she called. “I’ll show you what happens to trespassers.”

  As another volley of gunfire was exchanged, I opened my door to edge out.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Tinkie grabbed my hair in a death grip.

  “To go around the cabin. Let go of my hair!”

  She gripped tighter. “You’re staying right here.”

  Before I could do anything else, Sweetie plowed through the open door and headed for the woods. Chablis was hot on her heels.

  We both made a grab for the critters, but they were gone and angling into the woods where the gunfire originated. Tinkie’s hold on me faltered, and I slipped free and headed for the back of the cabin. She’d be mad, but I had to make my move. If Wiley was inside, he might be injured or dead.

  As I neared the backdoor, I heard movement inside. I assumed Wiley was unarmed or he would have been firing back at the person blowing holes in the front of his mama’s house. Assumptions could be deadly, so I entered with great caution. I’d just cleared the door when Wiley, still wearing only a diaper, came barreling out of the kitchen. He smacked into me and we both tumbled in a heap to the floor.

  “Wiley Ryan, you’re under arrest,” I said, puling the badge from my coat pocket and holding it in his face. Luckily I’d fallen on top of him. My weight had pressed the air from his lungs and he was gasping like a fish on land and flailing his arms and legs, to no avail.

  “Get off me!” he huffed.

  I was at least a foot taller than him and probably weighed more. I remembered DeWayne’s warning about abusing the suspects. To my chagrin, I couldn’t cuff him. DeWayne had given me a badge but no handcuffs. I grabbed his belt and used it to secure his hands together.

  “How much do you weigh, you Amazon cow?” he asked.

  “I could beat the snot out of you right now?” It wasn’t exactly the visual I wanted in my brain, but too late. It was tit for tat and we were at an impasse, until the front door slammed and the heavy footsteps of Mama Ryan tromped toward us. She had a gun, and she’d use it if she thought I was hurting her baby boy. In the distance I heard Sweetie Pie’s deep baying howl as she gave chase. Chablis’s little yip blended into the hound-dog melody.

  Mama Ryan gripped my shoulders and pulled me off Wiley. “The shooter’s gone. That hound dog of yours tore off after him and he hauled ass.” She chuckled. “That’s a fine dog. You wouldn’t want to sell her, would you?”

  “Absolutely not.” I stood up and indicated for Wiley to follow suit. “I’m taking your son to jail, Mrs. Ryan. He’ll be safe there.”

  The gun cocked. “Nobody’s going anywhere. Get your partner in here.”

  She was a little late on the draw. Tinkie had already slipped in the front door and was right behind her—with a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Before Wiley could cry out a warning, Tinkie clocked Mama Ryan. She went down hard, the gun still clutched in her hand. I removed it and used it to motion Wiley to his feet.

  “We’re going to Zinnia before anything else happens.”

  “I can’t leave Mama on the floor like that.” With his hands belted together, he tried to help his mother to her feet.

  Tinkie checked her pulse. “She’s fine. She’ll have a bad headache. Now get moving.” She waved Wiley down the back steps. Just as I started to call out, Sweetie Pie and Pluto raced out of the woods and joined Wiley in the backseat.

  “Let’s go.” We jumped in the car and I made tracks down Pig Trail Road.

  “Who are you working for?” I asked Wiley. He rode in the back seat with Sweetie Pie on one side and Chablis on the other. Pluto, normally a cat of discriminating taste, was rubbing his head on Wiley’s hairy shins.

  “I’m not a rat.” Wiley looked straight ahead, ignoring me. “I’m not saying a word.”

  Tinkie got on her knees in the passenger seat and leaned into the back of the car. “Tell us or I’ll take you back to my house—where you robbed my guests and nearly killed my cupid. Then I’ll get out my hot wax and turn you into a bald little satyr. I would take pleasure in ripping your fur out by the roots.”

  “I didn’t hurt anyone. What are you talking about? There wasn’t another cupid.” He looked genuinely confused.

  “You knocked the young man hired to play cupid out and nearly killed him. He’s still in the hospital. He could have swelling on the brain.” Tinkie put it on thick.

  “I didn’t! I wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Wiley’s eyes were wide. “I’ve never hurt anyone in my life.”

  “How did you know to come to the party as Cupid?” Tinkie demanded.

  “The same way I learn about all the other parties. Someone emails and tells me the time, address, and what to wear. They never said anything about hurting anyone. I swear.”

  “Who calls?” I asked. We weren’t far from Zinnia.

  “I don’t know.” He sounded perfectly miserable. “I never wanted to know.”

  “Ignorance is not working for us,” Tinkie said. “You’d better spill.”

  “Or what?” Wiley sounded defeated. “You think waxing my back scares me? I’ve got real worries.”

  “It wasn’t your back where I planned to start.” Tinkie was deadly.

  “Enough.” The threats were getting us nowhere. “Wiley, you’re on the line for an attempted murder charge. We can help you. We will help you if you help us.�
�

  Wiley hesitated. “I don’t know anything.”

  “Make up your mind. I can take you to the Sunflower County jail, or I can take you to my house for a chat. Up to you.”

  “Not the jail.” Wiley’s voice broke. “I’ll tell you everything I know, but you have to believe me that I didn’t know anything about what happened to the young man.” I turned the car right and headed to Dahlia House. Wiley Ryan was going to sing like a bird.

  “I had nothing to do with the other cupid. I didn’t know there was another cupid. I showed up like I was told, and while the guests were busy having fun, I robbed them, just like I’ve done a dozen times before.”

  “Someone attacked Gregory Lent. It makes sense it was the substitute cupid,” Tinkie pressed him.

  “But it wasn’t me. Let me call my mama and make sure she’s okay.”

  “Who tells you about the parties?” Tinkie had him on the hot seat and she wasn’t letting up. Since I was driving, I couldn’t contribute a lot to the interrogation.

  “It’s all set up by email. I get the details and I hit the party with my helpers. We take what we can, just the obvious stuff. Then we clear out. I take the goods to a drop point and two days later, I pick up my share. It’s never enough, but I don’t have time to pawn the hot items so it’s the best I can do.”

  “Are you affiliated with a talent agency in Memphis?” Tinkie asked.

  I remembered the big money she’d paid for Gregory Lent and the female singers. The sirens had been cozying up to men all during the party. They could easily be pickpockets.

  “No.” Wiley’s brows drew together.

  I caught the visual in the rearview mirror. I’d thought he couldn’t get more unattractive, but the unibrow upped the ante.

  “Never heard of that talent agency,” Wiley said. “Now call my mama. She better be okay or you two are gonna be charged with hitting an old woman.”

  Tinkie sighed, and I knew a small burden had been lifted. It was bad enough to be robbed at her own party, but if she had paid for the thieves to be there, it would have added insult to injury. She pulled out her phone and dialed the number Wiley gave her.