Greedy Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  Madame Tomeeka’s strange prophecy came back to me. A new grave in the Delaney family cemetery was the vision she’d seen. Never in my wildest imagination had I considered it might be the grave of my unborn child, a child that had barely existed.

  Tears spattered the crisp whiteness of the sheet, and I made no effort to stop them. I’d lost my grip on anger and a desire for revenge, and what I was left with was only loss. There was nothing that could be done to change what had occurred.

  If I could turn back time, I would never have gone to the Carlisle place alone. But that wasn’t being fair to me, either. My life was solving cases, and that brought danger into my world. I couldn’t live in a bubble, completely protected from anything that might harm me. That wasn’t living—that was only existing. My parents hadn’t been like that, and neither could I.

  The memory of my mother came back to me, and a sense of peace came with it. In my direst time of need, she’d appeared. All of these years of wanting just a moment with her, just a conversation. And she’d come because there was no one who could comfort me the way she could. While most people would call it a dream, I knew better.

  The soft knock on the door drew me from my introspection, and I wiped at my tears. Tinkie entered the room, her face a reflection of my own tear-stained one.

  “Is Oscar—” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

  “He’s barely hanging on, but Doc is working on something.” She came to the bed and put her hands on my face, gently wiping away my tears. “There’s nothing I can say that will take away this pain. I grieve with you.”

  She was the truest of friends. “I know.”

  “If your blood somehow saves Oscar . . .”

  The irony wasn’t lost on me, but irony is a weak and pitiful counterthrust to tragedy. “Doc looked more hopeful than I’ve seen him in a long time. He’s onto the solution this time.”

  Tinkie had suffered her own loss, and I could read the sadness in her face. “Sarah Booth, I’m so sorry. If only—”

  “You didn’t hit me, and neither did Oscar. The person who did this is responsible for a lot more than me. There’re bad people in the world, and whether they’re hiding at an old plantation or lurking in a mansion in Costa Rica, we can’t spend our lives trying to avoid them. I was just thinking about this before you came in.”

  “I feel like my life has been stripped away.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “The two people I love most in the world are both in this hospital. Both have been terribly injured.” She smoothed the sheet. “If I ever doubted that I could do bodily harm to someone, I know now that I can.”

  Tilting toward her, I whispered, “Don’t let the other Daddy’s Girls hear that. You’ll be banned from high society.”

  Her smile was worth the effort it cost me to lean forward.

  “Doc says you can go home soon. He said you’re young and healthy and that you’ll be back in fighting form with no permanent damage.”

  Funny that the human body could adjust so quickly to such a horrific emotional loss. Not so the heart. “Bonnie Louise is still on the loose. And Janks, what ever his role was in this.”

  “Do you think she waylaid you, or do you think it was Luther?”

  “Coleman found footprints that match Bonnie’s shoes.”

  Tinkie nodded. “It’s just that the attack was so vicious. Of course, no one knew about the baby. But still, why would she beat you that brutally?”

  I thought for a moment, remembering her attraction to Coleman. It was possible that Bonnie Louise was one of those people who had to harm anyone she perceived as in the way of what she wanted. “I don’t know. Look at what they did to Cece.”

  “Luther’s in jail caterwauling about a lawyer, but Coleman is stonewalling him.” Tinkie shrugged. “If he had a hand in this, I hope he rots in prison.”

  I told Tinkie about the key chain and what Coleman had discovered. Anger bloomed in red splotches on her cheeks. “Well, the good news is that the weevils are dead. And I promise you one thing, if Bonnie Louise McRae did this because Oscar had to do his job and foreclose on their farm, she’s going to pay big-time.”

  “Let’s focus on Doc helping Oscar and Gordon. Let Coleman handle Bonnie.” Even as I said the words, I knew they were false. I had a personal score to settle with Bonnie. “I love having you here, Tinkie, but I know you need to be with Oscar.”

  She rose slowly. “You’re going to be fine, Sarah Booth. You’ll mend, and Graf will be here soon. Cece finally got word to him. He was on a shoot in the desert and we had a little trouble getting in touch. But he’s doing everything he can to get here. The two of you have many good years ahead.”

  “I know.”

  She kissed my cheek. “I love you like a sister.”

  I caught her and held on. “Right back at you.”

  She was at the door when my phone rang. I picked it up. Coleman’s voice came through the line.

  “Sarah Booth, I’ve found Janks.”

  “Where is he?” I had every intention of going there and confronting him.

  “His body was dumped in Goodman’s Brake. He’d been shot in the head. I’m waiting here for the forensic team before the body is transported.”

  “He’s dead?” The scenario of guilt I’d developed collapsed. “How long?”

  “The coroner will be able to give us a time when he gets here, but my best guess is at least a day. Maybe two. I’ll keep you posted. Just recover.”

  “Thanks for letting me know,” I said, caught in the sense that somehow, through all of this, Coleman and I had found our footing again as friends. I closed my cell phone.

  Tinkie waited at the door and I relayed the information.

  “Bonnie’s cleaning up her accomplices. Luther should be glad he’s in the jail,” she said.

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed. The pain was like a cannonball slamming into my torso, but I took a breath.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Tinkie asked.

  “Getting my strength back.” I didn’t have time to mope around a hospital bed.

  26

  Doc was furious when he discovered me walking up and down the hallway. Thank goodness he had other fish to fry. Instead of corralling me, he had to save Oscar and Gordon, but he made it plain he was upset.

  “I won’t be responsible for the consequences if you persist in this hardheaded conduct,” he told me darkly as he tried to steer me back to my room.

  “Erin Carlisle is missing. Lester Ballard and Jimmy Janks are dead. You’re going to cure Oscar and Gordon.” I took a breath and shook free. “And I’m going to nail the person who did this to me.”

  “You’re a strong, healthy young woman, Sarah Booth, but your body and your heart require time to mend.”

  “Trust me, hammering the person responsible will help me recover a lot faster.” I couldn’t deny the wisdom of his words, but Doc hadn’t suffered my loss.

  “What do you hope to accomplish? Coleman is on the case, why not let him handle it?”

  I had my reasons. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I won’t sign your release form.”

  Doc’s stubbornness was an indication of his concern. “I would expect nothing less.”

  Wearing the beautiful green pajamas that Cece had ordered, I walked out the front door of the hospital only to realize my car was likely still at the Carlisle plantation. I called Harold.

  “I’m standing on the front lawn of the hospital in green pajamas. Can you give me a lift home?”

  “Did Doc release you?”

  Harold knew me a little too well. “Don’t start. I can’t lie around in the hospital with nothing to do.” Every step sent little flares of pain over my bruised body, but it was bearable. “And bring me a pack of cigarettes, please.”

  “Not a chance. I’ll drive you to Dahlia House, but I will not be a party to your smoking.”

  I smiled. By asking for something I knew Harold wouldn’t do, I’d maneuvered him into doing what I
wanted. Maybe some of Tinkie’s skills were rubbing off on me.

  The bank was only a few minutes away, and Harold’s fancy red sports car whipped up to the curb. He was out in a flash, opening my door and assisting me into the car. Good manners are comforting in the strangest way. I felt safe with Harold.

  “I’m calling Coleman as soon as I settle you at home,” he said.

  “Call all you want. Coleman isn’t the boss of me.”

  “Exactly the mature response I expected.”

  “Bite me.”

  “That bat whack to your head must’ve scrambled your brain back to junior high.” He took a curve about forty miles over the appropriate speed. He was a fine one to talk. Put a stick shift in a guy’s hand and some power beneath a gas pedal and he’ll revert to Hot Wheels every time.

  “If I survive your driving, there’s little anyone else can do to harm me.”

  Harold slowed to a more sedate pace. “I’ll take the rest of the day off. What ever you’re up to, you aren’t allowed to do it alone. Have you taken a look in a mirror?”

  “No.” I put my fingers to my face. Even without a looking glass, I deduced that one side of my head was swollen. I undoubtedly resembled a badly formed melon. “Wait until I get my hands on that bitch.”

  “Ah, vanity overrules common sense. I knew that despite the jean-clad exterior and the disdain for society, you are female to the core.” Harold swung down the drive to Dahlia House. My heart lifted at the sight of the sycamore trees lining the drive, the trunks pale against the new cotton in the fields.

  “Joke all you want, Harold.”

  When he braked in front of the house, he locked both doors. “This isn’t a joking matter, Sarah Booth. I’ll help you do whatever crazy thing you’ve concocted, but I will not leave you alone.”

  He wasn’t kidding. What ever action I felt necessary to take, Harold would help. Legal, illegal. Whatever. That kind of friendship could never be taken lightly. “Thank you, Harold.” If I went all maudlin on him, he’d hustle me inside and make me soup. “I’m okay. Yes, I’m bruised, but nothing life threatening. And don’t call Coleman, please.”

  My cell phone rang before the last word slipped off my tongue. Coleman was on the line.

  “Doc says you’re off the reservation,” he said.

  “Harold has brought me home.” I tried to sound subdued.

  “Let me talk to Harold.”

  “He’s busy.” I wasn’t about to let the two of them gang up on me. “Where are you?”

  “I’m still at Goodman’s Brake.”

  The brake, an untamed area of wilderness and swamp, was a clever dumpsite for a body. The brakes in the Delta were often hunted, but since the season was out, the location was isolated. “What’s the story on Janks? Have the forensic people gotten there?”

  “The preliminary assessment is that Janks has been dead for at least a day,” Coleman said. “You may have been the last person known to see him alive when he was in West Point.”

  “Did they determine anything else?”

  “Janks was shot at close range with a small caliber weapon. Probably a .22. We’ll know for sure after an autopsy.”

  “Can you connect it to Lester Ballard’s murder?”

  Loud voices babbled in the background, but when Coleman spoke, I heard him clearly. “They were both killed with a small caliber. Until ballistics are matched, though, no one can say more for certain.”

  “No word on Erin?”

  “None. Luther is still in jail. I can’t hold him forever unless I charge him, and I don’t have the evidence to charge him. Yet.”

  “Coleman, I’m going back to the Carlisle plantation.”

  “Not a good idea.”

  “The weevils are dead. Peyton ought to have more information about them. Have you talked with him?”

  “I’ve left messages, but he hasn’t called me.”

  “He went to Jackson, but he should have returned long ago.” Worry sparked. “Do you think Bonnie Louise has done something to him?”

  Coleman didn’t answer, which told me he was leaning toward a bad conclusion.

  “Look, he might be out at the Carlisle place. I’ll check over the house and look for him.”

  Coleman wanted to argue, but he had his hands full with Janks’s body, a missing woman, and a psychopathic killer on the loose.

  “I’ll call in every half hour.” I wanted to reassure him.

  “I wish Graf would arrive in town to ride herd over you,” he said.

  “Nice try. I gotta go.” I closed the phone and met Harold’s studious gaze.

  “I’ll be your chariot,” he said.

  I’d managed to elude Doc and Coleman, but Harold had the only set of wheels at Dahlia House. It was either ride with him, walk, or hitchhike. I conceded with minimal enthusiasm.

  As lovely as my new pj’s were, I couldn’t wear them on a case, so I left Harold in the parlor with Sweetie and Chablis and I hurried upstairs to take a quick shower and change.

  My image in the mirror stared back, swollen and bruised. The side of my face was a ghastly shade of yellow beginning to darken. Good thing I didn’t have a movie role in the next four weeks. The only work I’d be able to snare would be as a plum on a Fruit of the Loom commercial.

  When I removed my jammies, I saw the bruises at my waist, hips, thighs, and stomach. Someone had worked me over with great brutality. I got under the hot spray, hoping to begin the process of washing away the hurt and loss.

  I dressed and combed out my wet hair. Makeup couldn’t begin to cover the damage, so I didn’t try. I grabbed my purse and met Harold at the front door.

  Sweetie and Chablis danced and barked, hoping for a sign they could go. Not a chance. While the weevils were dead, the potential of contaminants in the cotton was too dangerous. Chablis had a varied wardrobe of glitter bows, cashmere sweaters, and booties, but not a single canine hazmat suit.

  “I’ll be back,” I told them. “Soon.” When I looked outside, I realized there wasn’t much daylight left. If I intended to investigate, I had to shake the lead out.

  I lived with a ghost at Dahlia House, but the sense of being haunted didn’t bother me at home. Not true of the Carlisle plantation. Foreboding hung over that place like a funeral shroud. Color me uneasy.

  Harold idled down the driveway, and in the fading late spring light, the devastation in the fields was heartbreaking. Not a single sign of life was in evidence in the long vista of cotton fields—not plant or insect—as far as the eye could see.

  In the distance, the grand old house looked shabby and abandoned—by living entities. If the theme from The Exorcist started playing and dead leaves began to blow along the drive, I wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow.

  “I wonder what the disposition of the land will be,” Harold said.

  “I don’t know.” If Erin was dead and Luther found guilty as an accomplice to murder, or worse, the land might be sold. “It’s a terrible shame.”

  “I wonder why Janks settled on developing this particular plot of ground.”

  “Because Luther convinced him he could get it. The development plan was enormous. It’s hard to find a piece of property large enough for such an ambitious project.”

  “Maybe.” Harold stopped in front of the house. The divided steps curved gracefully up to the front door, which was at the second-story level. “My question is this—in today’s economy, what kind of sense does it make to think of developing a huge subdivision and shopping complex? Most folks are worried about surviving, not consuming.”

  “Good point, Harold.” Which begged the question of why Janks had been so hot to develop the Carlisle land. What was his real role in the whole scheme?

  Harold pointed to the house. “You had your picture made here in high school in the drama club.”

  “You weren’t in my class. How did you know that?”

  “Millie had an old high school annual at the café showing folks your school pictures. All of you thespia
ns were lined up on the steps.”

  “This place was so beautiful then.” My words seemed to invoke the spirits of the past. A wind whipped out of the south and one of the shutters banged.

  Harold opened his car door and came around to assist me out. “Let’s get this done,” he said. “I want to satisfy your curiosity and then tuck you into bed. Graf and I aren’t best buds, but I don’t want him pissed at me because I helped your trot all over the county after being beaten.”

  “Maybe you should just chain me in the yard like some prize-hunting dog that you men control,” I grumbled as I got out of the car. But I was happy for his supportive hand under my elbow.

  “Now that’s an amusing image.” Harold was still chuckling as he assisted me up the steps.

  The front door was locked, but we had a clear view though the sidelights flanking the stout mahogany. I paused for a moment before I saw the dead potted plant. Without a second’s hesitation I picked it up and hurled it through the glass. After the shards finished falling, I reached in and unlocked the door.

  “Very subtle,” Harold said, but he followed me inside.

  The furnishings were dark shadows in the corners of the room, but the elegance still lingered. Had I not come home to Dahlia House, she would have had the same feel of loneliness and neglect. It was probably silly to personify a house, but I couldn’t help myself. This had once been a home, a place of both laughter and tears. And perhaps murder.

  Did the ghost of Lana Carlisle still walk the hallways, hoping that someone would eventually avenge her murder?

  Wind whistled through the open front door and it slammed with a bang. I almost jumped into Harold’s arms.

  “A little edgy, aren’t you, Sarah Booth?” he teased.

  “It’s been a hard couple of weeks.” I managed a dry tone. “Let’s check the kitchen.”

  Power had been shut off to the house for quite a while, so I was unprepared for the smell of decay that slammed into my nostrils when I pushed open the kitchen door.

  “Some animal must have died in here,” Harold said, walking briskly to the back door and opening it. A little more light illuminated the room, but the day was slipping away from us.