Greedy Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  The foul odor came from the sink, and I went there and opened a cabinet. Instead of a dead creature, there was rotted food in a garbage can. “No one lives here. Why is there food?” The packaging was relatively new.

  The thud that came made us both jump.

  Without debating the issue, we ran to the staircase. To my surprise, Harold drew a small pistol from the waistband of his pants. It was sleek and sophisticated, just like him.

  “When did you start carrying a gun?” I asked him.

  “When you started calling me to haul you around,” he said. “You forget, Sarah Booth, I’ve been in the hospital emergency room more than once to visit you and Tinkie. If bullets are going to fly, I want to be launching my share of them.”

  No point arguing that theory, because I agreed with it. I only wished that I’d brought a gun, too.

  At the next floor, we moved cautiously. We had no way of knowing if someone was hiding in the house or trying to lure us into a trap.

  “We should separate,” I told Harold at the top of the stairs. “I’ll go right.”

  “Not on your life.” He snatched my arm and held it firmly. “You stay behind me.” He didn’t give me a chance to argue but moved down the hallway in the lead, the gun extended and me behind him like a shadow.

  The house was deathly still. I’d begun to wonder if we’d imagined the thud when I heard something again. It sounded like furniture bumping against a wall. Or someone thumping down stairs.

  Lana Carlisle had fallen to her death—the stairs were ten feet from where Harold and I stood. I couldn’t resist glancing backward to see if some vestige of the past had presented itself. I had that kind of sick and twisted mind.

  The staircase was empty, and the thud came from down the hallway.

  “I couldn’t convince you to stay here, could I?” Harold asked.

  “Nope.” I was on him like white on rice.

  “Then stay behind me.”

  Holding the gun extended, Harold advanced with me at his back. The thud came from a room to the left. The door was closed, and I could see that a hasp and lock had been added. A serious lock.

  “What the hell.” Harold brought the butt of the gun down on the lock, but it held solid.

  Another bumping noise came from inside the room.

  “Someone’s in there,” I whispered.

  “I could shoot the lock off,” he offered.

  Instead, I lifted my foot and smashed it into the door as hard as I could. The wood held, but the screws used to bolt the lock into the wood loosened. Harold kicked it this time, and the screws loosened more.

  “One, two, three . . .” We both kicked at the same time and the screws gave with a tired screech.

  The door flew open, and in the dim light I saw a figure tied on the floor, honey-gold hair catching the dying rays of light.

  “Erin!” I rushed over and snatched a piece of duct tape from her mouth.

  “Help me.” Her voice was dangerously weak.

  I tore at the knotted ropes that tied her hands and feet. Harold had his cell phone in hand. “Send an ambulance to the Carlisle plantation,” he said. “Immediately. And get in touch with the sheriff. We need him here.”

  27

  By the time Doc concluded his examination of Erin, Coleman still hadn’t arrived from the dumpsite of Jimmy Janks’s body. As ER nurses rushed to carry out Doc’s bidding, I gently questioned Erin.

  She was sure of only one thing—that her abductors were a male-female team. They’d worn ski masks and taken care to protect their identities. With help from Cece, who called in a few favors at the newspaper, I was able to get my hands on photos of Jimmy Janks and Bonnie Louise McRae to show to Erin.

  She couldn’t identify either. Nor could she implicate her brother, Luther, in the sequence of events that led to her abduction.

  “I’d agreed to meet that newspaper reporter, Cece Dee Falcon, at the studio.” She put a hand over her face. “It was stupid so late at night, but she had details on what Janks and Luther intended to do with my family land. I was furious they’d gone so far. I got to the studio before Ms. Falcon and went inside to wait. I’d barely cleared the front door when I was struck on the head. When I came to, I was trussed up and the man and woman pushed me into the back of the vehicle.”

  “Did you ever see Cece?”

  “Yes.” She sipped the water I held for her. “We drove through the parking lot and I saw her lying there, bloody and beaten. I was afraid she was dead.”

  “You can’t identify either of them?”

  “They concealed their faces. They gave me some kind of injection in the vehicle, but before I passed out, I heard their voices. I don’t know them.”

  In the hours of her incarceration, she’d been kept blindfolded and restrained. Her captors had fed her and allowed her to use the bathroom, but they hadn’t spoken to her.

  “Did they ever say why you’d been abducted?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “They never spoke in my presence. Not a single word. That was one of the hardest things about it. There were times when I thought I’d disappeared into a place where I’d never talk with anyone again. And when I finally got the blindfold off I realized that I was back in my family home.” She shuddered. “It was hellish.”

  For Erin, the Carlisle plantation held more bad memories than good. It must have been awful to awaken there and realize she was a captive in the place where she believed her parents had been murdered—and to realize that she’d been abandoned in a locked room on a derelict plantation.

  “When was the last time your captor showed up?”

  She thought about it, the toll of her ordeal showing clearly in her pale complexion. “Maybe midmorning.”

  “Today?” That was impossible.

  “That’s right.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Why?”

  I looked at Harold, who was leaning against the back wall of the emergency room. “It couldn’t be Jimmy Janks, then,” I said. “He was dead this morning.”

  She pushed her thick hair out of her eye. “I’m not sorry he’s dead.”

  “You’re certain Luther wasn’t your abductor?” Harold asked.

  “No. It wasn’t Luther, though I don’t doubt he was involved in it. But I know the sound of his footsteps, the way he moves around that old house. I grew up listening to him sneaking in and out of his room. I can say one hundred percent that it wasn’t Luther.”

  Then who the hell was it? I didn’t have to ask the question aloud, because Harold was thinking exactly the same thing. His eyebrows had risen almost to his hairline.

  “Let’s check on Oscar,” I told Harold. We were only a few corridors away from the private room where he’d been taken, and I wanted to speak with him alone.

  We left Erin to the tender mercies of the lab techs and nurses as they began the process of collecting bloods and fluids for the battery of tests Doc had ordered.

  “There’s another accomplice in this,” Harold said once we were alone in the hallway.

  “It could still be Luther. A lot of time has passed since Erin shared space with her brother. If he was involved in hurting her, she might have subconsciously blocked it out.” I was an authority on the power of subconscious blocking.

  We stopped talking when we paused at Oscar’s door. All of the patients had been moved to private rooms, and I’d heard Luann and Regina would be discharged in a matter of hours.

  Remembering my sage advice to Tinkie, I tapped lightly and waited for an invitation to enter. Lord knows, I’d been scarred and battered enough for one case—I didn’t need to see a personal encounter between Oscar and Tinkie.

  “Come in,” Tinkie called, and there was such life and pleasure in her voice that I wanted to clap and dance.

  “Sarah Booth! Harold!” Tinkie came around the bed and hurled herself at us. She stood on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. “You’re amazing. You’re the most generous person alive. I thank you and Oscar thank
s you.”

  Glancing over the top of her head, I saw the reason for her effusive thanks. Oscar gave me a weak smile. “Sarah Booth,” he said in a thin, hollow voice, “I hear we’re finally blood relatives.”

  I went to the bed, dragging Tinkie with me. She’d latched on with surprising strength. “Damn it, Oscar, you scared us half to death.”

  “I kept being drawn to this bright light,” he said. “There was a beautiful tunnel, and people kept calling my name. I wanted to go—there was this really sexy redhead—”

  “He’s lying like a rug,” Tinkie cut in. “More likely it was a straight drop down a black hole to a fiery lake.”

  Harold laughed, and I pointed my finger at Oscar. “That is not funny. We’ve spent more than a week thinking you wouldn’t last another ten minutes.”

  His gaze locked on Tinkie, and his smile widened. “I never considered leaving voluntarily,” he said. “Not even when I was so tired, I didn’t think I could hold on another minute. I felt Tinkie there, standing at my bed, willing me to stay beside her.”

  Now that was amazing and creepy. “The only time she left you, Oscar, was when we tricked her into eating and sleeping.”

  “I know. She was outside the window looking into the room, but her spirit was beside me, touching my face, talking to me, telling me to hold on.” He reached up and put a trembling hand on my arm. “I’m sorry for your loss, Sarah Booth.”

  “Thank you, Oscar.”

  “Your blood saved my life. And Gordon’s. Doc said he’s improving, too.”

  “I’m glad I could help.” I meant every syllable of it. “Let’s talk about the case.” I couldn’t keep the focus on my loss; I was still too raw.

  “Have you found Bonnie Louise yet?” Tinkie asked.

  She hid it well, but the glint of fury was there in the corner of her eye. Woe be unto Bonnie Louise if Tinkie got to her before Coleman could safely lock her up.

  “She’s disappeared from the face of the earth,” I said. It wasn’t the total truth, but I didn’t want my friend going to prison for murder. “Coleman may know more when he finally gets back. He’s at Goodman’s Brake with the coroner.”

  “Before you leave the hospital, stop by and see Gordon,” Tinkie suggested.

  I wondered if that was a hint that Oscar was tiring. “Good idea.”

  “Sarah Booth, could I speak with you in the hall?” she asked.

  “You two girls take a walk. Us boys will have a little gossip.” Harold waved us into the hall.

  I’d barely cleared the door when Tinkie jumped me. Her arms went around me and squeezed so hard that I gasped.

  “Oh, dear, I forgot you were hurt,” she said. “I mean, your face looks like something from a cartoon, but your clothes cover up the other bruises.”

  “Thanks.” I hugged her again, even if it hurt.

  “What you said to me, about getting Oscar into a room and making him want to stay, it was the perfect thing.” Her blue eyes were clear and untroubled. “Even with the cure that Doc cooked up, Oscar was almost gone. It was what you suggested that made him come back.”

  I had to laugh. “I doubt that, Tink. He came back to spend the rest of his life with you. You just offered a bit of dessert before dinner.”

  She inhaled and sighed. “I’m so tired, I could drop, but now that he’s out of danger, I’m ready to help with the case.”

  “I think we’re done. Once Coleman finds Bonnie Louise, that’ll be the end of it. Luther’s in jail already. Janks, what ever role he played, is dead. It’s just a matter of dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s.”

  “Maybe I’ll just go home and work to unsnarl Janks’s financial backing. As best I can tell, he has one investor. One very wealthy man with his funding offshore.”

  “Perfect idea.”

  “I’ll stop by and get Chablis.”

  I shook my head. “I’ll bring her home to you. Sweetie will want to ride with me. You go on and I’ll drop her by a little later. We can have a drink together.”

  “You’re on.”

  I was about to signal Harold to leave with me when my cell phone rang. Expecting Coleman, I was surprised to see a strange number show up on the caller I.D.

  “Sarah Booth, it’s Peyton.”

  “Where have you been? Coleman has been looking everywhere for you. Have you seen Bonnie Louise?” It seemed like Peyton had been absent for the resolution of the most important aspects of the case. “Oscar and Gordon are recovering. Luther’s in jail.” I tried to give him the most important updates.

  “Ah, it’s difficult to talk. I need your help.”

  There was something strained in his voice. “Is something wrong?”

  “Very much so. I think I’m going to be killed.”

  No wonder Peyton had vanished—he’d been taken captive. “Is Bonnie there with you now?”

  “Absolutely. Could you meet me?”

  “Where are you?” I started to signal Harold, but I couldn’t risk involving Tinkie. “Shall I bring Coleman?”

  “That would not be smart. You and I can work this out better than anyone else. Delicate situation, you know. Balancing is difficult.”

  If I was correct in reading between the lines, Peyton was implying that Bonnie was unstable. Not exactly breaking news.

  “Has Bonnie hurt you?” I asked.

  “Not yet. Can you meet us? It’s literally a matter of life and death.”

  “Where?”

  “The old Henderson cotton gin.”

  That was way off the beaten path, long abandoned, and a creepy place at high noon. It was night outside, and the old gin afforded hundreds of places for Bonnie Louise to hide and ambush me in the dark.

  “How about the strip mall where Janks’s office is?” I wanted a more public place.

  “I’m not in a position to bargain,” Peyton said, his voice rising. “If you don’t meet me . . .”

  “I’ll be there.” What choice did I have? It was possible that somehow I could get the drop on Bonnie. I had to.

  “Come alone, Sarah Booth. If you try to bring the sheriff or anyone else, my life will be forfeit.”

  Well that was as clear as it could be. “Got it.”

  Tinkie was staring at me when I closed my phone.

  “You look like someone walked over your grave.”

  Her words brought back the image that Madame Tomeeka had planted in my brain—raw dirt in the Delaney family cemetery. Death and loss. To go involved risk, but I intended to take every precaution I could.

  “That was Peyton Fidellas. He wants me to meet him,” I explained.

  “Where?” Tinkie was nobody’s fool.

  “He’s found something interesting.”

  “Where?” She wasn’t going to let it go, that much was clear.

  “He’s in trouble.”

  She lifted her chin in that way that let me know she was about to enter the dead zone of stubbornness. “Where are you meeting him? And don’t try lying. I’ll know.”

  “At the old Henderson cotton gin out on County Road Eight.” While I might be foolhardy enough to go, I wasn’t a complete moron. Someone had to know where I was.

  “Have you lost your mind?” Hot spots of pink jumped into her cheeks. “That’s a set up for you to be killed.”

  “I have to go, Tinkie. Bonnie Louise is holding Peyton hostage. If I don’t show, she’ll kill him.” I spoke softly, trying to calm her as much as possible. “And I have to go now. I can’t wait. Peyton implied that Bonnie is losing it.”

  “Why does she want to see you?” Tinkie asked. “Why not Coleman or Luther? Why you?”

  “I thought about this earlier, and I think the viciousness of the attack on me is motivated by her misbegotten idea that people have stopped her from having happiness. I mean, look what she did to Oscar, because she thought he took her family farm away. She’s disturbed, so she finds a person to blame for the events in her life. Then she decides to make them pay, and she’s willing to do what eve
r is necessary to extract what she sees as justice. She sucked Janks into this with greed, and then when he became an encumbrance, she killed him.”

  “Do you hear what you’re saying?” Tinkie’s face had gone from angry to pale. “She’s willing to do ‘what ever is necessary.’ Still, why has she fixated on you?”

  I hated to say it aloud, but I did. “Coleman. She fell hard for Coleman, and I think she realized that . . .”

  “He’s still in love with you.”

  I looked beyond her, down the hall to a couple of nurses who pushed a pill cart. I wanted to deny her statement, but I couldn’t. Coleman still loved me. Despite everything that had happened.

  Tinkie’s arm went around my waist and she pulled me close. “Do what you have to do, Sarah Booth. Just be careful. Bonnie Louise is unhinged.”

  “I know.”

  “Promise me you’ll take a gun.”

  The problem was that I didn’t have time to go home and get one. But Harold had one, which I suspected he’d left in his car. A car that I needed to get to the old cotton gin.

  “Can you get Harold’s keys?” I asked her.

  “Not a problem.”

  Before I could even react, she went into the hospital room. “Sarah Booth left her purse in your car and she needs it.” Her voice shifted to a whisper. “Feminine products, you know.”

  I was appalled and impressed. No Southern man in his right mind would question the euphemistic “feminine products.” In this instance, it happened to be a gun. Just another example of what might be termed deadly PMS—percussive metal syndrome.

  Tinkie returned to the hallway with the keys. She dangled them, then snatched them back. “Promise me you won’t get hurt.”

  “I promise.” That was easy. I had no intention of deliberately getting injured. Been there, done that, had the bruises to prove it.

  “Call me as soon as you have Bonnie under control.”

  I agreed to those terms, too. “I have to get moving.”

  “I hope I’m making the right decision. If something happens to you, I’ll never forgive myself.”