Bones of a Feather: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery

by Carolyn Haines

  “We’ll do nothing to jeopardize Monica,” Eleanor said. “Let him have the money. I just want my sister.” She spun on Tinkie. “You didn’t tell your husband about the kidnapping, did you?”

  “We haven’t told anyone.” I didn’t care for her aggression toward my partner. Our involvement in this was only to help her save Monica, and she had no right to snarl at Tinkie.

  “I’m sorry. Just do whatever he says. I need your word.”

  “We’re here to help you,” Tinkie assured her.

  Eleanor’s cell phone rang. She answered with grim determination. “You’re early,” she said. She put her phone on speaker so we could all hear.

  “I’m early. You’re early. Perhaps we’re all a bit too eager.” He laughed. “Have a nice meal? I’ve been told Bennator’s has excellent barbecue.”

  “You are a monster!” Eleanor was so wired I was afraid she’d blow the drop before it began. “Where’s my sister?”

  “Here. Say hello, Monica.”

  There was a moment of confusion, again the echoey sound of a large empty space. When Monica spoke, she was agitated. “Did you bring the money, Eleanor? They know everything you do. Be careful—”

  “Enough!” the kidnapper said. “So here’s the plan: Eleanor, you and Ms. Richmond will go to the Eola bar and remain there until I call you. Ms. Delaney will take the Cadillac and the money and drive toward the Mississippi River Bridge. I’ll call her and give further directions.”

  “Sarah Booth is not making the drop!” Tinkie spoke in a very peculiar way. Her words slurred and jammed into one another. She looked at me like a helpless creature who’d been tricked. “Sarah Booth—” She slumped to the pavement, her knees taking the full impact of her fall. She didn’t even utter a groan.

  I caught her and held her against my thighs. Disbelief was quickly turning to fury. “What did you do?” I demanded of Eleanor.

  “I had to do it,” Eleanor said. “He called and said I had to drug her. He said he would kill Monica. Please, Sarah Booth. I had no choice.”

  The bad feeling I’d experienced all evening swelled. “I’m not making the drop.” I wasn’t doing it. I had everything to lose, and Eleanor had lied to me all evening long. There was nothing I hated more than a liar.

  My partner leaned against me. Eleanor reached out, but I ignored her and tried to drag Tinkie to the Cadillac. If I could get her inside, I’d toss the money to the parking lot and drive to the hospital. While Tinkie was petite, unconscious she was as heavy as a load of wet cement.

  “Are you still there?” The kidnapper almost chuckled.

  “We’re here.” Eleanor was crying. “Sarah Booth won’t make the drop.”

  “Then Monica dies.”

  “No, please!” Eleanor sobbed, but she made no attempt to stop me from opening the back door of the Caddy. I tried to shove Tinkie’s upper body in. She was so limp I couldn’t get leverage.

  “He hung up!” Eleanor howled. “He didn’t even give me a chance. He’ll kill her and it’s your fault!!” She hurled herself at me with such force I almost dropped Tinkie. My first impulse was to slap the snot out of her, but I held back, using my final reserve of strength to lift Tinkie into the backseat.

  “What did you give her?” I asked Eleanor. “If she’s hurt, I’ll kill you.”

  “She’s fine. It was a prescription. He has the antidote. As long as she gets it in the proper time, there won’t be any damage.”

  I remembered the empty pill bottle in the bathroom. How long had she been planning to drug one of us? “You and your sister are total liars. I’m not involved in this any longer.” I wanted to say a lot more, about how they were cheats and thieves with no moral compass or compassion. But Tinkie was my priority. I had to get medical help. I wished fervently I was closer to the Zinnia hospital where Doc Sawyer worked. He’d saved Tinkie—and me—more than once.

  Eleanor’s cell phone rang again. She answered immediately, then gingerly handed the phone to me. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “No.” I arranged Tinkie in the most comfortable position I could manage. Her lips smacked as if tasting nectar and a look of pleasure settled on her features. Whatever Eleanor had given her, it had an upside.

  “Sarah Booth?” The male voice came over the speakerphone.

  “Screw you.” I wasn’t in a mood to play nice.

  “Listen to me. Monica’s life hangs on your decision.”

  “I’m not part of this and you can’t force me to be.” I tried not to listen, but I couldn’t stop myself.

  “Bring the ransom to the road under the bridge. Park there. You’ll find a rowboat. Put the money in it and wait for my call.”

  “Eleanor is making the drop. I’m taking my partner to the hospital.”

  Eleanor started to say something, but I slashed my hand through the air in the universal sign for silence so emphatically that she stepped back.

  “If you drive away, Monica dies.” The man was cold. “Perhaps of more significance to you, so will Mrs. Richmond.”

  I looked at the hint of a smile that touched Tinkie’s face. Was it a smile of pleasure or a grimace? Was she in pain and unable to express it? “What did you give her?”

  “The drug is safe if administered properly. An antidote will clear it from her system very quickly, but I wouldn’t rely on the hospital to have it. She’ll be fine, Sarah Booth, if you do what I say.”

  Eleanor whispered, “He’ll give us the antidote when he releases Monica. He promised. I had to get Tinkie out of the way. I had to. He made me.”

  I wanted to kill her with my bare hands. She’d trusted my partner’s life to a kidnapper and a liar.

  “Miss Delaney, will you bring the money or not?” The kidnapper was growing impatient.

  “How do I know you have an antidote or that you’ll administer it?”

  “That’s a risk you’ll have to take.”

  He was so damn smug I wanted to smack him. “Not true. I don’t have to take any risks. I’m taking my partner to the hospital.”

  “Good luck with that, Ms. Delaney. And when Mrs. Richmond dies, you can spend the rest of your life blaming yourself. To be effective, the antidote must be administered within two hours. You have, what? An hour and twenty-five minutes? Good night, ladies. I’ll be sure and tell Monica you sent your good-byes.”

  “Wait!” I couldn’t risk Tinkie’s life—and I couldn’t let him kill Monica. “If I take the money to the bridge, you’ll give me the antidote? Where will Monica be? I won’t leave the money unless she’s free and able to walk away.”

  “She’ll be there, waiting. With the antidote in her possession. The exchange will be … civilized.”

  “I’ll do it,” I said, knowing it was a mistake. This man had kidnapped Monica and likely killed Millicent. I had no reason to believe him. But I also had no choice. “Eleanor, you take my partner to the hospital.”

  She backed slowly away. “I have to do what he says. Just take the money and get Monica and the antidote. It’s the safest thing for all of us. Maybe to be on the safe side we should call your sheriff friend in Sunflower County. Tell him what’s happening here. He needs to know you’re making a ransom drop.”

  “No.” Coleman would be compelled to contact Gunny—I didn’t have time to convince him the local lawman might be dirty. I simply couldn’t risk it. There was no one to help Tinkie but me. If I didn’t cooperate, Tinkie might die or be permanently injured. I didn’t have a choice.

  * * *

  The clouds that had played a frisky game of tag with the moon had thickened to a roiling mass energized with thunder. The night was pitch black, except when lightning bloomed behind the clouds giving an eerie effect. I parked as close to the river’s edge as I could and got out. Hauling first one bag and then the other, I loaded them in a small aluminum boat conveniently beached under the bridge.

  The shoreline was muddy. My feet caught in places, held in the viselike grip of thick goo. Above me, traffic echoed as it
crossed the span.

  The boat hadn’t been on the bank for long—otherwise kids or vagrants would have taken it. It was a nondescript, flat-bottomed fishing two-seater with one paddle.

  Eleanor’s cell phone rang on cue. The kidnapper had the best surveillance around. He knew my every move.

  “Paddle out to the third piling. There are two hooks above the waterline. Hang the bags on them. Then paddle back to shore.”

  “Where is Monica?” I wasn’t about to leave the money without getting the sister and the antidote.

  “When you reach the piling, look up. You’ll see her. She’ll be right there, ready for rescue. Row back to shore, and call 9-1-1. The fire department EMTs can get her. She has the antidote.”

  The kidnapper was smart. This arrangement allowed him ample time to escape. Either I could do what he said or leave without the antidote or Monica—which meant I would do what he said.

  As I clambered into the boat, I remembered how much I hated boats of all sizes. The river current was treacherous, and I was inexperienced to say the least. I was also nearly blind. The night was so dark the pilings that supported the bridge were barely visible. Upriver, where the casino boat was docked, there was light and laughter. Down here, nothing but fear and worry.

  I pushed off from the shore, and the current caught me. I was swept thirty yards downriver with the boat spinning like a carnival ride. When I finally got it controlled, my phone rang.

  “Quit wasting time.” The kidnapper was no longer amused. He was pissed.

  “You should have asked for a boater to make the drop,” I said through gritted teeth.

  I took care to lay the cell phone on the second boat seat. All I needed was to drop it overboard and have the kidnapper think I was being uncooperative.

  It took all my strength and concentration to paddle the boat nearer shore, where the current wasn’t as strong. Fighting as hard as I could, I finally managed to pass the first two pilings and move to the third.

  Vehicles crossing the river echoed, and sounds I couldn’t identify seemed to come from the water itself and the dead space among the pilings. My heart pounded. I had to focus on saving Tinkie. This was almost over.

  I saw a hook on the third piling bored into the heavy cement. I made for it and grasped it with one hand.

  My cell phone rang. “Very good. Now look up.”

  I did, and in the glow of lightning behind the clouds, I saw a vision in white. A woman in a peignoir seemed to hang suspended from a brace above me.

  “Monica?”

  She didn’t answer. She was possibly gagged. I couldn’t see that clearly.

  “Leave the money or she’ll die.” The voice came from the phone.

  “Where’s the antidote?” I wouldn’t budge without it.

  “Monica has it with her.”

  The current snatched at the boat, almost pulling me away from the piling. I had little time to make up my mind. It was leave the money and trust that Monica would bring what Tinkie needed or be swept out into the main current of the river. From there, I would never be able to paddle back upstream.

  I hung both bags. “There’s your money.” I cast free of the piling and paddled like crazy for the shore. My shoulders burned with the effort.

  “And here’s Monica!”

  To my utter horror, she plummeted from the brace and went straight into the water only a few yards from my boat.

  In an instant she vanished below the surface.

  “Shit!” I wrenched in my seat, searching for her. The black surface of the river was undisturbed.

  “You bastard!” I cried out as I tried to maneuver the boat to find Monica. The current tugged at me, pulling me away from the shore. I fought against it while trying to stay in the place where Monica went under.

  I saw her then, only a dozen feet away from me. She came to the surface slowly, floating facedown, the peignoir I recognized as the one she’d worn when she disappeared floating around her like a lace shroud.

  There wasn’t a doubt in my mind she was dead. The bastard killed her before he threw her in the river.

  Try as I might, I couldn’t snag the body. The current teased the peignoir, then slowly caught the body. As I struggled to make shore, Monica’s corpse moved into the main current of the river and started the long journey down to New Orleans.

  And with it went the antidote for Tinkie.

  Before I could do anything else, a shot rang out from the bridge. I heard a ping and a jet of water shot up by my foot. River water rushed into the bottom of the boat. The smell of mud and fish rose around me. I was sinking. Fast.

  * * *

  I’ve always been a strong swimmer—not pretty, but powerful. The Mississippi River, though, wasn’t the placid Tallahatchie or Yazoo. This was “the Father of Waters,” as the Indian name went. The treacherous currents claimed numerous lives each year.

  As the boat foundered, I divested myself of my favorite boots and struggled out of my jeans. I couldn’t afford the extra weight of the clothes.

  The night was pitch black, which worked for and against me as another shot rang out. A bullet plunged into the water only six inches from the sinking boat. The kidnapper continued to shoot.

  Monica’s body was now twenty yards downriver. I didn’t believe anything the kidnapper said, but the possibility that Tinkie’s antidote was on the body forced me to take action.

  I stripped off the rest of my clothes and plunged into the cold water. I entered a world of black. When I resurfaced several yards away from the boat, I had trouble distinguishing the water from the horizon. My sense of direction was totally screwed. At last I sighted in on the traffic on the bridge and reoriented myself. The delay had been costly. Monica was now fifty yards away.

  As I struck out for her, I felt the tug of the eddies that made the Mississippi so formidable. I’d grown up on stories of searches for lost swimmers and boaters in the Mississippi—the long hours of probing the banks and dragging for bodies snagged by trees or other debris that lodged along the bottom and created small whirlpools that sucked a person, or a corpse, to the bottom and held it in a close embrace for days.

  When I was ten I found an old photograph of a body search for my great-uncle Crabtree’s son, Rayford, who’d fallen from a boat while fishing along a bend in the river. The photo had haunted me for a long time. Family members stood on the riverbank, weeping, while men in boats tossed ropes with grappling hooks into the water. Their hope was to catch the body and pull it up before the fish and water did too much damage.

  I forced those thoughts from my head as I stroked toward the place I remembered seeing Monica’s body. I had to get the antidote. If there was a chance Monica was stunned and not dead, I had to recover her. I couldn’t let her drown because she was unconscious.

  Using the bridge as a reference point, I swam blindly. Lightning flashed behind the thick cloud cover, and for one brief moment the entire river was illuminated. I was another thirty yards from shore—much closer to the center of the river than I’d intended. I should have known. The current sucked at my legs with an iron will. The river meant to have me. That thought was terrifying.

  I searched for Monica before the illumination failed, but I couldn’t find her. I felt a sob building in my chest. She was gone. She’d either sunk or been swept away, unresisting, by the current.

  I faced a terrible choice. I could abandon Monica and Tinkie’s antidote and try to save myself, or I could continue to search for Monica and possibly drown. My body screamed exhaustion, and my arms felt as if they were being pulled from the shoulders. I wasn’t even certain I had the strength to get back to shore.

  For a long moment I treaded water.

  There are two things always associated with a Delaney. Love of land and hardheadedness. I struck out for the center of the river.

  The clouds bloomed with lightning again, a pulse of wicked illumination that made the entire sky bright enough to see. I couldn’t find Monica.

  Another sho
t rang out and the bullet bit into my upper arm. The pain made me gasp. Water rushed into my lungs.

  My right bicep was on fire with pain. I rolled in the water, kicking and stroking weakly for the shore. I no longer had a choice. I doubted I could save myself, much less find Monica’s floating body in the vast black river. I couldn’t see the shore, and that was good, because if I knew how far I had to swim, I might give up.

  The water turned icy cold, and my legs wanted to stop kicking. Sinking wouldn’t be so bad. I wouldn’t have to face Oscar and tell him I’d lost the antidote to save Tinkie. I wouldn’t have to confess to Graf that I’d betrayed him by doing something so dangerous I put his heart at risk. Letting go might be for the best.

  “Sarah Booth!”

  Shaking free of the lethargy that held me, I squinted at the shore. I’d swum farther than I thought. But maybe this wasn’t the bank of the big river. Maybe this was something else. Maybe this was the river Jordan, and the person calling my name, a deep, masculine voice, was … Was it my daddy?

  “Sarah Booth, hold on!”

  I could see him, a lanky man who disdained the traditional planter garb for khakis and a crisply ironed blue oxford. Sunlight touched his chestnut hair and sparkled in his hazel eyes. “Sarah Booth!” But he seemed to be waving me back, as if I shouldn’t go to him.

  “Daddy!” My arms and legs felt weighted by cement. Water swirled around me, but I couldn’t understand why. It was black and cold and I pushed harder to get to the sunlight and my father.

  “Sarah Booth!”

  Another voice called to me, a male, demanding, authoritative, angry. I ignored him and fought a bit closer to my father. But Daddy was distressed. He kept pushing me back, forcing me away from him and toward the darkness of the water.

  “Sarah Booth, damn it! Fight!”

  Something large and warm brushed against me. Strong arms circled me and pulled me into an embrace. Suddenly I was in a rocking chair, moving gently forward and back, forward and back, cruising through the water like a sea dragon.

  And then my sea dragon gained firm land and we surged out of the river onto the bank. My body struck the mud, and in a moment someone was beside me, turning my head and pushing firmly on my abdomen.