Rock-a-Bye Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  “I see.” He didn’t waste any time getting to the DNA test. “Would you mind if I did a cheek swab and had that verified?”

  Thank goodness Coleman wasn’t swayed by emotions. I’d taken Charity to be Libby’s grandmother because of the polydactyl genetics, the physical likenesses, and my desire to find Libby’s family. A DNA test would confirm the relationship without a doubt—legally.

  “Swab away,” Charity said. “Sarah Booth said you’d help us find my daughter, Pleasant.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He motioned the dispatcher, Francine, a woman who adored my mother and also showered kind acts on me. “Get a DNA swab, please.”

  While we waited on Francine to bring the kit, I filled Coleman in on all I’d learned in my talks at the high school and the Riverview Motel. Though I’d uncovered some leads, I had nothing that indicated where Pleasant might be.

  “Good work, Sarah Booth. Now I need a word alone.” He gripped my upper arm and directed me to his private office. When he closed the door, I felt a ripple of excitement combined with fear. Coleman wasn’t one to act impulsively and the look in his eyes was all business—and not the kind involving monkeys.

  “What have I done now?” I thought back on my many potential sins.

  “Not a thing. It’s Tinkie I’m worried about.”

  “Charity is allowing Tinkie and Oscar to keep the baby until Pleasant is found. They’re taking Libby to Boston for a doctor’s appointment.”

  “The grandmother is okay with this?”

  “I took Charity to Hilltop. She saw Libby and Tinkie and Oscar. She was satisfied the baby is in good hands. Coleman, she’s barely keeping her head above water. Pleasant was her hope, the one truly good and amazing thing in her life. She loves Libby enough to want a better future for her. If Pleasant doesn’t come home, she may allow our friends to be a big part of Libby’s life.”

  “I hate to think that young woman is dead, but if she is, allowing Oscar and Tinkie to be a part of the baby’s life would be a good thing.”

  “I never thought of Tinkie as a particularly maternal person. I know she loved the idea of having a child. You know, the dressing and primping and all of that. But I always felt that when it came to dirty diapers and upchuck and feeding at all hours of the day and night, Tinkie would quickly get her fill.” I swallowed a lump in my throat. “You should see her and Oscar. She had formula in her hair, and Oscar had baby powder all down the front of his suit. And I’ve never seen them happier.”

  “Scary.” Coleman patted my shoulder. “I thought it was a bad idea to let the Richmonds care for Libby. Maybe you’ve proven me wrong.”

  “And maybe not.”

  “Sarah Booth, love without risk is not worth having.” He stepped closer. “I made a mistake with you. And with myself. While I chose a path I thought was honorable, I didn’t honor my own heart. Will you ever be able to move past that?”

  My own damaged heart wasn’t ready for this conversation. Not by a long stretch. I put a hand on his starched shirt, and beneath my palm I could feel the strong beat of his heart. “I forgave you long ago. In fact, there was never anything to forgive. You did what you thought was right, and I respect that. I did then and I do now. I’m just not ready. Can you give me a bit more time?”

  His hand moved from my shoulder to my cheek, which he cupped with gentleness. Something felt trapped in my chest. “Time I can give you. I know Scott came back to Zinnia, hoping to win your heart. You have feelings for him. I can see the shared emotion between you. And Harold, who plays his feelings for you off as a social convenience. More than any of us, he loves and respects your courage.”

  “I—”

  His thumb touched my lips to silence me. “I don’t know that I’m the best man for you, but I want my chance. Just promise me that.”

  The only thing I could do was nod.

  “And just to be sure you don’t forget…” He tipped my face up and kissed me with such a searing promise that I put my arms around his neck to keep from falling over.

  His arms tightened around me, and with that one kiss he took me on a journey through time. The April sun warmed my body as my friends sang Pete Seeger songs while Cecil played the guitar, and we sat around a bonfire lit more to honor the spring than for warmth.

  Coleman’s arms cradled me as we rode Mr. Gruber’s farm horse on a perfect fall afternoon. We galloped along the sides of cotton fields sprouting the white bolls that smelled of dirt and the future. From there I traveled to Harold’s front porch and a party where Coleman kissed me and I learned that I had fallen in love with him—had perhaps loved him for a very long time.

  When he ended the kiss, his strong arms continued to support me. “Did you learn anything?” he asked with that teasing note I loved so much.

  “I did. You own a great deal of my past, Coleman. More than I knew.”

  “I don’t want the past, Sarah Booth. I want the future. And the present. I’m a greedy man.”

  My body demanded that I answer yes. That I turn the lock on his office door, to hell with Charity Smith and Francine and DeWayne, should he return to the office. I needed Coleman, and if I let this moment slip away, I might never have the courage to act again.

  He kissed me again, and I stopped thinking. The world collapsed into a kiss that spoke far better than words.

  A tap at the door brought us both to awareness of our surroundings. “Don’t stop.”

  “This isn’t the place.” His breathing was rapid, and his desire was evident.

  “I don’t care. I want this dance between us ended.”

  He put his hands on my face. “And I want you to choose me because you love me, not because you need … a release.”

  I stepped back. “You are a devil.” I tugged my shirt into place and tried to calm the pounding of blood in all the wrong places. Not a drop of it had gone to my brain.

  “Just remember, Sarah Booth, there’s plenty more where that came from.” He walked past me and opened the door, speaking to Francine, cool as a cucumber. Oh, he would pay.

  11

  On the way back from taking Charity home, I stopped by Hilltop. I was worried about Tinkie. In all the years I’d known her, I’d never seen her disheveled. When she came to the doorway, she wore a necklace of pacifiers. Gone were the Cartier pearls that were her normal style. Tinkie had been stripped of her vanity, and I didn’t see that as a good thing.

  Oscar was sound asleep. He hadn’t gone back to the bank, but had remained at Hilltop with Tinkie and the baby. No longer was he driven by the excitement of making money. No, he was smitten by a seven-pound drool and poop maker.

  I had to stay objective. If Libby bewitched all of us, no one would find her mother.

  “Did you ask Charity Smith to leave the baby with us?” Tinkie asked as she led me to the kitchen.

  “No. I didn’t. Tinkie, I have some leads to find Pleasant. Do you think you could get a sitter for the baby so we can do some work?”

  She ignored my question and asked one of her own. “Charity came to that decision on her own?”

  “She did, Tinkie.” I put a hand on her shoulder to get her full attention. “We have to find Pleasant. I fear the girl is in serious trouble. And Rudy Uxall has been murdered, probably trying to help Pleasant.”

  “Maybe she’s fine. Just doesn’t want the responsibility of an infant.”

  “Tinkie.” I grabbed her shoulder and spun her to face me. “Look at me. We have to find this girl.”

  She slumped into a chair at the kitchen bar and her eyes filled with tears. “I know I’m behaving like a crazy woman, but I can’t help it. This baby is the most perfect being in the world. You have no idea, Sarah Booth. I know she isn’t mine, but it doesn’t matter. I would do whatever is necessary to protect her. Anything.”

  “I understand.” I reached for the baby, but Tinkie turned away, blocking me with her shoulder. “She’s settled now. I don’t want her to cry.”

  “Okay.” But it wasn’t. Tinkie
had taken possession of Libby, and in her mind and heart, that baby belonged with her. “But I need your help.”

  “I can’t. My time with Libby may be short, and I want to spend every second with her.” She brightened. “Can I bring her along?”

  “No.” Pleasant’s disappearance might involve violence. Not the place for a child.

  “Why are you so mean about it?” she asked.

  “Tinkie!” I wanted to snap her out of it.

  She pushed a greasy strand of hair back. “I’m sorry. I know that wasn’t fair. You let me take Libby in the first place. You could have kept her for yourself.”

  “I’m not in a place to be a mother,” I said.

  “But I am. I’m ready. Oscar is, too. It didn’t take Libby an hour to win him over. He would adopt her in a second.”

  I went to my friend and drew her against me. “She has a mother, Tinkie. She does. And her mother probably loves her, too.”

  She faced me. “I know. I’ll do what’s right—when I have to.”

  “You promise you understand this isn’t permanent.”

  “If it were, I’d be the happiest woman alive.”

  “Say it.”

  “This is a temporary arrangement. Libby will go home with her mother when Pleasant is found.” Her eyebrows drew together. “Are you positive Pleasant is the mother?”

  “Coleman ran DNA. He’ll have results soon enough. And we have no clue where to look for the father, though Frankie Graham would be my guess.” A subject change was in order. “Why don’t you help me make some calls?”

  When I’d first come home to Zinnia, solving mysteries had been the thing that saved me. When Libby went home, Tinkie would need a lifeline to grasp. The detective agency would fit that bill. It had saved me, and it would save her when the time came.

  I gave her one of the numbers I’d gotten from the Riverside Motel. “This is a man who showed interest in Pleasant’s music. Call him. I’ll call the other.”

  With great reluctance, Tinkie put Libby in her bassinet and picked up her phone. She dialed and so did I. The man I spoke with was Randy Hunter.

  Randy was a graduate of Delta State University and a musician who’d given up the dream to manage a home improvement store in Vicksburg. He was open and willing to talk about Pleasant—and express his fear that something bad had happened to her. “She was like lightning when she played and sang,” he said. “Folks were drawn to her. Jealousy was aroused.”

  He spoke with the precision of a songwriter, and I was curious. “You’re a store manager? Do you still play?”

  “Yeah, I’m the man who can tell you how to repair almost everything in a home. I let the dream of playing music go.” Regret edged his voice. “I had to. The year I graduated from DSU, I married. My girl was pregnant and I loved her. We both wanted the baby. My music was a side effort, and with Babette and Julie in my life, I had to make a living to give us all a decent life. Besides, I was never as good as Pleasant. Nowhere close.”

  He didn’t sound jealous. “So who do you think would want to harm her?”

  “A group of girls showed up the last time she played. They hung on the fringe of the audience. When I went by them to go to the bathroom, I heard one girl say that Pleasant was trailer trash and didn’t deserve the breaks she was getting. High school girls are meaner than a roll of barbed wire.”

  “Could you describe the girls?”

  “There were three of them. Pretty, well-dressed. They came in a silver BMW roadster.”

  “License plate?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think to look. They parked way in the back of the lot and stood in the darkness. They were young and slender. Perfect, like those girls always are. They have everything, and they’re jealous of a kid who has talent. Some people never have enough, you know?”

  Oh, how well I knew. “Did they interact with Pleasant?”

  He thought. “Seems to me they knew each other. Just the way those rich girls acted. At least they knew who Pleasant was. Maybe they go to high school together.”

  Which was exactly what I was thinking. “Did you notice anyone else who seemed out of place?”

  “Not that I can think of. The people who gathered really loved Pleasant’s music. She touched us with her melodies and lyrics. Just a simple guitar and a girl with talent.”

  “Expect a call from Hoss Kincaid, the sheriff of Bolivar County.”

  “Now hold on a minute—”

  “I have to turn my information over to him. Pleasant is missing. You might think of another detail that will help us find her. This isn’t a problem for you, Randy. I promise.”

  “Okay, I’m happy to help. I’ve been worried about Pleasant, but I was just a fan. I thought maybe she’d moved or gone to college or something good. Damn. Sure, I’ll help find her anyway I can. You think she’s okay? And the baby. My god.”

  He sounded distressed. “The baby is fine. Pleasant is still missing.”

  There was a brief silence. “Now I’m really worried for her. Tell the sheriff to call. I’ll try to think of more details.”

  I thanked him and hung up.

  Tinkie’s report was much briefer. Paul Owens ran a chain of bars and had his eye on Pleasant for a performer. “He said she was that good,” Tinkie said. For the first time in a while I saw a glimmer of interest in finding Libby’s mom. A twinkle of compassion for Pleasant. “He said she was a fine young woman with a big future ahead of her.”

  I told her about the mean girls. “Tomorrow, I’m going back to the high school. Surely the students have to register their vehicles. I’ll find out who the BMW belongs to, and I’ll get a copy of some of Pleasant’s songs. My PI friend, Rick Ralston in Nashville, is working with us, but he needs something solid to go on.”

  “Good idea,” Tinkie said. Her attention was already on the baby, who slept peacefully.

  “Let Oscar tend Libby and you come help me.”

  She shook her head. “My time with her is short. I won’t lose a minute of it.”

  “Don’t get your heart broken. And give Chablis some attention. She was your baby long before Libby arrived.” But my advice fell on deaf ears as I let myself out of the house.

  * * *

  Dahlia House stood like a sentinel in the November dusk. The beauty of the house, the stark trees along the drive, and the pinks, purples, and corals of the sunset made me stop the car and simply stare. We live amid such beauty, and so often ignore it. Dahlia House, a single light aglow in the front parlor, made my heart ache. This was my home, and the largest part of my life had been lived in the protection of those walls.

  I rolled on down the drive, my melancholic mood destroyed by the pounding of horse hooves as my herd came out of the back pasture and raced along the fence line, welcoming me home. Reveler led the pack, his beautiful gray head bowing and stretching on his long neck. He had such power. Behind him Miss Scrapiron was a delicate combination of speed, grace, heart, and intelligence. Bringing up the rear was a black shadow. Lucifer was a stout horse with feet the size of large saucers and a flowing mane and tail. Zorro rode such a horse, and Zorro had always been one of my heroes.

  The horses sped past me to the barn. Their internal clocks knew it was feeding time. I parked and opened the door to let Sweetie and Pluto out so they could join me. They loved to go to the barn.

  “You have some ’splaining to do!”

  I knew the line from I Love Lucy, but this was a sharp female voice, not Ricky Ricardo. I peeped in the front doorway as Sweetie and Pluto fled for their lives. A tall, red-haired Lucille Ball stood in the foyer, hands on hips. She shook a finger at me. “Ethel is not going to be happy with you. You left the baby at Hilltop.”

  “Jitty?” The figure was so real, I had to wonder if Lucille had come to visit from the Great Beyond. I walked up to tug her red hair, but my hand went right through her.

  “Ouch!”

  “Jitty, that didn’t hurt. Ghosts can’t feel.”

  “That’s
what you know, Missy. I got feelin’s just like you.”

  “Nope. If you don’t get fat or age, you can’t have feelings. Emotions are the things that eventually wreck our bodies. Twilight makes me crave Jack Daniel’s. Sunrise makes me desperate for French toast or a Bloody Mary. You never crave anything. Your body can’t be wrecked, hence you have no feelings.” I was proud of my logic, circular though it was.

  “I have plenty of feelings, though Ricky Ricardo forgets that sometimes. On the show and in real life.” She leaned forward, squinting her eyes. “You look pale. You need some Vitameatavegamin. For health!” She produced a brown glass bottle and a spoon. “This’ll put some hop right into your rabbit.”

  That skit from the television show was one of my all-time favorites. I watched as Lucy poured a big spoonful and she touted the health benefits of the concoction. The spoon slid into her mouth, and then her expression made me laugh out loud. No matter that I knew the comedic routine by heart. Jitty was perfect as Lucy, from her black-checked dress to the little pillbox hat that sat atop her red curls.

  “Jitty, you are too much. Can I film you? I mean, will you show up on film?” I wasn’t sure about the rules of ghost photography.

  “You should be payin’ attention to what I’m sayin’, not calculatin’ ways to get rich.”

  “You’re a hoot, but I don’t think I need any Vitameatavegamin. I’m healthy as a horse. Even doc says so.”

  “Tinkie needs it! She’s the one losin’ sleep and tendin’ to a baby night and day. She’s plumb tuckered out.”

  “I don’t think Lucille Ball would use the words plumb or tuckered. She wasn’t Southern, though, if she had been, it might have been quite charming.” I tried to imagine Lucy’s wacky routines in a Southern drawl. She’d mastered the Cuban accent when she mocked her husband.

  The pretty redhead slowly faded and in her place was my haint. She still wore the elegant checked dress and the cute little totally useless pillbox hat. “When I’m playin’ Lucille, she talks like I want her to.”

  “Your point is well taken. As much as I appreciate a chance to see you perform that classic comedy skit, I can’t help but wonder why you’re here in the guise of a comedian.”