“Whatever it is, it’s yours.”
He walked out the door and I had an incredible impulse to follow and stop him. I couldn’t bear to let him out of my sight. What if something happened to him? I’d never recover. Love was such a handicap in the PI business.
The bartender drifted over to pick up our check and the money Graf left on the table. Misty was a respectable distance from Webber, so I asked her if he’d been in the bar all evening.
“Most of it.” She put the dirty glasses on a tray. “He left for about half an hour. He was talking to that old codger, Buford, and his friend. Then he disappeared, and I thought he’d stiffed me for the tab. He came back and paid, though, and he’s been right there ever since.”
“Thanks.” Thirty minutes would be enough time to sneak into Olive’s room, tear it up, and conk her on the head. Webber was the only person who might find value in her research—if anything was taken. It could as easily have been a Heritage Hero who just wanted to destroy her research and belongings.
Tinkie and Webber had their heads together like two old lovers. When he woke up from her spell, he was going to be pissed, but it would be too late. My partner would know everything, all of his sordid little secrets.
She signaled she was ready to go. Keys in hand, I sidled out of the bar and waited for her in the hallway. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw movement in the gardens. Night had fallen, and the multitude of fairy lights Gertrude normally kept on to illuminate her exquisite plants were oddly dark.
I almost called out, but then I caught the glint of moonlight on Gertrude’s red hair. She carried a stack of linens and hurried across the yard. Probably a minor emergency like a guest needing clean sheets. The life of a B and B owner was not for me, of that I was certain.
Tinkie breezed up beside me. “Let’s go.” She didn’t wait for me to agree. She grabbed my arm and kept walking.
“Did you learn anything?”
“Buford and Jeremiah plan to kidnap Olive. Tonight.”
* * *
We rushed along the porch to Olive’s room. Tinkie’s tiny little fists beat hard against the solid wood door. No answer.
Very slowly she turned to me. “Maybe Olive and Coleman don’t want to be disturbed?” She made it a question in an effort to spare my feelings.
I slammed my hand on the door much harder. With the same result. No one came to let us in. If they were in there, they weren’t answering. And if they weren’t in there, where were they?
Tink scuffed her toe on the floor. “Maybe they went to the courthouse to take a statement or something.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
“I’ll try calling him.” She suited action to her words. After several rings, it was apparent he wouldn’t answer. “That’s not like Coleman. He always answers his phone.”
“While Webber was eavesdropping on Buford and Jeremiah, did he say how they intended to abduct Olive?” Perhaps they’d already nabbed her, and Coleman, too.
“No details were forthcoming.” Tinkie came to the same conclusion. “Gertrude can open the room. Coleman could be in there injured.”
We hustled to the front desk, which was empty. The key to Olive’s room dangled from a pigeonhole, and I snared it. Two minutes later, Tinkie and I barreled into the room.
Papers still littered the floor. Shelves were overturned. The computer was smashed—all as it had been earlier. No Coleman or Olive.
“Maybe they went to dinner.” Tinkie backed out of the room. “I’m about to starve myself.”
“Coleman would answer the phone.” I was worried and annoyed. “He knows the Heritage Heroes are up to something. We should have told him about the attacks at the hunting camp.”
“If Olive is with him, she’s safe. Drive me home and Oscar and I will search for Buford. Maybe we can talk sense into him. I’m sure Graf is back at Dahlia House now, waiting for you.”
“We can stop at the courthouse and talk to DeWayne.”
“Oscar and I will stop by to talk to Coleman. Buford is really our problem, and Oscar needs to handle it. Wrangle a bit of together time with Graf before he takes off for the West Coast.”
We left The Gardens and walked to the parking lot—in the dark. All of the artistically placed outside lights remained unlit.
It didn’t take ten minutes to reach Hill Top. I stopped at the cobblestone walk, and Tinkie put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“I am.”
“I don’t understand what Coleman sees in Olive. Maybe he’s just lonely. But keeping her safe tonight is his problem, not ours. Be thankful.”
I had to draw a line in my mind and my emotions. I wasn’t confused. I loved Graf deeply. I also cared for Coleman. He was my youth, my childhood. He’d known me before I was an orphan or a PI. We had a history.
She leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Tomorrow, we need to fill Coleman in on everything. We can file charges in Washington County. Which may be an asset. I’d prefer to have them in the Sunflower County jail where I can watch them, but a little distance from their cohorts might be a good thing.”
“Call me when you find Buford, okay?”
“Will do. You aren’t really worried they’ll pull off a kidnapping, are you?”
I wasn’t worried about Olive. Not really. They could cook her but they couldn’t eat her—she was that unpalatable. But something niggled at me, made me uneasy. “I’d just like this to be over. The whole thing’s a tempest in a teapot. Who cares what Olive writes? But a young man is dead. That’s bothersome to me. The stakes aren’t high enough to warrant murder, yet Jimmy Boswell is dead.”
Tinkie tapped her toe. “You’re right. This doesn’t add up. This should be a piece of cake, but nothing plugs in quite right. Not Webber, not Olive, not Boswell. Not even those kooks Buford and Jeremiah. I see why you’re edgy.”
“And I’m tired.” I hated to admit it, but exhaustion was making me dull.
“Get Graf to rub your shoulders.” She blew a kiss and ran up the sidewalk to her house. The front door opened, framing Oscar. Chablis shot out of the house like a rocket. I doubted the little dust mop weighed two pounds, but she was all heart. She barked and sprang into Tinkie’s arms.
Oscar came down the walk and swept them both into a huge hug. Tinkie was welcomed back into the bosom of her family.
14
I fought the temptation to go by the courthouse to see if Coleman was there with Olive. The truth was, she annoyed the snot out of me. I despised her. I fought an unrelenting urge to stuff her on a jet plane headed for Maine, where she belonged. I’d never wanted this case—and in fact wasn’t contractually on it—yet I felt like a wolf in a leg trap.
My headlights illuminated the cotton growing close to the road. The pulsing thrum of insects was better than any radio. I drove and pondered the chambers of my heart.
I’d never loved anyone the way I loved Graf. I had no doubt that my impending marriage was the answer to my prayers for a partner. He’d been my first adult love, and he’d broken my heart. But that heartbreak had also sent me home to Zinnia to save Dahlia House. Struggling to keep my home from foreclosure had focused me and given me a purpose I’d never experienced.
Coleman had been such a part of that journey. He was more like me than any other man I’d known. The land had a grip on him the same way it did on me. We forged a bond that only his commitment to another woman could shatter. And Connie had done that. She’d refused to release Coleman from his marriage, even when she didn’t want him.
He wasn’t a man who could sneak around his vows, and I’d been smart enough to know it. Had he thrown Connie over, no good would have come of it. If Life, the capital “L” kind, is all about timing, I had a lot to learn. When Coleman and I collided, our timing sucked. By the time he and Connie divorced, it was too late for us.
And then Graf came back into my life. He’d come looking for me, aware of what he’d lost. He’d been willing to give up everything to get me back.
The twists and turns of true love were hairpin at times. One degree different, and I might be living an alternate reality. I could have been the sheriff’s wife. Maybe even a deputy. The bottom line: I would always love Coleman. No woman would ever be good enough for him. Certainly not Olive Twist. It was unimaginable. She would wreck Coleman’s life, ostracizing him from his friends. Yet it was his choice. One I had to respect no matter how much I disagreed with it.
My thoughts had accompanied me home, and I turned down the drive to Dahlia House determined to push the case from my mind. To my surprise, Dahlia House was dark. When I exited the car, Sweetie came tearing across the porch, barking like crazy. “Where’s Graf?” I asked.
He’d had plenty of time to drop Cece at home, then drive to Dahlia House. Unless he was consoling Cece. I tried to calm Sweetie as I accepted, yet again, the solid truth about my fiancé. He was a good man. In the world of Zinnia and my friends, this was far more important than being a movie star, though I had no doubt he would attain that, too.
With Sweetie at my side and Pluto, almost invisible in the night, following behind, I went to the barn. While the horses ate, I groomed them. The heat was getting to all three of them, but soon October would blow in on cool, dry air and my early-morning rides around the cotton fields would be the perfect start to my day.
I finished barn chores and put the horses out. It was nearly nine o’clock. No word from Graf. I went inside and checked the answering machine. Not a single call. I didn’t want to interrupt a heart-to-heart with Cece, but worry nibbled at the edges of my brain.
I called his cell phone. On the fifth ring, he answered.
“Where the heck are you?” I kept it light.
Heavy breathing.
“Cece?” She was a prankster, but not ridiculous panting like a bad horror movie.
“Okay, guys, cut it out.” I grew testy. “This isn’t funny.”
A long, slow inhale and exhale of breath.
“Whoever this is, I’m not finding the routine amusing.” My temper kicked in, right on top of a gut-wrenching fear.
My answer was a click and a disconnect. I called back and the phone went to voice mail. “This is Graf, leave a message.” I hung up and called Cece’s cell phone.
“So at last you call, dah-link. I’m perfectly fine,” she said, “though had I been suicidally depressed. I could already have done the deed by now.”
“Where’s Graf?” I wasn’t intentionally brusque, but my throat constricted.
“Why would I know the whereabouts of your handsome fiancé?”
“Stop it, Cece. Is he with you?”
She heard my fear. “He isn’t, Sarah Booth. I haven’t seen him since I left The Gardens. I walked home and I’ve been here ever since.”
I sat down heavily on a kitchen chair. “He left right behind you to pick you up and drive you home.” The words fell out of my mouth but I wasn’t certain they made any sense.
“He never showed up. I walked home and I’ve been here, drinking a bottle of wine. Don’t panic, Sarah Booth. I’ll bet he’s trying to help you with the case.”
“I called his phone and someone answered but they wouldn’t talk.” I couldn’t help it. Tears leaked from my eyes. I felt them crawl over my cheeks. “He’s in trouble, Cece. Bad trouble.” The worry that had followed me all day jumped hard.
“Sarah Booth, don’t do this to yourself. I’m sure he’s fine. Where’s Tinkie?”
“Searching for Coleman and Olive.”
“Maybe Graf is with them.”
I grasped at hope and clutched it to me. “We have to find them.”
“Meet me at the courthouse.” Cece took charge, and a good thing. I was in a state.
* * *
Sweetie was in the front seat waiting when I went back outside. The dog was psychic. And walking over the hood was Pluto. I picked him up and put him on the ground, but he jumped back on the car.
“Not now.” I was gentle but firm as I removed him again.
Pluto leaped on the fender and hissed at me. I’d seen the damage he could do when perturbed. Once more, I shooed him to the lawn. His green eyes pierced me as he sat down.
“I’ll be back,” I promised him. “Graf may need me.”
I jumped behind the wheel and eased away from the house. Pluto was lost in the inky blackness of the night. The doggy door was available to him in the kitchen, and I hoped to be back shortly with Graf.
It wasn’t terribly late, but Sunflower County is still basically a farming community. Even though cotton harvesting is mechanized, farmers still rise with the sun and work all day, then hit the sack early.
I didn’t think it unusual that I passed no cars on the county road into town. When I came to a sharp ninety-degree turn we called Donnie’s Dogleg because of the horrific wreck Donnie Longmire walked away from his senior year in high school, I applied the brakes and slowed.
Before I knew what had happened, there was a loud noise and the car jolted. The steering wheel felt like it was stuck in drying cement. The car was completely unresponsive as I left the asphalt road and launched into the cotton fields going at least forty-five miles an hour. I was flying, flying through the night.
The impact threw me against the steering column and I had enough presence of mind to realize I could have cracked my sternum and damaged my heart. My last thought was about Sweetie Pie. Had she been thrown clear of the car? Was she alive? Before I could seek answers, a swirling blackness sucked me down to the center and held me there.
I came to my senses, aware that Sweetie’s low growls came from my right side. I couldn’t have been out long, because I knew exactly what had happened, and I was leaning against the steering wheel with my chest. The older car was equipped only with lap seat belts, not the shoulder harness, and no airbags, but at least I hadn’t gone flying through the windshield.
“She ain’t dead.”
The man’s voice was so unexpected, I almost screamed.
Almost. But I got a grip on myself. Sweetie, though, was much less contained. Her growl warned of serious intent.
“Shoot the damn dog and let’s get her.” This was an older man, a voice I knew but couldn’t pinpoint.
“If she dies here, it’d be the best thing.”
“She’s a long ways from dead, you idiot. She’s just a little stunned. Now shoot the dog, pick her up, and let’s move. The boss is gonna be pissed as it is.”
The one thing I could not allow was for Sweetie to be shot. My hand slid toward the key in the ignition. When I’d blasted into the cotton field, I’d hit a berm at the edge of the crops and slammed into the ground on the other side. The impact killed the engine, but Mama’s roadster was a tough old machine. It had cranked like a charm—after sitting unused in the barn for five years—when I came back from New York.
I was tough, too. The jolt had bruised my ribs and chest, but I wasn’t mortally wounded. And I had one chance to escape. Still draped on the steering wheel, I eased the car into park, turned the key, and jammed it into drive. Thank goodness we hadn’t had rain in several weeks or I’d have been up to the running board in gumbo, the thick soil of the Delta. The car started, the wheels gained traction, and I spun out.
Only to go nowhere. I didn’t have any tires. The bastards had laid spikes across the road, waiting for me to drive by. They’d blown my tires, which is what sent me into the cotton field in the first place.
“Get her, Arnold!” The older man was obviously in charge.
They were behind the car, and clouds covered the moon and stars.
“Just shoot the silly bitch.” I recognized Arnold’s voice. Holy crap, I’d fallen into the hands of the crazy survivalists. But the older man talking was neither Jeremiah nor Buford. He was confident, though. In charge.
Sweetie’s growl warned me they were approaching. One of the men chambered a round. I groped on the seat for my cell phone, but I had no idea where the impact had flung it.
“If you won’t sh
oot my dog, I won’t fight.” My pistol was in the trunk. If only I’d thought to put it in the front seat with me. That was the problem with carrying a gun. I didn’t have a holster like the boys in the Wild West. What good was it in the trunk?
“Get out of the car.”
I tried to open the door, but it was stuck. I’d landed pretty hard. “I can’t.”
Footsteps brushed through the cotton, and a large man loomed at my door. “If that dog tries to bite me, shoot it.”
“Sweetie, stay.” We weren’t far from home. Sweetie would find her way back to Dahlia House. And I would figure a way out of the mess I’d gotten myself into. I was far more worried about Graf and the Richmonds than I was about myself. But I had a hunch I was about to find my missing fiancé and friends.
Arnold wrenched the door open and his fingers dug into my arm.
“Hey, I said I’d go with you.” I tried to twist free but his grip was iron. That on top of my bruised chest was agonizing.
“Shut up!” He leaned down to unfasten my seat belt and I couldn’t say for certain what happened. A piercing scream burst from his throat, and he backpedaled from the car, thrashing and cursing. He fell into the cotton, writhing. Sweetie remained motionless in the front seat beside me.
“Arnold, what’s wrong?” The other man sounded nervous.
Arnold bellowed a steady stream of curses and threats. “Get it off me! Get it off me!” He rolled around in the cotton, crushing plants.
“What is it?” The other man ran to his friend, but he couldn’t see and hung back helplessly.
“It’s clawed my eyes! I’m blind!” Arnold bucked like a rodeo bull.
I didn’t have to see to know that Pluto had hitched a ride in the backseat and waylaid Arnold with his signature move.
Sweetie and I slipped out the other side of the car and took off through the cotton field. With the overcast sky, they’d never be able to track us.
I worried for Pluto, but he was a cat with more than nine lives and plenty of brainpower. Cats had superb directional abilities, and he’d return to Dahlia House. Sweetie and I couldn’t go there—once Arnold and his friend recovered from the cat attack, that would be the first place they searched.
Smarty Bones: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery Page 21