Hallowed Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  “You’re lucky to have such friends,” he said as he waved to Tinkie and Oscar.

  Tinkie was beautiful in her black spandex with an overlay of orange net that made her look both ancient and very futuristic. Tinkie could pull off a look.

  Cece, her blonde hair coiffed to perfection, wore a slinky black number that was cut so low in the back that no one could help looking for a peek of cheeks. To emphasize the focus, one elegant orange rose was embroidered on her right butt cheek. I had to hand it to her. She had some intriguing butt muscles. She picked up a glass of an orange concoction that a waiter was serving and lifted the glass in our direction.

  Hamilton and I waved. That’s when I saw Ellisea. She strode across the floor toward Cece, her glare icy and her gaze unwavering.

  “You are going to pay big-time,” Ellisea said in a voice that halted all conversation in the immediate area. I remembered the last ball I’d seen Cece at. A similar scene had taken place. Was it that Cece loved the limelight or did she just rub arrogant bitches the wrong way?

  “Dahling, you look overwrought,” Cece said. If she was concerned, she didn’t show it. “Try a glass of something. Anything. Before you show your ass completely.”

  “You canceled my shoes. I know it was you. The saleslady identified a picture of you.”

  Cece’s frown was patently pretend. “Canceled your shoes? Why, dahling, I did you a favor. I knew you were waiting for a house to fall on your sister so you could get your slippers.”

  Uh-oh. The shit was going to hit the fan. I started forward, but Hamilton’s light grasp on my arm held me in check. “If it gets bad, I’ll stop it. Look at Cece. She set this up.”

  He was right. Cece had choreographed this moment in revenge for Ellisea’s attempt to blacklist her as emcee of the charity auction. I truly hadn’t realized how much that emcee post meant to Cece.

  “Tell me, Ms. Cece Dee Falcon, how’s the climate in Sweden?”

  It was a remark that took my breath away. In fact, those of us who knew Cece’s history actually gasped.

  When Cece had first come back to Zinnia, we’d shared a bottle of superb port, and Cece had told me of her decision never to hide her sex-change operation. She’d said that trying to hide such a secret would be like trying to bury a dinosaur. Whenever the wind changed, some part of it would be revealed. She said her family hated her for her openness, but that she would never be owned by a secret. I saw how wise her decision had been.

  “Ah, Sweden, a land of spectacular views,” Cece said, unperturbed. “The midnight sun is something everyone should see.”

  “How nice can the view be from a hospital window?”

  “Depends on the hospital, Ellisea. Of course, there are hospitals and there are clinics. I didn’t think Botox required hospitalization. Perhaps your treatment went a little deeper than a few injections. Of course, you didn’t leave home, did you? The Cosgrave Clinic?”

  “You’ve been spying on me,” Ellisea said.

  “Not spying, dahling, digging up dirt. It’s what I do for a living. And I’m very, very good.”

  “The only thing you’re good at is pretending to be a woman.”

  “Dahling, at least my persona attracts men. From the gossip around town, a man would rather donate an organ than spend an hour in your company.” Cece’s eyebrows arched. “Even the old hippies in the tattoo parlor are terrified of you. What do you do? Tie them up and beat them?”

  Ellisea’s face changed. It went from anger to a calculated, hardened fury. “What are you talking about?”

  “Two-three-two-three Chalmette Boulevard,” Cece drawled. “Ring a bell?”

  I glanced at Hamilton. His focus was completely on Cece. If he saw the first sign of distress on her face, he’d stop it. But he was right. Cece had been itching for this confrontation. It was obviously a public forum by design.

  The host and hostess, sensing trouble, began sweeping toward the two women. I glanced around, wondering where Senator Clay might be. He was nowhere in sight.

  “I’m going to snatch you bald-headed.” Ellisea put action into word. She rushed Cece, slapped her hard on her right cheek, and grabbed a handful of hair with such force that Cece’s head snapped almost to her shoulder.

  Cece had only sipped her drink. With one fluid motion, she hurled the contents into Ellisea’s face. “Oops.”

  Ellisea stumbled backwards. The orange liquid clung for a moment and then slithered down Ellisea’s nose and cheeks and onto the bodice of her black gown.

  Ellisea’s mouth opened and shut, opened and shut.

  “Dahling, when you threaten someone, you’d better be able to carry it out on the spot. I don’t mean calling in some of your daddy’s hoodlums, either.”

  “Aaarrrrggggghhh!” Ellisea launched herself at Cece. It was almost as if she flew the five feet between them. In a split second she had Cece by the front of her gown. She was wrenching and tearing with harsh, grunting noises.

  Cece tossed her empty glass to a passing waiter and then grabbed two handfuls of Ellisea’s hair. With a hefty twist of her wrist, she pulled with enough force to make Ellisea howl.

  “Christoph, stop it!” Alexandra commanded. “Those two are ruining my ball. If Ellisea is injured, she won’t come to the auction. The press coverage will be ruined!”

  “On the contrary,” Tinkie said, stepping in to block any intervention from either of the hosts. “I think the floor show is fabulous, and once the media hears about this, they’ll be at the auction in droves, hoping for a repeat performance.”

  By this time Cece had swung her leg behind Ellisea and thrown her to the floor. A tuft of dark hair drifted to the floor beside her.

  In the most unladylike gesture I’d ever seen Cece perform, she straddled Ellisea and pinned her wrists to the floor. “Apologize,” Cece demanded.

  To my utter amazement, Ellisea bucked with such strength that Cece was thrown off balance and flung over Ellisea’s head. Ellisea rolled, sprang to her feet, and delivered a whopping kick to Cece’s ribs.

  She drew back her leg for another vicious kick but Hamilton stepped forward and caught the ex-model with one arm around her waist and another at her throat.

  “It’s gone far enough,” he said.

  “Not until she’s dead,” Ellisea panted.

  Tinkie and I scrambled to help Cece to her feet. It took her a moment to regain her breath, but she turned to Ellisea. Her eyes sparked with fury. “This isn’t over,” she said.

  “Not by a long shot,” Ellisea snarled.

  The crowd that had gathered around the two women parted as if Charlton Heston had commanded the Red Sea to move aside. Senator Thaddeus Clay stepped into the breach. He took one look at his struggling wife in Hamilton’s arms and let his gaze rove over Cece.

  “If you’d escort my wife to the car,” he said to Hamilton, “I’d be in your debt.”

  “If he turns me loose, I’ll tear your head off,” Ellisea said to her husband. “You craven bastard. You could at least stand up for me.”

  Clay looked only at Hamilton. “I’ll get the chauffeur to bring the car around.” He walked over to the Bogatas. “I can only apologize. I’ll send a check for ten thousand for your charity function in the morning. If none of this makes the paper, I’ll double it to twenty.”

  “You’re only worried about your stupid reputation.” A dribble of saliva stretched from Ellisea’s mouth almost to the floor. She struggled in Hamilton’s strong arms. “You don’t care what she did to me. You never care.”

  Clay turned to look at his wife. His face was completely devoid of expression. “I suspect whatever it was, you deserved it, Ellisea. Now clean up your act before word of this gets back to your father. He would be very displeased.” He looked at Hamilton. “Would you escort my wife to the car? I’ll get our coats.”

  He walked away, and Hamilton had no recourse but to lift the struggling Ellisea and carry her in the wake of her husband.

  “Cece, are you okay?” Tinkie
and I rushed to her. We pulled her dress back on her shoulder, patted her hair back into place, and found the shoe she’d lost in the melee. The crowd around us began to break up and drift apart. The amazing thing was that not a single photograph had been taken. Was it the power of our hosts, the senator, or the Boudet family?

  “Cece, Ellisea is a dangerous woman,” Tinkie said. Her face was marred with genuine worry. “Her daddy’s a mobster.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Cece said, grabbing another glass of orange liquor from a passing waiter. “This is very good. Grand Marnier and . . . something.” She took another sip. “I can’t quite discern it, but it has just the perfect bite.”

  “We all know your taste in clothes, liquor, and all matters of sophistication are impeccable,” I said. “What we’re worried about is your judgment when it comes to self-preservation. Tinkie’s right. Ellisea has a powerful family, and it would appear she has at least part of the NOPD in her pocket.”

  “Oh, dear. I suppose I’ll get a parking ticket wherever I go.”

  Tinkie and I exchanged glances. Nothing we said was going to shake Cece. She was huffing victory, and it was as potent as glue. And about as deadly.

  I felt a light touch on my arm. “It would be best if Cece left town in the morning,” Hamilton said. “Ellisea said she was going to get even, and she meant it.”

  “Did you hear that?” I asked Cece.

  “Dahling, threats are a dime a dozen. I’m going to emcee that charity auction tomorrow, and I’ll go home to Zinnia when I damn well please. The likes of an over-the-hill fashion model won’t run me out of town.” One eyebrow arched. “And, dahlings, aren’t you even a little curious as to why she got so upset about a tattoo parlor? One would think you’re both losing your touch as investigators.”

  Tinkie sighed. “Everyone has dirty little secrets, Cece. Not all of them are worth pursuing. Now let’s do what we came to do and dance.”

  The rest of the night was truly a fairy tale. In Hamilton’s arms, I felt like Cinderella. Tinkie and Oscar danced by on several occasions, and Cece found a six-six linebacker from the New Orleans Saints who knew how to salsa. Fairy dust had touched us all.

  It was well into the wee hours when Hamilton squeezed my hand and asked if I’d had enough dancing. I didn’t need a second invitation. We slipped out unnoticed and made our way to his apartment.

  They say a girl shouldn’t kiss and tell. Sometimes they are right. I went to sleep whispering one word. “Enchanted.”

  When I woke the next morning, Hamilton was gone. There was a knock on the door and I had to jump back into my ball gown to answer it. A young boy from the French market had a basket of fresh strawberries, a bowl of just-whipped cream, and a pot of strong, black coffee.

  “Mr. Garrett asked me to tell you something,” the young boy said, his gaze firmly on the floor. He was old enough to understand the implications of a woman in ruined makeup and a ball gown at ten in the morning. “He said to tell you that he’d never found it harder to leave, and that he would call you as soon as he could.”

  I tipped him with the fifty-dollar bill I’d stuck in my shoe for emergencies the night before, fell back in the bed with my breakfast, and savored my memories.

  THE SOUND OF an old-fashioned calliope awoke me. I went to the penthouse window and listened to the tune that reminded me of carousel horses, cotton candy, and the county fair. New Orleans was a city of magic. The unexpected could happen at any moment.

  It was nearly eleven, and Hamilton hadn’t called. I took a shower, borrowed one of his shirts and a pair of sweatpants, and caught a cab back to the Monteleone with my ball gown over my arm. Cece could have it, but I’d be damned if I was going to walk down a runway wearing it or anything else.

  Cece was waiting for me in the lobby. She took my arm, led me to the elevator, and escorted me to my room. Once inside she turned on the shower, shoved me into the bathroom, and told me I had five minutes. The charity auction began at noon. We’d miss the luncheon, but that didn’t matter. I was going to be ready for the runway at one.

  Perhaps it was the lingering influence of Hamilton’s gentle caring, but I gave in. It meant a lot to Cece for me to do this. It would only be a few painful hours and then it would be over.

  I reapplied my makeup, tried to re-create my hair with about a forty percent effect, put on some sweats, and grabbed the dress. Within twenty minutes, Cece and I were in a cab and headed uptown.

  “Have you heard from Ellisea?” I asked.

  “Are you kidding? Just watch for an ambush when we get to the restaurant.”

  “Do you really have the goods on her?”

  Cece kept looking out the window. “No.”

  “Empty threats are the most dangerous?”

  “And sometimes the most delicious.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “No,” she said, and looked at me. “Sometimes I wonder if I ever will be.”

  Post-traumatic fight disorder, I thought, but kept it to myself. I understood. After the anger cooled and the temper fled, there was often depression and self-doubt. I covered her hand with mine on the taxi seat. “The bitch deserved everything you gave her,” I said. “If anyone dares to say a word to you, I’ll deck ’em.”

  Her smile was worth a million dollars. “Thanks, Sarah Booth. I needed that.”

  We were late for lunch, but a waiter brought us something to nibble and a glass of wine as we got back into our dresses. Cece was first on the runway and then she took over the microphone as emcee.

  Tinkie was radiant, and I made it without tripping. For Mollie’s sake I erased my scowl and tried to look as if I were having a good time.

  Ellisea was last in the lineup and her walk triggered what seemed to be thousands of flash units. She did look stunning, though I thought I detected a bald spot on one side where Cece had pulled her hair out. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. As soon as she made her walk, Ellisea shed her dress and left the party.

  All told, over three hundred thousand dollars was raised for charity. Cece, Tinkie, and I rode back to the Monteleone in a taxi together. None of us was talkative. We were bushed.

  “Back on the case tomorrow,” Tinkie said as we parted company in the hallway of the hotel.

  “Tomorrow,” I promised, thrilled with the prospect of another evening alone with Hamilton. I rushed into my room, closed the door, and found the red light of my phone blinking. Almost trembling with anticipation, I retrieved my messages. I was totally unprepared for Lee’s terse voice.

  “Sarah Booth, you didn’t answer your cell phone. Sweetie Pie has been arrested. She was going through garbage and when the owner tried to stop her, she bit the woman. You’d better call home as soon as you can. I’m afraid they want to give her the needle.”

  24

  HAMILTON WASN’T BACK AT HIS APARTMENT AND I DIDN’T HAVE time to find him. It was already four on a Sunday afternoon, and I was determined to have Sweetie out of the pound and home before morning. I left a message for Hamilton, another for Doreen at the Center, and a brief message for Tinkie in her room. Then I headed out across Lake Pontchartrain and northeast toward home. I hadn’t told Doreen about Kiley, and I didn’t want to do that in a phone message. My life was gradually slipping out of my control.

  My first priority, though, was Sweetie Pie. Maybe she was being held at Dr. Matthews’s, the veterinarian. She’d had her shots and she wore her tags. Maybe she was there, instead of the pound. My foot pushed harder on the gas. Not the pound! Even the best-run pounds were holding centers for creatures awaiting death. A million unwanted dogs and cats around the nation waited there for adoption, but the truth was, not very many would ever be rescued. I had to get to Sweetie Pie before she confronted the reality of just exactly how precarious a dog’s life could be.

  There was one person who could help me, and I called him. To my surprise, Rinda answered the phone, but she didn’t give me any guff. She put me straight through.

  “Coleman, Sweetie P
ie’s been charged with biting.” I tried hard not to cry, but I blinked the tears out of my eyes as I drove.

  “I know. She’s right here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s here.”

  “Where, here?”

  “She’s being held in Sunflower County Jail.”

  “Not the pound?”

  “Sarah Booth, I hope you know me better than that. She has her own cell, and the last time I checked, she was playing cards with a check forger.”

  The relief and happiness that rose up in my chest almost choked me. “God, Coleman, you are the best.” I felt as if the sun had risen on a world expecting only darkness.

  “I’m fairly selective in the people I prove that to. Of course, I’d die before I disappointed Sweetie Pie.”

  “I’m on my way home.”

  “We’ll be here.”

  I drove straight through to the jail, stopping only once for coffee and a bathroom break. It was nearly eleven o’clock, and Coleman’s pickup was still at the courthouse. He’d waited for me. I’d never doubted he would.

  He was grinning when he opened the door to the jail. We looked at each other for a long moment. My heart and stomach did a jittery little dance before he stepped aside and cleared the aisle. I ran to my dog. Sweetie’s metronome tail beat against the bars of her cell and she bayed a loud greeting. The inmates applauded.

  “Sweetie,” I said, kneeling down and grasping her ears through the bars. “What have you done?”

  “She bit Mrs. Hedgepeth,” Coleman said from about three feet behind me.

  “Mrs. Hedgepeth?” She was a crotchety old busybody of a woman who used to try to get me sent to a juvenile detention center for eating sand pears that fell off her tree and into the ditch. “Mrs. Hedgepeth lives in town. Sweetie Pie must have done some traveling to get all the way to her yard.”

  “Mrs. Hedgepeth filed the complaint. She identified Sweetie for the dogcatcher.”

  “Where did they pick Sweetie up?”

  “At Dahlia House, the best I can tell.”