“You’ll have to ask Oscar.” Tinkie gripped my hand.
On the way to the hospital, Harold and I concocted our cover story for Oscar. We claimed we’d found him in a field near Finch Lake. We had not lied to Sunflower County’s top law officer, Coleman Peters. Yet. And truthfully, I didn’t know if I could. But Oscar deserved a chance to explain himself—which he couldn’t do until he woke up.
“I doubt he’ll remember his motivations,” Doc said, shaking his head slowly so that his wild white hair bobbed like a dandelion. “He’s asleep. He’ll probably stay that way until this evening. It’s the best thing for him. Now all of you skedaddle. You can’t help him sitting in the hospital and you’re cluttering up my waiting room.”
“Let me drive you home, Tinkie,” Harold suggested. “Take a hot shower, change your clothes, then Sarah Booth will fetch you and Chablis.” He arched his eyebrows at me.
“Of course. Since your car is at my house, I’ll pick you up and you can help me decorate for our holiday repast. We need to develop a theme and plan menus and select the music. I want everything to be perfect. By the time we do all of that, Enzo will be found and Oscar will be hungry.”
“Trust me,” Cece said sotto voce, “Sarah Booth needs all the help decorating she can get. Her idea of a themed table setting is when all the paper plates and sporks are the same pattern.”
I didn’t care that Cece made me the butt of the joke as long as we got Tinkie out of the hospital. Harold and I hadn’t told her the truth and I didn’t intend to. I would protect her from even thinking Oscar had anything to do with Enzo’s disappearance—that path led nowhere good.
Cece, who had once been our high school chum, Cecil, until she’d courageously demanded the body she felt she deserved, was another matter. Her nose for news couldn’t be denied. As soon as Harold and Tinkie left, she was on me like white on rice.
“What does Oscar have to do with Enzo’s vanishing act?” she asked. “And don’t pretend. You may be a good actress, but you are a terrible liar when it comes to me.”
“Let it go.” I headed across the hospital parking lot— Cece’s grip on my shoulder stopped me. “Seriously, Cece, I can’t talk. I can’t. For Tinkie’s sake.”
“You are sitting on a big story like a mother goose on an egg.” She walked around me, her fashion boots clacking on the asphalt. “Oh, you know I can’t stand it when someone holds out on me.”
Cece had a nose for news, and she always got the story. Not this time. Not until Harold and I could clear Oscar. “If I told you, it would put you in the position of hurting your friend. Gravely hurting her. I won’t tell.”
“Dar-link!” Cece hugged me. “I see the burden in your eyes. What the hell happened? I figure Enzo pushed his luck with a lady too hard. Jealous lover or jealous husband, or possibly another jealous woman.”
“I can’t help you.” I walked toward my car.
“Where was Oscar all last evening?”
I shook my head. I had to establish Oscar’s alibi before I gave any details. Harold and I had already tampered with evidence and were withholding pertinent facts—if it turned out Enzo was truly missing.
“Remember Wildene Jones from Panther Holler?” Cece asked.
“Yes.” What trip down memory lane was Cece taking? Wildene had lived up to her name at Ole Miss. She’d turned a sorority upside down with her sexual hi-jinx and eventually was expelled from the university. She’d gone on to make a fortune as a personal shopper for the Delta’s rich and famous. She could pick out everything from a car to a toe ring and it was always exactly what the person wanted. Her success at nailing the perfect gift had become legendary, and she now worked for several lobbyists in Washington D.C. I’d heard she had an annual gift buying budget of ten million a year from her various clients. She’d been at The Club, but had remained in the background. I’d seen her several times watching Enzo and Tinkie practice the art of the tease.
“Enzo and Wildene had a public set to yesterday afternoon before he came to the party at The Club. Seems like he’d paid her to buy some gifts for his wife and family back in Italy, and something went awry.”
“Wife?”
“Don’t act like a rube. Surely you realized Enzo was married. Those men always are.”
“He didn’t act married.”
She gave me a weary smile. “Neither did Tinkie. It’s all a game, Sarah Booth. Only those without a clue get hurt. Enzo’s charm and philandering is what make him valuable to the delegation. He charms the wife or daughter or fiancée and she opens the door to a business meeting. It’s what’s expected. Just as Tinkie works her magic for your cases.”
“But Tinkie is all talk and no action.”
“Tinkie is a lady. Enzo is a man. Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“Thanks for the tip,” I said. “Now stay out of it. Talk to Pret over in Shaw and Doc and do your story. Forget about Oscar.”
“I will as long as I can,” Cece said, and I understood her completely. The truth was, no matter which way I turned, this was going to be a wretched Christmas for those closest to me, unless I uncovered Enzo’s whereabouts and returned him, safely, to the bosom of his delegation.
My Christmas tree glimmered with lights, ornaments, and tinsel. Though such holiday trimmings weren’t in vogue any longer, I loved them. I pulled every box of family decorations from the attic and glamored the tree until it looked like a “fancy woman in a cheap brothel” as my aunt Loulane would say.
Tinkie walked around the tree speechless. “I haven’t seen some of these decorations for twenty years. Is that a homemade ornament with your photo from sixth grade?” she finally asked.
“I made it for my mother.”
“Sarah Booth, not to be cruel, but throw that ugly thing away. I clearly remember the year. You refused to wear a bra because it interfered with catching the football. Your nipples are distinctive and your teeth are too big for your mouth. You look like you could gnaw your way to freedom from the Count of Monte Cristo’s cell.”
“Those were good days.” I had been a tomboy, but I’d had a happy, happy childhood.
“Lucky you outgrew those teeth.”
“I could check out your photo in the school yearbook. I remember you had a thing for skorts and peasant blouses.”
“How can you remember that far back?”
I threw a pillow at her. “Because your few fashion missteps are burned into my brain. Those peasant tops had all those ruffles, and you still had a little baby fat around your neck. Harlan Dunlop called you Chicken Little because you ran around the playground with ruffles flouncing.”
“Stop it.” Tinkie tried to sound stern but she was laughing. “Remember the day you were playing touch football and Danny Cunningham grabbed the skirt of your dress and ripped it right off. You were standing there in your petticoat and panties. They had to call your mama to pick you up. Miss Graham, the secretary, put the principal’s coat on you and stood at the curb until your mama got there.”
It was a painful and humiliating memory, but hearing Tinkie tell it took the sting out. At last I was able to laugh about it. “Those were some good days. No worries, no troubles. Call Mama and she came to the rescue.”
“Yes, each childhood should have that element of safety and security.” Tinkie sighed, her hand straying to one of my favorite ornaments. “And where did you find blown glass horses? They’re beautiful.”
“Family collectibles. Aunt Loulane bought them the year my parents died.” I was happy to spend the morning yammering about Christmas decorations. Anything other than the questions I knew were about to geyser from Tinkie. Once she recovered from the shock of Oscar’s near death, she would demand plenty of answers.
Harold rang my cell phone, and I stepped into the dining room to answer.
“I found a tube of lipstick in Oscar’s car,” Harold said. “It isn’t a shade Tinkie would wear. Too garish.”
Harold was a completely masculine guy, but he paid attention
to the little details. If he said Tinkie wouldn’t wear the lipstick, the important questions became who would and how did it get into Oscar’s car. I had a very bad feeling that Oscar had imbibed too much and decided to do a little flirting on his own, which may have led to the blow up doll prank. If that was the only thing he’d done, no worries. Probably not the best conduct for the president of a bank, but certainly not as nefarious as kidnapping Enzo Aceto.
“Interesting.” I couldn’t say more because Tinkie hung at my shoulder. We needed to find the owner of the lipstick. And fast. And we needed to find Enzo. If Oscar had stashed him somewhere, Harold would have to wring the information out of Oscar as soon as he woke up. The lipstick would be my job.
“There’s more.” Harold’s tone was terse. “I found three dark hairs on the backseat of Oscar’s SUV. I have them in plastic baggies. What should I do?”
Tinkie remained at my elbow. “We’ll decide later.”
“Can you get Millie or Cece to keep Tinkie?” Harold asked.
“It’s possible.” Millie Roberts ran the local café in Zinnia. She was always up to her earlobes in work, but if it was a case of desperate need, she’d find a way to pin Tinkie under her thumb.
“Work on it.” He hung up.
I pivoted to face my partner. All of the questions she’d avoided asking were stampeding to get out. “What are you and Harold hiding?”
“It’s a Christmas surprise.”
“You don’t want to tell me.” Her blue eyes narrowed. “It must be something terrible.”
“Not at all.” I sounded like a sinner in thumbscrews. “We’re, uh, planning a skit. For Christmas Eve.”
“You are such a bad liar, Sarah Booth. You didn’t find Oscar at Finch Lake. He was somewhere along Silver Bayou, wasn’t he? Oscar instigated that stupid blow-up doll prank.”
I couldn’t confirm or deny it. “Please, Tinkie. Let me do what I can to find the truth before this gets blasted out of proportion.”
“I can help. I’m the best person to help. As Oscar’s wife, I wouldn’t have to testify against him.”
She was right about that, but the burden of proof would weigh heavily on her. “Let me see what I can do. If I need you, I’ll call. In the meantime, when Oscar wakes up, see what he can remember.”
“Take me back to the hospital. He’ll talk or else.”
I put an arm around her shoulders. “We can’t jump to conclusions. We don’t know anything other than a tasteless joke has been played. Enzo may be rolled up in bed with a hot woman.”
“Oscar jumped to conclusions, and that’s why he’s in the mess he’s in.”
True, but saying so wouldn’t help. “He loves you.”
“And I love him. I still want to kick his butt into next Sunday. Oscar wouldn’t hurt a fly, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t kidnap Enzo in a drunken fit. If he did that and Enzo presses charges…” Tinkie turned away. “The situation could be dire.”
“Dire? Well, maybe not dire.” I tried to hedge the truth, but things were pretty freaking dire.
“Take me to the hospital, please.” Tinkie’s mind was made up, and I had work to do with Harold. I drove her there in silence, the miles ticking by, just like the minutes.
Harold had hidden Oscar’s Land Rover at the back of his house. I found him outside with high intensity lights, Luminol, and what looked like a real crime scene detection kit. “Where did you get that?”
“It’s your Christmas present. It was supposed to be a surprise,” he said, totally unrepentant. “I thought, what better use? That’s how I found the three dark hairs.” He held out the baggy. “Where can we run DNA?”
“Hold your horses, Gil Grissom. We don’t know a crime has been committed.”
“Oh, a crime has definitely been committed. Cece has photos of the man doll. She emailed them to me. I’d say that’s a crime against nature. A noose! Not a man who saw those photos will fail to get the willies. Thank God she isn’t running them in the newspaper.”
I had to laugh and it did make me feel better. “Boys and their toys.”
“Very clever,” he said. “Now take a look at this lipstick.”
The bright coral shade was definitely not Tinkie’s. Harold was right about that. “Only a person with olive skin could carry that color.”
“So it isn’t Tinkie’s. I am vindicated! And it was in the front seat and the hairs in the backseat. The story the evidence tells me is that Oscar had a woman with him in the front seat and they abducted Enzo together.” He picked up a magnifying glass a la Sherlock Holmes and faced me, one eye huge and unblinking. “We must find the woman!”
“Brilliant deduction,” I grumbled. “How do you suggest we go about sussing her out?”
“We contact Cece Dee Falcon. If anyone knows this brand and shade of lipstick and who might wear it, it’s Cece.”
“You are smarter than you look, Harold.” I pushed the magnifying glass aside.
“I may take up deducing in my spare time,” he said.
“Heaven save us.” I caught his hand and tugged him toward the roadster. Enzo’s continued absence concerned me. Harold and I couldn’t evade questions for much longer.
Cece’s office in the back of The Zinnia Dispatch looked like a mini-nuclear explosion had occurred. She was hidden behind the files stacked on her desktop, but I could hear the tap, tap, tap of the keyboard.
I rattled the bag of cream cheese Danish I’d picked up at the bakery next door. None of us had had time to eat. Cece’s manicured hand slid into the bag and brought forth a pastry. I passed the bag to Harold, who held a tray with three fresh coffees.
“Who wears this lipstick?” I handed the tube to Cece.
“Wildene Jones wears a very similar shade. In fact,” Tinkie pulled open a filing cabinet and lifted a thin file. “Check it out. She had on a dress that shade at the big party for the Italians at The Club.”
In the first photo in the stack, Wildene struck a pose with Enzo. A coral lip outline imprinted his cheek. Wildene’s tinted lips exactly matched her dress and the tube of lipstick Cece now held.
“Wildene and Oscar?” I couldn’t put the two together in my mind, much less his SUV.
“What about Wildene and Oscar?” Cece had a nose for news. “Do tell.”
“Then I’d have to kill you,” I said blithely. “Where is Wildene?”
“Just step out the door and holler ‘Sooie! Sooie! She’s a ho hog if ever I saw one. She’ll come running.”
“You don’t like her, do you?” Harold asked.
“What gave me away?”
I pivoted sharply to hide my laughter. Cece was a pistol and she enjoyed deviling Harold.
“Do you know where she hangs out?” I finally asked. “We need to find her.”
“Try Boopsy’s Boutique. Wildene shops for a living. That’s one of her favorite local places. In fact, it’s the only place she’ll shop in Zinnia. Otherwise she’s in Memphis or New Orleans. There are only a handful of shopping days left, so I’m sure she’s making the cash registers ring on behalf of her clients, who are too worthless to buy their own gifts.”
“Thanks, Cece.” I blew her a kiss and headed out the door before she could grill me about my interest in Wildene. Harold was right on my heels.
We left the car and walked down Main Street. Each storefront sparkled with Christmas scenes, from Victorian carolers to snowmen. I stopped to examine each one. Window dressing was an art form that had passed into history in many small towns. Shoppers no longer strolled the streets, dreaming and fantasizing about the displays so artistically created. Now everyone drove to malls or shopped on-line. A budding emphasis on pedestrian traffic in Zinnia had brought back the golden era of fantastical window displays.
A cold wind blew out of the north, and I huddled deeper into my un-chic barn jacket. Harold epitomized debonair in his topcoat and fedora. Few men could wear a hat and pull it off. Harold happened to be one of them.
Boopsy’s Boutique catered to
the woman, or man, with money and lots of it. Date dresses ran upward of a thousand dollars, and some of the high-end designer frocks touched five figures. The dresses were exquisite, emblazoned with crystals and pearls, complete with jewel-encrusted shoes to match. Needless to say, it wasn’t a place I frequented.
We entered, and a subtle and delicious perfume instantly caught my attention. A saleswoman made a beeline for Harold, completely ignoring me. “Mr. Erkwell, out for some last minute shopping. Surely there are a number of special women on your list.” She shot a sidelong ray of disapproval at me. “And you brought your help to carry the packages. Wise move on your part.”
“Ms. Delaney is my…special friend.” His grin radiated wickedness. “We’d like to see some of your finest lingerie. We have a very athletic evening planned.”
The woman actually put her nose in the air. “Our lingerie section is in the back.”
“Wildene Jones was supposed to pick up some gifts for me,” Harold said. “Have you seen her?”
“She should be here—” The little brass bell at the door jangled. “Now.”
Wildene swept into the shop with two lackeys behind her. “We have at least thirty gifts to retrieve here, then we’re on to Cobblestone for the boots I ordered for Darlena Goodman’s husband.” She took note of Harold, and then me.
“Why, Sarah Booth Delaney,” she said. “I’m surprised you have enough Christmas spirit left to shop, since you were all but dumped at the altar.”
“She’s amazingly resilient…and limber,” Harold said archly. “Wildene, whose naughty list are you topping this year? I saw you at The Club. You charmed the socks off that Italian stud.”
I had to hand it to Harold, he was a smooth operator.
“Enzo was a wonderful diversion, for the afternoon.” She flicked her hand as if he were a troublesome fly. “Haven’t seen him since.”
I took note of her long, dark hair and the coral lipstick that appeared to be her signature. “I thought I saw you and Enzo leave together,” I said sweetly. “He is a handsome devil. How much did you have to pay him for his…time”
Bones on the Bayou: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery Short Story Page 2