Bones on the Bayou: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery Short Story

by Carolyn Haines

  The servants’ stairs to the second floor were located off a mudroom and I headed up with care. Sweetie and Pluto climbed beside me. Near the top of the staircase, Sweetie surged ahead. She had hit a scent.

  Just as I reached the second floor, my cell phone buzzed in my pocket. Tinkie was calling. Damn it all to thunderation. I had to talk to her—I was worried sick about her and Oscar. But I had to be quiet.

  Sweetie Pie disappeared down the dimly lit hallway, and Pluto followed. I stood, holding the phone. At last I answered.

  “I can’t talk. Where are you?” I whispered.

  “We’re fine, Sarah Booth. Oscar swears he didn’t harm Enzo. I believe him.”

  “Does he know where Enzo might be?” Even though I was whispering, my voice seemed to tumble down the corridor. This part of the house, used by the servants who were thankfully gone, had no carpeting and sound carried on the hardwood floors.

  “His memory is coming back. Slowly. He claims Wildene and Enzo abducted him.”

  “To what purpose?” It wasn’t that I didn’t believe Oscar, but…

  “He isn’t clear. Has Pret taken any official action against us?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t returned any of Coleman’s six dozen calls.”

  “Where are you and why are you whispering?” Tinkie asked.

  “Rebecca—” A silk cloth tightened around my neck, cutting off my ability to speak or breath.

  “Hush, hush, Sarah Booth,” a male voice whispered in my ear. The Italian accent was a dead giveaway.

  “En-zo,” I croaked. “You’re a-live.”

  “And you may not be much longer.” He tightened the cloth.

  I tried to kick behind me, but I couldn’t hit his shin. My vision started dimming, and a loud ringing fogged my hearing. I was losing consciousness. The next stage would be death. I was about to be snuffed without a whimper. I fought as hard as I could but my strength ebbed quickly.

  A body moving at great speed came down the hallway. I heard what sounded like cloth ripping, followed by a scream. The pressure at my throat stopped, and I sank to the floor. Beside me, Enzo and a snarling demon from the pits of hell struggled. Sweetie Pie to the rescue!

  I concentrated on sucking oxygen to my starving lungs and bellowed, “Cece! Cece! Help!”

  My vision began to clear and my hearing returned, and I saw Pluto sauntering down the servant’s passage as if he had all the time in the world. Behind me Sweetie Pie had Enzo on the ground, the side of his face in her mouth.

  “I’d hold very still,” I said as I pushed to a sitting position. “She doesn’t like you.”

  “Call her off.”

  He couldn’t talk very well with Sweetie’s canines puncturing his cheek, but I deciphered his request. And ignored it. Blood flowed freely onto his white shirt. It was a beautiful sight.

  “I don’t care if she tears your face off.”

  Footsteps stormed up the stairs. “Sarah Booth! Where are you?”

  “Servants hall,” I replied. “I have Enzo.”

  “You can’t break in here and do this.” Rebecca’s voice came to me. “I’ll have you arrested. This is an outrage. Do you know who I am? I’m a state representative, an elected official.”

  “Can it,” Cece said. “You’re about to be a jailbird.”

  My friend topped the stairs, took one look at me propped against the wall and Sweetie holding Enzo by the face, and ran toward us. Halfway down the hall, she stopped and whipped out her cell phone and began snapping photos. “This is going to be the story that catapults me to a six-figure salary!”

  “Not so fast.” Rebecca stood at the top of the stairs. “Put the phone down now.”

  “Too late for political concerns, Rebecca. Your career is toast.”

  “Put the phone down.” The loud click of a hammer cocking claimed Cece’s attention. And mine.

  Rebecca held a very deadly looking gun. “Drop the phone, or I’ll drop you.”

  “Whoever is writing your dialogue needs to be fired,” Cece drawled.

  “I mean it. There’s too much to lose.”

  I reached up and took the phone from Cece’s hand and put it on the floor. “What is going on here?” I had to stall her. From where I sat, there was no reasonable escape. Cece and I knew she and Enzo had partnered up for some reason. If it was serious enough for Enzo to strangle me, then it was serious enough for Rebecca to blast Cece and me.

  “It’s merely a simple monetary exchange,” Rebecca said. “Enzo’s wife has all the money. If Enzo disappeared, we could force her to pay ransom for his return.” She shrugged. “Not so complicated.”

  “Not so sane,” Cece said. “You have let sex drive you completely nuts, Rebecca. This sybarite,” she pointed at Enzo, who was making gurgling noises and waving to get Rebecca’s attention, “has screwed the common sense right out of you.”

  “Shut up.” Rebecca waved the gun dramatically. “You don’t get to talk.”

  Pluto, who’d sat in shadows in the threshold of a door, took the opportunity to bound through the air. For a cat that never left a shuffle except at mealtime, he could strike like a viper when he chose. He hurled his body, striking Rebecca in the neck hard enough to knock her off balance. She took a step back to save herself, slipped on the top step, and disappeared in a tumble. The gun fired once, but the bullet hit the ceiling.

  I counted seven distinct thuds as she made it to the bottom of the stairs. “You are so going to die!” Rebecca yelled.

  “Uh-oh,” Cece said. “She shouldn’t try to fly without her broomstick.”

  “We need something to tie Enzo’s hands.” The scarf he’d tried to strangle me with was too short. I hustled downstairs to the kitchen, found a knife, and cut the drapery tiebacks in the front parlor. While I was at it, I checked on Rebecca. She’d dragged herself to a wall and was leaning there, one arm at a disturbing angel. Give her credit, she wasn’t crying or moaning.

  “You stupid woman,” she said with enough venom to take down an elephant. “My lovely plan is destroyed, because you poked your nose in it. We weren’t hurting anyone. We only wanted Enzo’s freedom from his wife and the money. We’ve already delivered the first ransom demand—and Ophelia had agreed to cough up the money. In due time, Enzo would have been ‘recovered.’ Unfortunately, the horrid experience of being abducted and held for ransom would have scarred him to the point he couldn’t return to Italy.” Her feverish eyes stared into a distance I couldn’t imagine. “With Enzo on my arm, charming everyone he meets, I could have been governor.”

  “Deluded much?” I asked. “What about Junior? What about framing Oscar for Enzo’s disappearance? That would have been a cloud over him the rest of his life?”

  “Oscar and Tinkie Richmond are Delta royalty. He wouldn’t have suffered long under public censure. One thing I’ve learned from being married to Junior—the landed gentry are never held accountable. Junior has bankrupted us and vows he won’t divorce me without an ugly scandal. I’m the cash cow wearing his brand. If I play my political cards right, I can make a lot of money from lobbyists and deals, and Junior isn’t going to let me go unless he’s paid off.”

  “Where is Junior?” Had Rebecca decided a dead husband was less trouble than a divorce?

  “At the hunting camp, waiting for his ship to come in. Junior agreed to give me this house and a divorce for a hefty cash payment. He’s perfectly fine. As I said, we’ve harmed no one.”

  I didn’t exactly view blackmail, setting another on a kidnapping charge, and a host of other actions as innocent.

  “Sarah Booth,” Cece yelled. “Get up here with the rope. And pick up Rebecca’s gun on the way. Sweetie is about to pull Enzo’s cheek free from his skull.”

  “Not my problem,” I answered as I climbed the stairs. I retrieved the gun and once I had it pointed, Sweetie released Enzo’s face. The tissue was already swelling and blood leaked from the puncture wounds. I wondered if they offered the option of plastic surgery at the Mi
ssissippi State Penitentiary at Parchmen, where Enzo was bound.

  I called Coleman, who relayed our info to the Bolivar County sheriff’s office. Coleman had no authority in Bolivar County, but he had moral support, and I needed that. He promised to head our way with sirens blaring. “We’re going to have a nice long chat, Sarah Booth.”

  I had no doubt Coleman would have plenty to say. Next, I called my partner.

  “Sarah Booth, don’t fuss at me,” Tinkie said. “I have to protect Oscar.”

  “I’m not calling to scold you. Come home. Cece and I found Enzo, and he’s very much alive. Hurry back to Zinnia. I miss you.”

  “A Solstice gathering was a brilliant idea,” Tinkie said as she joined me on the front porch of Dahlia House. She looped her arm around my waist and gave a squeeze. “Thank you for finding Enzo and clearing Oscar’s name.”

  “Why did Oscar launch that blow up doll at the Shaw Christmas parade?” It was simply out of character.

  “It wasn’t Oscar. It was Wildene.”

  It was a lot easier to attribute the blow up doll to Wildene than Oscar. “What happened?”

  “Wildene had the doll at the reception at The Club. She was angry that Enzo had shown an interest in her, until he met all the rich people she knew, and then cast her aside. So when she saw how angry Oscar was and that Enzo and I were flirting, she decided to take action. Oscar was drunk and hurt, and he played into her hands. She knew where the Christmas floats were tied off on Silver Bayou, and she went there and tied the doll onto the Santa float. Oscar tried to stop her, but he was wall-eyed drunk. He waded into the bayou to retrieve the doll, but he couldn’t. Then he tried to shoot it, but obviously he missed. Wildene left him and he stumbled into the cotton field where you found him.”

  Wildene was a known wild woman, but the state representative was another matter. “Who would have thought Rebecca Martin would prove to be so…inappropriate.”

  “They’ll have to hold a special election to fill her position.” Tinkie’s eyes were alight with devilment. “Oscar and I are going to back Pret Parker’s campaign.”

  “A good choice.” Pret could have been a hard-ass, but instead he’d listened, formed his own conclusions, and hadn’t been pushed to jump to conclusions.

  “The Italian delegation, sans Enzo, leaves for home tomorrow. I don’t know if the deal will go through after all of this.” Tinkie’s tone was rueful. “The Delta needs that economic stimulus. I hope the development plans aren’t dead.”

  “What will be, will be.” My nose was freezing, and I was ready to go back inside. “I’ll check on the spinach lasagna. We should be ready to eat in no time.”

  “Look at that moon, Sarah Booth. Have you ever seen anything prettier?”

  “Only my partner’s loyal heart,” I answered. “I’m so relieved you and Oscar are safe and no charges were filed.”

  “Thanks to you and Coleman.” She blew me a kiss. “Tonight’s the longest night of the year. Thank you for burning the Yule log and having us all gather to celebrate our friendships.”

  “What would I do without you, Tinkie? My partner, my friend, often my mentor.”

  “We’re lucky in our friendships. All of us. Harold, Cece, Millie—everyone is gathered inside waiting for Coleman to arrive.”

  “Maybe I’m not lucky in love, but I have abundance in friendships and that’s nothing to sneeze at. Now I need to check the food. Don’t get too cold out here.”

  The kitchen was warm and toasty and I shrugged out of my jacket and gloves and bent over the oven to find the cheese bubbling on my pan of lasagna. The smell made my mouth water. No one seemed to mind that I was offering a vegetarian meal to celebrate Yule, the rebirth of the sun. While Solstice was the longest night of the year, it also marked the gradual lengthening of the days.

  I removed the lasagna and put in the fresh baked bread to warm. A simple and hearty feast.

  Behind me the sound of wood clacking made me pivot. In the corner of the kitchen an old woman sat at a spinning wheel, the most amazing multi-colored thread collecting on the spindle as she worked. She wore long, heavy skirts, a form-fitting jacket with a multi-colored shawl and scarf. I froze in place.

  “I spin the wheel to create the fates,” she said in a Norse accent.

  I knew her then—Frigga, the Norse goddess of the Night, of Yule, the mother of the sun. Beneath the disguise was my resident haint, Jitty, a spirit who had lived during the tragic times of the Civil War and served my great-great-great-grandmother as a nanny, but most importantly had become her best friend. The two of them had lost husbands in the war and had struggled to feed Grandma Alice’s children and save Dahlia House.

  “What fate are you weaving for me, Jitty?”

  She picked up the thread as if she could read it. “Adventure, happiness, challenge, and love. And sadness, because those are all the stages of the wheel of fortune. You know the white berries on the mistletoe are my tears, shed for the death of my son.” She nodded to the mistletoe sprig I’d hung over the kitchen door. “But new life comes from death. The old year departs and the new one arrives. The elderly die and new babes are born. It is the cycle of life.”

  “When things are good, I want to hold them in place.” In the last few months my life had drastically changed. The dreams I’d harbored only months ago were ashes. Once again, I was in the process of reinventing myself.

  “The wheel turns, Sarah Booth. Through the good and the bad. Change is the only constant. You know that. Tonight your friends are gathered. Enjoy them.”

  She had begun to fade. Once Jitty said her piece she didn’t linger.

  “No sage advice on getting pregnant and perpetuating the Delaney line?” Jitty had a habit of treating me like a brood mare. I was the last Delaney and she worked hard to make sure that changed.

  “Oh, the spinning wheel tells me the future is in good hands. Remember, change is the only constant, and sometimes the wind blows a real bounty through the door. The past is gone and the future out of reach. We are given only the now.”

  She disappeared as the kitchen door opened and Coleman stepped through.

  “Need a hand with the food?” he asked.

  His face was still red from the cold outside, and he brought the scent of fresh-cut cedar and starched shirts into the kitchen. ‘Thank you for talking to Pret about Oscar and Tinkie,” I told him.

  “Once Pret realized Oscar had been duped, he didn’t have a problem backing off. He’s a good man.”

  “And so are you.” I looked up at the mistletoe, and Coleman followed my gaze.

  The moment could have been awkward, but it wasn’t. Coleman drew me into his arms and kissed me. Jitty’s words came back to me. “We are given only the now.”

  I kissed Coleman and didn’t hold a thing back. The magic of Yule covered us, allowing us to slip the bonds of past decisions and future expectations. There was only the now, and Coleman, and the kiss that tingled through my body like a magical potion.

  “Merry Christmas, Sarah Booth,” Coleman said when he stepped back.

  “Yes, I believe it will be.”

  Together we carried the food to the table and called our friends to celebrate.

  The End

  Table of Contents

  Bones on the Bayou