"Honey, normal folk use it to say howdy and then set up a time and a place to meet. Of course, you'd have to try to turn it into a congress." She pointed to the screen. "You've got mail."
Puzzled by her sudden interest in "demon technology," as she called it, I moved the mouse to check my E-mail. In a moment a message from Cece Dee Falcon, society editor for The Zinnia Dispatch, popped up on the screen. Cece had a "juicy assignment" for me. I sometimes picked up freelance work writing for Cece at the newspaper. Entree as a reporter, I'd quickly learned, was another invaluable detecting tool. I read the message. Cece wanted me to meet her for coffee.
"Now how does this E-mail thing work?" Jitty asked.
"I don't actually know. All that matters is that it does work." She was hovering over me. Although she looked as real as any of my other annoying friends, her touch was only a whisper, a draft passing through a room.
"There're dating clubs on computer. Big story on the news."
I turned slowly and faced her, a sudden reality dawning. "I'm not that desperate."
"Liar," she answered calmly.
"Do you know how many maniacs are out there? And what's to keep them from lying? I mean just because they say they're six four, there's no way to check it. They're all probably five two and live with their mothers."
"Who cares if they carry a step stool, as long as they're in working order," Jitty said. "This is a new millennium, Sarah Booth. This isn't about marriage or 'happy ever after.' This is about global opportunities. Show me how to work that thing."
I turned the computer off. "Never. I'm going to see what Cece wants," I said, getting up. "I'll tell Kip I'm leaving, but you keep an eye on her." That should keep Jitty too busy to meddle in my affairs.
Cece was waiting for me in Millie's Cafe, along with my partner, Tinkie. They were both blond, beautiful, smart, and born into old Delta families. There the similarities ended. Tinkie was everything a Daddy's Girl aspired to be, with the unfortunate—to her male family members—addition that money and security weren't enough to fill her days. Hence her association with me.
Cece, on the other hand, should have been a candidate for the Buddy Clubbers. A trip to Sweden and extensive hormone therapy had exhausted the Falcon inheritance and turned Cecil into Cece. She was one of my few wealthy friends who had actually bought a measure of happiness with her legacy. For most of them, money had become a sort of prison. One with very nicely furnished cells, I might add.
"Hello, dahling," Cece said, brushing air kisses on each of my cheeks. "You look marvelous, Sarah Booth. You've lost a pound or two, haven't you? Those love handles aren't quite so prominent."
Cece had the lean hips of a male and never failed to rub it in. "Men like something to hang on to," I said, taking a seat and signaling Millie, proprietress of the establishment and another good friend, for a cup of coffee.
Tinkie only grinned at us. "Bring some milk for the kitties," she called out to Millie. "Maybe if we feed them the fur won't fly."
Of all the folks in Zinnia, I felt closest to these three women. "What's going on?" I asked Cece. I had big news, but I wanted to get the most play out of it.
Cece scanned the room for would-be eavesdroppers. The only patrons were a few businessmen, some ladies of leisure—meaning they'd married well—and some tourists who were likely on their way to Batesville, Greenwood, or further south along the river to make the annual spring pilgrimages to old plantation homes that had become big-dollar industries.
Leaning forward, Cece finally spoke. She did know how to milk a moment. "Since you're already working for Lee McBride, I thought you might want to do some columns about what you discover?" Cece's grin was wide and wolfish.
"How did you find out I was working for Lee?" I was shocked. I'd only been hired a couple of hours ago. Looking from Tinkie to Cece, I realized they both knew.
Millie brought coffee and dishes of hot peach cobbler for four. Eyeing the cafe to make sure everyone had his order, she took a seat with us. "Are you going to be able to get Eulalee off?" she asked me.
"Does the entire town know?" I asked.
They nodded.
"You went out to Swift Level this morning. What did you find? Other than that little hellcat Kip, who I understand you're babysitting?" Millie asked. They all leaned forward so I could lower my voice.
"Lee's medical records show extensive abuse. I can tell you that much."
"And Kip?" Cece pressed. "I've seen her around town. Trouble with a capital T."
"She's angry," I conceded. "I couldn't say no to Lee."
"And how did you find Bradford Lynch to be?" Cece said. She licked one corner of her mouth in a subconscious gesture that told me exactly how she found him.
"Evasive," I said, digging into the cobbler. "What do you know about him?" I looked from one to the other.
"He comes in on Saturdays sometimes," Millie said. She arched an eyebrow. "He has a presence. Every woman in the room stops talking and just watches him walk by. Really cute ass."
"Yes, he is one fine man," Cece agreed.
Only Tinkie looked unsure. "He's a cowboy, isn't he? I mean, I always wondered why Lee hired a cowboy to train her horses. The crowd at Swift Level doesn't chase cows, they chase foxes."
"He said something to the same effect," I said, leaning a little closer. "He also said it didn't matter. Horses do whatever he tells them."
"Honey, I'd get on my hands and knees and buck if he told me to," Cece said. When our laughter died, she looked at me. "So what about the columns? I've already heard that Lee is insisting on defending herself. She's going to try to convince a jury that Kemper deserved what he got."
Tinkie's gasp was reflected in the doubt on Millie's face. "Most of the men I know need killing," Millie said. "I don't think that qualifies as justifiable homicide."
"That's her plan," I confirmed. "She won't hire a lawyer, and she won't listen to reason, but I'm hoping Coleman can work on her." I shot a glance at Tinkie. "And you, too. She might listen to you."
Cece snorted. "If you don't remember Lee, I sure do. Once her mind is made up, she's not going to budge," she said. "Remember back in high school, when she insisted she could climb that old water tower and spray-paint her name on the side? The steps broke and she fell and fractured her arm. The day after the cast came off, she went back with ropes and some kind of harness. She was going to do it or die, and she did. She won't change her mind about anything."
Silence settled on the table. I knew Cece was right. We all did.
"That's why I think the columns are such a good idea," Cece said. "Lee can present her side of the story. By the time her case goes to trial, we'll have everyone on her side. The jury will acquit her in ten minutes."
"They have to select jurors who haven't been exposed to the facts, or gossip, of the crime," I reminded Cece.
"What planet do you live on?" she asked archly, tapping one perfectly manicured Orange Tango nail on the table. "The more publicity Lee gets, the better her chances. As long as it's the right kind of publicity. That's where you come in."
I had my doubts. "I'll ask her," I agreed, because I knew that Cece was as stubborn as Lee when it came to getting a story.
"What can I do?" Tinkie asked.
Tinkie was my wedge into society, and I had very specific plans for her. "What do you know about foxhunting?" My riding lessons had been curtailed, but Tinkie, as had all the Daddy's Girls, had ridden for years. Although they seldom continued the sport after marriage, it was considered a social necessity to be able to sit a blooded horse and ride to the hounds.
"I've been a few times." She shook her head. "It's a great sport, except for the fox. I don't think it can be much fun to be chased like that. Getting caught is murder."
"I need to build a list of possible suspects." All three women lifted their eyebrows. "Surely someone in that hunt crowd would want Kemper dead."
"What's that going to help?" Millie asked. "Lee's already confessed."
I n
odded agreement. "I know, but I want to have a backup plan. Reasonable doubt is what I'm aiming for. If we can get Lee's confession suppressed, and if she does come to her senses, I want to be able to present at least one other person who could have killed, might have killed, or likely did kill Kemper."
"Good idea," Millie said. She sipped her coffee, but her eyes held mine over the rim of her cup. "Got anyone in mind?"
"Should I?"
"Sometimes anger can push someone right over the edge."
"Meaning?" I pressed.
She put the cup down in a saucer before she answered. "Working in a cafe, I hear a lot of things. Kids come in after school and talk. Teachers get together and get a little loud." She shrugged. "About a month ago, Kip got in some trouble at the high school. Vandalism. Lee had to put her in counseling and pay the damages."
All of the women were watching me. "How much damage?"
"I heard it from the school secretary. She said Kip and another girl got into it over something. The other girl had a knife and Kip went straight at her, disarmed her, and then slapped her around some. No one was really hurt, but they took Kip down to the office along with the other girl. Kip explained that she was attacked and was protecting herself, but the principal still punished her. It was after that that Kip lost it. She waited until after school and ransacked the library. Mostly she just made a big mess, by throwing books and knocking over shelves. There wasn't a lot of monetary damage."
My gut had that knotted feeling again.
"When I see her hanging out in town," Cece said, "she reminds me of one of the lost girls. You know, an active member of the vampire cult of kids."
"She wears a lot of makeup for her age," I conceded.
"I feel sorry for her," Millie said. "She sometimes comes in here late at night. She's always by herself." She shook her head. "Teenagers don't like to be alone."
Tinkie drummed her nails on the table. "I've got an appointment with Oscar." She turned to me. "So you want me to investigate Lee's clients and associates."
"Yes. People who've been to Swift Level. Check out the hunt crowd. You can do that better than I can." I looked at Millie. "If you could keep an ear open to the conversations floating around in here, that would be a big help."
"You bet," she said. "Content and source—I'll make notes."
"I'll see what I can dig up on Kemper's past. For the obituary, you know," Cece volunteered.
For a brief moment I felt my hopes for Lee lift. She had the four ablest women in the state of Mississippi working on her behalf. And three of them were basically working for free.
4
There was one stop I had to make before I went back to Dahlia House. Zinnia National Bank was the only bank in town. I hadn't wanted to ask Tinkie to approach this matter through her father, who owned the bank, or her husband, who was director of the board of trustees. Avery and Oscar failed to take Tinkie seriously. They saw only the glitzed facade she'd been carefully trained to build—and had executed with incredible finesse. To them, Tinkie was the perfect blonde. Beautiful, animated, and pliant. Had Tinkie asked about the finances at Swift Level, they would never have told her the truth.
I had another source inside the bank: Harold Erkwell. Besides, I always enjoyed seeing Harold. Ever since my return to Zinnia from my failed career as an actress in New York, Harold and I had toyed with the idea of a relationship. Just at the point when I was ready to capitulate, fate always stepped in and threw us a curve. Still, it was nice to be desired.
His secretary, Marie, showed me immediately into his private office. Harold looked up and his crystal-blue eyes lit with pleasure. Now that was a reaction even a failed Daddy's Girl couldn't help but appreciate. The memory of his mouth on my thumb last fall gave me a delicate little thrill. I had been reduced to living on memories.
"Sarah Booth, what brings you to the bank?" A frown touched his forehead. "Everything is good with Dahlia House, isn't it?"
"For the moment." Not so long ago, Dahlia House had been hours away from the auction block. In one of his less than fine moments, Harold had offered to save my home, if he could win my hand. Had I known him better then, I might have said yes.
He rose from behind his desk and came to me. Scooping my hand up, he kissed it. "Still not claimed," he said, noting my ringless state and bringing to mind the honking big diamond he'd offered me. His lips lingered on the back of my fingers, igniting an old memory that throbbed in my thumb.
"Unclaimed and unfettered," I answered, slipping my fingers from his. Harold made the art of flirtation an Olympic-level competition. Verbal dueling was his specialty.
He waved me into a chair and called Marie to bring us coffee. Five minutes later she brought in a tray with Haviland china and silver serving pieces. A nice touch. When we both were settled with our cups, Harold nodded for me to proceed.
I'd learned that only in matters of the heart did Harold like the circuitous approach. "I need to see the financial records on Swift Level."
He was well schooled in hiding his reaction. "Impossible," he said.
"I'm working for Lee. She's hired me to help her."
Harold watched me. "She needs a good lawyer, Sarah Booth. That's not detracting from your abilities. You've done amazingly well. But her future is on the line."
"I know." I was annoyed that Harold, too, knew specific details of the case. Was someone in the sheriff's office blabbing? I intended to have a talk with Coleman as soon as I left the bank. I wasn't sure about writing columns for the newspaper, but Cece was right about one thing—the wrong kind of publicity or gossip could put the final nail in Lee's coffin.
"Lee indicated that things are tight at Swift Level. Is that true?"
Harold would dodge a question, but he wouldn't lie. "If you were asking me if you should invest in Swift Level, I would say that in the long term, it would be an extremely good move. In the short term, it could prove disastrous."
"Swift Level isn't making money?" I let it hang, watching Harold as he focused on sipping his coffee. He was deliberating on how much to tell me, scouting the boundaries of his ethics and my need to know.
"Kemper wasn't a good businessman. He was also a compulsive gambler."
The implication of this hit me like a kick to the womb—it gave Lee another motive for premeditated murder. Kemper was ruining her financially. That was a good reason to kill him, but probably not one the jury would sympathize with. "Damn," I said softly.
"Kemper spent a lot of his time down in Biloxi on those gambling boats. From what I hear, they wouldn't let him on the Silver Slipper in Tunica. He'd caused some problems there."
"What if Kemper owed money to someone? I hear the Dixie Mafia is all over the Gulf Coast. What if he owed them a lot of money, and they sent someone up here to collect it?"
"Very plausible story, except that Lee has confessed," Harold pointed out. "I hear you're playing mom to Kip." His grin said it all.
"She's a thorny child." To say more would be disloyal to Lee.
Harold got up and walked to the window that overlooked Main Street. For a long moment, he stared out. Waiting is a virtue highly prized in Southern women. It is the foundation of the code of Daddy's Girls. Men act; women wait. Though I found it hard to swallow, I knew this was a moment that required all of my waiting skills. Finally he turned to face me.
"I'm talking out of school, but I think this may be important. Something wasn't right between him and Kip."
I saw Kip's fourteen-year-old face so clearly—the heavy makeup, the spiked hair. Was it rebellious youth or self-hatred? The very idea made me physically ill. I put the coffee aside.
"Are we talking physical abuse, as in beatings, or something else?"
"Something else." Harold put his hand on my shoulder, his fingers firm as they rubbed the tense muscle. "But not what you're thinking. Nothing sexual. In a way, though, it's almost as bad."
"What kind of abuse?"
"Kip played a vital role at Swift Level. As talented a ri
der as Lee is, Kip is better. I'm only on the fringes of the horsey set, but I have gone to some of the bigger shows. Kip is magnificent. She's been campaigning that big stallion of Lee's, Avenger, but she also had a little mare of her own, one she'd raised and trained. I think the horse was called Mrs. Peel."
I nodded that I got the reference, but I didn't want to interrupt his story.
"Last month at the Lexington show, Kemper sold that mare right out from under Kip. Kip rode the horse in a class and took second place. When she came out of the show ring, a man stepped up and took the reins, said Mrs. Peel belonged to him and his daughter now. Kemper had sold the horse while Kip was riding her in the ring." Harold frowned. "I saw Kip's face. My heart almost broke for her."
I was stunned. "Kemper was sincerely a bastard," I said. "That might explain why Kip hates both of her parents. One for hurting her, and the other for failing to protect her."
"You can check this out with Lillian Sparks. She was at the show. She overheard what Kemper said to Kip."
Lillian was the town matriarch who'd been a renowned horsewoman in her day. "Which was?"
Harold debated whether he should repeat gossip. "Ask Lillian to be sure, but I heard he told Kip that Mrs. Peel deserved a first-place rider, not a second-place."
I took a breath. "Damn it, Harold, you've just given me two more good reasons why Lee would want to kill Kemper in cold blood."
"Or Kip," Harold said as gently as he could. He sat down in the chair beside me and took my hand in his. "I know she's only a kid, Sarah Booth, but don't turn your back on her. The horse crowd is vicious and malicious. They seem to delight in character assassinations, but make no mistake about it: Kip Fuquar has a bad temper. She threw quite a tantrum."
The courthouse had suddenly become a hopping place. Parking along the entire square was full. I had to take a side street and hoof it back to Coleman's office. The morning had been made for walking. In the last days of March, it seemed that every flower in Mississippi had suddenly decided to bud. Azaleas, dogwoods, bridal wreath, the delicious magnolia frascatti, and wisteria. This was the South in her finest attire.
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