Tinkie sipped her coffee. "I guess. The bottom line is that none of that really matters. We've just been chasing our tails."
Tinkie had a way of cutting to the heart of the matter. "I have another assignment for you." I told her my theory that Kemper had tried to kill Avenger for insurance money. "Both Mike Rich and Roscoe, the stable hand, mentioned an insurance policy on the horse. There has to be one. The person named as beneficiary will have a lot of explaining to do, assuming it isn't Kemper, and I'm pretty positive the policy is in someone else's name. Do you think you could make any headway with Billy Appleton? We need to find that policy."
"Billy's kind of weird, but he isn't a liar. If he says there isn't one, I think we have to accept it as fact."
I nodded agreement. "I don't think he's lying, but maybe you could convince him to look a little harder. I know there's a policy. We just haven't been able to figure out how to find it."
"I can do that. Oscar went out on a limb and helped Billy secure a loan for his new insurance office. You know, the interior is entirely red. Remember when he stole all the red crayons in first grade? It's like he wants all the red in the world."
I did remember. "Talk to him, Tinkie. Getting men to do your bidding is your forte."
She smiled. "That's not a talent, that's a knack."
"Where's Chablis?" I asked. Tinkie hardly went anywhere without the dust mop.
"At Canine Curls. She just had to have a lift to her color. It was getting plumb mousy." Her gaze slipped past me and toward the door of the house. "Don't take this the wrong way, Sarah Booth, but I made an appointment for Sweetie Pie. They have this wonderful new cosmetic veterinarian from France! I've booked a consultation for Sweetie Pie for a breast reduction." She held up a hand at my protest. "I know she's had puppies and that just naturally makes the breasts sag, but she's still a young dog. And I'm paying for everything. I'll even pick her up and take her myself."
When I turned around, Sweetie was standing in the open doorway of Dahlia House. She'd slept in, and her ears were a mess. My gaze shifted down her body to the rounded belly and the telltale shadow of dangling nipples. "Don't worry, Sweetie, no surgery. I promise."
The hound stepped into the sunlight, blinked, then began to bark as a silver Taurus pulled up behind Tinkie's new Caddy. Nathaniel Walz got out of his car and began to walk toward us.
"Tinkie, don't leave," I whispered. "I'm afraid if I don't have a witness, I may kill him."
"What does he want?" she whispered back as we both watched him approach.
"He was asking Harold about the possibility of buying Dahlia House for one of his development projects."
"Get the garlic," Tinkie said, stepping up beside me.
"Miss Delaney," Walz said, smoothing his silk tie. "I hope I'm not interrupting. I've come to ask for your help in a very delicate matter." He was a handsome man, flawed only by his diminutive size and his nattiness.
"How could I possibly help you?" I asked. It was an honest question with a tiny stinger of sarcasm on the end.
"Your friend, Ms. McBride—I'd like to help her out, but she won't even give me a chance to talk to her."
"Lee isn't exactly in a position to entertain guests," I pointed out to him.
The ringing of the telephone halted the conversation. I started to step back inside, but Tinkie touched my shoulder.
"I'll get it," she volunteered. She ran up the steps and into the house, with Sweetie Pie right behind her.
"My desire to speak with Ms. McBride isn't social," Walz said. "It's business." Even as he spoke his gaze swept over Dahlia House and the land around it. In his eyes I could see asphalt and strip malls rising out of the earth, multiplying, followed by subdivisions. There were different visions of the future, and though I didn't have a firm grasp on my personal vista, I knew what I wanted for my home. Nathaniel Walz was the antithesis of it.
"It would be better if you waited until Lee's out of jail. She's having a rough time right now." I took a step toward the front door. As far as I was concerned, the discussion was at an end.
"I was at the ball. What a terrible loss. Her horse and her daughter, all in the same fire." He sighed. "I could see the hard work and love she put into Swift Level. It is a magnificent place."
"Yes, it is." I knew where Walz was heading, and even the thought was offensive. Before I could put a halt to his developing advance, Tinkie came down the steps, a puzzled expression on her face.
"It was some prankster with a funny name. He said he was leaving the Memphis airport and to 'hold the wedding,' that he was on his way to Dahlia House to help you save the cats."
"What?" I was stumped. "Wedding? Cats?"
"That's what he said. He said you'd know what it meant."
I didn't. But I knew what Walz meant to do, and he was the immediate concern. "Why do you want to see Lee?" I asked.
"I'd like to buy Swift Level." He held up both hands as if he expected us to try and hit him. "I'm making the offer now. I could wait until it all goes to hell around her, and then get the place for a song."
Before I could even think of a response, Tinkie jumped at him. On her high heels she was just his height, and she leaned into his face. "You, sir, are a cad and a profiteer. Do you really think Sarah Booth or I would help you convince Lee to sell her home to you?"
Walz remained calm. "She'll sell to me or someone else, but she'll sell. And then I'll buy it. Swift Level is perfect for my development. I've searched all over the state, and it is exactly the piece of real estate I want."
"Lee won't sell," Tinkie insisted.
"Ladies, she has no choice. That horse was her future, and he's dead. Her kid is dead. She's going to prison. I know for a fact the note on Swift Level is a backbreaker. Ms. McBride simply can't afford a five-thousand-dollar-a-month mortgage. The renovations, the repairs, the maintenance, the livestock—it's a very expensive way of life."
He raised his hand, but before he could say anything, Sweetie bounded down the steps, a low growl issuing from her throat, and her tail, which normally wagged like a metronome, dangerously rigid.
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave," I said. I put a restraining hand on Tinkie's arm. Like Chablis, she was small but fierce. She was ready to leap on Nathaniel Walz and gnaw him to shreds. Sweetie would go for the big chunks.
Still unruffled, Walz reached into the jacket of his coat and handed me a sealed envelope. "Speak to your friend. Give her this. It's my offer in writing, and I assure you it's a generous one. Far more generous than anyone else will make. But I need an answer by tonight. I have investors, and they're growing restless."
He got back in his car and drove away.
"The nerve of that man," Tinkie fumed.
"How did he know how much Lee's note is?" I pondered. "Not even Cece would know that."
"Even if she did, she wouldn't tell him," Tinkie said, but there was a frown on her face. "Would she?"
"Pillow talk can be deadly," I said. "Tinkie, we need to get busy. See what you can find on that insurance. I'm going to pay a call on Cece."
"Tell her if she's joined Nathaniel Walz's camp, we're going to cancel our subscription to the newspaper."
"Will do," I said, as I got my car keys and headed for The Zinnia Dispatch and Cece's store of information, printable and not.
27
Cece eyed my empty hands as i slipped into her office and took the only available seat—a perch on the edge of a chair that was stacked with yellowed copy paper and magazine clippings.
"Tinkie just called. She said to remind you she's got Sweetie Pie and is taking her to her appointment. If you'd enter the twenty-first century and use a cell phone, I wouldn't have to play secretary for you. So where is Sweetie going?"
Cece was curious about my dog's social agenda, but I ignored her. There were other issues to be explored, but a frontal attack was never wise. I had devised a bush-beating assault. "If I used a cell phone, you'd have nothing to complain about. I'm not the sla
ve of technology that you are."
"Your hairdo could use an update, too."
I ignored her jabs. "The night of the fire, did you see anything unusual at the ball?"
She leaned back in her chair and templed her fingers. Her nails were a shimmering shade of orange that looked suspiciously like the hard-to-find Mango Magic. She had the matching lipstick, too.
Cece's sources—for news and cosmetics—were tightly guarded secrets.
"Didn't Kip set the fire? Since we both know she's alive, I just assumed she'd concocted the plan to get Avenger out of town before Carol Beth could snatch him."
"I'm not so sure." I was having second thoughts. "Avenger could have died in that fire. So could Bud. And it could have spread to all the other barns. Would Kip have risked all of that, if her intention was to save Avenger and her mother?"
Cece tilted her head, considering. A beautiful diamond earring glinted from beneath her hair. "I see your point. But who else would burn the barn?"
"Tell me what you remember from that evening."
"The entire thing happened so fast. I'd only arrived at the ball an hour before. I just missed that incredible scene with Carol Beth and her husband, which I'm still trying to get details on. Then someone rushed into the ballroom and yelled that the barn was on fire. Everyone went streaming out into the night, and there was the awful sight of the flames coming out of the hayloft. From there it was simply pandemonium, as everyone ran around in the dark trying to think of something to do."
"Do you remember seeing Bud or Kip before the fire?"
"Before I saw them framed in the burning doorway, right before the hayloft collapsed on them? No. Well, Bud was at the ball, of course. No one with a quivering hormone in her body could have failed to see him." Her fingers moved in and out like a bellows as she concentrated. "I really can't say the last time I saw him." One eyebrow lifted. "Then again, I don't know when or why you and Coleman left. Together."
I ignored the implication. "Was there anyone at the ball you didn't recognize?"
She shook her head. "I've thought of that already. It was all the usual suspects and their dates."
"And what about your date?" I left it wide open.
"What about Nathaniel?" she asked.
"Was he with you at all times before the fire?"
She didn't bat an eye. "He wasn't at my side like a trained dog, if that's what you're asking. He was talking with Mike and Krystal about their new home, and he was also talking with Carol Beth."
"What do you know about Walz?" I asked her.
"Not enough. Not nearly enough. But I smell a really big story." There was a glint in her eye that took me by surprise.
"What are you up to, Cece?"
"Don't you find it strange that a developer with a fat bankroll should appear in town just at the same time that Tony LaCoco does? Nathaniel Walz dragged me all over the Delta looking at property, but he knew what he wanted when he came here. He wants Swift Level, and I'm wondering what he and his friends will do to get it."
"He just made a formal offer." I slipped the unopened envelope from my purse and handed it to Cece. She slid a lacquered nail beneath the flap. In a moment she had the document out and her face told the story. Outrage.
"He's only offering a tenth of what Swift Level is worth. We should string him up."
"Surprise, surprise," I said.
"What else did you find out about Walz?" I asked. I felt only a twinge of guilt that I'd ever doubted Cece. I should have known that her taste in men was as impeccable as her taste in clothes and wine.
"He's very smart. Very. And he has plenty of money behind him. I think it's LaCoco's money, but I can't prove it."
"J.B. told me that Walz had somehow pissed Kip off. Did he ever say anything about that?"
Cece shuffled the papers around her desk until she pulled up a white napkin, and began to snack on a piece of cookie. "You should have brought some fresh Danish," she admonished. "One can't talk this intensely without sustenance."
"Cece! Don't toy with me."
She rolled her eyes. "The night of the fire, Nathaniel talked to Kip about buying Swift Level. He said she showed up at the Holiday Breeze and he 'seized the opportunity.' That's why we were late getting to the ball. Nathaniel said Kip was very angry with him. He said she threatened him."
I didn't doubt that for an instant. The idea of someone trying to buy her home wouldn't exactly endear him to Kip. "Do you think Walz might have set the barn fire?"
Cece shook her head. "I don't think so. He really was with me most of the time." She arched one well-drawn eyebrow. "In fact, he made it a point to stay close. Almost as if he wanted to be sure he had an alibi. Even when he was talking with someone else, he'd wave across the room at me."
Epiphanies are seldom wrought with fireworks and marching bands. Cece's last statements unlocked a door, a tiny click of a latch. "Does it seem strange to you that Kemper is killed and an attempt is made to burn down a barn and kill a prize stallion, all at the same place and all within a week's time?" I was leaning forward.
"If Lee hadn't confessed—"
"And if Kip hadn't been the perfect suspect—"
"We would have been looking for someone who would gain financially from all of this," Cece finished.
"Someone like Nathaniel Walz," I said. "And Carol Beth would get the horses she wanted."
Cece picked up the phone and began to dial. "Nathaniel closed the deal for Krystal and Mike on their house. Maybe they can tell us more about Mr. Walz." Cece continued to talk as she waited for someone to answer the phone. "The place used to be called Putnam Hall. Krystal said she needed some privacy. She's due to cut her first album, and she wants to write some original songs." Cece's eyebrows were arched with pride. "Imagine, our own music star. Krystal's going to put Zinnia on the map."
"Putnam Hall is south of here, isn't it?" I vaguely remembered the property as an old plantation that had gone through several hands and cash crops, the latest of which was catfish ponds, a labor-intensive harvest that often catches investors by surprise. As I recalled, the owners had changed the name to Gumbo Lane and developed the property as a hatchery, pond, restaurant, and inn. Somebody had taken a soaking when it went belly-up.
"It was a great restaurant. Too bad they couldn't make a go of it. Krystal says it's intimidating to go in the kitchen to make coffee because of all the professional equipment."
"I seriously doubt Krystal spends enough time in the kitchen to do her self-image any damage." I wasn't being mean. Krystal just wasn't the domestic type. She liked to have a staff of servants to do her bidding, including making coffee.
Cece held up a hand. "Hello, Mike, dahling. Cece Dee Falcon here. Are you busy?" She laughed. "How sweet. You sure know how to flatter a girl. Sarah Booth is here with me and I wanted to send her out to do some photos of your place. Along with her other talents, she's a fabulous photographer, and she's agreed to take this assignment. I'm thinking about a full-page society spread on the renovations you're going to make to the house and grounds. You know, a before-and-after kind of thing."
I picked up the camera on Cece's desk and checked to make sure it had film. The photographs were a brilliant idea.
"No, I promise Sarah Booth won't disturb Krystal. I'm sorry she isn't feeling well, and I appreciate your helping me out with this, Mike." She winked at me and nodded. "Lovely. She won't be there long, but I think a photo spread showing how much a part of the community Krystal is becoming will be the perfect way to keep her name in front of the public. Yes, ta-ta, dahling. Sarah Booth will be there in a shake." She replaced the phone. "I thought it would be better if you had a cover. Now you can just talk to him and see what he says about Nathaniel."
"Thanks, Cece."
"Is there anything I can do from here?"
"Check out a Mitchell Raybon for me. He was Kemper's partner in a resort development near Lafayette, Louisiana."
"Will do, dahling. Anything else?"
"Could yo
u put it at the top of your list?"
"For you, Sarah Booth, I'll reorganize my schedule."
I drove through town, on the lookout for Tinkie's Caddy. I found it parked at Canine Curls, and I wondered if she was actually taking Sweetie for a consultation. Before she went too far, I'd have to put my foot down. Instead of stopping there, I went to Dahlia House to check my phone messages on the off chance that something helpful had come in. No such luck.
I made a quick call to the hospital to check on J.B. He was still in intensive care, and still in a coma. His mother was with him, and the nurse assured me that everything possible was being done in his behalf.
Before I left Dahlia House, I wrote a note and taped it on the door telling Tinkie where I'd gone. When she brought Sweetie home, she'd find the note. I asked her to call me with any new developments.
It was another beautiful afternoon, and I drove south. The sign from the catfish restaurant/inn was still standing, though the first tendrils of kudzu had crept up the posts, and the green leaves had begun to claim more of the sign. In another month, it would be a strangely shaped clump of vines, perhaps resembling a giant dog or a small camel.
The lane, too, bordered on either side by impressive live oaks that had once been hand nurtured by slaves, showed signs of neglect. I had mixed feelings about seeing the old homes turned into commercial ventures such as bed-and-breakfasts, restaurants, and gift shops. But commercialization was often the only solution a hard-pressed landowner could find.
Driving slowly, I noted the details of decay all around the plantation. Out in the field, a couple of mules grazed. I remembered that last Halloween the Jaycees had held their annual hayride here. Putnam Hall was perfect for the house of horrors they'd established, to the delight of young and old.
As I caught the first glimpse of the house through the trees, my heart gave a feeble protest. Vines covered a lot of the windows, and the house had a shuttered and closed look, as if it had accumulated a horde of guilty secrets and didn't want to share with anyone.
Once I shook off the creepies, I could see the loveliness of the Greek Revival architecture beneath the neglect. Maybe Krystal and Mike would bring it back to its former glory.
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