Sarah Booth Delaney

by Sarah Booth Delaney 01-06 (lit)

  "No wonder Quentin called you her friend." I put my pad and pen in my purse and pulled out a business card. "If you think of anything, or hear anything, please call me.

  "Librarians aren't generally included in the local gossip clubs." Her eyes crinkled at the corners.

  “Just in case."

  "I hope you can help Allison," she said. "She doesn't strike me as the kind of girl who could kill anyone. In fact, I got the distinct impression she wasn't thrilled with all the pain Quentin caused with her book."

  I nodded. "Thanks."

  Peggy turned back to her work, and I left for the drive back to Zinnia. Dusk had fallen, and as I drove out of town, I passed a pecan orchard, the delicate branches of the trees like gray fans against a pinkened sky. The Delta was one of the most beautiful places on earth. I wondered at the strange pull of land, home, and memories that had brought me back to a place I'd been busting to leave. It made me wonder why Quentin hadn't simply left Mississippi. Left the South. She could have gone to a big city and lived her life with Allison and never raised an eyebrow. Instead, she'd come home to rub her book in the faces of her family and their social peers. It spoke of a hurt bone-deep and a desire for revenge that overrode a desire for happiness. Somehow, I couldn't help but believe that the answer to Quentin's murder would be found in her own dark ambitions.

  Just as I hit the city limits of Zinnia, my cell phone rang. Tinkie was calling.

  "We need to be up at the funeral home at seven o'clock for the wake," she said.

  I wasn't about to argue with her. "Do I have to wear the uniform?"

  She considered. "Slacks will do just fine. Black or navy. Nothing too bright in the blouse department."

  I sighed. "I'll do my best."

  "Sarah Booth, you make it sound like putting on some decent clothes is worse than cutting off a limb."

  I considered the horrors of each. "Almost."

  "I'll pick you up at six forty-five."

  "Got it." I'd already sped through town. I'd be home in another few minutes, with plenty of time to feed Reveler and my hound and get ready for the next leg of the investigation.

  8

  Tinkie wasn't a woman to keep waiting for a social event as potentially delicious as a wake, so I went straight to the barn and fed Reveler. As I ran the brush over Reveler's golden hide, I heard the mournful sound of baying and barking. Sweetie Pie was after the armadillo that had taken up residence under the front porch. Once Reveler had gobbled his grain, I retraced my steps and went to retrieve Miss Pie. For a few minutes I watched the antics of my hound as she cornered the armor-plated rodent. They raced around the yard, with the armadillo freezing and then dashing off in another direction, with Sweetie hot on its trail. Sweetie didn't have the instinct to kill that a terrier might, but I wished she'd run the varmint out of the yard. It was doing a major job of destroying what was left of my mother's flower beds.

  Once Sweetie grew tired of barking at the armadillo, she followed me up the front steps and to the door. Just as I was reaching out my hand for the knob, I saw the handcuffs. My heart did a double take. Coleman! He was the only man I knew who might leave handcuffs at my door as a coded message. But it was strange that he hadn't simply left a note to let me know he was back in town.

  I unhooked the cuffs from the doorknob and took them inside. Sweetie paced to the kitchen, obviously hungry. I had part of a roast in the fridge, so I put the cuffs on the table, pulled out the roast, and began to cut it up for my hound.

  "That dog is spoiled rotten."

  I didn't bother to look. Jitty was back from her ball or wherever she'd been. I cubed the meat with my sharpest knife. Sweetie liked bite-sized chunks. She was the most ladylike resident of Dahlia House.

  "Where'd the handcuffs come from?" Jitty asked.

  I finally turned to address her. She was dazzling in umber brocade. Whoever managed her wardrobe deserved an Academy Award nomination for best costume design. "You're the resident haint. You're here all day long, lurking and spying. I was out working. You should know who stopped by."

  “You're thinkin' it's that married lawman." She didn't smile.

  "I'm hoping it's that married lawman," I corrected her.

  "You're just a hussy."

  Jitty's name-calling hurt my feelings. "Maybe I am," I said hotly. "I'm tired of pretending I don't care about Coleman. I do. I care a lot."

  "It's not about carin'. It's about a code of conduct. It's about livin' in a way that stands for something."

  That was too much. "Oh, Miss High-and-Mighty, you're living in an era when children starved in the streets while the court dined on delicacies. If there was one word to describe the period you've chosen, it would be excess. A code of conduct! I think you'd better get your historical facts straight before you call me names."

  Jitty shifted closer to me. "I'm not tryin' to hurt you. I'm tryin' to protect your heart. Fallin' for a married man only leads to suffering. For everybody involved."

  "I'm already suffering," I snapped. "Stay out of it." I picked up the handcuffs. "I have to get ready for a wake!" I stormed past her and went to my bedroom. In a few moments I had my bath running.

  I picked up the cuffs again and looked at them. Coleman wasn't the type to leave enigmatic messages. So why hadn't he just written a note?

  On the off chance he'd called, I lifted the phone beside the bed and heard the beep-beep-beep that let me know someone had left voice mail. Tinkie had convinced me that my old answering machine was no longer adequate, but I'd resisted caller ID, which took the anticipation out of messages. I put in my code and waited, my heart pounding in a way that was exciting and uncomfortable.

  There was no message, only a hang-up call.

  Punching in new numbers, I waited for Tinkie to answer. "I don't feel like going to the wake," I told her. "Can you handle it?"

  After a lengthy silence, she spoke. "What's going on?"

  I couldn't tell her I'd had a fight with Jitty. The men in white coats would be at my door in a matter of hours if Tinkie thought I regularly bickered with a ghost. Out-and-out lying wasn't an option, either. Tinkie was my partner and deserved the truth.

  "Someone left handcuffs on the front doorknob."

  "Sarah Booth, are you thinking it might be Coleman?"

  She knew my heart. Silence was my answer.

  "Girl, you're setting yourself up for real heartbreak. You have to let Coleman go."

  Tinkie was parroting what Jitty had said. "So I keep telling myself."

  "I've been debating about whether to tell you this or not."

  "What?" This was going to be painful. Tinkie never withheld unless it was in an attempt to avoid hurting me.

  "Oscar got a call today from Coleman. He's putting his house up for sale."

  "He's selling his home?" Repeating a question was an old Daddy's Girl ploy designed to give one an opportunity to think.

  "He told Oscar that Connie will never come back to Sunflower County. They've decided to sell." Emphasis on the "they've."

  "Why did he call Oscar?" Surely there was a mistake. Coleman and Oscar had never been confidants.

  "Oscar's arranging the financing on the sale."

  "But Coleman's supposed to be back in town this week. Gordon said he planned on—"

  "Did it ever occur to you that he might be coming back to Zinnia to sign the papers on selling his house and to tie up loose ends for a permanent move? Sarah Booth, you have to stop living in a fantasy."

  Tinkie wasn't a cruel person, but her words cut me like sharp blades. "That isn't true."

  "It's time for you to let go of the past. All of it. You don't have room in your life for anything new, because you're stuffed full of the past."

  "I don't want anything new." There it was. The truth at last. I clung to the past like a favorite sweatshirt.

  "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm worried about you."

  That was great. Tinkie had a lump in her breast, and she was worried about me because I
had a faulty heart and a hole in my head. "I'm okay. I just want a chance to talk to Coleman. If he's in town tonight, he might decide to stop by here. I want to be home in case he does."

  "You're going to get you heart broken," she warned.

  "It's my heart to abuse," I said softly. "Tinkie, I have to see this to the end. You can understand that, can't you?"

  She sighed. "I'll take care of the wake. The funeral's been set for Wednesday morning. A memorial service and then burial of the urn."

  "The urn?"

  "Mrs. Carrington has requested that Quentin be cremated."

  "What does the McGee family have to say about that?"

  "Not a word," Tinkie said. "They gave up the right to complain when they failed to claim the body. I understand Virgie and Allison had a chat this afternoon, and both agreed that cremation was what Quentin would have wanted."

  "Are you sure you're okay to handle the wake?"

  "I can cover the wake, but we both need to attend the funeral tomorrow at ten."

  Her tone told me I was making a bad choice. "I'll be here if you need me." I hung up and hurried to the tub full of hot water for a long soak and a few healing daydreams.

  I spent forty minutes sinking beneath the warm water and imagining various scenarios where Coleman had a reasonable explanation for why he'd chosen his insane-pregnant-lying-manipulating wife over me. I understood what it meant to stand by a vow, but there came a point when a commitment was null and void. A marriage was a contract. A partnership. When one partner began to lie and cheat and abuse the other, it was time to sever the contract.

  My parents had occasionally argued. Twice they'd gotten so angry, they'd mentioned divorce. Both times it had involved conduct one felt violated the spirit of the vows. The first time was over the attentions of another man toward my mother, and the second involved a piece of land that my father wanted to sell. Those arguments had been resolved before night had fallen on the house. That was the pattern I'd learned for marriage. If it was going to be different than that, I didn't want it. I didn't want Coleman to settle for less.

  The bathwater had grown cold, so I got out and dried off. I'd just walked into my bedroom when I heard the doorbell chiming. My heart began a sickening staccato beat as I scrounged around my closet for my "company" dressing gown. Normally, I wore an old terry-cloth robe that had belonged to my father, but if Coleman was at the door, I wanted to look more elegant.

  In the back of the closet, I found a short silk kimono in a shade of green that intensified the color of my eyes. I slipped it over my head as I started down the stairs. It settled around my thighs just as I opened the door.

  "Hello, Sarah Booth," Humphrey Tatum said, his canines showing as he took in my bare legs and braless state.

  Disappointment has a bitter taste. I knew instantly that Coleman had never stepped foot on my front porch. The handcuffs were from the deviant standing in front of me.

  Humphrey leaned against the door frame. "I wondered if the handcuffs would do it for you. Obviously, you like the idea of playing strip search."

  Blushing wasn't something I did often, but this was a major power surge. I felt the heat rise from my neck up into my cheeks. I'd been played and played well. "Humphrey, have you lost your mind?" Not the most brilliant question I might have asked, but I was trying to find my composure and hide my tattered heart.

  "I haven't lost anything. Yet. I think I may have underestimated you, Sarah Booth. Are you playing naughty games with someone else?" He maneuvered so that he was halfway in the door.

  "What is it with you, Humphrey?" I decided to stand on dignity.

  "Now that's a question," he said, his mouth twisting in amusement. "You meet me at the door half naked in a silk dressing gown and nothing else, and you wonder why I keep trying to hop in bed with you. Could it be that you're sending mixed signals, Sarah Booth?"

  Damn it, he had me there. "I was ex—" I stopped myself. Humphrey didn't need to know anything about my private life, especially not my feelings for Coleman. "I'm sorry, Humphrey, I. . ." What did I have to be sorry for?

  "Are you in the habit of speaking in incomplete sentences?" He glanced over my shoulder. "Perhaps you intended to invite me in for a drink?" He coughed delicately. "I'm parched."

  I sighed. "Come in. The liquor is on the sideboard. Help yourself. I'm going to grab some jeans." I didn't give him a chance to question me. I ran back up the stairs to my bedroom. I pulled a clean pair of jeans from the closet and a sweatshirt from my drawer. I was dressed, complete with sneakers, in less than five minutes. I didn't bother with make-up.

  He was sipping a Scotch on the rocks when I found him in the parlor, looking at some of the family pictures. He pointed to one, and I leaned closer to see my mother holding me on her lap. On my round, bald head, I was wearing a headband with two little horns. A forked tail hung from my red diaper. Mother wore a damsel costume. I had no memory of the event, but Aunt Loulane had repeatedly told the story of how every year my mother dressed up to take me trick-or-treating.

  "I've heard a few stories about your mother," Humphrey said, tapping the photo.

  "I'm sure." I bristled. "Which ones? The ones where she slapped the mayor or the ones where she was starting a communist commune here?"

  He chuckled. "You're a little on the sensitive side. I guess it's difficult to have a mother who was both brilliant and beautiful."

  If he was trying to win me, he was on the right track. "What stories did you hear?"

  "My father was a great admirer of your mother. He wooed her in college, but your father beat him out."

  This was news. I'd known that several local men had fallen in love with Mother after she was married to Daddy. This was different. This was a pre-wedding story, and one I hadn't heard before. "So tell me."

  "The Booth family was well known in Delta society," Humphrey said. "When your mother came of age to be considered as a bride, she was known to be the catch of the season. At one point, she had dates booked for lunch and dinner for an entire semester. After a few months of that, she'd had enough. She called the remainder of the men she was supposed to dine with and told them all she was on a diet, and to save time, they should just submit a list of their marital demands."

  “You're teasing, aren't you?"

  "Absolutely not. I know it for a fact. My father was scheduled for a Friday evening. He realized then that she was more woman than he could manage, and he dropped out of the running."

  "Why was Mother so popular? The Booths didn't have a lot of money." My grandparents had been comfortable, but that was a long, long way from being rich.

  "Your mother had so much more than money. She had class and intelligence and beauty. She was a woman who could turn around the fortunes of a family."

  "How so?" I saw that his glass was nearly empty, so I made him a fresh drink and one for myself.

  "You greatly underestimate the power of a woman with brains and ambition." His gaze held mine.

  "My mother was smart, but I wouldn't say she was ambitious. She didn't seem to care a lot about money."

  "Perhaps not, but she was ambitious. Look at the way she raised you."

  I arched my eyebrows.

  "Independent, a woman capable of living alone, running her own business, a horsewoman." He smiled. "I would give a lot to see you astride."

  Just when I was beginning to enjoy the conversation, Humphrey had to go kinky on me. "Do you ride?" I decided to ignore the innuendo.

  "Yes," he said. "I used to showjump. I'd love a brisk ride through the autumn afternoon."

  Now that was interesting. "Perhaps I can borrow a horse from my friend Lee."

  "It would mean a lot to me. We haven't had horses at Tatum's Corner for a long time. You've probably heard that the Tatum family has fallen on hard times financially."

  Since Humphrey had brought it up, I decided to dive in. "Yes, and I've also heard that you were interested in marrying Quentin because she was due to be an heiress."

  H
e leaned back against the horsehair sofa. "That's true. My parents had settled on Quentin as my bride-to-be. I didn't object. She was a beautiful woman."

  I couldn't tell what he was feeling. "But Quentin wasn't interested in marrying you."

  "My little sister grabbed the brass ring." He shrugged. "What difference did it make? The money would be in the family."

  "It truly made no difference?"

  "Not to me. Once Quentin and Al hooked up, it took the pressure off me. Quentin was certain to remain unmarried until she gained the inheritance. Once she grew tired of Al, I was prepared to step in and pay court to her."

  “You would have married Quentin without loving her?"

  "You are naive." He finished his drink. "Name me one marriage that isn't based more on economic need than romance."

  "Tinkie and Oscar." I said it without thinking.

  "The question to ask is, would either of them be happy married to a pauper?"

  I didn't know. They were perfect for each other because they came from the same background, shared the same values. "In your quest for financial stability, have you considered a profession?"

  He laughed out loud. "Very cutting, my dear. Actually, I have an MBA in business. Unfortunately, it doesn't do any good if I don't have a business to manage."

  "So why are you leaving questionable gifts for me?" I asked. "I have nothing to offer in the way of financial security."

  He rose in a graceful motion. When he stood in front of me, he held his hand out. I accepted it, and he lifted me to my feet. "You have fire, Sarah Booth."

  "Not exactly a marketable quality."

  "But one that intrigues me."

  "I hear a lot of women intrigue you."

  He touched my cheek. "Someone has been listening to dirty gossip." He leaned closer so that his breath ruffled the curls beside my ear. "I do like my games, Sarah Booth, and I think you like them, too."

  He gently hooked his thumb beneath my jaw and tilted my face so that we looked at each other. "Tell me you don't."

  It was a dare, a challenge. "You're . . . interesting," I admitted, stepping away from him.

  He chuckled. "You're too honest for your own good."