Sarah Booth Delaney

by Sarah Booth Delaney 01-06 (lit)

  "Why would I do such a thing?"

  Again, there was anger in her tone. "I don't know, so you'll have to tell me." There was a reason she wouldn't go to the doctor, and why she wasn't eager to get home. She and Oscar had the marriage I envied. Oscar doted on her, and she adored him. Something was very wrong and had been when we went to New Orleans.

  "Spill it. What's going on?"

  When she looked at me, I was completely unprepared for the anguish in her face. "I want a child."

  "Tinkie!" I put my hands on her shoulders.

  "I went to the doctor last week. There's some scarring in my fallopian tubes. He confirmed what the fortuneteller in New Orleans told me."

  "Wait a minute," I said, recalling the conversation she'd had with the reader in the tearoom. "She said she saw a child, a girl. She was swinging. I remember this clearly."

  "And she said the girl was happy, that she forgave me."

  "Forgave you?" I didn't remember this part.

  Tinkie wiped the tears from her face and looked at me. "When Oscar and I first married, I got pregnant. He didn't want a child then. He said we should wait, that we should plan for a child, for a future. He convinced me that I should abort our baby." Her throat began to work, and she stopped talking.

  "I'm so sorry." I felt the inadequacy of anything I might say. Tinkie sat in the cold, wrapped in guilt and regret, and there was nothing I could do to help my friend.

  "I've begun to dream about her, Sarah Booth. She's nine now. The perfect age, don't you think? I've gotten her horseback riding lessons from Lee and dance lessons from Madame."

  Tinkie was scaring me. "Nine is a good age. But she's a dream. A fantasy."

  "Maybe everything else is a fantasy. Did you ever consider that?"

  "Oscar loves you, Tinkie. That's solid and real. He had no reason to believe you wouldn't have another baby. It was a decision the two of you made together."

  She shook her head. "It was his decision. Not mine. I wanted her. I wanted Madeline."

  I closed my eyes. She'd named a dream child, and she was choosing a fantasy over her own husband. I had to think. "What I'd like is for you to go to another doctor. Get a second opinion." I squeezed her shoulders. "I remember when you used to love to go to the doctor, if he was handsome. I'm sure we can use the Internet to find a terrific-looking fertility specialist."

  "I'm going to let Oscar divorce me."

  I was at my wit's end. I didn't know what to say. "I'm going to be really honest with you. I think you should go to a surgeon and get that lump checked, if it's even still there. Then, you need to go to a fertility doctor. They're doing miraculous things, Tinkie, but you have to be healthy to have a shot at having a child."

  She stood up. "I have to get home."

  It was where she needed to go, but I wasn't certain her heart was in the right place about going. "Oscar does love you."

  She started down the steps and looked up at me. "Almost as much as he loves himself. Come on and I'll drop you at Dahlia House."

  I stood on the porch and watched Tinkie pull away. We'd been together all day. In fact, we'd been together a tremendous amount ever since she'd seen that fortuneteller in New Orleans. Yet I'd never picked up on her distress. I was real observant.

  Sighing, I turned to enter my home. A large box tied with a rainbow-hued ribbon was propped against the front door. Humphrey had struck again. I picked up the box and took it to my office, where I could check my phone messages, and hopefully, avoid Jitty. She was always throwing Tinkie and Oscar in my face as the perfect couple. She should have warned me that Tinkie was as haunted as I.

  My voice mailbox was empty, and there was no sign of the haint, so I opened the gift box, trying hard not to wonder why Coleman hadn't even let me know he was coming to town.

  Inside the layers of tissue were a white blouse with dropdown breast pockets and a blue pinafore that was barely long enough to cover possible, as Aunt Loulane had called her hinder region. At the bottom of the box was a pair of white-sequined thongs. And a note. If you'll play Dorothy, I'll send you over the rainbow. Even though I was appalled, I couldn't help but laugh. Humphrey was nothing if not persistent.

  I felt a cool breeze and turned to find Jitty drifting my way. To my surprise, she was wearing what looked to be my gray sweats and my black "Bad to the Bone" T-shirt. "Night off from court?" I asked.

  "I couldn't find my maid to lace my corset." She pointed to the box. "Give the man an A for attempt."

  "How about a D for deviant." I put the lid back on the box. I would have to return it tomorrow. But I didn't want to talk about Humphrey and his gifts. I had something serious to discuss with Jitty. "Why didn't you tell me Tinkie is haunted?"

  When there was no immediate answer, I turned to confront Jitty. Her brow was furrowed and her gaze distant. Some other scene played out in her mind.

  "It's a different thing." She sank down in Tinkie's chair. "A long time ago, when your great-great-grandmother was alive and we were young, she almost made a choice to live in a dream."

  The stories of Alice Delaney were legend in the family, and I could have quoted this one by heart, but I loved to hear Jitty tell it. "What happened?"

  'The war was on, and both our men were gone. We didn't know they wouldn't come back to us. I guess it's a good thing we didn't, or we would've just quit." She looked at me. "Miss Alice lost a baby. The hardships were too much. She just couldn't carry all the way through, and it likta killed her."

  Though I knew the story, I hadn't grasped the similarities. "What did she do?"

  "For a while the fever took her." She looked out the window to the drive. "The crops had died in the heat. We were hungry, and nothin' to eat. Miss Alice would hold her arms like an infant was there. She'd tell me to hold the baby. She left me for a time and lived in a place where she had her baby."

  "What did you do?"

  "Little John was two. He was so afraid. His mama would look at him and see right through him. So one day I took him and stood him right in front of her. I told her that her baby was right there, needin' her. I told him to touch her face and tell her to come back to him. And she did. I made Miss Alice see that the reality of her son was greater than the dream of a lost child."

  "I don't know if I can do that." I shook my head. "I'm in my office, having a conversation with a ghost. Who am I to say she can't have dreams about her child?"

  "You have me because you need me. I'm here for you."

  To dispute Jitty would have only hurt her feelings. "And Tinkie? Maybe she needs her daughter."

  "She's haunted by guilt. She dreams about a child who doesn't exist, who never existed. She's being seduced by a fantasy, and there's a real danger there."

  Jitty was scaring me, but it wasn't deliberate. "What's the danger?"

  "That her fantasy will grow more appealing than her reality. That's the danger of all fantasies, but most especially those spun from the threads of guilt."

  "What should I do?"

  "Remind her of the good in her life. Make her see what's real is always the best choice. Stand right in front of her, and make her see how much you need her."

  "And what about Oscar?"

  "The past is done, Sarah Booth. It's as much a dream as the future. There's only the here and now. Once she sees that, she'll be okay." She started to waver. "That's something you need to understand, too. Could be the two of you will teach each other."

  "Don't go." I didn't want to be alone.

  "Feed the hound and the horse. You'll be just fine."

  She was gone. I stood up and walked outside to feed Reveler and to whistle up my hound. Sweetie Pie and I were going to take a ride to the Dairy Queen. I was in desperate need of a chocolate shake and some time behind the wheel. I also wanted to stop by the local pharmacy and drop off the photo diskettes I'd found at Quentin's house. In all of my concern for Tinkie, I'd almost forgotten about the case.

  While the one-hour processing of the diskettes took place, I got an i
ce cream for Sweetie and a double chocolate shake for me and drove around with my hound to look at the Christmas lights.

  This had always been one of my childhood highlights. I'd sit in the front seat, between Mama and Daddy, and let the multihued lights blend and whirl in a fantasy of color and bliss. Now, the trend of the more sophisticated white lights had taken over. "Icicles" hung from eaves all over town. It was beautiful, but I missed the red, green, blue, and yellow lights of my childhood. In fact, I missed all of my childhood. And mostly, I missed my family.

  I sucked down the last drop of my shake and wadded up Sweetie's clean napkin—she never let a drop of ice cream escape her—and headed to pick up the photos.

  The clerk yawned as she bagged everything and handed it over to me. "How's the case coming, Miss Delaney?"

  I was surprised that the teenager would recognize me, much less know I was on a case. "It's coming," I replied, with a knowing nod.

  She nodded and compressed her lips. "Will these photos help?"

  I hadn't seen them yet, but it really didn't matter. "I'm sure they will." I took them and headed into the night.

  Sweetie was more interested in the wind in her ears than looking at photos, so we went back to Dahlia House, where I could go into my office with good lighting and privacy to see what I'd netted.

  At first I was disappointed. The photos were of Allison and Quentin at a restaurant, then a dress shop, then a florist, all around the Delta. I recognized some of the establishments where they were shopping—ritzy, expensive places. The two women were together in each shot, laughing and looking at each other with obvious love. This was a documentary of their wedding planning trip. When it occurred to me that someone else had taken the photographs, I wondered who. It could have been an employee at each different business, or it could have been someone who was with them, planning the wedding. The photos had elicited another question for me, but they would also be something for Allison to hang on to, once she was cleared.

  I put them in my desk drawer and locked it, thinking how fleeting happiness could be. And sometimes what an illusion. Tinkie had me worried. The road to romance was mighty rocky. My heart squeezed as I thought of Coleman. I had to let him go. I had to.

  My friends, and Barbara Mandrell, were right. There was no future in loving a married man. Did I love him? I wasn't sure. Love was an emotion that swelled and withdrew. The truth was, I didn't want to plumb the depths of my feelings for Coleman. What good would it do?

  Though I expected Jitty to appear and make a comment on my morose attitude, she didn't. Jitty had little tolerance for self-pity and even less for self-inflicted pain. I didn't have to see her to know what she'd be saying, and it was the best advice I could follow.

  I headed upstairs for a long bath and the bed, with Sweetie Pie at my side. I'd just made it beneath the quilts when the telephone rang. My first inclination was to ignore it. I was tired, lonely, depressed, and wired from sugar. No one would be calling at eleven o'clock at night unless it was bad news. As unprofessional as it was for a private investigator, I didn't want to hear it.

  On the fifth ring, I couldn't stand it and picked up the phone just before the answering machine got it.

  "Sarah Booth?" It was Cece's breathless voice.

  "What's going on?"

  "You'd better get to The Club, quick."

  I didn't have ESP, but I knew something serious was wrong with Tinkie. "What's happened?"

  "Tinkie is drunk as a lord and on a tear. She slapped Oscar, and he left her there. The manager of The Club tried to contain her, and she slugged him. He's called the police to have her arrested."

  I sighed. "I'll go get her."

  "I'll meet you there. What's going on with her?"

  "It's a story she'll have to tell you," I said as I fumbled for my clothes and began to dress.

  15

  I was a little too late. When I pulled up at The Club, blue lights were whirling against the front of the exclusive establishment, and Tinkie was sitting in the back of a patrol car. When she looked at me through the window, her eyes wouldn't focus. I'd never seen her drunk before, and it wasn't a pretty sight.

  Bernard, the barkeep and an old friend, was talking with Deputy Dewayne Dattilo when I walked up to them.

  "She's just upset. Miss Tinkie isn't a problem, and I'm sure Oscar will pay for the damages. Just take her home." Bernard tapped the window and gave Tinkie a thumbs-up.

  "She assaulted two women, who say they're going to press charges," Dewayne said. "I called Mr. Richmond, and he hung up on me before I could tell him what was happening. I don't want to take her in, but I don't know what else to do." His face showed no desire to be in the middle of the mess he was in. "When her father hears about this, there's going to be hell to pay for everyone involved. Mr. Bellcase owns the bank!"

  Tinkie's father was not going to be happy to wake up to a phone call telling him Tinkie was incarcerated for public drunkenness and fighting. "She doesn't have to go to jail. I'll take her home with me. I'll call her father."

  He looked at me with relief. "That would be great."

  "Once tempers cool, I'm sure Oscar or Mr. Bellcase will pay for any damages." No matter how mad Oscar might be with Tinkie, he would come to his senses and realize his wife should not be in jail. "If you'll tell me who wants to press charges against Tinkie, I'll have a talk with them."

  "Me, too," Cece said as she walked up. "I would think most people would prefer to keep this off the society page." She smiled her hungry canine smile. "Give me their names, and I'll explain it to them in a way that makes them understand."

  "Suits me," Dewayne said. "Lot less paperwork if all of this fades quietly away."

  "We'll handle it," I assured him.

  He opened the back door of the patrol car and stepped away. And just in time. Tinkie hurled herself out of the car, grabbing at him.

  I stepped in front of her. "Tinkie, don't make me call your daddy."

  For most women, but especially a Daddy's Girl, the threat of calling Daddy is the biggest switch of all. Tinkie halted in her tracks. She wobbled unsteadily, and I didn't offer a hand. She had to make up her own mind without anyone touching her or trying to coddle her.

  "Mind your own business," she slurred, but there was no fire behind her words.

  "I'll take you to Dahlia House, and you can sleep it off." I held her weaving gaze. "Or I can call your daddy to come and take you home with him."

  She did the best about-face she could manage while tottering and lurched to the roadster and got in the passenger seat. She promptly opened the door and threw up all over the ground.

  "At least she had the presence of mind to open the door," Cece said, one hand on her hip. "Now, Dewayne, who are the women pressing charges?"

  He rolled his eyes. "Marilyn Jenkins and Lorilee Brewer. It seems Tinkie threw a drink on them." He shook his head wearily. "I wish Coleman was back at work."

  I opened my mouth to echo his sentiments, but Cece cut me short.

  "Don't worry, Dewayne, everything is under control." Cece gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Remember, get her to drink a Bloody Mary with a raw egg in it. That'll make her feel a whole lot better."

  "Or give her salmonella." I had no desire to see the offering of a raw egg returned to me.

  "Well, at this point salmonella would feel better than the hangover she's going to have in the morning." Cece turned and sashayed over to her car. "I'm off to visit Marilyn and Lorilee. I intend to catch them before they wash their make-up off and reveal scales. Wish them luck!"

  I walked into The Club and found Bernard sweeping up a mountain of broken glass. I didn't want to imagine the scene that had occurred there so recently.

  "Bernard, are you okay?"

  He nodded. 'Just feelin' bad for Miss Tinkie."

  "What happened?"

  "It all started when Miss Tinkie and Oscar got in a terrible fight." He stopped sweeping and held the broom. "It was my fault."

  That wa
s impossible. "Why do you say that?"

  "Miss Tinkie came in and started drinking vodka martinis. After the fourth one, I tried to cut her off, but she started making a scene. So I called her husband to come get her. I should've minded my own business."

  "It isn't your fault, Bernard. Tinkie was primed for a fight with Oscar."

  "She sure got one. They had it out, and then he left, and those other two women came up and said something smart to Miss Tinkie. She poured her drink on one and grabbed a drink off the bar and tossed it on the other one. Then all hell broke loose."

  "If it's any consolation, those women deserved whatever they got."

  He still looked down. "I know. They were no-count women. They been in here before, complainin' about everything. After the drink incident, I had to grab one of them and hold her. But that won't make it any easier on Miss Tinkie."

  I gave him a hug. "She'll be fine. Please give Mollie my love." His wife was the best seamstress in the state and had created my unforgettable gown for the Black and Orange Ball last Halloween.

  "Will do. You take care, and take care of Miss Tinkie."

  "I promise."

  When I got to the car, Tinkie was, thank goodness, out cold. I left the windows down as I drove through the clear night. The frigid air didn't even make her eyelids flutter. When I got to Dahlia House, I was in the process of dragging her up the steps when I heard someone clear a throat. I turned to find Humphrey sitting in one of the rocking chairs.

  "Need some help?" he asked.

  "No, I think I'll just leave her out here on the steps." Tinkie was a petite woman, but she was deadweight. I was struggling, and he had to ask if I needed help.

  He laughed. "It might be easier to leave her there for several reasons. You can hose the steps down afterward."

  "If you're going to sit there and crack wise, you can leave." I lugged her limp body up another step. At the rate I was going, it would be dawn before I got her inside.

  He sauntered over. "Allow me." He lifted her in his arms and carried her inside.

  "Put her on the sofa," I said, trailing behind.

  He did and stepped back. "She smells like a distillery, with a back note of something distinctly unpleasant."