Sarah Booth Delaney

by Sarah Booth Delaney 01-06 (lit)

  Cece threw a dazzling smile over her shoulder. "For Tinkie, I'm quite willing to bring out the big guns. Just wait and see."

  Since Cece was ready for action, we decided to leave the computer research until after our interrogation of Lorilee. I drove while Cece reapplied her China Rouge lipstick and freshened her make-up.

  We arrived at The Gardens, and Cece led the way unerringly into the bar, a room dominated by dark wood, crystal, and mirrors. Lorilee sat alone drinking a Bloody Mary.

  "How many notes regarding your grass-stained knees did you receive?" Cece asked as she slipped into the chair beside Lorilee.

  ''Whatever are you talking about?" Lorilee glanced over at me with complete disdain.

  "Dahling, I'm working on my Sunday spread. How interesting that you've graced Zinnia with your presence for almost a week. That's worthy of a story. Of course, I'll have to dig up the past. Let's see, how old was that child? Thirteen?"

  The color fled Lorilee's face. "You're as bad as Quentin."

  "And I'm still alive and writing." Cece tapped her bright red fingernails on the table. "And I'm waiting, which lends itself to creative imaginings."

  "If I tell you about the note, will you promise you won't print anything about me in the newspaper?"

  To my amazement, Lorilee was a pushover when it came to bad press. I drew up a chair and sat down to listen.

  "I promise that your story will wane in my interest." Cece signaled Gertrude to bring another round of drinks.

  "Are these two women bothering you?" Gertrude asked Lorilee.

  "No. Just bring the drinks." Lorilee looked at Cece. "I want it in writing."

  "How boring." Cece drew a pad from her purse and scratched out three lines of an agreement. She signed it and held it so Lorilee could read it. "Now tell us."

  "What difference does it make?"

  Cece leaned in so that her face was only inches from Lorilee's. "It means a lot to me. So talk."

  "I got a note telling me something to the effect that I'd be punished for fooling around with an underage boy. I thought it was amusing and probably written by the young man's high school girlfriend. So, I didn't stop." She stirred her drink with a celery stalk. "About a week later, someone rigged the riding lawn mower to start via remote. It came right at me—chased me, in fact. I was almost killed."

  "What did the police say?"

  "Something about spontaneous starting. They say it happens sometimes around high-voltage power lines."

  "Do you live under a power line?" I was having difficulty believing that people were so foolish.

  "No, of course not. Charlie and I wouldn't live by such an eyesore. Charlie was threatening divorce. The police believed he tried to kill me, to get out of any alimony. I convinced Charlie to give me a second chance, and then I convinced the police the lawn mower incident was an accident." She ate her celery stick in one large bite.

  "Tell us about the notes you received," I pressed.

  "Note." She was bored and didn't bother to hide it.

  "Just one note?"

  She looked at me as if I'd grown horns. "One was all it took. I got the message."

  "And you broke off the relationship with the boy?"

  She sighed heavily. "After the lawn mower incident, I did. The boy had grown rather . . . demanding. It was best to break it off before it got public and ugly."

  "So how did Quentin find out about it?"

  "That bitch Genevieve dug it up somehow. Bank transactions or something. She followed the money that I put in an account for Jos—the boy."

  "You wouldn't happen to have kept the note?" I asked.

  "Are you insane? What? You think I'd frame it to remind Charlie of the whole incident?"

  She had a point. "How long ago?"

  "Last March. Listen that's the whole story."

  Cece looked at me. "Was the note mailed to you?"

  She thought about it. "Yes. From Memphis. I remember it was in the mail when Charlie brought it in. He thought it was an invitation to a party."

  "And you never wondered who'd sent it?" I was frankly amazed. Lorilee was the kind of woman who would have turned heaven and earth to find the person responsible for her fall.

  "Oh, I tried to find out, but how could I? It was typewritten. There wasn't a clue." She drained her drink and signaled for another one. "You know. It was just like the one Tinkie received."

  Neither Cece nor I moved. Dust motes spiraled in the open window. There was the clink of ice in glasses.

  "What's wrong? Didn't Tinkie show you the note?"

  "When did you see Tinkie?" My voice was normal.

  “Yesterday evening."

  Lorilee was stupid but cunning. I didn't want to give anything away. "At The Club?"

  Her gaze narrowed as she studied me. "What's going on? Tinkie didn't tell you about the note?"

  "Where was Tinkie?" My voice must have carried an implied threat, because Lorilee looked down at her empty glass. "She was here. She'd come to talk to Marilyn about something."

  Cece and I rose in unison. "Do you remember what the note said?" I asked.

  "She didn't tell you." There was satisfaction in her tone. "Why don't you ask her? Did you two have a falling-out?"

  Cece, who had large, strong hands, grasped the front of Lorilee's blouse and twisted. "You'd better pray that we get a chance to ask Tinkie. Now if you know what it said, tell us."

  She shook her head, afraid to say anything. "She didn't show it to me. She told me about it. She was upset. She said she'd figured something out, but she didn't say what."

  Dread chilled my spine. "She said she figured something out?"

  Lorilee nodded. She was too smart to show her superior attitude. "That's all I know."

  Cece let her go, and we left, headed back to the car. For a long moment we sat in the shade of the beautiful oaks in silence. Finally, Cece reached across the seat and touched my arm. "Do you think she figured it out?"

  I nodded. "Why didn't she call me for backup?"

  "It would seem that both of you got notes at the same time. Do you think that means that the killer will come after you?"

  "I don't care."

  Cece patted my arm. "You have to care. If we're going to find Tinkie alive, you have to care."

  I looked at her but saw only a quick montage of Tinkie, laughing and tossing her glitzed hair, holding Chablis in her arms, ordering up French toast and coffee at my kitchen table. Tinkie, whose joy and verve for life had made mine so much better.

  "Let's work on those newspaper articles."

  "Sarah Booth, would you consider putting something in the newspaper saying you were withdrawing from the case?" Cece watched my profile as I backed out of The Gardens and headed back to the Dispatch.

  "Do you think I should?" It was an angle I hadn't considered.

  "It might buy some time. If you simply say you're retiring from private investigation, then maybe the killer will stop. I mean, if it's true that Lorilee stopped with the weed-eater boy and she never got another note, this might be a way to stop the killer from hurting Tinkie."

  It was possible. "But Lorilee wasn't taken hostage."

  Cece didn't say it, but we both knew if Tinkie had seen the killer's face, there was nothing I could do that would save her.

  "Let's put the story in the paper," I agreed. "It can't hurt, and it might help." I pulled up in front of the newspaper. Cece started to get out, but I grasped her hand. "Why do you think Tinkie didn't call me and tell me she'd figured it out?"

  Cece didn't hesitate. "She was trying to save you, dahling. Remember all the other times she's saved you? Now's your chance to pay her back."

  She got out of the car and walked to the newspaper door. "Aren't you coming?" she asked.

  "Yes." I answered her question and my own. Yes, I would find Tinkie and save her.

  20

  Cece's ability to do a global search of Southeastern newspapers for a specific topic was awe inspiring. The Memphis Commercial A
ppeal covered Belinda Loper's death as a type of Ripley's Believe It or Not! item: beautician dyes inhaling dry peroxide. Too cute to pass up. Because of the humorous angle, there appeared to be no real investigation. Belinda was found on the floor of her shop, poisoned to death by the chemicals normally found in a beauty parlor. No other papers even covered it.

  Karla Jenkins was a different matter. She got coverage around two states and in national real estate journals. Her death was treated with sympathy and a kind of "Eek! That could happen to me" horror.

  Her body was found beneath several rocks that had fallen from a steep hillside in an exclusive neighborhood in Birmingham, Alabama. The coroner's examination showed death by a sudden blow to the head. The rock, of course. There was no reason to regard Karla's death as foul play. Other than the strange fact that the body was nude, with the exception of a pair of Victoria's Secret pompom stilettos. The police deduced, accurately enough, that Karla was planning on enjoying a tryst when a small avalanche tumbled down the hillside and killed her. There was no evidence that anyone started the rock slide, and no great attempt was made to find her tryst partner.

  "I guess the police viewed it as one of those incidents 'when good sex goes bad,'" Cece said.

  I put a hand on her arm. "While you're doing this, I need to talk to Marilyn."

  "Call her." She waved at her phone. "I'll look for Genevieve's mother's obit. Rosedale only has a weekly, so I'll check around the area."

  "Thank you." I blew her a kiss as I sat at her desk and picked up the phone. Information gave me Marilyn's home number, and with a bit of finagling, I managed to get her housekeeper to give me her cell number, which I dialed.

  She answered in what sounded to me to be a fearful tone.

  "Marilyn, I need to talk to you."

  "Have you seen Tinkie? She was supposed to meet me for breakfast. She never showed."

  "Tinkie may be in serious trouble." Where I hadn't wanted to tell Lorilee the time of day, I didn't mind sharing this information with Marilyn.

  "I've been so worried. She told me about the note."

  I was momentarily stunned. "She did? What did it say?"

  "She didn't tell you?" Marilyn asked.

  I managed to control my temper. "I haven't seen Tinkie. Please, tell me what the note said, if you can remember."

  "Oh, I remember," Marilyn said. 'Birds of a feather flock together—then die together.' Those are the exact words. I'm terrified for her. You know, Mother received one of those enigmatic notes before she died."

  I knew. It made my heart squeeze painfully in my chest.

  "Did your mom receive more than one note?" I hoped she'd say six or eleven or thirty.

  "I don't recall but one." Marilyn paused. "There could have been more, but I only found that note after the fact. Mother had stuck it in one of her drawers."

  'Typewritten?"

  'Yes."

  "How long before she was . . . died?"

  "About two weeks, judging from the postmark."

  "Mailed in Memphis?"

  "Yes, how did you know?"

  I ignored her question. "Was Tinkie's note mailed?"

  "No, it was hand delivered. She found it tucked in the windshield wiper of her Cadillac."

  "Do you know where she was going when she left you?"

  Marilyn considered her answer. "She was very excited. She said she'd figured something out and that you were going to be so proud of her. That's all I remember."

  Her words were like small stones striking my soul. Tinkie didn't have to do anything to make me proud. Especially not risk her life. "Where were the two of you?"

  "At The Gardens."

  "And after she left, what did you do?"

  "I went to my room for a rest. Lorilee is driving me insane. I had to get away from her, so I left word at the front desk that I had a headache and was not to be disturbed. You know, I'd rather not have a friend than have to put up with her."

  "Have you received any notes?" I heard the thrum of my pulse in my ears as I waited for her answer.

  "One."

  It was clear she was reluctant to talk about it, but I had to push. "What did it say?"

  "Ashes to ashes and trash to trash—you will be canned. "

  "When did you get the note?"

  "About three weeks ago."

  "What have you done?" Three weeks had passed, and Marilyn was still walking around unharmed. She had to have done something.

  "I called up the chemical company and told them I wasn't interested in selling my land to them."

  I bit my lip. "You took immediate action to cancel that plan?"

  "I'm not an idiot, Sarah Booth. Mother was murdered. I knew it, though I couldn't convince the police. Mother flaunted her sexual conquests. She was shameless, having sex in houses she was supposed to be selling. She disregarded that note, and she died. I wasn't going to be next."

  "Thanks, Marilyn." I had to get off the phone. I hung up and turned to Cece. She held up several sheets of paper she'd printed.

  Her voice was angry. "Mrs. Reynolds's death was ruled accidental. No one even examined the bookshelf. It was treated as a freak accident, just like all the others."

  "I hope Coleman has more success than we did," I said.

  "Maybe we should pay him a visit." Cece picked up her coat as I filled her in on everything I'd learned from Marilyn.

  Coleman's news was even grimmer than what I'd learned. He closed the door to his office as he told us that the investigations into all three murders had been slipshod. "It was assumed that the women had no enemies. The authorities were never told about the threatening notes," he said.

  The fact that his gaze slid from mine every time we connected told me a lot about how worried he was for Tinkie.

  "Marilyn and Lorilee both said Tinkie figured something out. That she was very excited." I took a deep breath. "Do you think she confronted the killer?"

  "So quickly? That would imply the killer is in Zinnia," Coleman said.

  "I know. But Tinkie's note and mine were hand delivered."

  He nodded. "The question is, do we believe the murderer is a resident of Sunflower County or a visitor?"

  "Visitor," Cece said without hesitation. "This all came to town with Quentin. Before she arrived, we'd never heard of these notes or any of it."

  I nodded agreement. Coleman smiled. "On the surface I'd have to agree, but there's not enough evidence to view that as a fact."

  "My gut tells me that whoever is responsible for all of this blew into town for Quentin's funeral." I couldn't sit still. "That's where we need to start looking."

  Coleman sat on the edge of his desk. "I agree. It's where I start looking. Sarah Booth has already been threatened. Cece, I don't want to have to assign a deputy to watch over you. It would be best if you both took a little vacation."

  "Are you insane?" I jumped to my feet. "Tinkie is in danger. I'm not going anywhere."

  Coleman only looked amused. "I figured you'd say that. So I'm going to assign Gordon and Dewayne to watch you."

  "I don't want a bird dog on my tail. The deputies should be out looking for Tinkie."

  "I can't afford to lose you, Sarah Booth. So we'll do it my way."

  I didn't have a choice. I looked at Cece, who was studying her feet and trying hard not to smile. She thought it was amusing. "If Tinkie did figure this out, she must have found out something I don't know. I intend to find out what, and I don't want one of your deputies interfering."

  "There's a fine line between interfering and protecting," Coleman said. "I'll tell them to stay on the protecting side."

  He wasn't going to change his mind, and I wasn't going to get any support from Cece. "Do you have any leads?" I asked.

  "Nothing you don't already know. She was last seen at The Gardens B&B."

  I nodded. "Cece and I will follow the solarium clue and see what we can turn up."

  Coleman stood up and came to me. He didn't care that Cece was sitting right there. He drew me t
o my feet and circled me in his arms. "I'm not trying to thwart you, Sarah Booth. I'm trying to protect you and find Tinkie."

  His arms were warm, but his words were cold. I stiffened and stepped back. "Tinkie is in this because of me. If something happens to her, it's my fault. Keep that in mind when you try to corral me."

  I walked out, and Cece hurried after me.

  "That was cold, Sarah Booth. The man is only trying to protect you."

  "And you were such a support system." I kept two paces ahead of her.

  "Because I agree with Coleman and what he's trying to do."

  We got in the car, and as I adjusted the rearview mirror, I saw Gordon Walters pull in behind us in the patrol car. Coleman had put words into action already.

  "What about solariums?" I asked.

  "The Memphis paper did an article several years ago on the resurgence of sunrooms. I can look it up if you'll drop me at the newspaper."

  "I'll be glad to." I eyed the attractive leopard-print hat she was wearing. A plan had come to mind.

  Wheeling into Dahlia House with Gordon not-so-subtly on my tail, I saw the bright purple ribbon on the package that was leaned against the front door. I sighed. Humphrey had struck again, or at least I hoped it was Humphrey. I'd have to open the package to be certain.

  I darted up the steps and snatched it up as I stepped inside and closed the door. Gordon parked behind the roadster and kicked back in his seat for a wait. I had an urge to go out and fuss at him, but he was only obeying orders. It was Coleman I was mad at.

  I tore the ribbon off the package and dumped the contents on the parlor floor. At first, I didn't comprehend what all the red and blue Lycra meant, but as I untangled arms and legs, I saw the emblem of Wonder Woman. There was even a cape. I shook out the costume and watched the note drift to the floor.

  Women call me the "man" of steel. Let's bump superpowers! Humphrey (Call me right away. I have news.)

  I put the costume back in the box and tapped the note on my palm. Humphrey might have a lead. It was worth a try. I made the call and waited for Gertrude Stromm to connect me to his room.

  "Why, Sarah Booth," he said. "Did I finally hit on your weakness? Superheroes."

  "What news do you have?"

  "Allison had a visitor this morning."