Sarah Booth Delaney

by Sarah Booth Delaney 01-06 (lit)

  "The Easter Bunny?" I was aggravated.

  "No, Miss Carrington. She stopped by to say good-bye. She said she had to get back to the school, that she'd gotten some calls and was needed at home."

  "That's the big news?" My temper sizzled. What a deceptive move.

  "There's more. I'd like to deliver it in person."

  "The only thing you're ever going to deliver in person to me might be a pizza. What's the big news?"

  "Testy, testy." He laughed. "Call your source at the hospital. Umbria Clark's husband, Rutherford, was taken in by ambulance about half an hour ago. He'd been stabbed in the chest, and I heard he was singing like a bird, telling all of Umbria's dirty little secrets."

  I was surprised; it was a great lead. "Thanks, Humphrey."

  "How about a date?" he asked.

  "You can't be serious."

  "Very. We could stage a kinky little scene where you find a necklace of kryptonite and bring me to my knees, if you get my meaning."

  I didn't bother to respond. I hung up and ran out the door. I didn't care if Gordon followed me to the hospital.

  Doc Sawyer's gaze pierced me as he sat behind his desk and waited. "Now tell me the truth. No foolishness."

  "Tinkie is missing."

  "I thought as much."

  Doc had a million sources—far more than I did—but I was curious about this one. "How did you know?"

  "Harold called about an hour ago and asked me to call in something to calm Oscar. In all of my years of treating the Richmonds, I've never known Oscar to need a sedative. I knew it had to be bad. How long has she been missing?"

  It wasn't jeopardizing the case to talk to Doc. He'd taken care of both me and Tinkie when we were children. "More than twenty-four hours."

  He didn't have to say that the longer she was gone, the less likely it was that she'd come back alive. "So what are you looking for here at the hospital?" he asked.

  There were ethics and laws, and I was going to ask Doc to violate a bunch of them. "Rutherford Clark was brought in here. I heard he was stabbed and that he was talking a lot."

  "All of that is true."

  "Did you hear what he said?"

  Doc considered. He got up and poured a cup of his terrible coffee. "I heard a good bit of it. I was the attending physician in the emergency room."

  Thank goodness. Now all I had to do was pry the information out of him. "Doc, if Umbria McGee Clark is the killer, she may be holding Tinkie alive. What did Rutherford say?"

  "A lot of things." He paced the small office. "You've put me in a spot, Sarah Booth."

  "I know."

  "I could lose my license."

  "I could lose my partner. I'm not being melodramatic."

  He sat back in his chair and looked out the small window onto the emergency room parking lot. One scraggly pine grew by the potholed tarmac. It wasn't much of a view for a man who'd dedicated fifty years to medicine, but it was his view. I was asking him to put all those years in question.

  "Rutherford was stabbed in the chest. The knife penetrated to the scapula, but I'd say it wasn't a serious attempt on his life. In fact, he's saying he fell on the knife."

  "Could he have?"

  Doc chuckled. "No, he was stabbed. Most likely by Umbria."

  My pulse increased. Umbria had become a very good suspect, in my book. "What did he say?"

  "Only that Umbria had threatened to divorce him. He was rambling, cursing, bemoaning his fate for marrying an heiress who would never inherit, that kind of stuff."

  "Why did Umbria stab him?"

  "I'm not clear about that. It was a heated argument. There was an issue about Rutherford having other girlfriends."

  "I'll say. He has a lust for bimbos." I thought about my bar fight with his lady friends. "But surely Umbria has known about the girlfriends for years. He didn't exactly make a secret of it."

  Doc shook his head. "I was in there when Umbria came in. It was one of the strangest things I've ever witnessed."

  "Tell me."

  "She bent over him on the table, and I think her hand slipped up between his legs. I couldn't be sure, you understand. I was across the room. But something was going on. Anyway, the strangest look passed over his face—a combination of terror and awe."

  "What did she say?" I didn't know if this would help my case, but I was just flat curious.

  "She told him that if he did one more thing to cause her public shame, she would rip off his testicles and serve them to him for supper."

  "Yow-zer!"

  "Exactly what I thought."

  "I guess she's had enough." I didn't blame her. I would have done worse than threaten my husband if he'd gone around with women he bought with my money.

  "I guess the thing that caught my attention was that Umbria was more afraid than angry." Doc dropped his Styrofoam coffee cup into the trash. "Umbria was afraid of something."

  "Do you know what?"

  He shook his head. "She left after that. She didn't stay to see how Rutherford was going to be, and she didn't ask. I got the impression she didn't care if he died."

  Again, I understood that emotion, but I didn't say anything. Doc was worried about something. "How is Rutherford doing?"

  "He's too stupid to die." He sighed. "He wants his cell phone so he can call his women to come play cards with him."

  "He isn't very bright. I wonder why Umbria married him."

  "Now that would be the question of the week." "It just became a burning issue." I didn't have any other lead to pursue, so I picked up my purse, kissed Doc on the cheek, and headed to The Gardens. If Umbria was still in town, that's where she'd be staying.

  21

  "I guess I'm going to have to call the exterminator. The bugs have come crawling back," Gertrude Stromm said as I paused in front of the desk.

  "What room is Umbria Clark staying in?" I ignored her rudeness. I'd deal with her later, when I had Tinkie to help me.

  "I don't give out that information to busybodies."

  I took a deep breath. "Gertrude, please tell me."

  "Why should I?"

  I leaned very close to her face. "Please don't make me do something we'll both regret. Just tell me the room number."

  Her gaze shifted to her little pigeonhole desktop. Room 22 was missing. I ran down the hall to the room, passing the open door to Virgie Carrington's empty room. I didn't blame her for heading back home. Things in Zinnia were getting deadly.

  I tapped politely on Umbria's door. She yanked it open with a growl. "What do you want now? I'm not stealing your towels!"

  Her face changed from annoyance to downright anger when she saw me. "Get away from me. You're working for that woman who killed my sister."

  Stepping into the room, I forced her back, closed the door, and leaned against it. "Tell me, Umbria, do you really believe Allison killed Quentin?"

  Her face told the story. Though she recovered quickly, I saw the truth. She knew Allison was innocent, yet she was willing to let her stew in jail because Allison had inherited the spoils that Umbria coveted. Not all of Miss Carrington's carefully applied polish could change what Umbria was.

  "You know she's innocent!" I moved in for the kill. "The question is, how do you know she's innocent?"

  "Get out of my room before I call the sheriff."

  "Coleman will be delighted to talk to you." I took a seat on the trunk at the foot of the bed. "Who stood to inherit if Quentin died before she reached the age of twenty-five?"

  Her gaze darted around the room, and I knew she was looking for an escape route. I was too close to the only door. She could run and lock herself in the bathroom, but she couldn't escape.

  "You were the one who stood to gain everything, weren't you?"

  "What difference does it make? Quentin inherited, and she left every dime to that little tramp Allison." Her face shifted to a sneer. "Maybe all that money will buy her a nice cell at the Mississippi State Penitentiary, or wherever they cage women felons."

 
"You know she's innocent, Umbria. How can you let an innocent person go to prison?" I knew it was because she was a greedy, heartless bitch, but I wanted to hear her say it.

  "Why should I care what happens to her? She doesn't care anything about me."

  Now that was an interesting statement. "Why should she care about you?"

  She turned away. "Quentin has always hated me. That hate just rubbed off on Allison. They both spent all of their time figuring out ways to screw me out of what was rightfully mine."

  I saw it then, the mentally ill way in which everything revolved around Umbria. Everything was constructed to appease or torment her—at least in her own mind. Quentin wouldn't have been able to order eggs for breakfast without Umbria assuming it was to somehow prevent Umbria from having eggs.

  "Where is Tinkie?" I didn't care about tricking a confession out of Umbria. I didn't care about any of it. I'd been remiss in not pursuing Umbria as a suspect. I'd known all along about her philandering husband, the inheritance, her place as favored child. All of that, plus her paranoid complex, made her the perfect killer.

  "Why should I know where Tinkie is? I'm not her keeper. She's nothing to me."

  "Umbria, I'm going to ask one more time." I kept my voice level, but I rose to my feet. "What have you done with Tinkie?"

  "Done?" She frowned at me. "Are you insane? I haven't done anything with Tinkie Richmond. You've deliberately misconstrued everything to somehow blame me, and I don't even know for what."

  "When was the last time you saw Tinkie?"

  "Yesterday morning." She grabbed her suitcase from against the wall. "I'm going to start packing, if you don't mind. I have to get on my way back to Greenwood. I have an appointment with my masseuse."

  "Where did you see Tinkie?" I watched her closely, expecting her to pull a knife from amongst her undies.

  "Here, at The Gardens. I'd just received a very upsetting note, and she bought me a drink."

  A chill swept over me. "An upsetting note?"

  "What, are you going deaf now? That's what I said. I got this threatening note about Rutherford, and I told Tinkie about it over a drink."

  "Do you still have the note?" I could barely swallow.

  "Here!" She reached into the suitcase and pulled out a sheet of the now familiar paper. The typewritten note said: Control and decorum are the wife's duties. Your husband's deeds reflect on you.

  "Is this why you stabbed Rutherford?"

  "It has yet to be determined that anyone stabbed Rutherford. The last I heard, he fell on a knife. But I take the note to mean his behavior reflects poorly on me and my family."

  "So you put a stop to it."

  "That remains to be seen, doesn't it? But I did scatter that little covey of quail." She grinned wickedly. "I took a shotgun filled with rock salt and peppered their asses. My daddy taught me to be an excellent shot. I don't think those girls will be back."

  Rock salt wouldn't kill them, but it would burn and sting. I hated to admit it, but I had a moment of admiration for Umbria. "When did you receive the note?"

  "The day after Quentin's funeral. It was in my mailbox here at The Gardens. I knew it was directed at Rutherford, and I knew if I didn't act on it, something terrible would happen."

  "How did you know that?"

  She frowned. "You ask a lot of nosey questions, Sarah Booth. I'm surprised you haven't gotten a note."

  I must have looked like a gaffed fish because she nodded. "You did get one, didn't you? Well, you'd better fix whatever the note talks about. Back in school, several of the girls got notes."

  "Back in school? At the Carrington—"

  "Yes, where else. The notes were about conduct and comportment. Lisa Belk got one about wearing her skirts too short, and when she didn't lower her hem, someone went in her closet and cut all of her clothes into shreds."

  "She wasn't hurt? Her clothes were just shredded?"

  "That's right. My note was about..." She turned away from me and walked to the window. "About boys. I was sleeping with several."

  "And you stopped?"

  "I stopped doing it close to the school. I was more careful."

  "Other girls got notes?"

  "A few. Lisa's was enough to straighten up most of the girls."

  "Who wrote the notes?"

  'They were never signed. Some busybody, like Genevieve, was always tattling on us, though."

  "What did Virgie say about the notes?"

  "She was very sorry and offered to pay for Lisa's wardrobe, and I think she did buy her some new clothes. I don't remember that. I just remember that the girls in our class were more wary. It sort of put a damper on the entire year."

  "Thanks, Umbria." I was ready to go. I had to make a call, and I didn't want her to overhear me. "Can I have that note?"

  She looked at it with distaste. "Why would you want it?"

  "Evidence."

  She hesitated. "Why should I help Allison? She has everything."

  I didn't bother trying to explain to Umbria yet again the ethical issues of an innocent person in jail. I snatched the note and ran out the door. To my surprise, I collided into Gertrude Stromm, who'd been eavesdropping at the door. I leapt her like a hurdle and kept running, leaving the two squawking women behind me.

  As I drove toward Dahlia House to fetch Sweetie Pie, I tried to call Coleman. His phone rang and rang, which prompted me to beat my phone on the dash of the car. It didn't make him answer, but I felt better. Then, I called Oscar.

  "I may know where Tinkie is."

  He sounded like a man surfacing from ten thousand feet below the ocean for a gasp of air. "Where?"

  "The Carrington School for Well-Bred Ladies."

  "Why would she be there?"

  "Because Virgie Carrington is our killer."

  "Sarah Booth, that's ridiculous. She's an old lady."

  That was the crux of it. I'd completely overlooked her as a suspect because she was "an old lady." But she wasn't. She was in her sixties, and I'd seen her gardening. She was strong as an ox. "There's one thing all of the suspects, except for Tinkie and me, have in common. They were all graduates of the school. They all got notes. They all were engaged in socially inappropriate conduct."

  "Tinkie is never inappropriate."

  I applauded Oscar's loyalty, but he was living in a dream world. "Oscar, Tinkie's a private dick. She's inappropriate."

  There was a pause. "Virgie wouldn't hurt her?" It was more of a question than a statement.

  "Maybe, maybe not. I have to find Coleman, and I know just how to do it."

  "I'll meet him at the office."

  "Good. I'm heading to the school."

  "Absolutely not!" He sounded very masculine and bossy. "You'll wait for Coleman."

  "Oscar, you aren't my husband or my father. I'm going after Tinkie. I owe her about three 'saved from the jaws of death' rescues,"

  "Sarah Booth, Coleman is going to be very upset with you."

  He was right, but what else was new. Coleman was often upset with me and vice versa. "I promise not to act rashly and endanger Tinkie."

  "Be careful." And as much as Oscar worried for his wife, he was also worried for me.

  "I promise." I hung up and wheeled down the drive to Dahlia House. Gordon was conveniently behind me, and I dashed to the patrol car.

  "Virgie Carrington is the killer. I think Tinkie's being held at the school. You have to find Coleman, right away, and tell him to meet me there."

  Gordon hesitated.

  "Find Coleman. If Tinkie's hurt and you don't—"

  He drove off, scattering dirt and leaves behind him.

  I ran up the steps. To my aggravation, another package was propped against the door. Something about the size of silk ropes or a blindfold. I kicked it aside and rushed into the house, calling Sweetie as I ran upstairs and did a quick costume change into basic black. Virgie didn't approve of women in pants, but if I was going to do some ass kicking, I didn't need to be hampered by a skirt.

 
; Coming back down the stairs with Sweetie bounding beside me, I remembered my error in not opening a package and retrieved the one from the front porch. I tore the blue ribbon off it and pulled out a book. Women on Top. There was a note. Pick out your favorite fantasy, and I'll make it come true.

  The package was, indeed, from Humphrey. I dropped it on the porch and ran to the car with Sweetie on my heels. We took off, the fallen leaves a trail spiraling behind us.

  It was dusk when I arrived at the Carrington School. Even though I'd never attended, I knew exactly where it was. Everyone in the Delta did. It was a stately mansion set back off the road, on about three hundred acres of what would be termed "grounds." The price of Virgie's tuition allowed her to maintain a full lawn crew, and the place was beautiful. Live oaks draped with Spanish moss dotted the landscape. The sun was setting, tracing fiery fingers through the mossy limbs as I drove slowly down the driveway.

  Virgie was one smart cookie, and I needed a foolproof plan. Now that I was at the school, I realized perhaps I'd come unprepared. The last thing I wanted to do was to put Tinkie in more danger than she already was. I absolutely refused to believe that Tinkie was injured. In order to save her and protect myself, I needed a good plan.

  I could pretend that I'd stopped by for a chat. That might throw her off guard enough for me to hunt for Tinkie. Or I could pretend I was there for a chat and turn Sweetie loose to find Tinkie, which was probably the fastest method.

  Or, I could do reconnaissance around the building while I waited for Coleman and Oscar. That seemed a good place to start. Maybe Sweetie would even let me know which part of the school Tinkie was being held in. Then I remembered Tammy's dream. Tinkie was in a solarium or sunroom. That shouldn't be too hard to find, since it would have to be on the outside of the house.

  The school was constructed as a squared-off U, with classrooms flanked by dormitories on either side. Virgie's house was at the open end of the U. I scouted around the classrooms and dormitories just to be certain there was no solarium there. None. I moved on to her house.

  The school was quiet, too quiet, and I wondered if the girls were on break. It was that time just before Thanksgiving when some schools began their holiday break. I couldn't imagine being twelve years old and living at a school rather than at home with my parents. Some girls would prefer it, but it would have been a terrible punishment to me.