Game of Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  We took a seat in a quiet corner of the café and Millie came to wait on us herself. She put a hand on Coleman’s shoulder and kissed his cheek, a rare moment of open affection for him and concern for the fact he’d been shot. “Worry me like that again and I’ll pour a pot of hot grits on your head,” she said.

  “I’ve surrounded myself with bloodthirsty women,” he replied. He turned to Kawania. “So tell me the truth before you get yourself into more serious trouble.”

  I couldn’t tell it if was Coleman’s laser-blue gaze, his blunt honesty, her tiredness, or pent-up emotion—whatever, she began to cry. Not ugly sobbing, but tears slipping down the curves of her cheeks. “I never wanted to be involved. I didn’t. But my mom owed a lot of money for my degree. Dr. Wells said if I went along, I’d get an A. I hate archeology. I just wanted to get my degree and go home to New Orleans.”

  “Are you really a descendant of Marie Laveau?” I asked.

  She nodded. “That’s true. Probably the only thing that’s true.”

  Millie brought our food and, while Tinkie and I ate, Kawania talked, prodded on by Coleman or Cece.

  “I knew Bella from before I went to college. When I first met her in the Quarter, she lived on Barracks Street with her mom. She read tarot cards and bartended and wrote for some of the free shopper magazines. You know, she made ends meet. She’s about six years older than me, and after she graduated high school, she just sort of disappeared. We lost touch until she called me and said she wanted to meet, that she was interested in the archeology dig at Mound Salla and could use my help.”

  “When was this?” I asked.

  “Sometime last fall. In fact, Bella is the reason I signed up for the archeology class and the dig. She said if I came to Sunflower County we could renew our friendship and I could also get a good grade. My GPA isn’t the greatest, and I don’t have the time or money to repeat courses. An A would keep me off academic probation, plus I would be close to home so I could visit with my mother. I miss New Orleans.”

  For the first time I felt Kawania was being sincere. Cece must have scared the socks off her.

  “What’s the real story of your relationship with Peter? And what was Bella Devareaux after?”

  Kawania frowned. She pressed her lips together and Coleman, not so subtly, took his handcuffs from his belt and put them on the table. It was incentive enough to get her talking.

  “I told you the truth about Peter. I’m part Tunica, and he knew my mother from some tribal gatherings. As to Bella, I’m not completely sure. She was interested in the dig, but not because of missing people in Louisiana. I don’t think that was ever real. She mentioned that was a good excuse to poke around here, but she was after something else. That was the whole point of her being at the dig. There was something there she wanted.”

  “How did Bella and Sandra become friends?” Cece asked.

  “I never heard either say. But they knew each other, at least since last summer. I was on the fringes of whatever they had going on. I’m on the fringes of all of this. I only did what I was asked so I’d get an A. But I can tell you that Bella and Sandra were thick. And that creep, Cooley Marsh, was spying on them all the time.”

  “And what were you asked to do?” Coleman said, but he spoke gently. “Tell the truth, Kawania. We’ve had enough half-truths and lies.”

  “Bella knew that I was a pretty good scary storyteller. She asked me to get the students goosed up about the place being haunted or cursed or whatever it took to keep them on edge and away from the site during the night. That was basically it.”

  “What went on at night that was so important?” Coleman followed up.

  “I don’t know. Something unnatural was going on, but I didn’t care. I wanted a good grade. Every chance I got I headed to New Orleans to visit my mama.”

  “And Peter Deerstalker? What was his role?”

  She looked around at each of us. “Peter wanted to stop the dig completely.”

  “How was he hooked in with Bella and Dr. Wells?” I pressed.

  She shook her head. “He wasn’t, that I know of.”

  “Was he involved with Hafner’s schemes?” Tinkie asked.

  Kawania continued with the head shake. “No. I mean, I don’t know. Not to my knowledge.” She blew out a long breath. “There was a lot going on under the surface, so I can’t say anything for absolute certain. It seemed to me that Hafner was sincere in wanting to excavate the site and document his finds as a scientist. But who knows. There were so many rumors about who was sleeping with whom, about jealousies.” She shook her head. “I stayed clear as much as I could.”

  Millie refilled our coffee cups and put a platter of pastries on the table. We’d consumed a huge meal, but the flaky crust and drizzled sugar wrapped around cream cheese centers was my undoing. We all grabbed one, even Kawania, who seemed to have loosened up. She acted like telling the truth was a huge relief.

  “We need to know about those tattoos,” I said.

  “I knew that was a mistake. I should never have let Bella talk me into doing them. I just thought with the henna, they’d wear off, no one the worse for wear.”

  “Both dead women had tattoos. Who else?”

  Kawania pulled the edge of her blouse down to reveal a tattoo on her upper chest. “I was going to give one to Delane, but she balked. She was smarter than the rest of us.”

  “What’s the significance of the tattoo?” I asked.

  “Bella had an amulet. I used that for the pattern. She told me to tell everyone it was mine, part of a voodoo inheritance, but it was hers. Everyone thinks I’m the creepy one, with my links to a dead voodoo queen, but Bella was really into the occult. Seriously. She claimed she could raise the dead.”

  Tinkie and I exchanged glances.

  “Could she work … magic?” Tinkie asked.

  Kawania shook her head. “I don’t know. She creeped me out so I didn’t hang with her. Anyway, Bella said that particular design was a family inheritance and it would seal evil in the earth. She had an idea that digging into the burial mound would release some kind of cosmic evil.”

  “And you believed that?” Coleman continued with his questioning.

  “Doesn’t matter what I believe. The students believed, and those were the people Bella and Sandra wanted to manipulate. At any rate, Bella supplied me with plenty of stories about the Bailey family and the old tales of hauntings.” She gave a rueful smile. “The stories were really scary, and really sad. Poor Martha Bailey had a hard life. One son in prison, one dead, the rest scattered to the wind. I don’t think Martha Bailey does very well as a fortune teller out on Highway 1.”

  “Wait!” I held up a hand to stop all conversation. The diner was almost empty, but even the people across the room paused. “Are you referring to Sister Grace?”

  Kawania rolled her eyes. “She’s about as much a palm reader as I am an astronaut. She and Bella Devareaux have known each other for a while. Bella said they met in the French Quarter when she lived there.”

  I looked at Tinkie. I could see the facts adding up—her expression went from calculating to angry. “She played us like a cheap harmonica,” she said.

  “What are you talking about?” Cece asked.

  Instead of answering her, I turned to Kawania. “How are Bella Devareaux and Sister Grace related?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  But I did. “They’re mother and daughter. They were working this dig for some reason.”

  “That can’t be true,” Kawania said. “Bella told me her mother had died several years back. That would mean that—”

  “Bella Devareaux is a Bailey. That’s how she knew about the basement. After all this time, she came back to find something at their old family homesite. What in the hell was she hoping to find at this dig?”

  29

  Coleman started toward the door. I dodged around three tables and got there before him. “No. You’re not going to help DeWayne and Budgie.” The loo
k in his eye made me step back. “Please, Coleman. They can find Cooley Marsh. You need to heal. I’m asking you to do what Doc said.” I put a hand on his cheek. “I swear that if I’m hurt again I will obey Doc to the letter.”

  His grin was slow, and I knew it cost him. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  “I expect you to.”

  “Remember, we don’t know how Marsh—or whatever his real name is—figures into things, but his background is suspect, and if he made that call to Peter Deerstalker to lure him to the mound where I was shot…”

  I could tell Coleman was itching to go. “I’ll take Coleman back to Dahlia House with the food for the critters. I can also drop Kawania off where she needs to be.”

  “I want to go home to New Orleans and see my mama.” Her eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t cry. “Can I?”

  Coleman nodded. “We may need to talk to you again, but for now you can go. Don’t make us come looking for you if we call.”

  “I won’t. I’ll help any way I can. I just want this all to go away. I’m sorry I ever took the class. I’m not going to get a good grade and I’ve wasted a whole semester.”

  For the first time since I’d met her, Kawania sounded like an average college student. Priorities were grades, grades, grades.

  We broke into our respective chores. Cece was on deadline at the paper and only a moron would brook the ill favor of Ed Oakes after the disappearing stunt Cece had pulled earlier. Tinkie and I took Coleman home and the deputies headed out to Mound Salla to check the footage on the cameras we’d set up.

  Sweetie Pie and Pluto greeted us on the front porch. Though they were clearly miffed at me for abandoning them, they were glad to see the food boxes from Millie’s.

  Tinkie took care of feeding the critters while I led the way to my bedroom. Coleman willingly went upstairs and stretched out on my bed. The moonlight pouring through the window limned the entire room in silvery gold. I gave him his antibiotics and pain medicine. “Sleep if you can. If we need you, I promise I’ll come and get you.”

  “I am bone weary, and my shoulder is really starting to throb. I may have overdone it.”

  That worried me—Coleman had a tough time admitting any vulnerability, just like me. But it was good he could be honest with me. It showed a trust between us that I valued and intended to study. This was what it meant to be in a real relationship. To be able to share even your fears with the person you loved. I needed a lot of work in that area. When my parents were killed, my survival response had been to show no weakness. Ever. Not to others and not even to myself. I thought of a song my mother had loved by Simon and Garfunkel. The lyrics had gone on about a rock never feeling pain and an island never crying. But rocks and islands also never shared intimacy. Double-sided blade.

  I turned off the lights in the bedroom and kissed Coleman tenderly on the lips. “I’ll be back.” Tinkie and I had plenty to do. Delane and Frank Hafner were out of pocket, but I was most eager to visit Sister Grace.

  “Be careful, Sarah Booth. This has gone on long enough.”

  It did seem like I’d been on this case for a month of Sundays but it really had been just a few days. Time had collapsed in on itself. “If we find anything interesting, I’ll call.” I didn’t want Coleman to feel left out. I knew that misery.

  “Please. I’ll be eager to help. Right after I take a nap.”

  Since the room was already dark, I kissed his forehead and tiptoed out. “Sweet dreams,” I said at the doorway, something my parents had always said to me. He didn’t respond but I listened for a moment to the steady whisper of his breath as he slept.

  My bedroom was toasty warm and the fire was still banked—things would hold there until I finished what I needed to do. I found Tinkie in the kitchen, and I whistled up Sweetie Pie knowing Pluto would be right with her. We all loaded into my car.

  “Going to pay a visit to Sister Grace?” Tinkie asked.

  “You’re a regular mind reader,” I told her. “She could have mentioned to us that she had a long and unhappy history with the dig site and a relationship with Bella Devareaux.”

  “It’s strange that she wasn’t visibly upset about Bella’s murder.” Tinkie hit the nail on the head.

  “Very strange.”

  “Who owns the property now?” Tinkie asked.

  “I don’t know, but that’s definitely something we should find out.” It was a point we shouldn’t have overlooked. “Call Cece and see if she can access the land ownership records on-line.”

  Tinkie placed the call. She chatted with Cece for a moment before she hung up. “Cece’s on it. She’s also got a lead on Delane.”

  “Is she up at the school in Michigan?”

  “No,” Tinkie said. “She’s at Elton Cade’s house with Peter Deerstalker. As Coleman requested, Peter checked in with the deputies. He took it seriously when Coleman told him not to leave the county. He’s staying there until all of this is cleared up. Elton invited him.”

  “Elton’s a good guy. I know he has a lot of money riding on this excavation. These murders have messed it all up. I guess when you have as much money as he has you don’t let the small stuff get under your skin. What about Frank Hafner? Anyone run him to ground?”

  “Not yet,” Tinkie said. “Or if they have, no one has told Cece. She’s still after him.”

  I got the Roadster on the road and headed west for Highway 1 and a fortune teller going by the name of Sister Grace. It should have been Sister Liar Liar Pants on Fire.

  “You should call Coleman,” Tinkie said when we were about five minutes away from the palm reader’s house. “Just to let him know where we are.”

  “Let’s wait until we have some news,” I told her. “I hope Coleman is asleep. He was snoozing pretty good when I left, and those painkillers should help him stay conked out.”

  “You really do love that man, don’t you?”

  Tinkie’s question held a certain longing. “I do. And you love Oscar.”

  Her momentary melancholy disappeared. “We’re both lucky in love.”

  “And a lot more.” I pulled into the front of the modest house with the palm reading sign. It looked as empty as it had the last time we were there. I almost told Tinkie to put my gun in her purse, but Sister Grace was an older woman. We could easily handle her, if it came to that. It had been a long time since I’d thought about another older woman who I’d sorely underestimated—Gertrude Strom. Gertrude, an unassuming B and B owner outside Zinnia, had tried to kill me more than once—and she’d shot my fiancé Graf Milieu in the leg and could have crippled him. My nemesis was still on the loose, but she hadn’t been seen or heard from in months. And I was a person who believed in letting sleeping dogs lie.

  “You ready?” Tinkie asked. “I vote for direct confrontation.”

  “I’m backing your play.”

  We walked up to the front door and knocked with authority. The door opened instantly and Sister Grace, aka Martha Bailey, grinned at us. “I guess the jig is up,” she said.

  “Martha Bailey?” Tinkie asked.

  “She is my past. I’ve reincarnated. I’ve transformed.” She laughed out loud. “I have left that poor pathetic woman behind and become a whole new person.”

  I couldn’t help it. I stepped back. There was something wrong with Martha Bailey—a hint of madness in her eyes. “We need to talk to you.” I kept it low-key.

  “Come in.” She pushed the screen door open so we could enter. “Excuse the mess.”

  The place was wrecked. It looked like someone had gone through everything in the house looking for something. “Did they find what they were looking for?” I asked her.

  She looked around and shrugged. “Who can tell? First I’d have to know what they sought.”

  She might be on the verge of madness, but she was cunning. I’d completely missed the glint of obsession in her eyes when we’d first stopped by looking for Cece. “Who tore up your house?” I asked. A direct question might prove easier for her.<
br />
  “Oh, you know how it is with children. No matter how old they are, they’re still Mama’s babies.” She waved a hand around. “Ingrates. That’s what Arbin called them. They came out of the womb sucking at everything around them.” She chuckled. “Maybe he was right all along.”

  Whatever bit of sanity Sister Grace had held on to two days ago, it was gone. She’d slipped into Oz, and I couldn’t make head nor tail of what she was saying.

  “Sit down, Martha,” Tinkie said gently, assisting her to a chair. “Who came into your house and did this?” she asked.

  “What difference does it make?” The madness receded and there was simply hopelessness in her face. “They come and go. Always the big dream. Frank hasn’t helped them. Not at all. Not like he promised. Now I’m getting the blame.”

  “You know Frank Hafner?” I asked, trying to emulate Tinkie’s soothing tone.

  “Yeah, sure. He went to school with Arbin over in Georgia. He always thought he was better than us. He got his doctorate. He had a tenured position. He went to cocktail parties and hobnobbed with the intellectuals while Arbin worked at the locks on the river, drank beer with the boys, and I raised a brood of thankless young’uns.”

  “You sacrificed everything for your children.” I remembered what Coleman had said.

  “And all it did was make them think I owed them more.”

  It was a harsh indictment. “Did your children come here and tear up your house?” Glass and knickknacks were scattered on the floor. Drawers had been pulled out, the contents thrown about the room. Smaller pieces of furniture had been overturned and the backs and sides sliced as if someone had been searching for something stuffed inside.

  “I suspect it was one of them. I didn’t see who it was.”

  “What were they looking for?” Tinkie asked. She’d sat down beside Martha and patted her shoulder.