Bones to Pick (7 page)

"How did she die? Officially."

"Suffocation." He got up and walked to the window. "Death is never a pretty thing to see, but it's especially hard when a young person is murdered. Someone held her face down in the mud." He faced me. "That's hard to think about."

"Would it have to be someone strong?"

"Not necessarily. Quentin had been roped, like a steer at a rodeo. The rope caught her initially around the waist. There was severe bruising, such as what would happen if the person on the other end of the rope were in a vehicle. She was pulled off her feet, and once she was injured and on the ground, the rope was shifted around her feet. She was dragged behind a vehicle into the bog. By that point, I doubt she had a lot of fight left in her."

I sat forward. "That's awful."

"Someone had it in for her." He sat back at his desk. "I think Gordon's a good man, but I wish Coleman were back on the job."

"Me, too. Have you heard from him?" Whatever Doc thought about my question, he would keep it to himself. He'd treated my scraped knees and coughs when I was a child. He'd given me tonics and vitamins when my parents were killed. Though he'd done his best, he'd had no medicine for a broken heart.

"I have."

"How's he doing?" I forced myself to add, "And Connie? How is she? Is the baby okay?"

He didn't look at me. 'Those are questions only Coleman should answer, Sarah Booth. It isn't my place."

"You're right." I stood up, suddenly ashamed at my inability to keep my errant heart in check. "If you talk to him again, tell him I said hello."

"Sarah Booth, whoever killed Quentin meant for her to suffer. There's an element of malice here that I haven't seen in many murders. Be careful."

"I will," I promised. "I think it's a lot more dangerous to drink your coffee."

He shook his head. "You're just like your mama."

Dusk had fallen by the time I got to my car and headed back to Dahlia House. Lights began to flicker on in the houses I passed. In a few, I could see the blue glare of a television, and a sudden longing for family traced through my heart. I was lonely. Tinkie had hit the nail on the head. After a year of being back in Zinnia, I still went home to an empty house.

My last case, with Doreen Mallory, had changed me. Doreen was a woman who believed in miracles. The day-to-day kind and the big ones. She also believed that everything in life happened for a reason. At first I'd fought against such a belief, but now my mind was exploring the possibility. The question I had to answer was why I chose to be alone.

As I pulled up in front of Dahlia House, I heard Reveler whinny a welcome. Sweetie Pie came charging around the house to whip my legs with her eager tail. So I wasn't exactly alone. I just didn't have a man and children--the family that seemed so desirable, and so elusive.

"Pull yourself out of that slump and feed your horse," Jitty commanded from the porch.

How foolish of me to think I was alone. "Yes, ma'am." I detoured from the porch and went to the barn to give Reveler his grain.

His soft muzzle blew kisses on my neck and cheeks as I brushed his coat while he ate. The sound of his chewing was comforting. When he was done, I went back to the house to confront Jitty.

The back door was locked, so I had to walk around to the porch. If Jitty was going to inhabit the house, it would be nice if she could be a little helpful, like opening a door or making coffee in the morning. But no, noncorporeal beings didn't have to lift a finger in the residences they haunted. It was some kind of ghostly union rule.

I was still gnawing on my grievances when I tripped on something. Sitting right by the front door was a big box, gift wrapped.

"Special delivery," Jitty said.

Somehow she'd managed to fit her huge dress into one of the rocking chairs. As she tipped back and forth, I could see her pantaloons.

"It's a good thing you waited for fall to play French Revolutionary. If you'd done this in August, you'd have died of heat exhaustion in all those clothes."

"I don't sweat," she said.

"Ah, another benefit of being dead."

"I can eat anything I want and never gain weight, and my hair never frizzes."

Now she was getting insulting. I picked up the box, which bore no sign of any delivery system. Pulling the red ribbon that tied it, I sat down on the steps and opened the box. Layer after layer of tissue paper concealed the contents.

"What's in there?" Jitty asked. She'd stopped rocking.

"Hold your horses. I'm getting there." I peeled back at least twenty layers of flimsy red paper before my fingers struck something furry. I gave a little squeal as I pulled out a tiny froth of a silk garment.

"The French do have the best design sensibilities when it comes to bedroom
couture,"
Jitty said as I sorted out the straps of a risque red teddy trimmed in fluff.

"Who sent this?" I felt a flush touch my cheeks.

"Harold, I hope," Jitty said. "There's always a strong current beneath those still waters. That boy has some idea of sleep attire, but I doubt sleep is on his mind."

I sorted through the tissue papers only to find stiletto slippers with four-inch heels, also trimmed in red fur.

"Ooh la la," Jitty said, beside herself. "You've inspired me to learn French."

I turned the box over and shook it. The person who sent the gift surely left a card of some type. I couldn't believe it was Harold. He'd truly fallen for Rachel Gaudel, and he knew that my heart was a war zone between conflicting interests. No, this was the work of someone who hadn't heard of my reputation for death in the field of romance.

At last I found a small note card. I took the box and contents into the house, where I could turn on a light to read. I didn't have to invite Jitty to follow. Wild horses couldn't have kept her away.

"Hurry up, Sarah Booth. It isn't every day you get a harlot outfit left on the porch."

Ignoring her, I went to the kitchen, where Sweetie Pie met me. She sniffed the gift box disdainfully and stalked out of the room.

"That hound has an attitude problem," Jitty said.

I sat at the table and opened the envelope. Jitty hovered over my shoulder as I read:
Let's play Scarlett and Rhett! Tomorrow night at eight. You have the plantation house, and I have the champagne. Humphrey

Humphrey Tatum. At his kinky best. I put everything back in the box and closed it, then retied the red ribbon.

"You aren't sending it back?" Jitty was horrified.

"Of course, I am. Humphrey is my client. I can't accept gifts from him. Especially not boudoir attire."

"Why not?"

I couldn't tell if Jitty was trying to devil me or if she was sincere. "It's unethical."

She arched her eyebrows, which conveyed a world of my past ethical mistakes.

"I'm not interested in Humphrey," I finally admitted.

"Sarah Booth, I have only one thing to say."

"What?"

"Ticktock."

"Maybe I'm not meant to have a baby. Maybe I'm meant to run a private investigators agency." My tone was getting hotter and hotter as I spoke. "Why is that unacceptable? Why can't that be enough for you and Tinkie and everyone else? Why--"

"Because it isn't enough for you," Jitty said, and she wasn't deviling me. "I know you. You want a husband and a family."

I picked up the box and shook it at her. "This isn't a marriage proposal, Jitty. It's an invitation for sex. There's a big difference, you know."

"In this day and age, Sarah Booth, one often leads to the other."

"I don't want to marry Humphrey."

"Because he isn't Coleman?"

"Because I don't love him."

She walked around the table, the rustle of her petticoats a gentle shush in the room. "You won't love anyone until you get Coleman out of your heart. And
Hamilton
, too. You're so conflicted over Coleman, you haven't even begun to figure out what you feel for
Hamilton
."

"Exactly my point. And I don't need to muck up my muddled emotions more by jumping into the sack with Humphrey-the-Humper."

Jitty's laughter was low and rich. "A little bit of two-backed tango might shake loose your heart."

My own laughter matched hers. "Not in my experience. Besides, Humphrey is a client. That has to mean something."

"If you say so," she finally relented. "Now I'm off to the court to see what kind of action I can stir up."

I thought I felt her hand trace across my cheek as she passed me.

"I don't have to point out," she said, "that casual sex without consequence is just one more advantage of being a ghost."

"Put that way, I can't wait to be dead," I said to her vanishing back.

I was sitting on the front porch, sipping coffee, the next morning when Tinkie pulled up. Her blond hair glistened in the pale morning sunlight as she got out of the Caddy. To my amusement, she was wearing a navy suit with a pale pink blouse and a stunning string of pearls. Even her exquisite little feet were encased in conservative navy pumps.

"Where'd you get the costume?" I asked.

"We have an appointment in an hour with Virgie Carrington. I came over to help you pull yourself together."

I
held up a hand a la Diana Ross. "Stop in the name of sanity. I'm not putting on some kind of ridiculous uniform."

"Of course you are."

"No way, Jose. I'm not a Carrington girl, and I'm not pretending to be."

Tinkie put her hands on her hips. "Sarah Booth, sometimes you're just plain mulish. Virgie Carrington has spent her entire life training young women to fit into a certain mold. We need her help. We want her to talk to us. The simplest way to do that is to reflect the type of woman she creates."

Tinkie was right, but I felt my Irish dander rise. "I shouldn't have to conform to her dress code for an interview."

"You don't
have
to," she pointed out. "But it will certainly grease the skids if you do. We meet her as equals that way."

"I don't have a blue suit."

She reached into the back seat of the Caddy and pulled out a hanger covered by a Charlene's bag. "Charlene opened the store early for me." She thrust the bag at me. "I picked this out for you because I knew you'd try that excuse."

"I don't have any shoes," I countered.

"You get dressed. I'll find some suitable shoes." She marched past me into the house. I was defeated. I had the choice of surrendering with honor or whining. Only because I figured Jitty was eavesdropping did I choose the former. Carrying the dress bag, I marched behind Tinkie to my doom.

An hour later, we were sitting in the formal den at The Gardens B&B. I was wearing a Donna Karan designer suit and holding a cup of tea--Earl Grey--which looked like thin milk. I had no intention of drinking it, especially since Gertrude Stromm had made it. Hemlock was the word that came to my mind. Tinkie had no such apprehensions. She sipped her tea and chatted with Virgie Carrington about the desperate need in society for more Sunday brunches.

"What would you view as the perfect menu for a brunch?" Virgie suddenly asked me.

Her blue grey eyes were shrewd and a perfect match for the silk dress she wore. Her pearls had the sheen of age, as if they were family heirlooms. I knew her question was a test. "I don't think the menu matters as long as the Bloody Marys and mimosas flow freely," I answered, ignoring the daggers Tinkie shot at me.

To my surprise, Virgie laughed. The iron maiden had a sense of humor. "I remember your mother, Sarah Booth. She was unconventional, but always with kindness. I see you're a page from the same book."

It was a compliment I couldn't ignore. "Thank you, Miss Carrington. I didn't realize you knew my mother."

"Everyone knew her. And everyone adored her."

"Not everyone," I said.

"Everyone I knew," Virgie insisted. "I don't find it peculiar that you've become a private investigator, Sarah Booth, but Tinkie is another matter." She turned to my partner. "I can't believe Oscar has agreed to this."

Tinkie's smile never slipped. "Well, Virgie, Oscar didn't really have a choice. I bought my freedom a long time ago."

The blade was presented with such deftness; at first, I didn't recognize the sharpness. Virgie surprised me again by laughing. "In a way, I'm glad your parents chose not to send you to my school, Tinkie. You would have been a real problem."

I saw that the conversation was going south fast. "Miss Carrington, as we mentioned, we've been hired to help prove Allison's innocence. We're hoping you can help us."

"How?"

"Quentin's book has upset a number of people, many of them your former students."

"The book is vile. Quentin has ignored every commandment that I teach, but the one most offensive is the violation of family. She must have broken
Franklin
's and
Caledonia
's hearts."