Rock-a-Bye Bones (15 page)

“License plate?”

“I'm sorry, I didn't even think to look. They parked way in the back of the lot and stood in the darkness. They were young and slender. Perfect, like those girls always are. They have everything, and they're jealous of a kid who has talent. Some people never have enough, you know?”

Oh, how well I knew. “Did they interact with Pleasant?”

He thought. “Seems to me they knew each other. Just the way those rich girls acted. At least they knew who Pleasant was. Maybe they go to high school together.”

Which was exactly what I was thinking. “Did you notice anyone else who seemed out of place?”

“Not that I can think of. The people who gathered really loved Pleasant's music. She touched us with her melodies and lyrics. Just a simple guitar and a girl with talent.”

“Expect a call from Hoss Kincaid, the sheriff of Bolivar County.”

“Now hold on a minute—”

“I have to turn my information over to him. Pleasant is missing. You might think of another detail that will help us find her. This isn't a problem for you, Randy. I promise.”

“Okay, I'm happy to help. I've been worried about Pleasant, but I was just a fan. I thought maybe she'd moved or gone to college or something good. Damn. Sure, I'll help find her anyway I can. You think she's okay? And the baby. My god.”

He sounded distressed. “The baby is fine. Pleasant is still missing.”

There was a brief silence. “Now I'm really worried for her. Tell the sheriff to call. I'll try to think of more details.”

I thanked him and hung up.

Tinkie's report was much briefer. Paul Owens ran a chain of bars and had his eye on Pleasant for a performer. “He said she was that good,” Tinkie said. For the first time in a while I saw a glimmer of interest in finding Libby's mom. A twinkle of compassion for Pleasant. “He said she was a fine young woman with a big future ahead of her.”

I told her about the mean girls. “Tomorrow, I'm going back to the high school. Surely the students have to register their vehicles. I'll find out who the BMW belongs to, and I'll get a copy of some of Pleasant's songs. My PI friend, Rick Ralston in Nashville, is working with us, but he needs something solid to go on.”

“Good idea,” Tinkie said. Her attention was already on the baby, who slept peacefully.

“Let Oscar tend Libby and you come help me.”

She shook her head. “My time with her is short. I won't lose a minute of it.”

“Don't get your heart broken. And give Chablis some attention. She was your baby long before Libby arrived.” But my advice fell on deaf ears as I let myself out of the house.

*   *   *

Dahlia House stood like a sentinel in the November dusk. The beauty of the house, the stark trees along the drive, and the pinks, purples, and corals of the sunset made me stop the car and simply stare. We live amid such beauty, and so often ignore it. Dahlia House, a single light aglow in the front parlor, made my heart ache. This was my home, and the largest part of my life had been lived in the protection of those walls.

I rolled on down the drive, my melancholic mood destroyed by the pounding of horse hooves as my herd came out of the back pasture and raced along the fence line, welcoming me home. Reveler led the pack, his beautiful gray head bowing and stretching on his long neck. He had such power. Behind him Miss Scrapiron was a delicate combination of speed, grace, heart, and intelligence. Bringing up the rear was a black shadow. Lucifer was a stout horse with feet the size of large saucers and a flowing mane and tail. Zorro rode such a horse, and Zorro had always been one of my heroes.

The horses sped past me to the barn. Their internal clocks knew it was feeding time. I parked and opened the door to let Sweetie and Pluto out so they could join me. They loved to go to the barn.

“You have some 'splaining to do!”

I knew the line from
I Love Lucy
, but this was a sharp female voice, not Ricky Ricardo. I peeped in the front doorway as Sweetie and Pluto fled for their lives. A tall, red-haired Lucille Ball stood in the foyer, hands on hips. She shook a finger at me. “Ethel is not going to be happy with you. You left the baby at Hilltop.”

“Jitty?” The figure was so real, I had to wonder if Lucille had come to visit from the Great Beyond. I walked up to tug her red hair, but my hand went right through her.

“Ouch!”

“Jitty, that didn't hurt. Ghosts can't feel.”

“That's what you know, Missy. I got feelin's just like you.”

“Nope. If you don't get fat or age, you can't have feelings. Emotions are the things that eventually wreck our bodies. Twilight makes me crave Jack Daniel's. Sunrise makes me desperate for French toast or a Bloody Mary. You never crave anything. Your body can't be wrecked, hence you have no feelings.” I was proud of my logic, circular though it was.

“I have plenty of feelings, though Ricky Ricardo forgets that sometimes. On the show and in real life.” She leaned forward, squinting her eyes. “You look pale. You need some Vitameatavegamin. For health!” She produced a brown glass bottle and a spoon. “This'll put some hop right into your rabbit.”

That skit from the television show was one of my all-time favorites. I watched as Lucy poured a big spoonful and she touted the health benefits of the concoction. The spoon slid into her mouth, and then her expression made me laugh out loud. No matter that I knew the comedic routine by heart. Jitty was perfect as Lucy, from her black-checked dress to the little pillbox hat that sat atop her red curls.

“Jitty, you are too much. Can I film you? I mean, will you show up on film?” I wasn't sure about the rules of ghost photography.

“You should be payin' attention to what I'm sayin', not calculatin' ways to get rich.”

“You're a hoot, but I don't think I need any Vitameatavegamin. I'm healthy as a horse. Even doc says so.”

“Tinkie needs it! She's the one losin' sleep and tendin' to a baby night and day. She's plumb tuckered out.”

“I don't think Lucille Ball would use the words
plumb
or
tuckered
. She wasn't Southern, though, if she had been, it might have been quite charming.” I tried to imagine Lucy's wacky routines in a Southern drawl. She'd mastered the Cuban accent when she mocked her husband.

The pretty redhead slowly faded and in her place was my haint. She still wore the elegant checked dress and the cute little totally useless pillbox hat. “When I'm playin' Lucille, she talks like I want her to.”

“Your point is well taken. As much as I appreciate a chance to see you perform that classic comedy skit, I can't help but wonder why you're here in the guise of a comedian.”

“Not comedian. Mother. Lucille Ball broke ground when she had a baby in real life and incorporated the baby into her television show. She was a working mother who played a stay-at-home mother. The brilliance of such a thing has never been fully appreciated.”

“And your point is?”

“A baby doesn't have to be the end of anyone's career.”

I couldn't tell if her message was directed at me or Tinkie. “Meaning?”

“You know what I mean, Sarah Booth. Mothers come in all shapes, sizes, temperaments, and talents. You had a mama who could do it all with one hand tied behind her back. She could love and fight and mediate and never blink an eye.”

I'd been on the verge of melancholy when I drove up to Dahlia House at the time of day my mother used to call “the blue hour.” She, too, had been struck by sadness at the close of day. Now, Jitty made me miss my mother more than ever. “Thanks.”

“Missin' Libby isn't a bad thing. Because you can see the love you miss in her is exactly what you'll have to give your own child.”

In one more moment, Jitty would be talking about dying ovaries and blackened, shriveling eggs. “Enough.” I held up a hand. “I see where you're headed.”

“Call your partner. Buy one of those papoose sling things that mamas carry young'uns in. Make her put that baby in it and get back to work.”

“So you weren't about to tell me my eggs were dying, tick-tock and all.”

“Me?” Jitty looked hurt. “I'm not sayin' a word. I
won't
say a word. Not even when your fallopian tubes dry up and fall out on the ground.”

And of course she had to have the last word by disappearing on the fading scent of roses.

 

12

The buzzing of my cell phone in the pocket of my jeans woke me the next morning. I chose to ignore it. I was exhausted and starving. Eventually the sensation of my stomach digesting my backbone would push me out of bed. At the moment, a bit more shut-eye was important.

But it was not to be. The phone buzzed—and then rang—relentlessly. I rolled out of bed and stumbled to my jeans. When I found the phone, I was highly tempted to hurl it out the window, but I checked to see Betty McGowin was calling. I came wide-awake with a much different attitude, eager to talk to the midwife.

“Mrs. McGowin, are you okay?”

“Yes, ma'am, I'm fine. I thought you'd want to know a young man was here early this morning asking for medicine to ease a woman's cramps after childbirth.”

My heart rate jumped. “Did you get his name?”

“I did, but it won't do you any good. He made it up.”

“What was he driving?”

“Dark blue pickup. Couldn't see the plates, and I couldn't go out and check or I'd have made him suspicious. I want him to come back if the mother doesn't get better.”

“Smart.”

“He wasn't a nice man.”

“How do you know?” I didn't doubt her, I just wondered what evidence she'd seen.

“He was dirty, and he stank of liquor. His eyes were red and runny, like he's been doin' a lot more than drinking. Just one of those shiftless boys given over to drugs and laying around in front of a television. Pasty skin. He hasn't seen the sunshine in a long time.”

“Any distinguishing scars or anything?”

“Let's see. He had light hair. I couldn't tell if it was blond or red because it was shaved so close to his head. Blue eyes. He was at least fifty pounds overweight. Five foot ten or eleven.” She paused. “There was something at the corner of his right eye. Maybe a scar, maybe a birthmark. The skin was whiter there. About the size of a quarter.”

“Would you work with a sketch artist?” I didn't know if DeWayne would be mad at me for butting in, but I had to try. Betty lived in Sunflower County, so the local sheriff's office could get involved.

“I'd be happy to come into town and help. I'll get dressed and be at the courthouse at eight o'clock.”

“Thank you, Mrs. McGowin.”

“Have you found any trace of that baby's mama?”

It was hard to say. “No, ma'am. We're following leads today.”

“Would you ask Mrs. Richmond to bring that baby by? I'd like to take a look at her.”

“I'll have her stop by your house. She and Oscar are taking the child to Boston for a specialist to examine the extra digit. They want to pay for the surgery.”

“Bless them,” Betty said. “Childhood is a place of great cruelty to anyone who is the slightest bit different. Tell Sheriff Peters and Deputy DeWayne to expect me.”

“I'll make sure.”

I put the phone on the charger and jumped into the shower. Fifteen minutes later, my hair still wet, I was dressed and ready for the day. While the coffee brewed, I called DeWayne and alerted him to the impending arrival of Betty McGowin. He rightly pointed out that a young man asking for medicine wasn't illegal, nor did it prove that the man was involved in Pleasant's abduction. He also agreed to work with Betty to come up with a composite—just in case.

Sipping the black coffee, I went over my notes and decided another trip to Cotton Gin High was in order. I had to find the driver of the silver BMW Randy Hunter had seen the mean girls driving at the Riverview Motel, and I needed to check more facts with Tally McNair.

Sweetie Pie whined at the door of the car and Pluto stood on the porch with his back to me. My emotions warred. I loved taking them with me, but if I ended up engrossed at the school, they'd be trapped in the car.

Sweetie hit a low E minor with her sad howl and I opened the car door. “Come on, but if you're bored, you'd better not damage the car.” Not so long ago, I'd left them in the car while I went sleuthing and they'd chewed and clawed their way out of the ragtop. And a good thing, too. They'd saved my life.

The day was sunny and brisk, and Sweetie hung her head out the passenger window and Pluto curled along my thigh, kneading his sharp little claws through my jeans and into my tender skin. I couldn't tell if he was messing with me or truly content, so I let him be.

On the drive, I called Tinkie. Jitty's visit as Lucille Ball had inspired me. I would never tell her, but she was correct. Tinkie had to learn to live her life, with or without Libby. She and Oscar couldn't stop working and living simply because they had a baby to care for. Life continued. Tinkie's only lifeline might be this work.

“What time is your flight to Boston?”

She yawned. “Not until four this afternoon. We'll arrive late and we have the first appointment in the morning. We'll be home shortly after lunch tomorrow. Is Mrs. Smith worried about us taking Libby?”

“No. She's fine. I'm worried.”

“Stop it.” She yawned again. “I'm too exhausted to argue this morning. Libby wasn't interested in a session with the Sandman last night.”

“Get your clothes on, put the baby in a papoose carrier, and meet me at Cotton Gin High. This isn't a request.”

“You can't boss me, we're partners.” She yawned in the middle of her declaration.

“I'll send Coleman to roust you. Tinkie, if he thinks you're going to be hurt when that baby goes home, he'll take her now. Get up and get out of that house. We have a case to solve.”