A Garland of Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  I motioned her out of the window, and she simply faded through the glass to land on the sidewalk beside me. When I looked back in the window, the display showed two ladies in evening attire in a ballroom setting. No snow. No reindeer. Nada. Jitty still wore the outfit I’d been interested in. The tags hung on the clothes.

  I looked all around. So far we hadn’t drawn attention to ourselves and Tinkie was still inside the toy shop. “What are you doing? We’re on a busy street in broad daylight.”

  “And you’re the one acting like a crazy person,” she said. “You goin’ all googly-eyed at a dressmaker’s form, talking to yourself in the middle of the sidewalk. Folks can’t see me, but they sure can see you.”

  She had a point—a damn good one. “Why do you look like Bette Midler and what movie are you from?” I couldn’t quite place this Bette. The coiffed hair was a clue, but I couldn’t figure out exactly what my haint was up to.

  Jitty flicked her hand at the display window on the other side of the shop’s front door. This one featured two extremely thin mannequins in red corselets that laced up the back, red fishnet stockings, and a big bow tied around each of their waists. Like they were some kind of Christmas gift for someone who loved skinny women. They both wore Santa hats and vapid expressions.

  “So some people have a thing for tarted-up mannequins that make a whippet look fat,” I said. “At least they know enough to stay put in the display. Unlike someone I know.” I pointed at her.

  Jitty struck a pose and her facial expression shifted to comic outrage. Her voice was all Bette. “Who’s supposed to eat that? Some anorexic teenager? Some fetus? It’s a conspiracy, I know it is! I’ve had enough. I’m leading a protest. I’m not buying another article of clothing until these designers come to their senses!”

  “Brenda!” I knew her instantly. She was one of the wives whose husband was a cheater in the 1996 movie The First Wives Club. As I recalled the movie, she’d found her husband, Mort, with a younger model. His financial impropriety had yielded the turf she needed for revenge, meaning she turned him in to the IRS. The movie had also featured two other wives whose husbands had strayed. Goldie Hawn, another longtime acting favorite of mine, and Diane Keaton starred in the film. I could put two and two together—cheating spouses in the movie corresponded to cheating spouses in Columbus. “You’re not helping, Jitty.”

  “Maybe you’re not listening.” She started to waver, her image gradually beginning to fade.

  “Come back here. Do they sell those clothes in that store?” I pointed in the window before I realized a clerk inside the store was staring at me. She had her phone in her hand, as if she was going to report me as some kind of mental patient. I waved at her and smiled, which only made her step behind a dress rack and hide.

  “Dammit it, Jitty. Now look what you’ve done.”

  “Better get in there before she dials 911 and says there’s a crazy woman roaming the streets. Just remember, a shopping spree always helps a heartache.” She grinned.

  I was done with Jitty, but I really liked that outfit. “Give me those clothes. In my size. I want to buy them.”

  “Too late! Tinkie’s headed this way.”

  Jitty did a single turn to a blare of angelic horns, and she was gone. I prepared myself to meet my partner. Tinkie had caught me several times talking to “myself.” I couldn’t tell her about Jitty, and I didn’t want to start that tired old conversation again. I had to pull myself together.

  I faced her with a big smile. “I was just admiring the displays.”

  “Find something you like?” Tinkie asked, staring at the shop widow with a puzzled expression. “That?” She pointed at the very thin models in evening gowns. Tinkie knew me well enough to know that was not anything I’d normally be interested in.

  “They are lovely dresses, if I had a place to wear them.” I’d been royally tricked by Jitty, who was just making sure I knew she was still in Columbus. It was Jitty’s mission in life to pester me no matter where I went.

  “And if you’d starved yourself for the past nine months.” Tinkie rolled her eyes. “What’s really going on?”

  The store clerk had come out from behind the rack of dresses and was now filming me with her cell phone. Proof for the cops she would call any second if she hadn’t already.

  “Let’s get moving,” I suggested.

  “If you like that dress, why not try it on?” Tinkie grabbed my elbow to propel me into the store.

  “The dress is beautiful, but not for me. What about Cece?”

  Tinkie pondered it. “I’ll tell her. It would look marvelous on her with her slender hips.”

  “Excellent idea. Let’s finish up our work so we can get her down here to try it on.” I was literally pushing her down the street. The clerk had edged out of the doorway and was still filming us. I tugged Tinkie around the corner with a huge sigh of relief.

  “Is something wrong?” Tinkie asked.

  “Not a thing. Ready to get to work.”

  “Are you ready to look up the heavy equipment dealers?”

  “I am.” I was more than ready to get busy and relieved to be getting off so lightly. Tinkie apparently hadn’t witnessed my sidewalk debate with an empty space or the distressed salesclerk. Whew! I tucked her arm through mine and set off at a brisk walk. Tinkie let me get about a block before she said anything.

  “I watched you at that store window.”

  I felt the rush of blood to my cheeks.

  “What were you doing? It looked like you were having an argument with yourself. Sarah Booth, you looked a little nutty. That clerk in the store was about to call the police. So just tell me the truth, please.”

  “Okay.” I drew in a breath. “I thought one of the mannequins looked like Bette Midler and I was imagining her playing Brenda in The First Wives Club. I guess I got carried away having a conversation with Brenda about cheating husbands. You know, because of our case.”

  I kept on walking to put more distance between me and the store, just in case the clerk called the law. Tinkie kept pace with me. “That has to be the truth. No one could make up something that far-fetched.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Why are you … daydreaming about that movie? That was the nineties. The fashion was horrible then.” Tinkie shuddered at the thought of heavily padded shoulders and permed hair. She was barely five feet, and she said those huge shoulder pads made her look like a linebacker for a tiny tots team.

  I shook my head. “I think it has something to do with this case and all the cheating husbands, cheating wives, and people set on revenge.”

  “O-o-o-kay.”

  Tinkie wasn’t convinced, but she was going to let it go. Or so I hoped. I picked up a little speed. If I set a fast-enough pace, Tinkie would have to step double time to keep up with me and she wouldn’t have breath to ask questions. “So where are we off to?”

  “We need to run back to the local newspaper.”

  “Okay, right. To check the heavy equipment rentals in the area. If we can find out who paid the cement truck driver to dump that load, we’ll have a name.”

  “The way I figure it, the newspaper will know which truck drivers would destroy a car. Could save us a lot of legwork.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me to a halt. “Slow down. You can’t outrun my questions.”

  “You’re right about that.” I used my phone to find the newspaper office and was delighted to discover we were only three blocks away. The Columbus Packet was within our strike zone.

  “Do you know anyone at the newspaper?” Now would have been a good time to have Cece with us. Journalists could almost always find common ground.

  “Cece called ahead for us.” Tinkie grinned. “She’s paved the way. Should be a piece of cake. Ask for Debbie Harris.”

  “Hurray. We’re going to a journalist to ask about the sleazy side of town.” I had a sudden drop in enthusiasm for this case. “We really shouldn’t have taken this on.”

  Tinkie sighed. �
��I know. But we did, and now we have to finish it. We have a standard to live up to, Sarah Booth. We have always given our clients our best effort. We can’t do less here.”

  She was right about that and I had sudden clarity. “I think Clarissa is behind this and she’s hired us as a beard for her activities.” I’d finally found the words to say what was troubling me. “I think we’re being used and I don’t like it.”

  “The same thing occurred to me,” Tinkie admitted as she reached for the door handle to the newspaper office. “But if that turns out to be the case, think how much fun it’s going to be to nail her. And we’ll get paid to do it.”

  I thought about it for a few seconds and brightened. Tinkie was right. We could put it to Clarissa—if she was the one behind these nefarious deeds—and get paid for it. “I just wish she hadn’t picked Christmastime for all of this. What kind of people cheat and deliberately damage others at Christmastime?”

  Tinkie shrugged. “The holidays bring out a lot of extreme emotions in people. Sometimes people just flip. Let’s hope she’s smart enough to cease and desist with these crazy episodes.”

  “Or let’s hope we catch her in the act before she harms someone else.”

  We stepped into the chaos and clatter of a working newsroom.

  11

  Debbie Harris was a brunette with ivory skin and bright red lipstick. She ran the lifestyle section and was a longtime friend of Cece’s. “Sorry Cece isn’t with us,” I said once we were seated. Her office was almost an exact replica of Cece’s madness. Papers, books, cameras, and scraps of paper with writing on them seemed to have exploded in the room. There wasn’t a chair to sit on because everything was covered with piles of paper.

  “I’ll catch up with her at the flotilla tonight,” Debbie said. “I just love that new column she and Millie Roberts are doing.” She held up her hand and moved it across the room in front of her as if she were reading a marquee. “‘The Truth Is Out There.’ That’s genius. And those celebrity stories. Where in the world do they come up with those? When I read the one about Oprah being pregnant with Elvis’s baby, I thought I’d die.” She arched one eyebrow. “But wouldn’t that be kind of wonderful? Two Mississippi icons. Man.”

  I’d actually loved that story, too. “Millie is a huge fan of celebrities and Cece is a great researcher.”

  “Tell me the truth. Where do they come up with that stuff? It’s not research, it’s inspired!”

  “We have a psychic friend, Madame Tomeeka, who helps out.” It was true, but I suspected Debbie Harris wouldn’t believe a word of it.

  “You crack me up. But that’s a great angle, too. I’ve read a couple of those columns and I love it when they consult the psychic.”

  “I’ll pass your compliments along to Madame Tomeeka,” Tinkie said. “Now what can you tell us about the heavy equipment owners who might have dumped a load of cement in Bricey Presley’s car?”

  Debbie tapped a pencil on her desk. “I suspect it was a man named Colton Horn. He runs a foundation business, mostly fill dirt and cement for foundations, driveways, and pools. Occasionally sand deliveries. Nice guy. And easy on the eyes.”

  “If he’s the one who unloaded on that car, he destroyed some expensive property.” He didn’t sound very nice to me.

  “You don’t know what he was told, now do you?” Debbie asked. She had a “cat that ate the canary” grin. No matter what she said, she sounded like she was a wiseacre. It made me like her a bunch. And she had a point.

  “Do you know what he was told that convinced him to do that much property damage?”

  She nodded. “The owner of the car paid him to do it.”

  That was a stunner. “Bricey paid him?” Tinkie and I said together.

  “Yep.” She grinned wider, pleased with the shock she’d delivered. “Bricey Presley herself. She showed him the bill of sale that the car was hers and she paid him in cash to dump the cement in it. She said she wanted it crushed. Colton came to me when he first heard there was a furor over the incident.”

  “But why would she do that to her new car?” Tinkie and I chorused together.

  “Not certain about that,” Debbie said. “I’m digging into it, but Colton seemed to think she was getting even with someone.”

  “Even with herself?” Tinkie asked. “That makes no sense at all.”

  “Are you going to run this story?” I asked.

  Debbie frowned. “That’s tougher to decide than you might think. I know Colton. He’s pretty upset about this because Bricey is pretending that she wasn’t in on the dump. He said she’s threatening to sue him for the value of the car—she’s claiming she didn’t know anything about the load of cement. She’s hired a lawyer. Colton got a letter asking him to fork up the dough to replace the car.”

  “But he has a signed contract, right?” Tinkie asked.

  “Not exactly.” Debbie sighed. “Folks around here don’t always dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s. They operate on a handshake and a gentleman’s agreement.”

  Folks in Zinnia were sometimes the same. It wasn’t smart, but it was how deals were struck in small-town Mississippi. “What’s Mr. Horn going to do?”

  “Hire a lawyer. Try to defend himself. Bricey’s a cagey one. She hired him, paid in cash, never signed a contract or anything. Now it looks like he destroyed that car and is lying about why. And Bricey gets to play the victim, and it looks like she might get a new car on top of it.”

  “Where could we find Mr. Horn?” I asked.

  She gave us the address for his business on the outskirts of down. “He may not talk to you, but I’ll let him know you’re only looking for the truth.”

  “Thanks, that would be helpful.” I did appreciate Debbie’s help.

  Debbie picked up her notepad and pulled her glasses into place. She was ready to get to work. “Maybe I’ll see you later tonight at the flotilla. It’s going to be a lot of fun.”

  “Great. We’re looking forward to it,” I said. “I’ve heard it’s a very gala affair.”

  “Those boat owners have been decorating for over a week. It was a great competition for many years, until it was canceled back in the early 2000s.”

  I was suddenly very interested in a history lesson. “Was there a reason it was canceled?” I asked.

  Debbie shrugged one shoulder. “It takes a bunch of effort to keep all these events going. The Columbus downtown merchants manage to keep things going in town, but the flotilla involves a lot of work: someone has to coordinate the boats and make sure they’re decorated and in the proper order. Boating people sometimes like to tipple a bit, and boats and alcohol can be a dangerous combo. Darla had to get every boat captain to sign an oath not to drink.” She rolled her back and I heard several vertebrae snap. “And folks just get tired of putting in the time. It seemed like the same people were providing all the elbow grease every year. The younger folks weren’t stepping up to take on some of the work, so the flotilla was put on hold.”

  “But they’re bringing it back this year,” Tinkie pointed out.

  “Some new blood moved into town. Your hostess, Darla, has been instrumental in reviving the flotilla. It’s perfect for her, what with her B and B right on the river. She has a dock right there and her own boat. She knows the boat people, and they like and respond to her. You’re going to love it, and it’s great advertising for her!”

  I was looking forward to being in a boat on the water on a brisk pre-Christmas night with Coleman. There was something romantic about the gentle rocking of a boat, especially one decorated with Christmas lights and garlands. “I’m eager to experience it.”

  “Wait until you see the decorations. Folks go all out. Best to wear something warm, though,” she cautioned. “It gets cold on the water.”

  “Will do. Thanks for the tip, and also thanks for calling Mr. Horn and laying the groundwork for us.”

  “He’s a good guy in a tight spot. I hope you can clear him of any malicious intentions. And I’ll bet
he never takes another job like that without a signed contract and photo documentation.”

  I nodded as we left her office and headed back to the street.

  * * *

  Colton Horn was a good-looking man comfortable in his own skin. He nodded at both of us when we entered his office on the outskirts of town—a walk that was just long enough for Tinkie and me to develop a plan. It wasn’t exactly original. Per usual, she was the good cop and I was the bad cop.

  In contrast to Debbie’s office, Colton’s was spartan and immaculately clean. I literally could have eaten off the floor, it was so spic-and-span. The top of his desk had one folder, open in front of him.

  “Mr. Horn, did you fill the car in the parking lot at the Riverwalk with cement?” I started out bold and strong. That was what bad cops did.

  He leaned back in his chair and assessed us.

  “Don’t pay any attention to her,” Tinkie said, pointing at me. “She’s always a crank when she hasn’t had lunch. We’re just trying to get to the bottom of what’s going on in Columbus, and we heard a rumor that you’d been hornswoggled.”

  “I get that you’re PIs. Debbie said you were looking for the truth, but I’m not so sure about that.” Once burned, twice shy, as the old saying went. Colton Horn wasn’t going to trust anyone who just walked in off the street. “Who are you working for?”

  He was smarter than I’d hoped. “Doesn’t matter. You’re the one on the hook for a top-dollar car. We’re looking for information. What we find may help you, or it may not.” I moved closer and leaned in. “What person in his right mind would fill a new car with cement?”

  “The person who was hired to do that specific job and got paid to do it.” He looked down at his desk. “The person who is feeling more and more like a dupe and a fool.”

  At least he wasn’t going to pretend he was innocent.

  “Lord, Mr. Horn, that’s a wild story.” Tinkie was shaking her head in sorrowful sympathy. “I don’t know if a lot of people will believe you were hired and paid to do that by the very woman who owns the car. It would be better for you if you told us the truth about who is behind such an expensive bit of vandalism.”