A Garland of Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  I didn’t, but Tinkie did. “She mentioned Robin Hood.”

  Dallas nodded. “That’s a great one. Back in the day, almost all of the mumming companies were all male, so many of the stories focus on that kind of story. But Robin has Maid Marian. And my personal favorite, the Sheriff of Nottingham. I always like to play the villain.”

  This did bring up some interesting casting decisions, but Darla—or perhaps Tinkie—was in charge of that, not me. Thank goodness. I would be happy to play one of the Merry Men of Sherwood Forest. It was going to be a fun time.

  “Dallas, you hear a lot of things. What’s the score on Clarissa?”

  “Capable of anything. She can turn a house or property like no one you’ve ever met. Her listings don’t last for more than a week before the SOLD sign goes on them.”

  “She said Bart Crenshaw handled her real estate.” The image of him tumbling down the stairs came back to me.

  “He does, but Clarissa gets the listings. She scouts property around her and up toward Oxford. She has a reach into Tennessee and even Alabama. And she has her hooks in a lot of wealthy investors from out of state.”

  This was interesting to know. “Were there any rumors about her when she moved here from Oxford?”

  Dallas pulled to the curb in front of Rook’s Nest. “Look, there are plenty of rumors. Gossip was that she’d seduced an elderly man in Oxford and that she was his sole heir.”

  That was Johnny Bresland. I could fit that puzzle piece in.

  Dallas continued. “It’s how she got her nest egg to start really high dollar sales. Hence the name Rook’s Nest. She bought the house with some of her money and then bought her first property with the rest. She turned it in less than a week and made a handsome profit. She was on her way to wealth.”

  This was pretty much the same story we knew. “There was never talk she may have killed her elderly benefactor?” I asked.

  “He died in a hunting accident,” Tinkie added.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d pulled the trigger herself. Clarissa is ruthless, from every story about her I’ve ever heard.” Dallas had a call on her cell phone, but she ignored it.

  Someone at the front door of Rook’s Nest looked out. Tinkie and I had to get moving. “Thanks.” I paid the fare and we got out.

  “You need me to wait? Or maybe it would be better to call the ambulance before you go in.” She was teasing us, but there was concern in the features of her face, like she really thought Clarissa would harm us.

  “We’re good. I don’t know how long we’ll be, so it’s best you make some money. We’ll call when we’re done.”

  * * *

  Clarissa met us at the door with arched eyebrows. “Shouldn’t you be sleuthing or detecting or whatever it is you do to find out who’s playing dastardly tricks on the people of Columbus? I’ve paid you a lot of money and I don’t expect to see it used for making the rounds at teatime.”

  “Not exactly ‘the people of Columbus.’” Tinkie used air quotes. “But a few people in town who have earned a lot of hard feelings.”

  “I don’t even like tea” was my snarky contribution. Tinkie frowned at me. I was losing my razor wit.

  “What do you want?” Clarissa asked.

  “We have some questions.” Tinkie brushed past her and entered the house. I started to follow, but Clarissa barred the door. “I’m a little busy here.”

  “So are we. We’re working during our holiday for you.” I pushed the door open and stepped past her. The first thing I saw was a pair of shiny black shoes on the floor beside the sofa. Along with two wineglasses, one sporting red lipstick, and a blue shirt. A uniform shirt. Clarissa had bagged a boy in blue.

  Tinkie, too, had read the signs, including Clarissa’s frowzled hair, smeared makeup, and hastily tied dressing gown. “Sorry to interrupt,” I said. “Some coffee would be nice.” I hoped it might draw out her lover. I was curious.

  The hostess code of the South is pretty rigid, whether for a true Daddy’s Girl, one of the older DAR, a DAC, or even a garden clubber. Refreshments must be offered and served. No exceptions. I’d played the coffee card and Clarissa had no choice but to prepare and serve the java, with whatever pastry or morning treat she kept on hand. All society ladies always kept an assortment of tidbits in the pantry for just such a social emergency.

  “Have a seat in the parlor,” Clarissa said through gritted teeth.

  I hadn’t expected to have fun with this visit, but I’d been wrong. “I take my coffee black,” I sang out. “I don’t want to be any trouble.”

  Tinkie covered her laughter with her hand as we heard Clarissa bustling about in the kitchen. If she’d been a kettle, she would have been singing because stream was coming out of her ears.

  Instead of sitting, I walked around the parlor. During the Christmas pilgrimage party, I hadn’t really had a chance to look around the house. The decorations, which were fabulous, had captured all my visual interest.

  The house had great bones. The parlor was lovely, with a turret with stained-glass windows that cast a rainbow of light across a cozy breakfast nook, complete with a window seat that would be perfect for reading. The peach walls were complemented by fabulous floral draperies that puddled on the hardwood floors. The furniture, covered in floral silk, was both historic and comfortable. Clarissa had built herself something of a wonderful nest in the old house.

  Clarissa returned with a silver coffee service that looked freshly polished, which made me wonder where Clarissa’s household help might be. Milady didn’t strike me as someone who would perform her own polishing. Maybe she’d given the help the day off so she could continue her dalliance undisturbed. She wasn’t expecting me or Tinkie.

  “What is it you want?” she asked.

  “Why do you dislike Kathleen so much?” Tinkie asked the question.

  “What does it matter? She’s dead.” Clarissa poured the coffee with a steady hand.

  “Call it curiosity. Why?” Tinkie persisted.

  “She showed up in town expecting to be the toast of the city. She was too big for her britches, as the common people would say.”

  My hold on the fine china coffee cup tightened to the point I thought I might snap the delicate little handle off the cup. I put it down, though tossing the hot liquid on Clarissa was tempting. She was just so damn superior, and if there was anything that got under my skin, it was the attitude that one person was superior to another because of money.

  “She’s a beautiful woman,” I said. “Seems she would have been an asset to your social set.”

  “She didn’t have the … spine. She was a milquetoast. She made it clear she thought she was better than we were.”

  “Because she didn’t want to sleep with other people’s husbands?” It had to be said.

  “Because she judged others. On a superficial basis. She was … tedious. And that, Sarah Booth, is the most unforgivable of sins. You’re bordering on tedious.”

  “Heaven forbid.” I made an aghast face, and Tinkie laughed out loud.

  “Look, Clarissa, Sarah Booth and I don’t care what goes on between consenting adults. Have at it. But you’ve hired us to find the person responsible for dangerous actions. It seems to me that Kathleen’s being pushed overboard—or attempting to knock you into the river—might be considered the most dangerous action so far. You were almost drowned and Kathleen is still missing. Now we have to determine if you were the target or Kathleen. I don’t exactly see that as a tedious endeavor.” Tinkie put her untouched coffee cup on the small table in front of the sofa. “If you don’t want to cooperate, we can leave.”

  Clarissa sighed. “Look, the simple truth is that Kathleen wanted to run with the big dogs, but she couldn’t keep up. She was mired in old-school beliefs. She wanted all of us to abide by her views and values.”

  It was clear to me that Clarissa expected everyone to abide by her rules, while she had no intention of respecting anyone else’s rules. She was a perfect example o
f a narcissist, and a narcissist, as I’d learned the hard way, was capable of almost anything. A person suffering from this personality disorder could convince themselves that whatever they wanted or did was the right thing.

  “I think Tulla may be behind all of these attacks.” I didn’t really believe that, but I wanted to see Clarissa’s reaction. Which wasn’t what I expected.

  “Can you prove it? If so, have her arrested.”

  “I can’t prove it yet,” I said. “What I need from you is a reading of Tulla’s personality. Why would she take actions like this, even to the point of willingly shocking herself? I mean, that is the perfect explanation of how she was shocked and no one else.”

  “And how, exactly, do you explain Kathleen’s trying to drown me? Tulla had nothing to do with that,” Clarissa said. “Were it not for that very handsome sheriff you brought to town, I’d likely be dead.”

  “Keep it up and you will be,” Tinkie said just loud enough for me to hear.

  “Did Kathleen truly attack you, or did she lose her balance when the boat lurched?” This was the heart of what I wanted to hear.

  “I was leaning on the rail, watching the fireworks. I was staring out into the river. I don’t remember Kathleen or anyone else being nearby. When the boat lurched, I stumbled and hit the rail pretty hard. Before I could regain my balance, Kathleen came hurtling out of the darkness. She knocked me over the rail.”

  “It could have been an accident?” Tinkie asked.

  “Out of all the people on the boat, Kathleen grabs me and takes me over the side? Hardly an accident.”

  “You actually believe Kathleen wanted to drown you? At the risk of drowning herself?” Tinkie asked.

  Clarissa hesitated. “I believe she wanted to knock me into the river. I don’t know that drowning was her end goal.”

  “Once you hit the water, what happened?” I asked. “Did she cling on to you? Did she make any efforts to push you under the water?”

  Clarissa shook her head. “No. She let go of me before we hit the water.”

  “And you didn’t clutch on to her?” I asked.

  She gave me a dark smile. “You think I drowned her?”

  “Covering all bases,” I said. “That’s what you paid me to do.”

  “Look, Kathleen was a fly in the pudding. You don’t go all nuclear on a fly. She wasn’t worth the effort to kill her. That’s just a blunt fact.”

  Perhaps. But I no longer doubted that Clarissa was capable of eliminating whatever stood in the way of what she wanted. What, exactly, did she want? I didn’t believe she’d been truthful with me or Tinkie about why she hired us. It was far more likely that her intentions were to put the blame for all of this on someone else—someone whose fall from grace would benefit Clarissa.

  “Once Bricey and Bart parted ways, was the path clear for Tulla to go after Bart?”

  “Absolutely. Tulla never seemed to mind picking up where Bricey and I finished. Keep in mind that his wife, Sunny, was long done with him.”

  Oh, the cat was out to play now! “I’m sure the pool of eligible partners demands that the men be recycled. It is a small town, after all.”

  “Part of the fun is getting there first. We are competitive, as all animals are. And don’t look so put out. We are just animals, especially when it comes to sexual conquest. The survival of the fittest. It’s how the species improves.”

  “That is the craziest bull—” Tinkie sputtered before I cut in.

  “Suffice it to say, we don’t see eye to eye on this. But it’s neither here nor there to our case. So do you know if Tulla had made a play for Bart?” I was looking for a reason Kathleen would be interested in knocking Clarissa into the river—and then why Tulla might want to frame Kathleen for the dirty deed of destroying the car.

  “I don’t know. Ask Tulla.”

  “I doubt she’ll be as open about her … sexual proclivities as you are.”

  “Try her. You might be surprised.” Clarissa waved toward the door. “Now, you should leave. I have to finish my morning business.”

  I wanted to ask who her business was, but I didn’t. I had a better idea for that. “We’ll speak with Tulla. I hope she’ll be truthful. You might encourage her if you really want us to close this case.”

  “I can do that.” She led us to the door and opened it. “No car?” she asked.

  “Uber.” Tinkie held out her phone. “We’ll call one now.”

  “Good idea.” Clarissa couldn’t push us out of the house fast enough. She closed the door while Tinkie was still looking up Dallas Sweeney’s number.

  “Hold off on the Uber,” I said as I edged Tinkie across the porch and down the steps. When we hit the sidewalk, I urged her left. The tree-shaded street, so beautiful, was empty of traffic. The sidewalks had all been swept clean. This was a neighborhood of big houses, spacious lawns, established gardens, and a sense of the old South that made me realize how barren of character so many of the new subdivisions were.

  “Where are we going?” Tinkie asked when we’d covered half a block.

  “To that big shrub.”

  “For what?”

  “To hide in it. I want to see who pulls out of Clarissa’s house. Remember, there was someone in there. A cop, I believe.”

  “Right!” Tinkie was all in.

  We ducked into the thickness of a huge Indian hawthorn that provided plenty of cover. It wasn’t five minutes before a silver Mustang came out of Clarissa’s drive, moving far too fast for that neighborhood. Luck was with us—the driver came in our direction. The man behind the wheel was tall, broad-shouldered, and most of his face was hidden in shadow, but I clearly saw a Columbus city police officer’s hat on his head, the old Smokey variety of hat.

  “That looks like Jerry Goode!” Tinkie said, as shocked as I was.

  Indeed, it did appear to be the lawman who was suing Bricey Presley for the death of his grandmother. How in the world had he fallen into Clarissa’s clutches?

  22

  We needed to talk to Coleman about possible ways to get Goode to talk to us. I didn’t see that Tinkie and I had any leverage to make him spill the beans about his relationship with Clarissa. Perhaps Coleman had a solution.

  Dallas Sweeney answered the call for an Uber, and before long we were on the outskirts of Columbus headed to the Bissonnette House. “Dallas, what’s the story on Jerry Goode. He seems like a good guy. Is he a good police officer?” I asked.

  “Never heard anything hinky about him. Lost his grandmother at that Supporting Arms nursing home. There was something not right about that situation, but if I heard the details, I don’t remember.”

  “We checked the place out,” Tinkie said. “It looked well run. There was an issue with a private nurse.”

  “Right!” Dallas snapped her fingers and gave us a grin in the rearview mirror. “I remember. Sounded to me like he had a case against Bricey Presley.”

  “Is Jerry known to be a player in town?” I asked.

  “He’s dated above his station, as the elite class would say.” She was mocking them big-time.

  “Why would anyone in law enforcement get involved with a group of cheaters?” Tinkie asked. “I don’t much care what people do in the bedroom, as long as all parties involved know the score. But isn’t adultery illegal in Mississippi?”

  “It’s a crime.” I knew that from listening to my parents talk. My dad, a lawyer and judge, enjoyed discussing the law with my mother at the dinner table. I learned a lot just by listening. “And it’s also a cause for calculating alimony for the injured spouse.”

  “Now wait a minute,” Dallas said. “Sleeping with another consenting adult is a crime in this state?”

  “Sleeping with a married consenting adult.” I clarified the point of the law. “If you aren’t married, you’re just easy.” I gave her my smartass grin. “If you are married, then you’re breaking the law if you sleep with someone other than your spouse.”

  “Are you sure that’s still the l
aw?” Dallas asked.

  I had to smile. I wondered if she was worried about her conduct. “It’s the law, Dallas. Just steer clear of married men and you’ll be fine.”

  “Sometimes you don’t know they’re married,” Dallas pointed out.

  “In that case, I believe ignorance would be taken into consideration.” I didn’t know for absolute sure, but she looked way too worried.

  “That sounds a little better. It’s just too easy for someone to get tricked.”

  There was definitely a story behind that statement. Too bad we were pulling up in front of the B and B.

  “Will we see you during the mumming?” I asked Dallas.

  “Not me. I’m working. I like the idea of acting out an old familiar story, but it’s a matter of economics.”

  “Thanks, Dallas.” We hopped out and hurried inside.

  When we opened the front door I stopped so suddenly that Tinkie bumped into my back.

  “Move it along, Sarah Booth,” Tinkie grumped. She looked around me and froze.

  The entire parlor was strewn with colorful costumes. There was a monk’s robe, a chain mail outfit, a green jersey and tights with a bow and quiver, a gorgeous dress cut for a lady of the court, and plenty of foot soldiers and supporting cast characters.

  “Take your pick,” Darla said. She’d returned from her errands, and judging from the claw mark on her arm, I gathered she’d managed to get Gumbo the kitty into a carrier.

  “Any trouble with the cat?” I asked.

  “She was afraid of traveling, but I managed to get her here. Just until Kathleen returns.” She lifted her chin as if challenging me to say different.

  “Are you sure you’re up to this mumming thing?” I asked. “I know you’re upset.”

  “It’s better for me to keep busy.” She turned away and went to the beautiful gown. “This is for our Maid Marian. Care to help me cast the show? Since everyone really knows the story of Robin Hood and the Merry Men of Sherwood Forest, there can be a lot of ad libbing. The central part of the tableau is the fight between the Sheriff of Nottingham”—she gestured at the chain mail costume—“and our fair Robin.”