A Garland of Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  “I’ll go around the hedge,” I told Darla. “I need a flashlight.”

  She hurried inside and returned with a small flashlight. Once we left the patio, the yard sloped gently to the bluff overlooking the river. While it was a large, well-maintained lawn, it was also inky dark. Away from the patio illumination, I couldn’t see what was in front of my face. I could run into a shrub or step in a hole and break my neck. The flashlight helped, but overhanging limbs caught in my hair and brushed my face. The big benefit of the flashlight was that I might be able to pick up the cat’s golden eyes.

  Tinkie, Cece, Jaytee, Harold, and Millie came out on the patio, braving the brisk wind that blew up off the river, to keep an eye out for the little cat. Darla was beside herself. Her agitation would send the cat running in the opposite direction. Cats were like that. They didn’t like any drama unless they created it. “Darla, maybe you could get some food to rattle for her.” I needed to get her away from the cat’s hiding place if I ever intended to get my hands on the kitty.

  “Of course,” she said, hurrying inside.

  I made it around the dense hedge that marked the parameters of the patio and walked toward the river. The drop-off on the bluff was very steep, and I didn’t believe the cat would attempt the zigzagging stairs that seemed to cling to the clay bank of the river in a very precarious way.

  I swung the beam of the flashlight from left to right, hoping to see the cat’s eyes. The skin along my arms prickled. I had the sense I was being watched. It was the same sensation I’d experienced before.

  Out on the street in front of the B and B, I heard yelling. I couldn’t be certain but it sounded like Coleman … and another man. An argument. I decided to give Gumbo one last try before I had to rush back to see what was going on with Coleman. I knelt down and aimed the flashlight into the thickest part of the hedge. Gumbo looked back at me.

  She was curled up in a piece of cloth tucked in the compost at the base of the hedge. I reached into the bush and grabbed the kitty. She was purring and didn’t offer any resistance. When I drew her out, she dragged what looked like a stocking cap with her.

  I tucked the kitty inside my costume and coat, calmed by the loud purr Gumbo made. She truly didn’t object to being captured, thank goodness. When I turned the flashlight on the hat, I couldn’t help gasping. It was a red hat with a snowman on it. Exactly like the hat Kathleen had been wearing on board the Tenn-Tom Queen. When she went over the side, she’d had that hat on.

  So how had it gotten under the hedge in Darla’s B and B lawn?

  With the cat tucked inside my clothes, I started back to the inn. Whatever hullabaloo that had started in the front had stopped. Now all was quiet. Darla was watching from the kitchen window. Relief touched her face when I brought Gumbo from inside my jacket. “Kitty safely returned.”

  “Thank you!” She hugged the cat to her. “I’ll be a lot more careful when I open any doors.”

  I held the cap back. I wanted to talk to Coleman first. My mind was going a thousand miles a minute and I couldn’t settle on an answer that explained how the hat had come to be where I’d found it. By all rights, it should be in the bottom of the river, along with Kathleen’s body. Yet it was here. In the hedge—exactly where I’d heard someone earlier. In the same vicinity where Coleman had been attacked.

  Either someone had stolen Kathleen’s hat and planted it there. Or … Kathleen was alive.

  27

  Tinkie followed me through the house, aware that I was keeping something from everyone.

  “Coleman and Jerry Goode got into it out on the street,” she said. “Goode must have given Coleman a ride over here from Clarissa’s house. Anyway, Goode was angry that we left the scene of the arrow shooting. He tried to take it out on Coleman, but he got an earful. So what are you hiding in the coat?”

  I’d done my best not to give away the fact I had something. “I’ll tell you outside. I need to talk to Coleman.”

  “He left with Goode.”

  “Voluntarily?”

  Tinkie laughed. “Yes, I guess so. I went out to talk to him and he was gone.” She grabbed my arm and moved me out to the porch. “Show me what you’ve got.”

  When the front door was closed behind us and I knew we had some privacy, I pulled the hat out and watched her expression go from confused to amazed to wary. “It’s Kathleen’s hat she was wearing when she went overboard. Where did you find it?”

  “In the shrubs.”

  “And no clue how it got there?”

  “None.” I shook my head for emphasis. “Last night I had a sense there was someone hiding out in those hedges, watching us. But I never saw anything concrete.”

  “So whoever was hiding in the hedges with Kathleen’s hat was likely the person who attacked Coleman last night?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking. That and a lot more. How did the hat get in Darla’s shrubs?”

  “And who knew to dress as Friar Tuck to get in the middle of our mumming?” Tinkie was both excited and a little angry. “Someone on the inside is involved in our case, someone who had a lot of access to this B and B. And I believe they’re the same person. Either Kathleen is very much alive or someone is working really hard to make us believe she is.”

  Tinkie pulled her phone from her pocket. “Dallas, we need a ride. We’re at the Bissonnette House.” She looked at me. “You’ve got five minutes to get out of that costume before someone thinks you’re celebrating the wrong holiday, like Halloween.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “To find Jerry Goode. And Coleman. We’re going to get some answers. Let me grab my Taser. Early Christmas present from Oscar.”

  Dang it. Tinkie was one step ahead of me in being properly armed. “You’re going to tase Coleman?”

  She laughed, a tinkling bell-like sound. “Not Coleman.”

  Which could mean that her focus was Jerry Goode or just about anyone else in town. It was going to be a long night.

  * * *

  We sent a text to Cece and Millie to let them know we were safe and sound and working on our case. They both responded back with whines and complaints that we’d left them behind. Now was the time, though, for action. Tinkie and I needed to carefully prepare for what lay in front of us.

  If Kathleen was alive, how had she managed to survive the fall into the river, especially with all the clothes she’d been wearing? The weight of the water, the temperature of it, which would throw her into hypothermia within minutes—how had she avoided all of that? Coleman had saved Clarissa only moments after she’d gone into the water, and the gossip among the EMTs was that another ten minutes and she might have been dead.

  Sitting in the back of Dallas’s vehicle, we discussed all of this.

  “Pardon me for butting in,” Dallas said, “but what if she had a wet suit on under all those clothes?”

  “You think Kathleen wore a wet suit because she intended to go overboard?”

  “Actually, I was thinking about Clarissa. What if she wanted to take Kathleen out and she came prepared? Clarissa is always writing opinion columns for the local newspaper about her scuba diving experiences. I hate to admit it, but she’s shared some pretty great photos.”

  A wet suit was an idea that hadn’t occurred to me. “Is there a place to rent wet suits?”

  “Yes, and I know the owner.” She made a sharp U-turn and headed in the opposite direction from where we’d been going. “I’ll give him a call.” Which she promptly did. In a moment, she’d convinced the scuba shop owner to meet us at his place of business. Fifteen minutes later, we were in the parking lot as he was pulling up. In a small town, people could get to their destination with great speed.

  Tinkie took one look around as we got out of the car, and I realized she was thinking exactly what I was thinking. This was kind of a seedy part of town. There was a booger light in the parking lot, but the bulb was broken. Only the moon, slipping between clouds, shed light on us, causing strange lunar shadows
. I could hear the sound of traffic in the distance, but at the Snorkel and Fin, the parking lot and surrounding area was almost empty.

  The man who got out of the car was tall and slender, and he motioned us to follow him. He opened the front door of the shop with his key and we all marched inside, including Dallas. “Thanks for opening for us, hon,” Dallas said to him. “These ladies need to know if someone rented a wet suit?”

  The man was about sixty, and he arched one eyebrow, inviting us to speak.

  “Did this woman rent any diving equipment from you?” I showed him a photo of Kathleen on my phone.

  He shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Are you sure?” Tinkie asked.

  “Absolutely. It’s winter. Not a lot of diving going on except for the search party looking for that drowned woman.”

  He was right about that. “Is there anywhere else someone might rent a diving suit?”

  Frowning, he considered my question. “Well, there are people with personal gear. Sometimes they get new equipment and dump off the old at Goodwill or a charity. Unless that’s what happened, they’d have to go to a bigger city.” He shook his head. “Or they could order online.”

  In other words, what had looked like a great lead was kaput.

  “Thanks for looking,” I said, about to put my phone away. I stopped. “Did any of these women buy diving equipment?” While I was there it just made sense to ask about the whole cheaters club.

  He flipped through the photos on my phone until he grinned and tapped the screen. “This one, she’s an avid diver. Goes down to Florida regularly and about twice a year dives off an island in the Caribbean.”

  I took the phone, expecting to see that he’d picked out Clarissa Olson, who’d already said she was a diver and had shown up at the search in her formfitting wet suit. To my surprise, the woman he’d pointed out was Tulla Tarbutton. I showed Tinkie, whose face lit up.

  “Where do folks around here dive?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Rivers are muddy. Only reason to dive there is to look for something lost. The pleasure divers go south to the Gulf waters.”

  We thanked the shop owner and headed back to Darla’s vehicle. “Clarissa and Tulla both dive.” I spoke softly to Tinkie.

  “Do you think Clarissa or Tulla may have found Kathleen’s cap and planted it back at the B and B?”

  “I don’t know what to think. Clarissa was scuba diving in the river during the search. She could have found the hat, brought it out, and left it in the hedge, maybe to lead people to believe Kathleen is still alive.” I clenched my fists in frustration. “I thought we were onto a solid lead, but now I’m not sure.”

  “Let’s ask Tulla about it.” Tinkie tapped Dallas on the shoulder as she was about to slide behind the wheel. “Do you know where Tulla Tarbutton lives?”

  “It happens that I do.”

  “Take us there,” Tinkie said.

  28

  To my surprise, Tulla lived in an apartment complex on the beltway off the bypass. I’d imagined she’d have a small house in one of the older residential areas, but she’d gone for sleek, modern, impersonal, and no lawn maintenance.

  Tinkie knocked on the door and then knocked again. She was antsy, and I wasn’t going to get between her and the door. She knocked a third time.

  “Calm down! I’m coming.” Tulla’s voice held annoyance. Good, now we were all aggravated. And it was only going to get worse for her when she opened the door.

  She stood in the doorway, feet apart. “You! What are you doing here?”

  “We came to talk about scuba diving,” I said as I pushed past her.

  “You two have done nothing but make my life a misery. I don’t know why Clarissa hired you, but—”

  “She thinks one of her friends is trying to kill her,” Tinkie cut in. “So we’re either your best friend or the posse on your tail. It all depends on your answers to my questions.” She sidestepped past Tulla and joined me in a living room completely devoid of any personality except for a sad ficus tree that was surrounded by a mountain of dead leaves. One fell as I was looking at it.

  “I’m calling security.” Tulla went to pick up her phone, but Tinkie struck first and swiped it.

  “Give me that.” Tulla’s cheeks flared with red spots of anger.

  “When we’re done.” Tulla didn’t know Tinkie, but had she known her, she would have been wary about that glint of blue steel in Tinkie’s wide eyes.

  “You can’t—”

  “I suggest you sit down and listen to our questions.” I pointed to an ugly armchair and she dropped into it. “Now, tell us about scuba diving. Have you been in the river since Kathleen went overboard?”

  Her mouth opened and her eyes blinked. “How did you know I liked to dive?”

  “We know a lot more than anyone suspects. When was the last time you went diving?” I asked.

  “It’s been almost five months. I didn’t make my Thanksgiving trip to the Caymans this year.”

  “Do you ever dive with Clarissa?”

  She looked away for a split second, just long enough for me to see the hurt rush over her face. “We used to dive together. Not anymore. Our schedules conflict.”

  “Did you hire Mr. Horn to dump cement in Bricey’s car?” A swift change of subject was sometimes a good tactic to throw a suspect off her stride.

  “I—I,” she sputtered.

  “We know you were wearing a wig that you also tried to plant on Kathleen.”

  She bit her bottom lip and tears welled in her eyes. “Okay, yes. Bricey just rubbed my nose in that car all the time. I slept with Bart Crenshaw, too, and all I got for my trouble was diamond earrings and a UTI.”

  “Oh, brother.” Tinkie flopped in the chair across from Tulla. “You destroyed a beautiful car because you felt you hadn’t gotten your due?”

  “I thought Bricey had it insured. I just wanted to hear her scream.” She looked at us both. “What fool would get a new Caddy like that and fail to take out an insurance policy? I only meant to inconvenience her.”

  “And defraud the insurance company,” I pointed out. “Not to mention putting Mr. Horn in a very precarious position.”

  “Oh, fiddle-dee-dee.” She tried to emulate Scarlett O’Hara and failed dismally. “Bricey won’t ever pursue this. Horn is too good-looking.”

  “Wrong. Horn is being sued. Did you know that?”

  Tulla rallied at last, trying to get out of the chair until I pointed a finger at her and she sat back down on the edge. “Bricey won’t sue that man,” she insisted. “She’ll get Bart to buy her another car and this will all blow over. Bricey and I are Bart’s past. He’ll do what’s necessary to quiet this down and then he’ll be on to a new woman. Or maybe he’ll take up with Clarissa again. I think she’s still got the itch. You should be working on something more serious, like how Sunny rigged the top step in Clarissa’s house. I don’t know if she was trying to kill Bart or Clarissa.”

  This was all news to me. “Who let Sunny into Clarissa’s house to tamper with the stairs?”

  “No one had to let Sunny do anything. She does exactly what she wants. Bart has a key to almost every house in our set. He’s sold everyone their homes. Sunny takes the keys and goes in houses any time she feels like it. Sometimes she just leaves something out of her cat’s litter box. Sometimes it’s a dead reptile. She put a dead snake in my mailbox. She thinks she’s so clever, but everyone knows it’s her.”

  “And people put up with it?” Tinkie asked, clearly finding it hard to believe.

  “It’s kind of amusing, don’t you think?”

  “No.” Tinkie put her hands on her hips and leaned forward. “Did Clarissa know Sunny was in and out of her home?”

  Tulla shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “And Sunny Crenshaw? Did she care that her husband was sleeping with others?” I asked.

  “Sunny’s got everything she wants. A handsome man who put a ring on it. He’s always there to squire h
er to social events. He serves his purpose. No one is complaining about any of it.”

  “You are pathetically jaded,” Tinkie said. “Haven’t you ever really cared about anyone in your whole life?”

  “Yeah, once. And it got me exactly nowhere except in a lot of pain.”

  Tinkie wanted to pursue this, but I shook my head. We had to stay on focus unless we wanted to spend another week in Columbus. But Tinkie ignored me. “Who did you love, Tulla?”

  She turned away and brushed at her cheeks. “Stay out of my business.”

  “Too late for that. We are all in your business. Someone tried to kill Clarissa tonight. If the archer had been a better shot, Clarissa would be dead. Next time it could be you.”

  The expression that crossed Tulla’s face told me a lot more than her words did. “You know who the archer is, don’t you?” I asked.

  She stood up. “I don’t have to talk to you.”

  “Tinkie, search her bedroom for that wig.” I watched closely for her reaction, and I got more than I’d ever hoped for.

  Panic streaked across her face before she regained her composure. “You can’t search my place. You don’t have a warrant.”

  “We aren’t the police,” I said. “We don’t need a warrant.”

  Tinkie took off toward a hallway that obviously led to the bed/bath area of the apartment.

  “You can’t do this.”

  “Watch us,” I said, standing so close to her that she couldn’t get out of the chair. I hoped Tinkie would hurry. If Tulla really objected and tried to evade me, I wasn’t going to slug her—no matter how much I wanted to.

  “Even if you find a wig, you can’t prove anything.” She glared at me.

  “Except that we were in Kathleen’s place filming everything you did when you paid your little visit. We saw you take the wig. You were stealing from a dead woman.”

  “Show me the video.” She tried to stand up, but I could see in her eyes this was a last-ditch attempt to save herself.

  “Coleman has it. He’s taking it to the police,” I bluffed. I gave it three beats. “Unless you’re willing to cooperate with me.” Blackmail was an ugly thing, but it was one of the very best tools in my PI kit. And I didn’t have a lot of time to squeeze Tulla.