A Garland of Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  “No records of school or anything?”

  “None.”

  “Driver’s license?”

  “She was issued one here three years ago. She passed the test, which means she took it without transferring a license from somewhere else. I can’t run the background checks we can at home, because Darla doesn’t have the software.”

  “And we can’t ask Coleman to do it for us.” I arched one eyebrow. “Can we?”

  “No, we can’t,” Tinkie said. “Unless we pretend Darla asked us to find the information so she can write Kathleen’s obituary.”

  Oh, Tinkie was bad! The best kind of bad.

  “In fact,” Tinkie said, “we can call DeWayne or Budgie to do this for us without involving Coleman.”

  “You can do that.” I wasn’t about to cross that line with Coleman. He was easygoing, but that was a bridge too far.

  “Okay.” Tinkie pulled out her cell phone and placed the call to Zinnia. DeWayne answered, and she put in our request, asking if there were any police records for Kathleen Beesley.

  “How are the critters?” I asked in the background, trying to sound normal, to act as I would act if I weren’t deceiving Coleman.

  “Everyone is good. Pluto is really, really miffed at you. Sweetie Pie likes fried chicken tenders. Miss Scrapiron let me ride her without any quibbles. All is good.”

  “That warms my heart. If you make my dog fat, I’m going to come after you.”

  “Sweetie Pie will always be svelte, and she will be glad to see you tomorrow. I’ll get after this info as soon as I finish up the paperwork on an armed robbery at the vape shop. Tell Coleman no one was hurt and I’ll be following a lead as soon as I hang up. Budgie’s got my back.”

  “I’ll tell him.” I was disappointed DeWayne couldn’t drop everything and look up the information I needed, but stopping local crime had to come before helping out a couple of private dicks.

  I hung up. “I wonder who would know more about Kathleen’s history?”

  “No one who is going to help us,” Tinkie wisely said. “Did you give Darla Kathleen’s journal?”

  “No.” I still had it. I’d leafed through it, but it was poetry, scribblings of emotions and thoughts, even a couple of grocery lists. Nothing in it seemed useful.

  “Maybe there’s a clue in there.”

  I hated trying to decipher cryptic clues, but Tinkie was rather good at it. “We’ve got an hour before we have to be downtown for the parade. Let’s give it a try.”

  I got the journal that I’d taken from Kathleen’s house and we began going through it. I’d started, originally, at the back, thinking the more recent entries might give us more information. This time we started at the front, wondering if we could find a clue to Kathleen’s past.

  “Look at this reference to what has to be suicide. Like she intended to go overboard into the water,” Tinkie said. “‘The river pulls the flow of goods from the north down to New Orleans, a city born in a crescent of river. We are water born. The river is my mother. Now that I am orphaned, I return to her sweet embrace.’”

  “You think she meant to drown herself?” I flipped through a few pages. “That was three years ago.”

  Tinkie shrugged. “It could mean anything. It could be part of a poem that was never finished.” She flipped through a few more pages.

  “This one is dated January three years ago. ‘The lioness, betrayed and beaten, has been killed, yet no one takes notice. A mother is gone without even a whimper of justice. Before she is through, C. will kill the lion. It is her nature. I wonder how she’ll accomplish it.’”

  One page over. “‘Soon the cycle of life—and death—will continue. The huntress will arise from the stars. All sins finally come home to roost.’”

  It struck me then. “Aurora Bresland was killed in January. Her husband died the next month while hunting deer. That’s the lioness and the lion. And Artemis is the goddess of the hunt. I just can’t figure out what any of this means.”

  Tinkie tapped the page with her finger. “It fits, yes, and we considered the idea that Clarissa had killed both Breslands to inherit. But what is this to Kathleen? As far as we know she doesn’t have any connection to Oxford or the Breslands.”

  I pointed out the use of the word mother in the earlier passage. “Could that be the connection? Are Kathleen and Darla somehow related, maybe to the Breslands?”

  “That’s just it. We don’t know. But we don’t really know anything about Kathleen Beesley. According to what we can find out, she didn’t exist up until a few years ago.”

  “About the same time that Aurora and Johnny Bresland died so unexpectedly.”

  I still had the number of Deputy Len Ford of Tippah County in my phone. I made the call, even though it was the Saturday before Christmas. He answered with a warm hello. “I’m on my way over to Columbus,” he said. “Please tell Millie I’ll see her at the parade.”

  Well, okay then—now that we had Millie’s personal business out of the way. “Deputy, when you were investigating Johnny Bresland’s shooting death, did he have any relatives? Any at all?”

  “He had none.”

  I admired that he didn’t ask why. “Did Aurora have any relatives?”

  “Aurora Bresland had been married previously. When she was very young. I believe there was a child that was put up for adoption.”

  “Did you look for her?”

  “Remember, I didn’t investigate Aurora’s death, but I did talk to the deputy who did. The woman who inherited, Clarissa Olson, said that the Breslands had severed all ties with the child. There was nothing for her in Aurora’s will, no way to find her or contact her. No information about the adoption agency—that’s what the Lafayette County sheriff’s office told me. I did interview Clarissa Olson, and she said it was a past better left buried,” he said. “To be honest, it always kind of nagged at me, but a lot of people who put children up for adoption never want to look back.”

  He was correct about that. “Did anyone ever say the name of the child?”

  “I don’t know if they knew it. Ms. Olson said it was a part of Mrs. Bresland’s past that was never mentioned. It brought great distress to her.”

  “Did you happen to know Aurora’s first husband’s name?”

  “I’m sorry. If it was ever mentioned, it didn’t stick with me.”

  “Deputy Ford, I need a big favor. I need you to call Deeter Odom, the chancery clerk in Oxford, Mississippi. I need the marriage license information for Mr. and Mrs. Bresland. I need Aurora’s legal name on the license. And I need it today.”

  “I’ll make the call, but I can’t guarantee Odom will cooperate. It’s the Saturday before Christmas.”

  “It can’t wait until Monday. Seriously, someone may die here today.” I wasn’t laying it on thick. Death was an imminent possibility, especially if Clarissa Olson intended to lead the parade standing on the back of a convertible and prancing around like a drum majorette. She would be a standing duck.

  “I’ll see if I can rouse Mr. Odom,” Deputy Ford said. “Just tell Millie she’s going to owe me a free lunch when I make it over to Zinnia.”

  “The lunch is on Delaney Detective Agency,” I said. “Thank you.”

  Tinkie had a question for me when I hung up the phone. “Are you going to call Clarissa and warn her about the danger?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m not.” I gave it a beat. “You can do that since you thought of it. But she won’t take your call, I’ll bet. I’ll call Officer Goode and let him know Darla has disappeared. I don’t want to involve law officers, but now we have to.”

  There was the sound of a door closing. “Someone should have told me I disappeared.” Darla stepped into her small office.

  “Thank goodness you’re okay.” Tinkie rushed to hug her. “We’ve been worried, Darla.”

  “I had to meet a friend at the River Moon Café. Is something wrong?”

  “You had some guests show up.” I told her about the honeymooning
couple.

  “Oh, dear, they weren’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow, after you left to return home. They were my last booking for a few weeks.”

  “Darla have you been down to your boat lately?”

  “No, why? The repair guys from upriver were supposed to come down and tow the Tenn-Tom Queen back to their business. They need to dry-dock her to see to the propeller repairs and make sure there’s no damage to the hull.”

  “Did they determine what happened to the boat?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “I hit something submerged in the river. It was an accident.” She frowned. “Why are you so interested in the boat?”

  “Someone has been living on the Tenn-Tom Queen.”

  “No.” Her fists clenched at her sides. “No. That’s not right.”

  “I’m sorry, but Tinkie and I were down at the dock and someone ran into us as they were departing the boat. They’d obviously been living there. Dirty dishes, bed used.” I tried to limit the details yet paint the proper picture.

  “Who’s been living there?” Darla went into the kitchen, and I could hear her running water, but we could still carry on a conversation. Tinkie looked at me and mimed Show her the note? I shook my head.

  “We didn’t get a good look,” Tinkie said. “They were desperate not to be caught.” She hesitated. “We thought it might be—”

  “Probably a young person,” I said. “Someone who found shelter and just took advantage.” I truly didn’t want to bring up Kathleen’s name. Now that Darla was safely home—and hadn’t been colluding with Kathleen—maybe it was best to let that sleeping dog lie. At least for the moment. Until we found out more about Kathleen.

  “Are you going to the parade tonight?” Tinkie asked Darla.

  “I had planned to, but I guess I’ll find a place for those two new guests. I honestly don’t know how the date got mixed up, but since they’re here, the details don’t really matter, do they?”

  “Darla, how did you meet Kathleen?”

  Darla came out of the kitchen with a tray of coffee for us. “I met her at the farmer’s market maybe three years ago. She’d just moved to town, and we started talking over some homegrown tomatoes. I’d just bought the Bissonnette House and renovations were under way. Kathleen had some experience as a caterer, and I hired her on the spot to help me when I opened. From there, we became friends. She didn’t want to work for me, but she liked helping me.”

  “How did she make a living?” I asked.

  “She’d retired as a hedge fund manager. She did pretty well, meaning she had income and never seemed to lack for anything she wanted. Bought her house and a new Lexus. She seemed so happy.”

  “Except for being a little lonely,” Tinkie said softly.

  “I didn’t see that. Those awful swingers seemed to think she had a crush on Bart Crenshaw, but I don’t think so. Kathleen just wanted to be seen. To be truly seen. To be valued. That is the one thing Clarissa and her brood can’t give. They can’t acknowledge someone who is just kind. It terrifies them.”

  “Just be careful tonight,” Tinkie said. “After the arrow incident on mumming night, use extra caution. Any idea who would have a reason to kill Clarissa?”

  “I honestly don’t.”

  “If the arrow was meant for someone else, any suggestion who that might be?”

  “I’d guess Tulla Tarbutton, but it could have been Bricey or even Sunny. Maybe Bart. Who knows? It doesn’t take much these days for someone to foster a grudge. Any leads?” Darla asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “If I find out anything, I’ll let you know.”

  “If you find out who it is, I’ll pay for their archery lessons.” She forced a smile. “Now you two better get your coats and head down to the tourism center. Dress warmly.”

  “Will do.” We grabbed coats, mufflers, gloves, and hats. It wasn’t bitter, but it was plenty cold. We’d meet the men at the tourism center and then find a good place along the parade route to watch. This was the last event of our Christmas vacation. We’d be back in Zinnia shortly after lunch the next day. And I would be glad.

  33

  Night had fallen as the parade began to line up. The tourism center was closed, so there was no touring the birthplace of Tennessee Williams. But some wiseacre down the street was bellowing “Stella! Stella!” as an homage to Williams’s brilliant Streetcar Named Desire.

  “Where are our men?” Cece asked. She and Millie had found us with ease. The four of us were huddled in a clump at the head of the parade. It would take another thirty minutes for the line of floats, pickup trucks, marching bands, and the fire truck holding Santa and Mrs. Claus to organize into a line. At the very front was a convertible with Clarissa Olson, dressed as a sexy elf, standing in the back seat. She was ordering people around, per usual.

  “Clarissa, you should rethink this,” I said. “Someone is out to kill you.”

  “Piddle posh. Let them try.”

  She was either stubborn or stupid or both, and I was tired. “Okay. We’ve been paid and you’ve been warned. Now it’s on you.”

  “Sarah Booth!” Coleman was coming straight at me, along with Oscar, Jaytee, and Harold. Each man was holding a black cloth in his hand. “Come with us.”

  Coleman didn’t give me a chance to refuse. He tied the black bandanna around my eyes and hustled me down the street. Behind me I could hear Tinkie, Millie, and Cece complaining about not being able to see.

  We stopped, and Coleman removed the blindfold. I couldn’t believe what was in front of me. It was a float, a grand float covered in blinking lights, poinsettias, a big decorated Christmas tree, and four rocking chairs around a fake fireplace. It was the perfect Christmas scene with a big sign: THE ZINNIA QUEEN BEES DO CHRISTMAS RIGHT. Beside each chair was a huge box of beads, Christmas decorations, trinkets, and candy for us to toss.

  “All aboard,” Oscar said as he handed Tinkie up onto the float. “Ladies, Merry Christmas!”

  “This is what you’ve been doing all this week? Building a float?” Cece gave Jaytee a huge kiss right in front of everyone. People in the crowd applauded.

  “There’s even a microphone for Cece to sing,” Jaytee said when he could talk. “I’ll be up there to play the harmonica for her.”

  “Don’t let Sarah Booth near that microphone,” Coleman said as he swung me up onto the platform.

  “Very funny.” I had no intention of singing anyway. I was already calculating that the float was the perfect vantage point to watch the crowd for any would-be archers. Clarissa in her convertible was only one marching band ahead of our float. I looked around the float at all the great decorating and hard work the men had done. It was phenomenal. I leaned down to whisper in Coleman’s ear. “Thank you. This is the best Christmas present ever.”

  “Better than Ireland?”

  “Different better. You do have a knack for giving great gifts.”

  “Do I get a present tonight?” he asked wickedly.

  “Santa will just have to see about that.” I kissed his cheek.

  “Line up, line up. We’re starting to move.” The man organizing the parade came by with a bullhorn trying to get the unruly participants into shape.

  Luckily the four Zinnia Queens were seated in the rockers when the float lurched forward, and then we were off. The men had gone to find a good location on the street to watch the parade. Their work was done! Now it was up to us to fling the trinkets and candy and celebrate the Christmas season.

  We’d made it a half-dozen blocks when the band in front of us began to play “Rocking Around the Christmas Tree” and Clarissa stepped onto the back of the car to dance. She had exceptional balance. I had to give her that. And she was also dumber than a rock. She was a perfect target if anyone cared to shoot an arrow, or something more deadly, at her. With a shotgun, the assailant didn’t even need great aim.

  Tinkie, Millie, and Cece were having a blast hurling prizes at the crowd, who seemed to really love our float. And when Jaytee ste
pped forward and began to blow the harmonica and Cece picked up the song, the crowd was riveted. A group of young people who knew the song followed behind, singing the chorus. It was wonderful and crazy and thrilling. I looked at my friends, and they were glowing with happiness. In each one, I could see the child that had always believed in Christmas miracles. This float and the parade and just the sheer insanity of the surprise our men had sprung on us made this a Christmas to remember.

  Up ahead, the band switched to “Frosty the Snowman” and Clarissa was going to town shaking her booty. I tossed a handful of red and green necklaces to the crowd as I watched her gyrate. She did have a body to be proud of.

  I saw her stumble at the same time I heard a scream in the crowd. Clarissa staggered on top of the car as the crowd hushed for a split second before it roared back to life and several people ran forward to catch Clarissa before she hit the pavement.

  I couldn’t see what had happened and I hadn’t heard a shot. The parade ground to a halt, and Coleman and Officer Goode rushed to the car where Clarissa had been dancing. Coleman turned back to face me as sirens began to wail and the throng of Christmas celebrants dispersed in all directions.

  “What happened?” I asked Coleman when he was close enough to hear me.

  “Clarissa was shot.”

  “Gunshot?”

  He shook his head. “Arrow. Exactly like the one the other night. Not fatal, but she was hit in her gut.”

  Up at the lead car, Tulla Tarbutton had rushed to help Clarissa. Too late I saw movement across from the car. A woman stepped out from behind a tree and aimed a crossbow.

  “Tulla!” I screamed. She stood frozen like a deer as the arrow buried itself in her shoulder. People everywhere began to scatter. I stood, mouth agape. I knew who the shooter was. Kathleen Beesley. I’d seen her clearly before she’d faded back into the crowd.

  “Sarah Booth!”

  Someone was calling my name from the opposite side of the road. Cece had jumped off the float and was photographing the mayhem. Millie and Tinkie were huddled together in fierce conversation.