Bonefire of the Vanities

by Carolyn Haines

  I had plenty to reveal to Tinkie and Marjorie, and I rushed toward the Periwinkle Suite. Amaryllis Dill came out of her room as I was passing.

  “Miss! Miss!” she said. “I want to schedule a massage and a facial in the spa.”

  I explained I was a private maid. “But I’ll be happy to stop by the spa and book your appointments. Is six o’clock good?”

  “Perfect. I can miss the cocktail hour. I just don’t have a thing to say to any of these people.” She fretted the sleeve of her blouse, and her eyes filled with unshed tears. “Have you seen anyone unusual around Heart’s Desire?”

  “Unusual how?” I could classify everyone there as unusual.

  “Like, um, dangerous.” She bit her lip. “I mean someone who doesn’t belong.”

  Amaryllis feared someone meant her harm.

  “I haven’t seen any strangers. Two country music songwriters arrived.” I frowned. “They didn’t seem dangerous.”

  “Oh, of course not.” She laughed, but it was more of an uneasy twitter. “I can be so silly sometimes. You know, overactive imagination. Being here, in this house with spirits walking about. It’s made me a nervous Nellie.”

  “Has someone threatened you?” I asked.

  She blinked back her tears. “I wish I knew. This man … I fell in love. He’s very powerful, and now, I don’t know what he’s capable of.” She sucked in air and straightened her shoulders. “And I’m acting like a fool. This house gets to me.”

  I didn’t find her statements amusing, but I knew better than to press her. “I know what you’re saying. I thought I saw a ghost down in the basement. Can you imagine that?”

  Amaryllis’s face dropped into real concern. “Was it a woman? Maybe five-six, a hundred twenty pounds. Pretty with brown hair and brown eyes?”

  “No, that wasn’t what I saw.”

  “I’ve been here three weeks and I still haven’t seen Linda—the ghost I need to communicate with. Sherry says she’s put out feelers and one of the spirits will locate her and tell her I need to speak with her.”

  “No doubt.” When Amaryllis talked, it was like an assault. She was either hyperactive or scared to the point of bouncing off the walls. I sensed it was the latter.

  “I have to know her wreck was an accident. The police ruled it accidental, but—I have to hear it from her.”

  “I don’t mean to pry,” I lied, “but why would you think otherwise? Was there something strange about the accident?”

  Oddly, the question calmed her. “I think there was.”

  “Such as?”

  “Linda wasn’t the kind of person to be out in a bad neighborhood at three in the morning. She grew up in D.C. She knew that was an awful part of town.”

  “Oh, my! Did anyone know why she was in the area?” I itched to ask solid, specific questions, but if I did, I’d scare Amaryllis away. I had to give this interview the feel of two friends exploring options.

  “No one could explain it.” Amaryllis trembled visibly.

  “So was Linda a friend of yours? Was she into something that would send her into a bad neighborhood?”

  “She was a straight arrow. By all accounts, she got out of bed, went to her car, and drove to the southeast area. Something happened. The police speculated it was an attempted carjacking. She sped away, lost control, and ran into an overpass support.” She teared up again. “She died at the accident scene. She was all alone.”

  “Was Linda married?”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks as she nodded, and I patted her on the arm in a clumsy attempt to comfort her. “Where was her husband?”

  “Asleep.” She swallowed, and her face screwed into misery. “In my bed.” Her sob echoed down the hallway. And perhaps I’d found Amaryllis’s link to power.

  I put an arm around her and assisted her into her room. The pale yellow room radiated luxury and comfort. “What do you think happened to Linda?” I asked her.

  “That’s why I’m here. I have to find out if her husband killed her. Lucas has a vile temper.”

  “If he was in bed with you, he couldn’t have killed his wife,” I pointed out.

  She looked stunned at my suggestion. “He’d never dirty his hands.” Her eyebrows drew together. “He’d hire a hit man to do it. And if he gets tired of me, he might kill me, too!” Fear crept over her features. “If he thinks I suspect him, he might kill me, anyway.”

  “Why are you with this man?” It was not the question that would yield a useful answer, but it was the first thing that popped out of my mouth.

  “Because I love him.”

  “You think he might kill you, but you still love him?” I didn’t comprehend this.

  “What if I’m wrong? What if I’m falsely accusing him, even in my own head? I have to speak with his wife. She’s the only person who can tell me whether her wreck was truly an accident or if something happened to make her wreck.”

  9

  Teatime was upon Marjorie, and when she asked us to get her a tray, it was the perfect opportunity to speak with my partner alone. I steered Tinkie to the alcove near the kitchen, where we had some privacy, and filled her in on everything Cece had gleaned and what Amaryllis told me.

  My partner had news of her own. While I’d been subterranean, she’d been in the penthouse suite—talking with Sherry.

  “I feel sorry for her,” Tinkie said.

  Tinkie’s compassion was easy to ignite. “Why?”

  “She’s not happy here. She wants to go back to New Orleans.”

  “She said so?”

  “She did. This whole Heart’s Desire scheme is Brandy’s, not hers. She said she’d be happy with a private practice in the French Quarter, giving readings or sessions for individuals.”

  I relayed what Cece suspected about Bert Steele.

  “She did sound like she missed someone.” Tinkie was a sucker for love. “She said she couldn’t abandon her mother, and without her talents, Heart’s Desire would fold. She feels an obligation to Brandy, but I sensed something more. It’s as if she’s a prisoner here.”

  “How did you get in to speak with her?”

  “I knocked.” Tinkie indicated she’d rather walk than sit on a garbage can. The heat index had to be 108, but we crossed the lawn to the edge of the woods, where at least a breeze could find us. “Sherry let me right in. She was eager to talk. I think she’s really lonely.”

  “Why hasn’t she been able to contact Mariam?” If Sherry was the real deal, was this a delaying tactic?

  “I asked her. There’s something not right. It’s possible Mariam is afraid to come forth and tell the truth for fear of the consequences. Sherry said a spirit might be reluctant to impart damaging information to a loved one.”

  “The assumption being that Chasley is guilty of murder.”

  Tinkie stopped beneath a sweet gum tree. “Yes. As crazy as it sounds, I believe Sherry has Marjorie’s best interests at heart.”

  I was not so generous. “Or else they’re keeping her here in the hopes of fleecing more money out of her.”

  “Brandy maybe, but not Sherry.” Tinkie spoke with confidence.

  “Sherry convinced you she’s a true medium?”

  “I can’t say for certain, but she made me believe she’s not doing this to scam Marjorie.”

  The same couldn’t be said for Brandy, and one thing Tinkie had ascertained was that Brandy held the reins at Heart’s Desire.

  “Let’s prepare Marjorie’s tea,” Tinkie suggested. “The longer we stay, the more demanding she gets.”

  Yumi gave us some special tea cakes she’d prepared and said nothing when I placed three cups on the tray. Tea wasn’t my personal favorite, but it was as close to coffee as I was going to get.

  Marjorie greeted us from the small table. “Come and sit with me,” she said. “What have you two been up to this afternoon?”

  I told her a little about Amaryllis, cautioning her to keep all information to herself.

  “I feel terrible for
her,” Marjorie said. “The idea that the man you love would kill someone just to be rid of her.” Color bloomed on her cheeks. “Of course, that’s what Chasley did.”

  “We don’t know that anyone was murdered,” Tinkie said, soothing her. “Don’t allow yourself to get worked up. Sarah Booth and I will get to the bottom of it.”

  I sincerely hoped my partner wasn’t promising we’d solve a thirty-year-old cold case that had never been viewed as suspicious. There wouldn’t be a shred of evidence regarding Mariam’s drowning in New Orleans. It hadn’t been investigated, and since it was ruled an accident, there would be no detailed police reports. We’d never be able to prove Chasley’s guilt or innocence—unless we figured out a way to make him confess.

  Our discussion was interrupted by a knock on the door. I opened it to find only emptiness.

  A low, commanding meow came from a carrier filled with a huge black cat. Otherwise the hallway was empty.

  “Pluto!” Marjorie cried. “It’s my precious baby.” She rushed to the doorway and pulled the carrier into the room. Startled by the sudden movement, the cat spat and growled. “Pluto, I’m so glad to see you.”

  Instead of delight at seeing his owner, the cat squatted in a far corner of the little kennel.

  “How did he get here?” Marjorie asked as she freed him. “Come on, baby boy. Why are you so upset?” She gently brought him out and cuddled him.

  I stepped into the hall. “Tammy! Where are you?”

  She came up the stairs. “Sorry. I had to check something out.”

  The hair on my arms stood at attention. “What did you see?” I whispered the question because I knew the answer.

  “Ooooh! Aren’t you the spooky one?” She grinned. “I didn’t really see anything. I had a sense someone was watching me, so I went to check. Probably a false alarm.”

  Marjorie was totally preoccupied with the cat. When Tinkie came out to hug Tammy, I closed the door so we could have a moment alone. “Tell me the truth. Was it a ghost?”

  Tammy laughed. “Not hardly. More like the reanimated dead. I think it was that awful butler, Palk. When he saw Pluto, I thought he might foam at the mouth. He had to get his mistress before he’d even let me in the house. Made me go around to the back door like a servant.”

  “To Palk, everyone is either a rich overlord or a serf. If you had any doubts about your station in life, now you know.” I led the way back into the suite.

  The cat sat on Marjorie’s chaise, looking around as if he disapproved of his surroundings. He was black as ink, a perfect contrast to the periwinkle and white of the room. Green eyes shifted to look up at me with an expression so purely calculating, I felt as if I were being examined by royalty—and found wanting.

  “Cocky little feline, isn’t he?” Tammy bent to stroke him and he arched his back and purred.

  “He’s like a … god.” The cat had more presence than a lot of Broadway actors I knew. I wondered if I should curtsy or possibly prostrate myself in his presence.

  “His name is appropriate. The god of the underworld,” Tammy said.

  Pluto gave a mighty meow and bumped Tammy’s hand.

  “Pluto!” She picked him up and gave him to Marjorie.

  “I’m so glad to see you.” Marjorie kissed his head and he tucked himself under her arm. Though some people viewed cats as unaffectionate, I knew better. Pluto proved my point of view—he was snuggling with his owner.

  “I have missed him so much.” Marjorie brushed a tear from her cheek. “It’s terrible to love a creature as much as I do Pluto.”

  “It certainly isn’t terrible.” Tinkie put her hands on her hips. “I have Chablis, and Sarah Booth has Sweetie Pie, Reveler, Miss Scrapiron, and a new horse named Lucifer.”

  Hearing Tinkie go down the list, I realized I’d acquired a lot of pets. Not intentionally, but often the best things in life happened haphazardly. At least I’d found a loving home for Roscoe with Harold.

  “Marjorie!” Tammy gave the older woman a hug. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine.” Holding her cat, Marjorie seemed happier than I’d seen her, but Pluto struggled to be free. At last she released him and the cat jumped onto the chaise. “He’s so independent.” She laughed at the cat’s antics.

  Tammy sat down by the cat and gently rubbed his head. “Pluto missed you like crazy. He would take your scarf and drag it around the house. He went to the chair you sat in and curled up with the scarf. That’s where he slept every night. I don’t think you should leave him again. He lacked for nothing at my house, except you. And you’re the thing that means the most to him.”

  “Oh, dear!” Marjorie was on the verge of crying. “I never meant to cause him to suffer.”

  “He really loves you,” Tammy said.

  “I’ve lost everyone who ever truly cared for me. Except him. I’m almost afraid to love him as I do.”

  “And he needs you,” Tinkie threw in.

  They were clearly bolstering the case for Marjorie to take care of herself and not give in to depression. Or thoughts of giving up.

  “Why don’t you leave this place, take Pluto, and go home?” Tammy suggested softly. “There’s nothing here to make your life a single bit better. The past is over and done. Step into the future.”

  If Marjorie would leave Heart’s Desire, Tinkie and I could also go home. From what I’d discovered about the Westins, they might be pulling the wool over the eyes of a few wealthy people with their ghostly tales and manipulations, but they were swindling willing victims. I saw no need to try to catch them in scams involving supernatural beings.

  “I want to go home,” Marjorie said. “I really do. But I can’t. I have to speak with Mariam. Then I’ll go home.”

  Tammy took Marjorie’s hands and held them firmly. “You have no proof Sherry can communicate with spirits. I believe if Mariam had something she wanted to tell you, she would have found a way before now.”

  Marjorie smiled. “You’re very kind. All of you. But I have to find the truth. I want to settle my affairs.”

  “You’re in excellent health,” Tinkie said. “There’s no rush on this. You have many years ahead of you.”

  “You’ve all made me see that I do want to live,” she said. “But I want to do something worthwhile with my money. If Chasley is innocent of—of any wrongdoing, I want him to be comfortable and never lack for anything. He is my son, and I know I’ve failed him in many ways. But if he’s guilty, I don’t want him to benefit from a penny.”

  We were back to square one. At least she wasn’t talking about dying in the immediate future.

  Marjorie paced across the room and faced us. “At lunch today, Sherry told me we’re going to try to contact Mariam again. And someone for Shimmer Addleson. Some long-dead relative who liked perfume. Sherry is confident we can make this connection.” When she saw the skepticism on Tammy’s face, she added, “I’m committed to this. Even if you think I’m a crazy old woman. I have to try.”

  “And we’re committed to helping you,” Tinkie said.

  I had to agree. There wasn’t another option open to me, though I was more than ready to beat it back to Zinnia. As long as Brandy and Sherry didn’t threaten Marjorie in any way, if she wanted to stay at Heart’s Desire and play with a Ouija board, who was I to tell her no? I had serious work to do on my relationship with Graf, though. I was ready to put Heart’s Desire behind me.

  “Sarah Booth, do you think you could tell the kitchen to make fresh tea for all of us?” Marjorie asked. “I want Madam Tomeeka to visit for a spell and I’m afraid we’ve let this pot grow cold.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “I’ll help,” Tinkie said. She was deliberately leaving Tammy and Marjorie alone to chat.

  We crossed the empty dining room and went to the kitchen. Just as I pushed the door open a crack, I heard voices raised in anger.

  “I’m on to you, you crazy communist bitch. You’re helpful and nice as long as people are around, but I know
you’re up to something. You keep on riding me like you do, I’m going to stomp a mudhole in your ass and walk it dry!”

  I peeked around the door and saw Amanda armed with two butcher knives. She was like some gunslinger—wide stance and weapons drawn. Yumi ducked behind the kitchen island, but she was far from vanquished. “You are sushi! I’ll serve your pink flesh in sticky rice. You are a crazy girl!”

  “I know a thing or two about dealing with crazy people,” Amanda said. “Keep pushing me, bitch, and I’ll tell Mrs. Westin everything I heard. I have the goods on you now. You’ll be on a fast boat to Gitmo.”

  “I’ll serve your tongue with horseradish and dill.” Yumi poked her head above the counter and then retreated. “You’re disposable. No one cares about you. No one will miss you when you’re gone. Third-rate chef, unpopular chubby high-school girl, throwaway. I know exactly who you are.”

  Tinkie pushed past me into the room. “Stop this instant! Yumi, that was cruel. Amanda, what’s gotten into you?”

  “She has weapons! Words are all I had.” Yumi wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “She frightened me with her threats.”

  “You’re a terrible person, Yumi.” Amanda put the knives on the counter. “Bad things are going to happen to you.”

  “And you are unemployed. You’re fired.” Yumi stood, brave now that Tink was in the room. Her smile was victorious.

  “You can’t fire me.” Amanda was almost breathless with anger. “Palk hired me.”

  “And he gave me complete control of the kitchen. You work at my whim. It isn’t a good idea to make threats against the person who employs you.”

  Yumi had collected herself and was cool as a cucumber while Amanda was bright pink with anger. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I intend to find out. I hope a swarm of cockroaches comes out tonight and carries you away.” Amanda slammed past us and out of the kitchen.

  “You heard her threats.” Yumi braced herself against the counter. “She’s spoiled and emotional. She needs to learn discipline.”

  “Sometimes people get tired of being mistreated.” I didn’t know what the fight was about, but I felt a duty to take up for Amanda. “There’s no excuse to bully and belittle people like that.”