“Had Ms. Trovaioli not died so inopportunely, the audience would never have been treated to Ms. Delaney’s performance. Perhaps the Angel of Death is a better critic than any of us knew!” Cece wrote.
“Holy shit.” I sat down at the table and let Tinkie put the coffee on. She always made it too strong, but I needed a jolt of something.
“Holy shit is right. Cece just gave you the definitive motive for murder.” She turned the coffeemaker on and faced me. “Tell me one thing, Sarah Booth. You didn’t leave Coleman’s side all night, did you?”
Of course I had. Why would anything be simple like that? “I went to the bathroom. I went to the kitchen to count the bottles of champagne chilling. I took some gifts to Renata’s dressing room.” I shrugged. “Nothing criminal in those things.”
“Except it gives you opportunity. You have motive. Now if there’s means, you’ll have the three elements of murder.” Tinkie didn’t look happy.
“Coleman knows I didn’t harm Renata.”
The doorbell rang, and I hurried to answer it. Cece would be impossible to live with after her review, but I couldn’t wait to hug her. When I swung the door open, I stepped back in surprise. Coleman and Dewayne stood on my front porch, and neither of them looked happy.
“Tinkie just put some coffee on. Go in and have a cup.” I stepped back, aware that I was still in a pair of pink flannel pajama bottoms and a thermal shirt. “I’m going to run upstairs and change into some jeans.”
“Sarah Booth.” Coleman stepped into the house and grabbed my wrist. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Renata Trovaioli. Anything you say can be used against you ...” He continued with the Miranda warning as I stood speechless in my foyer.
“What in the hell is going on?” Tinkie rushed through the parlor and came to stand by my side. “Coleman, what on earth are you doing?”
“Dewayne, put Sarah Booth in the car.” Coleman stepped between Tinkie and me. “Stay out of this, Tinkie. Let justice take its course. The best thing you can do is call a good lawyer for Sarah Booth and then see a bail bondsman. I’ll speak to the judge and see if she won’t let Sarah Booth free on a small bail.”
“What are you talking about? Let Sarah Booth go!” Tinkie reached around him and grabbed my elbow. “Take those handcuffs off her this instant! Stop this foolishness, Coleman! This is the woman you love!”
Coleman removed Tinkie’s hand from my elbow. I was still too stunned to gather my wits. I was being dragged from my house in a pair of PJs and no shoes. The reality finally dawned on me and I applied my brakes. Dewayne looked at Coleman for guidance.
“I didn’t kill Renata.” I wanted to slap Coleman’s carefully controlled face for making me say such a thing. “Why would you think I did?”
Coleman’s expression was stony—the same as when I’d answered the door. “Renata Trovaioli was poisoned with cyanide.”
“Big deal. Where would I get cyanide, and how would I get her to take it? In case you’ve forgotten, Renata didn’t exactly like me. She wouldn’t eat poison just because I asked her to.” I could feel the heat rising through my body. I was madder than I’d ever been in my life. Mad and betrayed—a bad combination.
“The poison was administered in a tube of lipstick.” Coleman stared into my eyes as he spoke. “A tube of special lipstick that you picked up for Renata in Memphis.”
If Reveler had kicked me in the gut, I couldn’t have been more surprised. “Lipstick? There was poison in the lipstick?”
“Don’t say another word.” Tinkie slipped around Coleman and put her finger on my lips. “I’ll get a lawyer for you, and I’ll get the bail. Just don’t say another word, Sarah Booth.”
“But I didn’t—”
“I know, but it doesn’t matter. Do the smart thing and shut your mouth.”
I clamped my lips shut with an audible sound.
“At least let her change into some clothes,” Tinkie said. “This is absurd, Coleman. She isn’t going to run off. Let her wash her face and get properly dressed.”
He nodded and Dewayne unlocked the handcuffs. Tinkie took my elbow and guided me toward the stairs. “Take a quick shower,” she whispered. “They’ll wait, and you’ll feel better.”
Good hygiene was Tinkie’s answer to almost anything. In this case she was correct. I wanted a shower, clean clothes, and brushed teeth, because as clean as Coleman kept the jail, it still wasn’t a place I wanted to perform my morning ablutions in.
When I came down, dressed and scrubbed, Dewayne signaled for me to hold out my wrists. My gaze was locked with Coleman’s as Dewayne snapped the handcuffs shut. There was nothing Coleman could do that would ever make up for this moment. Nothing. He could have come alone and taken me back to jail without all this formality and fanfare. He could have told me he was sorry, that he knew I was innocent but that the law demanded a certain protocol. The route he’d chosen, though, was the most publicly humiliating for me.
When I stepped onto the porch I was met by a strobe flash from a camera. Gavin, the hairy-legged reporter with shoes that ate his socks, stood in my driveway with a camera. He popped off another shot before Coleman threatened him into running away. Still, it was too late. My fantastic review in this morning’s issue of the Dispatch would be replaced by a photograph of me being led to jail like a murderer.
Dewayne put his hand on the top of my head as he assisted me into the car. Gavin rushed up and took another shot. I thought for a minute that Coleman was going to strip the camera from his hand, but he did nothing. Nothing.
“I’ll be there soon,” Tinkie whispered through the back window that was opened a crack. “I’m calling Harry DeLa Bencher, the best criminal lawyer in Memphis. I’ll get the bail money, too.”
The reality of my plight hit hard. “Tinkie, I don’t have enough money for bail. Dahlia House is mortgaged to the hilt. There’s nothing valuable here. My car is an antique.” The only things of real value were Reveler and Sweetie Pie, and that made me realize I hadn’t seen my hound all morning.
“Find Sweetie!”
She nodded. “I’ll take good care of her and the horse. Don’t worry about a thing.”
That was easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one being dragged off to jail on a murder charge by the man to whom she’d given her heart.
Bitter irony is sitting in a cell talking to a defense lawyer with the last name DeLa Bencher. With each passing second I felt worry wrinkles take hold in my face.
“Your predicament is serious, Ms. Delaney.” He pushed horn-rimmed glasses up his patrician nose. His face didn’t have a single line or wrinkle. I couldn’t be certain if that was because he was young or because he was a sociopath with no conscience and therefore didn’t worry.
“It may look serious,” Tinkie said, pacing the corridor outside my cell, “but Sarah Booth is innocent. Surely you can prove that.”
“Innocence and guilt aren’t my concern.” Harry gave Tinkie a look of pure surprise. “Facts and evidence are what I need. Emotion never won a case.”
“I’d feel a lot better if you pretended to believe me.” The sound of keys jingling drew my attention to the door that separated the jail from the sheriff’s office. One last smidgen of hope that Coleman would come and unlock my cell still lived in my heart.
“A good lawyer never invests emotionally, Ms. Delaney. I can assist you best as an impartial advocate.”
“How much is this impartiality going to cost me?”
“Never you mind, Sarah Booth,” Tinkie spoke up. “Oscar and I are taking care of Mr. Bencher’s fee.”
For the moment. But that bill would come home to roost. Tinkie was my friend, not my protector. It wasn’t her responsibility to pay for my legal fees.
The sound of shouting came from the sheriff’s office. I could hear Coleman, but the other voice, male, I couldn’t identify.
When the door flew open and Keith Watley dramatically swept toward my cell, I knew exactly what had happened. The director had finall
y heard that his leading lady was in the slammer for murdering his prior leading lady. Keith was having rough luck in Zinnia.
“Sarah Booth, the provincials have gone insane!” Keith stuck his arms through the bars and waved them until I stood and let him hold my hand. “I have a rehearsal scheduled for three this afternoon, and that buffoon of a sheriff says he won’t release you until a bond hearing.”
“We’re working on it.” Tinkie stepped forward.
“What morons these people are!” Keith pulled my hand through the bars and brought it to his lips. “They are too dull to see talent when it shines in front of them.”
“They aren’t concerned with Sarah Booth’s acting ability,” Tinkie cut in. “They think she’s a murderer.”
“Rubbish! Sarah Booth is a gentlewoman. She’s dramatic, not homicidal.”
Tinkie rolled her eyes. “If she needs a character witness we’ll be sure and call you.”
Before I had a chance to pipe up, the jail door opened and Coleman stood silhouetted in the doorway. He held a paper in his hand as he came toward us. “This is a search warrant for Dahlia House and your car.” He handed it to Harry. Without another word, he turned and walked away. The door closed behind him, leaving silence.
“Well, he’s certainly acting like a total prick.” Tinkie’s face was pale.
“He’s acted like a jerk the entire time.” My heart was breaking, but I was too mad to show it.
“He’s acting like the law in Sunflower County,” Harry said. “No more and no less.”
“You can say that.” Tinkie pointed one manicured finger in his direction. “But he’s slept with Sarah Booth and he’s acting like a total pri—”
“I have not slept with Coleman.” My statement came out like metal on cement.
“You haven’t?” Tinkie was puzzled.
“I have not.” If Coleman was going to treat me like a killer, I didn’t want everyone to think he’d been privileged to taste my favors.
“Good.” Harry stacked his papers and stood. “It would be a conflict of interest.”
“Tell me about it,” I murmured.
“I’ll see you at the preliminary hearing.” Harry picked up his briefcase and yelled for someone to let him out of the cell.
With Tinkie and Oscar’s help, I bonded out by early afternoon. When I got to Dahlia House, Gordon Walters was just packing up his gear. Tinkie had driven me, and she confronted him.
“Well, I guess you didn’t find a single thing.” She put her hands on her tiny hips and tapped her foot, the chic leopard print going up and down like a big cat’s tail.
“You know I can’t talk to you about what we found.” Gordon was in a hurry to skedaddle.
“Then you did find something.” Tinkie moved so that she was between him and his patrol car.
“Tinkie, you know I can’t talk about that.”
“You’d better start talking. You know Sarah Booth didn’t hurt anyone.”
He cast a look at me as I stood on the front lawn. I felt violated. My home had been invaded and inspected by Coleman’s henchmen. Not even Coleman himself. He’d sent Gordon to do his dirty work.
“I have to go.” He started past Tinkie, but she wasn’t to be so easily thwarted. She grasped his arm.
“What did you find? We have to know.”
Gordon looked into her eyes, seemingly transfixed. “Nothing in the house. It was the car.”
We all swiveled to look at my roadster, parked by the side of the house. “What did you find?” Tinkie’s grip must have increased because Gordon looked down at her hand on his arm.
He sighed. “There’s some white powder in the trunk. Coleman sent some of the state poison experts over to check it out. Based on the smell, they seemed to think it was potassium cyanide.”
I felt the need to vomit. The sickness hit me hard and violently, and I staggered to the steps to sit down. “Poison?” I managed to ask.
“Cyanide is a poison. We found it in the trunk, Sarah Booth.” This time his gaze searched my face, trying to read guilt, I supposed.
“I never had any cyanide. I wouldn’t even know where to get it.” I forced myself to my feet. “You have to believe me, Gordon. I didn’t do this.”
“It sure stretches the imagination, Sarah Booth. But the evidence doesn’t lie. That’s why Coleman sent me over to do the search instead of coming himself. He didn’t want folks saying that he let his feelings for you taint the evidence.”
“Then he expected to find evidence.” That stung, and my already weakened gag reflex threatened again.
Gordon shook his head. “This is killin’ him, too. My advice is that you come up with a way to explain how that stuff got in your trunk.” His face brightened. “Maybe you were hauling pesticides or something. I don’t know much about poison but that might be the answer.”
“I haven’t hauled anything like that in my trunk.” I felt as if I’d been gutted.
“If Sarah Booth decided to kill Renata, she wouldn’t be so stupid as to leave traces of the poison in her car.” Tinkie put her hands on her hips. “This is absurd.”
“I’m not disagreeing, Tinkie. But you two had better come up with some good answers.” Gordon was as glum as I was.
Tinkie straightened to her full five-two height. “You can bet we’ll do that and more. Sarah Booth didn’t harm Renata or anyone else. She’s being framed! And we’re just the detectives to prove it!”
I held onto Tinkie’s bold words as I stood in the wings at The Club waiting for my cue to enter the stage. Tinkie had been kind enough to arrange a different dressing room for me—actually, Graf had swapped out with me. And he’d done his best to try to talk to me, but I avoided him and everyone else. Backstage, in the kitchen, in the ladies’ room, in the audience—the whispers were everywhere. Most people viewed Renata’s demise as a tragic misfortune. A few who’d met her on a personal level might think the great karmic wheel had crushed her by the weight of her own bad behavior. And then there were a handful of people who thought I’d really killed her for the chance to play Maggie.
“Don’t think about anything except the play.” Graf came up behind me and put his arms around me, hugging me back against him. “When we’re on the stage, the only reality is the role we’re playing. It has to be that way or it won’t work. Here is the only place you’re safe, Sarah Booth.”
What he said was true, and it was something I’d just learned the night before, when I’d first replaced Renata. As soon as I walked onto the stage, I’d forgotten everything but the challenge of bringing Maggie the Cat to life. All of my worries, concerns, and grief had fallen away, leaving only the art of creating a whole new person by action and voice. It had been all consuming, and I lusted to feel it again.
“I’m ready, Graf.” I eased from his arms. Tinkie had tried to convince me not to perform. She said if I didn’t take the stage, there was no motive for me to kill Renata. Maybe she was right, but I wasn’t giving this opportunity up, not even to prove myself innocent. I knew I hadn’t done anything. Why should I give up the chance of a lifetime?
Graf’s fingers laced through mine. “I’m going to help you prove you’re innocent.” He brought my hand to his lips and kissed lightly above my knuckles.
His words were balm on an ego left scorched by Coleman’s lack of belief in me. “Thank you, Graf. I don’t know what you can do.”
“I have my own suspect.” His lips grazed the sensitive curve of my ear. “Kristine Rolofson. I think she’s been working up to killing Renata for a long time. She realized the play would close after this week, and she found a way to kill Renata.”
“In revenge over hitting her dog?” I loved Sweetie Pie, but poisoning a person was a serious crime.
“I think so.” He stepped closer so that I could smell his mysterious aftershave. “Even better, I have evidence.”
“Evidence?” This was much better.
“After the police left Renata’s dressing room, I found dog piss on the
floor of her closet.”
“Wow.” I was completely underwhelmed.
“And I have a witness who saw Kristine slip into the dressing room during the first act.” His smile told me he knew this was much better information.
“You really have a witness?” Oh, let it be true. That would be something incontrovertible. Coleman couldn’t shrug it off. Someone else was in Renata’s dressing room other than me.
“I do. And I’m going to make sure she goes to the sheriff’s office to make a statement. She’s a bit reluctant right now—doesn’t want the focus to shift to her. But I’ll talk to her.”
“Thank you, Graf.” From that heartfelt moment, it was easy enough to raise my face for the kiss he offered. It was so fast, and so natural. Graf believed in me and knew I’d never hurt another person. When his lips demanded a deeper kiss, I yielded. I closed my eyes and kissed him back, shutting out all thoughts of Coleman and the pain that followed close on the heels of his name.
A throat cleared behind us, and I slowly came to my senses. Keith wouldn’t really care that Graf was kissing me. The tension would add another level to our performance, and Keith was smart enough to know that.
The clearing noise came again, and I eased out of Graf’s arms to turn and face Coleman. He stood not three feet away, his face flushed and his eyes cold.
“I came to wish you good luck, Sarah Booth. I missed your performance last night so I thought I’d catch it tonight. Somehow, though, this wasn’t the show I expected.”
He disappeared into the darkness of the backstage area.
I’d hurt him, but I didn’t feel a bit better. Not about him or about myself.
“Places everyone!” Keith bustled over to us. “The curtain goes up in fifteen seconds!”
Chapter 6
The applause was deafening. Graf held my hand as we took our bows. If Coleman was in the audience, I’d missed him in the few quick glances I was able to take. Good enough, then. He’d charged me with murder and then got huffy when he found me kissing a man who believed I was innocent. If he couldn’t figure that one out, he was hopeless.
Ham Bones Page 5
