Instead of hiding in the kitchen, I was at the front of the line when members of the audience came backstage to congratulate the cast. The rumors were all over town. Folks were painting me to be an egomaniacal killer, and I sure wasn’t going to act like I was afraid of the gossip. I shook hands and smiled, bold as a hungry harlot.
“Why, Sarah Booth, you were marvelous.” Betsy Gwen Collier, better known as Booter, grasped my fingertips in the sorority girl’s handshake. She smiled up at me. “I think it was well worth killing Renata to get a chance to show off your talent. I wonder, will they have theatrical performances in prison?”
I leaned down conspiratorially. “You have a booger hanging from your left nostril.” She rubbed furiously at her nose with the back of her hand as the line forced her forward.
Harold Erkwell, a former suitor and good friend, merely kissed my cheek as he passed. His eyes, normally an ice blue, told me that he was sorry for what I was going through. The line moved on.
The minutes dragged as I listened to the compliments and the snide remarks from my fellow townsfolk. At last I saw a chance to slip away. I made it out the side exit and into the night. I’d barely had time to think about the cigarettes I’d given up when the door opened.
Graf was silhouetted in the rectangle of light. He saw me and strode over. “You were even better tonight, Sarah Booth. Listen, when this show is over, I’m headed to Hollywood. I have a contract to do a movie with Paramount. It’s a marvelous script, and Renata had the female lead. It’s a perfect character for you.”
“Hollywood?” The offer was incredible. Actually more than I could take in. “You want me to go to Hollywood and be in a movie with you?” I wanted to be sure of what he was offering.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I want. We have something together, something special. As good as it is on stage, imagine what a camera could do—the intensity and close-ups.”
“That’s a sweet offer—”
“I’m not being sweet.” He grasped my hands and held them against his warm chest. “This is my big chance, Sarah Booth. Probably the last chance I’ll have to move from the stage to the silver screen. As much as I love Broadway the money is in movies. We could do this together. They were paying Renata a million dollars. You’re an unknown, but once they see you ...”
I didn’t hear any more. A million dollars. For a movie. Flash images danced through my head—the deed for Dahlia House in my hand, Dahlia House with a new coat of paint, a glistening white fence around Reveler’s paddock, a new Hermes Steinkraus saddle, money in my billfold.
“Sarah Booth!”
“What?” I returned to the moment with a crash. Graf had been steadily talking and I’d been in a dream world.
“As soon as the play ends, we need to fly to Hollywood and arrange a screen test for you.”
“You’re serious.” I was amazed.
“As a heart attack. This could be the biggest thing that’s ever happened to both of us. The chemistry we have together—if it translates to the screen, we could be Tracey and Hepburn. Imagine, a house on a cliff with the Pacific pounding below. A warm bed, our bodies together.” His palm cradled my cheek. “I’m in awe of you, Sarah Booth.”
“She won’t be going anywhere.” Coleman stepped out of the dark. “She’s charged with murder, and she can’t leave Sunflower County.”
“That sounds exactly like something a redneck sheriff would say,” Graf drawled. “Hell, I could have killed Renata. So could every member of the cast. Or how about Keith? He hated working with her with a dedicated passion. Ask any member of the crew. He’s threatened to kill her a thousand times. Or what about that makeup girl, Bobbe Renshaw? Renata cost her a great job in New York with ABC. Bobbe could have stayed in the city with her young son and husband. When Renata lied as one of Bobbe’s references and said the girl was a thief, ABC withdrew the job offer. If anyone had reason to kill Renata, it was Renshaw. And she had access to Renata’s makeup a lot more than Sarah Booth.”
In the dim light spilling from the open door, I could barely see Coleman’s expression. What I did see made me furious. “After all that’s happened between us, you seriously think I killed a woman.” I stepped up to him and slapped him hard across the face. “I loved you, Coleman. The only thing I’m guilty of is being the biggest fool in the state.”
I walked back into The Club, leaving both men in the night.
Jitty paced the kitchen, the full skirt of a green-sprigged dress swinging into the cabinets and chairs. I was transfixed by the size of her tiny waist, made evident by a dark green sash. “You really think Coleman will put you in the slammer?” Jitty asked.
I was worried. Coleman’s behavior had cut me to the bone. As bad as heartbreak might be, the possibility of going to jail was even worse. I’d eventually recover from a broken heart—I’d done it before—but thirty years in jail wasn’t something that time would mend.
“Sarah Booth, that man has been nothin’ but trouble.” She put her hand to her throat where an exquisite cameo rested in the hollow. “Then again, most men are trouble.”
She put her hands on her hips and stood to face me. “Out of all the men in Sunflower County, why did you settle on Coleman Peters?”
Now that was a question I’d asked myself a number of times. In the year I’d been home, I’d had more than one chance to have a good man, but Coleman had stolen my interest. Dahlia House and the land had been a stronger pull than Hamilton Garrett V and Paris. Part of it, though, had been Coleman. He’d been a married man, and even though I’d thought we could never be together, I hadn’t been able to completely forget him. Now that he was getting divorced, I’d allowed myself the fantasy of seeing a future together. More fool, me.
“Well, talking to you is like talking to a wall!” Jitty took a deep breath and her breasts almost spilled from the low-cut gown.
“I think that dress is only suitable for evening wear.” I scrutinized the cap sleeves that attached to the off-the-shoulder neckline. “It’s January, Jitty, and you look like you’re headed to a barbecue at Twelve Oaks on a hot summer day. I think you’re seasonally deluded.”
“Throwing insults at me won’t change the pickle you’ve gotten yourself in, Missy. And I am going to a barbecue. You forget, where I reside it can be any season, any year.”
“I thought we were going to stay out of the past.” I let my gaze sweep over her attire, hoping to taunt her. I didn’t want her to leave. Once she went, I’d be all alone with my thoughts, and they were exquisitely unpleasant.
“Throw a party, Sarah Booth. Have a barbecue.” She reached behind her and produced a picture hat. When she placed it on her head, I almost sighed at the vision she made. One eyebrow arched as she spoke. “Dahlia House was meant for parties.”
“Why should I have a party for people who think I’m a murderer?” The idea of trying to entertain people was enough to send me the rest of the way into a full-blown anxiety attack.
“The whole town is talkin’. Folks think you killed Renata. Think what Scarlett would do.”
“You’re right!” She was, in a twisted kind of way, brilliant. “Scarlett would rub their noses in it.” I had an inspiration. “Remember that candy lipstick Daddy used to buy for me! I haven’t seen any for years, but I’ll bet I can find it on eBay!”
Jitty’s smile told me I was on the right track.
“I’ll play it to the hilt.” The idea had taken on a life of its own. “I’ll invite the cast and crew. A strike party when the show closes. I’ll invite Coleman, too. And I’ll have candy lipstick as dessert.”
“That’s the spirit. Now make your guest list. I’ve got places to go and people to see.”
Jitty began to fade. As much as I wanted to keep her with me, I didn’t say anything. She had her own afterlife to live. I was stuck with mine.
Two A.M. found me sitting at my computer. Instead of sweet dreams of a film career, my mind had clung to the image of Coleman in the parking lot telling Graf that I could
n’t leave Sunflower County because I was a murderer. Or murderess, depending on a person’s semantic preference. I didn’t think it mattered to Coleman what gender tag he put on the word. Judging by his conduct, he really believed that I’d killed Renata.
I tried not to dwell on that and attempted to turn my mind down another trail by researching what I could find on Bobbe Renshaw. Graf had confided in me, even though he hadn’t yet told the authorities, that he’d seen Bobbe exiting Renata’s dressing room just before the intermission. And there was the dog urine in Renata’s wardrobe closet. Kristine was equally high on the list of potential killers. Now, though, I wanted to know Bobbe’s background.
After a few tries on different search engines, I found far more than I’d anticipated. Bobbe had graduated from UCLA with a degree in film history. Somehow, she changed the direction of her life and become involved with makeup.
A little more reading, and I found why she’d changed her interest. She’d dated the lead singer of a rock band, C-4, a group known for theatrics. In one song, “Reptile Boy,” Danny Joe Batson was attacked by a man in a mask carrying a chain saw. As blood spurted across the stage, Danny’s arm would fly into the audience. Then, in a miracle of healing, Danny would regenerate an arm and begin to play again. The makeup had been high-class and demanding. Bobbe had shown a talent for it.
Scanning through the photos of Bobbe with the band, I saw a different person. She was still the same tall, elegant girl, but in the photos she was smiling and hugging Danny Joe’s waist. In another photo she was holding the fake arm in her mouth like a dog. The fun was sick but infectious. In a final photograph, Bobbe and Danny were getting married. Bobbe was pregnant and in the bloom of health.
I compared the pictures on this Web site to the woman I’d met at The Club. Bobbe was still a beauty, but the smile had disappeared.
Bobbe’s bio carried her forward to the off-Broadway musical Stomp, and then she’d hooked up with Renata and followed her for the past two years. New York, Atlantic City, Reno, and Mississippi. The photographs depicting the travelogue showed a woman with more and more unhappiness in her face.
If Graf had been telling the truth about Renata blocking Bobbe’s job at ABC, then Bobbe had good cause to kill Renata. Danny Joe and C-4 were living in New York City. The job at ABC studios would have been much easier on Bobbe than being on the road.
Sighing, I turned the computer off. It was nearly four A.M. I had another performance at eight P.M., and if I didn’t get some sleep, I was liable to fall off the stage. Crawling under the covers, I let my hand drift down the side of the bed to rest on Sweetie Pie’s head. My hound was loyal and loving. She never let me down. Why couldn’t Coleman be that way?
I drifted into sleep where Coleman and I were standing at an altar. The minister held a Bible.
“Take the ring and place it on her finger,” the minister instructed. “Repeat after me. With this ring, I thee wed.”
But it wasn’t a ring Coleman pulled out of his suit jacket. He snapped the handcuffs around my wrists and turned to the minister.
“Marry her? Why would I marry her? I’m taking her to jail on a murder charge.”
I woke up with sweat beading my face and my heart racing. When I looked at the clock, it was just after six. I’d been asleep for little more than two hours.
It wasn’t enough, but I sure wasn’t going to try again after that nightmare. I got up and began to think about my day. I’d become my own worst enemy. Instead of being proactive, I was moping around, depressed, with my feelings hurt. What I had to do was begin to find the person who’d killed Renata. If Coleman was going to try to pin the murder on me, then I had to find the real killer.
And I had to do it soon.
I could feel everyone staring at me as I walked into Millie’s Café, Tinkie at my side. She slowed at a table where Booter and two friends had stopped eating their naked salads to stare at me.
“You’ve been to both performances of Cat, Booter.” Tinkie picked up a piece of spinach from Booter’s salad bowl and chomped it. “I didn’t realize you were such a culture vulture. When we were at Ole Miss, didn’t you flunk Art Appreciation?”
“I don’t recall.” Booter was unfazed. “What I remember about Ole Miss was how every fraternity boy in the school wanted to be my sweetheart. Compared to that, my memories of Art Appreciation dim a bit.” She batted eyelashes an inch long. “I guess being unpopular, you have completely different memories.”
Tinkie’s smile had something feline in it. “I know what you mean, Booter. When I heard the entire Ole Miss football team, including the B string, bragging about shaking your pom-poms, why, I just realized what a wallflower I was with only the president of the Greek system for my homecoming date. How I survived without having my name and phone number on the boys’ bathroom walls, I’ll never know.”
Tinkie selected the plumpest olive from Booter’s salad and popped it into her mouth. “I adore Greek salads, don’t you?” She took my elbow and steered me to the back table where Cece and Millie were waiting. I’d called a pow-wow of the smartest women in the state of Mississippi. During the sleepless night, I’d determined to fight back.
“Sarah Booth, could I have your autograph?” Cece held out a paper napkin. Beside her, Millie laughed out loud.
“Don’t look so glum, Sarah Booth.” Millie whipped out the National Enquirer. She was an avid fan of that rag and the Star. “Look! You’re a bona fide star! You’re on the cover!”
Indeed I was, in a clinch with Graf taken when we were onstage. Even though I knew it was a play, I was transfixed by the way we stared at each other. It was downright passionate—filled with love and longing and hate.
“You’re going to be a big star!” Millie got up and went to the counter for two more coffee cups and the pot. “Jimbo in the kitchen is fixing you up a piece of fresh apple pie, à la mode. My treat.”
My gaze had just found the headline above my picture, which read, “Graf and old flame suspected of murder.” Below that was a picture of Renata taken several years earlier. “Star dies of poisoning” was the headline for her photo. I almost missed the tiny picture of the shaggy red dog, but the headline caught my eye. “Giblet the Miracle Dog tells why Renata Trovaioli needed to die!”
Great, the dog was giving interviews. I turned to the page listed. Whatever the dog was saying expressed the sentiments of his owner. As far as I knew, no one had seriously looked at Kristine Rolofson as a possible killer. And God knows she had a motive. She’d devoted her life to making Renata pay for the hit-and-run of Giblet.
“I’ve already read that,” Millie said. “It was awful. Little Giblet was trotting down the street. He went every morning to the deli and picked up coffee and a Danish for his owner, Kristine.”
“I know you three are crazy about dogs, but really!” Cece wasn’t pulled in by the canine-interest story. “How did the dog pay for the coffee and Danish? I’ve been to New York, and I never saw a deli owner putting up with that.”
Millie rolled her eyes. “Kristine had an account at the deli. She paid by the month or week or whatever!” She turned back to me. “The little dog had just picked up the sack with the coffee and Danish and was headed back to Kristine’s apartment when Renata came flying down the street going at least ninety miles an hour.”
“There was a witness who clocked her speed?” Cece shook her head. “Sounds like—”
“Kristine herself was sitting on the steps of her building waiting on Giblet. But she wasn’t the only one. Another person saw Renata. She got the license plate of the car and actually reported it, but the police wouldn’t do a thing because Giblet was only a dog.”
“Only a dog,” I repeated.
“At any rate, Kristine saw the accident and was able to get Giblet to the vet immediately. After extensive surgery and much pain and suffering, Giblet was saved. When the police wouldn’t prosecute, Kristine went directly to Renata. The only thing she wanted was an apology. Renata slammed the door
in her face!”
Tinkie had been silently following the conversation. Her brow furrowed as she spoke. “There’s no doubt Renata was a heartless bitch. There’s no doubt she deserved to die. What we have to prove is that someone other than Sarah Booth killed her!”
A commotion at the front of the café caused all of us to stop talking and look up. I held a forkful of delicious apple pie in midair as I watched an extremely handsome man walk through the tables.
We weren’t the only people who’d stopped talking and eating. Booter rose slowly from her chair as if magnetically drawn in the wake of the man, who was making a beeline for our table.
His gaze swept over the occupants and settled on me. As he drew closer, I could see the tension in his face. Hazel eyes zeroed in on me as he advanced, and I had a sudden feeling that no matter how handsome the package, I wasn’t going to like what he had to deliver.
“Sarah Booth Delaney?” he asked, standing to his full height of over six feet.
“Yes.” I wasn’t about to back down to a stranger. “What can I do for you?”
“Go to prison for the rest of your life.” He spoke loud enough so that everyone in the café could hear. The place was completely quiet. Even Jimbo in the kitchen had stopped chopping things and was listening.
“What are you talking about?” I lowered the apple pie to the saucer.
“You killed my sister, and I’m here to see that Renata is avenged.” He looked around the café. “I want everyone here to know that this woman is a murderer. I’ll spend the rest of my life making certain that she pays for the heinous crime she committed.”
Chapter 7
Cece rose to her feet. I stood, too, sensing that I might need to restrain her. She was always ready to jump to my defense, but I didn’t want to see her arrested while defending my honor.
“I have one thing to say,” Cece said. She stood completely motionless.
Ham Bones Page 6
