Ham Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  “If I left here, would you ... disappear?” Die wasn’t exactly a word I could make myself say.

  “I honestly don’t know.” She was stiller than I’d ever seen her, a black figure hovering at the edge of the rug.

  “Coleman has broken my heart,” I confessed.

  She nodded. “Some folks can see a train wreck comin’, Sarah Booth. Others have to wait for the steam, crash, and broken bones.”

  I would fall into that category. Jitty had warned me about Coleman. So had Tinkie. And Cece. And Millie. The list went on. But I hadn’t listened. Instead, I’d listened to my heart, a stupid muscle that knew how to do only two things—pump and break.

  I cleared the lump from my throat. “The show closes this Thursday. If I’m not in jail, I’m going to Hollywood with Graf and take a screen test.” I didn’t realize my mind was made up until I said it aloud.

  “Dreams are hard to come by, Sarah Booth. Especially ones that come true. To turn your back on a dream would be foolish, and God knows, I’d like to see you stop that track record here and now.” Her smile took the sting out of her words.

  “Why do you think Coleman stopped loving me? I know it was real. I didn’t make it up or dream it. It was real. What happened?”

  She came forward and perched on the arm of the sofa. Her dress was truly exquisite. The low-cut neckline, edged in black, made her skin creamy, a buttery caramel. “All along ever’one tole you, he’s a married man. You just wouldn’t listen.”

  “He accused me of murder. That doesn’t have a thing to do with his marital status.”

  “Think it through, girl. Use your head for a change.”

  I tried. “What?”

  “On the surface it may not, but Coleman is smart. And one thing about him, he’s a man of honor. You’re the logical suspect in this murder. He had to come down on you like a ton of bricks. He didn’t have a choice. Now he can’t afford to call you or even talk to you casually, for fear someone will say he gave you information or evidence to help you prepare your defense. Whatever else he may have done, he’s lookin’ out for you right now. He’s doin’ the honorable and noble thing.”

  Her words cut deeper than a strap. My head knew she was right, but my heart hurt too badly to accept her explanation. “I need him here, holding me, telling me that he knows I’m innocent. That’s what I need from him.” I went to the sideboard and made another drink.

  “He has needs, too.”

  “I don’t believe it. You’re defending him!”

  “You won’t listen because you want what you want. He’s giving you what you need, even if you’re too pigheaded to see it.”

  “I want arms to hold me, and I want someone to see me as talented and not a failure. I want kisses—”

  The knock on the door was unexpected, and for a moment I thought my powerful wanting had made Coleman materialize right on my front porch. I rushed past Jitty to answer the door. Standing in the cold blast of air was Graf Milieu.

  He didn’t bother to ask; he simply stepped inside, swept me into his arms and kissed me with such passion that I couldn’t stop myself from melting.

  His arm reached beneath my knees, and he picked me up, kicking the door shut as he started up the stairs with me.

  “Graf, I—”

  “Don’t talk. Don’t try to stop this. It’s what we both want. What we both need.” He kissed me hungrily again and took the stairs.

  Graf went unerringly to my bedroom. He put me on the bed, his hands already at the buttons of my shirt before I could stop him.

  “Wait.”

  The one word sounded too loud in the room.

  Graf’s fingers stopped their work, and he looked me dead in the eye. “I want to make love to you.”

  “Do I get a vote?” I swung my legs to the floor and stood. I had to move away from him while I still had some mental powers. Graf’s passionate kiss had rekindled the fire of the past. I’d been deeply in love with him. And he’d been deeply in love with himself—I had to remember that.

  I’d changed, though, and it was possible that Graf had changed, too. Possible, but only time would tell. I wasn’t about to jump out of the emotional frying pan into the fire.

  “You kissed me back, Sarah Booth. You want this, too.”

  Direct, as ever. “I was feeling sorry for myself, Graf. The man I’ve been in love with has other obligations. I’m alone tonight, and I wanted someone to share my success. You walked in the door, bringing all of the past behind you.”

  “It’s not the past I’m offering, Sarah Booth. It’s a future. A real future. This time next week we’ll be in Hollywood. The studio will be licking your feet. In a week, you’ll have a contract. In a month, you’ll be filming. In a year, you’ll be a star!”

  I was on the fast track, according to Graf. I can’t deny that his words soothed my ego. I’d never realized how deeply I’d been wounded by my theatrical failure. Graf could talk all night about me, and I would love it.

  “I have a life here, Graf. Obligations. Personal relationships. It isn’t just about me.”

  “Isn’t it?” He looked around. “You can close up this house tomorrow. We’ll send money back to have workmen spruce it up, give it the love it needs.”

  “I have a partner in my PI agency.”

  He shook his head. “Who can carry on alone, or she can find a new partner. Tinkie has proven she’s capable of rolling with the punches.”

  I paced the room. “I have a horse and a hound.”

  “They have grass and kennels in California. That’s a weak excuse.”

  I swallowed and continued pacing. The only thing left holding me here was Jitty. A week ago, Coleman would have been at the top of the list, but he didn’t even warrant a PS position. I’d never be able to explain Jitty to Graf.

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Think about it?” He was incredulous. “What happened to the young woman who stayed up ’til three in the morning rehearsing for a bit part with no pay?”

  “She grew up.” I was surprised at myself, because it was true. Somewhere in the past year, I had grown up.

  “Sarah Booth, you can’t turn your back on this.”

  “I’m not saying that I will.” I took his arm and led him to the stairwell. I didn’t want to stay in my bedroom. Avoiding temptation isn’t my strong suit. I’d grown up—a lot—but I wasn’t infallible.

  “When will you let me know?”

  “Graf, let’s just finish the play.” I edged him down the stairs and into the parlor. “I have a lot of things to work through here.”

  “It’s that sheriff.” He looked around as if Coleman might jump out from behind the sofa.

  “Partly.” I wasn’t going to lie, either.

  “I can’t believe this!” He put his hands over his face as if he literally couldn’t look at me.

  “Do you want a drink?”

  His hands dropped. “Sure. Scotch would be great.”

  His moment of high drama had failed, but that was no reason to turn down a drink. I fixed his Scotch and freshened my Jack. Curling in a wing chair, I pointed to the sofa. “I need to talk to you about Renata.”

  “It was over between us a long time ago.” He sighed. “It was the damn play. We had to work together each night. You can’t imagine the hell it was.”

  He was wrong; I could. Renata would have punished him each night because their love had died. I wasn’t interested in Graf’s love life, though. I had to be certain he didn’t know anything about her death.

  “Graf, did she ever mention anyone who might want to hurt her?”

  “Other than the crazy dog woman, and Bobbe Renshaw, and Keith and Sir Alfred, because she was outshining him, of course, and me, for the same reason, and the sound system guy. And the lighting guy. Oh, yeah, the head caterer in Reno.” He put his drink down and threw up his hands. “Renata thought everyone was out to get her.”

  I sipped my drink. “Someone went to a lot of trouble to set me up.” I
told him about the person who’d gone to the feed store to buy poison.

  “Someone impersonating you?” He leaned forward, concern etched into his forehead. “That really makes you look guilty, you know.”

  “So guilty that if I don’t find out who did this, I won’t be going to Hollywood. I’ll be going to the women’s prison for a long, long time. I don’t think they’ll let me out to do films.”

  “What can I do?”

  He looked so genuinely worried that I felt a pang where my heart cracked just a little more. Coleman should be sitting here with me, worry on his face. My heart might snap and pop, but with each new pain, it was hardening toward Coleman. Soon, he wouldn’t have the power to hurt me anymore.

  “You were ... close to Renata once,” I prompted. “Someone must really have hated her to poison her. I don’t think it was someone from Zinnia. No one here knew her except as a famous actress. The killer had to come from her past.”

  He swirled the ice in his glass as he thought. “That sounds logical, but I honestly can’t think of anyone. The technical people on the show have come and gone. Renata was hard on them. She was demanding and ungrateful and difficult. They’d quit and move on to less stressful jobs. None of them would come to Zinnia to kill her.”

  “What about ... romantic partners?”

  He stood up and went to the fireplace. His face was blocked from my view. “In the last year, Renata changed. She simply wasn’t interested in romance. It was like a switch flipped.” He turned, his face in shadow and the fire crackling behind him. “It was overnight. I never understood what happened.”

  Graf was vain and preoccupied with himself, but I could see Renata had hurt him. I knew what it felt like when someone grew suddenly cold—like a switch had been flipped. That was the exact description of Coleman’s behavior toward me.

  “I’m sorry. You really loved her, didn’t you?”

  He cleared his throat. “I loved her talent and her passion for the stage. There were times I didn’t like her at all. Beneath that, though, she was professional and extremely talented. I did love that.”

  “After you two broke up, there wasn’t anyone else?”

  “Not to my knowledge. And I assure you, Renata would have rubbed my nose in it good and hard.” He drained his glass and walked to the sideboard. His hands were elegant as he made the drink. I couldn’t help but admire how each movement was clean, defined. He was made for the stage. Or the screen.

  Yet I had the sense he was hiding something from me. “Did you have other involvements?”

  He didn’t look up. “Yes.”

  I hadn’t expected such honesty.

  He picked up his drink and faced me. “I was hurt, and I lashed out by picking up women. I let Renata know that I wasn’t alone and wouldn’t ever be. Here in Zinnia, she kept throwing your name up at me, taunting me with innuendos.”

  I was more curious as to why he’d told me the truth, so I asked. “Why are you being so honest?”

  “Once the finger of blame moves from you, it might swing in my direction. If I have to hire you to take my case, I don’t want to start off with a lie.”

  And I’d vainly thought it was because he didn’t want us to start up a relationship on a lie. Would I never learn? “Was there any reason you’d want Renata dead?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  There was the sound of tapping at the front door. Tinkie. What in the world would bring her out this late after the schedule she was keeping at The Club and trying to help me solve the case?

  I excused myself and opened the front door. Tinkie was huddled in her fake leopard fur, hopping from foot to foot. “Let me in, I’m freezing,” she said as she brushed past me. “I know Graf is here and I don’t care if I’m interrupting something.”

  She went to the parlor and straight to the sideboard. I heard ice tinkle into a glass. “The olives are in the refrigerator,” I said.

  “Thanks.” She hurried through the dining room and into the kitchen and returned with the jar of jalapeño stuffed olives and proceeded to make a vodka martini.

  She took a long swallow and blew out her breath. “That’s much better.” She looked from Graf to me. “Planning your film debut?”

  I shook my head. “We’re talking about Renata. About her past, and anyone who might have hated her enough to kill her.”

  “Have you heard from Coleman?” she asked.

  I shook my head, wondering why she’d bring him up in front of Graf. One minute she was throwing me at Graf and the next she was tossing Coleman between us.

  “I spoke with Gordon.” Her voice was quiet, my first hint that something was seriously wrong.

  “And?”

  “They operated on Connie. The tumor was larger than they anticipated.”

  My mouth and throat went numb. “How bad?”

  “She hasn’t regained consciousness. Coleman is staying with her tonight in the hopes that she’ll wake up.”

  “What’s the prognosis?”

  “The doctors really don’t know. The tumor isn’t malignant. It’s a matter of how much damage was done before it was caught.”

  “How is Coleman holding up?” I glanced at Graf, who had the good sense to remain silent.

  “Stoic. You know Coleman.”

  I’d offered to be there with him. I should be there with him, but he’d made it clear I wasn’t part of his life.

  “I’m going to Jackson,” Tinkie said. “I stopped by to tell you. Someone needs to be with him now, and I don’t know that he has anyone.”

  “I’ll get my coat.” I was already moving across the room when her words stopped me.

  “You can’t, Sarah Booth. You can’t be with him. You can’t leave Sunflower County. You can’t jeopardize his reputation by showing up at the hospital where his wife may be dying.”

  Tinkie didn’t mean to be cruel, but her words were like a slap. I was momentarily stunned.

  Tinkie drained her glass, put it on the sideboard, and came to put her arm around my waist. “I’ll call you as soon as I know something. I’ll tell him you wanted to be there.”

  She stood on tiptoe, kissed my cheek, and hurried into the cold, trailing the rich fragrance of Opium.

  Chapter 10

  Somewhere along the line, Graf had learned patience. He kissed my cheek and left on Tinkie’s heels. I was alone, and this time I didn’t want to talk to Jitty.

  I paced the parlor, prowled the kitchen, scuttled around the upstairs, and finally dressed and went outside in the cold. Reveler called a greeting as he caught sight of me and cantered up. I gave him the carrots I’d brought and led him out of the barn. The moon was full—the light plenty bright to see as long as I stayed to roads I knew and kept a sensible pace. It would be bitter at first, but we’d all warm up in a matter of no time.

  Sweetie bayed and barked and otherwise signaled her pleasure as I mounted. I wanted a look at my home in the silvery light of the moon, while I pondered my debt to the land.

  The current trend was a lack of attachment to land. I’d seen families who’d farmed the same acreage for eight generations sell out and end up with asphalt for a super store covering the soil that had once sustained them.

  The Delta had few enough trees left in places, but a shady oak or a loaded pecan was nothing to a developer. If I moved away from Zinnia, what would become of Dahlia House?

  Maybe a garden club would turn it into a historic home, like the beautiful places in Natchez. The problem with that is tourism was nonexistent in Zinnia. Preservation is a costly hobby.

  I could keep the estate and hire workers to maintain it—as Graf suggested. An empty home on empty land. My fingers tightened on the reins.

  Now the fields were barren, the last crop turned under. Soon the huge machines would crawl across the acreage with fertilizer—another whole issue to worry about. But the land grew things like no other land. It was made to grow. So what if I allowed it to return to a natural state. Dahlia House would slowly decay
among the tangle of vines, a sad but dignified death.

  All of that on the condition that I’d make enough money to pay off the mortgage on Dahlia House. If I didn’t get the murder charge removed and get back to work, the bank would own Dahlia House and I’d have no say whatsoever in her future.

  Tired of my morbid behavior, Reveler picked up the pace. We’d come upon a clear, sandy path that went all around the cotton fields. The weather had been dry, and the footing was excellent as we trotted through the bright winter night, turning back at last to Dahlia House, where the front lights bid me welcome.

  By the time I got Reveler untacked and rubbed down, it was nearly three A.M. Sweetie had gone in and out of her doggy door a dozen times, letting me know that she’d worked up an appetite. She could eat her weight in groceries and never gain an ounce.

  Reveler was good and cooled out when I gave him a small portion of grain, and I went inside to scavenge for me and my hound.

  The answering machine was bare of calls, so I knew Tinkie had no news on Connie. I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and hot chocolate for myself and gave Sweetie some leftover roasted chicken. We settled in the kitchen for our feast, and I’d just taken a huge bite when the phone rang.

  “Hello,” I mumbled.

  “Connie just woke up,” Tinkie said. “She recognized Coleman, so that’s a good sign.”

  “That’s good.” I fought the peanut butter that stuck to the roof of my mouth.

  “Are you crying?” Tinkie asked.

  “Uh-uh. Peanut butter.”

  “It’s four A.M.!” Tinkie was outraged. “What are you doing eating peanut butter at this time of morning? Keep it up, and you won’t fit into your mother’s clothes for the rest of the play.”

  I looked at the sandwich. Peanut butter was a good source of protein. It wasn’t so bad. I took another, small bite. “Okay, I’ll throw it away.”

  “Good. Now let me tell you about Coleman. He looks like death warmed over. I’m really worried about him, Sarah Booth. He acts like a zombie.”

  I thought my heart had grown hard toward the man who’d broken it, but Tinkie was making me feel bad for Coleman. “I’m hurting, too,” I pointed out.