Ham Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  She was about to hang up when I heard Gordon call out to her. She listened again, a furrow drawing between her eyebrows. “Okay, I’ll tell her.”

  She hung up and didn’t look at me.

  “Tell me what?”

  “Never mind. It’ll only piss you off.”

  “So tell me.”

  “Connie has stabilized. They’re transferring her back to Jackson, and Coleman is headed down there, too. Graf’s been taken into custody.”

  Chapter 22

  After Tinkie left, promising to go home and sleep, I found that I couldn’t unwind. Maybe it was the coffee, which I’d made mega-strong. Or maybe it was the idea of Coleman rushing off to Jackson. Or maybe it was the pure vindictiveness of Renata and her efforts to destroy my life. Her actions were shocking, and no matter how I examined them, I couldn’t really grasp what might have motivated her.

  I was completely out of her world. I’d left New York and acting. Yet she’d finagled the theatre troupe to come to Zinnia. She’d spent weeks and thousands of dollars to set me up as a murderess. She’d put equal energy into punishing Graf. But at least she and Graf had a relationship. I had nothing with Renata. Why had she settled on me as the scapegoat? And what had gone wrong with her plan to disappear?

  I could see the grand design. The poisoned lipstick had been left at the shop for me to buy—with all records destroyed by Robert Morgan. Then Renata left the lipstick message smeared on the mirror of her dressing room, alluding to the fact that someone wanted her dead. Renata had carefully maligned me to her brother and all who would listen, saying I wanted her dead. But she’d meant to disappear. What had happened? How had she actually applied lipstick that she knew to be poisoned?

  My footsteps echoed emptily in the house as I walked from room to room, seeking some place of comfort. Of safety. I wandered the office of Delaney Detective Agency, straightening my desk so that it looked like Tinkie’s, imposing order out of chaos because I’d lost control of my life.

  The music room held Alice’s portrait, and I went there to study my great-great-grandmother’s likeness. She’d been such a child, but she held herself with the composure of an adult. No one lingered in childhood in those days. At fifteen, she was a woman of marriageable age. Soon she would be married, and soon after that delivering her first child, a son. I touched the canvas, feeling the texture of the paint.

  “You look like her at times, Sarah Booth.” Jitty’s voice was dark and rich. “The two of you, side by side, I see it more clearly. ’Course Alice was a lady, which is a label no one can put on you.”

  “The label I’ll be wearing is ‘convicted murderer’ if I don’t shake some evidence loose.” As I sat at the grand piano, I found Jitty sitting in a chaise lounge near the wall. Her huge skirts took up half the room, and the vivid pink reminded me of the frilliness of azaleas. Why Jitty had chosen a time period when women had fewer rights than cattle, and blacks had no rights at all, I couldn’t begin to comprehend. Jitty was a law unto herself, and when she was ready to reveal the master plan behind her clothing, she would.

  I pressed middle C on the keyboard. Long ago, I’d taken lessons. The memory of my mother, sitting beside me on the piano bench as we played that beginner duet, “Heart and Soul,” almost made me cry out with pain. “I’m glad Mom and Dad aren’t around to see me charged with Renata’s death.”

  “Shoot. You think they’d bat an eye? Your mother would be picketing the sheriff’s office and threatening to shoot Coleman.” She laughed. “Your pa would be digging through the evidence, looking for the one thing that everyone else has overlooked.”

  She walked to the cabinets where so many of the family albums were kept. “Might want to look over some things from the past, Sarah Booth. Seems to me that whatever grudge Renata held against you, it would have to come from that year you were in New York. You’ve already figured out you didn’t have anything in common in the present.”

  “But—” It was pointless. Jitty had taken herself off to the past or the future or wherever the ghostly cocktail hour was being held.

  I found myself reluctant to pull out the photo albums, but I did it anyway. What else was I going to do? I couldn’t book a flight to Tahiti to find Renata’s hideaway, because I was still under my bond. I hoped that a search of Robert Morgan’s New York apartment or his credit card charges would give us Renata’s ultimate destination, but someone else would have to do the legwork to prove that. What I could do was examine the past.

  I found the New York album, which I’d begun with such great expectations. I’d gone to the Big Apple fresh from three years of success in regional theatre. Reviews of my work were terrific from San Diego to Boston. I’d played vixens, killers, beguiled daughters, comic harridans, angry mothers—the widest variety of work I could get. I was ready to take New York.

  The first picture shows me standing outside a sixth-floor walk-up apartment on the upper east side of Manhattan. The boxes containing all I’d need for my new life are on the pavement around me and a moving crew hustles them up the stairs.

  My fingers traced the features of my face as I tried to connect with the young woman I saw in the photograph. The picture was taken only a couple of years earlier, yet I found it difficult to believe I had once been that woman. She was touched by sadness, but there was also an optimism that I’d lost somewhere along the way.

  I went through the preliminary photos quickly, stopping only when I got to the snapshots I’d requested at ’Night, Mother. There I’d been Renata’s understudy, and I had met Graf backstage after the show.

  I’d given all the members of the crew disposable cameras and asked them to document the backstage moments. It was a goofy, naïve thing to do, but the photos had given me great pleasure as I’d dreamed of my coming success. Renata had been a perfect bitch to me, but that hadn’t dampened my enthusiasm. I’d thought I could learn something from her, and I’d endured her petty cruelties with that in mind.

  I came to the photographs with Graf and studied them. We made goo-goo eyes at each other right from the start. Looking at the photos, I could see that I was helpless before his charm.

  Within a week, we were inseparable. He was the male lead in Same Time, Next Year, and we were backstage at one or the other of the theatres. Even though I didn’t have a part, I was living the theatre life, just like I’d dreamed it. Hearing the applause for Graf was almost as good as hearing it for myself. Or so I’d thought at the time.

  I flipped the album pages, sinking deeper into the past. One photo stopped me. Graf and I are kissing in the foreground. Renata is on stage, but she’s looking at us. The pure hatred aimed in our direction almost made me drop the album. Funny, I’d looked at the photo numerous times, but I’d never noticed her. I’d only seen Graf.

  Was it possible that jealousy from so long ago could motivate her to concoct such a plan for revenge? It just rang hollow. The bottom line was that Renata had no reason to vent her jealous rage on me.

  I picked up the phone to call Tinkie and stopped. With any luck at all, Tinkie was asleep. My questions and concerns could wait until morning.

  But other things couldn’t. I got my jacket and my hound and headed to the motel where Kristine Rolofson was staying. I could only hope that I could catch her before she left town. I needed to talk to her.

  The manager told me that she was still checked in, and I went to her room, praying she’d forgotten about my last visit. My luck wasn’t that good. She opened the door to my sharp knock, but as soon as she saw me, she tried to slam it shut.

  “I need your help. Please.”

  She eased back off the door. “Gabriel thinks you’re insane. He’s gone to get his things and then we’re leaving. Together.”

  “Please, Kristine. I need to ask a few questions.”

  “The sheriff said Gabriel and I could leave Zinnia.”

  “I know, but I need some answers before you go. Please.”

  She stepped aside and let me in, taking a wary stand b
etween the bed and the door. Giblet sat on the bed. His tail wagged, but his gaze never left me. If I tried anything, he wasn’t going to let me get away with it.

  I gave a low whistle and Sweetie Pie came bounding into the room. With a few sniffs and growls, the two dogs became the fastest of friends.

  “Oh, Sarah Booth,” Kristine said, “you know how to win me over. Giblet has been so lonely. That hound is a perfect playmate.”

  “Sweetie is great. But I need to ask about Renata.”

  She sighed and sank into a chair. “I’ve told you and the sheriff everything I know. I’ve been over it again and again.”

  “This hasn’t been asked.” I sat on the end of the bed, ignoring the dogs as they tussled and romped. “You saw Robert Morgan at different theatres, right?” I pulled out the sketch I’d gotten from the sheriff’s office to show her. “This man.”

  “I saw him in New York, Atlantic City, Reno, and here. Yes, he’s been in and out. I had the impression he wanted a part in the play.”

  “Maybe. But I think he was Renata’s ... friend.” I wasn’t sure if their relationship was romantic or symbiotic. Somehow they were linked. “I’d like to determine what kind of friend he was. How he fit into her life.”

  She rubbed between her eyebrows with an index finger as she thought. “I only saw them alone together once.”

  “And?”

  “It’s hard to say. It didn’t seem romantic.” Her eyes widened. “They were talking about you. I remember it now. She said something like you wouldn’t be able to resist coming to the show as her understudy.”

  “And what did Morgan say?”

  “I can’t remember,” she said. “I wasn’t paying close attention.”

  “When was this, Kristine? It’s important.”

  “New York or Atlantic City. Before Reno. I can’t be certain, but it was after the hurricane that hit the Gulf Coast.”

  “Did you ever hear her say anything about Graf? About hurting him?”

  “She was always muttering threats, but not just about Graf. Once, though, she did tell him to be careful what he wished for because those were the things that came true.”

  I felt a little deflated. Kristine bolstered my theory, but she hadn’t given me anything to help prove it.

  “Thanks,” I told her as I called Sweetie to my side. “I’d like to speak with Gabriel before you leave.”

  “I’ll tell him. He’s at The Gardens packing his things. We have big plans, Sarah Booth. We’re going to start a foundation to fight for legislation in each state to help protect innocent animals. Gabriel is a good man. It’s hard to believe he and Renata shared the same blood.”

  “Good luck, Kristine.”

  “And good luck to you, Sarah Booth. I wish I could help you clear your name.” She reached over to stroke Sweetie’s long ears. “I wish this had never happened. Not even Renata deserved to die like that. And Gabriel said she was coming around, at least toward him. He said that the last time he saw her, he could see that her meanness came from fear.”

  “Gabriel is a lot more forgiving than I am.” I shook Kristine’s hand before Sweetie and I took our leave. I wasn’t finished for the night. Bobbe Renshaw was staying at The Gardens, too. Maybe I could get both of them in one fell swoop.

  Gertrude would never allow Sweetie Pie in her B&B—if she saw her. I had to talk to Bobbe, and it was too cold to leave Sweetie in the car. Ergo, Sweetie was going in with me.

  I parked down the driveway, and Sweetie and I crept through the shadows toward the front window of the B&B. Certainly Gertrude had to sleep sometime. She couldn’t always be sitting at the desk, and if the coast was clear, I’d just have a look at the guest register and find out what rooms Gabriel and Bobbe had taken.

  To my aggravation, I saw Gertrude’s copper-wire hairdo behind the counter. I’d have to find Bobbe’s room on my own. Sweetie and I slunk along the back gallery of the rambling old house, listening at doors, prepared to duck into the shadows at the first sound of footsteps.

  I caught the sound of Bobbe’s voice clearly raised in agitation. I couldn’t make out the words, so I moved closer to the door. The Gardens dates back to pre-Civil War days, and every room has a door on the interior hallway and a door on a gallery. Even though it was January and cold, the door to Bobbe’s room was cracked and cigarette smoke seeped out. Gertrude would have a hissy fit if she knew Bobbe was smoking amongst her priceless antiques. I peeked inside and saw Bobbe’s bags stacked on the floor. She held her cell phone as she paced in her jacket and boots, a cigarette between her fingers.

  “I don’t care how you do it, just get that stuff back in his room.” Her tone brooked no arguments.

  “Danny, you went into a dead man’s apartment. You took things that the law will be looking for. I don’t care why you did it, I only care if you’re caught, I’ll be the one charged with murder. Put that stuff back exactly where you got it.”

  She paced silently as she listened.

  “Just do it. No excuses. Just get it done. I’ve got a midnight flight out of Memphis. I’ll be home by six A.M.” She snapped her phone shut and then opened it to dial.

  Sweetie Pie’s growl came from deep in her throat. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and I pivoted on my toe just as something hard slammed into the back of my head.

  I tried to brace myself on the door of Bobbe’s room, but it flew open and I felt myself falling onto the faded Oriental carpet. Then there was only blackness.

  Strong arms lifted me, and I curled against the warmth of someone’s chest. I was very content until I felt something wet and warm moving over my face. That’s when I heard Sweetie Pie’s worried whines.

  I forced my eyes open to find Graf holding me and Tinkie advancing on Gertrude Strom.

  “I thought she was a burglar,” Gertrude said. She held a rolling pin in her hand and I was able to put two and two together. I reached up to touch my head. The goose egg was impressive, but there wasn’t any blood. Gertrude had cold-cocked me with a baking implement.

  “Gertrude, you know Sarah Booth. You did this out of pure damn meanness.” Tinkie was very put out.

  “I don’t allow dogs or snoops on my premises.” Gertrude was completely unrepentant. “Isn’t she charged with murder? How is it that she’s out running around, peeping in people’s rooms?”

  “Ms. Strom, are you going to file charges against Sarah Booth?” Gordon asked. He held a notepad in his hand.

  “I hardly think so,” Tinkie said. “Because if she does, Sarah Booth will file assault charges against her.”

  “Help me up,” I said. Graf set me on my feet. Though I wobbled a moment, I regained my balance and walked over to Gertrude. “File charges. Please do it. I’m going to sue you until the cows come home.” I felt the angry blood thud in the lump on my head.

  “Oh, posh! Just get off my property and take that mangy dog with you.” She stormed back inside, swinging the rolling pin with each stride.

  I was still a little confused. Especially about Graf. Last I heard, he’d been taken into custody. “What happened?”

  “I was up at the jail bonding Graf out when Gordon got the call to come here. Something told us the reported burglar might be you, so we came, too.”

  “You bonded Graf out?” I was still confused.

  “Oscar says I might as well open my own bonding business.” She smiled. “Not such a bad idea.”

  I suddenly remembered why I was at The Gardens and the conversation I’d overheard. “Bobbe Renshaw.” I started toward her room.

  “She’s gone.” Tinkie looked worried. “We saw her pulling out of the parking lot just as we were coming in. Coleman told her she could return home.”

  I felt a wave of weakness, and as I stumbled, Graf caught my arm to give me support. “We need to stop her.”

  “Why?” Tinkie asked.

  “I think her husband may have taken something from Robert Morgan’s New York apartment. Something that may prove my innocence.”


  “How does Bobbe’s husband know—” Graf started to ask, but Tinkie cut him off.

  “Then we need to stop her.” Tinkie put her words into action. She started toward the parking lot. “Gordon, you’ve got the patrol car with the siren and lights. Can you catch up to her?”

  “She’s headed to the Memphis airport,” I told him.

  Gordon wasted no time. He was across the porch and running to the patrol car. “I’ll stop her before she gets out of Sunflower County.”

  “We’ll be at the sheriff’s office.” Tinkie opened the passenger door of her Caddy for me. “Give Graf your keys, Sarah Booth, so he can drive your car.”

  I did as I was told, as Tinkie opened the back door for Sweetie. In a matter of minutes, we were en route to Zinnia.

  “Why in the world didn’t you call me if you were going to snoop around The Gardens? You know Gertrude hates you.”

  “She hates you, too,” I pointed out.

  “Right. But she’s afraid of me because of Oscar and the bank. She would never have struck me with a rolling pin.”

  “I didn’t call you because I thought you were sleeping.”

  “That coffee you made was strong enough to wake Lazarus. I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t. Then Graf called, and I went to make his bond.”

  “How did Oscar feel about that?” Somehow, I’d never thought Oscar would be so tolerant of Tinkie’s new lifestyle.

  “He’s not thrilled, but he realizes that I’ll do whatever I have to where you’re involved.”

  “Thanks, Tinkie, but how is Graf’s bail tied to me?”

  “If Renata meant to disappear and frame you for murder, then she had to have a reason. That reason has to be tied to Graf. Don’t you see? Otherwise why would she have chosen you to frame? I think we need to have a long sit-down with Graf, and we couldn’t do it in the jail.”

  “That makes perfect sense.” My head was throbbing, and my temper was short. “I get the distinct impression that nobody has told the complete truth. Not Graf, not Kristine, not Bobbe.”