Fury sparked in her eyes for a split second. “I heard about this contest, and I knew if I could win, I could use the money to hire a lawyer. A good one. I have to get Vivian back before they turn her completely against me. Before they turn her into one of them.”
“Do the pageant officials know you’ve had a child?” Somewhere in the back of my head I felt certain there was a rule against beauty contestants also being mothers. Maybe not a rule, but definitely a prejudice. I’d never heard of a contestant who balanced a tiara and a child.
“No one knows. They’d kick me out.”
“But if they discover the truth about Vivian, they’ll strip you of the title and likely file suit against you to return the money.”
“Maybe I can convince them that a spokeswoman who manages a career and a child can only make their product more appealing. That is their market: young mothers who demand the finest equipment. Besides, if I can get Vivian away from those people, I’ll risk jail.”
“And who would care for Vivian?” To take her from the Wellingtons only to put her in the foster care system didn’t seem wise.
“I’ve come to an understanding with my mother. She would take Vivian and raise her. I don’t want my little girl growing up to believe she can get away with anything because she’s a Wellington. I don’t want her to think using people is part of doing business. I don’t want her corrupted by that way of living. My family is poor, and we live in a rural area, but Vivian would have love.” Hedy sensed the weak link and she focused on Tinkie. “Will you help me? There’s no one else I can turn to. I swear, I’ll find a way to pay you. I swear it.”
A loud knock saved us from committing to a case I saw clearly would be for charity and that already involved two dead women.
“I’ll get the door,” I said. “I’m sure it’s Police Chief Jansen.” I didn’t have to have Madame Tomeeka’s abilities to figure that one out.
Jansen was a burly man with a deep voice and an impressive mustache. He allowed Hedy to remain in our room—with a police officer posted outside the door—while he scoped out the crime scene.
Tinkie distracted Hedy by encouraging her to talk about Vivian. When I could stand it no longer, I told Tinkie I was going to investigate and then left. No worries on being stealthy—the entire second-floor hallway around Hedy’s room was filled with cops, curious hotel guests, and management. I eased closer and closer, hoping to overhear some scuttlebutt. I made it almost to the door before Jansen spied me and beckoned one of the officers to halt me.
“Was she poisoned?” I realized a moment too late I’d revealed too much.
“Won’t know until the coroner examines her.” Jansen gave me the once-over. “What makes you think she was poisoned?”
“I didn’t hear a gunshot. This whole place would’ve been like an ant bed.”
“Yet you didn’t assume she’d been stabbed,” he pondered aloud.
It was time to turn the focus of the conversation. “Any idea what happened to Brook? Is there an explanation why she caught on fire and never lifted a finger to help herself?”
“Are you working this case, Ms. Delaney?” he asked.
“Not officially. How’d you know I was a private investigator?”
“Let’s just say your reputation precedes you, and while Sheriff Peters may put up with your meddling in his cases, I won’t. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly,” I said with a huge crocodile smile. Tinkie had taught me to “emote pleasantness” when I wanted to plant a boot up someone’s butt. It took all of my willpower to restrain my foot, but I needed something from Jansen. “You never answered my question about Brook.”
“We’re looking at Miss Oniada’s death as a potential murder,” he said. “It appears we have a double homicide here in Leflore County.”
“How was Brook killed?” I’d watched the stage the whole time. She’d been standing with her fire batons, but no one had gone near her. She’d staggered and turned in a circle like she was suddenly lost or blind. Then she’d burst into flames, all unassisted.
“A highly combustible substance in her skin lotion wasn’t listed on the bottle’s ingredients. When the lit baton got too close to her—whoosh!”
“You think someone tampered with her skin lotion?”
“I do,” he said.
“How do you know Brook didn’t change the ingredients of the lotion herself?”
“No fingerprints on the bottle.” He nodded sagely. “She wouldn’t wear gloves to put on lotion, but a murderer would if he or she tampered with the lotion. That girl was set on fire and burned alive by someone who meant to harm her.”
The very idea was appalling. “You believe someone intended for her to catch fire?”
“No doubt about it.” He leaned closer to me. “And I have a pretty good suspect.”
“Who might that be?”
“Miss Blackledge.” He watched my reaction.
“Why would Hedy set Brook on fire?”
“Are you trying to play me or are you just plain stupid?”
“Not the latter,” I answered. “It might be the former, but could a mere private dick from Zinnia pull the wool over your eyes?” Jansen was short on manners, but I’d had lessons in charm from Tinkie. “What would you say is Hedy’s motive? Killing Brook—or Janet, for that matter—wouldn’t guarantee her the title.”
“It might move her two steps closer.”
“Or it might not. No one knows how the girls are ranked by the judges. And why would she kill her roommate, of all the contestants? That points the finger of blame right at her. It doesn’t make sense.”
I thought I’d worked him around to my way of thinking, until he smiled. “You’re slippery as an eel,” he said, “and I don’t like eels.”
“What kind of accelerant was used in Brook’s lotion?”
The look he gave me was crafty. “Ask Miss Blackledge.”
“I would if she had the answer.” He was maneuvering me into defensive mode for a young woman who wasn’t even my client. “Why don’t you just tell me and make it easy on both of us?”
“We’re still looking into that, but I do know Miss Blackledge was experimenting with volatile liquids that had the capacity to ignite. She was in the Viking kitchen and several of the girls saw her.”
“There are a lot of recipes calling for flaming foods. I’m sure Hedy wasn’t the only contestant who went for the spectacle of Bananas Foster or whatever she cooked,” I said.
“Maybe not. And I’ll get to the bottom of that, I assure you.” He almost growled the words. “Now I have work to do.”
“Thank you, Chief Jansen.” I smiled sweetly.
“Thank me by staying out of this case. This killer means business and deserves to pay for the terrible crimes that have been committed.”
“I couldn’t agree more. The guilty party needs to pay. I just want to be sure you arrest the person who actually is guilty.”
7
Sleep evaded me, so I took my cell phone out to the Aluvian’s small courtyard. A fountain tinkled soothingly, and I debated whether to call Graf or not. Dawn was breaking in the Delta, which meant it was way early in Los Angeles, but I calculated that I’d been a trouper so far and hadn’t asked for much in the way of babying or consolation. I dialed his number.
Groggy at first, Graf came instantly awake when he realized it was me. “Are you okay?” he asked.
I was both pleased and appalled by his reaction. Delighted that he cared about me, but sorry my early-morning call generated alarm rather than simple pleasure. “I’m fine. I miss you.”
“Are we going to have phone sex?” he asked.
“If I weren’t sitting outside in a public courtyard we might.”
His warm chuckle made me tingle. Phone sex wasn’t what I wanted. I needed a dose of the real thing.
“Why are you calling from some courtyard in the predawn hours?” he asked, curiosity plain in his tone.
“Tinkie and I are still at the
Alluvian. Graf, two of the beauty contestants have been murdered, and the most likely suspect is asleep in the room with Tinkie.”
Perhaps I’d phrased the situation indelicately, but I wasn’t prepared for the blast of anger from the West Coast. “Are you insane?” Graf asked. “You left Tinkie asleep with a potential murderer in the room? And what is he doing in your room? What’s wrong with you?”
Stunned didn’t begin to capture my reaction. “Wait a minute,” I said, but he was having none of that.
“After everything you and Tinkie have been through, I can’t believe you let a possible killer into your room. What, is he an accused rapist, too?”
“It’s not a man, it’s a woman.” My diction was perfect, and my drawl had evaporated. “Hedy Lamarr Blackledge, one of the contestants.”
“I don’t care if it’s Julia Roberts. Haven’t you been hurt enough, Sarah Booth? You’re supposed to be healing so you can return to your life, the one we’re planning together. I’d hoped you’d voluntarily give up this private-eye business. You and Tinkie are going to get hurt. Oscar and I agree, it would be best if you closed the detective agency.”
My fingers gripping the cell phone refused to obey my mental command to release. Surely this was a dream. Graf would never insert himself into my life in such a bullying way.
“Sarah Booth, are you there?”
“Yes.”
“We need to talk.”
“Yes.”
There was a pause. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go off like that, but I’ve been worried sick about you.”
No one would ever give me credit for beating back the impulse to let the shit fly, but I managed to remain silent. To open my mouth would invite catastrophe into the conversation.
“Aren’t you going to respond?” he asked.
“Maybe later.” Oh, the cost of those four syllables.
“I’m awake now, and I think we need to talk about this. Neither Oscar nor I wanted to push you to close the agency. But you and Tinkie are right smack in the middle of another case, and you haven’t even recovered from the last one.”
I inhaled, letting the breath fill my lungs. I would have given a lot for a cigarette. For a pack. Maybe for a carton and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. My entire body was trembling.
“Graf, I don’t think I can talk about this now.”
If he heard the tremor in my voice, he didn’t understand what it meant. After the death of my parents, few things in life ever made me cry. Graf’s unexpected assault had startled me and then angered me until I was close to tears. A very, very bad sign. If I produced tears of anger, it would take a cleaning crew to pick up the debris.
“We need to talk, Sarah Booth. Have you taken this case?”
“No.”
“Thank goodness.”
“Let’s discuss this later, please.” I had to get off the phone before I said something I would regret.
“You promise we’ll talk before you sign a new client?”
“Graf, I’m going to hang up now. I don’t want to end this conversation abruptly. I don’t like that. But I am ending it. We’ll talk later.” I closed the phone and as I brought my hand down, the interior hotel lights caught in the facets of my beautiful diamond engagement ring.
Sitting in the courtyard, I could almost make myself believe the conversation had never happened. Graf had always been so supportive of my private investigative efforts. More than that, he’d been proud of me. And now, he and Oscar had plotted behind mine and Tinkie’s backs to get us to quit. My body was still numb from the betrayal.
The hours just before dawn are the quietest of the night. Greenwood slept all around me. Somewhere in the distance the lonesome wail of a train carried over the cotton fields. A few robins, cardinals, wrens, and mockingbirds fluttered into the courtyard to keep me company. Soon, the hotel’s day staff would arrive. My solitude couldn’t last much longer—I’d have to face my partner.
Before I spoke to Tinkie, I needed to assess how much I was to blame for the way the conversation with Graf had gone. I’d startled him awake and ignited his fear factor, then blithely dumped the information that a potential murderess was asleep in my hotel room with my best friend.
Graf was a continent away and he couldn’t protect me. Yet I’d callously painted a dangerous picture in his head. That was no justification for him and Oscar meddling in the business of Delaney Detective Agency, but I had to assume some responsibility for the train wreck of the conversation. It hadn’t occurred to me that Graf would be so upset about my work. He knew I was a P.I. when we got together. Sure, he wanted me to be an actress, but he’d indicated he would support me in bi-professional careers—one strongly rooted in the Mississippi Delta and the other in Los Angeles.
Another sound mingled with the murmur of the fountain. Silver bangles jounced and tinkled together, and I turned to find Jitty standing behind me. The predawn breeze caught the hem of a jewel blue dress that hugged every one of Jitty’s luscious curves—a welcome relief after her most recent tenure in the thirties Depression era. She’d gone from starving waif to cupcake. Her makeup was flawless, and her hair was a straight bob curved in along her jaw-line. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it exactly.
“Wanna know what’s cookin’?” she asked. Before I could answer, she held up a hand. “Delicious home-cooked meals in thirty minutes or less. Sorry, I’m not doing Southern right now. Would you like to know the menu I’m planning?”
Even as far down in the dumps as I was, Jitty could amuse me. “Why are you copycatting Rachael Ray?”
“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Want to hear my menu?”
Because I’d rather do anything than confront Tinkie—even listen to Jitty’s concept of a thirty-minute meal—I said, “I’m all ears.”
She took a seat at the table. “Not yet,” she said. “There’s something else to consider. Did you know your ears continue to grow as long as you live? Your nose, too. Not so bad on the nose front, but I have to say, your ears could use a good bobbing. Say you live to be eighty, they’ll probably be touching your shoulders. Your boobs will be down to your waist. Your—”
“Stop it!” I couldn’t decide if I wanted to laugh or punch her. “Can’t you see I’m depressed already?”
“A blind man couldn’t miss that.”
“Then quit picking on me.” I sounded petulant, but I didn’t care.
“Okay. Let’s talk cookin’. I’ve run across the best recipes ever. Only takes half an hour, and they are yum-o.”
“Rachael Ray is going to sue you for impersonating her. Not all celebrities are tolerant of such things.”
“She’s too busy making lots of money to worry about someone in the Great Beyond,” Jitty said matter-of-factly. “Normal folks don’t care what us noncorporeals get into. Besides, who’s going to tell her? You? ‘Ms. Ray, I’m haunted by the ghost of a black woman who impersonates you.’ I can see how well that would work.”
“What’s your point?” I was tired and depressed and hurt. “And what are you doing in Greenwood, anyway? I didn’t call for you.”
“Like I’m your fairy godmother or something and have to wait for a call?” She puffed up like an adder. “That’ll be the day. I come and go as I please.”
“Then go.” I turned away from her.
“That man got to you, didn’t he?”
Tears burned behind my eyes, but I was determined not to cry. “He was a jackass, but part of it was my doing.”
“He only wants to protect you, Sarah Booth.”
“When does protection flip and become suffocation?”
“What are you going to do?”
I knew what she meant. I could give up my P.I. agency or risk losing Graf. I’d already lost everyone else I loved. Though he hadn’t given me an ultimatum, I knew the drill. He didn’t want to be hurt, either, and he considered my work dangerous. “I don’t know.”
“Not the right answer,” she said.
“I have to talk with Tinkie. Oscar’s in this up to his eyeballs.” Anger swept over me. “You’d think that Oscar would be a little grateful after I saved his poxied ass only a few weeks ago.”
“At the risk of your own,” Jitty reminded me.
“I know that. But had I not gone through everything I did, Oscar would be dead. No one wants to look at it that way, but it’s true. Without my loss and suffering, Oscar would be counting his money in the Great Beyond with you.”
Jitty reached into the front of her dress and pulled out what appeared to be index cards.
“What are those?” I asked, hoping she’d found some Delaney family notes on how to deal with this situation.
“Chicken Picante recipe.” She scanned it with interest, then flipped to the next one. “What about Hamburger Delight?”
I wanted to snatch the cards and throw them all over the courtyard, but I couldn’t. They were no more solid than Jitty. “Why are you here?”
“What’s your special talent, Sarah Booth?”
“Is this a trick question?”
“I have better things to do in the Great Beyond than come and play tricks on a depressed person. Your mama would stomp my ass.”
Despite myself, I smiled. “She would, wouldn’t she?”
“So answer the question.”
“I’m a good actress. I think I could be great if I tried.”
“Uh-huh. Now what else?”
Jitty had lowered the cards, and she watched me intently, as if my body language would reveal far more than my words. There were times when she could read my mind, but so far, she was waiting to see what I would say.
“I’m a respectable private investigator. And Tinkie is, too. We’ve done some good in the world. We’ve made sure innocent people didn’t go to jail, and we’ve put some bad guys behind bars. Despite the fact that Tinkie and I have both been injured—”
“And don’t forget Chablis and Sweetie Pie. They’ve been wounded in the line of duty.”
Bone Appétit Page 7
