Greedy Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  “She’ll be fine if I stand guard. You need to sleep. Both of you. I won’t let any of them slip away in the dark hours.”

  Tammy had a better grip on things of the spirit than I ever would. My only connection with the other side was Jitty, and somehow I didn’t think she was a reliable source of information or inspiration. I felt hollow and drained, with just a vague twinge of nausea. Sleep was much needed.

  “Will you call me if anything changes?” I asked.

  “I will.” She patted my shoulder. “Sarah Booth, I’ve had a few dreams about you.”

  Adrenaline shot a rush of energy to my limbs. Tammy’s dreams were never trifling. They always had meaning. “Should I ask, or should I leave it alone?”

  “I’m not sure. Most of the time I understand a dream, at least on some level. These images are confused. And troubling.”

  Tammy was a tall woman, nearly six feet. The turban she wore made her look even taller. The orange, green, and yellow caftan hid her curvaceous figure. She was an imposing figure, especially when she was talking about troubling dreams and visions.

  “Tell me,” I said with trepidation.

  “Do you have any relatives left, Sarah Booth?”

  The immediate answer was none, but Tammy didn’t ask questions without a reason. “None that I know of.” I was thinking of Erin and Sonja. Was there a sister or brother somewhere out there I didn’t know about? The idea excited me—and gave me a sense of hope. I would love to have a sibling, especially a sister.

  “There’s fresh dirt turned in your family cemetery. That I saw clearly.” Before I could ask, she held up a hand. “No, it isn’t you.”

  “I can’t think of anyone. Except . . . Sweetie Pie.” The thought of my dog being injured made my throat close with emotion.

  “Not the dog.” She patted my arm. “Sweetie Pie has future adventures. As does her little friend, Chablis.”

  “That’s good to know.” Now that Sweetie and I were out of potential psychic danger, a load lifted from my shoulders. If there was a family member alive, I wasn’t close to him or her. Well, that was a major understatement. I was so un-close I didn’t know he or she existed. But for the life of me, I couldn’t even come up with a third or fifth cousin. I was truly the last of the Delaney line. My mother was an only child of only children—so there were no descendants on that side of the family either.

  Jitty had a point when she fussed at me to “breed up.” If I didn’t, what would become of Dahlia House?

  “Do you see a future for Oscar?” I asked.

  Tammy hesitated. “I haven’t looked at his cards. Or Tinkie’s. Sometimes when a deep friendship is involved, I’m blocked as to what I can and can’t see.”

  She wasn’t playing games. Tammy always told the truth, even when it hurt.

  “Did you have any other visions about me?”

  She rubbed her forehead, pulling at one of her dark curls. “You’re on my mind a lot, Sarah Booth. There’s someone else in Dahlia House, isn’t there?”

  My heart almost stopped. Tammy had been in the house a few times, and each time I thought she’d sensed Jitty, but she’d never said a word. “No one else lives there.” Talk about splitting hairs, but I didn’t want to outright lie to Tammy.

  Her smile was conspiratorial. “There are many people who’ve crossed the River Jordan who watch over you. Many. While they can’t keep hardship and pain from your door, they’re always right beside you whether you know it or not.” She arched one eyebrow. “And I think you know that better than you let on.”

  “If Oscar was going to die, would you know it?”

  She looked through the glass and studied the sick bay. “There’s a darkness in the room, Sarah Booth. Not necessarily death, but a presence. Something that’s absorbing the light.”

  “Where is it coming from?”

  She kept her gaze riveted on the patients. “I can’t find the source. All I know is someone, or something, dark and twisted is involved in this.”

  Her words generated a keen sense of dread. “Can we get rid of the darkness?” I asked.

  “We can stand vigil against it.”

  Tinkie had been right all along. She’d sensed something none of us except Tammy understood. And she’d fought for the man she loved and her friends.

  “Thank you for being here tonight.” Tammy was a far better watcher than I was.

  “Get some rest. Tinkie will be back tomorrow, and I keep hoping Doc and some of those experts will come up with some way to cure our friends.”

  “My hope exactly.” I thought again of what Peyton had told me about the possibility that mold was at the source of this illness. Someone had to get to the bottom of this, and while I wasn’t an expert on mold, I was an investigator.

  First thing in the morning, I was heading to the Carlisle plantation.

  21

  My dragging feet thudded across the front porch of Dahlia House, and tired as I was, I missed my hound. Sweetie Pie was guarding Tinkie, and she was exactly where she needed to be.

  Madame Tomeeka’s dreams and visions filled my head as I climbed the beautiful curved staircase to my room. I was too tired even for the comfort of a few moments with Jack, my old Tennessee friend. Sleep was my only requirement. Perhaps, if my brain rested, I could see the facts of the case more clearly.

  Such as—how had Erin found out about Sonja?

  When I was in Chicago, Sonja had presented herself as a woman happy with her lot in life. She’d said she had no desire to make Erin aware of Gregory Carlisle’s indiscretions. Yet Erin had said she was flying to Chicago to meet her sister even as Sonja was informing me of her desire to stay in the background.

  So who told Erin about Sonya? Erin had trusted the source of her information enough to plan a trip to Chicago. Luther was the logical choice, but there was no love lost between the Carlisle siblings. And certainly no trust.

  Jimmy Janks was the next suspect. He stood to gain plenty if he could unsettle Erin enough to shake her blockage of the development of the Carlisle land. Maybe he’d hoped to make Erin so disgusted with her father’s conduct that she’d yield the fate of the property to Luther.

  According to Cece, Janks had dropped her at her home. He’d been aware of her intentions to drive to Jackson and speak with Erin. He could have followed Cece. But why? And why beat her so brutally?

  Which begged a third question—had Erin vanished willingly? I didn’t know her. She might have a habit of lost weekends—or lost weeks for that matter. She could be living it up in San Francisco or halfway around the world in Tahiti for all I could say.

  As I struggled through the elements of the case, I removed my jeans and shoes and considered a hot bath or quick shower. Instead, I fell backward onto my bed. Cleanliness came second to sleepiness, at least for this night. My eyelids felt like cement blocks were tugging them downward.

  From a far corner of the room came the lively sound of a big band. I could not believe this. I kept my eyes closed and willed the sound to disappear. I recognized the catchy tune as a dance number from the 1930s—“Tutti Frutti.” Somewhere I’d seen film clips of energetic teenagers bobbing and swinging in complicated steps that required agility and a talented partner.

  “Jitty!” I yelled. I was dying for the sandman’s visit, and she was tormenting me with a full orchestra.

  “Any hepcat would know the difference between an orchestra and a disc.” Jitty materialized right in front of me. The white shirt closed at the throat with a black tie. The black skirt and saddle oxfords made me sit up in bed. Sleep fled the room.

  “Get out!” I pointed at the door. “You are not allowed to read my thoughts like that.” I hadn’t said anything aloud. She’d stepped over the line.

  “Be a rootie-tootie and find yourself a cutie,” she sang back at me, wagging her finger and dancing around the bed.

  “Jitty, I’ve been awake for days.” I wanted to throttle her. “I could die. My death will be on your head.”

 
; “Sarah Booth, I think you got some anger issues.”

  Dear God, if she were not dead, I would gleefully kill her. “I have some sleep deprivation issues.”

  The music faded and she sat on the edge of the mattress. “I’m sorry, you do need your rest.”

  I flopped back against my pillow. “Then go away. If I don’t get some shut-eye I may burst into flames.”

  “Sarah Booth, did you ever think about how the whole world relies on the young for true hope? Like those young boppers and swingers, they kept the spirit alive. The Great Depression, all of that. If it hadn’t a’been for the younguns, folks woulda given up and crawled off to die.”

  I opened one eye to see her expression. Surely she was messing with me. “Did you ever stop to think that I could sell this place and you with it?”

  She gave a little shake of her head. “No call to get all uppity. If you had a politically correct bone in your tired ole body, you wouldn’t talk about sellin’ me. Not to nobody, nowhere, no time.”

  I sighed. “You know what I meant.”

  “Yes, I do. No offense taken.” She smiled, and in the moonlight filtering through the blinds I saw that her dancing and sashaying hid a deeper sadness.

  It was hopeless. I couldn’t fly to the arms of Hypnos if she was genuinely troubled. “What is it?” I asked.

  “When do you think we cross the line between youth and gettin’ old?”

  This age thing was heavy on Jitty’s mind. “You’ll always be young. And sexy. And thin.” I flounced in the bed seeking a more comfortable position. “I’ll hit middle age and my middle will age and spread, but you’ll always be just the way you are today. Somehow that’s not fair.”

  “Middle age isn’t old!” She hesitated. “Sometimes I forget you don’t have a model for such things. Your mama died so young, and all your relatives are gone. There’s no one left to show you the way.”

  “That applies to most of the situations of my life,” I admitted. “I’d give almost anything for ten minutes with my folks. They could help me.”

  “Somehow, Sarah Booth, you’ll figure it out. You’re comin’ to the last of your youth. Transitions are always the toughest part. Life’s still got some fine surprises in store for you. I believe that for sure.” Her eyes danced with mischief, and I wondered what she knew that I didn’t. It wouldn’t do any good to ask, because Jitty was a master at keeping secrets.

  “Maybe middle age will be easier,” I said. “Wisdom, serenity, those are what I perceive as the gifts of maturity.”

  “Best to hide those lights under a bushel if you want to get you a man.”

  Jitty wasn’t kidding. And she was wrong. “Graf loves me because I’m smart.”

  “I’d say it’s more like despite the fact.”

  “Men have changed since your time. They admire women of accomplishment.”

  Jitty executed a quick dance step. “Men, down in the bottom of their hearts, want a woman who makes them feel needed. When a man feels that he’s the king of his domain, then he’s the happiest he’s ever gonna be.”

  “Because a woman is smart doesn’t preclude the man from feeling needed.” Why was I arguing the merits of the metrosexual man with Jitty at midnight when I felt like someone had thrown glass dust in my eyes?

  “Not if it’s done the right way. Take a tip from your partner. Tinkie has always been smarter than Oscar, but when you first met her, you saw only what she wanted you to see—another ditzy sorority girl who’d achieved the Nobel Prize of the DGs: a secure marriage.”

  That was true. I’d not only underestimated the depth of Tinkie’s character, I’d never noticed the greatness of her heart. Time had taught me who she really was, despite the trappings of the Leader of the Pack of Sunflower County DGs. “Okay, I concede that point. But do you think Oscar realizes how smart Tinkie is?”

  “He knows what she wants him to know. And he’ll never doubt that he’s the top priority in her life.” She sat back down on the bed. “Dancin’ and datin’ aren’t the priority of your life anymore, Sarah Booth.”

  “They never were, Jitty.”

  Her eyes were brown pools in the moonlight. “I know that. When your parents died, they took your youth with them. Can’t be helped, but you missed out on the carefree time of bein’ a young adult. Now you’re all serious bidness. A man wants to see your softer side.”

  “Graf knows I have a soft side. He’s seen it.” I was feeling way too defensive for so late—or so early, as it were—in the morning.

  “Allow yourself to be tender, Sarah Booth. Tender and nurturing. Will you do that?”

  “Can’t say ’til I get there,” I told her.

  “I think the best thing about bein’ young is that you believe anything is possible.”

  I thought about her statement, despite the fact that she was keeping me from much needed rest. “I’d agree with that. But then I’d say the best thing about being an adult is knowing that anything is possible.”

  “Touché, Miss Wish-Upon-A-Star. And I was getting’ worried that you were growin’ cynical.”

  Jitty’s drawl was slow and thick, and for a moment I closed my eyes and allowed myself to relax into the safe comfort of it. All of my life I’d been surrounded by women with a slow, easy drawl. Women who were strong yet tender, smart yet compassionate—the very qualities Jitty advocated that I practice.

  “I’m not cynical, Jitty. I’m tired. Was there anything else?” Sleep once again hauled at my eyelids.

  “Tomorrow, listen to some of those old records your mama loved.”

  “Okay.” The word rolled out of my mouth.

  “There’s a song there for you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Good night, Sarah Booth.”

  “Okay,” I mumbled.

  The last thing I heard was the warbly echo of her whistling. “My Blue Heaven” drifted over me like a soft blanket.

  It was bright and sunny when I finally rejoined the living. I’d slept so hard, my back was stiff and my muscles sore. Fleeting dream images disturbed the glow of the sunshine, but I pushed them back and sat up. There was work to be done, and I was rested and ready to do it.

  First was a check with Tammy at the hospital. “It’s all fine,” she said when she answered my phone call. “Tinkie has called about eight times. She needs a lift up here.”

  “Can do.” I’d forgotten I’d left Tinkie stranded at home. It was a sign of her genuine concern for me that she hadn’t called and awakened me. She was undoubtedly champing at the bit to get back to the hospital and Oscar.

  “I’m baking some biscuits,” she announced when I called. “I’ll feed you breakfast for a change.”

  Now that was a turnabout. Normally I played chef to Tinkie’s breakfast desires, but after I’d spiked her French toast, I gathered she didn’t trust me with a spatula. “I’ll be there soon.”

  I raced through a shower and my toilette and picked up my car keys on the table in the foyer.

  I headed out the front door and nearly tripped over a special delivery package. When I picked it up, I noted the California return address. Graf! My heart tumbled at the thought of him.

  Before I went another inch, I tore into it. The black velvet box that slipped from the packing made me close my eyes. I knew what it was. Although I hadn’t anticipated it, I wasn’t surprised. Graf had become the kind of man who honored his word.

  I briefly considered waiting until I got to Tinkie’s, but somehow that was a violation. This was a private moment between Graf and me. I opened the box, awestruck by the way the light caught the facets of the yellow diamond. The simple solitaire was set on a band of twined gold. A pattern of ivy had been carved into the band.

  A small note was crammed into the ring box.

  I love you, Sarah Booth.

  Please wear this symbol of our love.

  Graf.

  How clever of him to send the ring in a way that allowed me to accept or reject it without the pressure of him standing—or
kneeling on one knee as I felt he would—in front of me. There was a deep traditionalist streak in Graf, yet he’d pushed it aside to consider my nature, my fears.

  He knew me well enough to realize that I would have to think about this moment, about what I was promising, and about how this would change who I was—in my eyes as well as in the community I loved.

  I slipped the ring on my finger. It was a perfect fit. In every way.

  Jitty’s words from last night came back to haunt me. If I wore this ring, I had to commit to allowing myself to soften, to trust Graf enough to let him be strong. While I might chafe at the idea of playing a role, I had to accept the wisdom of Jitty’s advice. A good relationship required consideration of the needs of “the other.”

  My cell phone broke the moment.

  “Sarah Booth, the biscuits come out of the oven in five minutes. Don’t you make me eat cold biscuits.” Tinkie’s voice sounded better than I could remember.

  “I wouldn’t dream of that.” I ran down the steps and jumped into my car.

  Good for her word, Tinkie had breakfast on the table when I walked in. Crisp bacon, hot biscuits with butter and mayhaw jelly, fresh coffee, and grits.

  “This is delicious,” I told her. We were both eating fast. “If I slowed down, I could taste it better.”

  “No time for slackers,” Tinkie said. “Tammy has a client to read for at eight, so we’re on a tight schedule.”

  I shoved half a biscuit in my mouth and grinned at her.

  “The ring is beautiful,” she said, her total attention on her grits. When she finally looked at me, there was only happiness in her expression. “Of all the guys in your life, Sarah Booth, Graf wouldn’t have been my pick until I saw the two of you together in Costa Rica. The man adores you.”

  “I can’t believe I’ve accepted an engagement ring.” Just like that. The ring slipped onto my finger and now I felt as if it had always been there.

  “Have you set a date?”

  The idea floored me. Engaged was one thing. Married, with all the trappings of an official ceremony, was something else. “No. We haven’t even talked about one.”