Bones of a Feather: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery

by Carolyn Haines

  “Monica and Eleanor don’t have to give you anything,” I pointed out.

  He considered what I said. “I know that. But I believe the Levert name means much to them. I am Monica’s son, a true Levert, whether she wants to acknowledge me or not.”

  “Have you spoken to her?” Cece asked.

  “I was hoping for the DNA proof first. That’s why I approached Miss Delaney and Mrs. Richmond in the Eola bar. I heard they were working for the sisters on the missing necklace. Gossip in Natchez is like the wind. My intent was to ask them to help me.”

  “But you didn’t. You said you were some strange fictional character,” I pointed out.

  “I didn’t sense a willingness to hear me out.”

  “Sarah Booth and Tinkie can be pretty pigheaded at times,” Cece cut in.

  “So Monica has no idea you’re in town?” I asked.

  “She doesn’t. I’ve followed the sisters—from a distance. I admit it. I saw them in the tearoom the other day waiting for you and your partner. I watched them for a long time, but I didn’t approach.”

  “And what do you know of Briarcliff?” I asked.

  “I know the stories.” He offered the crook of an arm to each of us. “Shall we stroll? Let’s find a quiet place to sit and talk. I’d like to buy you a drink. I need your help, and I’m not too proud to ask for it.”

  Cece attached herself without a qualm. Her hand caressed his biceps and she gave me a look that said, “Watch out, this bad boy has met his match.”

  I almost felt sorry for Barclay. Almost. Reluctantly I tucked my hand through his other arm and we set off for the far end of the street.

  “Bennator’s is quiet. We can finish this conversation without interruption,” he said as he escorted us to the quaint little restaurant. The place was dark, quiet, and perfect for conversation. This wasn’t a hangout for the young or tourists. This was a place where locals could drink quietly and hold a discussion.

  We found a table in the back. Barclay settled into a chair and then glanced from me to Cece. “I’m going to tell you the truth,” he said. “It isn’t pretty, but it’s all I have.”

  * * *

  An hour later, I’d learned more about the tortured Levert lineage than I ever wanted to know. No one has more interest in family history than a member who’s been shut out. Barclay had devoted endless hours researching Barthelme Levert and his offspring. He was determined to claim his place in the family and demand acceptance, with or without the money. He longed to be part of something from which he’d been denied. Even my cold, hard heart was dented by the cards he’d been dealt.

  “The enjoyable thing about Barthelme is that no matter how bad I am, he will always be worse,” Barclay said.

  “Now that’s inspirational.” I hoped Cece would heed the warning, but it was clear to see Barclay had captivated her. They shared many of the same wounds—always a dangerous link of compatibility.

  What I’d learned in our conversation was that Barclay wasn’t aware Monica was missing. No one in town seemed to be. Based on what I knew of small towns, that wasn’t normal. If word got out that a wealthy heiress—especially one as controversial as Monica, was missing—the talk should be flying.

  “I’m going to Briarcliff tomorrow and demand DNA,” Barclay said. “I wanted to wait, hoping to meet my mother and her sister and win them over. But that isn’t happening. I’ll have to force the issue, so I might as well get it done.”

  That was a bad idea. The sight of Barclay might unsettle Eleanor to the point she’d reveal too much. Before I could dissuade him, Cece piped up.

  “I like a man who knows what he wants and goes after it.” She wasn’t exactly slurring her words, but she was tipsy. She leaned toward Barclay’s shoulder, and he shifted to give her support.

  It was time for fresh air, food, and a date with Kissie McClain. Cece wasn’t normally the kind of drinker who let a few rounds lay waste to her. “Let’s go, party girl.” I slipped an arm around her.

  Barclay came to my assistance. I was about to tell him I could manage when Cece poked my ribs. I yelped and jumped backward, and she fell completely into his embrace.

  “Are you going to faint?” Barclay asked. If he was aware of her ruse, he was too much the gentleman to call her out on it.

  “I think I may.” She flung her head back, exposing her long, bare throat.

  “Perhaps I can revive you.” Barclay kissed the pulse point in her neck. Cece’s eyes flew wide open. Behind his back, she waved me away.

  “I’ll meet you at King’s Tavern,” I said. Far be it from me to stand in the way of true lust. Both Barclay and Cece knew the rules of the game they’d engaged in.

  I eased around the table and was walking to the door when it opened on a lanky man in jeans, a Western shirt, boots, and a cowboy hat. Barclay saw him and forgot all about the woman in his arms. He assisted Cece to her feet, but his total focus was on the man. He deposited Cece on a chair and moved toward the cowboy with intent. He stopped when he was almost in the man’s face.

  “Who the hell is that?” Cece asked, completely sober. Her arms akimbo, she looked aggravated.

  “Hush!” I wanted to hear whatever exchange passed between the men.

  “I know what you’re up to,” Barclay said as he squared off, blocking the cowboy’s path. “You are a bastard.”

  “I’m gonna send you straight to hell,” the stranger said before he whipped around and left the bar.

  “Excuse me, ladies.” Barclay took off in pursuit.

  “Who was that?” Cece delicately dabbed at a sheen of perspiration on her forehead.

  “I don’t know, but we definitely need to find out.”

  We rushed out the door of the bar, but when we got to the street, it was completely empty. Music pulsed in the distance. The slot machines on the riverboat casino docked below us dinged faintly on the humid night. Barclay and the stranger had vanished like spirits on the wind.

  9

  If the barkeep in Bennator’s knew the strange man, he wasn’t telling, not even when Cece flashed cash in front of him. Barclay never returned, so we drove to King’s Tavern. It was almost time for Kissie’s first set.

  Tinkie and I had visited King’s Tavern on the haunted tour of Natchez. One of the city’s oldest structures, dating back to the late 1700s, the building had served not only as a restaurant and inn, but also a post office.

  After we took our seats, I filled Cece in on the ghost of Madeline, a young woman and mistress of the tavern owner, Richard King. Madeline was a beautiful girl, and local legend said she was murdered by King’s wife and bricked into the fireplace. A female skeleton, along with two males, had been found there along with a jeweled dagger. The identity of the two male skeletons was never resolved.

  “I’m sure Madeline is still around.” Cece waved a hand, mocking the story. “She’s probably lurking in some creepy corner, waiting to give you a whispery touch.”

  “The bed upstairs does have a warm place where it’s said she slept. And some staffers have seen footprints appear on a freshly mopped floor.” I laid out the evidence, but I didn’t try to convince Cece of ghosts. Some lessons can only be learned, not taught.

  Cece put her napkin on her lap and sighed. “I know you’re trying to divert me from the fact Barclay is very attractive.”

  The possibility of spirits couldn’t compete with a big hunk of manly corporeal flesh. “He is. He’s also a liar with anger issues.”

  Cece heard me; she just wasn’t interested in my observations. “He didn’t appear to know about Monica’s abduction.”

  “Like I said, he’s a liar. And he’s not stupid. One thing I failed to ask is how he makes a living. But I think we both know. He sponges off women.”

  “A gigolo.” Cece straightened the flatware on the table, though it was perfectly aligned.

  “That would be my guess.”

  “Gigolos can be a lot of fun.” Her focus stayed riveted on the table.

  �
��As long as you accept what he is and don’t expect more. I just don’t want to see you hurt.” Cece was smitten. I’d known Barclay would intrigue her, but I never thought she’d fall so hard and so fast. I felt responsible.

  “What would you be like, Sarah Booth, if your parents hadn’t loved you? If your mother had run away and disappeared? If your family made it clear they had no use for you?”

  “I can’t answer that. I agree Barclay has a right to be angry but not to steal or kidnap.”

  “Do you have proof he’s responsible for either act?”

  Her defensiveness told me how deep she was already in. Cece had embarked on a kamikaze mission of love. “I don’t. And I hope I don’t find evidence he’s involved. Believe it or not, Cece, I like Barclay. He is … charismatic, to say the least. But if he’s a criminal, he’ll have to pay the price.”

  She nodded. “And if he isn’t, then he deserves to be acknowledged as a legitimate Levert heir.”

  “And that’s something neither of us can guarantee.”

  A hush fell over the restaurant. Kissie walked onstage with a stool and an acoustic guitar. She perched on the stool and adjusted a microphone.

  “Welcome to King’s Tavern,” she said. “My name is Kissie McClain, and I’m performing some songs I wrote. Tonight, I’m happy to say I’ll have some help. Please welcome Marty Diamond.”

  Polite applause spread around the restaurant. I shifted my chair for a better view and then nearly fell out of it when the stranger from Bennator’s sauntered on the stage with a microphone.

  Kissie strummed her guitar and they started a duet about the Mississippi River and a star-crossed love. The song was beautiful, but my attention was fixed on Marty Diamond. He was a handsome man, though a bit sullen for my taste.

  His dark hair was professionally cut to look untended. His piercing gray eyes and a chiseled jawline said if his singing career failed, he could model. Not much worry there, the man had a lovely voice, a perfect accompaniment to Kissie and the love ballad she’d composed.

  Cece leaned close. “Do you think Barclay has been sleeping with Kissie?”

  And I knew then where Barclay had spent his first three weeks in Natchez. Cece hit the nail on the head. A lot of things clicked in my brain. Kissie knew Briarcliff in and out. The house, the grounds, the sisters’ routine. Where the necklace was kept. Yet Kissie hadn’t known Monica was missing—which made me wonder if Barclay had duped her into complicity.

  “Sarah Booth, is Barclay sleeping with that singer?” Cece thumped my leg with her foot.

  “My best guess would be yes.” As much as I wanted to spare Cece any hurt, I had to be honest. If Barclay and Kissie were working together, they were a dangerous duo—in more ways than one.

  “I don’t believe it.” Cece’s chin lifted, a sure sign a good case of the stubborns had set in.

  “You don’t have to believe it, until I find proof. Just use caution around Barclay. If he’s in this with Kissie, he’s smart.” I remembered what Coleman Peters, the sheriff of Sunflower County and a former beau, had once said about the low intellect of most common criminals. They were caught because they weren’t very bright and couldn’t keep their mouths shut about their crimes. Many, many criminals were turned in by jilted lovers or betrayed spouses.

  The flip side of Coleman’s observations was that smart criminals were difficult to catch. They seldom talked, trusting no one with their secrets.

  “How will you find proof?” Cece had come to help me, but I’d have to drag her kicking and screaming to the conclusion of Barclay’s guilt.

  “I’ll ask Marty Diamond.” If Barclay had seduced Kissie into helping him rip off the Leverts, Marty might have plenty to say about the would-be dark lord of Briarcliff.

  “I want to hear this,” Cece said.

  Why not? She was a journalist with great interview skills and a knack for asking tough questions. “Let’s waylay him after this set.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  For the moment she was diverted from Barclay, and that could only be a good thing.

  We ate our dinner and listened to the performance. Kissie had some great songs, and Marty Diamond had the voice and stage presence to render them effective. Kissie’s voice was good, but Marty brought magic to the music. He could sell a song. With a couple of stanzas and a few smiles and winks, he won the audience.

  “Why isn’t he in Nashville?” Cece asked.

  Something told me the answer had everything to do with Kissie McClain.

  The first set went without incident. The musicians took a fifteen-minute break and came back to conclude to a packed house. As they took their last bows, Cece and I paid up and went outside to wait. After twenty minutes, I left Cece guarding the parking lot while I went back inside to look for Marty.

  The waitress pointed me upstairs where I’d visited the bedroom with the warm spots on the bed. To be honest, it was slightly creepy upstairs, and I braced for Jitty to pop out just for a laugh. I didn’t hear anything until I got to the top of the steps.

  A man and a woman raged at each other in an emotional argument. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, so I did the only logical thing—moved closer to the shut door.

  “You’re being played for a fool.” I would bet a small fortune the speaker was Marty Diamond.

  “That’s a damn lie,” a female said. “I know what I’m doing. This is for us. We can go to Nashville with a cushion.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it. You have a felony conviction. If this goes south, no judge or jury will believe a word you say.”

  Heavy footsteps approached the door and I jumped back. Marty pulled the door open and halted, staring at me. “What do you want?” His face was flushed with anger.

  “I need to speak with you.”

  “People in hell need ice water.” He pushed me aside and clattered down the stairs.

  Kissie came to the doorway, fright and desperation still on her face. “I saw you in the audience.”

  “I have questions for you—”

  Her expression betrayed nothing. “Leave me alone.” She picked up her guitar and brushed past me. “I don’t have time for this.”

  * * *

  The night was balmy for summer, and Cece wasn’t ready for bed. Though it wasn’t yet midnight, Natchez had basically shut down. The nightspots Under-the-Hill were still in full swing, but a drowsy quiet had settled over the rest of the town. Cece went to the Eola bar for a final nightcap, but I was done in. I went straight to my room and called Graf. It wasn’t late in Tinseltown, and I needed to hear his voice.

  “How are things in Zinnia?” he asked. Billie Holiday sang in the background. Graf loved her music, and whenever he was lonely, he put Billie on.

  Guilt hit me like a sledgehammer. My fiancé was in a city where beautiful young women were a dime a dozen, yet he was alone. Not to mention I’d conveniently forgotten Graf was completely unaware I was on a case. The truth had to be told.

  “I’m in Natchez. Cece is here, too, but she’s down in the Eola bar.”

  “And you’re safely in your room,” he said, teasing me gently.

  “Absolutely. Cece is a free agent, but my heart is taken.” Even as I said the words I felt like a cad. I wouldn’t betray Graf with another man, but was taking a case deception enough?

  “Is Cece working on a story in Natchez?” Graf jumped to the best possible reason for my presence in the river city.

  “She’s keeping me company. Tinkie and I took an insurance case. Stolen necklace.” Well, maybe not the whole truth.

  Billie wailed about her lover man, and time ticked by in silence.

  “This is what I do, Graf.”

  “I know,” he said. “I do understand. It’s just that I want you to be safe.”

  “And I love that.” We weren’t on different pages, we just had different needs. “This won’t be dangerous.” The skin on the back of my neck prickled. I turned around, expecting to see Jitty behind me, but no
one was there. Aunt Loulane would say someone had walked over my grave. It was a disturbing thought.

  “I’ve given this a lot of thought,” he said, “and it isn’t right for me to ask you to give up what you love, but I can’t promise I can endure a lot more. When you put yourself in the line of fire, you take my heart along with you. If you keep getting hurt and scaring me … if I feel I’m going to lose you to some crazed individual, I’m afraid I’ll make myself stop caring, Sarah Booth. Not because I want to, but because I have to protect myself.”

  “I don’t want to be hurt, and I don’t want to hurt you. I love you, but I have to feel free to live. I promise I’ll be careful.”

  “Keep yourself safe. If it looks dangerous, promise me you’ll walk away.”

  My relief was immense. Graf wasn’t going to issue an ultimatum or ask me to change my life. He would try to accept it, and it was up to me to safeguard his heart. Even though I was tired, I wanted to dance around the room. “You have my word. Now, want to hear about the Levert sisters and their blackguard ancestor, Barthelme Levert?”

  “Tell me a story,” Graf said.

  And I did. We talked for nearly an hour. I filled him in on Natchez history and the things I’d learned in my short stay there. I hung up happy.

  When my cell phone rang again, I thought it was Graf with another good-night kiss. “Forget something, baby?”

  “It’s Eleanor. I got another call from the kidnappers.” She rushed on. “I heard Monica crying in the background. The man said they would hurt her if I didn’t get the insurance money.”

  My good mood evaporated. “Was the voice familiar?”

  “It sounded like the same person who called before.”

  “Eleanor, please reconsider calling the police. They can tap your phone and trace these calls. They might be able to locate Monica.”

  “No!” Her will was iron. “I will not endanger my sister over mere money. I’ll collect the insurance money tomorrow. I’ll give it to him. Every cent of it.”