Charmed Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  Esmeralda all but declared Trevor dead as she went into a lurid description of the property and the slaves that once worked it, claiming all sorts of atrocities. None of her facts was true or had anything to do with Trevor’s disappearance. She painted a picture of enchanted trees, demons roaming the woods, a family with Gothic and perverse secrets, and the feral cats as familiars with magical powers.

  I listened to her broadcast until I thought the top of my head might pop off and then drove past all of them and went to the front door. The horde of feral cats was nowhere in evidence. Even they had sense enough to get away from Kitten, Esmeralda, et al. Pluto, though, was growling deep in his throat. He was eager to get out of the car, and that made me concerned. If something untoward was going on at Musgrove Manor, I didn’t want my kitty injured. Also, I’d heard rumors that Kitten had been poisoning feral-cat colonies around Zinnia, saying they destroyed property values. If Coleman caught her doing that, she’d be charged with animal cruelty, notwithstanding the irony of her name.

  Complaining loudly, Pluto remained in the car along with Sweetie Pie, while I knocked on the front door. Faith didn’t look pleased to see me, but she invited me in. Her red hair caught the golden rays of the setting sun, and I was reminded of Jitty’s appearance as Melisandre, the Red Witch, a woman who claimed to be in service to the Lord of Light, a deity that seemed to be a very dark lord. Were these three young women truly in the service of a dark force? I had to find out.

  I pushed such fantasies away and focused on what was happening in the manor. The three sisters were sipping cocktails, totally unperturbed by rumors of Trevor’s disappearance.

  “May I speak with Trevor?” I asked.

  “If you can find him, by all means,” Faith said. Her drink was a pomegranate martini if I knew my cocktails, and I did. Hope sipped a Black Russian, and Charity had what I guessed was a Blue Long Island. The drink choices were telling.

  “Does he often disappear?”

  “Sometimes we don’t hear from Trevor for days at a stretch,” Hope said. “When he’s in a frenzy painting, he loses touch with time. He drinks 24/7 and he doesn’t eat. Then he’ll exhaust himself, fall out, and when he wakes up hungover and hungry, he’ll come downstairs for us to make him a meal.”

  “How did you discover he wasn’t in his room?” I asked.

  “One of his models called, looking for him. Said she couldn’t get him on his phone, so I went and looked. The third floor is empty.” Faith put her glass down. “May I make you a cocktail?”

  “No, thanks. I just want to get some info about Trevor. And my partner is here?”

  They all three shook their heads. “Haven’t seen Mrs. Richmond,” Hope said. “Trevor has a separate, exterior staircase from his wing of the manor. His models use that to come and go, so we often don’t see them. Truthfully, we wouldn’t know he was up there most of the time. He keeps to himself.” She frowned, and I wondered if it was annoyance or concern for Trevor.

  “I hate to ask this, but was the sale of the manor and land finalized?”

  “What do you mean?” Charity asked. Her blue eyes widened. “Of course it was finalized.” She turned to her sisters. “Right?”

  “That’s right,” Faith said. “Signed, sealed, notarized, and filed.”

  “What about Trevor’s will?”

  “He isn’t dead,” Charity said, sitting forward on the sofa. “He’s just gone somewhere. You’re acting like he’s dead.”

  Guilty as charged. “I’m sorry. I just have to touch all bases. Have any of his ex-wives been visiting him?” Trevor used to tell people that all of his exes lived in Texas, but it wasn’t true. At least three still lived in Sunflower County, and they weren’t shy about talking about what a bastard he was.

  All three shook their heads. “We don’t think so, but we can’t say for certain, because we don’t keep up with his visitors,” Hope answered. “And we don’t know all of his habits. Perhaps he went to Memphis to buy painting supplies. We just don’t know.”

  “Does he have a vehicle?”

  “No,” Hope said, pondering that information. “But he could have called a ride or had a friend pick him up.”

  “Nothing was disturbed in his rooms or studio?”

  “Nothing,” Faith said. “Though it’s hard to tell if you aren’t accustomed to the clutter. As far as I know, the only thing missing is Trevor.”

  I had a few final questions. “Did you see Kitten Fontana over here?”

  “Nope.” Hope wasn’t really interested. “Like I said, his models use the exterior stairs in the back.”

  And now for the pay dirt. “Did you pay cash for the manor?”

  Hope was suddenly very interested. “I like you, Sarah Booth, but that question is just too damn personal. It’s nobody’s business but ours and Trevor’s.”

  She was right about that, but I still had a job to do. I would ask Trevor when I found him.

  Night had fallen around the manor, and I had no legal right to search Trevor’s rooms. But I did have one more question. “Who was the model who reported Trevor missing?”

  “I don’t know her name. She was really upset. She said something about how she couldn’t be involved in anything untoward. I called Sheriff Peters, and he asked me to check upstairs. Sure enough, no sign of Trevor.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Trevor will likely turn up.”

  “I’m sure Coleman will be here to search further, unless Trevor does appear. Please don’t go in his area. I mean if there is foul play involved, don’t muddle with the evidence.”

  “Sure thing, Nancy Drew,” Faith said. “If there’s nothing else, we’d like to finish our cocktails before we begin the moon dance.”

  “Do you think it might be smart to cancel a moon dance? There are protesters outside.”

  “All the more reason to dance,” Faith said. Her red hair was a true indication of her fiery nature. “We won’t be bullied by those sheeples. They don’t know anything about who or what we are, but they’re out there protesting us because someone told them we’re evil.”

  She had a point, but it had nothing to do with Trevor’s disappearance or the financial status of the Harrington sisters, which was what I was being paid to look into. I did have a personal bone to pick. “Listen, I’m asking you to stop this foolishness with Tinkie about getting pregnant. She believes you, and when she finds out she isn’t, it’s going to break her heart.”

  They all three looked at me like I’d grown another head.

  I wasn’t about to let it drop. “What you’re doing is cruel.”

  “Just because you don’t believe something doesn’t mean it won’t happen,” Hope said. “Why don’t you give it a chance? You might discover that there are things beyond ordinary logic that can happen. The Goddess can be compassionate. She can heal people.”

  Doc Sawyer, the local M.D. who also served as coroner and had taken care of me my whole life, had been pretty clear that Tinkie had physical fertility problems. She’d been to a dozen specialists. All had told her she’d never conceive and even if she did, she couldn’t carry the pregnancy to term. I didn’t believe a goddess could produce that kind of miracle.

  “If my friend is hurt by this, I’ll hold you all accountable. False hope is cruel. There’s no other way to describe it.”

  A yowl from outside made the sisters jump to their feet and I was right with them as we rushed to the front door. I was afraid Kitten Fontana was up to her old tricks of killing cats. And my cat was on the premises, though safely in the car. Not. Pluto was sitting on the hood of the Roadster while all around the car the feral cats had gathered. It was a kitty clowder camp meeting! The Anti-Satan League stood at a respectful distance, awed by the cats’ behavior. By tomorrow morning the gossip would be that my black cat Pluto had connections with the devil and that I had joined up with the witches.

  “Go home!” Faith yelled at them. “Unless you want to participate in a Wiccan celebration of the moon, you’d better clear out.”
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  The protesters backed up as if her words carried physical force.

  “Ladies, when the sheriff arrives, please ask him to give me a call,” I said as I picked up my cat and put him back in the car. It was impossible that he’d gotten out, and yet he had. “Remember what I said. I don’t want my partner hurt. And when she finally gets here, tell her not to bother calling me.”

  “She won’t be hurt,” Hope said. “Have a little faith.”

  As I drove toward Dahlia House, I pondered faith and my lack of it. Life had not given me a lot of reasons to trust that divine entities, be they Christian, Buddhist, or Wiccan, would solve the problems of my life. I didn’t expect miracles, and I wouldn’t tolerate cruelty.

  * * *

  I’d just poured a Jack Daniel’s when Tinkie’s car stopped at the front steps and my cell phone rang with Coleman’s number. The two of them seemed to bird-dog me in tandem now. I wondered if the witches had given Tinkie some kind of sixth sense that let her know when I was trying to jump Coleman’s bones.

  I answered the phone as Tinkie came up the steps and knocked at the door.

  “Sarah Booth, can you surveil the witches’ ceremony for me tonight?” Coleman wasn’t kidding. I could hear the earnestness in his voice.

  “Sure. Why?”

  “Some guy named Malvik has checked into the penthouse of the Prince Albert. He told the desk clerk he’s a warlock and he’s come to preside at the witches’ sacrifice.”

  That was a whole lot of information to take in all in one gulp. I went for the obvious. “Have the witches captured Kitten? If she’s the sacrifice I won’t intervene.”

  “Not amusing, Sarah Booth. I’m shorthanded, and I need your help. I’ve got to hire another deputy.”

  “You’ve got it. What did you find out about Trevor?”

  “No evidence of foul play. He has no family left, so the Harrington women said they would notify me when he returns. There’s no reason to believe anything has happened to him.”

  That was good. “I’ll help you on one condition.”

  “Name it. And I hope it involves handcuffs.”

  My knees jellied, but I pressed my demand. “After the ceremony tonight, and when you finish whatever you’re doing, we meet at Dahlia House at midnight. We turn off our phones and lock the door.”

  Coleman groaned softly. “You are killing me. There’s not a chance we’ll be left alone. Not a single chance. You know it, too. I never believed in spontaneous combustion, but it might happen to me.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh as I opened the door for Tinkie. One look and my heart dropped to the top of my cankles. She looked like hell. “Is it a deal?” I asked Coleman.

  “I accept your terms. Just keep an eye on things and make sure the witches aren’t sacrificing any small animals, and that the Anti-Satan League stays back on the road and away from the manor. DeWayne is busy, so if you need help, call Junior over at the bail bonding office. He said he’d back you up, but he’s getting up in years.”

  “Got it. I have to go.” I was staring into Tinkie’s marbled-looking blue eyes and seeing something very upsetting.

  “At midnight,” Coleman said.

  “Before the stroke of twelve.” I slipped my phone into my pocket. “You look like shit.” I saw no reason to mince my words. I’d been calling her all day, and she’d managed to ignore me.

  “I’ve had terrible dreams,” she said. “Nightmares.” She began to weep. “My body doesn’t feel like mine anymore. What if I am pregnant and it’s a … a … a monstrosity? What if black magic gives me a demon child?”

  I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her tight into me. “Stop it. You could never have a demon child. You’re too good. And the Harrington witches are good witches.” I didn’t believe that at all, but it was important that Tinkie believe it.

  Tinkie slumped against me and I realized what a toll the last few days had taken on her. It felt like the Harringtons and the problems they’d brought with them had been hanging over Tinkie and me for at least three years.

  “Are you sure?” Tinkie asked. “I was going to meet you there an hour ago, but I couldn’t make myself face them. What if my child is evil?”

  “Not happening.” I remained calm and confident. “I promise.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Very sure.” I grasped her shoulders and forced her to stand tall. “Coleman has asked me to watch over the Wiccan moon ritual. Want to come? Oh, and we’re hired to find the financial info on the Harringtons for Kitten. Another ten grand and I’ve already found out some interesting stuff.”

  Tinkie nodded. “Can I still be your partner? I know I’ve disappointed you.”

  I nudged her with my elbow. “Of course. Don’t be foolish.” I maneuvered her out the door and into the car. I needed to be on the move if I intended to fulfill the job Coleman had given me.

  I put the heater on full blast and took off down the drive. Even though the car windows were up, I could smell the freshly turned alluvial soil. The old saying was that the dirt smelled like money, because it could grow anything. The inky blackness of the Delta settled around us and we rode in silence for ten minutes.

  Tinkie sighed long and loud. “I have to put this baby issue behind me. I have to. It’s like I start thinking about it and I spiral down into this place where it’s all I can think about. I know it isn’t healthy.”

  She was leading herself to water and drinking. Best to keep my lip zipped. I changed the subject. “By the way, Trevor Musgrove has been reported missing.”

  “Really? Faith told me he never left the third floor. Or almost never.”

  “Well, he’s gone now.”

  As we drew closer to Musgrove Manor, I could see torches burning in the night. Witches or protesters? Was either option really a good one?

  “Kitten should just climb on her broomstick and ride into the moon,” Tinkie muttered when we got close enough to see the half-dozen protesters. What a pathetic lot. They milled around, accomplishing nothing. They each held a torch, and I thought of Frankenstein’s monster. A creation that hadn’t asked for life but only wanted to be loved. The villagers had pursued him with lighted torches, intent on burning him to death. Mobs with torches were never a good thing.

  “Oh, dear Goddess,” I said when I caught sight of the sisters. They danced nude in their front yard around a fire pit. Flute and drum music came from a speaker on the front porch. The sisters’ lithe bodies—and they all three had excellent figures—spun and twisted in an Alvin Ailey-ish modern-dance interpretation that left me in awe. They were trained dancers. Truly trained.

  The flames from the fire pit cast their shadows against the walls of Musgrove Manor, demonic silhouettes that writhed and contorted. It was a hellish scene designed to scare folks half to death.

  “I don’t think this is smart of the Harringtons,” Tinkie said softly.

  Understatement of the century. The protesters had torches—they had mobile fire. And a bellyful of fear. No wonder Coleman had been concerned. I checked to put Junior’s number on speed dial. In fact, I gave him a call and told him things were “heated.” No pun intended.

  “I’m finishing up with a client, but call if you need me,” he said. “Fact is, I’ll stop by the local fish-wrapper and tell your buddy Cece what’s going on. Sometimes the media can quell a mob. They don’t want to be held accountable and photos are hard to dispute.”

  “Good idea.” Thank goodness Junior had his thinking cap on.

  “What’s the purpose of the moon dance?” Tinkie asked. She was sitting in the passenger seat of my old Roadster, looking like a lost child. “Last time I talked with them, I suggested they cancel the moon dance. No deal. They are hardheaded women.”

  “They dance to honor the moon, the feminine, the cycles of time, the tide, the seasons.” I ran down the list. I couldn’t remember what applied, but some of the items did.

  “Sarah Booth, the Harringtons are good people. We can’t let them b
e harmed.”

  “I know. Let’s park here and make our presence known.”

  It wasn’t until I opened my door that I realized Pluto, the devilish black cat, had stowed away in the car. He was out the door like a shot, headed for the manor and the feral-cat colony that had magically appeared on the porch. The cats were lined up like a blockade. All shapes and colors and sizes. When Pluto arrived, they fell into a column and walked behind him as he disappeared, heading toward the dairy.

  “What the hell is that?” Tinkie asked.

  “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.” I would deal with Pluto later.

  “Thank goodness the sisters aren’t really naked,” Tinkie said. “Look, they’re wearing flesh-colored leotards. They only look naked.”

  Their nakedness was the least of my worries, but Tinkie was right. They wore dancer’s togs that made them appear nude. Which had to be a deliberate effort to arouse the ire of the locals, making my job harder than it had to be. At the moment, I was more worried about what Pluto was into than what might happen to three very provocative women who set out to create hardship for themselves.

  “I’m going after Pluto,” I said. “If they start throwing stones at the Harringtons, call Junior to come.”

  “I’ll hold the ground here,” Tinkie said. “If I yell, come running.”

  “Got it.” I skirted the dancing witches and hurried behind the dairy. I found the cats, all in a line, heading across the back field. It was a visual that chilled my blood—like a kitty funeral procession. Pluto was in the lead and I had no choice but to push my reluctant body into a sprint. I was going to nab him and take him back to the car.

  But Pluto was elusive, and the cats picked up their pace. The faster I moved, the faster they goose-stepped in a march that only cats can pull off. I ended up at the old apple orchard. I had fond memories of the spring apples at the Musgrove orchard. My mother had made fabulous pies from the small green apples.