Charmed Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  “I wouldn’t call the International Report a newspaper. It’s more of a … tabloid. But sometimes people get hurt. And badly. If you keep getting people incensed about the Harringtons, it could get out of hand.”

  “And that would be a bad thing?”

  “Why do you hate them so?” I asked.

  “Before the witches moved here, Trevor and I were … well, we had fallen into a convenient relationship. When I was in the area, we were a couple. And I accompanied him on some of his European travels. It wasn’t like I wanted to get married, but we’d put the whole painting thing behind us, and I was helping him promote his art. Not that he needed the help. He was selling all over Europe. The rubes around here didn’t understand the depth of his vision. In Europe, he is quite celebrated. Since his death, which I reported in my paper, the price of his paintings has tripled.”

  I started to bring up Kitten’s modeling and alleged romance with Trevor, but I held off. It was interesting to see that Esmeralda actually seemed to feel something for the painter.

  “We’re digging into some background matters on the Harringtons. If we happen across the owner of your painting, would you be interested in knowing?” I asked.

  Her eyes widened. “How much would you charge for the information?”

  “Charge? I hadn’t planned on charging anything, but now that you mention it…”

  “No charge,” Tinkie said. “We’ll let you know if we find anything.”

  “The Harringtons won’t let me in the manor. I left some personal items there I’d like to recover.”

  “We can get them,” Tinkie offered. “What?”

  “Some jewelry around the bedpost. It looks religious, and it has special significance to me. Some undies and high heels, a camera and a notebook.”

  “Sure thing.” We could pick up those items.

  “Weren’t you jealous of Kitten’s relationship with Trevor?” Tinkie asked. “I mean, she has Bob and she wanted Trevor.”

  A spark lit Esmeralda’s eyes in a split second. “Kitten didn’t want him as her own. She’s sexually … carnivorous. Bob isn’t enough for her all the time. But I didn’t mind sharing. She kept it interesting for both of us. She didn’t want him full-time and neither did I.”

  Now that was an open attitude. I could never share Coleman. Never. Was the lack of jealousy real or merely an act? I couldn’t tell.

  My cell phone beeped and I saw Coleman was calling. I excused myself and walked outside. My conversations with the sheriff were suddenly very personal. “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Harold stopped by and left a hound dog and one pissed-off kitty in the sheriff’s office. Pluto has been chasing DeWayne around the office.”

  “I didn’t intend to be gone so long. Sorry.” I filled him in on what I’d discovered. “I’m headed there to collect the critters. Tell DeWayne I’m bringing him some apple pie. And you, too. You have to keep up your strength.”

  “That would be greatly appreciated.”

  I returned to the table and put in an order for two apple pies and two coffees to-go. Esmeralda stood to take her leave. “The Harrington sisters are dangerous. Not just to the schoolchildren, but to everyone who crosses their paths. Men die around them. I wouldn’t cozy up to them or allow them to offer treatments or charms.”

  A chill rippled through me. “Oh, really?”

  “If they have magical abilities, they received them from somewhere. And there is always a price to be paid for magic. Always.”

  “Good magic doesn’t have a price tag,” Tinkie said. I thought there was a hint of worry in her voice, but her expression was placid and calm.

  “For every bargain, there’s a price. Keep that in mind.”

  Millie put my to-go order on the table as she watched Esmeralda leave. “I don’t like her and that’s a shame because she writes some great stories for the tabloid.”

  Tinkie looked like she’d been gaffed. “Don’t pay any attention to Esmeralda,” I said. “She’s just bitter.”

  “Right.” Tinkie shook off the moment and we headed to the sheriff’s office.

  * * *

  Coleman was waiting for us when we arrived. Millie had packed a little treat for Sweetie Pie and Pluto, and the critters chowed down while Coleman and DeWayne enjoyed their pie. Tinkie had a go-box for Chablis, but she was in no hurry to head home. She was about to pop with wickedness. At last, she couldn’t hold it in.

  “So, Coleman, been up to anything interesting lately?” she asked, then gave a big wink that DeWayne saw and burst into laughter.

  “Something on your mind, Tinkie?” Coleman asked, cool as a cucumber.

  “Yes, I was just curious about your day. Anything of import happen?”

  “He was gone from the office until afternoon,” DeWayne threw in. “Came in the door looking rode hard and put away wet.”

  “The horse terminology works well for Sarah Booth, I’d think.” Tinkie smiled sweetly at me. “You always lecture me about the importance of brushing or hosing your mount off after a rigorous ride.”

  “Tinkie—”

  “Sarah Booth looks a little … exhausted. Notice how red her eyes are.”

  I was going to kill her. Any minute.

  “They are red,” DeWayne said, coming over to the counter to scrutinize me more closely. He turned to Coleman. “Do you think Sarah Booth has been up to something?”

  Little did he know what all I’d been up to. Tinkie, on the other hand, knew and was determined to make me squirm.

  “Whatever she’s been up to is none of your business.” Coleman was seldom at a loss for a defense tactic, but neither one of us was doing well at staunching the teasing.

  “Sarah Booth, what did you do today?” DeWayne asked. He was second on my list to be killed.

  “Just working a case,” I mumbled. Tinkie and DeWayne had truly gotten my goat. I couldn’t think of a snappy comeback to save myself.

  “Were you doing some in-depth interviews?” Tinkie asked. “Might I even call it … probing?”

  I couldn’t believe that the first lady of Zinnia and the ruler of the Daddy’s Girls society was bantering so fluidly in innuendo.

  “I think Coleman was chasing a suspect,” DeWayne threw in. “When I called him, he was certainly out of breath.”

  “I’m going to get you two a job working for Esmeralda Grimes at that tabloid rag,” Coleman said and then yawned. “I need a nap. I have a date tonight.”

  “Where are you going for dinner, Sarah Booth?” Tinkie asked. “Oscar and I might join you.”

  “I’m not his date.” I grinned. At last I had the upper hand in this conversation. “It’s Esmeralda. She’s hot for Coleman’s body. It’s a good thing I drained his energy or I might be worried.”

  Coleman laughed out loud. “Good shot, partner!” He fist-bumped me.

  “I’m worn out. I’m going home. It’s already dark outside, the courthouse is closed, and I need to feed horses.” I picked up the empty containers that Sweetie Pie and Pluto had cleaned to the point they looked washed.

  “I’ll walk you ladies to your car,” DeWayne offered. “I don’t think the sheriff can stagger that far. Besides, I’ve heard that reporter woman is hot stuff.” He licked his finger and held it in the air, making a sizzling sound.

  “Trust me, Coleman can handle Esmeralda with one hand tied behind him.” I walked up to him and kissed his cheek to applause from the peanut section.

  13

  After the horses were fed and the doors and windows locked and double-checked, I took a long, hot shower and propped up in the den to watch television. I was far behind on my favorite shows, and my brain was too tired to work on the case. Besides, though I trusted Coleman with my life, I couldn’t stop wondering how his dinner with Esmeralda was going.

  I’d polished off one Jack and water and was thinking of making one more when Sweetie Pie slowly rose to her feet, hackles raised, and began to growl. Inch by inch, she advanced toward the large windows th
at opened onto the back porch. They were locked, but anyone could crash through them if they were determined to get in.

  My gun was in the china cabinet in the dining room. I put my drink on the side table and slowly eased to my feet. Sweetie definitely saw or sensed something outside the windows. Pluto arched his back and hissed at the darkness.

  My impulse was to rush to the glass and look out, but I stopped myself. Sidling toward my protective hound, I saw movement outside. The night was still, and I angled closer. Only inches from me, a pale face materialized in the glass. The reflection was contorted, as if the person was in anguish, a pale white mask of suffering. I stifled my scream and stumbled backward, tripping over a hassock.

  I went down hard and cracked my head on a coffee table. Sweetie Pie lunged at the window, snarling. Saliva flew over the windows as she barked and growled. She was protecting me with everything she had in her.

  Pushing up from the floor, I ran to the dining room and got my pistol. Before I could think, I went out the back door, Sweetie Pie charging past me. We ran around the house to the den window. In the light coming from the room I could see the area was empty. Whoever—or whatever—had been there was gone.

  I stepped closer to examine the area. The wood near the window was gouged, as if a creature with large claws had taken a swipe. Just like the marks at my front door and on the third floor of Musgrove Manor. Malvik had said some entity guarded the Harrington bloodline. He’d warned me and I’d scoffed.

  I moved back around the house to the kitchen door. Tomorrow, in the daylight, I’d search the area around the window for prints. Tonight, I wanted to get inside in the warmth and light. The sense that something watched me was strong and frightening. I spun around and scanned the backyard, but I didn’t see anything.

  The horses were in the pasture and came running up to the fence, snorting and bucking. The cold weather made them frisky. I worried that someone meaning to harm me might go after the horses, but they were far safer free in the pasture than shut in stalls in the barn. They were friendly horses, but not inclined to rush up to strangers.

  I stroked their noses and sent them off to the far pasture, wheeling and rearing. In a moment there was only the sound of their pounding hooves in the night. Sweetie Pie and Pluto were at my side, edging me back toward the kitchen and shelter.

  Standing at the pasture fence wouldn’t keep the horses from harm if someone was out there with evil intentions, but I knew who would. I checked my watch. It was after ten. If Coleman hadn’t pumped any information out of Esmeralda by now, he’d hit a dry well. I called him.

  His phone went to voice mail and I left a message, a dart of concern shifting through my mind. I didn’t trust Esmeralda as far as I could throw her. She could have poisoned Coleman. Like someone probably poisoned Trevor. With Trevor out of the way, Musgrove Manor would go on the auction block—to the highest bidder. And it was possible Coleman had discovered too much about what was happening at the old dairy. I had to consider that Esmeralda was working for Bob Fontana.

  It was hard to believe Doc hadn’t found the source of the poisoning already. I didn’t believe for a minute the artist had been frightened to death. Then again, that face staring in the window at me had done a pretty good number on my heart. The adrenalin rush must have tripled my heart rate. Still, I didn’t buy it that a grown man could be scared so badly he’d drop dead. And even though I’d seen something outside the window, I was having a hard time believing it was something conjured up by Harrington witches in the 1600s. Call me a skeptic.

  In the parlor I made another drink and returned to the den, closing all the draperies. Whatever had been outside my house was gone, but I didn’t want to chance seeing that face again. Had it been a hallucination? Some remnant of my brownie binge? And I’d almost been asleep. Maybe it had been dream induced. But Sweetie and Pluto had sensed something, too.

  When eleven o’clock came and there was no response from Coleman, I went upstairs to bed. I wasn’t going to be the woman who allowed worry to control her world. Coleman was plenty capable of taking care of himself.

  I’d just settled under the covers and felt my body relaxing when my cell phone rang. Coleman. I answered a bit breathless at the memory of his body in my bed.

  “Can you call Tinkie and meet me at Musgrove Manor?” His voice was terse.

  “Sure. What’s going on?”

  “Esmeralda Grimes seems to have fallen from the third-floor balcony outside Trevor’s studio.”

  I was wide awake. I found my jeans and boots and dressed as I held the phone to my shoulder and talked to Coleman.

  “Did she jump? Was she pushed? What happened?”

  “Doc is on the way. There are a lot of dead bodies, all associated with that old dairy. We’re going to get to the bottom of it.”

  It was now or never. “Coleman, something or someone was at my window earlier. Pale mask like a suffering monster, a grotesque. There are fresh claw marks.” It was something of a shock to realize the face at my window had borne a remarkable resemblance to the gargoyles at the manor house.

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Coleman sounded hopeful I was pulling his leg.

  “No.”

  “Meet me at the manor. Leave now. Call me when you’re on the road.”

  I was dressed and ready to go. I bundled into my coat and gloves and headed for the car with my critters.

  * * *

  Esmeralda had landed in a koi pond just below Trevor’s third-floor balcony. At least the body’s fall was broken because the water had absorbed a lot of the shock. Tinkie and I hung back, letting Coleman and Doc work the scene. The Harrington sisters were behind us. They didn’t cry, but they appeared to be distressed.

  “I didn’t like her, but I didn’t wish her dead,” Hope said.

  “I wished her gone,” Faith said. “I should have been more specific.”

  “Let’s get her out,” Doc said after Coleman had thoroughly photographed the scene. It was a bit disconcerting to see the cute goldfish swimming around the body.

  Cece arrived and snapped a few photographs. The newspaper wouldn’t use a picture of the body, but Cece documented everything. She was a journalist through and through.

  Coleman waded into the pond and was as gentle as he could be when he brought Esmeralda out. Her hair fell away from her face and we all gasped. Her expression was pure horror. As if she’d seen the worst possible thing imaginable before she died—and it had threatened her.

  The face at my window came back to me. It had been awful, and it was outside my house. This, though, was far worse.

  “What was Esmeralda doing here?” Coleman asked the sisters.

  “We didn’t know she was here,” Hope said. “She often visited Trevor and used the back, exterior stairs.” She pointed out the staircase that zigzagged up to the third floor. “He liked his privacy and so did his models. If she got inside, I guess she had a key.”

  I wondered how many other models had keys to the manor. If I were one of the Harringtons I’d be changing locks at first light. And I knew why she was there. The possessions she’d asked Tinkie and me to fetch for her. It would seem she decided to get them on her own. Perhaps because she didn’t want us to know what all she’d left in Trevor’s rooms.

  Doc did a preliminary examination, then signaled the medics to bring a stretcher. “I’ll have some answers after the autopsy,” he said.

  “That look on her face. It’s like Trevor’s,” Tinkie said. She almost staggered and I grabbed her elbow for support. Tinkie, for all of her training as the premiere Zinnia princess, wasn’t squeamish. A body wouldn’t make her keel over. “I’m fine,” she whispered. “I caught my heel.”

  I let it go but the ground was level and she was wearing boots with only a two-inch heel instead of her normal high-fashion stilettos. Tinkie wasn’t a stumbler.

  “So none of you knew Esmeralda was in the manor?” Coleman asked the sisters. They all shook their heads.

  “W
e have protection against strangers, but Esmeralda wasn’t really a stranger. She was a frequent flyer,” Charity said.

  “Any idea why she might have snuck in?” he pressed. “She knew Trevor wasn’t here.”

  Another trio of headshaking.

  “She said she’d left some personal things in his room.” I supplied a possibility. “Tinkie and I saw her at Millie’s earlier today. She asked us to retrieve some lingerie and jewelry she’d left here. I guess she decided not to wait on us to do it.”

  “I’ll look for those items later,” Coleman said. “For now, I don’t want anyone on the third floor. It’s part of the crime scene.”

  “Not a problem,” Charity said. “Every time I go up there I just miss Trevor. He was a cool guy. We had some lovely conversations about his ideas for paintings. He saw everything as progressions. The seasons paintings were my favorites, but the religious icons—Faith was magnificent. Fierce and fiery.”

  “Did anyone see the painting of Esmeralda? She desperately wanted to own it.” I kept it conversational.

  “She was in the religious-icon series. She was a sultry summer saint. I hate to admit it but she was lush and gorgeous the way he painted her.” Charity rolled her eyes. “I wish I’d thought to photograph that painting before Trevor shipped it off to the new owner. Just think, if I’d had a photo, I could have sent it to Esmeralda’s paper. I wonder if she would have been so quick to print something she preferred to keep secret. She certainly didn’t mind maligning all of us.”

  The sisters were standing over Esmeralda’s dead body and still giving her what for. They’d never heard Aunt Loulane’s admonition not to keep beating a dead horse. And Coleman was paying attention, though he did seem somewhat preoccupied.

  I stepped closer to the body the medics were getting ready to put on the stretcher and noticed Esmeralda had gone to some trouble to dress and do her makeup a bit more conservatively for her dinner with Coleman. The thought made me a little sad.

  “Did you hear anything?” Coleman asked the sisters.