Charmed Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  “Budgie, Sarah Booth, come with me,” Coleman said. “Harold, Tinkie, guard the sisters. Use a coat hanger and a broom and make a figure that you move back and forth in front of the window. See if you can draw the shooter’s fire and keep him occupied. Just keep your heads down.”

  “What are you going to do?” I asked, though I knew the answer.

  “Someone is out there trying to kill the Harringtons or one of us. We have to find them.”

  “Who could it be? Everyone is in the jail or in this room!”

  “Obviously not.”

  I had a terrible feeling. “Do you think it’s Gertrude Strom?” The former owner of Zinnia’s fanciest B&B had developed an irrational hatred of me and had tried more than once to kill me.

  “I don’t know,” Coleman said, “but I’m going to find out.”

  He headed to the front door, gun drawn and flashlight at the ready. Budgie and I followed. At the porch we were joined by the dogs and cat. “Roscoe, stay with Harold,” I told the pup. “He needs you.” Whining, Roscoe remained in the hall as we stepped into the night.

  Coleman seemed to get a sense of the area and then he was down the steps and headed toward the old dairy barn. Budgie and I were right on his heels. We gathered behind the barn, and Coleman signaled us close together. “The shot came from that clump of trees.”

  It was a location that offered a good vantage point to anyone watching the house. The disadvantage was that we could easily slip behind the shooter, if he or she was still there. The overgrown pastures now provided plenty of woods and cover. Coleman signaled us forward, and as soon as we were in the trees, we fanned out. There hadn’t been time to go over exact instructions, but I knew enough to call for help if I saw or heard anything. As we moved farther apart, I lost sight of Coleman and Budgie. My entire focus was on listening and looking for someone hiding with a gun.

  It didn’t seem possible that the woods could be so quiet. Each footstep brought a crackle of leaves or the snap of a twig no matter how hard I tried to be silent. Yet I couldn’t hear anything of Coleman and Budgie. I was reminded of walking through the hallways of Musgrove Manor, thinking Tad and Thomas were behind me, only to discover that my friends were gone and I was all alone. Being left alone was one of the things that truly preyed on my fears.

  Clouds had blown up and sometimes covered the moon, leaving the woods in blackness. I would stop and wait for the clouds to shift and allow the moonlight to illuminate the stark trunks and fallen limbs. I didn’t want to use my flashlight—it was a dead giveaway should anyone be watching. Slowly, yard by yard, I moved toward the vicinity where the gunshot had come from. While I wanted to catch the shooter, I also didn’t relish the idea of being a target. Besides, Coleman was out here and I wasn’t about to abandon him without my backup, Budgie notwithstanding.

  A noise ahead made me pull up short. I listened and realized it was the soft buzz of a cell phone vibrating. Coleman wouldn’t be so careless. Or Budgie. But would a killer be so careless?

  Aware the phone could be a trick, I waited. The buzzing came again, followed by an exasperated curse. Male voice. Not Gertrude. The relief was intense, but I was also aware that Gertrude could have hired someone to shoot me. She was that kind of nemesis. Pushing Gertrude from my mind, I inched forward until I caught a glimpse of a person in a blue and red jacket. He knelt on one knee, and he watched the manor with binoculars. I knew him instantly. I recognized the jacket his mother had brought him when we’d rescued him from the old Crenshaw place.

  I’d been blind to his role in the whole thing—because he was a kid. A very bad kid, and one I’d sorely underestimated.

  “Corey, drop the rifle.” I pointed my gun at him. Now it all made perfect sense. He’d been spying on the Harringtons for weeks, at his mother’s behest. “Put it on the ground. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You’re all going to die.” He didn’t release his grip on the rifle.

  A rustling in the underbrush made us both pause. Five cats, lead by Pluto, walked toward Corey. Five more followed. Then another five from a different direction. They formed a circle around him.

  “Don’t make me hurt you,” I said. “Coleman!” I hollered. “Over here.”

  Corey swung toward me with the rifle in his hand. I shot just above where his hand gripped the stock. Sadly, I’d been aiming at his leg.

  “I will shoot you,” I said. “I won’t shoot to kill, but I’m not a great shot.”

  The cats moved in closer. Pluto yowled a serious warning.

  “Those witches should never have come here. They screwed everything up. Everything. We had a plan. A great plan. We could have been rich.”

  “We can figure this out, Corey. Just put the gun down. Do it now.”

  “I can’t,” he said. He started to roll on his back and take aim at me, but the cats mobbed him. He never had a chance. Pluto went for his eyes while the others clawed and bit his hands and face and head.

  He dropped the rifle, screaming, trying to protect his exposed flesh.

  “Sarah Booth!” Coleman called. “You okay?”

  “Here. I have the shooter. Better hurry or there won’t be much left of him.”

  The cats stopped as suddenly as they’d begun. I grabbed Corey’s rifle and pulled it out of his reach. I didn’t have to worry, he was bleeding profusely and he was blinded by his own blood, if not cat scratches.

  “Why, Corey? Why did you do all of this?”

  “Those witches. They came to town and ruined everything. Mom and Dad had a plan to get stinking rich. They were a team, and it worked. Until those witches moved into the old-fart artist’s manor. Then everything changed. Mom and Dad started fighting. It’s like the witches put a spell on my dad. He said I was a spoiled brat. He was going to disinherit me. And it was all because those witches came to town and interfered in everything. I couldn’t let those witches get away with it.” He looked at the rifle, considering a lunge for it. I kicked it farther away.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Corey.”

  “They are witches, you know.” He stared straight at me. “They really are. They’re wicked and filled with Satan. Everything they touch they’ve destroyed. They conned that old artist into investing in a stupid school.”

  I followed a sudden hunch. “You left a threatening note in Trevor’s boot in an attempt to implicate Esmeralda?”

  “She came over here, so stuck on herself, talking about the food she could get in the city but what a pit Zinnia was. Mom and I bought the ingredients to make that black grape sauce she was so stuck on. And so what? It wasn’t that great. But then I knew Esmeralda had been talking about recipes with that woman who owns the café.”

  “You were framing Esmeralda.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And the second note was setting up an alibi for your mom?” The kid wasn’t stupid. Too bad he’d never learned the difference between right and wrong.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why did you have to kill Esmeralda and Trevor?”

  “That guy’s a lying SOB and a scumbag. He told Mom he’d sell the dairy to us. And that Esmeralda was just using my mom to get to Trevor. She was a cheap user. With her interfering, Dad would never get the land for his big development. He was already in trouble. Big financial trouble. These guys were threatening him. He needed the dairy land to get back on top.”

  “You attacked Trevor and Esmeralda. You poisoned them.”

  “I knew about the rosary pea beads. The witches thought they were the only ones who could make a potion. I gave some to Mom and she put it in Trevor’s wine and Esmeralda’s tea.” He glared at me.

  Bob Fontana might not be guilty of attempted murder, as I’d assumed, but Kitten and Bob were guilty of something far worse. They’d created a homicidal teenager, a kid so determined not to lose his wealth that he’d been willing to poison and shoot whoever got in his way. “You’d better pray Doc can keep Faith from bleeding to death.”

  “Why?” he asked. “I
’m already a murderer.”

  “Because Trevor and Esmeralda are alive. You haven’t killed anyone yet. But if Faith dies, that all changes. I have a bad feeling you’re going to be tried as an adult if she dies. Mississippi still has the death penalty.”

  He didn’t react. “Dead is better than being poor, you know.”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. Coleman and Budgie broke out of the trees. In a matter of moments, Corey was handcuffed and walking toward the manor. When I stumbled, Coleman sent Budgie on ahead with his prisoner.

  “You okay?” he asked me.

  “No.”

  “Some sleep will make all the difference.”

  “No.” I didn’t think it would, though I was more than ready for my bed.

  “I know you’re tired, but will you drop me at the courthouse?”

  “Sure.”

  “Breakfast in the morning?”

  I nodded. “I’d like that.”

  “Good. I’ll have the case sorted by then with all the details. I heard what the kid said about concocting the poison. The whole Fontana family is going down.”

  When we arrived at the manor, everyone was on the porch, including Oscar. Harold had finally called him. Doc had taken Faith to the hospital, and the initial report was that the bullet had gone cleanly through her shoulder. She’d lost a lot of blood but was recovering. It could have been a lot worse.

  Tinkie, looking a little green, was ready to go home. As we got in our vehicles to leave, she gave me a thumbs-up. “Tomorrow,” she mouthed.

  I nodded.

  * * *

  After dropping Coleman at the courthouse, I enjoyed the company of Sweetie Pie and Pluto on the drive home. I was surprised my hound was awake. She’d had a busy evening, but not as busy as Pluto’s. My black cat and his feral buddies had literally taken Corey down. It was truly over. Coleman would have to decide on the charges, but it was clear to me that Corey had been responsible for many of the strange happenings. He’d been in the manor, frequently. He knew the secret passageways and tunnels. He’d been the person who attempted to frighten me with claw marks. The shocking part of it all was that Bob had intended to take the blame for his actions. I didn’t realize he had a parental bone in his body, but on that I’d misjudged him. While Bob would escape attempted-murder charges, Kitten would not be so lucky. And Bob would spend a long time in jail for his financial shenanigans.

  And the Harringtons would open their Wiccan school.

  Tinkie and I were in the black with the money we’d been paid—which all came from the Fontanas. In their greed to paint the witches as evil, they’d sown the seeds for their own downfall.

  Only two issues remained unresolved. My hand went to the little charm pouch hanging between my breasts. Had Coleman come to me because of spellcasting or had he come on his own? And what of Tinkie’s pregnancy? I honestly didn’t want an answer to either question. It was better to simply accept the stories we told ourselves. Coleman had made love with me because it was what he wanted. There was no external magic involved. It was just the culmination of a long road we’d both been traveling.

  I didn’t believe Tinkie was pregnant, but I also didn’t want to live in that world where she found out she wasn’t. Right now, she had her fantasy. And I had my man. Let sleeping dogs lie, as my aunt Loulane would wisely say.

  I pulled into Dahlia House and, even though it was closer to dawn than midnight, I went to the barn. I’d give the horses a little grain to tide them over until the morning. I never skipped a feeding—and I felt guilty as hell as I trudged over the frozen grass that crunched lightly as I walked.

  Strange, the light in the tack room was on, and when I opened the door, I found a note in the feed barrel.

  “Coleman sent me to feed and blanket for you, Sarah Booth.” It was signed DeWayne.

  I checked the horses, who were indeed warm inside their blankets and were munching hay that DeWayne had put out for them. “Bless you, DeWayne,” I said under my breath. Only a person with horses could truly appreciate the generous action that Coleman and DeWayne had demonstrated.

  I headed into the house with Sweetie at my side. Pluto was already inside—likely on the kitchen table waiting for his chow. He was a demanding kitty.

  I entered the back door and stopped at the sound of “White Christmas” filtering through the house. The scent of cinnamon permeated the air, though there was no evidence of cooking. Sweetie barked joyously and rushed through the swinging door into the dining room and I followed. I had no doubt who was responsible—and I was going to put a stop to her.

  “Jitty!” When I entered the dining room, it was like stepping back in time. Red and green candles burned on the table and sideboard, and garlands of holly and cedar decorated the table. I went into the front parlor and found a Christmas tree alight with the old multicolored bulbs my mother had adored. One bad light would kill the entire string, and my parents had bickered pleasantly over retiring the old string and buying new ones. My mother had always won, because it was part of our family tradition.

  Ornaments that I hadn’t looked at for a long time hung from the branches of a beautiful, full cedar. The pang of past memories hit me hard. “Jitty.” But this was more a cry of submission than reprimand. “What are you trying to do?”

  There was a swish of fabric and Gillian Holroyd, as portrayed by the glamourous—and barefoot—Kim Novak, walked into the room. “I didn’t start the magic,” she said, “but I’ll finish it.”

  I remembered the movie Bell, Book and Candle. Gillian Holroyd lost her ability to use magic when she fell in love with a mortal. Her cat, Pyewacket, had run away, but thank goodness Pluto was sitting in the foyer doorway licking a paw. He had no intention of hitting the road. I couldn’t take a runaway kitty; an out of control haint was enough to handle.

  “Jitty, I’m not in the mood,” I said. “I’m tired.”

  “Like you’re the only one who works.” That sounded a lot more like Jitty than Gillian.

  “It isn’t a competition,” I said. “Now put away the Christmas décor, though I do appreciate the true-blue adherence to the setting of the film. I’m going to bed.”

  “Alone?”

  “No, with my shadow.” Jitty could aggravate the horns off a billy goat. “Everyone is worn out. Even if Coleman was here, we’d just conk out.”

  “Not with that magic charm you’re wearing. Still wearing,” she said with emphasis. “You do believe in magic.”

  I reached beneath my blouse and my fingers closed on the silk sack. I was tempted to pull it off my neck and throw it at her, but I didn’t. The little charm gave me great comfort.

  “See.” Kim, who was slowly turning into Jitty, goaded me.

  “I don’t believe in magic.”

  “But you are superstitious, which is just another kind of believin’ in magic.”

  I did not want to argue the subcategories of magic, good or bad. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

  Jitty was completely Jitty now, though she still looked gorgeous in the little black dress she wore. Not even her bare feet could detract from her glamour. “Do me one small favor.”

  Pluto trotted over to me and figure-eighted around my ankles. “What?” Sometimes it was easier to give in to Jitty than to argue.

  “Hold that little charm and make a wish for Coleman.”

  “Like I wish he’d win the lottery? Or suddenly discover he had a four-week vacation he could take?”

  “Maybe somethin’ a little more intimate.” She grinned. “I know what you need, even if you don’t.”

  She would not be satisfied until I’d done as she asked. “Okay, okay.” I brought the little sack out of my shirt and wrapped one hand around it. I closed my eyes. “I wish Coleman was here.”

  The knock on the front door made me gasp, and Jitty disappeared with a cackle. “I will get you for this,” I said. She had to have known Coleman was outside when she started her foolishness. It could be no one but Coleman. The we
ariness seemed to drop away from me as I went to the door and threw it wide open. Coleman stepped in out of the cold and caught me in his arms. His kiss seared through me, and far in the back of my mind, I realized that Jitty knew me better than I knew myself. This was exactly what I needed.

  “Am I forgiven?” Coleman whispered against my neck as his lips teased my skin.

  I would have forgiven him for almost anything at that particular moment. But I’d learned a bit from my haunted friend. “Maybe.”

  He chuckled. “Maybe? That sounds very … conditional.”

  “And it is.” Our gazes locked.

  “What must I do to earn your forgiveness?”

  “Take me upstairs and I’ll tell you. I have a long, long list.”

  He swept me into his arms and carried me up to the bedroom. I clutched the little charm bag and remembered my wish, which had just been answered. Maybe I did believe in magic. Maybe everything would work out. Maybe the Harringtons were real witches. The only thing I knew for certain was that I had at least three hours to be with Coleman Peters, and I wasn’t going to waste a minute.

  ALSO BY CAROLYN HAINES

  SARAH BOOTH DELANEY MYSTERIES

  Sticks and Bones

  Rock-a-Bye Bones

  Bone to be Wild

  Booty Bones

  Smarty Bones

  Bonefire of the Vanities

  Bones of a Feather

  Bone Appétit

  Greedy Bones

  Wishbones

  Ham Bones

  Bones to Pick

  Hallowed Bones

  Crossed Bones

  Splintered Bones

  Buried Bones

  Them Bones

  NOVELS

  The Specter of Seduction

  The House of Memory

  The Book of Beloved

  Familiar Trouble

  Revenant

  Fever Moon

  Penumbra

  Judas Burning

  Touched

  Summer of the Redeemers

  Summer of Fear

  NONFICTION