Rock-a-Bye Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  It was too late for us by then. I’d hardened my heart and gone on to new relationships, the latest of which had ended in a broken engagement. I wasn’t certain my heart was ready to try again. Rushing into a relationship, romantic or just plain sexual, was not what I needed. And I had to hold firm to that knowledge and not let Coleman seduce me—because he certainly could.

  Coleman came up behind me as I leaned over to put napkins at our plates. His arms circled my waist and pulled me into him. At first I resisted, and then I relaxed. Coleman’s arms were the safest place in the world.

  “Dinner’s ready,” he whispered in my ear, sending chills over me.

  “We should eat.”

  “We probably should.” Coleman lifted the wine bottle I’d uncorked and poured a glass. He offered it to me, and I shared with him. Leaning against him, I let my worries drop away. Life offered so many wonderful opportunities.

  “The food smells delicious.”

  “I can cook.” He laughed. “I know that shocks you.”

  “You were always a grill expert, but I didn’t realize you’d mastered Chinese cuisine.”

  “Mastered may be stretching the point.” His hands spread across my rib cage, drawing me more closely to him as his chin tucked into my shoulder, the better to allow his words to tease my ear.

  My body wanted to turn, to press myself against him. I could feel the blood thrumming through me, and I was short of breath. Coleman could read the signs. He knew he was having an effect on me, because he chuckled softly.

  Unable to bear it any longer, I spun in his arms and lifted my face, anticipating a kiss.

  “No, I don’t think I will kiss you, although you need kissing badly. That’s what’s wrong with you. You should be kissed, and often, by someone who knows how.”

  I stepped back to find him unable to hide his amusement. “You are going to pay for that Rhett Butler rip-off. I am no simpering Scarlett waiting for a man to solve my problems.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” The challenge had been thrown.

  “Coleman Peters, what do you mean?”

  “You’re brave and fiery and capable.”

  “Oh.” I’d misread his comment.

  “And you’re willful and rash and impetuous.”

  He was heading back into deep water.

  “And very kissable.”

  Before I had time to think, he kissed me.

  When he finally eased back, I was Jell-O kneed. This was a whole new Coleman. We’d shared passion in the past, but Coleman had never demonstrated such accomplished skills at making a woman tingle all over. He was confident, and that was like a live wire of desire right to my nether regions.

  “You can’t do this.”

  “Because you’re a lady?”

  “Dammit! Stop thieving Rhett’s lines. I am no lady.”

  He handed me the wineglass. “Drink the wine before you throw it. Less mess to clean.”

  “What is wrong with you? Have you binge watched Gone with the Wind?”

  “I’m patterning myself after a man that all Southern women love.”

  “Sit down and let’s eat. The food is getting cold.” In truth, I wanted the table between us. Coleman affected me, and there were no two ways around it. He was like a flame, and I was drawn to him, even knowing I might get myself torched. Judging from the fire Coleman generated, more like burned to a crisp.

  We’d just taken a seat when Coleman’s phone rang. He hesitated.

  “Answer it. Maybe they arrested Gertrude.”

  “Hello, Sheriff Kincaid.” Coleman slowly rose from the table and turned profile. “I see. Well I can assure you it wasn’t Ms. Delaney. She’s been with me most of the afternoon and this evening.”

  He kept his attention focused away from me.

  “Yes, she’s here right now. I appreciate the heads-up on Gertrude Strom, by the way. You will let me know if you apprehend her. I’ll be on my way there shortly.”

  He put the phone down. “Carrie Ann Musgrove has filed charges against you. She said you tried to burn her house down.”

  “That’s insane. I’ve been with you.”

  “It’s time I have a chat with her.”

  I stood, too. “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, you’re staying right here with Sweetie Pie and Pluto to watch over you. And just for extra precautions, I’ll send DeWayne over.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’ll be fine. I have a gun.”

  “And that’s one of the things that worries me.”

  I gave him the Vulcan salute that I’d learned so long ago from Star Trek reruns. “Live long and prosper.”

  “Stay in the house. Lock the doors. DeWayne will be here shortly.”

  About ninety-five percent of me watched Coleman walk out with sadness. The other five percent, that small percentage that warned me to use caution, was relieved. The sexual pull between us was heady and dangerous. Not dangerous like Gertrude, but we both had the power to harm each other, and I had had enough heartache.

  I filled my plate and sat down. I was famished, and Coleman’s departure had done nothing to quell my appetite.

  The stir-fry was delicious. I hadn’t considered that Coleman had taught himself to cook since his divorce. Such talents might prove useful in the future, which stretched out before me, a long path fraught with possibilities.

  I’d just stabbed a snow pea when I realized I was being watched. I pivoted in my chair and almost fell over. A beautiful young woman stood by the kitchen sink. I recognized her instantly, even without her crown. Millie, my tabloid-reading friend, was going to be pea green with envy. She had had a real thing for Princess Di.

  “Only do what your heart tells you,” the woman, who was once in line to be the future queen of England, said.

  “Listening to my heart isn’t so easy, Diana. It wasn’t easy for you, either. The fairy tale often has a dark ending.”

  “Love can be treacherous, but it is the joy of life. You have many who love you, as did I. And I left two fine men behind to brighten the world.”

  “I have to know. Was the wreck a setup?”

  She ducked her head in that classic shy maneuver. “That’s behind me. The future is what you must guard. Be careful, Sarah Booth. You have much love to give, but there are also those who don’t want love to flourish.”

  “Are you talking about Gertrude Strom?”

  “Gertrude is not alone. There are many who disdain love and compassion and focus only on greed and acquisition. They will stop at nothing to get what they want.”

  She would not tell me who. The rules of the Great Beyond did not allow name-dropping.

  “Are you happy?” I asked her. Millie would want to know this.

  “I am. And proud of my sons and my grandchildren, though I will never hold little George or Charlotte. That is a hard thing.”

  “And you are eternally young.” Not exactly compensation for the inability to hold a grandchild, but it was at least something.

  “Your children are your legacy, Sarah Booth. Never forget.”

  Slowly she began to change, the blue eyes darkening to brown, and the pale skin taking on the mocha tones of my personal haint. Jitty was in the house.

  “Jitty, I appreciate the artistry of using a beloved princess to try to get me to bed a man, but if my sole purpose is to breed a Delaney heir, you may be disappointed.”

  “How do you know that was me? Maybe I’m merely a vessel for the spirits who try to pound somethin’ into that hard noggin of yours.”

  “It’s you—in disguise.”

  “Are you so certain?” Jitty was back in full haint mode. Gone were the sequined gown and the blond bob. She wore my favorite jeans, a plaid flannel shirt, and my riding boots.

  “You have an endless wardrobe. Why are you wearing my clothes?”

  “What do Princess Di and Sarah Booth Delaney have in common?” she asked.

  “Certainly not a sense of fashion.”

  “You can sa
y that again,” Jitty said. “But you both love life and try to help people.”

  “Jitty, my dinner is getting cold. I appreciate the visit, but I have bigger fish to fry than romance and errant sperm—like finding Gertrude Strom.”

  “Where is that deputy?” Jitty grumped. “He should have been here by now.”

  My phone rang and I answered DeWayne’s call. When I looked up, Jitty was gone.

  “I just got a 911 from a woman in Fitler. There’s a shooting there and Coleman is on the other side of the county. I was on my way to stay with you, but I have to go to Fitler. Who should I call to stay with you? Scott? Harold? Cece? Tinkie and Oscar are out of town.”

  It was a quandary. Cece was likely at Playin’ the Bones with her man, Jaytee. And that’s where Scott needed to be also. “Harold would be great, if he isn’t busy. He can bring Roscoe for a play date with Sweetie Pie.”

  It was pointless for me to attempt to escape adult supervision. I would only make life hard for DeWayne if I protested or delayed.

  “I’ll give him a call. I’m sorry, Sarah Booth.”

  “Duty calls, and I’m fine. Sweetie Pie is right here with me. And Pluto, the cat with the killer claws. We’re fine. I’ll enjoy a visit with Harold. Have you heard anything more about Gertrude?”

  DeWayne cleared his throat. “No other sightings. Sarah Booth, she’s hiding somewhere close. She comes out to get the rumors started and then runs back in her hidey-hole. She’s cunning, and she’s planning something, and whatever it is, you aren’t going to like it.”

  My gut clenched in a way that told me DeWayne’s predictions were probably true. “I’m on alert.” I slid the kitchen door latch as I talked. With Coleman in the house, I hadn’t felt the chill of apprehension. Now, though, I was on edge.

  “Harold should be there shortly. If there’s a problem, I’ll come pick you up and take you to Fitler with me.”

  “Okay.” I’d made it to the front door and snapped on the porch lights. The day had slipped into darkness so complete the lights illuminated the porch and nothing else. I bolted the door until Harold arrived. As much as I hated to involve my friends in what could be a dangerous scenario, I didn’t want to be alone.

  Gertrude was crazy. And she hated me.

  My hand was still on the door lock when Sweetie Pie materialized at my side. She growled and inserted herself between the door and me. When I looked down, Pluto was there, too, back arched.

  Someone, or something, was outside my home.

  16

  I eased to the sidelight on the right of the heavy oak door and peered out. I’d never seen such a black night. Despite the inky darkness that seemed to drink all light, everything was normal. My car was parked at the front steps. The wind blew a few dead leaves across the gray boards of the porch. Typical November night. Everything was fine. My imagination had gotten the best of me.

  I petted Sweetie and rumpled her ears. “Take it easy, girl. We’re both on edge.” Pluto was not a cat to be cozied out of his wariness. When I reached to stroke his sleek black fur, he growled low and deep.

  “It’s okay,” I told him, pulling back the sheer curtain at the sidelight so he could see out unobstructed. “No one is there.”

  A long shadow stretched across the porch where none had been before. It moved toward the door. It had a head, torso, arms, and legs. The animals were correct—someone was on the porch.

  I pressed my back against the door, my thoughts like rodents trapped in a cage, running madly. I’d foolishly left my gun in the trunk of the car. I was careless. I didn’t bring it inside when I got home. I’d violated one of the first rules of those who kept a gun for protection: if it wasn’t accessible, it was useless.

  Footsteps scuffled at the door, and beside me, the brass knob turned to the right, then to the left. The door was locked and refused to open.

  The knob rattled with such force I almost cried out. I jumped away from the door but knew better than to race up the stairs and trap myself on the upper floors. Instead, I rushed to the kitchen, Sweetie Pie and Pluto at my side.

  The first thing I did was check the dead bolt and latch the doggie door so Sweetie and Pluto couldn’t hurl themselves into the yard and possible danger. I found the biggest knife in the kitchen and gripped it tight. Close-contact defense wasn’t what I considered a good idea. I far preferred the option of shooting the intruder at twenty paces. Without my pistol, that wasn’t going to happen. The knife was the best weapon I had.

  My cell phone was upstairs in my bedroom, and the only landline was in the detective agency office on the other side of the house. I wasn’t trapped in the kitchen—I had options—but I wasn’t in the best place, either.

  Several of my coats hung in the mudroom, and I gathered my warmest clothes and changed into paddock boots. A flashlight was a necessity, and I slipped the brightest one into my jacket pocket. It was cold outside, and if I had to hide on the property, I wanted to be warm and able to see.

  What I was doing my damnedest not to do was wonder who was outside my house. At the top of my dread list was Gertrude Strom. She was out to get me, and she had the courage of the insane. There was another possibility, though. What if it was someone involved with the baby? After all, the infant had been left at Dahlia House. Maybe whoever left her wanted Libby back? That thought was more frightening than facing Gertrude armed only with a knife.

  Sweetie paced in the kitchen, going from the back door to the dining room door, which I had also bolted. It was a swinging door, and sometime in the past, when my father was a child and careened through the house, his mother had put a thumb bolt to stop the kids from knocking each other out with the door. Now it served the purpose of keeping anyone who’d gotten inside the house out of the kitchen. Of course it was only a wooden door. It wouldn’t keep bullets out.

  My watch showed only five minutes since DeWayne had called. My concern was that Harold would drive right into a trap. If this was Gertrude, she would shoot my friends, knowing that was as good as hurting me.

  The shrill cry of one of my horses came from the field behind the house.

  I ran to the window of the mudroom and searched the blackness outside the barn. The horses were not confined; they were free in the pastures. It would be hard for a stranger to catch them, but they were vulnerable if a madwoman meant to harm them.

  Clutching the knife and with no further thought, I stampeded out the back door and toward the sound. Horse hooves pounded into the dirt, and in the near blackness I could make out my three horses bucking and kicking. At what I had no idea. If Gertrude had done something to my horses, I would kill her. She would suffer death, even if it took me the rest of my life.

  This was probably what she hoped to achieve—to force me out of the house where I was protected and into the open where I was a target. I didn’t waste time figuring out her plan.

  Reveler was near the fence, and he reared and pawed the air. I froze. If he came down on the wooden fence with his forelegs, he could be crippled for life. What in the hell was making the horses react so? I couldn’t see anything in the pasture with them.

  Sweetie had remained by my side, but she caught scent of something on the wind. Her hackles rose and a deep, fierce growl erupted from her throat. Then she was gone. She streaked across the open yard and jumped through the fence. In a moment I heard her hunting bay echoing from the empty cotton fields. She was in hot pursuit of something.

  Pluto took a position at my right side. His arched back told me he, too, sensed danger. He turned slowly in all directions.

  When we both turned back to the house, I saw her. Gertrude Strom stood on the back steps at the kitchen door. Her wiry red hair caught the yellow glow of the porch light. She wore a big coat and sensible shoes, and she had a gun in her hand pointed at me.

  “Run!” I yellowed to Pluto. I darted right, away from the horses, as the first shot rang out in the night. I heard the bullet smack into a fence post and I rolled like I’d seen on some crazy cop
video. It had looked silly at the time, but now I realized, as a target, that it behooved me to duck, spin, tumble, and scramble.

  “Gertrude!” I yelled as I ducked behind the barn. “I’m going to kill you.”

  “You can try.”

  If I’d doubted it was her, I recognized her voice. “You’re insane.”

  “Isn’t that your worst nightmare, Sarah Booth? I am crazy enough to do anything. Just like this—showing up at your house when you’re unprotected. How about I kill you in your own yard?”

  Talking to her only allowed her to draw a bead on my location. I eased into the interior of the barn. Pluto was a shadow as he raced ahead of me and jumped on the ladder up to the hayloft. I’d seen too many horror movies where the bad guy shot holes into the floor of the hayloft to want to follow the cat. There wasn’t really another choice. If I stayed below, without a gun to shoot back, I was an easy target. Maybe there was something in the hayloft, like a pitchfork, that I could hurl at Gertrude.

  “I wouldn’t be counting on any of your friends coming to the rescue, Sarah Booth. This is between you and me.”

  She was a middle-aged woman with flabby arms, a bad dye job, and wire-rimmed glasses. How she had become the Leonarda Cianciulli of Sunflower County, I had no idea. All I knew was that if I wasn’t very careful and extremely lucky, I would end up in Gertrude’s bar soap and teacakes. Leonarda had devised truly clever ways of disposing of the bodies of her victims. Gertrude was just as diabolical and twice as nuts. And I was the prime target for her ire.

  “Come out, Sarah Booth. Come out and take your medicine. I would hate to hurt one of those beautiful horses just to get your attention.”

  She was evil. And she was taunting me. I kept quiet. If she didn’t know where I was, she might focus on finding me instead of trying to hurt my pets. Speaking of, Pluto nestled against me in the hay. He was not hiding—he was waiting for his chance. Pluto plotted his attacks. I could only hope Sweetie Pie stayed away. She’d sailed across the pasture chasing whatever had been frightening the horses.