Splintered Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  “I’ll expect a full report.” Jitty began to fade.

  “Hey, don’t go.” I needed some guidance, and Jitty had been around for a hundred and fifty years. She’d worked elbow to elbow with my great-great-grandma Alice and a host of other Delaney women, surviving war, famine, and Reconstruction. Surely she could come up with some ideas for this case. But it was too late; Jitty had vanished.

  The knock on the back door almost made me jump out of the dress. I glanced out the window and met Harold’s silvery gaze beneath the rim of an umbrella. Rain spattered and jumped off the stretched cloth.

  “Let me in,” he said. “Do you have company?”

  It was almost as if I’d conjured him up with my conversation. There was nothing to do but kick my discarded clothes into a pile beneath the kitchen table and open the back door.

  He walked in and scanned the room, stopping dead center on me. “Sarah Booth.” His breath came out in a rush. “You look ravishing!”

  Ah, Harold had a way of expressing himself. “Do you like it?” I did a spin that set the dress in motion.

  “I think that dress could be classified as a lethal weapon.”

  I laughed with pleasure. There was nothing like a well-paid compliment to make a woman happy. Money isn’t even good coin in comparison. I could almost forgive him for asking Carol Beth to be his date. Almost.

  “What brings you to Dahlia House?” I asked. I got two coffee cups and put them on the table.

  “Kip. Where is she? I’d like to have a word with her.” Harold’s visit was serious, not social.

  “I’ll get her.” I went upstairs, only to find her room empty. I checked around, stopping in my room. My computer was still on, and several of Kip’s notebooks were beside it. A page was taped to the computer screen.

  “Amy Winslow invited Sweetie and me to spend the night. I knew you were going to the ball, and I didn’t want to be alone. Kip.”

  I took the note back downstairs and gave it to Harold. While he read, I watched his face. He was truly disturbed about something.

  “What is it?” My initial pleasure at the thought that Kip had been considerate of my feelings in leaving the note began to fade.

  “A check came through Lee’s account. It had been forged with Lee’s signature. I’m fairly certain Kip wrote it.”

  “What are you going to do?” I asked, suddenly weary.

  “I took care of it, for now.”

  “Thank you, Harold. I think.”

  “It’s not that simple.” He looked up, and his silvery gaze was worried.

  “Who was the check made out to?”

  He walked to the kitchen window and looked out at the rain. “I should go to Coleman with this.”

  Who in the hell was Kip writing checks to? Harold wouldn’t tell me. He had a rigid sense of ethics when it came to banking business, but he was doing his best to give me fair warning that Kip was in big trouble.

  “I’ll talk to Lee. And I’ll talk to Kip. In fact, I’ll go bring her home right this minute.”

  Harold shook his head. “Leave her at the Winslows’. She’s better off there than alone here.”

  “I suppose.” He had a point.

  He stood up. “Talk to her in the morning, Sarah Booth. There wasn’t money in the bank to cover the check she wrote. She has to understand the gravity of her actions.”

  “I’ll take care of it. It would help if I knew—”

  He leaned forward and brushed his lips across my cheek. “I can’t tell you. Save me a dance tonight.”

  With each passing hour, my anticipation for the ball increased. By seven-thirty, I was a red, shimmery frenzy of nerves. But I was ready. Jitty had given her seal of approval, and I decided to spin some discs in the parlor while sipping a little bourbon to calm my nerves.

  Jack Daniel’s and my mother’s old Percy Sledge album were a fine combo. I’d mellowed enough to answer the door with a smile when Coleman knocked. My smile froze as I took in the figure he cut, his body taller and leaner in his tails. I stepped back and allowed myself a head-to-toe exam while he did the same.

  “My, oh, my,” I said.

  “Sarah Booth, you look terrific.”

  We spoke simultaneously and ended up laughing. “I think we both need some dating practice,” I said, ushering him inside. I poured him a drink and refreshed my own. I could tell by his demeanor that Doc Sawyer hadn’t spoken to him about the insulin. I considered my options, and decided that tomorrow was soon enough to tell him what I’d learned.

  Coleman finished his drink in three swallows. He paced the parlor, nervous as a cat. “Are you ready?”

  The minute I reached for my handbag-cum-briefcase, I knew I was destroying my dress.

  “Make another drink. I’ll just be a minute,” I said, rushing up the stairs to find my sequined evening bag. I dumped the contents of my purse on the bed and was busy picking out lipstick, blusher, compact, brush, and— I froze. Half hidden beneath my wallet was a syringe. Very carefully, I examined the syringe and needle— identical to the one I’d seen in Kip’s makeup bag, except this one contained nearly eight cc’s of clear liquid.

  “Sarah Booth?” Coleman called. “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m coming.” I looked at the syringe. I didn’t have to wonder where it had come from. I knew. Swift Level. Someone had slipped into my car and put the syringe into my purse.

  “Do you need some help?” Coleman called.

  I heard his tread on the stairs and I pushed the syringe and contents of my purse under the pillow on the bed. Snatching up the sequined bag, I hurried across the room to meet him at the door.

  “I had some trouble finding my purse,” I said, holding it out as evidence.

  He smiled. “Women. Even the smartest ones can act a fool over a handbag.”

  I was so upset I didn’t even try to defend my gender. “I’m ready,” I said, slipping past Coleman.

  Who had put the syringe in my purse? Bud? Kip? Anyone on the property could have done it. Bud had said earlier that someone was snooping around.

  The questions whirled in my brain until I felt dizzy. Coleman’s hand at my elbow steadied me at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Are you okay? You’re acting strange,” he said.

  “Party nerves,” I answered, trying hard to be calm.

  He turned me to face him. “What’s wrong?”

  It was the moment of truth. By all rights, I should turn the syringe over to him. “I’m not certain what to do,” I said in all honesty.

  His hands slid down my arms to capture my hands. He held them lightly. “I only know that I’ve never been out with a lovelier woman.”

  I found a smile. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t look so sad, Sarah Booth. We have time to finish our drinks before we go. I’ll freshen yours up.”

  He went to the bar and poured a little bourbon over the ice. “Remember, we’re working,” he said as he handed me the glass.

  “Are you ever off work?” If he would ever go off duty, maybe I could confide in him. I wanted to—needed to. But I couldn’t risk the outcome.

  “You sound like Connie. It’s hard to turn it on and off, you know.” He sipped the drink and regained a friendlier tone. “Do you find it that way?”

  My cases had come back-to-back, with hardly a moment for thinking in between, but I could see where detecting could become a lifelong habit—or vice, as the case may be. “So far, yes.”

  “Once your trust in human nature is gone, it’s hard to find it again.”

  I spun the ice in my glass. “Is it the trust of others or of ourselves that we lose?”

  “That water’s a little too deep for preparty chitchat.” Coleman put down his glass and offered his arm. “Are you ready? If you ask really nice, I’ll let you turn on the siren.”

  The night was magnificent. The rain had cleared the atmosphere of everything except the magic of the stars. A billion of them winked anticipation as we drove the narrow county road
.

  “I want you to keep an eye on Bud tonight,” Coleman said.

  “Bud? Why?” I asked.

  Coleman pulled up in the circular driveway of Swift Level, restraining me with a gentle touch on my arm. “There’s more to Bud than Lee lets on. You’ve got a good eye. See who he talks to, what he does.”

  The valet opened my door and helped me out. Coleman walked around the car and handed over the keys, with instructions to keep it close. With my hand on his arm, we walked into the ball.

  Swift Level was elegant and gorgeous unadorned, but with the huge arrangements of lemony-smelling magnolia blossoms hanging from the ceilings and along the crown molding, and the blooming rose vines that climbed the walls, it took on the appearance of an enchanted garden.

  An orchestra, hidden behind a screen of potted, blooming azaleas, played a seductive melody. The floor was crowded. Coleman was not as flashy as Bud in the dance category, but he was sure and steady and smooth. As we swirled around the floor, it took only a few seconds for me to realize he was scoping out the room. Coleman could dance and detect—a multitasking fool.

  Amidst a gentle scattering of applause when the song ended, Coleman whispered that he was getting to work. He gave my hand a squeeze as he left me to my own detecting.

  I felt daggers in my spine and turned to find Carol Beth glaring at me. I gave her the royal wave, a cool turn of the hand that we’d all practiced in seventh grade.

  “Want me to kick her ass?” Bud asked, slipping up behind me.

  “Really hard. In public.” I turned to face him, and smiled at his concession to hunt club dress: black jeans with a razor-sharp crease and western tails, string tie, and black hat. He had managed both handsome and eccentric with great finesse.

  He laughed, and I felt the tug of his charm. Unfortunately, charm had no place in the evening. “I need to talk to you,” I said, steering him out to the patio where the light was still good but we had a bit of privacy. “Did you put something in my purse today?”

  He lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “Like what? You already know my phone number.”

  “Don’t play with me, Bud. This is serious.”

  “The answer is no.”

  I believed him.

  He grinned. “I didn’t leave you a present, but you’re going to get one tonight. I called Benny today. I invited him to the ball. He should be here by . . .” He checked his watch. “Ten. And he didn’t sound like he was in a good humor.”

  “You didn’t!” My gut reaction was glee. “I’d better warn Harold.” I didn’t want to see him caught in the cross fire.

  Bud shook his head. “Don’t bother. Your banker friend’s no fool. He knows the score.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “He isn’t with Carol Beth for the pleasure of it. Watch him. He’s taking care of business.”

  “I’ll check it out,” I promised, curious as to what Harold was actually up to.

  The patio door opened, and Krystal Brook stepped out in a dark green sheath that hugged every inch. “I was wondering where you got off to, Bud.” She came toward us. “Sarah Booth, have you seen Mike? He went to get me a drink an hour ago.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m going to have to put a training collar on him.”

  She laughed and Bud smiled, but I could manage only a weak smile. Lillian Sparks stepped out on the patio, easing the silence that had suddenly developed. Lillian carried three drinks; she handed one to me and one to Bud.

  “Krystal, I didn’t know you were out here,” Lillian said.

  “No problem. I’m headed to the bar. My husband is probably behind it,” Krystal said. “You owe me a dance, Bud. Just wait until we’re sure Mike is too crocked to care.”

  “Lillian’s my date,” Bud said, putting his arm around the older woman. “Most sensible woman I’ve ever met.”

  Lillian was still laughing when Krystal left the patio, her hips undulating to the music as she wove through the dancers on her mission to the bar. Krystal still owed me a conversation, but now wasn’t the time or place.

  Lillian leaned against the patio wall beside me. “Bud asked me to tell you why Avenger can’t be involved in a crime. In performance horses, temperament is half of everything. If Avenger were to be labeled a dangerous horse, a horse that injured humans, his value would drop radically. A horse that’s dangerous, a rogue, is often destroyed.”

  “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” I said, thinking of the insulin.

  Lillian turned to Bud. “Harold is signaling me for a dance. I doubt my ankles can take more than four or five measures. Do you mind?”

  Bud kissed her cheek. “Show ’em what you’ve got, Lillian.”

  When she was gone, I picked up my conversation with Bud. “If you were a betting man, where would you lay your odds on who killed Kemper?”

  He took my arm and led me to the stone wall, where Bud brushed off a place and we perched. “Eliminating me and Lee, I’d say that puts Carol Beth up to bat. To be honest, though, she doesn’t really have a motive. She has a bill of sale. She didn’t need to kill Kemper.”

  “And Kip? What about her?” I’d finally gotten to the real question. Kip had admitted that she was in the barn with intent.

  Bud sipped his champagne. “If anyone had a right to kill Kemper, it was Kip. But she couldn’t do it. She can’t kill a roach.”

  I didn’t believe it. “Does Lee keep a lot of drugs in the barn?”

  He gave me a questioning look. “Just the typical drugs for emergencies. Rompum and Ace for tranquilizers. Banamine for colic. Why?”

  “Is Carol Beth familiar enough with the barn to find the drugs?”

  He frowned. “Anyone could. They aren’t under lock and key. Most of them are in the little refrigerator in the office.”

  “Are any of the horses diabetic?”

  “What are you getting at?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “Better you don’t know. Just answer the question.”

  “None of the horses are diabetic.”

  “Would it be possible to confuse Ace or Rompum with insulin?”

  Bud stared at me, drawing his own conclusions. “I’m not that familiar with insulin. I’d assume they’re all clear, injectable liquids. But we don’t keep insulin around, so I couldn’t say for certain.”

  “What did Carol Beth tell Coleman about your past?”

  “Plenty. He had a lot of probing questions about Texas.”

  “And?”

  “And I’m not worried. I was with Carol Beth, no matter what she says. She’ll eventually tell the truth.” He grinned. “Some mares take a little longer than others to bring under saddle.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at his confidence. A confident man is truly irresistible.

  “Now I’ve been on the hot seat long enough. No more questions unless you’re going to explain the big interest in insulin,” he said.

  “I can’t,” I answered.

  “Okay, then, a toast.” He tipped his glass against mine. “To finding the truth, which shall set Lee free.”

  “One more question? This one is strictly personal.” As Cece had pointed out, there wasn’t a woman still breathing who wouldn’t be attracted to Bud, but my question was more than nosiness.

  “One more. That’s the limit.” He sipped his champagne.

  “Have you ever been serious about a woman?”

  “Once.”

  He answered without hesitation, and there seemed to be a hint of remorse in his tone. Bud Lynch had loved and lost. “What happened?”

  “Hell, we were both too young. She said I wasn’t capable of love. The ugly truth is that I got scared and ran.”

  I wondered if Bud was being honest or shooting me a line of bull that worked on all of his conquests.

  “Was she right?”

  He looked through the open doors of the patio into the ballroom, as if the answer might be found in the dancing couples or the floral arrangements. “That’s the third question, but I’ll answer
it anyway. Yes. She was. And the real tragedy is that she won’t believe I’ve changed.”

  There were a lot of things I started to ask, but something caught his eye. He abruptly stood up. “Excuse me, I need to have a word with someone.”

  I followed the direction of his gaze and saw Carol Beth with the other two women I sought—Susannah Adair and Elizabeth Cooper, the Daddy’s Girls who were now members of Bud’s mounted posse. Bud walked right past the women and disappeared among the throng of people. Tinkie, who looked ravishing in a coral Versace dress with three straps across the back, had Krystal in a corner. I’d catch up with Tinkie before the ball was over.

  I needed to talk with Susannah and Elizabeth, though. “Hi,” I said, rushing up with air kisses for them. I ignored Carol Beth, who was glaring at me.

  “Sarah Booth.” They both angled a skeptical look at me. “When did you take up hunting?”

  “I’m a guest,” I said. Age had used a tender hand to touch them. There were fine lines and a few sags, but all in all they hadn’t changed since high school. Both had married Delta boys, though not from Sunflower County.

  “This ball isn’t the same without Lee,” Susannah complained. “If she was going to croak Kemper, she should have done it with poison. Kemper loved that andouille sausage. Hell, you could add just about anything to that and no one would ever be able to tell.”

  “I think a good old-fashioned medical emergency would have been the way to go,” Elizabeth countered. “What I don’t understand is why Lee wasn’t smarter. She knew how to kill him and get away with it. There’s enough medicine in her barn to kill a small village. She could have made it look like a heart attack.” She rolled her eyes. “It was just plain stupid to hit him in the head.”

  “Lee was never known for her brains.” Carol Beth finally broke her silence.

  “You’re just jealous of her,” Elizabeth said. “You always have been. She has everything you ever wanted.”

  “But not for long,” Carol Beth said with a cold smile. “Not for long.” She walked away and reattached herself to Harold.

  I seized my opportunity. “Ladies, I need an answer. Was Kemper attempting to blackmail either of you about your relationship with Bud?” My question was direct and to the point. I watched them closely. Elizabeth cut her gaze at Susannah and a silent message was exchanged.