Splintered Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  He’d had on his black cowboy hat, black shirt, black vest, and a purple boa that hailed from his days as opening act for Bob Dylan. The dream had been brief, but pointed. He’d used his first and second fingers to do a little Broadway dance number along the bar while he sang, “Let your fingers do the walking.”

  I groped for the phone book even before I headed downstairs to make coffee. It was just after eight, and I called Dr. Matthews, Zinnia’s top veterinarian and the man who’d saved Sweetie Pie’s life.

  “Where would a person get enough insulin to kill a horse?” I asked him without preamble.

  “Funny you should ask,” he said. “I’m missing some drugs.”

  I was suddenly wide awake. “What kind of drugs?”

  “A bottle of Banamine and the insulin. I try to keep some on hand. I didn’t notice it gone until yesterday.”

  “When was the last time you saw it?”

  “Last Sunday, I was out at Swift Level on an emergency call. Lee was having trouble with a foaling mare. The drugs were in the truck. I remember because I had to rummage around to get the things I needed to help deliver the foal.”

  There was no delicate way to proceed. “Who could have taken them?”

  “Anyone there, except Lee. She was with me the entire time.” His voice was firm, and I was reminded that his friendship with Lee spanned two decades. He was playing it as she had asked him to.

  Still, I had to try. “Speaking of time, when did you leave Swift Level?”

  There was a long pause. “I’m sorry, but I’m a little confused on that point. It was a long and difficult birth, and I was very tired. I wasn’t paying attention to the time.”

  “Thanks, Dr. Matthews.” Caught between loyalty and the law, he wasn’t going to contradict Lee’s story— at least until he was under oath and forced to do so.

  I placed a second call to the hospital to check on J.B. His condition was stable and the doctors had decided not to transfer him. He was still unconscious, but I would be allowed to visit.

  I was dressed and walking out the front door when Tinkie pulled up. She’d changed cars, upping her trademark Caddy to the latest model in a handsome hunter green.

  “I heard about that musician. My goodness, Sarah Booth. Are you okay?” she asked as she came up the front steps. She made the art of high-heel walking look easy.

  “I’m fine. I think J.B.’s going to be fine, too.” That was more wish than fact, but I was clinging to it.

  “I have some news for you,” Tinkie said.

  “I have some for you, too.” I took a breath. “Kip and Bud are alive. So is Avenger.”

  Tinkie moved gracefully to one of the rocking chairs on the porch and sat. “They’re alive?” Her blue eyes were wide.

  “Tinkie, you can’t tell a soul. Not even Oscar. Everyone has to believe they’re dead. Kip may be in real danger.” I told her what J.B. Washington had said as he gripped my arm. “I think he overheard some plan to hurt Kip. I think that’s why he was attacked.”

  “Where is Kip?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question. Coleman’s searching for her. Lee says she doesn’t know.”

  I gave Tinkie a few moments to digest the news. In the fields on either side of the veranda, flocks of crows settled onto the newly plowed earth. Willie Campbell was getting ready to plant. Would it be cotton or soybeans? I hadn’t asked him.

  “Coffee!” Tinkie demanded. “Make it strong.”

  “I’ll get us a cup,” I said. I knew just how she felt.

  When I returned with the coffee, Tinkie was staring out into space. “Are you okay?” She was still too quiet and too wide-eyed.

  “Who burned the barn?”

  “I’m not certain,” I said. It was a damn good question.

  “Did Kip set that fire?”

  “Maybe,” I admitted. “I’m just not sure.”

  She rocked for a moment longer. “My news is a bit anticlimactic. Bud never slept with Mary Louise or Elizabeth or Susannah.”

  My discoveries into Bud’s relationship with Lee and Kip had somewhat prepared me for the truth. This was the theory that I’d hoped Tinkie could prove for me. Bud was a man women wanted, and when they didn’t get him, they simply lied. It was an interesting bit of psychology to chew on at a later date. Right now, it confirmed my belief that Bud, though he had slept with Carol Beth in an attempt to save Avenger, was deeply in love with Lee. “Did the girls actually admit they hadn’t slept with him?”

  “With much chagrin and a lot of begging that I keep this to myself,” Tinkie said. She narrowed her eyes as she stared at me. “You aren’t surprised? Everyone in town had the idea that he had a revolving door into his bedroom.”

  “Bud is Kip’s father.”

  Tinkie sat back in her rocker so hard she hit the wall. “Holy shit.” She threw a hand up over her mouth. “Excuse me, that just slipped right out. Bud is Kip’s daddy?”

  Repeating a fact is also a DG method of emphasis and backhanded flattery, showing that a real juicy and unexpected tidbit has been revealed. The original spokesperson can then repeat the fact for additional effect. I was glad to oblige.

  “Lee admitted it.”

  “Why in the world didn’t she dump that loser Kemper and marry Bud?”

  “It’s a long story,” I said. “A long, sad story that has a lot to do with living up to others’ expectations. That and the fact that Kemper owned Swift Level and Lee’s secrets. He was a master at emotional blackmail.”

  Tinkie had grown pensive, her lively face settling into an expression of sadness. “What a terrible waste. Bud and Lee are a lot better suited for one another. And Kip adores Bud.” Tinkie used her tiny little feet in their child-size, lime-green high heels to push her rocker gently back and forth. “What a hell it must have been for Lee. Kemper was ruining her financially. Kip was being forced to watch her parents eviscerate each other on a regular basis, including physical abuse, and, down in the barn, Bud was doing his best to make everyone believe he was screwing everything that walked.”

  “To keep Kemper from realizing Bud’s true motivation for being at Swift Level, I can only presume,” I said. “And to save Avenger, where Carol Beth is concerned.”

  Tinkie shook her head in bemusement. “All of those women thought the others were screwing Bud, so they said they were doing it, too. No one wanted to be the one left out, so they all just started lying, and with each lie they upped the ante.”

  I felt the beginning of a laugh build. “It’s almost too good,” I said. One-upmanship was the basis for most conversations among DGs, but this was the extreme. Normally, competitions had to do with the most expensive gift, most boring husband, most doctor’s appointments in a week’s time, and most disciplinary actions taken against their children at school that required parental intervention and unconditional defense.

  Now, headed toward their mid-thirties, the DGs were feeling the pinch of time and had added sexual notches to the competition list. At least Bud was a trophy worth bragging about.

  Tinkie was getting angrier with the women as I grew more amused. “That Susannah! We had a couple of drinks at The Club, and she told me how good Bud was in bed. She gave me details that actually made me blush. And she’d made every bit of it up.” Tinkie rocked faster. “Those girls!”

  “You did an excellent job, Tinkie.”

  “They tricked me.”

  I leaned forward in my rocker so she had to look me eye to eye. “Only because they so effectively tricked themselves. And me, and Coleman, and half the town. I thought they were sleeping with Bud, too. He was as guilty in that little charade as the women were.”

  Tinkie sipped her coffee. “I guess. The bottom line is that none of that really matters. We’ve just been chasing our tails.”

  Tinkie had a way of cutting to the heart of the matter. “I have another assignment for you.” I told her my theory that Kemper had tried to kill Avenger for insurance money. “Both Mike Rich and Roscoe, the stable h
and, mentioned an insurance policy on the horse. There has to be one. The person named as beneficiary will have a lot of explaining to do, assuming it isn’t Kemper, and I’m pretty positive the policy is in someone else’s name. Do you think you could make any headway with Billy Appleton? We need to find that policy.”

  “Billy’s kind of weird, but he isn’t a liar. If he says there isn’t one, I think we have to accept it as fact.”

  I nodded agreement. “I don’t think he’s lying, but maybe you could convince him to look a little harder. I know there’s a policy. We just haven’t been able to figure out how to find it.”

  “I can do that. Oscar went out on a limb and helped Billy secure a loan for his new insurance office. You know, the interior is entirely red. Remember when he stole all the red crayons in first grade? It’s like he wants all the red in the world.”

  I did remember. “Talk to him, Tinkie. Getting men to do your bidding is your forte.”

  She smiled. “That’s not a talent, that’s a knack.”

  “Where’s Chablis?” I asked. Tinkie hardly went anywhere without the dust mop.

  “At Canine Curls. She just had to have a lift to her color. It was getting plumb mousy.” Her gaze slipped past me and toward the door of the house. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Sarah Booth, but I made an appointment for Sweetie Pie. They have this wonderful new cosmetic veterinarian from France! I’ve booked a consultation for Sweetie Pie for a breast reduction.” She held up a hand at my protest. “I know she’s had puppies and that just naturally makes the breasts sag, but she’s still a young dog. And I’m paying for everything. I’ll even pick her up and take her myself.”

  When I turned around, Sweetie was standing in the open doorway of Dahlia House. She’d slept in, and her ears were a mess. My gaze shifted down her body to the rounded belly and the telltale shadow of dangling nipples. “Don’t worry, Sweetie, no surgery. I promise.”

  The hound stepped into the sunlight, blinked, then began to bark as a silver Taurus pulled up behind Tinkie’s new Caddy. Nathaniel Walz got out of his car and began to walk toward us.

  “Tinkie, don’t leave,” I whispered. “I’m afraid if I don’t have a witness, I may kill him.”

  “What does he want?” she whispered back as we both watched him approach.

  “He was asking Harold about the possibility of buying Dahlia House for one of his development projects.”

  “Get the garlic,” Tinkie said, stepping up beside me.

  “Miss Delaney,” Walz said, smoothing his silk tie. “I hope I’m not interrupting. I’ve come to ask for your help in a very delicate matter.” He was a handsome man, flawed only by his diminutive size and his nattiness.

  “How could I possibly help you?” I asked. It was an honest question with a tiny stinger of sarcasm on the end.

  “Your friend, Ms. McBride—I’d like to help her out, but she won’t even give me a chance to talk to her.”

  “Lee isn’t exactly in a position to entertain guests,” I pointed out to him.

  The ringing of the telephone halted the conversation. I started to step back inside, but Tinkie touched my shoulder.

  “I’ll get it,” she volunteered. She ran up the steps and into the house, with Sweetie Pie right behind her.

  “My desire to speak with Ms. McBride isn’t social,” Walz said. “It’s business.” Even as he spoke his gaze swept over Dahlia House and the land around it. In his eyes I could see asphalt and strip malls rising out of the earth, multiplying, followed by subdivisions. There were different visions of the future, and though I didn’t have a firm grasp on my personal vista, I knew what I wanted for my home. Nathaniel Walz was the antithesis of it.

  “It would be better if you waited until Lee’s out of jail. She’s having a rough time right now.” I took a step toward the front door. As far as I was concerned, the discussion was at an end.

  “I was at the ball. What a terrible loss. Her horse and her daughter, all in the same fire.” He sighed. “I could see the hard work and love she put into Swift Level. It is a magnificent place.”

  “Yes, it is.” I knew where Walz was heading, and even the thought was offensive. Before I could put a halt to his developing advance, Tinkie came down the steps, a puzzled expression on her face.

  “It was some prankster with a funny name. He said he was leaving the Memphis airport and to ‘hold the wedding,’ that he was on his way to Dahlia House to help you save the cats.”

  “What?” I was stumped. “Wedding? Cats?”

  “That’s what he said. He said you’d know what it meant.”

  I didn’t. But I knew what Walz meant to do, and he was the immediate concern. “Why do you want to see Lee?” I asked.

  “I’d like to buy Swift Level.” He held up both hands as if he expected us to try and hit him. “I’m making the offer now. I could wait until it all goes to hell around her, and then get the place for a song.”

  Before I could even think of a response, Tinkie jumped at him. On her high heels she was just his height, and she leaned into his face. “You, sir, are a cad and a profiteer. Do you really think Sarah Booth or I would help you convince Lee to sell her home to you?”

  Walz remained calm. “She’ll sell to me or someone else, but she’ll sell. And then I’ll buy it. Swift Level is perfect for my development. I’ve searched all over the state, and it is exactly the piece of real estate I want.”

  “Lee won’t sell,” Tinkie insisted.

  “Ladies, she has no choice. That horse was her future, and he’s dead. Her kid is dead. She’s going to prison. I know for a fact the note on Swift Level is a backbreaker. Ms. McBride simply can’t afford a fivethousand-dollar-a-month mortgage. The renovations, the repairs, the maintenance, the livestock—it’s a very expensive way of life.”

  He raised his hand, but before he could say anything, Sweetie bounded down the steps, a low growl issuing from her throat, and her tail, which normally wagged like a metronome, dangerously rigid.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” I said. I put a restraining hand on Tinkie’s arm. Like Chablis, she was small but fierce. She was ready to leap on Nathaniel Walz and gnaw him to shreds. Sweetie would go for the big chunks.

  Still unruffled, Walz reached into the jacket of his coat and handed me a sealed envelope. “Speak to your friend. Give her this. It’s my offer in writing, and I assure you it’s a generous one. Far more generous than anyone else will make. But I need an answer by tonight. I have investors, and they’re growing restless.”

  He got back in his car and drove away.

  “The nerve of that man,” Tinkie fumed.

  “How did he know how much Lee’s note is?” I pondered. “Not even Cece would know that.”

  “Even if she did, she wouldn’t tell him,” Tinkie said, but there was a frown on her face. “Would she?”

  “Pillow talk can be deadly,” I said. “Tinkie, we need to get busy. See what you can find on that insurance. I’m going to pay a call on Cece.”

  “Tell her if she’s joined Nathaniel Walz’s camp, we’re going to cancel our subscription to the newspaper.”

  “Will do,” I said, as I got my car keys and headed for The Zinnia Dispatch and Cece’s store of information, printable and not.

  27

  Cece eyed my empty hands as I slipped into her office and took the only available seat—a perch on the edge of a chair that was stacked with yellowed copy paper and magazine clippings.

  “Tinkie just called. She said to remind you she’s got Sweetie Pie and is taking her to her appointment. If you’d enter the twenty-first century and use a cell phone, I wouldn’t have to play secretary for you. So where is Sweetie going?”

  Cece was curious about my dog’s social agenda, but I ignored her. There were other issues to be explored, but a frontal attack was never wise. I had devised a bush-beating assault. “If I used a cell phone, you’d have nothing to complain about. I’m not the slave of technology that you are.
”

  “Your hairdo could use an update, too.”

  I ignored her jabs. “The night of the fire, did you see anything unusual at the ball?”

  She leaned back in her chair and templed her fingers. Her nails were a shimmering shade of orange that looked suspiciously like the hard-to-find Mango Magic. She had the matching lipstick, too. Cece’s sources—for news and cosmetics—were tightly guarded secrets.

  “Didn’t Kip set the fire? Since we both know she’s alive, I just assumed she’d concocted the plan to get Avenger out of town before Carol Beth could snatch him.”

  “I’m not so sure.” I was having second thoughts. “Avenger could have died in that fire. So could Bud. And it could have spread to all the other barns. Would Kip have risked all of that, if her intention was to save Avenger and her mother?”

  Cece tilted her head, considering. A beautiful diamond earring glinted from beneath her hair. “I see your point. But who else would burn the barn?”

  “Tell me what you remember from that evening.”

  “The entire thing happened so fast. I’d only arrived at the ball an hour before. I just missed that incredible scene with Carol Beth and her husband, which I’m still trying to get details on. Then someone rushed into the ballroom and yelled that the barn was on fire. Everyone went streaming out into the night, and there was the awful sight of the flames coming out of the hayloft. From there it was simply pandemonium, as everyone ran around in the dark trying to think of something to do.”

  “Do you remember seeing Bud or Kip before the fire?”

  “Before I saw them framed in the burning doorway, right before the hayloft collapsed on them? No. Well, Bud was at the ball, of course. No one with a quivering hormone in her body could have failed to see him.” Her fingers moved in and out like a bellows as she concentrated. “I really can’t say the last time I saw him.” One eyebrow lifted. “Then again, I don’t know when or why you and Coleman left. Together.”

  I ignored the implication. “Was there anyone at the ball you didn’t recognize?”