Splintered Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  I looked down the driveway in time to see my Mercedes turn right onto the highway. Krystal had escaped.

  28

  In my earlier examination of the dead animal room, I’d missed the one piece of furniture that I now found myself sitting on, a straight-backed chair. Mike had tied me to it with enough knots to keep a seaman busy for an Atlantic voyage. I clearly did not have that long to live.

  “I’m going to ask you one more time. Where’re the insurance papers on that horse?” The barrel of his gun was cold against my cheek.

  “Was he insured?” I wasn’t certain if Mike knew that Avenger was still alive. The best I could do was hedge my answers, hoping he would give me a clue to what he knew.

  “Answer me now,” he demanded. His clean-cut looks were still intact, but he’d dropped all pretense of good manners. He leaned so close that I could feel his breath on my neck. “You’re going to tell me, one way or the other.”

  “I don’t know,” I said for the tenth time. “I never saw any papers. I’ve been looking for them, too.”

  He spun away from me and paced the room. He checked his watch. “Simpson’s been gone about ten minutes. It’ll take her another ten to get into town. I don’t have time for games.”

  I clearly saw the sand in the hourglass slipping away. And I did want to go home.

  “The night Kemper died, he was trying to kill Avenger, wasn’t he?” I asked, hoping to divert Mike.

  “Kemper, that idiot, couldn’t even kill a horse properly. He couldn’t execute a simple plan without botching it. He was all big talk.”

  “Quit whining,” I snapped, surprised that in the midst of my agony I would revert to the behavior of a Daddy’s Girl. It was one of the first lessons Aunt LouLane had taught me: When outnumbered, assume authority and give an order. I’d seen it work in more than one ugly situation. Unfortunately, Mike didn’t know the rules.

  “You’re just like Simpson, aren’t you?” He glared at me. “She’s got her country-girl act down to a T, but scratch the surface and there’s Delta-bred bitch. She’s not as smart as she thinks, though. She got careless and made it clear that she intended to dump me as soon as she made it to the big time. Right about then, she became more valuable dead than alive. All you Delta girls think the world can’t exist without you. But you’re wrong. Dead wrong.”

  My brain had finally started to work, and I added up the details of what he said. Krystal and Avenger shared one thing in common—to Mike, they were worth more dead than alive. “Insurance doesn’t always pay on suicide,” I pointed out to him.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. You just have to know how to write the policy, and I’m an expert at it.”

  I understood it all, then. “You wrote the policy on Avenger, and you filed it in . . .” I had to think. To avoid suspicion that as owner of the horse he would benefit from Avenger’s death, he couldn’t use his own name, so it had to be—“Krystal’s name.”

  “Aren’t you the teacher’s pet? Except you’re wrong. I wrote the policy under my real name. Mitchell Raybon. It was easy to change my name when Simpson changed hers. It was one of those togetherness things that women are so fond of.”

  I recognized the name only because I’d just spoken it to Cece. “You and Kemper were going to split the insurance money. You’d done it before, with LaCoco, when you torched a resort.”

  “You got the right answers, but I’d say your timing’s a little off.”

  “I managed to get here in time to save Krystal, and she will get help. If you’re going to escape, you’d better get moving right now.” I could only hope he’d be content to leave me tied in a chair.

  “You don’t understand. I owe Tony a lot of money. He’s been the primary backer of Krystal’s career. Tony isn’t what I’d call a sentimental man. He wants to be paid, and he wants it yesterday. He would have killed Kemper if someone hadn’t gotten there first. If I don’t come up with his money, he’s going to kill me.” The cold barrel of the gun pressed into the back of my neck just at the point that would leave me a quadriplegic. “Where’s the policy on that horse?” He grinned wickedly. “And where’s the horse and the kid?”

  My mouth went dry. He knew Kip and Avenger were alive. “You’ve already tried to kill the horse twice, once with insulin and then by setting the barn fire. Maybe you should give it up and get out of here before Coleman arrives.”

  He walked around to face me. “I would have had the money from Krystal if you hadn’t come along just a few minutes too soon. My plan was that you’d find her dead, and find me ‘knocked out’ in the bedroom. You would have been my perfect alibi. Since you screwed that, you’re going to help me find the insurance policy.”

  I had a few cards up my sleeve. “You can’t risk trying to collect on Avenger, even if you finally manage to kill him. The sheriff has contacted every insurance company in the nation. They’ll never pay off. Take your losses and get out of here while you can.”

  He checked his watch. “True confessions are over, sweetheart. Tell me where the kid took the horse. I promise I can make you talk. It’ll be a lot less painful if you just tell me what I want to know.”

  He came toward me, and I knew he’d do whatever it took to make me talk. Just his eyes made me want to tell him everything.

  “Why are you obsessed with an insurance policy you can’t collect on?” I had to either make him leave or keep him talking. I was completely unprepared for the slap.

  Tied in the chair, I couldn’t even attempt to defend myself. I blinked the tears out of my eyes and felt the blood begin to trickle from my nose. He’d gotten the other side of my face this time.

  “Where’s the damn policy? It’s the only physical evidence that ties me to Kemper in any way, shape, or form. That’s the only thing that can cause me trouble.”

  “What about Krystal? She’s not going to look kindly on a man who tried to gas her to death and then strangle her.”

  Mike laughed. “You don’t know how desperate Krystal is for her singing career. Any hint of bad publicity could crash all of her dreams. Right now, the worst I’m looking at is a domestic argument with my wife, a temperamental wannabe star.” He shrugged. “At worst, I may be charged with attempted murder.” He crouched down so his face was level with mine. “You’re the flaw in my plan, Sarah Booth. You’ve been snooping and poking around in everyone’s business, and now it’s caught up with you. I know you know where that policy is. Carol Beth said you were out at the farm going through all the files. She said you took the policy.”

  “I don’t have the policy. I never saw it.” It didn’t matter that I was actually telling the truth. It wasn’t what Mike wanted to hear.

  The gun barrel swung until it was pointing at my face.

  “You won’t get away with this.” I spoke the television words with as much grit as I could muster.

  “Maybe, maybe not, but you’re going to start talking or I’m going to start shooting little bits of you off.” I could see his finger slowly beginning to squeeze the trigger. The barrel eased to the right slightly until it was pointed at my ear. I’d never be able to wear matching earrings again.

  “Okay, I know where the policy is.” I had to come up with something. “The sheriff has it. He’s had it all along. You’re a dead man if you hurt me. When Coleman gets his hands on you, he’ll make you suffer in ways you can’t even imagine.” Lying in the teeth of death is a peculiarly liberating act.

  “I don’t believe you.” But he lowered the gun even as he spoke.

  “It’s over, Mike. There’s no escaping. You’ll only make it a lot worse on yourself if you hurt me.” I sat up as tall as the ropes would allow. “I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life in prison as the sheriff’s boy, and Coleman will see to it that every man in there has a shot at you.” Tony LaCoco wasn’t the only person who could steal lines from the movies.

  He swallowed but held the gun steady.

  I saw a chink and pressed harder. “Maybe you can make a
case that Kemper’s death was an accident. You didn’t intend for him to fall under the horse.” I wasn’t going to bring up the tiny details of the insulin and the nippers. “The barn fire could have been an accident, too. J.B. Washington is recovering from the head wound. There’s nothing here you can’t put behind you.”

  He looked at me hard. “I didn’t kill Kemper.”

  I didn’t believe him, but I wanted to keep him talking. “If you didn’t kill Kemper, who did?”

  “Lee killed him. She confessed.”

  “Right.” I couldn’t help the skepticism.

  “She must have. When I left the barn, Kemper was still alive. He’d stolen the insulin from the veterinarian’s truck. We’d originally planned to electrocute Avenger. You know, the old wires in the nostrils. The insulin was a better idea. Kemper said he could handle it, so I left. The difference between me and Kemper is that he wanted to watch the horse die. For some reason, he hated that animal. I just wanted the money. Kemper was very much alive when I left him. Either Lee killed him, or the kid did it.”

  There was a slight noise from the front door, enough that Mike drew back from me and started toward it. He moved sideways, glancing from me to the open door.

  “What was that?” he demanded.

  I didn’t say anything. The wrong word could tease his trigger finger into action, and I was still the target.

  The sound came again, like a piece of furniture sliding over the polished floors.

  “Who’s there?” he yelled.

  There was no answer, just the sliding sound again. Closer now, moving toward us.

  “Stay away or I’ll kill her,” he yelled, bringing the gun barrel level with my head. From psychology I remembered that suicidal women who chose guns most often shot themselves in the chest. Vanity. They wanted an open casket. I didn’t want a casket at all.

  The noise stopped, replaced by the crash of glass.

  “Who’s out there?” Mike roared. His gaze shifted from me to the door in such rapid motion that I was terrified he’d accidentally squeeze the trigger.

  The only answer was another crash of glass. My heart sank at the thought that Krystal had turned around and come back to try to help me. She hadn’t had time to get to town, get help, and drive back out here. I rued my hardheadedness in not getting a cell phone and leaving it in the car. I’d been pigheaded and antitechnology, but I would change—if I got a chance.

  Mike had slipped along the wall, and when he stuck his head out to see who was in the house, a plate sailed toward him, narrowly missing his head. It hit the wall and shattered.

  “Damn you!” he yelled out the door, but his focus swung back to me. “No more time for games.” He cocked the gun.

  A vase flew through the door and landed right at my feet, shattering into a thousand pieces like a small explosion.

  The gunshot that followed was strangely muted, more of a pop. Mike staggered, a frown crossing his face. He lurched forward, and his finger squeezed the trigger. The bullet tore into my arm. It was like being punched, but without any pain. It took a few seconds for the pain to arrive.

  Before I could utter a scream, a lithe figure leaped through the doorway. There was the sound of another shot and Mike crumpled over, grabbing his gut. His brow was furrowed as he looked up at Carol Beth. She pointed a gun at him with complete aplomb. Somehow I’d missed the DG lesson on firearms.

  “You shot me,” he said, amazement evident in his voice.

  “No kidding.” She pulled the trigger again.

  Mike staggered back and fell. He didn’t move again.

  “Carol Beth.” I was astounded. “How did you get here?”

  “Don’t ask stupid questions, Sarah Booth.” She walked over and looked at the gunshot wound in my arm. Blood was running down the length of my shirt, dripping onto the floor in a puddle that was getting much too large. “Too bad. Looks like he nicked an artery.”

  “Untie me,” I said.

  “You don’t really look like you’re in a position to give orders.” She smiled, and flicked her mahogany ponytail off her shoulder. She was wearing her riding breeches, a white sleeveless shirt, and black boots with a spit-shined polish. She was awfully well turned out for a cold-blooded killer.

  I was suddenly sick to my stomach and dizzy.

  “If you bought a cell phone, Sarah Booth, you wouldn’t have to go running all over the county. First the newspaper, then the dog groomer, then back to Dahlia House, then here. That’s a lot of wasted time for me, waiting to get you alone. But it turned out best this way. Mike will take the blame.” She bent closer to my bleeding arm. “I think you’re going to bleed out. Too bad, I was looking forward to shooting you again.”

  She was holding a gun as black and ugly as the one Mike had been holding. Only I was no longer capable of witty repartee. I was bleeding to death.

  “Why?” I had a full question to ask, but that was as much as I could say.

  “Even in high school you were a nosy Nellie. I wouldn’t exactly classify you as a top-rate investigator, but you know the old saying, even a blind hog finds an acorn every now and then. You were getting too close. Eventually you would have figured out that I killed Kemper.”

  “Why?” I asked again.

  “The horses were mine. The dirty bastard was double-crossing me, and no one gets away with that.”

  Even though I was weak, I could clearly discern the anger in her voice. I’d never realized how much the word “mine” meant to Carol Beth. It was a fatal mistake on my part.

  “Avenger won’t ever be yours,” I said. “He’s beyond your reach.” I tried to focus on my surroundings, to fight the sense of spiraling into darkness. “In the end, Kemper was smarter than you.”

  “Kemper was a fool. I walked in just as he was trying to give the horse a shot of insulin. He’d sold Avenger to me, and then he was going to double-cross me to collect a big insurance policy on the horse. When I realized what he was doing, I picked up a pair of nippers and struck him from behind. He fell on the syringe. Which was it that killed him, the blow to the head or the insulin? I didn’t wait around to find out. I heard someone coming. There were some papers on his desk. I thought the registration for Avenger was with them, so I snatched them up. It wasn’t until later that I discovered it was the insurance policy Mike’s been turning the county upside down to find.”

  My head was beginning to sink forward. I had other questions, but they were lost in the whirl of images and thoughts that were driven by pain. I never realized bleeding to death would be painful. Cramps shot through my body. I knew it was organs and muscles suddenly aware that they were dying. They were putting up a terrible ruckus.

  “Lee . . .” I couldn’t remember what I was going to say.

  “Lee won’t suffer too much. I promise. But she’ll stick to the story that she killed Kemper.”

  “Why should she?” I hung on to her voice.

  “That’s Lee for you, always so noble. She thinks Kip killed Kemper. It’s ironic, isn’t it? She’s taking the rap for me and thinks she’s saving her kid. I love it.”

  I tried to swallow and couldn’t. I couldn’t even hold my head up, much less ask another question, and I still had plenty of them. A P.I. shouldn’t have to die with unanswered questions.

  “See you at the pearly gates, Sarah Booth. I guess I’d better call Coleman and tell him the tragic news, how Mike shot you and I had to kill him, but it was too late for you. Who would have thought a little flesh wound could bleed so much?”

  Somewhere in the darkness that had descended on me, I heard the baying of a hound, and I thought of Sweetie Pie. Who would care for her? Tinkie, I supposed. And Jitty! What would become of her and Dahlia House? All of her pushing and prodding to get me to step into the future had failed. I’d never married, and I’d never produced an heir. There would be no future for Dahlia House. The Delaney womb was at last defeated.

  I knew I was dying when I heard the scrabble of toenails. It sounded just like
Sweetie when she was in a rush to get into the kitchen and steal a roast. I forced my head up and my eyes open, and knew that I was dead.

  A big hound rushed into the room, but it wasn’t Sweetie Pie. This hound was wearing a glittery fauxdiamond collar, and she was a rich, solid red-brown, not my brindled red tic.

  “What in the hell—” Carol Beth asked just before the hound sprang across the room and struck her squarely in the chest.

  A man in a big black cowboy hat rushed into the room and kicked the gun out of Carol Beth’s hand. A big black boot pinned her wrist to the floor. “Hold the weddin’!” he said as he applied enough pressure to make Carol Beth yelp.

  There was a sharp, squealing bark, and a six-inch mop of sun-glitzed hair bounced across the room and joined the hound and the black-hatted stranger in pinning Carol Beth to the floor. The hound fell across her chest, while the smaller dog tried to suffocate her by jumping on her face.

  “Hang on, Sarah Booth,” Tinkie said as she ran into the room. “You’re okay now. I’m here to take care of you.”

  Her words were action. She was at my side, untying the knots that held me in the chair.

  “Good thing we have plenty of rope here,” she said. “You need a tourniquet, Sarah Booth. You’re bleeding like a stuck pig.”

  “Thanks, Tinkie,” I mumbled.

  “No thanks necessary. Coleman’s on the way. You gave us all a bad scare.” She punched numbers in her cell phone and placed an order for an ambulance. Pronto. “Thank goodness Mr. Friedman was at Dahlia House when I went to take Sweetie Pie home from her grooming appointment.” She was talking a mile a minute. “Remember the phone call from the strange man at the Memphis airport? Well, that was Mr. Kinky. Anyway, I read your note, put two and two together, and we came straight out here.”

  “Ummmm.” Once again Tinkie had proven she wasn’t a real blonde. She had put the pieces of the puzzle together and brought the cavalry. I wanted to talk, but it was just too hard. I felt something wet and warm on my face and opened my eyes to see a row of sharp, pointed teeth belonging to a rather sweet hound face. The dog tongue slurped my cheek. “Who in the hell is that?” I asked.