Smarty Bones: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery

by Haines, Carolyn

  Coleman took a deep breath that showed his frustration. “I know. Jeremiah and Buford are plenty smart, in their own twisted way. But I don’t see them as killers. Buford is an old blowhard who lives in a fantasy world of a past that never existed. Jeremiah is more difficult to figure out. Acting like he’s planter class and everyone else is inferior—it’s an act. Deep down, Jeremiah knows better.”

  “I wish that were true, Coleman. For Cece’s sake if nothing else.”

  “They’re cowards pretending to honor and nobility they’ve done nothing to earn. I just can’t see them as killers.”

  I could read between the lines. “So you’re seriously considering Dr. Twist as the killer.” Delight colored my voice.

  “Keeping an open mind, Sarah Booth. All of the evidence isn’t in. But Twist is asking to hire you, and that tells me she knows she appears guilty. There’s some circumstantial evidence that points to her. What do you want me to tell her?”

  I started to say he could tell her to kiss my patooty, but I didn’t. “Tinkie is here with me. We’ll discuss it.” My partner was about to pop at the seams with curiosity. And Graf was almost as eager. Besides, business was business. I needed steady income, and Frances Malone hadn’t really hired me. She’d asked me for a favor, which I was glad to do. She’d be upset if I signed on with the enemy, but I had bills to pay. Ultimate justice was my goal, so if Twist was innocent, I could help her prove it. But that was a mighty big if.

  “Don’t take too long,” Coleman said. “I could use your judgment.”

  “Okay. Tink and I will be there as soon as we can.” I hung up and faced Tinkie and Graf. “Jimmy Boswell has been murdered, and Dr. Twist wants to hire us to prove she didn’t do it.”

  “Boswell?” they said in unison.

  “Why Boswell?” Tinkie mused. “He was harmless.”

  “Coleman thinks he was poisoned. Maybe it was meant for Dr. Twist.” I cleared my throat. “Although Olive is, apparently, the number one suspect.”

  Graf put his spatula down. “Does this mean I’ll get to spend more time with Dr. Twist? She’s such a compelling woman. Brilliant. Perhaps she can improve my mind.”

  His behavior was so off-the-wall I was stumped for a response. Tinkie, though, caught on fast.

  “You cannot devil Sarah Booth that way,” she said. She picked up a dish towel and snapped it at Graf’s bare thighs. “I’m the only one who can tease her!”

  “Ouch!” He jumped away. “Okay, I won’t torment her.”

  “Don’t mess with my partner,” Tinkie said. “Especially about someone like Twist.”

  “I guess our trip to Lexington has been canceled,” Graf said with mock innocence.

  “Let’s head over to The Gardens,” Tinkie said. “If we take the case, we need to examine the murder scene.”

  I was less than enthusiastic. “Are you coming, Graf?”

  “No. I’ve had my fill of Dr. Twist. The morning will be more profitably spent making business calls. I’ll hold down the fort here, but if you need me, I’m only a phone call away.”

  “But you were going to Lexington with us,” Tinkie protested.

  “Lexington sounded like fun. Talking with Twist at The Gardens sounds like work. If I have to labor, I’d rather hammer down business details.”

  “Coward,” I whispered as I kissed his neck. “You’re afraid of Olive Twist.”

  “She is rather … scary.” He put his arm around me and dipped me backwards as he planted a big one on my lips. Tinkie applauded.

  “We’ll be back,” Tinkie said as she gathered up her keys.

  * * *

  There was no sense of urgency at The Gardens. The sheriff’s car was there, along with a hearse, but the grounds were quiet. Too quiet. Tinkie and I walked along the beautiful paths, and even though the sun was shining brightly, solemnity was in the air. A young man was dead. Murdered. I’d hardly spoken a full sentence to Jimmy Boswell, but he’d seemed nice enough.

  We skirted the B and B’s front door and headed around back—the way the bomber had gone, according to Coleman’s calculations based on footprints left in the soft earth. As I retraced the path, I realized how easy it was for someone to sneak in this back way, toss the bomb, and haul ass to the parking lot and a getaway vehicle.

  As we edged around behind the main building, there was no sign of Gertrude, for which I was thankful. She was likely fit to be tied. A murder on her premises would not sit well. Bad for business. And I’d seen Gertrude eyeing Jimmy Boswell. She might act like she was the most uptight prude on the planet, but her eye had wandered over the contours of Boswell’s lean body with more than a passing interest.

  When we’d gained the back gallery, I paused. DeWayne and Doc Sawyer stood just within the doorway of Olive’s suite. Coleman would be inside with Olive and the coroner.

  Doc would escort the body to the local hospital for the autopsy. Doc Sawyer had been our family physician for as long as I could remember. He’d closed down his office and retired—until he was rehired as the emergency room doctor. Now he worked eighty hours a week instead of the hundred he’d worked in private practice.

  “Let’s bag him up and move him out.” The voice of the county coroner, ripe with a country twang, floated on the morning breeze. “He sure was a purdy boy. He didn’t die easy, though.”

  In the last election, Ely Wattles, an itinerant preacher, had won the post of county coroner. As far as I knew, his qualifications involved his talents for hellfire oration in a pulpit and the fact his daddy had been one of the biggest bootleggers in the adjoining county.

  Juby Wattles had cooked high-grade corn mash for LeFlore County and most of Sunflower County, until his still blew up and killed him. A piece of copper, powered by 190 proof whiskey, launched through the air and pierced his throat. Juby had bled out while his friends watched.

  Ely hadn’t taken up bootlegging—the cost of sugar and transportation made it a small-profit business, especially since liquor was available for purchase in most Mississippi counties. The big money was in meth and other drugs. Ely, in my opinion, was too lazy to run a still and not smart enough to do so without endangering his clientele and himself. Lead poisoning was a risk of careless bootleg whiskey, and Ely was a careless man.

  In other words, I had zero respect for Wattles. The idea of holding the office of coroner of Sunflower County seemed to draw the woodchucks out of the woodpile. They went in for a four-year term and were regularly voted out in the next election.

  “Who is that yokel?” Richard Webber asked from behind me. I almost jumped. He’d sneaked up without a sound.

  “You gave me a start.” Tinkie recovered with far more grace than I could muster. She leaned toward him and batted her thick lashes. “You could be a spy, Dr. Webber.”

  I inched back in awe and wonder. When Tinkie was at work, the male of the species didn’t stand a chance. A man with an ego the size of Webber’s would be easy plucking for her.

  “When I was a Boy Scout, I practiced these skills.” He crooked up one side of his lips, Errol Flynn–style. “I used to daydream about being a spy. I’d never repeat this to my peers, but I was hooked on Robert Ludlum’s books. And Ian Fleming. James Bond, what a character.” His demeanor took on gravitas. “Webber. Richard Webber.”

  “I’ll bet you have a way with the ladies just like 007. Your classes are probably the most popular on the campus.” Tinkie served up that line with enough sincerity to keep me straight-faced.

  “I’ve had a few colleagues and even some of the older graduate students imply they might be interested in more intimate studies, but such things are a violation of ethics. While I find them flattering, I would never act upon them.”

  “I could tell you were a man of character.” Tinkie slipped her hand through his arm and took possession. “Are you here to commiserate with Dr. Twist or just nosy like me and Sarah Booth?”

  “Actually, I’m here to speak with Ms. Delaney.” He finally realized I was still there.
“Could we have a moment alone?”

  “Tinkie is my partner,” I said. “She’s the brains behind the operation. And the fashion sense.”

  “She is certainly the most stylish person in the room.” His baritone chuckle was rather sexy. “On a more serious note, I have evidence in Boswell’s murder.”

  Tinkie shifted away from him. She was all business. “What kind of evidence?”

  “I’m afraid it implicates Dr. Twist.” His glee was impossible to hide.

  “You think she murdered her assistant? Why?” Olive was hard to swallow, but everyone was jumping to the conclusion that she’d killed Boswell. It made me wonder if she was too easy a target.

  “I know she killed him. Boswell tried to blackmail her, and she took the expedient route. She poisoned him.” Webber spoke with great authority. “I watched the complex interaction between Twist and Boswell. She was the authority figure, and she belittled Boswell and then praised him to keep him in line. Classic manipulation by an abuser. I have to say, I’m not shocked to discover Boswell wanted to bring her down or that Twist is capable of murder.”

  And I wasn’t shocked to hear Webber point the finger at his competition. “This doesn’t make a lot of sense. What was Boswell attempting to blackmail her about?”

  “He’d been videotaping every moment of Twist’s life.”

  “I know it and so did Twist. She ordered him to do it,” I pointed out.

  “But he taped her when she wasn’t aware. From what he told me, he had some outrageous footage. Temper tantrums, sloth, greed, lust, gluttony, cruelty—pretty much a rundown of the seven deadly sins. She’s a binge eater and bulimic. He captured her in all her mental disorder. She wanted to star in her own documentary, but Boswell said the things he’d recorded would paint her as a sociopath.”

  “Are you certain this is true?” Tinkie threw in. “Boswell seemed … devoted. Or at least totally cowed by Twist.”

  “Even the most humble man can take only so much,” Webber said.

  “Where’s the film?” I asked.

  Webber frowned. “I don’t actually have it.”

  “Have you seen it?” I asked.

  “Not exactly. Boswell told me about it, though. He confided in me because he felt Olive had wronged me. He all but said Olive heard about my research and climbed on top of it to make her own name. According to him, she hacked into my computer and stole my research.”

  “Can you prove it?” The accusation Webber leveled was serious, and also unsubstantiated. “If you have evidence, you should turn it in to the sheriff. But tread carefully, Dr. Webber. Slander applies.”

  Coleman came out of Olive’s room as if on cue. He saw me and walked toward us. “Tinkie, Sarah Booth, Dr. Webber,” he said. His gaze pinned Webber. “Do you have something to add to the investigation?”

  “Not really. I believe Olive killed him, but I can’t prove it.”

  “Thanks for the unsubstantiated opinion,” Coleman said. He clasped my wrist and led me to the side. “What have you found out?”

  So far, Twist hadn’t hired me, so I relayed Webber’s accusation, and had a few questions of my own. “Was Boswell really poisoned?”

  “It would seem so. I’ll know more after Doc finishes the autopsy.”

  “Could it have been accidental?”

  Coleman lifted one shoulder. “Twist insists Boswell was fine, up until this morning. He was drinking coffee and slumped over. By the time the paramedics arrived, he was dead. But it seems Olive has plenty of reason to want Boswell dead. And I did find a printout of poisons and their symptoms in her suitcase. She claims someone planted it on her, but who knows. If Boswell was actually trying to blackmail her with extra footage, that would certainly be a motive for murder.”

  “Boswell was drinking coffee. Was it made from Twist’s special beans?” I remembered the coffee, the dark-roasted beans, and the grinder. “Did Olive drink coffee this morning?”

  “So you suspect it was in the coffee beans instead of just his cup?”

  I nodded. “If that should prove to be the case, I can’t help but wonder if the poison was meant for Dr. Twist rather than Boswell.”

  “And that’s exactly why I want to hire you and your partner,” Twist said as she came up behind us. “The sheriff is paid to find the guilty party. I want you and Mrs. Richmond to pursue proving my innocence. I didn’t harm Boswell. Why would I? He was an invaluable part of my team.”

  To my amazement, Twist wore baby doll pajamas. I hadn’t seen a pair since college, and these showed off her slender, mile-long legs and narrow hips and waist. I had to admit, she was very sexy in them.

  “Hiring private investigators isn’t necessary, Olive. You haven’t been charged with anything,” Coleman pointed out.

  “But I will be. Someone is setting me up. I want Ms. Delaney and Ms. Richmond to find out who.”

  “Why don’t you leave it to Coleman?” I didn’t relish the idea of working for Twist. She treated her employees like crap. Besides, it would be better for everyone in Sunflower and Holmes Counties if Twist was arrested and put in jail. The whole Lady in Red controversy would dissipate. History wouldn’t be perverted by the likes of Twist.

  “Someone is framing me for a heinous crime. I don’t want to stand around and wait to see what happens next.” Twist glared at all of us. “I want you to be proactive. Find out who’s trying to destroy me.”

  “What about Boswell?” Tinkie asked gently.

  “He’s dead. What about him?” Twist lifted her chin. “I mean, it’s terrible that he’s dead, but I didn’t kill him. I’ll never be able to properly train a replacement. This has thrown a monkey wrench in my work schedule.”

  “Poor you,” I said.

  “Will you take the job?” Olive asked.

  “Of course she will.” Coleman pressed my elbow. “Won’t you, Sarah Booth?”

  I looked at Tinkie, and she nodded, blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

  “We’ll take the case. It’s five grand, payable now.” Sometimes we didn’t charge a retainer, but with Twist, I figured we should get the money up-front.

  “I’ll have a check for you. Shall I drop it by, or will you be at Holmes County today?” Twist sidled away as if she had something more important on her mind.

  “You’re going forward with the exhumation hearing today?” I couldn’t believe it. Boswell was dead.

  “Of course. Jimmy would want me to continue with the project. I’ll give him a credit on the academic book I intend to write. But not the bestseller. That’s all mine. And naturally, the film documentary will bear his name.” She beamed at all of us. “He’ll be more famous dead than he ever was alive. And all thanks to me. By the way, can you run a camera? I might ask you to videotape some of the events. For my documentary. It’s easy as pie. Now I must get collected for today’s battle.”

  She strode back into the room, and I could hear her ordering the coroner and paramedics around—or at least giving it her best effort.

  “She is a piece of work,” Coleman said. “She doesn’t intend to let anything slow her down. Not even death.”

  * * *

  By eleven o’clock, I was hoping the poisoner would return and take Twist out. Boswell was barely cold and she was as good as her word. She intended to push forward with her exhumation. She’d rescheduled the press conference at the Lexington Odd Fellows Cemetery for one in the afternoon.

  Frances Malone and the Daughters of the Supreme Confederacy were organizing a picket line. Members of the Heritage Pride Heroes, a national organization that claimed to have roots in honoring acts of home-front bravery, would likely put in an appearance. In my opinion, they were nothing more than a bastard offshoot of survivalist mentality organizations. This kind of shindig was right up their alley. It was all adding up to be a nasty confrontation.

  Tinkie and I had no choice but to be there. Lexington was out of Coleman’s jurisdiction, so we couldn’t expect any help from him, though he was on standby in cas
e the Holmes County sheriff needed him. I could only hope that Frances, Oscar, Cece, and others of influence had been able to convince Judge Colbert to block the petition to exhume. We’d find out when we reached Holmes County.

  Tinkie drove this time, and I rode shotgun. Graf’s original plan to chauffeur us to the cemetery was crushed when his business calls yielded an interview for a voice-over job on an animated film—the role of a sexy wolfhound in a Disney production of Castle Dark, an intriguing tale of werewolves and vampires in Ireland. It was work Graf couldn’t turn down, and I was happy for him.

  “Oscar is really mad at Buford,” Tinkie said, her focus on the highway but her thoughts clearly on her husband and family. “He is such a disappointment.”

  “I don’t blame Oscar. Buford is a fool.”

  “Oscar said, ‘Maybe they’ll shoot Buford, the silly bastard. Buford is a moron. He’s got a thousand rolls of toilet tissue and the IQ of a dead snail. I hope Coleman puts him under the jail.’”

  Tinkie was damned good at impersonating her husband. And I thought I had acting chops. Something wasn’t right, though. “So why are you upset? Everything Oscar said is true.”

  “There’re rumors that Buford also has weapons.”

  I wanted to come up with a witty reply that would explain everything, only I couldn’t. “All those good ole boys have guns. It’s compensation for … well, men who are inadequate need to feel powerful in some fashion. Guns and killing helpless animals make them feel strong.”

  “Oscar said if Buford gets arrested, I’m not to bail him out. He also said he’d cut off his allowance if he made a public jackass of himself.”

  “A few weeks in jail might smarten him up.” Doubtful, but why dash her hopes.

  Tinkie motioned she wanted to pull over. I needed a cup of coffee so I pointed out a fast-food drive-through. Tinkie eased off the highway and joined the line. An emotional storm moved across her face.

  “What’s wrong?” Worry ate at her with sharp little teeth.