Smarty Bones: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery

by Haines, Carolyn

  Cece laughed. “They put the gloss on the shine of professional jealousy.” She pushed the tablet my way. “You read. I’m hoarse.”

  I perched on the edge of the desk and found the place she’d stopped. “The proposal to buy the slaves was rejected as too expensive. No action was ever taken. Throughout the war, the traitorous Tilda traveled back and forth from Washington to the Southern states. At times, she carried messages between Lincoln and President Jefferson Davis. She used her status as the daughter of a respected Southern plantation owner and supporter of the Confederacy to move fluidly among Southern society and politicos. The damage she may have done to the Cause is unfathomable. Her death on Egypt Plantation put an end to her meddling in the affairs of men and the destruction of the nation she betrayed.”

  I had to stop reading before my blood pressure shot off the charts. The writer’s tone was arrogant and condescending. I didn’t doubt Jeremiah put fingers to keyboard to write this, but I was curious where he acquired his research. The whole thing was preposterous, but I didn’t think he’d made it up. His imagination wasn’t that good. He’d found this material somewhere.

  And he’d tell me where before this case was over.

  “Do you think my brother wrote this?” Cece asked.

  “Yes. At least some of it.”

  “What happened to Jeremiah, Sarah Booth? He hates women. It’s so clear. Do you think it’s because I became a woman?”

  I went to my friend and tipped her chin up. “Absolutely not. Jeremiah hates everyone. He’s an equal opportunity hatemonger. What you did or do with your life shouldn’t impact your brother’s worldview. He’s not only a misogynist, he’s also a racist, a survivalist, and a kook. For whatever reason, he adopted hatred as his religion. Free will allowed him to chose, and he took the dark path. It’s eating him alive, but he can’t park any of this at your door.”

  “I should have tried to patch things up with him. Maybe I could have made a difference.”

  I remembered the abuse and hardness Jeremiah heaped on Cece. I’d thought he was misguidedly protecting his parents, but even after they were dead, he’d treated Cece like a pariah. “Stop taking on the blame for this. Jeremiah had every chance to be a decent, loving human being. He chose not to. You aren’t responsible.”

  “How did Jeremiah come by this information?”

  “I don’t know. I’d like to ask him.”

  She nodded. “The vitriol. All Tilda wanted was a solution to a problem that ultimately tore the nation apart. And he calls her a traitor. It’s unbelievably sad.”

  “He’ll be hot when he finds out I stole his tablet.” Boiling wouldn’t begin to describe his fury.

  She pointed to the apparatus I held. “Does it say what happened to Tilda? Did a Falcon relative kill her?”

  It occurred to me Jeremiah had come across this information because it was part of the Falcon heritage. But Tilda was a Richmond by birth. She hadn’t married a Falcon—or anyone as far as I could tell. But in the eyes of a Southern supporter, her death might be viewed as justified. Even to her friends and family, she would be a traitor. It was funny how hate could pervert every aspect of a person’s soul. Tilda’s work for a peaceful resolution to a way of life that even the practitioners admitted was wrong was defined as treachery and traitorous by men like Jeremiah, even today.

  I scrolled down to the end of the file. “It doesn’t say, Cece. That’s the end.”

  “What do you think happened to her?” Cece was pensive.

  “I don’t know, but as soon as we find Graf, let’s go to Magnolia Grove and scour the attic. Jeremiah found this information somewhere. Maybe there’s more.”

  The sheriff’s office door opened and Tinkie entered. “More what?” Her flushed face told me she was rattled.

  “More information. Where’s Oscar?” Cece asked.

  “With Coleman and DeWayne.” Her gaze slid around the room, and she turned a shoulder to me, avoiding eye contact.

  “Did they find something?” My gut knew the answer, and I didn’t want to hear it.

  Tears pooled in her china blue eyes. “No. Nothing really—”

  “What?” The iron taste of fear filled the back of my throat.

  Tears spilled down Tinkie’s cheeks. It was bad. I stumbled off the desk and started toward her but my knees jellied. Cece caught me.

  “What? For heaven’s sake, just tell me.”

  “They found blood in an upstairs bedroom at the old McCauley place.” Tinkie clenched my hand. “There’s no way to tell whose blood.”

  “It may not have been Graf’s.” I grasped at any straw that floated by.

  “It may not be,” Tinkie agreed. Her face said the exact opposite.

  I knew then that Coleman and DeWayne believed Graf was injured. Seriously so.

  “How much blood?”

  “I didn’t see it. Coleman called Oscar and asked him to drop me here and then meet them. So I could be with you.”

  “We need to tell Coleman what we learned from Olive.” Cece spoke quietly and took action, pulling out her cell phone.

  “Did Coleman say how much blood?” I had visions of Graf’s blood sprayed over the walls and soaking the floors. Surely not. Surely it wasn’t so bad.

  “They’re still searching for Graf. That’s a positive. They must believe he’s still alive.” Tinkie realized what her words revealed and she put her hands on my cheeks and forced me to look into her eyes. “He’s okay. If he’d been dead, they would have found him.”

  I couldn’t stop the gasp that shuddered through me at the idea of Graf’s body, the spirit gone from it.

  “Get a grip, Sarah Booth.” Cece was behind me. “This is no time to slump into a puddle of emotion. Graf is out there and he’s waiting for you to find him. And you will. But you have to get yourself under control. Now.”

  The “now” did it. Graf’s life hung in the balance. I couldn’t flutter around, emotions rendering me totally ineffective. “Was Graf upstairs when I was in the house?”

  “I don’t know,” Tinkie said. “The blood was older, I think. At least not fresh. It might not be Graf’s. With that bunch of thugs, it could have been one of their relatives’. They’d sell their mothers down the river without blinking an eye.”

  “She’s right,” Cece threw in. They were desperate to keep me calm. “Did they happen to find any of the diagrams or the computer that Buford took from the camp? Sarah Booth didn’t have time to do a thorough search.”

  “Nothing. The Heritage Heroes must have a headquarters somewhere else,” Tinkie said.

  Once Graf was found, I’d refocus on finding evidence against Jeremiah, but Graf was my first priority. “Would you drive me to The Gardens for Graf’s Range Rover? Obviously my car is not drivable.”

  “Hank picked up the roadster, Sarah Booth. He towed it to his garage and said he’d work on it first thing tomorrow.”

  The car, though I loved it, was far down my list of worries. “Thanks for checking on Pluto. Were the horses okay?”

  “Everything at Dahlia House was fine. Coleman called a couple of volunteers and they’re watching the place for you. Nobody seeking mischief will sneak down your driveway.”

  “Thank you. Thank you both.”

  Tinkie patted my back. “Coleman said he should have Jeremiah and his men running the roads looking for you rounded up and in custody within the hour. He said for us to wait here for him. He wants your input.”

  Coleman was worried about me. The need for my input was just an excuse to keep me cemented at the sheriff’s office until he returned—a tactic doomed to failure. Coleman knew me too well to order me to stay, but he would certainly dangle a carrot if he thought it would be effective. Not this time.

  “Ladies, let’s talk to Gertrude. Based on Olive’s information, Graf was taken before he made it to the parking lot. That means someone snatched him and then had to move his car. Gertrude may have seen something useful. While I’m there, I can pick up Graf’s car.
”

  “Don’t you want to wait for Coleman?” Tinkie asked.

  “We’ll be back before he gets here.”

  Cece copied the list of Heritage Heroes members and gave one to Tinkie. “I’ll fill you in on Tilda Richmond while we drive. Let’s round up Gertrude and interview her. She’s the nosiest woman I know. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  * * *

  By the time we arrived at the B and B, Cece had brought Tinkie up to speed on Tilda Richmond, Lincoln, and Jeremiah’s role in the night’s events.

  Cece parked beneath the graceful limbs of a live oak and we walked toward the reservation desk and Gertrude’s charming personality. Graf’s car was parked somewhere on the grounds of the B and B. Coleman hadn’t said if he’d left the key or what, but I had a spare and thank goodness I’d had the presence of mind to pull the ring from the ignition when I’d had my wreck.

  The twinkle lights that circled the trunks and branches of the beautiful trees were still dark. Gertrude was tight as a tick, but the lights created a magical world around the B and B. Add to that the incredible flowers and lush plants that took on a fantastical appearance at night, and it was counterintuitive to save money by not repairing whatever wiring issue had caused the blackout.

  As we walked along in the darkness, I searched for the camera Olive had installed and someone had crushed.

  “Where’s Dr. Webber?” I asked.

  “I haven’t heard anyone say,” Tinkie admitted. “The focus has been on the Heritage Heroes. I don’t think anyone has thought to pin down Webber.”

  “Gertrude can probably account for his whereabouts. She watches everyone.” Cece wasn’t paying a compliment.

  “You ask, Sarah Booth, and we’ll back you up.” Tinkie caught my hand in hers and squeezed. “She loathes you. Have you ever asked why she has such an active dislike of you?”

  “No, and I don’t care.” Because time was of the essence, I told Sweetie to sit at the door of the B and B. We’d waste too much time if Gertrude ranted about my hound in her business.

  We found Gertrude in her usual perch behind the registration desk. I wondered if she ever slept. She was neither startled nor happy to see us.

  “The bar is closed, Sarah Booth.”

  “Has the fire marshal inspected here lately?” Tinkie asked. “You know if there’s a violation and you lose your insurance, the bank might have to call in your mortgage.” Tinkie knew how to bludgeon a suspect without lifting a hand.

  “What do you want?” Gertrude asked. In the dim light of the registration desk, her faced showed more wrinkles and there were smudges beneath her eyes. A guest had been murdered and my fiancé attacked and abducted on the premises of her B and B. Perhaps it was wearing on her.

  “Were you aware that Dr. Twist installed cameras around the B and B?” I asked.

  Gertrude blanched. “What do you mean?”

  “In the bar, in the gardens, probably in the bathrooms. Hidden cameras are recording your guests. There’s no telling how Olive plans to use the video. She’s producing a self-aggrandizing movie about herself. A documentary of her work on the Lady in Red.”

  “Where are the cameras?” Gertrude was a lot more upset over this tidbit than I’d imagined.

  I shrugged. “Ask Twist. When she’s released from custody.”

  “She’s in jail? For what?”

  “Obnoxiousness.” Cece stepped forward. “Do you recall Graf Milieu being here earlier today?” She checked her watch. “Or rather yesterday?”

  “I know he’s missing.” Gertrude was peeved. “One of my guests found his car behind the tennis courts, hidden among the four o’clocks, so I reported it to the sheriff. A moron drove straight into the plants. It’ll take them months to recover.” She reached behind her and brought forth Graf’s key ring. “I suppose you’ll want these.”

  “Thanks.” I grasped the keys.

  “Did you see Graf leave?” Cece asked. “He was right behind me.”

  “I saw you both. You left and he followed a few moments later.”

  “Did you see anyone else?” I asked.

  “It’s a bed-and-breakfast, Sarah Booth. There are other guests. They aren’t chained in their rooms. They walk through the gardens.”

  Cece shoved her face into Gertrude’s. “She asked a civil question. Now, who took a walkabout in the gardens?”

  “My, my, aren’t we testy.” Gertrude clucked her tongue. “At that particular time, I saw a man. Not a guest here. He’d skulked up to the front, and I’d been on my way to run him off the property. I can’t have riffraff lurking around. The guests don’t appreciate it. And that Twist!” She frowned. “If she can find something to complain about, she will. She wants to deduct fifty dollars off her bill every time a bird tweets or a door shuts and disturbs her.”

  I could almost sympathize about Olive, but I didn’t have time. “Who was this man?”

  “I haven’t a clue. Medium height. A little chubby. He had a quick way of moving. That’s why I noticed him. Very catlike.”

  My mouth went dry. “Think, Gertrude. This could be important.”

  “You think he stole the Lady in Red’s corpse?”

  It took a moment for her words to register. Tinkie recovered first. “Wait a minute. What are you saying? Someone stole a hundred-year-old corpse?”

  “Well, slap a gold star on your forehead.”

  “How do you know this?” I asked.

  “The coroner’s office called to talk to Twist. I don’t know where she took off to, but I took a message.”

  In the B and B there were no guest room answering machines. All messages were left at reception, which meant Gertrude. She wrote notes and put them in the little pigeonholes corresponding to the room number.

  Sure enough, a swatch of paper stuck out from Olive’s box.

  “Did you tell Olive?” I asked.

  “She hasn’t been back. I don’t have smoke signal capability here, Sarah Booth.”

  “She has a cell phone,” I reminded her.

  “Oh, posh. Those things don’t work half the time. I never bother to call one. If she wants her messages, she can march her fancy self right here and pick them up like everybody else.”

  Gertrude was almost as tiresome as Twist, but so far she was our only witness. I had to press her. “If you saw this man again, would you recognize him?”

  “The general build, yes. I didn’t see a face or head. I went out to confront him, shortly after Mr. Milieu left, but the interloper was no longer on the property. I assumed he’d gone wherever vagrants go.”

  “You never fail to amaze me with your heart of gold,” I said as I signaled Tinkie and Cece that it was time to leave.

  17

  When the three of us were out of Gertrude’s hearing range, I pulled them into a huddle on the path. Sweetie sat patiently beside my hip, ready for action should it be necessary. “I can’t wait for Coleman.”

  “You’re aren’t heading off half-cocked.” Tinkie’s jaw jutted forward. “I won’t have it. You’ll get yourself killed and then where will I be?”

  I knew her well enough to realize she couched her sentiments as self-centric, but that was not the true reading of her heart. “I’m not going to get killed. I’m taking the Range Rover and I’m going to find Graf.”

  “The hell you are,” Cece said. “And we’re supposed to do what? Play checkers in the sheriff’s office until you come back?”

  “You have to find Webber. Someone has stolen that corpse. Twist is in jail. Obviously she doesn’t have it. That leaves Webber. Who else would engineer the theft of some old bones?” They couldn’t argue with my logic no matter how much they wanted to.

  “He can have the corpse,” Tinkie said, fists riding her hip bones. “I’m going with you to find Graf.”

  “Me, too.” Cece wasn’t about to be left out. “Right after I call Coleman and let him know the body has been stolen. Cadaver theft is just too sick. I mean, have they strapped the moldering bones to th
e hood of a pickup like hunters do? Ick.” She punched up Coleman’s cell, and in a moment had him filled in on the situation.

  “We can cover more ground if we split up. The Lady in Red must be recovered. That’s what you two need to pursue.” My tone was firm. If I kept them focused on the stolen corpse, my plan stood a chance. My intentions required solitary action. No witnesses. Another issue was endangering my friends. Tinkie had already been on the receiving end of poison and attempts on her life. Cece, too, had been injured in my adventures. “I’ll stay in touch. I promise.”

  “You won’t cover any ground if you try to ditch us,” Tinkie said. “I may be shorter than you, but piss me off and I can be a lot more devious. I will complicate your life like a stomach virus on a desert trek.”

  I couldn’t allow Tinkie’s vivid image to distract me. The minutes sped away like scattered stardust. I could stand there and argue, or I could take them along with me. Or I could trick them. Door number three. “Let’s get the Range Rover.”

  I headed for the tennis courts, wondering why Gertrude hadn’t moved the vehicle out of her precious four o’clocks and back to the parking lot. She had the key. There was no explaining the way Gertrude’s mind worked.

  What I was about to do would be hard for Tinkie and Cece to forgive, but I would worry about that later. I’d begun to operate in a place where right and wrong blurred. Saving Graf pushed everything else to the fringes. I’d often heard that a person was capable of anything under the right set of circumstances. Now I understood with my heart as well as my mind.

  Walking through the dappled moonlight on the grounds of a paradise, I wanted to thank Cece and Tinkie for such devoted friendship. For such intelligence and heart. Maybe they’d let me when I got back.

  The Range Rover was tucked deep in a jungle of flowers that smelled as sweet as any summer night from childhood. Four o’clocks sprouted from a tuber and grew wild. Their blooms opened at four o’clock each afternoon and released a heavy, sensual perfume that was gone by dawn’s first light. The flowers, in variegated pinks and whites, yellows, and purples, covered the car.