“I’ll back out of the plants so you can open the doors,” I told them. “Keep Sweetie Pie with you.”
As I got in, I locked the doors, reversed quickly, threw it into drive, and gunned it. In a matter of seconds I blasted down the path toward the highway. Tinkie and Cece, as well as Sweetie Pie, would have a hard time forgiving me for tricking them. Maybe there’d been a different choice, but I hadn’t seen it.
I drove to Harold’s house. I didn’t expect approval, but of all my friends, Harold had the most complete understanding of me. Of who I was, and of what I might be capable of doing. My gender was not an issue when my anger and fear were aroused, and he would not treat me like a weak sister.
After a sleepy greeting, he stepped out of the entry to allow me to pass, but I stopped just inside. “I need a gun.”
Harold’s head tilted slightly. “What kind?”
“Something with a clip. I need several clips, too. Not a twenty-two.” I meant to blow them up, not wing them. “I’m used to a Glock.”
“Wait here.”
When Harold returned, he had a Glock 17 and five additional clips. That gave me over a hundred rounds. Annie Oakley on steroids.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“They have Graf. Whatever it takes, I intend to find him and bring him safely home.” The one thing I could not afford was to let my fear blossom out of control. I fought to remain tough, factual.
Harold handed me the gun. “Be careful. Can I come with you?”
“No. I’m headed to Buford’s. If you don’t hear from me, that’s where I went. Cece and Tinkie will be looking for me. They’ll call you.”
“I won’t lie to them. And you know I have to call Coleman. I’d stop you—”
“And I’d never forgive you. My choice, Harold.”
“And my choice to send reinforcements.”
I nodded. “Then delay them. I won’t endanger my friends again.” I felt a pinch on the back of my calf and looked down into the demented eyes of Roscoe. “If something should happen to Graf and me, I think Sweetie would love to spend time with you and Roscoe. Tinkie will take her. But Sweetie needs her dose of the dark side.”
Harold caught my hand and kissed the pulse at my wrist. “You’ll be fine, Sarah Booth. Pity the fool who comes between you and your love.”
“Take care of your daddy,” I whispered to Roscoe and slipped out the door and into the night.
We were into the wee hours of the morning. Dawn wasn’t far away, maybe three hours. If I meant to keep the element of surprise, it was now or never.
I headed east, toward Highway 55 and the center of the state. By logical deduction, I figured if the Heritage Heroes had Graf, then Buford was the go-to. He was absent from the cotton field shenanigans, so either he was busy with Graf or he was drunk.
He would, hopefully, be sound asleep. Buford knew the members of the Heritage Heroes and who did Jeremiah’s bidding. Before I left his sty, I’d make him squeal like a piggy.
As I sped through the night, I turned the question I’d asked of Jeremiah on Buford. How had a man with a solid future ended up in this place? Buford had too great a fondness for the drink. He didn’t have the mean streak Jeremiah had, or the desire to punish. His life was a caution for everyone—how easy it was to step from happiness into a world of dark emotions. Too bad Oscar hadn’t convinced him to voluntarily enter a mental facility. Now he was going to deal with me.
Buford’s white shell drive was surrounded by hardwoods that provided cover for a gracious, raised Creole cottage. Two elegant curved staircases led up to a beveled glass door and a veranda offering a shady rest on all four sides. Oscar was generous with the allowance he doled out to his cousin. Unlike Jeremiah, who had been given a lump sum inheritance to squander, Buford had been wisely kept on a financial leash.
I parked a dozen yards off the driveway and walked to the house, which was dark. I’d half expected guards or an alarm, but I’d underestimated Buford’s arrogance. He felt safe, privileged, beyond the reach of those who opposed his madness. All the better for me, I thought.
Harold wouldn’t be able to hold Tinkie and Cece off for long, so I had to get this done. I missed my hound and the redoubtable Pluto. But the kind of men who participated in this stupidity would think nothing of shooting a dog or cat. Probably not of shooting a woman, either, since they seemed to categorize living things into two categories—men and inferior beings. I couldn’t risk the people and animals I loved.
But I would find Graf.
I made it up the stairs without creaking a board. The front window was locked. If the floor plan of the house was similar to others of that style, Buford’s bedroom would be in the rear. I eased around to the back, trying windows as I went. If I had to break one, I would.
Which I did. Using the butt of the gun. Before I was certain whether the noise had awakened Buford or not, I ducked inside and made for the bedroom, Glock at the ready.
Buford was sprawled in a beautiful old sleigh bed, his mouth open, snoring. I smacked his feet with the gun barrel, and he awoke on a snort. “What? What’s going on? Why are you here?” He fumbled at the bedclothes. “Sarah Booth Delaney?” Indignation began to inflate him. “You have no right to be here. Get out! Who do you think you are, breaking in like that?” He pulled the sheet up to his chin.
“Where’s Graf?”
“That man you keep? How should I know?”
“Buford, there’s no one here to help you or hear you scream. I brought bolt cutters. I’ll start at the first joint of your toes. Each time I ask a question and you don’t answer, I’ll snip off another joint.” I whapped him upside the head with my hand to show I meant business. “That’s for tying up my friends.”
It took a moment for him to regain his senses, but a new light of respect shone from his eyes. “I have no clue where Milieu is. Why would I know or care?”
“Let me tell you what I know. I know about the Heritage Heroes. I also know about the Evergreen Tree cell. I’m not certain what you’re up to—yet—but I will find out. I suspect if you don’t serve time for kidnapping, you’ll end up in a mental facility where they’ll keep you so drugged you won’t be a danger to yourself or anyone else.”
“I’m perfectly sane. What a ridiculous threat.” He swung his legs to stand, but when I pointed the gun at his heart, he stilled. “In another few weeks, we’ll have the state judicial system in our pocket. I’ve invested wisely, and we’ve got the money to support our candidates. Once the state supreme court is responsive to our agenda, you’re going to see big changes. No more women running amok. No more illegals taking the jobs from our citizens. No more minorities getting a free ride.”
State elections would be held the first week of November, but I’d hardly given them a passing thought. Buford was spouting another whole brand of craziness.
“Coleman will deal with this. My concern is Graf. Who is the most likely person to have him?”
“None of us. What use is he to us?”
“To keep me from investigating you.”
Buford’s laughter came deep from his gut. “You’re kidding, right? Our goal was to run you and Cece off, not taunt you into more investigation. That Twist woman couldn’t have come at a worse time to stir up controversy and get the media down here. I have no clue where your fiancé is and furthermore I don’t care.”
I didn’t believe him. I put the gun to his head. “Where is Graf? Give me the wrong answer and someone will be cleaning your brains off the wall.”
At last the reality of his situation sank in. He wasn’t certain whether I would pull the trigger or not, but he’d sobered up enough not to risk it. “Wherever he is, we’re not involved. I swear it.”
“Not the right answer.” I pressed the muzzle hard enough to make him whimper.
“Call Jeremiah. Ask him.”
“You call. Put it on speakerphone, and if you say a word about me being here, I’ll kill you and I won’t blink an eye.”
He fumbled with his cell phone and dialed. Jeremiah’s gruff hello was tinny over the speaker. Buford had to clear his throat. “Jeremiah, do you have that actor fellow, Graf Milieu?”
“Have you lost your mind? What would I do with him?”
“Just tell me. Do you have him?”
“Are you okay, Buford?” Suspicion oozed in Jeremiah’s voice.
I pushed the barrel a little deeper into the flesh at Buford’s temple.
“No, I just woke up. Bad dream.”
“Don’t lie to me, Buford. What’s going on?”
A glint of fire sparked in Buford’s eyes. “That Delaney bitch is here. She thinks you’re holding her boy toy hostage.”
“Tell me where Graf is and I won’t hurt Buford. Again.” I smacked the gun on top of his head. Buford’s cry of pain was gratifying. Another retribution for tying up my friends.
“Buford, don’t let her bluff you. She won’t kill you. We’re on the way.”
Before Buford could say anything else, I whipped the gun against his cheek. He went down like he’d been struck by lightning. I picked up the phone. “Buford’s no longer conscious, Jeremiah. And I have news for you. The Lady in Red was stolen from the morgue in Jackson. Olive Twist is in jail, so she doesn’t have her. This is going to have the national media down here by daybreak.”
“Who took her? Who—”
“You answer my questions. If you don’t have Graf, where is he?”
“I don’t know, Sarah Booth. I’m not lying. We had no reason to take Graf.”
In my gut I knew Jeremiah was telling the truth. He didn’t have Graf or know what had happened to him. He and the Heroes weren’t involved in Graf’s disappearance.
If the hate group didn’t have Graf, I had no clue where to find my fiancé or how to help him. The realization was as profound as a gut-kick from a mule. I’d wasted hours chasing the wrong lead. I’d assumed Jeremiah or Buford was responsible.
I’d gone off half-cocked, ready to blame the easy target.
I called Tinkie from Buford’s phone.
“Buford?” she answered warily. “What the hell are you up to now?”
“It’s me. And I need help.”
The long silence told me how angry Tinkie was. And she had every right to be. At least she hadn’t hung up on me.
I tried again. “Graf isn’t being held by Jeremiah and his group. I don’t know who has him and I don’t know where to begin looking. I’m sorry, Tinkie. I was afraid I’d have to shoot Buford and I didn’t want you to share the blame for what I did.”
“You think if Buford was holding Graf hostage I wouldn’t shoot him myself?” Her indignation couldn’t be missed.
“Buford is Oscar’s cousin. I hurt him. A little.”
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine. Do you know who stole the Lady in Red?” There had to be a connection between Graf’s abduction and the body theft.
“Coleman talked with the lab. They have fingerprints from the break-in. The thing is they don’t have Webber’s to compare. Somehow he’s avoided a criminal record.”
But I knew where to obtain prints. “Tell Coleman to call campus police at Ole Miss. Webber has a leather sofa in his office. I’m sure his prints are all over it.”
“You want me to relay that to Coleman?”
Tinkie was nobody’s fool. She realized I didn’t want to talk to Coleman. Furious wouldn’t begin to describe his feelings toward me. “Please.”
“Webber’s in the wind. No one has seen him, either. I think he snatched the corpse—for what purpose I can’t imagine. Maybe he has Graf, too.”
“Thanks, Tinkie. And I’m sorry. Please tell Cece.”
“Tell it to your dog. She’s been frantic.”
I hesitated. “I know. I’ll pick her up.”
She must have heard the hopelessness in my voice and she took pity on me. “We’ll find Graf, Sarah Booth. We will. And he’ll be fine.”
* * *
Weariness clobbered me on the trip back to the courthouse. I was no closer to finding Graf than I had been when I left my friends in the dust. Adrenaline had carried me as far as it could. I was about to crash.
“Get the robot to drive the damn car.”
Jitty had joined me, but I couldn’t bear to look at her. Great private investigator that I was, I couldn’t find my fiancé. Graf, the answer to Jitty’s dream and heir-apparent dilemma, was simply gone. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Her perky tone caught me by surprise.
I chanced a look at her and the SUV swerved onto the shoulder before I righted it. Jitty’s red hair was parted in the center. Her minidress revealed full cleavage, slender thighs, and a tiny waist. Her face was all angles, from wide cheekbones to pointed chin. Jane Jetson rode shotgun with me. “Don’t you know any cartoon characters who are fat or dowdy?”
“Of course I do. But who would want to be them? Pa-lease! Marge Simpson with blue hair, married to that moron Homer? By choice? What planet are you from?” She coyly cocked a shoulder. “I’m from Earth.”
“Jane ‘Jitty’ Jetson. Where’s L. Ron or Elroy or whoever?”
“I’m not worried about my children, I’m worried ’bout your fiancé.”
At least she’d cured my near energy collapse. I was wide awake, recharged, and thrumming with anxiety. “Why cartoons, Jitty? Will you just tell me that?”
“Sarah Booth, girl, that’s not the important question.” Her voice softened. “But I’ll tell you. As a kindness to Miss Alice.”
“My great-great-great-grandmother asked you to tell me something?” A million possibilities tumbled in my tired brain and I almost swerved off the road again. Why not ask Alice? She was alive during the Civil War. She would have known—or at least known of—Tilda Richmond. And all the other characters. She would have firsthand knowledge of the events surrounding Tilda’s escape from unwanted matrimony, her years in Washington, D.C., the scandals of her affiliation with Abraham Lincoln, and her untimely death. Grandma Alice could lay out the past, and then I’d be able to figure out the future. “What did Alice say?”
“Alice says there’s a future for you, Sarah Booth. No matter what happens, you come from people who don’t quit. Who don’t give up. She wants you to remember that.”
Not what I wanted to hear. Icy fear tickled down my spine. “Why did she send that message? Has something bad happened to Graf?” Jitty could not play coy. She had to answer.
“I don’t know, Sarah Booth. There are things even I can’t see. But Alice wants you to hold on to the future. ‘Hold tight, like you’re ridin’ a chargin’ stallion in a wild wind.’ Those are her words.”
“Jitty, just this once, please, tell me if Graf is hurt. If he’s—” I couldn’t say it. “I’ll never ask you anything from the Great Beyond again, but this time, please.”
Jitty shook her bobbed red hair. “Oh, you’ll ask, Sarah Booth. You’ll beg. You’ve got plenty of drama in the future, and it isn’t on a stage. You draw turmoil like a turd draws flies. If I could see the answers you want, I’d break all the rules to end this misery for you. All I can see are glimpses. And I know whatever happens now, you’ll smile again.”
Frustration fueled my hands and I jerked the SUV to a patch of dirt on the roadside and slammed on the brakes. If I could put my hands around her neck, I’d choke her. All I wanted was an answer. A simple yes or no. Was Graf alive? Was he injured?
In the milky light of the moon, Jitty was as cool as marble and just as calm. “Gather yourself, Sarah Booth.”
“Tell me.” I wasn’t negotiating anymore. I wanted an answer.
“I can’t. It’s that simple. The fact I stay at Dahlia House to watch over you is a violation of the natural order. Alice and Libby and James Franklin, they’re mighty strong-willed. But if I told you things, if I did that, I’d be called back.”
“Where is Graf? Can you tell me where to look?”
“The way to the future is
one step at a time. Now, get yourself together and get busy solvin’ this case. The answers are there for you. Even the ones you won’t like.”
I would have sold my soul to the devil to know Graf was safe. The problem with such a bargain was I might not get the answer I wanted. I leaned down on the steering wheel and inhaled. I needed a cigarette, but I didn’t have any and there was no time to stop and buy a pack. The nicotine craving was a reaction to stress. I pushed it away and pulled myself together. I had to. There wasn’t a choice.
When I sat up, Jitty was gone.
Yet she’d left me with a clue to resolving the Lady in Red issue once and for all. But that was far down on my list. I didn’t care what Olive or Webber wrote—or did. I wanted Graf home safe and sound.
When I pulled into the parking lot at the courthouse, Coleman’s patrol car was there. And so was Tinkie’s Cadillac and Cece’s hybrid. And Harold’s car.
Pausing for a moment beneath the statue of Johnny Reb that graced the courthouse entrance, I stared up into the bronze face. He was so young, and so tired. The men of both armies had walked into raging battles where thousands of their comrades died. They’d stepped forward, knowing they would likely die. And if not death, their reward would be crippling wounds and maimed bodies. Yet they’d soldiered on.
Where did such courage come from? Was it merely youthful foolhardiness?
I didn’t have an answer.
Delay wouldn’t give me false courage. I ran up the steps and down the hall, and pushed in the door of the sheriff’s office. Heads swiveled in my direction. On the faces of my friends I read everything from pity to mutinous anger.
“I sent the ambulance to get Buford,” Tinkie said, all business. “Oscar’s meeting him in the ER. If Buford accuses you of anything, Oscar will shut him up. That’s what friends do for each other.”
The blood rushed into my cheeks. I had no defense. She was right. Friends looked out for each other, and though I’d been trying to protect her and Cece, she would never see it that way.
Coleman stepped into the awkward breach. “Webber’s vehicle was spotted in Jackson circling the morgue. The fingerprints on his office sofa matched prints at the morgue break-in. Good tip, Sarah Booth.”
Smarty Bones: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery Page 25
