I didn’t have a chance to answer. I heard Tinkie and Cece coming up the stairs, dogs and cat in the procession.
“Who are you talking to?” Cece edged past me into the bedroom and looked around.
“Myself.” I hefted the suitcase. “I’m ready for the hospital.”
* * *
My friends arranged for a comfortable chair in Graf’s room. A good thing, too, since I’d spent twelve hours waiting for him to return from surgery and wake up.
At the first sign he was regaining consciousness, Cece and Tinkie went to the cafeteria on the pretext of getting coffee. They understood I needed to be alone when Graf awoke.
He tossed his head and moaned, and I was at his side, his hand clutched in mine. His leg was a massive swath of bandages, but they hadn’t amputated. No one would give me odds whether his leg would heal properly, though. Modern medicine could do only so much.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“In the hospital in Jackson.” I kissed his palm and held it to my chest. “You’re safe.”
“Gertrude shot me.”
“I know.” I put my hand on his forehead, relieved that he felt cooler. The infection was on the run.
“Why? Why did she do it?”
It would be difficult to explain, but I had to try. I told him about Boswell and Gertrude, about my mother’s role in helping a woman trapped by a mistake. His breathing stabilized as I told him about Boswell and his connection to the Confederacy through generations long dead—and about his relationship to Cece, who still didn’t know.
“You people are insane.” Graf turned away from me.
You people. That’s what Olive called us, because she was not of the South, not part of us. Now Graf felt the same way. And I couldn’t blame him.
I squeezed his fingers and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love you. So many people here love you.”
“Do you?” he asked. “Will you love me when I can’t work?”
Anger would have been easier than the swell of sorrow. I mourned the loss of so many things all at once, it took a moment to speak. “The doctors say you have a chance to recover fully.”
“What are the odds?” A pulse jumped in his beard-stubbled jaw.
“They won’t say.”
He shifted to face me. “Why did Gertrude do this to me? I was nothing to her. I overheard her arguing with Buford, but I couldn’t make head or tails of what it was about. I started walking to the parking lot to pick up Cece. She attacked me with some kind of sedative. Why?”
“It’s complicated. To protect Boswell and Jeremiah. And because Gertrude thought I looked down on her. She did it because she feels she’s been cheated. Because she’s mentally unbalanced.”
He nodded.
“If I could take the injury, I would.”
At last he squeezed my hand back. “I know, Sarah Booth. You’d trade places in an instant. But you can’t.”
He slumped back in the pillows, and in a moment he was lost in sleep again. I smoothed the hair from his forehead and watched his eyeballs shift beneath the lids. He deserved so much better than what I’d brought to him.
Squeaking rubber-soled shoes signaled the doctor was making rounds. When Dr. Kress, the orthopedic surgeon, stepped into the room, I discovered a man surprisingly young and fit. He motioned me outside.
“The surgery went smoothly,” he said. “The nurse said Mr. Milieu is awake.”
“He wants to know the odds he’ll lead a normal life.”
Dr. Kress tapped a pen against the chart. “It’s fifty-fifty. We did everything we could. His attitude will play a huge role.”
“Fifty-fifty.” It wasn’t the best, but it surely wasn’t the worst. “Full recovery?”
The doctor nodded. “Keep him calm right now. It’s a long road ahead.”
And he was gone.
I closed the door and returned to Graf’s side. Across the bed, Jitty waited, the sunlight from the window catching in the glitter of an incredible ball gown.
“Great. Cinderella.” Now wasn’t the time to rub my nose in a fairy tale. “Climb back in your pumpkin and beat it.” I turned away.
“You need a dose of fairy godmother.”
“And that’s about as likely as a magic wand or ruby slippers to send me back to Kansas.” A cool breeze touched my cheek and I sank down in the chair. Jitty was standing beside me. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”
Graf mumbled in his sleep. I went to him. No amount of guilt or regret could undo what had happened.
“Cinderella’s darkest hour was when she had her prince and was happy.” Jitty stepped out of her glass slippers. “When she thought all was lost, her prince found her.”
“Life isn’t a fairy tale, Jitty. You of all people should know that. You lost your husband and everyone you ever loved.”
“You don’t know the half of it, Sarah Booth. My story didn’t start at Dahlia House. I lost my whole family when I was just a baby. But it didn’t defeat me, and you ain’t gonna let it tear you apart.”
“I’m not you. I’m not as tough or strong or willing to endure.”
“Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But you’ll find your strength again.”
She was so sure, she really pissed me off. “Leave me alone.”
“I have a message for you.”
“Tell my fairy godmother to buzz off.”
“From your mother.”
I swung to confront her and found her brown eyes filled with a golden light. “What message?” Hope suffered a painful resurrection. A second before, I’d been ready to wave the white flag and admit defeat.
A sad smile graced Jitty’s beautiful face. The diamonds of her tiara glittered. “You’ll never lack for love, Sarah Booth. No matter which path you choose, true love will find you.”
The hard rock inside my chest began to melt. “There really is true love?”
“You ask such a question, after knowing Libby and James Franklin?” Her left eyebrow arched, and she lost every smidgen of princess élan. “Girl, you can’t see past your own nose if you ask your mama that question.”
“Tell her I love her.” Before I finished the sentence, Jitty was gone.
The click of high heels told me my friends were back. Cece handed me a cup of coffee and Tinkie collapsed into a hard-backed chair in the corner and removed her red high heels. “Damn, these shoes are pinching me. I think my foot is growing bigger. Like a pregnant woman’s. They fit perfectly when I bought them.”
“The secret to a happy life is finding the right fit,” Cece said. “In love and in shoes.”
“Amen.” I didn’t have the answer I wanted, but I did have the man I loved and the friends who mattered most. And most important, I had my hope back. With hope, I could accomplish anything.
Acknowledgments
I stumbled upon the legend of the Lady in Red while I was on a book tour crisscrossing Mississippi. The grave is real and can be found in the Odd Fellows Cemetery in Lexington. And the story of how the casket was found accidentally by a backhoe and the body reinterred by the owners of Egypt Plantation is also true. The rest of this story comes from my imagination and love of legend and lore. In real life, the Lady in Red remains as big a mystery as she was the day the backhoe brought up her coffin.
I grew up on local legends such as that of the Singing River (the real name is the Pascagoula River), so named because a tribe of Indians joined hands and walked into the river to drown singing their death chant. They chose death over enslavement by another tribe.
My grandmother was George County’s first and only historian and she was also the first city clerk in Lucedale, Mississippi, founded in 1910. She was a wonderful storyteller who kept us grandchildren enthralled with tales of heroes, heroines, ghosts, and fairies. My parents, too, were wonderful storytellers. My father told me stories of Leo the Friendly Lion every night of my childhood as I went to sleep.
So it’s no surprise that when I stumbled on the Lady in Red, I had to tel
l her story—even if it isn’t the truth.
I want to thank my editors, Kelley Ragland and Elizabeth Lacks, at St. Martin’s Minotaur. My good friend Suzann Ledbetter, who gave me invaluable advice and the benefit of her sharp pencil. My agent, Marian Young, who indeed proves that patience is a virtue and one that works best with wisdom and knowledge. My friends who read over the manuscript to be sure the story hung together—thank you, ladies and gentlemen.
And again, thank you, Hiro Kimura, the talented artist who brings such fun to the covers of my books. Another outstanding job.
For more information about me, the books, or Daddy’s Girl Weekend, our annual gathering of readers, writers, and merrymakers, you can go to www.carolynhaines.com (where you can also sign up for my newsletter). I also have Facebook pages at Carolyn Haines and Carolyn Haines Fan Page. Please join me.
And remember to please spay and neuter your companion pets. Pet overpopulation is at a crisis. Millions of animals are killed in shelters each year because there aren’t enough loving homes. Support your local humane organization and urge your family and friends to spay and neuter. This is really a problem we can solve if we all work together.
ALSO BY CAROLYN HAINES
SARAH BOOTH DELANEY MYSTERIES
Bonefire of the Vanities
Bones of a Feather
Bone Appétit
Greedy Bones
Wishbones
Ham Bones
Bones to Pick
Hallowed Bones
Crossed Bones
Splintered Bones
Buried Bones
Them Bones
NOVELS
Revenant
Fever Moon
Penumbra
Judas Burning
Touched
Summer of the Redeemers
Summer of Fear
NONFICTION
My Mother’s Witness: The Peggy Morgan Story
AS R.B. CHESTERTON
The Darkling
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
SMARTY BONES. Copyright © 2013 by Carolyn Haines. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein
Cover illustration by Hiro Kimura
ISBN 978-0-312-64188-7 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-02242-4 (e-book)
First Edition: May 2013
Smarty Bones: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery Page 29
