“You saw no such thing.” She brushed past me. “I haven’t seen Enzo since the party, and I didn’t leave with him. Why would I?”
“I heard you were fulfilling his shopping list for his wife and children back in Venice.” I smiled. “What did you find for his wife?”
“Earrings,” she said. “Black opals. Enzo loved them.”
“What’s the story with Oscar?” Harold asked. “Did he hire you to shop for Tinkie?”
The slyness of a fox crept into her eyes. “What gave you an idea like that?” she asked.
“Oh, someone saw the two of you driving around in his SUV, and I assumed it involved Christmas shopping.” Harold picked up a lacy black thong. “This would suit you well, Sarah Booth.”
I almost choked, but was quick enough to cover my reaction. Wildene looked from the panties to me, her lip curling. “Do those come in her size?”
Okay, she wouldn’t talk so pretty through a busted lip.
Harold chuckled. “Wildene, you’ve worked for the stick people too long. A woman with curves is a lush pleasure.” He licked the corner of his mouth, “Surely by now you know what men like. Speaking of which, I have a list, and I’m late selecting gifts this year. Would you have time to do a little shopping for me?”
“Of course.” She almost sniffed the air for the satisfying smell of money. “I charge twenty percent of whatever gift I select. And I don’t return gifts. If you don’t like one, you have to take it back yourself.” She sidled up to Harold. “But I’ve never had a man dislike anything I offered him.”
“I can see why,” Harold replied.
I stepped on the back of his heel, but he ignored me.
“Sarah Booth, would you mind jogging over to Millie’s and putting in an order for a hamburger steak for me, and whatever you want for yourself. I’ll join you there shortly.”
I had no choice but to smile and nod as I shuffled out the door like Step-and-Fetch-It. Harold wanted an empty playing field to tackle Wildene, still, he would pay at a later date.
The café was two blocks down the street. The afternoon lull had struck Millie’s, the magical time between lunch and before the teenagers piled into the café booths after school. I placed Harold’s order and put in my own.
“You only want turnips and cornbread?” Millie asked.
“I crave some properly cooked greens. I know you buy yours fresh from Mr. Hobby.”
“Any sign of Enzo?” Millie asked as she sat down. She clutched a tabloid in her hand. “He’s something of a hell raiser. He was in Miami for a tradeshow and an angry fiancé shot at him and barely missed. Seems like he can’t keep his hands off women, especially those attached to someone else.”
“If he can get the milk free, why not let someone else feed and clothe the cow.” It wasn’t exactly the way Aunt Loulane said it, but I got the point across. “Single women might have expectations. A married woman, or one involved in a relationship, has as much reason to be discreet as Enzo does.”
“He’s not what I would call discreet.” She pushed the tabloid my way.
“Italian Lover Flees For His Life.” The story had an illustration of a mustached man pulling up his pants and fleeing as a bullet whizzed past his head. The story went on to detail Enzo’s conquest of a young woman at a Miami tradeshow. Her fiancé showed up unexpectedly, caught them in the act, and chased a naked Enzo through a hotel lobby and into a cab, where he made a get-away.
“What a cad.” I slid the tabloid back to Millie.
“I heard Oscar showed his ass at The Club.”
Man, the news had spread far and wide about Oscar’s tantrum. This was not good. “He’d been drinking.”
“He’s the president of the bank.”
Millie wasn’t criticizing, she was making the point that every one of her customers had likely made. “Folks drink too much and make a fool of themselves. It happens. By next week, some other holiday misbehavior will push Oscar out of the gossip mill.”
The door opened and sheriff Coleman Peters stepped into the café. He smiled at us and walked over and took a seat. Millie went to get coffee. “I just got a call from Chief Pret Parker over in Shaw. The Italians have filled a missing persons report on Enzo Aceto. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Sarah Booth?”
I bristled. “Me, I didn’t even talk to the creep.”
“You didn’t, but Tinkie did. And Oscar had plenty to say two days ago at The Club.”
Millie returned with a cup of hot coffee and put it in front of Coleman. “Lydia made a coconut crème pie this morning?”
Coleman patted his abs. “I can’t resist that.”
Millie left to retrieve the pie and Coleman leaned down. “After the prank at the Christmas Parade in Shaw, Pret is worried someone may have really harmed Enzo. The Italian hasn’t been seen. And just so you know, there was a witness to Oscar’s shenanigans in Bolivar County. He was wading in Silver Bayou with a gun, shooting at something in the water.”
“He was drunk.”
“Not an excuse,” Coleman said.
Too bad I didn’t have a better one. “Any clue what’s happened to Enzo?” I tried to sound casual. “He’s got half the men in three counties out for his scalp.”
“Pret’s talking to some of the women Enzo was involved with.” Coleman pushed his coffee cup back. “Tinkie’s on the list.”
“That’s ridiculous. She and Enzo were only flirting.”
“And Oscar showed his ass and then was seen floundering in the bayou where a blow-up sex doll, complete with a death threat, later showed up in front of an entire town.”
“Thanks for letting me know.” I had to tell Tinkie, and fast. Harold entered the café and it was the excuse I needed to step to the ladies room for a phone call. Tinkie answered on the first ring.
“Sarah Booth.” She was crying.
“What happened?”
“Oscar thinks he may have harmed Enzo, but he can’t remember clearly. He was very drunk and picked up that awful Wildene Jones. She was angry with Enzo too. Oscar may have had sex with her and then the two of them may have…killed Enzo.”
“I’m on the way.”
“I have to go. Don’t be mad. I have to protect Oscar.” She hung up. When I redialed, there was no answer and the call went straight to voice mail.
Harold rose from his seat at the table as soon as I returned. “Millie’s putting our lunches in to-go boxes,” he said. “I have to get back to the bank.”
“I have to--” anything I said would be damning.
“Good to see you, Coleman. Looking forward to Christmas Eve.”
“Sarah Booth. I need a word with you.” Coleman stood, too.
“I’ll stop by the sheriff’s office.”
“We could do this now,” he said.
His expression told me he wasn’t playing, but I couldn’t stay. “Let me take care of a few errands. I’ll see you soon.”
Harold paid the check and hustled me out the door. “We need to find and follow Wildene. She’s hiding something important. She’ll be leaving the boutique any minute.” His hand on my arm propelled me down the street.
“Something’s wrong with Tinkie. I’ll hitch a ride to Dahlia House, get my car, and run over to the hospital.”
I sighed in weariness as my phone rang again. Doc Sawyer was calling.
“You’d better find your partner and get her back here with my patient.” Doc was pissed and worried.
“What are you talking about?”
“Tinkie unhooked Oscar from all the fluids and snuck him out of the hospital. I’m going to skin her when I find her.”
“Oh, you will have help. Do you know where they went?”
“Not a clue.”
“Do you know why they left?”
“I suspect it had something to do with Pret Parker stopping by to ask a few questions. The Shaw police chief suspects Oscar was involved in the disappearance of Enzo Aceto. Even though they don’t have a body, Pret is thinki
ng Enzo’s disappearance may prove to be a homicide.”
I closed my eyes, briefly. This situation just grew worse and worse.
Harold followed Wildene, and I slipped around to the back of the café to prevail on Millie to give me and the critters a ride back to Dahlia House. She deposited us at the front steps with a warning to honor my word to Coleman, and then hurried back to the café to beat the afternoon crowds.
Two choices lay before me. I could search for Tinkie and Oscar, or I could focus on Enzo. I didn’t have to flip a coin to know which one to pursue. Talking to Coleman was out of the question. He’d know I was hiding something.
I drove to The Club and went to the kitchen entrance. The staff knew me as Tinkie’s friend, and I was welcomed into the vast room where at least six chefs worked in the wonderfully steamy heat.
Bart Julianno took a moment to chat with me. The head chef had ties to Shaw and had taken an interest in Enzo’s visit to The Club.
“I saw him leave,” Bart said. “He was with the beautiful woman who shops for people and Mrs. Bellcase’s husband.”
“Did you see the vehicle?”
“A black Land Rover. I believe it belongs to Mr. Richmond.”
I nodded. “And do you know where they went?”
Bart hesitated.
“What is it?”
“I’m not certain Mr. Aceto wanted to go with the two of them. I didn’t have a clear view, but I saw them pushing him into the back of the vehicle. He looked like he might be sick. I couldn’t tell for certain, but he appeared to struggle. It occurred to me they were taking him to the hospital, but now I heard he’s disappeared.” He frowned. “Many people disliked Mr. Aceto. He made trouble for a lot of relationships.”
“Yes, he seemed to take pleasure in breaking couples apart.” This wasn’t good news. It went along with my fear Oscar had been involved in his abduction. “
“Did you happen to notice anything else?”
He thought. “Yes, another vehicle pulled up by the SUV. There was an argument between the shopper woman and the new woman. A big argument. Mr. Richmond tried to break it up, and I thought for a minute the two women would turn on him.”
“Could you hear anything that was said?”
“They kept pointing to the backseat where Mr. Aceto had slumped down. Then they got in their vehicles and drove away. The second woman followed Mr. Richmond’s SUV.”
“Can you describe her?”
“She was driving a silver Infinity. She was average height, but she may have been wearing heels, I couldn’t tell. She had chestnut hair, about the color of yours. Slender. Mature. Maybe in her late thirties or early forties. She was familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on who she was.”
I had no idea who the new suspect might be. The problem was that in the two weeks Enzo had been in town, he’d been involved with at least two-dozen women. The man was a horn dog for sure.
“Can you remember anything else?”
“Oh, the car had a special tag. One for members of the Mississippi House of Representatives.”
I wanted to kiss him. “Bart, you are a life saver.”
He looked at the chefs chopping and stirring sizzling pans. “I need to tend to my job.”
“Thank you.”
He took a breath. “Mr. and Mrs. Richmond are good people. Whatever happened to Mr. Aceto, he deserves it.”
My sentiments exactly, except I didn’t want Oscar to have to pay for Enzo’s sins.
How fortuitous that the woman involved was either a member of the Mississippi legislature or related to one. My search narrowed considerably. And I knew just where to go to zero in on my target.
When I tapped on her open door and called her name, Cece surfaced behind the stack of papers on her desk. “Sarah Booth,” she said. “Coleman is aggravated at you and Tinkie. He thinks y’all are dodging him because Oscar is involved in the disappearance of Enzo Aceto.”
How well I knew that. I’d not answered a single one of his ten calls.
“What Mississippi Representative drives a silver Infinity?” I asked. Yes, it was that simple. Cece was a walking index of Mississippi’s power elite.
“Rebecca Martin comes to mind. First term Congresswoman serving District 2. She’s new in the job.”
“What do you know about her?”
Cece stilled her hands on top of her desk. “She’s smart and a hard worker.”
“And?”
“A little on the crazy side.” Cece inhaled with resignation. “I was overjoyed when the district elected a woman, but Rebecca’s half a bubble off plumb. She fights hard but there’s this edge to her that makes me take a step back.”
Cece staunchly supported women in almost all endeavors. “What kind of edge?”
“She threw a sex toy party at her Jackson condo. She invited all of the state female workers and from what I hear, it was a helluva bash. Rebecca is an adult and should be able to do whatever she likes, but this is a conservative state. Sex toys might not be what the voters want to hear about.”
“How did this not get in the news?” I was surprised The National Enquirer hadn’t gotten hold of such a delicious morsel. And Cece pulled no punches with her reporting, even if it was a politician she’d supported.
“I heard rumors, but I could never confirm it. The truth is, I didn’t try all that hard because I didn’t want to know. She’s in District 2, which isn’t Zinnia. I sort of walked away from the story, but I believe in my heart it’s true. And just last week, Rebecca hired a singing strip tease for Senator Gathis. He’d disagreed with her on some legislation, so she sent the stripper to his house on Sunday morning. He lives across from the First Baptist Church and folks were gathering for the morning service. Gathis was livid, but yet again, there was no solid proof that Rebecca was behind it. The stripper performed in his front yard and then beat it out of town. I did try to run this story down, but I couldn’t find a clue as to the stripper’s identity. Rebecca denied all involvement.”
“You might have told me this yesterday. She was at The Club.”
“You think Rebecca engineered the blow up doll incident in Shaw?”
“I do.” I filled her in on what I’d learned from the chef.
“Rebecca does have the brass to perform nefarious deeds in a car with a state tag. She’s brazen.” Cece chewed on her pencil. “How should we handle this?”
“We?”
“I have to help. If I passed up two stories that showed she was nuts, I owe it to the readers to pursue this.”
“That’s horse ca-ca. You just want to be in on a breaking story.”
“So sue me, dah-link,” she said with a wicked grin. “If Rebecca has Enzo trussed up like a holiday turkey, I am going to get a photograph. I see the headline now. ‘Lothario Lassoed by Libidinal Legislator.’ Readership will soar. I need a boost in ratings since I’m asking for a big holiday raise.”
It was impossible to get mad at Cece. “Maybe Rebecca does have Enzo. Maybe he’s a willing prisoner of love.”
“And if we find Enzo, he can clear Oscar.” She stood up, smoothing her slacks down her slender hips. “Let’s pay Rebecca a visit. If Enzo is on the premises, I’ll find him.”
“We’ll take Sweetie just to be on the safe side. If the profligate is in her home, Sweetie will nose him out.”
Dahlia House was on the way to the Bolivar County plantation that Rebecca’s husband inherited. We picked up the dog—and the cat—and buzzed down the two-lane highway to Seven Oaks, the Martin plantation.
“Where is Mr. Martin, and what does Rebecca’s husband feel about all of this…sexual activity?”
Cece gave me a sideways glance. “Are you so ignorant of men?”
“Not really,” I said huffily. “But I can’t imagine any man I’ve been involved with would appreciate such behavior.”
“Not all men in the universe are alike. Some men like a bit of kink, and some like a lot. Junior Martin lived in the shadow of his father his whole life. Now
he lives in Rebecca’s shadow. Maybe it takes an electric shock or a dog collar to get him in the mood.”
I had a vivid flashback to Heart’s Desire, a compound for the wealthy and elite that promised connection to the spirit world and delivered a chef and butler who had a thing for racy sex games. Tinkie and Cece had laughed at my naïveté at the time, and obviously I hadn’t grown any wiser about the unconventional peccadilloes of the world.
“I miss the days when sex was about intimacy, not an Olympic sport.”
“You’re just a romantic at heart, Sarah Booth. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Look, there’s Seven Oaks. The story goes that Cleothelous Martin planted the oak trees around the house the day it was finished. They were just saplings during the Civil War. Now they’re landmarks.”
They were indeed. The towering white oaks gave the stately old plantation home the perfect touch of grace. We turned down the long, straight drive and parked behind a silver Infinity with a Legislative tag.
“I’ll go to the front door. Why don’t you and Sweetie—” she frowned at Pluto—“and the cat go around back. See if the kitchen door is open.”
“And just bust in?”
“Why not? Either we find him or we don’t. Rebecca’s not going to cooperate anyway we approach her. If we ask politely, we’ll never get past the threshold, and we don’t have a search warrant.”
She was right and I seemed to be making a profession of trespassing, so why not. I motioned to Sweetie to be quiet and we ran around the house to the back. Since Pluto operated as the ever sly and silent Ninja pussy, I never had to caution him to keep quiet. Of course, if Rebecca happened to look out a window, we were clearly visible—the Dahlia House Mod Squad.
At the back door, I hesitated with my hand on the knob. There was no telling who was in the house. Maids, friends, prisoners of a sex dungeon—heaven only knew. My hope was that among the debauchees I would find Enzo.
The knob turned without resistance, and I stepped into a kitchen filled with the wonderful scent of baking bread. If this was some Martha-Stewart-with-a-whip scenario, I would run from the house screaming and tearing at my clothes.
Slipping room by room, I heard Cece at the front door talking a mile a minute about featuring Rebecca in the holiday edition of the newspaper. A story about how legislators planned to celebrate the holidays. Could she see Rebecca’s tree? Were parties planned? Cece was a one-woman verbal assault.
Bones on the Bayou: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery Short Story Page 3
