Booty Bones: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery

by Carolyn Haines

  “I won’t.”

  “I wish I could help you.”

  “Me too.” For once, I accepted that she couldn’t. Jitty could prod and push to manipulate me along a certain path, but I stood at a crossroads now. The choice was clear—life with Graf or life without him. And I had no clue which path my foot would take. And for once, I didn’t want to know the future. I feared it.

  “No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks.” Jitty had begun to fade.

  I wondered if this last line was a plea to forgive Graf, or perhaps to forgive myself.

  “What should I do?” I asked. Jitty was little more than a shimmer against the beauty of the isolated beach. “Answer me as Jitty, the haint of Dahlia House, as the spirit of my departed relatives, as the embodiment of those who loved me.”

  “Give it some time, baby girl,” Jitty said in the rich drawl of the Mississippi Delta. “Seek out the facts, Sarah Booth. That’s the ticket. Find out what Graf is up to before you accuse him of messin’ around. Remember, he has a past just like you do. Coleman Peters could be a constant source of jealousy, but Graf don’t let that happen to him. Maybe this Silber woman is his past, too.”

  Jitty was dead-on right. Though she’d come to me in the guise of a woman married to a terrible philanderer, she’d suggested logic and a rational approach to my romantic problem.

  I crested the last dune and saw Tinkie on the steps drinking coffee. Graf’s SUV was gone.

  “He went to buy groceries,” she said. “Anything to get away from me.”

  “Did he say anything about … the woman?”

  “He said, ‘Good morning. I’m headed to buy groceries,’ and he was out the door before I could even respond.”

  I hated it that Graf was acting like such a coward. Instead of commenting, I filled Tinkie in on my conversation with Dr. Norris’s student worker.

  “It must be hard for someone who loves nature to see those oil rigs out there. Especially after the BP Horizon blowout.” Tinkie stood and we walked inside, the pets at our heels. I would make some breakfast and something for Sweetie and Pluto, too.

  “I think we should report the attempted hit-and-run to the sheriff,” Tinkie said. “I know you don’t want to because of Graf and all, but someone tried to kill us.”

  I shook my head. “We can’t prove a thing. It’s pointless. I didn’t get a tag number, and neither did you. All we can say is a dark car almost ran us down. The deputies will say it was probably a drunk driver.”

  “Not like working with Coleman, is it?” Tinkie said. “By the way, he called.”

  I plunked myself glumly at the counter in the kitchen. “Did you tell him?”

  “No. That’s up to you. He just wanted to be sure you were okay. He’s worried.”

  “Funny how that seems to be the refrain of my life.”

  “Just be glad you have those who love you enough to worry.” She slapped me on the back none too gently. “Now what’s the game plan for today?”

  “We talked to everyone involved in Larry Wofford’s conviction except the marina owner, Arley McCain. Let’s go there.”

  15

  The Miss Adventure bobbed on a choppy sea, straining her tie-lines. The marina was in great shape, rebuilt after the 2005 hurricane. New planking, fresh paint. An abundance of booger lights would discourage vandalism of or theft off the unattended boats. Three video cameras, if they were working, would record the comings and goings of those with business, legitimate or otherwise, at the marina.

  A burley man with a captain’s hat stood on one of the piers arguing with Dr. Phyllis Norris. I motioned for Tinkie to be quiet as we eased closer. The lapping of the water against the pilings disguised the sound of our approach.

  “Angela pays the docking fee every month, and though it’s none of your business, I give her a break.” The burly man, who I pegged as Arley McCain, marina owner, was in Dr. Norris’s face. “Why should she sell the boat?”

  “She isn’t healing, Arley. She’s had the deck and interior of the boat repainted. She’s spending money she doesn’t have to maintain the Miss Adventure, all as some sad homage to her dead father. That boat is a tragic reminder of her father’s brutal murder. She needs to put all of that behind her.”

  “And why is that your business?” Arley demanded.

  “Because I care about her. You know I was close with John. He loved his daughter. I’m just trying to help. If you force her to move the boat, she’ll begin to let go of it and everything associated with it. She hasn’t taken the damn thing out a single time since her father was killed.”

  “That’s not your business, Phyllis. You’re meddling in things you shouldn’t.”

  I had to agree with Arley, though I was touched Phyllis cared enough about Angela to try to manipulate her affairs. And I feared she was right. The Miss Adventure was a symbol of everything Angela had lost. Her father, Larry Wofford, a treasure, her childhood. But it wasn’t up to Phyllis to try to force Angela to let go of the boat.

  Phyllis wasn’t about to relent, though. “Angela Trotter views that boat as representative of her father. As long as she keeps it spic-and-span, she’s honoring his memory. That’s expensive and sick. Can’t you see that?”

  Arley put his hands on his hips. His shoulders were so broad, he blocked the entire walkway. “I see you’re nosing into things that don’t concern you.”

  Phyllis matched his stance, though she was a mere shadow of his bulk. “I see you don’t want to lose a permanent boat-slip fee.”

  “That’s a nasty accusation.” He almost growled in her face.

  Beside me, Tinkie tensed. She was ready to spring into action to defend Phyllis from what appeared to be an imminent attack. I remembered what Larry Wofford had said—that he’d seen a man with large shoulders rushing away from the marina as he headed onto the dock. A man Arley McCain hadn’t noticed. A man who might have a reason to give false testimony.

  A new and very viable suspect had lumbered onto the scene. Tinkie’s thoughts reflected mine, if I was any judge of her alert expression.

  “That monthly berth rental is more important to you than a young woman’s emotional health.” Phyllis had pulled out all the stops. “Can’t you see how detrimental this is for Angela?”

  “I see a busybody woman manipulating another person’s life. That’s what I see. I wouldn’t like it, and I’ll bet Angela Trotter will be angry when I tell her.”

  That pulled Phyllis Norris up short. “Don’t do that, Arley. She will be angry. I’m only trying to help her.”

  He took his hat off and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. “I don’t doubt that, but you’re going about it the wrong way. If the boat is a part of her dad, you can’t rip it away from her. She’ll grow tired of the responsibility, especially if that hurricane comes in here. Let her grow out of it naturally. Boats are too expensive and time-consuming to keep as a monument, unless you’re loaded, which she ain’t. But the timing of letting the boat go, that’s Angela’s to figure out.”

  Phyllis’s shoulders slumped. “You’re right. Dammit. It’s been over a year, and she can’t seem to move on. She needs to find a man and start her own life instead of living in the dregs of her father’s. Every spare penny she has goes toward upkeep on that.” She pointed at the bobbing sailboat.

  “Tell you what. I’ve had a couple of people asking about the Miss Adventure. She’s a handsome sailboat. I’ll get some offers and take them to Angela. She may not heed them at first, but it’ll plant the idea she could be free of the upkeep, earn a little nest egg, and maybe start anew.”

  Phyllis put her hand on Arley’s arm. The potential for a bad argument had blown away with the wind. “Thanks, Arley. We both have her best interest at heart. I just got offtrack a little.”

  They turned and saw us standing there. Phyllis had the courtesy to show a sheepish grin, but Arley McCain was all bluster.

  “What’re you eavesdroppin�
�� on us for?” he demanded. “Who are you?”

  “Angela hired the tall one. She’s a private investigator,” Phyllis explained. “Angela is still trying to prove Larry is innocent.”

  “And this is my partner, Tinkie Bellcase Richmond.” I made the introductions. “Mr. McCain, if you have a moment, I’d like to speak with you.”

  “Do it now, Arley, or they’ll dog you to your grave.” Phyllis took the sting out with a pat on my shoulder. “They’re good folks. Help them if you can.”

  “The murder case that would never die.” He shot a look at Phyllis. “If I sell the boat, maybe all of this will finally stop.”

  “Maybe,” she called over her shoulder. “But we need to sell the boat for Angela’s sake. Nothing else.”

  Arley made a growling sound and waved her away, but he was smiling. He was obviously fond of the biologist even if they didn’t see eye to eye.

  “Ladies, come into my office.” He whipped around and headed for a low wooden building not far from the marina. Tinkie and I followed. She cast a lingering look at the Miss Adventure and whispered to me, “She’s a real beauty. I know some people who might be interested in buying her, too.”

  “That’s a discussion to have with Angela. She has to want to sell the boat.”

  There was no time for more conversation as Arley held the door open and waved us into an office whose décor surprised me. I’d expected a seafaring theme, but Arley was apparently an avid golfer. All things Tiger Woods. There was even a putting game taking up half the floor space. Boys and their toys, as the old saying went. I did recognize one of John Trotter’s unusual paintings on his wall.

  “There’s not much I can tell you about John’s murder,” Arley said before we’d sat down in the wooden chairs he indicated. “When I saw Larry Wofford coming off John’s boat, covered in blood, I called the cops. They came, took Larry, and the next thing I knew, Larry was charged. End of story. That’s what I testified to at the trial.”

  “What about the security cameras?” I indicated the recorder in a corner of a bookcase. “I see it goes straight to CD.”

  “Yeah, that’s a strange one. The CDs were blank. I checked the cameras and the equipment. They worked fine. Might have been a loose wire, or maybe someone turned them off. The stranger Wofford said he saw.”

  “Did you check the CDs yourself?”

  “Randy did. He’s the one called and told me.”

  “Did you hear a gunshot?”

  “I didn’t,” Arley said. He blustered a bit. “It was a stormy night. The gunshot could have been covered by thunder.”

  “Or it could have been the killer used a silencer.” I let that sink in. “Which would mean John’s death was premeditated. Which rules out Wofford killed John Trotter in a drunken rage.”

  “What sent you out on the dock so late at night?” Tinkie followed up before Arley could regain his equilibrium. Tinkie and I often made an effective tag team in questioning.

  Arley tipped his hat back and scratched his head. “I heard a sound. Not a gunshot. I can’t put my finger on it. But I heard something that made me decide to check the boats.”

  Tinkie tranced him with her big blue eyes. “What would be out of the ordinary?”

  “I never said it was out of the ordinary.” He grumped. “A sound caught my attention, and I went out to check. Only John and Larry were living on their boats. I gave them a break on the rental because I enjoyed having them around. Cut down on a lot of teenage mischief.”

  “Had you been troubled by mischief?” I asked.

  “I’d sent another boater packing. Troublemaker. Always stirring up shit with everyone who came to the marina.”

  “Who?” I had my pencil poised.

  “Remy Renault.”

  “Wait a minute. He was docked here.”

  “For a month or so. He and John stayed at each other’s throats. John thought Remy was following him whenever he took his sailboat out. There was a bit of a scuffle over Phyllis Norris, too. She was John’s girl, but Remy pursued her. Bad blood.”

  “So Remy knew his way around the marina?” I tried to keep the excitement out of my voice.

  “He did.”

  “Would he have known how to disable the camera?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Did you ever hear him talk about Lydia Clampett?”

  Arley shook his head. “He had a few girlfriends who’d go sailing with him. Nobody stayed around too long. Bad-tempered ass.”

  Tinkie put a question to him. “Did you ever think Renault might have slipped back to the marina to settle a disagreement permanently with John?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past him,” Arley said. “But I didn’t see him that night.”

  “You also didn’t hear the gunshot.” Tinkie bit her lip, and Arley watched her with fascination. When her lip popped out, he slapped his leg.

  “I remember what I thought I heard—a boat motor. Nobody would have taken a sailboat out in that weather with lightning popping. It had to be an outboard. But that didn’t make sense, so I went to check. When I looked around, I didn’t see anything. I thought I’d imagined it.”

  “Could you have missed the boat?” A clear memory of the powerboat tied to the dock beside Remy Renault’s sailboat came to mind. I’d share this tidbit with Tinkie later.

  He considered. “If someone was leaving. If he’d parked behind some of the bigger ships. If he was running without any lights. Yeah, I might have missed it. The rain was coming down hard, hitting the dock and water. Bad visibility and lots of noise.”

  “Thank you, Arley. One more thing. Larry insists he saw someone in a yellow slicker. What were you wearing that evening?” Like it or not, Arley had been on the scene of the murder, and he fit Wofford’s description of broad-shouldered.

  “I had on a slicker. A blue one. I don’t own a yellow one. And I don’t like what you’re gettin’ at.”

  “Chavis never asked you these questions?” Tinkie used a gentle voice.

  “Asked and answered. I was apologizing to my wife at the time John was shot. The law checked the phone records. Told her I was on my way home. Then I heard the noise and went to check. When I saw Wofford looking like he’d been in a blood bath, I called the law. That’s how it happened.”

  “Why were you working so late?”

  He looked a bit uncomfortable. “The wife and I had a disagreement. I’d come up here to simmer down.” He shrugged. “It happens in a marriage.”

  “Do you think Wofford killed John Trotter?” Tinkie asked.

  “Larry isn’t the violent type, but he was drinking pretty hard.” He tilted his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to believe it, but who else could it be? I’ve known Randy Chavis most of his life. He’s got a chip on his shoulder, but he’s a good cop. Why would he go along with framing Larry?”

  “Maybe Wofford served a purpose as a scapegoat.”

  Arley’s heavy brow wrinkled. “That’s a vile accusation, Ms. Delaney.”

  “Murder is a vile act, Mr. McCain. Framing an innocent man is even worse in some respects. If Wofford is innocent, he’s lost more than a year of his life being punished for something he didn’t do.”

  “Do you have evidence that supports this claim?”

  “Not yet,” I admitted.

  “It doesn’t make sense to pin this on Larry. He never did a lick of harm to anyone but himself.”

  “To protect the real killer,” Tinkie said.

  “They never found the murder weapon,” I pointed out. “Just suppose that Larry Wofford told you the truth—that he went to see John and found him dying. That he tried to staunch the flow of blood and that’s how he got John’s blood all over him.”

  Arley was clearly worried by the train of thought I’d given him. “Randy wouldn’t change evidence or lie.”

  “Not even for a king’s ransom in treasure?” Tinkie asked.

  Arley got up and paced the room. He went from his trophy case that displayed golfing figures
to the back wall, where maritime charts had been hung and framed. “Randy’s had to deal with the locals and drunks here for his entire life. They view him as a traitor because he’s a law officer. His patience is a little short, but he wouldn’t do anything illegal.”

  “Then who would?” I asked.

  Arley took his time answering. “I’ve never had a lot of respect for the sheriff. He’s a politician. John’s murder was a big case. National news. Benson was running for reelection, and he had a strong rival. He needed to solve the murder and quickly. If anyone threw Wofford under the bus, it would be him.”

  “Did John tell you about the treasure?”

  “Hell, he might as well have taken out an ad. I told him to hush. If he really did know where it was, he should have shut up until he had it in his possession. Lots of folks will jump a claim. The thing is, though, about three times a year, John would get all wound up about claiming the treasure, and it never came to anything. Folks just got to the point they didn’t pay a lot of attention anymore.”

  “Angela says this time was different. That John really had hold of a clue.”

  “He was wound tight about the treasure, that’s for sure. He might have drawn some interest from folks who thought he’d hit on something solid. I know Remy had plenty to say about what he called John’s ‘fantasy treasure.’ Remy was jealous of John.”

  “Anyone else come to mind?” Tinkie asked.

  His eyes widened. “Yeah. A guy by the name of Prevatt. He runs a museum. John told me that Prevatt tried to force John into taking him as a partner in the treasure hunt. John didn’t like the man and would have no part of it. Prevatt insisted. It got nasty. That’s all I know, and that’s gossip. John and that museum fellow had a feud going over other things.”

  “Did you mention this to anyone when they were investigating John’s murder?”

  “I did. Told Randy Chavis. He made a note and said he’d follow it up.”

  “Thanks, Arley.” We’d gotten what we came for and more.

  “If you see Angela, tell her to come and talk to me about the approaching storm. The time to make preparations is now.”