Booty Bones: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery

by Carolyn Haines

  “Your daddy would be ashamed of the way you’re acting,” Arley said quietly, his broad-shouldered bulk blocking the deputy’s passage. “I let you ramrod me into giving testimony that helped put Larry behind bars, and now I’m not so sure I wasn’t played.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Arley.” Chavis held his temper by the hardest. “Those private investigators have turned you inside out. You testified to what you knew. Don’t go rewriting history.”

  “The only rewriting I do will be at Larry’s appeal. Maybe those lady PIs are right and Wofford was a patsy. Maybe someone snuck onto John’s boat, shot him, and escaped before Larry even showed up. Maybe that someone knew how to turn off the security cameras. The more I think about it, the more I think that doesn’t make sense. I won’t be part of an innocent man being railroaded.”

  Chavis took a deep breath. “You do whatever you feel is right regarding Wofford’s appeal, but right now I intend to search this boat for stolen goods. Step back. I don’t want to arrest you, Arley.”

  “I don’t think you should try. I whipped your ass when you were a teenage punk stealing hubcaps with that lowlife cousin of yours. And I can whip it again.”

  Chavis went beet red with fury. Beside me, Angela was rigid and Tinkie pulled out her cell phone to call 911. The law was already here, but maybe we needed the state police or the highway patrol. Blood was about to be spilled.

  “I grew up, Arley, and you know it. I did what Zeke couldn’t do and put my juvenile delinquency behind me. I don’t want to hurt you, and I sure don’t want to arrest you, but I’ll do both if I have to.”

  “You surely didn’t get over holding a grudge against people. You never forgave John Trotter because he told you he didn’t want Angela dating a punk.”

  So here it was. The gristle on the bone that Chavis so enjoyed chewing. Before I could stop her, Angela ran toward the dock as the two officers with Chavis prepared for a brawl.

  My hound bounded into the fray. “Sweetie!” But it was too late to call her back.

  She got between Chavis and Angela and growled at both of them. Never one to rush when a saunter would work as effectively, Pluto followed my hound. He gave the water a look of disdain and sat down to clean his paws, but his wary green gaze locked onto Chavis with clear intent.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Arley said, laughing. “That dog means to stop anyone from taking a swing.”

  The tension collapsed, and I found I’d been holding my breath. “Let Chavis execute his search warrant. There’s nothing for him to find.” I shifted toward the boat with Tinkie at my side.

  The deputies boarded the Miss Adventure while Angela, Arley, Tinkie, and I stood on the dock. Sweetie was having a sniff fest as she wandered from boat to boat, but Pluto remained seated on the dock. He didn’t have to be able to talk to let us all know he was over the adventure at the marina and ready for a nap.

  Half an hour later, Chavis came off the boat, empty-handed, as I knew he would be.

  “I don’t know where you’ve stowed the spyglass, but I’ll find it eventually.” He spoke to me instead of Angela. When he felt her gaze on him, his cheeks colored again. So Arley was right. He’d been sweet on Angela, and might still be. Whatever had happened between John Trotter and the deputy regarding Angela, it was still a source of shame for Chavis.

  He started to leave, but Angela called his name. He stopped, and she joined him as he went down the dock toward the patrol cars. The deputies hung back, giving the two a bit of privacy. Whatever she was saying, he was listening to her.

  “So Chavis had a crush on Angela?” I asked Arley. “It might have been nice to know this sooner.”

  He shrugged. “Angela could have told you too. John pretty much said Randy wasn’t good enough for his girl. That’s a hard thing for a man to hear.”

  “And great motivation for a man to act out of passion instead of reason,” I pointed out.

  “I think we need to have a word with our client,” Tinkie said, and her tone could have frozen ice cubes in hell.

  “Good idea.”

  After the deputies were gone, Arley returned to his office and we had a chance to speak privately with Angela.

  “You might have told us Chavis had a thing for you,” Tinkie said with some heat.

  “It was a long time ago.” Angela pulled her Windbreaker closed. “Dad was hard on him. Chavis and his cousin got into a little trouble when they were young. Like Dad hadn’t had his share of brushes with the law.” She blew out her breath in exasperation. “It wasn’t fair, and it pissed me off that my father would suddenly decide to assume a parental role by trying to dictate who I should and shouldn’t date. I’m not a child.”

  I could see her point. Absentee father suddenly becomes overprotective bear. Still, she should have told us. “It’s good motivation for Chavis to hurt your father and pin the blame on Wofford.”

  Angela motioned us onto the boat. Sweetie made the leap to the deck with grace. Pluto assumed the gargoyle pose on the dock. No way was he boarding a boat.

  The deputies had done a remarkably neat job of searching, and she adjusted a few throw pillows and closed the galley doors before she poured us each a glass of juice and motioned us onto the deck, where we settled into comfortable chairs.

  “I felt bad for Randy. He’s been an ass, I know. But part of it was because my father scalded him with that ‘you’re not good enough’ speech. I didn’t want to bring it up. It shouldn’t have happened. I had no interest in dating Randy. If Dad had let me handle it, a lot of hurt feelings could have been spared.”

  “You have to be honest with us,” Tinkie said. “We can’t work for you if you lie to us or hide facts.”

  Angela got up and walked to the rail. “Then I have a confession.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. “Which is?”

  “I stole the telescope from the museum. I have it hidden.”

  “Why?” Tinkie and I said in unison.

  “Because it meant something to my father. And because Prevatt is an arrogant man who thinks he can bully and blackmail people. I wanted to take it right after Dad died, but I knew that would point the finger at me. With the storm coming and all, I just did it.”

  “That’s not a good reason to commit larceny. Or is it grand larceny?” Tinkie asked. “How much is that thing worth?”

  “He paid Dad a hundred dollars for it. It’s probably worth five times that. But it isn’t the monetary value I care about. It was my father’s, and he sold it in desperation. Prevatt should have willingly sold it back to him. A gentleman would have. Instead, he tried to horn in on Dad’s treasure hunt.”

  “You could have reported that to the police,” Tinkie said.

  “Right. I had no evidence. I did put Prevatt forth as a suspect in the murder, but the sheriff didn’t take any action. From the very beginning, Sheriff Benson and Randy Chavis were determined to make Larry Wofford the killer. So I saw an opportunity and took the telescope. It’s justice in my book.”

  “Stealing is wrong.” Tinkie looked at me as if I would have an answer. Not going to happen. I couldn’t condone stealing, but in this instance, I also couldn’t condemn it. If Prevatt had been a decent human being, he would have sold the artifact to Angela and let it go at that.

  “Maybe we can put it somewhere the law will find it.” That was my suggestion. “If it’s returned, maybe they’ll give up hunting for the person who stole it.”

  “Forget it. I’m keeping it.” Angela crossed her arms.

  There was no profit in arguing. Angela was as hardheaded as Tinkie or I ever dared to be.

  “There’s something else I need to tell you,” Angela said. She swung around to face us. “Someone called me last night. A man. He said if I didn’t back off trying to prove Larry innocent, he would hurt me and ‘my nosey investigators.’ He said the shot into my windows was to let me know he could strike anytime, anywhere. With the storm out there, maybe you should leave the island. We’re making someone very uncomfo
rtable, so I know we’re making progress. I’m willing to double your fee if you come back after the hurricane passes.”

  “We’re not leaving yet. Who called?” Tinkie asked.

  “I tried to trace the number back, but I wasn’t able.”

  “Did it sound like anyone you know?” I asked. My first thought was Remy Renault. He struck me as the kind who’d use anonymous threats.

  “The voice was muffled, like they were talking through a cloth or something. It was male.”

  “Angela, we should all evacuate. Until we do, though, I’m not quitting as long as I’m on the island.”

  “Unless the storm gains speed, I can stay until Saturday morning.” Tinkie was no quitter, either. “Then I have to get back, and so do you, Sarah Booth. Cece is probably ready to skin me as it is.”

  Footsteps on the dock drew our attention. Arley McCain stampeded toward us like a linebacker rushing for a tackle.

  “Latest weather alert has the storm coming up the Gulf in this direction. It’s too early to call it, but we’d better batten down the hatches. Angela, I’d set sail if I were you. Either head up Fowl River to safer waters or move down the coastline. Maybe west toward New Orleans based on the current predictions. Stay to the west side of the storm, and you should be fine.”

  Angela’s eyes expressed her doubt, even if she didn’t voice it.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I haven’t sailed since Dad died.”

  I didn’t know enough about hurricanes and sailboats like the Miss Adventure to offer an opinion. She wasn’t like a motorboat that could be loaded on a trailer and pulled behind a car. She was too big. “Maybe you should take her inland?”

  “She’ll need a crew.” Arley’s brow looked like plowed Delta soil. “I’m taking another client’s boat up the river. After Katrina, we’re all a bit skittish about the tropical storms. Once I’m done with that, I’ll help you, Angela.”

  “I could try—”I didn’t get a chance to finish.

  “She needs experienced sailors.” Arley put a hand on my shoulder. “Good effort isn’t enough. The river’s tricky, and Angela isn’t a captain. The waters prove challenging for even experienced sailors.”

  “Let me make some calls,” Angela said. “Maybe I can pull some sailors up for a short jaunt. The problem is, I’ve lost contact with the sailing world.”

  “In another hour, this place will be crawling with boat owners. When they finish with their own craft, they’ll likely help you out.”

  The sound of a motorboat drowned out Angela’s reply, and Dr. Phyllis Norris cut her engine and drifted up to the dock in a sleek powerboat. “Getting all tied down for the storm?” she asked.

  “Angela wants to take her dad’s boat upriver. She needs a crew.”

  “Let me make certain everything at the lab is shipshape, and I’ll give you a hand motoring up the river.” Phyllis jumped onto the dock and looped the painter over a bollard. “I used to sail with your father, so I know the ship and how she handles. I’ll be happy to give you a hand.”

  “Thanks.” Angela’s demeanor lightened. “Can I help you with anything, Phyllis?”

  “I’m gassing up, getting a few provisions. We’ve got a secure dock back at the lab, so I’ll leave my boat there. I don’t see this as a major storm, at least not based on the latest reports. Of course, everything can change in an hour. I’m focusing on a few loose odds and ends to pick up and store.”

  “How bad do you think it’ll get?” Tinkie asked.

  “This is a tight storm. Small eye but a lot of banding extending out for over a hundred miles. Predictions aren’t for fierce winds, but on-and-off deluges, so that could mean a lot of flash flooding. If it’s a direct hit, the thing to worry about is the tide. I doubt the wind will stay at a Cat Three. She’ll likely come in as a One. Still, if you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, it can kill you. You folks heading back upstate?”

  “New Orleans,” Tinkie said.

  She nodded. “Looks like the Crescent City dodged this one. New Orleans will be fine, and the partying never stops.” She laughed. “Even if Margene pays us a visit, it won’t be like Katrina. My worry involves the impact on the turtles and other wildlife. We were just recovering from Katrina and the oil spill.” She indicated the oil rigs out in the Gulf. “If those haven’t been maintained properly, if the storm pushes a boat or something else into one of them.” She shook her head. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

  “I’d be happy to help you with the turtles,” Angela said again.

  “Not necessary. My staff is on top of it, and then they’re going to head to Mobile. I’ll run my errands and be back to help you move the boat. Maybe you should secure your cottage while I’m tending to the lab.”

  “Good idea.” Angela held out a hand to Arley. “Thanks for calling me about the search.”

  We all three angled toward the parking lot. At Angela’s car, I stopped her. “You have to report the telephone threat. This isn’t optional. If something should happen to you, we need to show it was premeditated.”

  “That’ll be a comfort for me while I’m decomposing.”

  Tinkie laughed first, and then I joined. Angela had a dry wit when she chose to use it. “Okay, so I could have phrased it better, but you know what I meant.”

  “I think it’s a waste of my breath to call the sheriff’s office.”

  I didn’t disagree, but I wondered if she had specific reasons. “Why?”

  “I thought of it when I was talking to Randy. The person who called said I would be hurt and so would those nosey private investigators. Who really knows that I hired you—Chavis, the sheriff, Prevatt. We’ve rubbed their noses in it, so to speak. I think it had to be one of them. So why call the law if they’re the ones who did it?”

  She had a point, but others knew we’d been hired, too. “Snill knows, and by now probably everyone on the island. Still, we need to document the threat. At a certain point, this could become a lawsuit.” I wasn’t litigious, but sometimes only threat of legal action forced people to do the right thing.

  “I’ll think about it. But first I need to take care of my cottage. There are a few sentimental items I want to stow in a safe place.”

  “Where’s the spyglass?” Tinkie asked.

  “Oh, you can bet it’s well protected,” Angela answered. “I won’t involve you, though.”

  She wasn’t about to budge. I had one more topic to discuss. “I did some checking.” Sometimes it was hard for a client to accept her history could prove fertile ground for trouble. This required delicacy. “Jameson Barr has a real reason to hate you. And he has connections. Do you think—”

  “That he killed my father to get even for newspaper stories?”

  I hadn’t intended to be that blunt. “Yes.”

  “I haven’t ruled it out completely. Don’t you think I’ve tried talking to Zeke? He hates my guts. As unreasonable as it is, he feels like I caught him. Like he would have gotten away with killing Mrs. Barr if I hadn’t poked around in it. He’d rather stay in jail than help me. Even if I could convince the DA to offer some kind of incentive for him to tell the truth, he would hold it back just to spite me.”

  “We’ve tried to link the murder to the treasure and your father’s actions. What if we’ve been on the wrong trail?”

  “Barr is capable of anything. He’s an old-school politician who controlled Alabama for a long time because he rewarded those who were loyal to him and punished those who dared to challenge him. I have thought about this. But I believe Dad’s murder goes back to the treasure. That’s what my gut tells me.”

  “We need to figure out the identity of the man Wofford saw on the wharf.” Tinkie came full circle.

  “The problem is that as far as the authorities are concerned, that man is a figment of Larry’s imagination.” Angela held no illusions about what we were up against.

  She was right. Without evidence to back it up, Wofford’s claim was viewed as a desp
erate attempt to throw suspicion on someone else.

  “Maybe we should talk to Zeke,” Tinkie suggested. “What if Barr used the same hit man to kill his wife and Angela’s dad? Why don’t we head up to Atmore? It’s only a couple of hours. We can be back before it gets dark and still have plenty of time to pack up.”

  “I’d feel a lot more comfortable if you’d head on to New Orleans, Sarah Booth.” Angela’s slumped shoulders told me she carried a heavy weight. “I have a bad feeling trouble is headed our way and it’s packing a wallop.”

  “Maybe she’s right.” Tinkie faced the southern horizon, where storm clouds massed, a dark presence. There was no doubt bad weather was moving in, but it seemed far away. “We can come back, Sarah Booth. After the storm passes. Let Angela take care of her house and the boat. We’ll take care of ourselves and wait for this to blow over.”

  At my feet, Sweetie Pie moaned as if it were the best idea she’d heard in a while.

  “I agree with your partner,” Angela said. “See to your safety, then come back. You’ve made more progress than anyone else, and for the first time in months, I feel that we may be able to figure out what really happened to my father.”

  Tinkie’s small hand grasped mine. “Let’s go to the cottage.” She tugged me behind her. “This isn’t over, Angela. We aren’t quitting, I promise.”

  19

  The cottage was empty when we got back. The SUV hunkered beneath the first-floor rafters, along with both bicycles. Graf was on foot. The day was winding down, and my life felt totally out of control. I checked my cell phone twice to see if he’d responded to my last text. Nada.

  I stepped into the bedroom and went out on the balcony and dialed his number. His phone rang and finally went to voice mail. “Graf, we need to talk. We can’t keep avoiding this.” I almost said please, but I stopped myself. “Whatever is going on, ignoring it isn’t working.” I hung up, hoping he’d call me right back. When he didn’t, I rejoined Tinkie in the kitchen.

  “Let’s call Arley and see if he kept slip rentals at the time John Trotter was shot.” Tinkie knew work was the best medicine for me. “We can interview the people we run down, maybe jog a memory. If we could get our hands on one other person to corroborate Wofford’s story of the yellow-rain-slickered person on the pier the night Trotter was shot, it could help Wofford.”