The Devil's Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  “Is that a … body?” I pointed to the far side of Jerusalem, where what appeared to be a body was flung across the Garden of Gethsemane.

  “A body?” Cece stepped forward. “It couldn’t be. It has to be sand or something.”

  I knew better. “It’s a body.” Dread touched my neck. This could not be happening on our Easter vacation. I eased a little closer. I could make out what looked like one arm, outstretched. Legs were partially on the path.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Tinkie was impatient and I could tell by the way she tapped her toe that she needed a facility. She’d always had a tiny bladder, but now she went every thirty minutes. “Let’s head back to the office. I have to use the restroom.”

  She turned around to leave but Cece and I remained, staring at what could be a misplaced mannequin or scarecrow. Or a dead person. We were all reluctant to go close enough to check it out.

  “Tinkie, hold up a minute.” I took matters into my own hands and advanced on the pink-and-khaki lump. The closer I got, the bigger the sense of dread I felt. When I was within about twenty feet, I stopped. “Guys, it really is a body.” There was no doubt, and the reality settled on all of us like a shroud. The man wore neatly pressed slacks and what had once been a crisp, starched shirt.

  “Are you sure he’s dead?” Cece asked.

  “He looks dead.” I moved closer. Whoever it was, he was on his stomach, his arms flung across the Garden of Gethsemane and almost touching the walls of Bethlehem, his face in the shallow river, really a two-foot-wide stream, that wound through the region. Had the River Jordan been at flood stage, he might have drowned.

  Tinkie had slipped up beside me as I picked up a hand to check for a pulse. He wore a very expensive Rolex watch and a pinky ring. His dark hair was longish and when I looked closer I saw that it was dyed. His body was still warm. He’d died recently.

  “Wait a minute,” Tinkie said. “Wait a hot minute. I know who he is.”

  “You do?” How would Tinkie know a dead man in a garden of miniature cities of the Holy Land?

  “It’s that guy on the billboard. The lawyer. Perry Slay.”

  I looked more closely at his profile. “She’s right.”

  “Don’t touch him anymore, Sarah Booth.” Cece pulled Tinkie back. “It’s a crime scene.”

  “What if he just had a heart attack?” Tinkie was clearly hoping for the most reasonable explanation.

  “Tinkie, hurry back and find Dr. Reynolds. Get him here fast, before they start bringing those walking tours through. It’d be best for everyone if this is kept quiet.”

  Tinkie didn’t need a second urging. She headed off toward the offices as fast as she could go. Cece and I looked at each other.

  “You don’t think he had a heart attack, do you?” she asked.

  “No. The foam at the corner of his mouth is kind of a dead giveaway. I think he may have been poisoned.”

  4

  Thirty minutes later, Tinkie had returned and I was startled to hear the sound of horse hooves coming my way. I was sitting on a bench by a stone pillar that had once been Lot’s wife. She should never have looked back at Sodom and Gomorrah. Pillar of salt and all of that.

  “Is that a horse?” Tinkie asked. “Someone is riding a horse to a crime scene?” Pregnancy was making her just a tad short-tempered. But even Cece and I were sick of sitting on the bench waiting for the law to get there so we could give our statements.

  “Wouldn’t a donkey or burro be more appropriate to the region?” Cece asked.

  I only rolled my eyes but stopped when a very handsome red bay horse came into view. The dark-haired woman sitting on the horse was a born equestrian. Her position in the saddle was perfect, and she rode up to us and hopped off with great agility.

  “Sheriff Glory J. Howard,” she said. “Folks just call me Glory.”

  Okay, so first it had been an entomologist trying to take over a sermon, then a dead body in the miniature Holy Land, and now a horse-riding sheriff. This was one of the coolest girlfriends’ weekends I’d ever participated in. While Cece and Tinkie made introductions with Sheriff Glory, I examined the horse. He was a fine creature, perfect conformation, striking black stockings, black mane and tail, and an alert yet calm disposition. I was about to fall in love.

  “His name is Raylee,” Glory said. “He’s the best deputy a sheriff could have, and a good thing, too, since the county supervisors don’t really provide a budget for more than two human law officers. I hear you ladies found the dead lawyer?”

  Tinkie explained how we’d come upon Perry Slay, flung out in the garden.

  “Did you see anyone suspicious when you came up here?” Glory asked.

  “No.” I said. “There wasn’t anyone around. At first we didn’t believe it was a body. When I checked, he hadn’t been dead long. He was still warm to the touch.”

  “You touched him?” she asked, nodding to a woman who arrived and began to kneel beside the body. “That’s the coroner.”

  “I touched him to check for a pulse.”

  “We told her not to,” Tinkie said. She had returned to the bench to sit. The growing baby was really pulling on her energy supply. She looked ready for a nap.

  “No harm done,” Sheriff Glory said. “I’ll be right back.” She left to speak with the coroner and I followed to see what I might overhear. This wasn’t my case, but murder always piqued my interest. When I looked back, Tinkie was almost dozing, and Cece was in a huddle with Hans, who’d just arrived and was in near shock. Coming up the hill was Dr. Reynolds.

  “I’ve canceled the tours,” he told Glory. “The children are finishing their egg hunt then everyone is packing up. What can I do to help?”

  “Did you notice Mr. Slay in the congregation?” Glory asked.

  “I didn’t,” Reynolds said. “But I wasn’t paying particular attention to everyone who was here. It was a big crowd.”

  He was telling the truth about that. Nearly two hundred people had appeared for the service.

  “Mr. Slay was known for his litigious behavior,” Glory said. “Had he filed any suits about you or the gardens?”

  This was an interesting angle. I tried as subtly as possible to read Daniel Reynolds’s response.

  “Not with me,” Reynolds said. “Slay was always threatening people, though. He’d sue if he thought he could wring even a small payment out of someone just to avoid the trouble of court.”

  “Was he any good as a lawyer?” I asked. I realized too late that I’d interjected myself into a conversation I had no part in.

  “He was … prolific in filing suits,” Glory said. “You and your friends need to stay in the county. You did discover the body, so, at this time, it’s a request.”

  “We had planned on going home tomorrow,” I said. Tinkie and I could stay, but Cece had a demanding job at the newspaper. “Mrs. Richmond and I will be happy to stay, but my reporter friend may need to leave.”

  “I’ll do my best to get through this quickly and release you all,” Glory said, but it was clear she meant for all three of us to remain in the area. It looked like we’d be forced to endure the luxury of the B&B for another night or two. Oh, how cruel was fate.

  I had one thing to tell the sheriff, and I pulled her aside. “There was a man who interrupted the service. Cosmo Something. He’s upset with Dr. Reynolds and what’s going on here at the gardens. I just wanted to mention it, since the body was found here. With that foam at the victim’s mouth, it does look like foul play.”

  “Are you implying that Cosmo might have killed Slay to throw a crimp in Dr. Reynolds’s plans to expand the gardens?”

  “There’s a plan to expand the gardens?” This was the first I’d heard.

  “There is,” Reynolds said. “Cosmo has been upset by my ideas for expansion.”

  “You think he’d kill someone because of that?” It did sound like a wacko scheme, but I’d learned that motives for murder never made sense to sane people.

  “Cosmo
is passionate about his beliefs, as misguided as they are,” Daniel Reynolds said.

  Glory gave him a long look. “Thanks. I’ve never considered Cosmo as dangerous, but he’s let this whole thing eat at him.”

  “What’s his beef? Who could get angry about gardens? Even gardens with miniature buildings?” I asked.

  Glory answered, indicating Cosmo’s issue was long standing and known to the law. “Reynolds diverted water from a ground spring to create the River Jordan. The spring once fed a natural habitat for different insects, reptiles, and small fish. Cosmo sees the gardens as a commercial tourist trap that is destroying the balance of nature.”

  “How long has he been fighting Reynolds?”

  “A couple of years, but he seems to have intensified his objections lately. I heard he’d been put on some medication, but that could just be a cruel rumor. This is a small county with a small population. Sometimes that’s a good thing, but sometimes it’s a really bad thing where unfounded gossip is concerned.”

  I looked around and pointed at the handsome man who’d gotten Cosmo off the stage. He’d been sitting quietly in the back of the audience before he’d gone to help. “He seems to be a friend of Cosmo. He was helping him. Maybe he has some answers for you.”

  “I’ll check with Erik. He has his own beef with Slay,” the sheriff said to me.

  “If you find out Slay was murdered, do you have any serious suspects?” I could already list at least three, but the sheriff would know the potential seriousness far better than I would.

  “A lot of people hated Slay. He filed lawsuits against most of the elected officials. Believe me, some of them deserved it, but some didn’t. The pay for supervisor or alderman isn’t really worth the trouble to me. Folks expect a miracle. The residents want paved roads, clean ditches, water services, great schools, and they don’t want to pay a dime in taxes. The ones who benefit the most and can best afford to pay are the ones who whine and moan the most.”

  “It’s not always the pay that matters. It’s the power.” I didn’t mention that kickbacks and under-the-table payments could also be a juicy enticement for folks to go into “public service.” “How did you end up being sheriff here?”

  “Got too old to rodeo, and I grew a conscience. Couldn’t stand the way the animals were hauled around, never getting to be animals. I like my horse better than most people, and I just didn’t care to put him through the stress any longer.”

  “I get leaving that life, but why a law officer?”

  “My dad was the sheriff back in the seventies. Folks loved him. They offered me the job after the last sheriff went to prison.” She laughed at my startled expression. “Tampering with evidence, intimidating witnesses. The sheriff was deep into bad behavior. I’d just come home and they hired me to fill out his term. Then I ran for office and here I am.”

  I didn’t ask but I wondered if Glory J. Howard had any of the necessary skills to be an effective lawman. This little county couldn’t afford a showpiece lawman. They needed someone who could actually investigate a case. But thank goodness that wasn’t my concern. In a day or two I’d be home in Sunflower County with Coleman Peters, the lawman who’d won my heart.

  “Excuse me, looks like the coroner is ready to move the body. Ladies.” Glory tipped her hat. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Sure thing,” Tinkie and I chorused.

  Cece was still gabbing enthusiastically with Hans the TV reporter, and we watched her for a moment. “They’ve really hit it off,” Tinkie said. “If Cece got a chance to work for a national TV show do you think she’d leave Zinnia? I mean Jaytee’s career is there with the band. He can’t just go off and leave.”

  “She could travel and always come home to Zinnia. People have a lot more freedom now than they did fifty years ago. She could make it work.”

  Tinkie sighed. “I don’t know, Sarah Booth. Maybe this baby is just sucking all of my energy, but I think about how much work a relationship is and I don’t know how it can really work if one partner is always on the road.”

  I didn’t want to be on the road away from Coleman, and I doubted Cece wanted to leave Jaytee alone too much. “We have to trust Cece to know how far she can stretch that connection, and how much she wants. She may not want to be on TV at all. She’s got her own following in the Delta and she has lots of social power there. She seems content enough to me.”

  “I’m just borrowing trouble,” Tinkie said. “You’re right. Now let’s stroll back to the office. I want to head back to the B and B. I do need a nap, and I want to talk to Oscar. I know you’re missing Coleman, too.”

  “Some food first.”

  She nodded. “After all—”

  “You’re eating for two,” I finished for her.

  Hans decided to join us, and we drove to the quaint town of Lucedale for a late second breakfast in the Coffeepot Café.

  “I’ve been told the coconut cream pie is the best in the nation,” Hans said. “That’s what I’m having.”

  It was pie all around, and I had a chance to compare this diner with Zinnia’s own Millie’s Café. What I discovered was that they were both very similar—right down to the woman who owned the Coffeepot and came to talk to us to personally assess the service we’d received. And the coconut pie was to die for.

  We shoveled the delicious concoction of meringue, custard, and flaky crust into our pieholes as Hans regaled us with hysterical tales of his filming around the South. His mission was to discover little-known attractions—hidden gems such as the Garden of Bones and the miniature Holy Land. I interjected, “It’s possible that dead lawyer was poisoned. Just something to keep in mind for your potential story.”

  “That place is exquisite,” Hans said. “Despite the dead body. Man, what was that all about?”

  “You aren’t really going to use that in your piece, are you?” Tinkie asked.

  “Not certain yet. You have to admit, it’s a bit of drama for a travel writer. I got some great footage of the dead man’s hand, flung in the River Jordan and near the walls of Jerusalem.” He leaned toward us, his eyes dancing. “I always wanted to be a crime reporter. I love entertainment and travel news, but there are so many instances where an innocent man is railroaded into prison, don’t you think?”

  “It can happen,” I said. “We’re lucky in Sunflower County to have a sheriff who cares about catching the bad guys, not just improving his statistics. Sheriff Glory seems pretty dedicated to justice.”

  “She does at that,” Hans said.

  “Did she mention if she had any suspects yet? I asked, but she didn’t answer me directly.” I couldn’t help myself. We’d found the body of a man I was 99 percent sure had been murdered, likely poisoned. Though I had no reason to involve myself in this case, I couldn’t forget the way the body had been sprawled across the Garden of Gethsemane, crushing the painstaking work of Dr. Reynolds. The symbolism of killing a personal-injury lawyer at a religious site on Easter Sunday was not lost on me.

  “Not really. She plays her cards close to her vest,” Hans said. “I did a little digging on Glory J. Howard.” He held up his smartphone and waggled it. “Want me to dish the dirt?”

  “Yes!” Tinkie and Cece couldn’t wait.

  “She rode on the U.S. Olympic equestrian team in 2000, but after the Olympics she took her horse and began to follow in the footsteps of Annie Oakley as a trick rider in various rodeos. She can ride and shoot and hit the target—it’s amazing. And she can do rope tricks and she also does tumbling tricks off her horse. She’s a world-class athlete.”

  So far the dirt he was dishing was only topsoil. No muck or slime, yet. “Nothing scandalous?” I asked.

  “She was married once, to a farrier. He was kicked in the head by a horse he was shoeing and died.” Hans leaned in. “It happened at their ranch. It was her horse. There was more than a little talk that she wanted him dead.”

  “Kind of hard to train a horse to kick someone in the head, don’t you think?”


  “Maybe, maybe not,” Hans said with a twinkle in his eyes. “I did a little checking, and Sheriff Howard is big on raising money for the Boys and Girls Ranch and other charities that involve kids.”

  The wicked glint in his eyes told me he was about to dish the subsoil now. “Go on.”

  “One of the events used in the fundraiser is Glory setting up a target with a photo of a person on the head. For twenty dollars, she would get her horse to kick the photo. The horse hits the person’s head ninety-nine out of one hundred times.” He arched his eyebrows three times to emphasize his point.

  Glory Howard could have trained her horse to kill her husband. And it sounded like a murder that could never be hung around her neck. Trick horse taught to kick a target on command—right. Except I knew horses and how incredibly smart they were. A target-kicking horse could be a lethal weapon. It was absolutely brilliant! And based on the fact she publicly displayed the horse’s skill in front of the entire community, no one would believe she’d deliberately used that as a means of murder.

  “Do you really believe Sheriff Howard is corrupt?” Cece asked Hans.

  “Oh, no, I’m just telling you the gossip. Unproven gossip. The husband’s death was investigated by a sheriff in another county and she was never implicated. Accidental death. Dangers of the farrier trade. But gossip is my specialty, you know.” He laughed and looked around the restaurant. “Too bad we can’t get a good Bloody Mary here.”

  “Let’s head back to the B and B,” Tinkie said. Her pie was long since gone. The spurt of sugary energy she’d received from it had peaked and dissipated. She needed a nap.

  The bell over the café door jangled and Erik Ward walked in. He looked around and nodded to us. “I saw you at the sunrise service. You found Slay’s body, didn’t you? Good riddance.”

  Tinkie stood up abruptly and waved him over. “Join us. We aren’t staying much longer, but we’d like to ask some questions.”

  I nodded approval at Tinkie. She might be baby-fuddled, but she was working the case, even though it wasn’t our case.

  Erik pulled up a chair and joined us, also ordering a slice of coconut pie and some coffee. We made introductions, explaining we were private investigators and journalists. Hans picked up the job of interrogator. He was very good at sliding a pointed question into a conversation.