The Devil's Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  “He sued me for malpractice in a case that had nothing to do with my work as a doctor. He won and bankrupted me. I lost my license and means of making a living. Slay never had the evidence to win his case. What he had was a jury he could pay off.”

  That was a serious charge. “Can you prove that?” I asked.

  “I could have until the foreman on the jury died last year. There went my hope for appealing the judgment. I wouldn’t be surprised if Slay was the one who bumped her off.”

  “Aren’t you even a little worried about speaking ill of the dead?” Cece asked. “Especially someone who’s been murdered.”

  Snaith laughed, and I expected him to twirl his mustache. “Haven’t you heard? Erik Ward has been charged with the murder. Dear goodness, life doesn’t get any better than this.”

  “I take it you don’t like Erik either?” I said.

  “He is my nemesis. He thinks that just because he has a pharmacy license he can imply I’m selling fake medicinal cures. He wants to support the drug companies and hook the local residents on chemical medications. I offer natural solutions. He maligns me all the time. I’m happy to see him on his way to Parchman prison.”

  Snaith referred to the state penitentiary that happened to be in the Delta. It was a pretty harsh place. I’d come to conclude that I didn’t want to get on the bad side of anyone in this town.

  “Were you aware that Slay was poisoned?” I asked.

  Snaith shrugged. “I always figured he’d catch a bullet from a jealous husband, but poison works for me, too.”

  “You aren’t curious about what kind of poison?” I pressed.

  “Nope,” Snaith said. “You say tomato, I say to-mah-to. You say dead by poison, I say no matter the method as long as he’s stone-cold dead.”

  “You aren’t worried that you could become a suspect?”

  “Me? Heavens no. They’ve already snared Erik.” He laughed out loud and actually rubbed his hands. “He’s obviously the murderer and he’s on his way to his just rewards.”

  Either he was really innocent or he’d somehow engineered the frame of Erik. Now, that was an interesting direction to pursue. “Why are you so sure Erik is guilty?” I asked.

  “He hated Slay. Maybe more than I do. Er … did.”

  “Tell me about that feud between Erik and Slay.” I wanted to hear his take.

  “Delicious!” His eyes sparked with amusement. “Erik’s father was a very smart man and acquired thousands of timber acres. He paid a fair price and folks liked him. That’s in contrast to some of the scoundrels who come in here and buy up land at tax sales. Sure, it’s legal. Sure, they have a network where they can rush in and scoop up the best land at the best price. But the folks who lose the land never forgive them.”

  “So Erik’s dad was a good guy,” Cece prompted. We were all enthralled with the details of this land deal.

  “He was a good man and a smart businessman. But he was fair. People respect that. Or they used to.”

  “Slay bamboozled Ward senior, is that the jist?” Tinkie asked.

  “Just before Ward senior died.”

  “Surely that kind of deathbed shenanigan won’t hold up in court,” Hans said.

  “Depends on the judge.” Snaith shrugged. “I feel for Erik on this. I do. Slay was a slimy bastard. There wasn’t an underhanded deal going that he didn’t want in on. Erik took this especially hard because it made his dying father feel incapacitated, as if he’d been duped.”

  Probably because he had been. I had several older friends who were simply tired. And many older-generation folks had a real respect for lawyers, ministers, and police. I myself had come to question all three professions. No profession was free of crooks and cheats. Those who presented themselves as honorable because of their job were often the best at deception.

  “I can see where that would scald Erik. He seems to be very fond of his family.”

  “To his credit, he was and is.”

  Snaith had actually said something nice about someone. I saw Cece write that down.

  “It doesn’t make sense that Erik would kill Slay, especially if his case is going to the courts. It’s likely he’ll win and the property will be returned,” Hans said. “I don’t think Erik did it. But what about you?”

  Hans didn’t pull any punches. He put it right out there.

  “Me?” Snaith laughed. “Oh, I am glad he’s dead but I’m a doctor, not a killer. I heal the sick and wounded.”

  Hans picked up a bottle of liver cleanse. “This works?”

  “You have to try it to believe it. All-natural products such as milk thistle and my secret ingredients, of course. It really helps those who’ve overindulged in alcohol.”

  “What’re the special things you include?” Hans held it up to the light coming in from the front door as if he could ascertain the ingredients by viewing the bottle.

  “The ingredients are my secret formulation. If you want to try a bottle, take that one for free. Judging from your profession, I’d guess you’ve done your fair share of heavy drinking. Give it a try.” Snaith squared his shoulders. “Now, I have work to do.”

  As did we. First stop, the county courthouse to talk with Sheriff Glory about the autopsy report.

  6

  The day was absolutely stunning. Flowers were in bloom everywhere around the small town, and the heady scent of wisteria was on the spring breeze. If heaven had a scent, it would be wisteria.

  We pulled up at the courthouse under a big white oak that was budding out in bright green finery. Cece and Tinkie followed Hans to the steps of the old courthouse. The building was redbrick with a dome, the original structure very symmetrical and uniform, double doors opening to the four directions. Not elaborate, but graceful. As my friends hurried toward the wing where the sheriff’s office was located, I lingered in the central hallway. Stairs led up to the second floor, where there would be a courtroom. The design of the building was standard for a lot of rural counties. Time had forced the addition of more office space for chancery and circuit courts as the population had grown, but the basic purpose of the building was easy to see and the symmetry was appreciated.

  My own Sunflower County courthouse wasn’t much different in design, and I hurried up the stairs to take a look at the courtroom. I’d spent hours after school sitting in the Sunflower County courthouse balcony watching my father defend clients. Though he’d never, to my knowledge, set foot in this courthouse, I could sense him with me. For a moment the present faded away, and I was once again a secret spectator of my father standing before the witness box questioning a man about his whereabouts on the night in question. My father was never loud or aggressive. Theatrics weren’t his style. But he could drill down on a man with intensity if he thought he was lying. I knew how that felt on the rare occasions I’d been hauled before his bar. A full confession was the only way to make it stop.

  He turned from the witness to catch sight of me standing in the aisle. His smile reminded me how easily he gave his love.

  “Daddy?” I didn’t expect an answer, but I whirled around when a blond woman wearing red lipstick entered the empty courtroom. Her pale hair was curly and short, and her dark eyebrows arched with playfulness. She wore a 1960s-style dress belted at her small waist with a skirt that flared out and a pair of high heels that showed her legs to advantage.

  “Give a girl the right pair of shoes and she’ll conquer the world.” She gave a coquettish giggle that made me smile.

  For a moment, I was stunned. This woman exuded a sweet sex appeal that came from another era. She’d stepped out of the 1950s, whoever she was.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, because I didn’t have another opening gambit and I wanted to talk to her.

  “I don’t know. Can you?” She winked. “A wise girl knows her limits. A smart girl knows that she has none.”

  I knew her then. Marilyn Monroe, a woman my mother had always admired and mourned. My mother, Libby Delaney, said that Marilyn had never gotten
a chance to prove what she could really do. She’d been crushed by the Hollywood machine that wanted to squeeze the sex appeal out of her like toothpaste but wanted nothing to do with her intelligence and emotional depth. Marilyn was a tragic figure to my mom, and therefore to me.

  “What’s shaking, Jitty?” I knew who was behind this vision of sex appeal.

  “It’s all make-believe, isn’t it?”

  Another great Marilyn quote that almost broke my heart. “Give it a rest, Jitty. Marilyn had a tragic life. I can’t change that.”

  “No, you can’t.” She sighed. “You’re on a new case. I thought I’d stick around and see if you needed my help.”

  Jitty never, ever helped me with a case. Not directly. Sometimes I could put two and two together, based on her disguise or something she said, but not very often. Mostly she showed up to bedevil and torment me—because she could and she liked it.

  “Who killed Perry Slay?” If she was going to pretend to help, I was going to force the issue.

  “Look at the clues, Sarah Booth. Killed in a miniature biblical Holy Land, with poison, on Easter Sunday. What does that add up to?”

  “A religious madman?” I could devil her, too.

  “No! You are just being deliberately dense.”

  “Oh, I know. The Easter bunny did it.”

  She put her hands on her hips and her red lips drew into a pout. “I’m going back to Zinnia if you’re going to be so mean.”

  I really didn’t want to send her packing—I just wanted to get equal aggravation time. “Okay, sorry. Help me out.”

  “What strikes me is the timing. Easter Sunday. To get the biggest crowd possible at the gardens.”

  She actually had an excellent point. “Someone looking to make a point about this murder.”

  “I would think so. But I’m not the big-reputation private investigator! I’m just a lowly haint.”

  “A haint I love.” I pulled her up short before she could continue the pity party. She’d actually given me something to think about. “Thanks for the tip. Now I’ve got to find my crew.”

  “I’ve got my eye on you, Missy.” The body was Marilyn, but the voice was my ghost. She disappeared on the sound of a loud air kiss.

  “Who are you talking to?” Hans stood at the door to the courtroom.

  “My better self,” I said breezily. “Did Sheriff Glory give you the autopsy report?”

  “She did. It’s very informative.”

  “Great.” I joined him at the door and we walked down the stairs together. “My father was a lawyer and he practiced in a courtroom much like that one. Lots of great memories.” I thought I’d throw him a bone of explanation before he asked more questions about the invisible conversationalist I was talking to.

  “Tinkie told me how you kind of fell into becoming a private investigator by finding and returning her dog that had been dognapped. That moment was a life changer for her. And apparently for you. It sounds like she’ll never forget what you did in saving Chablis. From how she told the story, it seems that dog is like a child to her.”

  This was a sore spot with me. In a moment of abject desperation, I had actually stolen Tinkie’s little dust mop, Chablis—and returned her safely for the ransom money. I’d almost confessed to Tinkie a million times, but I knew it would be the end of our partnership and our friendship. Had there ever been a time for unburdening my evil deed to her, it was when it first happened. Too much time had passed. Too much water under the bridge. Too many long days of such wonderful friendship. No, I would suffer alone with the knowledge of my horrid action for the rest of my life.

  We moved to the central hallway, and I followed Hans to the sheriff’s office. Tinkie and Cece were leaning on the counter sipping coffee provided by Sheriff Glory, who was on the opposite side of the counter. Even seated on a stool she had the perfect posture of a high-level equestrian. Her motions were contained, deliberate—the way people learned to move around horses that were excitable.

  “Erik’s in a holding cell,” Tinkie said. “He wasn’t supposed to leave town and he went out to the B and B.”

  “To hire us,” I explained to the sheriff.

  “He needs to learn to respect the law.”

  I knew the drill. “Can I talk to him?”

  “Sure.” She nodded to the door behind her. “Deputy Mixon, would you walk her back?” As I passed by she handed me a copy of the autopsy report. “Your client is a pharmacist with a serious knowledge of poisons. Keep that in mind.”

  The tall, slender deputy nodded at me to follow him. It was a short walk to a cell where Erik sat on a bunk. The red spots in his cheeks let me know his temper was short, and I didn’t really blame him.

  “We’ve got some good leads,” I told him. I looked down at the report. “Slay died of a poison that he could have gotten into by himself. Spotted water hemlock.”

  Erik nodded. “It grows wild. The local veterinarian has had some dealings with it with livestock. I wouldn’t be surprised if Slay somehow poisoned himself. He wasn’t terribly bright.”

  “Okay. Who would know the spotted water hemlock was easily accessible and would also want Slay dead?”

  “Snaith. That snake-oil salesman. No telling what he’s cooking up in the back of his house. He’s capable of anything. Look, he concocts all kinds of things. Some of it just gives people indigestion or gas. Some of it, though, there’ve been a few incidents of folks having their stomachs pumped because of his fake products.”

  “Why isn’t he in jail if he’s even mildly poisoned people?”

  “His victims won’t come forward and press charges.” Erik leaned closer. “I think they’re afraid of him. And I’ve heard rumors he still practices medicine—without a license. But a lot of people feel like he’s really devoted to helping them get well. He is the consummate con.”

  “It’s possible if Slay poisoned himself then the charges against you will be dropped, but just in case this doesn’t pan out, tell me where you were Saturday evening and night.”

  Erik’s jaw set. “No. I don’t need an alibi because I’m innocent.”

  “If you have one, it’s the quickest way to end this mess.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  This was an unexpected roadblock. “Erik, please. It’s a simple thing if someone can vouch for you.”

  “I told you. I was home alone.”

  He was lying, but I didn’t know why. Right now, though, it was pointless to push him. “Okay, I’ll just have to find out on my own, then.”

  The door to the cells opened and Sheriff Glory walked toward me.

  “Come on, Erik. You’re free to go. Now, don’t test me again. Honor the restrictions, okay? Stay in town.”

  Erik shot me a dour look. “Saints preserve me. This is going to be hard to take.”

  I laughed out loud. “You’re lucky to have a sheriff who cuts you some slack.”

  “I’m going back to the pharmacy for a few hours,” Erik said. “I’m sure there’s plenty to do.”

  “It would be better if you stayed at work,” Glory told him.

  Erik started to snap back, but he only nodded. “Good thinking. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. There are plenty of customers at the pharmacy who will vouch for me today.”

  We all left the jail. We offered to drive Erik the few blocks to work, but he decided to walk. “I need to move around. Being in a cell even for a little while has made me feel … cramped.”

  “Don’t go disappearing,” Tinkie said. “Don’t make us waste our time keeping track of you.”

  Erik didn’t rise to the bait. “If you decided to tail me, you’d have more fun than you’ve ever had.” He flashed a smile that made me think of Patrick Swayze. “But I will behave.”

  “What’s next on the agenda?” I asked Tinkie.

  “I’m thinking we should talk to Cosmo.”

  “Hans has asked me to interview Donna at the B and B for his travel show,” Cece said. “Would you mind if I begged o
ff talking to Cosmo?”

  “Absolutely beg off,” Tinkie said. She hugged Cece. “This is a wonderful opportunity for you.” She hugged Hans. “Thank you! Cece is one of the best interviewers on the planet. You’re going to see that the camera loves her, too. Just keep in mind you can’t steal her from us in Zinnia.”

  “Cece has already made it clear she could only work special assignments for me,” Hans said. “Even a little bit of Cece is better than no Cece at all.”

  We waved them to Hans’s vehicle, and Tinkie and I headed for the naturalist’s abode deep in the woods.

  7

  On the drive out, Tinkie mulled over possible suspects in Slay’s murder. The problem was that so many people wanted the lawyer dead. When we finally arrived at Cosmo’s house, I stopped the car and took in the rammed earth cottage. The wilderness encroached up to the front door. Had we not known the address, we would never have found this place. Whatever else Cosmo might be, he wasn’t a fraud. He walked the walk of environmental responsibility. The solar panels told the tale of a man who was dedicated to his belief system.

  We’d just gotten out of the car when Cosmo appeared at Tinkie’s elbow, almost like a wraith. She jumped backward and knocked into me, which made me bite my tongue, which then made me curse. I tried not to do that in front of strangers.

  “I like a woman who can talk dirty,” Cosmo said.

  I wanted to pop him, but I didn’t.

  Tinkie laughed. “Oh, Sarah Booth can be very, very naughty. I have to keep a tight leash on her.”

  Since I was standing behind Tinkie, I pinched her hard on the behind. She squealed like a little piggy and jumped forward, knocking into Cosmo.

  “You look too old to be in sixth grade, but you sure act like middle school kids. What brings you two out here? Grilling me about Perry Slay’s fortuitous murder?”

  “Yes, that’s why we’re here.” I didn’t see a reason to lie to the man. He was plenty smart, if a little eccentric. “Did you have anything to do with the murder of Perry Slay?”

  “Murder? Are you sure that’s what it was?”