Game of Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  That was the most ominous thing he could have said. “Now Doc and I have work to do. Sarah Booth, I’ll need a rain check on our evening plans.”

  “She can hold off on her romantic impulses,” Cece said, winking at my partner. “You two can catch up on that at a later date.”

  Coleman had the grace to ignore her as he took charge of the body removal.

  Millie’s was closed for the evening, as was every other eatery in town, so Cece, Tinkie, and I decided to meet up at Playin’ the Bones, Scott Hampton’s blues club, to catch a set of the fabulous band, and also to talk over the evidence. The club offered only one simple meal—red beans and rice or gumbo or creole. If there was anything left, we’d attack it while we talked. Cece had more to report on her visit with tribal elders, too. Coleman would be tied up for hours, and I needed some friend time, a stiff drink, and to hear the blues.

  The band was on break when we walked in and found a table in the corner. The club owner and my ex-lover, Scott Hampton, brought a round of Jack on the rocks to the table. He sat down for a moment.

  “What’s the scoop?” he asked Cece.

  She filled him in after Jaytee, Cece’s boyfriend, joined us at the table. We sipped our drinks and listened to the details. Cece had unearthed some valuable information on her trip to Louisiana and the tribal reservation.

  “Peter Deerstalker is in great disfavor with the tribal council,” Cece said. “He’s considered a hothead and a man who crosses too many lines to win a lawsuit or situation. The tribal leader, Joseph Nighthawk, said that Peter is always in trouble. The council feels that he’s impetuous and dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” Tinkie and I said simultaneously.

  “And there’s more.” Cece almost smirked. Once she had control of the conversation she didn’t like to give it up.

  “Spill it or I’m going to pinch a knot on your thigh.” My muscular anarchy had left me a little cranky.

  “Are you sure you can hobble over here to get me?” Cece said archly. “I heard you collapsed on the side of Mound Salla and had to have an emergency butt massage. That’s a service I didn’t know the Sunflower County sheriff’s office provided. I’ll have to ask Coleman about it when I see him.”

  I thought my head would spin around. “How did you know about that?” I demanded.

  Cece just grinned. “A little bird told me.”

  “A little Budgie bird.” I knew who the source of gossip had to be. Budgie Burton. He was going to pay. I’d hoped he hadn’t seen what Coleman was doing to me but my hopes were in vain.

  “What’s this?” Scott asked.

  “Sarah Booth collapsed on the side of the burial mound. It seems her ham hocks locked up and she went into a muscle spasm. Coleman had to massage the kinks out of her backside.” Cece was laughing so hard she could hardly talk. Tinkie was right behind her.

  “I’d climbed that dang mound a dozen times. It’s steep. I’m not used to acting like a mountain goat.” Defending myself was pointless. They were all laughing now.

  “You’ve let your ham hocks atrophy,” Jaytee said. “I could design a workout for you to build those muscles back up.”

  “I could design a knuckle sandwich for you,” I said, but I was working hard not to laugh, too. “Now can we get back to business? My butt is fascinating, I know, but there are higher stakes.”

  “Let her be,” Scott said, rumpling my hair like I was an unruly puppy. I shot a glare at him that made him laugh. Obviously, no one took me as a serious threat.

  “Okay, so Deerstalker has a reputation for being a hothead. What else?” Tinkie took pity and pushed the conversation back on track.

  Cece motioned us all to lean closer. “No one can say a word about this. Promise?”

  We all nodded, and I tried not to get sucked into the moment. Cece was a great storyteller and she knew how to read an audience. She had us in her palm.

  “What is it?” Tinkie asked.

  “Several women are missing in west Louisiana. It’s possible they’re connected to the murders here. The thing is, there’s no official missing persons report.”

  That was a bombshell, and I felt suitably shocked. “Did you tell Coleman?”

  “I will,” Cece said. “I have an interview with Peter first. I want to get that done before I turn Coleman loose on him.”

  “How did you find out about the missing women?” If there wasn’t an official report, who was Cece’s source?

  “Cissy Hartley clued me in to the gossip. It seems there was a private investigator poking around Mound Salla. She cautioned the students to be careful, said there might be a serial killer on the loose. The PI’s theory was that the serial killer started out in Louisiana but had crossed the Mississippi River. Since we have a murder here, I was thinking they might be connected.”

  “And you went over to the Tunica reservation to check out Peter Deerstalker,” Tinkie said.

  “You think Peter killed the two women at Mound Salla and is involved in the missing women in Louisiana?” I asked.

  “It’s logical. He’s here, where there are two murdered women. He’s back and forth to Marksville, Louisiana, where the other women are missing. I just want a chance to interview Peter before Coleman locks him up. It could be a big scoop for me. Maybe a book. You know, the whole serial-killer angle is hot.”

  “No!” Tinkie and I said in unison. “That’s too dangerous,” Tinkie added. “If you seriously think he might be a psychotic killer, you are not going to interview him.”

  “I’m not afraid of—” Cece started.

  “Well, I am,” Jaytee said. “You’re not going to meet that man somewhere out of the way to try and pry things out of him. You can’t. I won’t…” He didn’t finish because though Cece loved him more than her own life, she wouldn’t be bossed by anyone and Jaytee was smart enough to know it.

  “I’m meeting him at Millie’s in the morning,” Cece said. She looked at Jaytee and her face softened. “Sarah Booth and Tinkie can be at another table. Coleman, too, if he wants. I just need half an hour.”

  Jaytee’s smile was like the sun. “I knew you were too smart to do something dangerous.”

  “I want this story, but not enough to get hurt. The phrase ‘throat slit from ear to ear’ is exactly what happened to Sandra Wells and this other woman. I intend to live a long, long time and make an absolutely gorgeous corpse.”

  “Let’s get to work,” Scott said to Jaytee. “Hate to leave good company, but the folks came here for a show.”

  Jaytee brushed a kiss across Cece’s cheek and the musicians returned to the stage and kicked up a set that made me want to dance—I just couldn’t risk another episode of muscular betrayal. That kind of thing would give a girl a terrible reputation and fast.

  Cece, Tinkie, and I huddled close over the table. A new round of drinks magically appeared, and we sipped them slowly. “Do you think Peter is a serial killer?” I asked my friends.

  “I don’t want to believe that.” Tinkie frowned. “I like Peter. He’s done a lot to help his tribe and his community. He does have a temper, but he was a primary force in seeing that the Tunicas’ federal recognition gave them the right to build their casino near Marksville. The tribe has prospered since that time.”

  “Who are the other investors in the property?” I asked. “We know Elton Cade donated a chunk of change to Frank Hafner. Sandra’s biggest investor was a private organization that funds archeology adventures, history shows on television, that kind of thing. Delane Goggans believes Sandra was possibly blackmailing one of her benefactors, but who is the person behind the corporation? That’s an angle to explore.”

  “Probably someone she screwed,” Tinkie said sarcastically. “Sorry!” She held up both hands. “Sandra was a user. And, really, do we still think the dig is the actual motive behind the murders? This second murder takes the heat off our client, Frank Hafner, don’t you think? Looks to me like Sandra flirted with the wrong guy. She met her fate at the hands of a new conqu
est.”

  “And the unknown dead woman?” I asked.

  “We need to find out who she is and what she was doing on top of that mound. I mean after the fire, no locals hang out up there anymore,” Tinkie said. “The young people used to go there, but Budgie said it wasn’t a big location anymore. Ghost stories are passé with young people now. They want to sit on the sofa in the air-conditioning and play video games.”

  I had a great fondness for midnight adventures in the soft Delta nights, but each generation had to find the path to the courtship rituals that defined them. I couldn’t imagine anything more romantic than tall tales of a haunted house to induce a cuddle with a crush, but that wasn’t appealing to the young people now. “We need to know who she is before we can really begin to look into how she died.”

  My cell phone rang. It was Coleman. I answered while my girlfriends waited in silence. “Okay, thanks.” I hung up.

  “The dead woman’s name is Bella Devareaux. She’s from Marksville, Louisiana. She’s a private investigator.”

  I felt the strangest rush of anger. I’d never heard of Bella Devareaux, but she was one of us—a PI. She’d likely been working a case, checking into the disappearance of young women in Louisiana. The connection to Peter Deerstalker was undeniable. This woman was from the town where his people lived. What had she been investigating that culminated in her death at the same location another woman involved with the Tunica tribe had died?”

  “You have to tell Coleman about Peter,” I said to Cece.

  “Tomorrow, Sarah Booth. After my interview.”

  I didn’t like it and neither did Tinkie, but we had no leverage to change it. “We’ll be right at Millie’s in the morning to look out for you,” Tinkie said.

  “Fine. You can have Coleman waiting in the wings.”

  “We will.” That was a capital idea.

  “I’m meeting Peter at eight o’clock.”

  I had a tentative appointment with Delane, but I made a decision and sent her a text canceling. If Cece could extract info from Peter, we didn’t need Delane there muddying the water.

  “We’ll be watching you, Cece.” It was time to break up the party and head home. Sweetie Pie and Pluto were in Scott’s office enjoying a few short ribs, but it had been a long day for all of us. I was sure they were ready to go home. I also wanted to call Coleman back to see when he might be finished with work. I missed our time together, but I wasn’t about to say that out loud and give my friends more ammunition for teasing me.

  We waved goodbye to the band and headed out. Tinkie had ridden in with Cece, but I volunteered to give her a lift home, which she accepted. We’d barely slammed the car doors before she blurted, “I don’t like Cece meeting that man.”

  “Nor do I. But you know we can’t stop her.”

  Tinkie’s mind was speeding far ahead of mine. “Elton and Peter are good friends. Do you think Elton would talk to us about Peter?”

  “Maybe tomorrow. Not tonight.”

  “Let’s talk to Elton tomorrow at six, so we have all the scoop we can get before Cece’s interview. And we need to find out more about Bella Devareaux. She may hold the key to understanding what’s going on with that dig. Or at least with the murderer. And I am going to say serial killer.”

  “I agree. First thing tomorrow.” I drove into the night with my critters in the backseat and my friend in the front seat. The car’s headlights cut the darkness and disappeared in the long stretch of straight road. Another beautiful Delta late winter night. I could only hope that there would not be another murder. The reality of a serial killer plying his trade in my little town would definitely disrupt my sleep.

  10

  As it turned out, it was not dreams of a serial killer that forced me out of bed at two in the morning, but the sound of hoofbeats in the parlor of Dahlia House. My three horses, Reveler, Lucifer, and Miss Scrapiron, were family members, but they’d never been invited inside the house and I knew they preferred it that way. If they were roaming the halls of my ancestral home, that meant someone had opened a gate and the horses were free. It would be dangerous for them and for any drivers if the horses wandered down to the road. How they entered the house was another matter.

  Or maybe I was having auditory hallucinations.

  The clop clop of hooves on wood told me otherwise. There was definitely a horse in the house. I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs to find a fierce-looking Native woman astride a paint horse. One long braid hung over her shoulder and she carried a spear festooned with eagle feathers and other totems. She stared at me, her dark eyes a challenge.

  “Who are you?” I asked. I really sucked at the Native American identification game.

  “Buffalo Calf Road Woman. Sister to Chief Comes in Sight. I am a warrior.”

  I didn’t doubt that for a minute. She sat her horse with the grace of a goddess, and her bearing was proud. She wore a deerskin shirt and britches decorated with the images of running horses. A tomahawk hung from one side of her belt and a knife from the other.

  “Why are you here? In my home?” I knew it was Jitty, and she’d had her fun by rousing me from a deep sleep. I wasn’t going to give her any more satisfaction by freaking out over a horse in the parlor.

  “When Three Stars came to kill us, we fought. My brother was wounded, but I saved him. When the yellow hair came to kill us, we fought. I knocked him from his horse and a warrior took his yellow hair.” She made a motion of holding up a hank of hair and a slicing movement, a scalping.

  I struggled to find the reference she made, and it finally came to me. General George Custer had been called Yellow Hair by the Indians. Another military commander, General Alfred Terry Crook, had been called Three Stars. These men and others had been the fist of betrayal the U.S. government employed to decimate the indigenous population when the government reneged on numerous treaties with the Native Americans. Two major battles that occurred in 1876 were the Battle of the Rosebud, which Crook led, and the Battle of the Little Bighorn, where Custer died. The woman before me had played a role in the death of a man who had slaughtered hundreds of her people. She should have been lauded in history, and yet few Americans knew her name.

  “Why are you here to visit me?” I asked a bit more politely.

  “The ghosts of the past are restless. They roam the lands they once called home. They are troubled by the disturbance of their bones.”

  So this manifestation was about the archeological dig, as I had assumed. “Jitty, is this the truth, or are you here to stir the pot?” I asked her directly. “Is something going on in the Great Beyond about that dig?”

  The image of Buffalo Calf Road Woman didn’t waver, and I wondered if this was truly my haint or some other spirit who’d found a willing conversationalist. “I’m here to warn you,” she said. “Disturb not the bones.”

  That didn’t bode well. “Or what?”

  “The Crow Moon is waxing. Soon it will be full, and revelations will be told. Your friend is in danger. Grave danger. Blood will spill.”

  “Cece? Is Cece in danger?” I felt a definite thud in the region of my heart.

  “Those you hold dear stand in the light of the Crow Moon, clear for their enemies to see. They are targets for the arrows of the enemy. You must stop them.”

  “How?” I wanted to stop them. There was only one other person in my life who could scare me with a prophecy, and that was Zinnia’s resident psychic, Madame Tomeeka, who was also known as Tammy Odom. We’d gone to school together, and Tammy’s dreams were often prophetic. When she told me danger was near, I listened. I felt the same desperation to heed the words of Buffalo Calf Road Woman. “Please, tell me what to do.”

  “When the moon is full, gather them to you and hold them safe.”

  She’d said “them,” so it was more than just Cece. Tinkie, too, could soon be in danger. “I will. Thank you.”

  The front door of Dahlia House blew open on a cold wind. Buffalo Calf Road Woman walked through the foyer, the
hooves of her horse echoing on the old wooden floors. She crossed the porch at a trot and the horse leaped down the front steps and took off down the driveway. My three horses raced the fence line beside her as she disappeared into the night, leaving only the sound of the running horses behind.

  “You certainly do have some strange callers, Sarah Booth.”

  I whirled to find Jitty sitting on the staircase. She wore a long nightgown and her hair was braided down her back. But she was Jitty, not some long-dead Native woman. “That wasn’t you?” I asked, pointing down the driveway.

  She shook her head. “She must have felt strongly to come from the Happy Hunting Ground just to pay you a visit.”

  I didn’t believe Jitty was so innocent. She never told me the complete truth. Never. It was part of the gig in the Great Beyond to lie to those of us still alive. “Why would she do that? She doesn’t know me. Why should she care if I get hurt?”

  Jitty’s features softened, and I could see emotion in her eyes. “Perhaps you share the same heart, Sarah Booth. In your own way, you’re a warrior like her. She came to warn you, and I do believe I’d pay attention to what she said.”

  The sound of a vehicle coming down the driveway drew my attention from Jitty and when I turned back, she was gone. A hoot owl sounded, and I remembered the old legends Aunt Loulane would tell me—that when someone heard an owl, it meant a death in the family.

  Coleman came across the porch, frowning at the open door. I didn’t give him a chance to ask any questions. I ran into his arms, sobbing. He swept me up and held me against him as he stroked my hair and soothed me.

  “What in the world?” he asked, trying to get me to look up at him.

  “Bad dream.” I hadn’t told him about Jitty. I hadn’t told anyone. I was afraid Jitty would disappear if I revealed her presence in my life. There were rules about everything in the Great Beyond, and Jitty was my special gift, the link between the long-ago past and my parents. I would never risk losing her.

  “Two gruesome murders are enough to make anyone have nightmares.”

  I nodded. My composure was returning, but I had to check something. “Coleman, would you make us a drink to share?” I didn’t really want alcohol, but I had to get to my office. “I’ll be right up.”