Game of Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  “Sure. Jack?”

  I nodded. When he went to the bar in the parlor, I ran to the Delaney Detective Agency office. I settled in front of the computer and typed in the words CROW MOON.

  There it was—the full moon in the month of March was called several names by the Cheyenne, and Crow Moon was one of them. The moon was waxing and it wouldn’t be long until it was full. Buffalo Calf Road Woman, whether she was real or Jitty impersonating someone, had come to give me a message. I believed it. Some might say that I was a willing victim of a bad dream and my childish fear of abandonment. Perhaps I was, but I had a terrible foreboding that I was going to lose someone I deeply loved.

  * * *

  It seemed we’d just fallen asleep when I awoke to the sound of my alarm. I’d set it to be sure I was up and at ’em by five when I expected Tinkie to show up. We had a date with destiny. If not destiny, then a very wealthy man.

  Coleman was groggy, and I brought him a cup of hot, black coffee in bed, and my reward was a tender kiss. “Why did we wait so long, Sarah Booth? If we’d gotten together in high school, we could have grandchildren by now.”

  I considered smacking him, but I only laughed. “Yeah, if I’d gotten pregnant at sixteen, and our child had a child at sixteen or seventeen.”

  “Nothing like a healthy, young breeder,” Coleman said, holding the hot coffee up so I wouldn’t whop him. “Seriously, I’m glad we’re old enough to appreciate what we have here.”

  “Me, too. Now I need to shower, dress, and head out with Tinkie. Remember, Cece is meeting Peter Deerstalker in Millie’s at eight.” The worry hit me hard again. “You’ll be there, right?”

  “I will. If you get there first, order me some of Millie’s breakfast scramble, a side of grits, and biscuits.”

  He could eat like that and never gain an ounce. The male metabolism was a crime against nature.

  Fifteen minutes later I was sipping my go cup of coffee, dressed, and waiting on the front porch for Tinkie to arrive. When she pulled up, I motioned her into the roadster with the animals in the backseat and we headed for Elton Cade’s home. We’d catch him before he had a chance to leave the house.

  We were fortunate to find Elton stepping out the front door. Lolly Cade had been very gracious to us on our last visit, but we were in his front yard at dawn-o-thirty. Even a Daddy’s Girl with the rigid upbringing of social awareness before personal comfort could be pushed too hard.

  “Elton doesn’t look good,” Tinkie said.

  She was right. He looked harried and upset, but he came over to talk to us. Our news about the second dead body in the cellar of the old Bailey house hit him in the gut. He paled and one hand went instinctively to his abdomen.

  “You say the dead woman is a private investigator?” he asked.

  “Devareaux is her name.”

  He shook his head slowly. “Why would she be in Sunflower County? And why would she be near Mound Salla?”

  “We were hoping you could he lp us with that,” Tinkie said. “She’s from Marksville, Louisiana, which is a bit more than a coincidence, don’t you think?”

  “How do you mean?” He looked confused.

  “The Tunica-Biloxi tribe is there. There are reports of more missing women in that area. And what that has to do with Mound Salla is Peter Deerstalker.”

  “Peter?” He caught up to my thought train quickly. “There’s no way he could be involved in anything like this.”

  We put the facts out there and Elton sighed heavily. “Look, Peter is passionate about protecting his tribe. You can’t blame him if you know the history of how the Native Americans have been treated. But protection is one thing, murder is another. He’s just not capable of killing anyone. Especially not two women.” He looked out into the cotton fields and thought over what we’d told him. At last he spoke, facing us directly. “Both women had their throats slit. And you say there are more women missing across the Mississippi River in Marksville? Do you think it’s some kind of depraved killer at work?”

  He went exactly to the same place we’d gone. Serial killer. In Sunflower County.

  “There’s no evidence of that. And the authorities in Louisiana haven’t confirmed the missing women there,” I said, “but rest assured Coleman is looking into all angles of the two murders.”

  “Coleman is a good man, a fine law officer. We’re lucky to have him here in Sunflower County,” Elton said. “And you ladies, too. Your detective agency has quite a reputation for solving cases. Both of you have brushed against danger, though. It must make your families uncomfortable. I’m so glad you’re working on Frank’s behalf.”

  “We’re lucky to have your support,” Tinkie said. “Elton, is there anything you can tell us about Peter that might help remove him from the suspect list? Lolly said Peter was here the night Dr. Wells was murdered. Was he with you all night?”

  “We had dinner late. Then Peter and I smoked a cigar and had some cognac. He said something about a drink, but I went up to bed. Look, we had a good talk, and I’m happy to say we patched up a lot of the damage done by my financial support of the Hafner dig. I believe Peter began to see that good could come of this as well as things he didn’t like.”

  “Peter is very close to all the murders.” I had to say it with firmness, and I did.

  “He wouldn’t do anything like that. He might yell in court or slam books around or file lawsuits against other lawyers, but he isn’t a killer. That’s what I know.”

  “Was Sandra involved with him?”

  He didn’t flinch. “Yes. Sandra has obviously been involved with many of the men linked to the dig. Frank Hafner, too. She had a special talent for making a man feel like he was the best thing she’d ever encountered. As you probably know, the Achilles’ heel of most men is their ego. Flattery, especially sexual flattery, is almost impossible for us to resist.”

  Tinkie understood—and manipulated—the male ego with far more finesse than I had ever managed. She patted Elton’s arm. “Women can fall into the same trap when a sweet-talking man comes along. Especially a woman who feels neglected.”

  That statement wasn’t meant to give comfort, and it did make Elton step back. I could almost see him going over Lolly’s male friends. It was a good tweak to remind him that cheating was a game both genders could play.

  Elton changed the subject deftly. “This Devareaux woman, does anyone know what she was investigating at the dig? I’ve got a lot of money tied up there and it looks like the whole expedition is cursed.” He held up a hand. “I don’t mean that literally, it’s just that tragedy seems to lurk at Mound Salla. Poor Sandra. She wasn’t a nice person but she didn’t deserve to have her throat cut.”

  “Maybe not,” I said. “Do you think Frank Hafner is capable of murder? He slept with her, too.”

  “Frank cut someone’s throat? I don’t see that.” Elton shook his head. “Frank is competitive, but in many ways he’s the male version of Sandra. He’s handsome and women are drawn to him. I’ve seen him use that to get something he wanted. But that’s still a far cry from murdering two people. There are people at the dig, that graduate assistant, Goggans, or whatever her name is, one or two other young people like that Cooley Marsh fellow. I’ve heard he’s interested in developing computer games, but he’s avoided talking with me. I’d look at those people, too. They’re smart and a couple of them are at least a hundred grand in debt for their college degrees. If they thought Sandra was going to flunk them, a grade would be good incentive.”

  He had a point. “And the PI from Louisiana?”

  “Maybe she overheard a bargain being made. I don’t know. I can’t imagine killing someone over anything, not even what would be crushing debt. The guilt of it would eat me alive.”

  “Because you’re a good person, Elton,” Tinkie said. “We’ll let you get on with your work. We have some meetings. Those kids from the dig are at the Budget Inn on the highway?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Good luck. Since Frank and Sandra aren
’t around to ride roughshod over them, they’ve become very lax about getting out to the dig site, and probably just as well. Someone needs to oversee the excavation. Valuables could be damaged.” He nodded slowly. “I am sorry about both women. This will take some time to accept.”

  We thanked him again and drove away. The sun was lifting over the trees that canopied the driveway. The limbs were bare, but my imagination gave them to me leafed out, full, and beautiful in the first real weeks of spring, which weren’t far away. The Cade estate truly was beautiful.

  “Want to put some money on who the killer is?” Tinkie asked.

  “I don’t know. I wish I did, but there’s just not enough evidence one way or the other. Let’s swing by the hospital and see if Doc has any autopsy reports. Then we can head over to Millie’s.”

  “Good plan.”

  I checked the backseat to find the animals snoozing. They slept at least eighteen hours a day. I was lucky to get six—less than that since Coleman had jumped into my bed.

  Sunflower County Hospital didn’t have all the latest technology, but it had something better—Doc Sawyer. He was a much-sought-after coroner and an excellent diagnostician. He had the bodies of both dead women and perhaps he’d found something useful.

  My stomach was growling when we parked and hurried into the emergency room. Doc’s den of horrors was off to the side, near the ER and operating rooms, and down a little hallway. I could smell the burnt coffee before I pushed his door open. He kept a pot of java on the burner until it was so old and so thick and so strong no one would touch it but him.

  “Coffee?” he asked maliciously.

  “I’d prefer to have my ptomaine in something delectable,” Tinkie said before she kissed his cheek. “What’s the word on the dead people?”

  “And I thought you were here to visit me,” he quipped.

  “Doc, we don’t have any leads. Do you think Frank Hafner killed either or both of those women?”

  “I can’t say who did it, but I can say the murders are definitely connected, aside from the method of death.”

  I stood at attention. “What did you find?”

  He brought out his cell phone and shuffled through some photos. The camera phones had changed the world for a lot of professions, even a coroner. “See this design?”

  Tinkie and I bent over the small screen. The image was of a horned creature, the forehead broad and the eyes set wide apart. It looked a lot like the amulet Tinkie had found at the dig site. “It’s a tattoo,” I said. “And it looks like it’s a henna dye.”

  “Right on both counts,” Doc said. “It’s a mark of belonging, of belief. Some people believe that after death, demons come to punish people for moral failings. Each of the dead women has one of these on her chest.”

  “Both of them had that symbol?” Tinkie asked.

  Doc nodded. “As far as I can tell, they were applied before death. I don’t really have the equipment here to be more specific but I sent some samples off and hope to have firm facts.”

  So the murders were absolutely connected and the killer was sending a message or working on some twisted pattern or ritual that only he might understand.

  “It is a serial killer,” Tinkie said breathlessly. “This is really bad for Sunflower County. And Coleman.” She looked from Doc to me. “And us!”

  All I could think about was my visit from Buffalo Calf Road Woman and her warning to keep my friends close because they were in danger. That visit was even more ominous than I’d thought before.

  11

  “You’re mighty quiet,” Tinkie said as we took a table in a corner of Millie’s. The farmers, who were in their busiest planting season, had come and gone, but the local businessmen were now filling the tables and counters. The diner would soon be all hustle and loud conversations. There was no sign of Cece and Peter Deerstalker, but we were half an hour early. We ordered coffee and sat back to wait. As hungry as I was, I wanted to delay ordering until Cece arrived. Tinkie said it would give us an excuse to hang around while they talked if we ate slowly.

  We looked at the menus, though we knew them by heart. “Are you ordering fried dill pickles again?” Tinkie had been on a binge for those things. I’d never seen her eat a lot of fried food, but those pickles were like crack to her.

  “Yes.” She waved to one of the waitresses and put in her pickle order. “A little appetizer to get us going.”

  “Fat and frumpy is where you’re going if you keep eating like that.” I was amused at my normally disciplined friend.

  She shrugged. “I just have to have them. And I’ve been binging on fresh green peas. I can’t get enough.”

  “Now that is a combo. I have a hankering for some jambalaya. Maybe Scott will have some on the menu at the club. We need to meet up there tonight. It’s been too long since we hung out with Scott, Jaytee, and the band. We need to have more fun together, all of us.” I intended to drag my friends to the blues club and keep them there all night so I could keep an eye on them. I was forewarned about danger. “Sounds like a good time, doesn’t it? Or we could watch a movie at my house or yours. Make some popcorn and Lynchburg Lemonade. That would be good tonight, too.”

  Tinkie reached across the table and put a hand to my forehead. “Are you sick?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You normally aren’t this clingy. What’s the deal?”

  I couldn’t not tell her. If there was danger and I’d been given a warning, I owed it to my friends to tell them. I was just reluctant to reveal the details. “I had a bad dream about a Native woman. It left me on edge. Big massacre. Danger. It was bad.” She wasn’t my personal ghost and so I wasn’t violating any rules of the Great Beyond—I hoped.

  “That is terrifying, Sarah Booth.” Tinkie looked a tad confused, but mostly unsettled. “Do you often have such vivid dreams?”

  “Sometimes.” Maybe Jitty was a dream. Maybe I was narcoleptic and I would fall into a deep sleep and Jitty was just a figment of my imagination.

  “Have you told Coleman about this dream?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to unduly worry him, but he is coming to make sure Cece is okay. We’ll tell him when he gets here.” I sighed. “I just can’t believe we’re actually talking about Peter Deerstalker being a possible serial killer.”

  “It is creepy. Oscar told me in no uncertain terms that I was not to go back to that dig at night or alone. Not even with you. He said we had to have some muscle with us. He was pretty firm about it.”

  “And you liked that, didn’t you?” I could see the flush on her face. Tinkie liked her man to be manly and take charge, even though she’d do exactly as she pleased when it came right down to it. Oscar had demonstrated the proper machismo to show that he took her safety seriously. That meant the world to Tinkie—and most of the women I knew. It was the sentiment that counted.

  At seven forty-five, we figured Cece would walk in the door any minute so we put in our order. I also got the breakfast scramble for Coleman. He was a timely kind of lawman and I liked that. At seven fifty-five he walked in the café door just as Millie put our plates on the table. The food smelled wonderful. When Millie saw Coleman, she grabbed a pot of freshly brewed coffee, and set a steaming cup before him as he sat down.

  “Cece not here?” He’d surveyed the café as he walked through.

  “It’s only seven fifty-five.” I said it with certainty, but for the past ten minutes, my gut was telling me a lot of things I didn’t want to hear. Tinkie, too, looked a little green.

  “Cece is never late,” Tinkie said at last. “She should have been here, setting up at the table she wanted.”

  I whipped out my phone and called her. It went immediately to voice mail. “Maybe she’s late and getting ready.” Even I didn’t believe my words.

  “I’m not happy with this,” Coleman said. “On the way over, I checked at the Prince Albert. Deerstalker has a room, but he wasn’t there and his bed wasn’t slept in. He hasn’t been seen sinc
e late yesterday evening when he was having dinner in the hotel restaurant.”

  “Did he go back to Louisiana?” Tinkie asked.

  “I don’t know. All I know is that he didn’t show up here at Millie’s like he was supposed to do to meet Cece.”

  “Where the heck is she?” I asked, tapping my watch. No one wore a watch now except for me.

  “Let’s start looking.” Coleman called the newspaper office and asked to speak with her editor. Ed Oakes came on the line immediately, and Coleman asked about Cece. The furrows on his brow increased as he listened. At last, he thanked Ed and hung up.

  “She was in the office at seven. She left about twenty-five minutes ago to come here.” Coleman hesitated and then continued. “She got a call from someone just before she left. When Ed asked if it was a lead, she blew him off and wouldn’t give any details. He assumed it was one of you two and that she was coming to Millie’s.”

  “We’ve been here that long,” I said. “She never made it here.”

  “Then she’s somewhere between.”

  None of us would say what we feared—that she’d been taken by someone.

  Coleman called Peter Deerstalker, but his phone, too, went to voice mail. Coleman dialed Frank Hafner’s cell phone. Hafner had been told not to leave Sunflower County. He was, presumably, in his hotel room at the Prince Albert. His phone went to voice mail, too.

  “What is going on?” Tinkie asked. No one had an answer. Or an appetite.

  “Let’s find her car,” I said.

  “You look for Cece. I’ll tackle it from Peter’s end. Surely we can find them.”

  They had a half hour start on us—if they were together. Peter might not have anything to do with Cece’s unexplained disappearance. And he, too, might be in danger. If his lawsuit truly jeopardized the dig, he might have been abducted. We had to find Cece’s trail, and fast, before we could even begin to figure out what had happened to the two of them.