Game of Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  Millie picked up our food and whisked it back to the kitchen. She’d box it for my critters. “You come back when you find her and I’ll make something fresh for you,” she said. She was as worried as we were. We paid the bill and left, Tinkie and I on foot. We walked down the cold brick street to the newspaper. In two hours, the sun would warm the Delta to a lovely spring morning, but old man winter still gripped the landscape. When we got to the paper, we didn’t go in, but instead checked the back parking lot. Cece’s car was nowhere to be seen.

  We went inside to talk to Ed. He was a burly guy with a quick wit and sharp sense of humor. He had the management skill to get the most out of a pack of journalists and photographers who were independent, creative, and cantankerous—but who also had to meet deadlines. When Ed saw us, he knew something was up. Coleman’s call had set him up for bad news.

  “She left here saying she was walking down to Millie’s to meet Deerstalker for an interview. I told her I didn’t like the sound of it.” Ed ruffled some papers on his desk, but I could see he was worried and angry. “Dammit. Cece thinks she’s invincible. She’s plenty smart, but that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “Coleman is looking for Deerstalker. He’s missing, too.”

  “Because he took her?” Ed asked.

  “We don’t know.” Tinkie put a hand on his arm. She was always the one who knew to offer touch as a means of comfort. “She and Peter could have gone somewhere private to talk, or maybe he had something to show her.”

  “Or they both could have been taken by the person slitting people’s throats.” Ed didn’t sugarcoat it. “Look, if we have a serial killer on the loose, then Coleman needs to say that. We owe it to the citizens to alert them.”

  “And he will,” I said. “Please don’t even say those words. Especially not with Cece missing. If there is a … killer”—I couldn’t say “serial killer”—“then the worst thing we can do is make him feel cornered, especially if he has Cece as a hostage. Let Coleman collect some facts and make a press announcement when the time is right. I promise he won’t hold back if people are in jeopardy.”

  “Okay.” Ed stood and paced his office.

  “We’ll canvas the neighborhood,” I said. “Coleman is talking to other law enforcement, and checking on Deerstalker’s record. He grew up in Louisiana, not here.”

  “Keep me informed,” Ed said.

  “Will do.”

  Tinkie and I burst out the front door and started down the street. Few of the businesses had been open at seven-thirty. Zinnia ran on the small-town schedule of eight to five. But we had to take every lead, no matter how slim.

  I worked the right side of the street while Tinkie took the left. At the five-and-dime and the lingerie shop, I got the expected answer. No one had been in the store that early. But Junior Wells at the bail bond office had the first bit of good news.

  “Yeah, I saw Cece this morning. She was headed toward Millie’s about seven thirty-five or so. Walking fast. She didn’t stop or come in, just waved as she went by. She looked fine.”

  “She was alone?” I asked.

  “She was.” The heavy wrinkles in his face lifted as his eyebrows arched. “But there was someone following right behind her.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I don’t know. It was a man, but he had a hoodie up on top of a ball cap. You know like the young men wear now. My thought was it had to be one of those students from the archeology dig. They’re all over town and they all dress alike. I didn’t think anything about it because it was a brisk morning. Navy blue hoodie, blue jeans, dark bill on the hat. I didn’t get a good look at his face because he turned to look across the street when he went by.”

  It was a good description for a brief glimpse. Junior paid attention to detail because his livelihood rested on his ability to judge whether someone was a bail risk. If they skipped town and left him holding the bag, he took a big hit. “Anything you can add? It’s important, Junior. Cece is missing.”

  “I wish I’d paid more attention, but I was opening up the office, looking at the day’s court docket to see what cases I might want to make bond on. I just saw movement and Cece came by, then the man. I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve been a big help.” I thanked Junior and stepped back out onto the street. I knew Cece had made it almost to the café. The man, if he was the abductor—if there was an abductor—had to have struck right after Junior’s. There was an alley beside his building that went back to an unused lot where we’d once found the body of a writer.

  Tinkie was working her way down the opposite side of the street, and when she saw me she shook her head to indicate she’d had no luck. I signaled her over. I didn’t want to go into the alley by myself. I was afraid of what I’d find.

  “Junior saw her walk by. Someone was tailing her.”

  “Oh, no.” Tinkie looked into the alley. “Want me to call Coleman?”

  “No, we have to look. He’s busy and if this is nothing, we don’t want to pull him away from what he’s doing.”

  “Okay.” She took my hand, and I wasn’t certain if the gesture was to give her courage or to give me strength. I squeezed her fingers and we stepped into the dark alley and walked toward the shaft of sunlight at the back. The one thing I did not want to see was the body of my friend.

  We stepped out of the dark shadows into the bright light and stopped. Sprawled against the rickety wooden fence in the back was a body. I recognized Cece’s harvest pumpkin coat that I’d envied.

  “No!” Tinkie gasped and gripped my arm so tightly I wanted to cry out. But I didn’t. Instead I moved forward to the bundle of clothes. I put my mind on autopilot and forced my legs forward. I had to know. It was my job—as a detective—but, more importantly, as Cece’s friend.

  Tinkie remained at the edge of the lot. She didn’t cry, but anguish twisted her face, and her breathing was shallow. Any minute she might faint.

  “Cece.” I whispered her name as I drew closer. The bundle was misshapen, as if her body had been broken in numerous places. I thought of Buffalo Calf Road Woman and her dire warning. I’d been given a chance to stop this, and I’d failed.

  “Cece.” My voice broke and a sob tore at my throat. I grabbed a shoulder of the body and turned her over. “Damn!” The word exploded from my mouth as I jumped back. “It isn’t her!” I signaled Tinkie over. “It’s just her coat. Someone set this up so we’d think it was her.”

  Tinkie’s face was completely white. “Then where is she?”

  12

  I regretted not photographing the bundle before I moved it, but I took photos once we’d recovered enough from the shock to set to work. Tinkie’s question pecked at the back of my head as I waited for DeWayne Dattilo, the head deputy and Coleman’s right-hand man, and Budgie to show up. Coleman wouldn’t be back for several hours. The only thing we knew for positive was that Cece had been in the alley and was now gone and Peter could have been missing for over twelve hours. Or he could have lured Cece into his vehicle and was now … holding her.

  Tinkie searched the perimeter for clues, moving cautiously to make sure she didn’t disturb anything that might have significance to the deputies. DeWayne was good with tracking and Budgie was a whiz on the computer with research. Budgie would come up with something like studying Google Earth to get a bird’s-eye view of the terrain. It wasn’t a bad idea.

  Until then, though, since I’d already moved the coat, I picked it up and shook it out.

  “What are you doing?” Tinkie asked.

  “Why would Cece leave her coat? Maybe she left a message for us.”

  Tinkie joined me as we turned out the pockets. A piece of paper fluttered to the ground and I picked it up. I’m following a lead. Don’t worry. Cooley was scratched on the back of a postal receipt. In an inside pocket, Tinkie found a business card for Cissy Hartley, Memphis television reporter.

  “What do you make of that?” Tinkie asked.

  “I am going to hurt Cece as soo
n as I get my hands on her. She says she’s okay. She leaves her coat and a cryptic note in an alley. Why not just call?”

  “Because whatever she’s doing, she knows we would have tried to stop her.” Tinkie was as agitated as I was. The other clue was also cryptic. Tinkie didn’t have to point out that Cece had never mentioned Cissy Hartley to us as a friend or peer. We knew who Cissy was—she did a good job of covering political events in the Delta. She’d been all over the most recent senate race, but the day-to-day Delta was of little interest. “The students said Cissy has been covering the dig a lot. She isn’t exactly Cece’s competitor. Maybe they were working together?” I made it a question instead of a statement.

  “Maybe. Let’s ask Jaytee.” Tinkie put in a call to Cece’s significant other. Jaytee answered the phone on the fourth ring and Tinkie had her phone on speaker.

  “Ladies, you realize it’s barely daybreak and I was at work until three A.M.” He yawned to emphasize his point.

  “It’s about Cece,” Tinkie said. “Did Cece tell you what her plans were this morning?”

  “She was meeting that Deerstalker guy for an interview.” Jaytee sounded wide awake now. “Is something wrong?”

  “Maybe not,” I said. “She just didn’t meet him where she said she would. Could you call her? She’s not picking up for us.” It’s possible she really was dodging us.

  “Sure. I’ll call you right back.” The line clicked dead, and Tinkie and I stared at each other, waiting. Not a minute later, Jaytee called back. “She’s not picking up. Should I be worried?”

  “Not yet.” Tinkie decided on kindness and caution. “Sarah Booth and I are looking for her.” She pointed to the coat and arched her eyebrows. I shook my head. No point in sending Jaytee over the edge with worry when we’d done everything that could be done. Once the deputies checked things out, we could give Jaytee a full report.

  “If you hear from her, ask her to give us a call,” I said. “Go back to sleep, Jaytee. Sorry we woke you.”

  When the connection was broken, I had another idea. “Call the Memphis TV station and see if they’ll put you through to Cissy,” I suggested.

  The switchboard operator at the TV station refused to put us through to Cissy and refused to even tell us if Cece had called Cissy earlier. Maybe the deputies could worm the information out of her, but where Tinkie and I were concerned, her lips were a steel trap. She took in information but gave none out.

  “Would you ask Ms. Hartley to call me?” Tinkie requested in her best Southern belle voice.

  “Don’t count on it” was the reply.

  “We need to speak with Ms. Hartley.” I was not as diplomatic as Tinkie.

  “If you need to speak with Ms. Hartley, you would have her private number,” the operator said in a bored voice. “Leave your name and number, and I’ll let her know you called.”

  Tinkie left her name and number since I’d already been a bit of an ass. Unless we drove to Memphis and waylaid the TV reporter, we weren’t going to talk to her.

  “Honest to goodness, you’d think she was the president the way they protect her,” I said. It was the wrong thing to say. Tinkie blanched.

  “Reporting can be a dangerous job,” she said.

  I had to change the subject fast. I looked at Tinkie and held out the slip of paper with Cooley written on it. “You think Cece meant to leave that for us? She had to leave the coat deliberately. I mean no one shucks out of a coat in this cold and just leaves it in a back alley.”

  “Who else might she have left it for?”

  “Only us.” I finished searching all the pockets a second time and found nothing else. “The guy in the hoodie following Cece could have been Cooley Marsh. All of those college kids wear hats and hoodies, even the girls.”

  “What would Cooley want with Cece?” I realized Tinkie posed the question hoping I had an answer that didn’t involve blood.

  “Maybe to tell her something. Maybe to show her something. He’s at the dig but, you know, he doesn’t belong there. He’s more computer nerd than treasure hunter.” I couldn’t give voice to the darkest worries that sprang up in my mind. “Let’s keep looking until the law gets here.”

  I searched the area thoroughly, but there was no evidence of any blood, which was hopeful. If the worst-case scenario was true and a serial killer had taken my friend, I had to keep in mind that the killer could have murdered Cece right in the alley with all the privacy he needed. Taking her meant he had another use for her. Or so I hoped. The dark part of my brain told me that if this killer’s motive was the ritual of bleeding the victims, he would want to perform the kill in a place where he could indulge his sicko fantasies. I could almost read those same thoughts on Tinkie’s face as she tiptoed around the area, photographing everything that might prove the least bit relevant.

  “We don’t know if Cece is with Deerstalker, or Cooley, or neither. We can’t assume she is in danger.” I forced my voice to sound firm and authoritative.

  Tinkie only looked at me with wide blue eyes and returned to her search.

  At last the sheriff’s cruisers pulled in front of the bail bond office, which also brought Junior out to see what was happening at the back of his building. I took him aside and told him about Cece’s coat and the note.

  “I should have paid more attention,” he said. The grayness of his skin and the sad, sad wrinkles that his face had fallen into reflected the guilt he felt—even though it was unearned. No one could have known that Cece was in danger—if she was really in danger at all. She was walking down the street in broad daylight, something we’d done a million times as kids and adults. Zinnia was—or should have been—the safest place on earth for Cece.

  “Cece could be dealing with anything. Maybe she went with Cooley Marsh because he had something to show her. Maybe she’s interviewing Peter Deerstalker somewhere private.” I couldn’t let Junior buy into all that guilt.

  “Keep in mind, she’s pissed a lot of people off with her reporting,” Tinkie said. “Just last week the square-dancing society got mad at her because they thought she was mocking them.” Tinkie, too, was trying to lighten Junior’s burden. “Cece loves to stir up controversies on otherwise dull news days.”

  “She was throwing some shade at those square dancers,” Junior said, grinning. “That line where she said she loved the way their flouncy skirts bounced on their fat little thighs. That hit some nerves.”

  Cece had poked fun at a lot of people, including celebrities. She and Millie, who read all of the trash tabloids about starlets, secret pregnancies, alien matings, and remorse by cheating stars, had teamed up to write one of the juiciest columns in print about the foibles of the rich and famous. What Millie didn’t know from her obsessive reading, Cece knew because she was the Queen of Trivia.

  “You’re right. We shouldn’t worry until we have reason to. I’m sure she’ll call soon. I’ll be in touch. Now I have to go over to the courthouse for a hearing.” Junior patted my shoulder. “Cece’s okay. She’s a tough bird. And when we find who took her—if that’s even what happened—we’ll make them pay for upsetting us.”

  I nodded and squeezed his hand. I didn’t try to talk because my throat was clogged with a big wad of emotion. Cece had to be okay. She had to be. Had it not been for the warning from a vision of Buffalo Calf Road Woman, I wouldn’t have been so concerned. Perhaps I would be better served to worry about my sanity than Cece’s safety.

  “We’ll head over to the dig and talk to Cooley Marsh,” Budgie said. “If he knows something, he’ll cough it up.”

  “Any word from Coleman?”

  “He hasn’t had time to get across the river yet, Sarah Booth.” Budgie was the voice of reason. “You know he’ll call you the minute he knows anything. He’s aware how upset you are about Cece.”

  Yes, Coleman knew Tinkie and I were emotionally walking on fire, but he was also a professional lawman and if someone had taken Cece, her best chance was in our ability to keep our eye on the prize�
�finding her and saving her. I couldn’t think of slit throats and blood collected in old bowls. I had to believe Cece was okay. She was smart enough to outwit her abductor.

  Tinkie came to stand beside me as the two deputies wrapped things up. “What do you think happened to Cece?” she asked, as the deputies pulled away.

  “I don’t know.” It was the truth. “But I don’t think she was forced anywhere. I think she left that coat for us to find. The note makes it clear she’s okay and Cooley’s name was scrawled like she was in a big hurry. She wanted us to talk to him and I think the business card for Cissy Hartley was also left deliberately. Cece is leaving bread crumbs for us to follow. Now, we need to find Peter Deerstalker. He’s been missing longer than she has.

  “Let’s check with the students at the Budget Inn. Maybe they know something. While we’re there we can look for Cooley Marsh, too. If anyone knows where he is, it will be Delane Goggans. She seems to be in charge of the students.”

  “Let’s retrieve Sweetie Pie and Chablis from Millie’s,” Tinkie said. “We might need their abilities to sniff out a villain.”

  13

  Sweetie Pie and Chablis set up a real whine at the Budget Inn when we pulled into the parking lot. Cece’s little red Prius was parked beside a big van and I almost didn’t see it. Not true for Sweetie Pie. She and Chablis instantly called our attention to it. Pluto, who had insisted on coming along, was too dignified to rub his wet nose on the car windows, but he watched Cece’s car intently.

  I got out and checked the car, but it was locked and there was no sign of anything out of order. Cece loved the car and kept it immaculate. “At least we know she made it this far,” I told Tinkie. “And she was under her own power.”

  I let the pups and cat out but cautioned them not to wander too far afield. The highway was close, but traffic was minimal, and our critters had more sense than most grown men. Zinnia hadn’t been a travel destination until Scott had opened the blues club. Now, more and more tourists were discovering the magic of the Delta—but not in March. The next big event would be an April blues festival, and that was going to be a crowd-buster.