Game of Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  “I want to take one more look at the site where Sandra Wells was killed.” Tinkie started up the side of the mound. I grabbed her ankle.

  “Let’s just go.”

  A thicker, darker cloud moved across the sun, and the light grew dimmer. To make it worse, a wind sprang up with the smell of impending rain. “Yeah, let’s go.”

  We’d started down when I heard something. And it wasn’t my imagination. Sweetie Pie and Chablis bounded past me toward the top of the mound. Tinkie called for her pooch, to no avail. They blew past us like we didn’t exist, and Pluto was right behind them.

  “Dammit,” I said. I really didn’t want to climb to the top. “Just dammit.”

  “I’ll get them.” Tinkie started back up and I followed. Somewhere near the area where the dig was going I heard Sweetie Pie baying and howling. Chablis was barking with her rat-a-tat-tat little bark that could make my eardrums bleed in an enclosed space.

  “What have they gotten into?” Tinkie huffed as we neared the top. “Instead of breakfast, I want a drink. Bloody Mary. Spicy. Too bad Millie doesn’t have a liquor license.”

  “I agree.” We made it up the last ten feet and turned toward the dogs. “Sweetie Pie!” She was baying like she’d found a batch of meth. “Sweetie Pie!”

  We started toward the sound of the dogs. A shot rang out and a bullet bit the dirt not two feet in front of me. I grabbed Tinkie and pulled her to the ground. “What the hell?” she said.

  “Either they’re a crappy shot or they meant to miss us,” I said. “We were open targets.”

  “What are we going to do?” Tinkie asked.

  We didn’t have our guns to return fire and there was nothing to hide behind for at least fifty yards, where some dirt mounds would provide cover. It was a long distance to run with someone shooting at us. “We have to go back down.”

  “If they come to the edge, we’ll be sitting ducks going down that steep side.”

  “We’re sitting ducks right here.”

  She nodded. “You’re right. But the dogs!”

  “Tinkie, we’ll get the dogs. We have to be alive to get them, though.”

  She scooted back to the edge and disappeared. I was right behind her. When I was almost down, I called for the dogs and cat again, but I kept moving as fast as I could. If the shooter looked down the side of the mound, we’d be easy targets, Tinkie was right about that.

  Sweetie Pie and Chablis rushed past me and I felt sweet relief. Now only Pluto was missing. As Tinkie and I gained the bottom of the mound, I called for him again. He darted out of the trees and ran to jump in the car. We all crammed in and Tinkie and I slammed the doors. I tossed her the key. She had the engine going and I had the phone out reporting the shooter to DeWayne.

  “Patrol car is on the way, Sarah Booth. Coleman is still at the Tunica reservation. He should report back soon.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Did you get a view of the shooter?” DeWayne asked.

  “I didn’t see anyone. None of the students are at the dig. Or at least the parking lot is empty. Have they abandoned digging?”

  “Peter Deerstalker sent over a cease and desist on the digging. Judge Baxter signed the order based on Deerstalker’s pending lawsuit.”

  “Then Peter was in the courtroom this morning?” I was confused.

  “Nope. He sent an associate to argue the motion. Nobody in his office has seen Peter Deerstalker. We just assumed he was with Cece since they both disappeared at the same time. And by disappeared I mean fell off our radar. I wasn’t implying anything dire.”

  Which meant that even DeWayne was worried about Cece. “Any luck with the APB near that crossroads we called in?”

  “If they were on Highway 1, they’ve disappeared into thin air,” DeWayne said. “Now you and Tinkie get away from that mound. I mean it. Coleman will do worse than skin me if anything happens to you.”

  I didn’t need to hear that advice twice. I nodded and Tinkie punched the accelerator to the floor. The car roared to life. Once we were clear of Mound Salla and sure no one was after us, I regretted that I hadn’t tried to find the shooter. We’d made the right decision to run—I didn’t regret that. But whoever was taking potshots at us could probably have yielded a lot of information about what the heck was going on at Mound Salla and possibly even regarding the murders. I comforted myself that we’d find the information another way, and it surely wasn’t worth getting shot over.

  “Who do you think tried to shoot us?” Tinkie asked. She’d slowed the car to a reasonable speed, and we were in a direct line toward Zinnia.

  “Deerstalker? Delane? Marsh? The Ghost of Christmas Past? I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t think they were really trying to hit us. They had a clear shot.”

  “Even if we’d had our guns they wouldn’t have helped. I never saw anyone or anything to shoot at.”

  “At least we got rid of that pendant,” I said.

  Chablis took that as her cue to hop into the front seat with me. She held the leather bag in her mouth. I had a terrible feeling. I opened the bag and dumped the pendant into my hand. “Maybe we didn’t get rid of it.”

  “That’s just … nuts!” Tinkie was rattled and didn’t bother trying to hide it. When she started to shake, she pulled over. We were on the outskirts of Zinnia, and in the distance I could see downtown buildings.

  “I don’t think the person shooting at us was the killer. That was someone doing something they didn’t want us to know about. They just wanted to run us off.”

  “So they shot at us? Seriously?”

  “Trust me. They could have killed us if they wanted.” I had to make her see that point.

  “And that damn pendant.” She picked up the leather sack and was going to toss it out the window when I grabbed it.

  “Chill, Tinkie.” I took it from her hand. “I’m not superstitious, but between this pendant and the henna tattoos on the two female victims and the same tattoo on Sister Grace, I’m thinking we should hold on to this thing until we solve the case. Then we can drop it down that auger hole if you want to.”

  “What if it really is cursed?”

  A cloud seemed to pass across the sun, and I almost threw the pendant out the window myself. “Let’s just hang on to it for another day or so. We’ll ask Budgie to get rid of it if we don’t need it.”

  Tinkie nodded and put the car back on the road. “Forget the pendant. Let’s find Cece.”

  That was exactly what I was thinking, too.

  16

  We put the plans for food on hold—the day was getting away from us and Cece was still missing. We headed instead to Dahlia House and arrived just as Coleman was pulling up. He had news on several fronts, and I put on a pot of coffee so he could tell me and my partner. Tinkie had recovered from the unnerving shooting incident, and Coleman addressed that first.

  “There was no sign of the shooter when Budgie and DeWayne got there,” Coleman said. “But there was evidence that someone had messed with the expensive equipment. And he found a shell casing. We’re trying for fingerprints, but it’s unlikely we’ll get anything. My theory is that someone was up there, perhaps planning on destroying the expensive equipment, and you two scared them away. They didn’t intend to shoot you, but they had to do something to drive you back down the mound.”

  I’d come to much the same conclusion. “Frank had better post someone to guard that equipment.”

  Before Coleman could move on to Cece and Peter’s whereabouts, his phone rang. “Hello, Frank.” He listened for a moment. “That’s a good idea. If I had the manpower to spare, I’d send a deputy, but we’re looking for Peter Deerstalker and a local reporter, Cece Falcon. Have you seen them?” He listened again. “Yes, Sarah Booth is here at Dahlia House with Tinkie.” He listened another moment. “Thanks.” And hung up.

  “Hafner’s going to post a guard at the dig, and he hasn’t seen Peter or Cece.”

  “What about Peter’s involvement in these murders? Did you fin
d out anything?” Tinkie was pacing. Maybe coffee wasn’t such a good idea. She seemed wired enough.

  “Peter’s got a good reputation as a lawyer among the local law enforcement,” Coleman said. “He represents his clients with a lot of talent and persistence.”

  I wondered what he wasn’t saying. “And?”

  “He’s a hothead. The tribal elders are annoyed that he’s taken on this fight against the excavation without their approval. When Peter believes in something, he isn’t inclined to back down. He’ll push to the extreme.”

  “The tribal elders are in favor of digging up the mound?” I was surprised to hear that.

  “They’re not for it, but maybe not completely against it.” Coleman thought a moment before he continued. “They aren’t happy with the idea of disturbing their ancestor’s bones, but they also understand that a television show could give their tribe a spotlight. Probably ninety percent of the people living around here today couldn’t name the Biloxi-Tunica tribe,” Coleman said. “I understand this is a chance for them to share their culture, to reveal their role in history, which has been all but ignored.”

  I could see that, too. It was a dilemma. But not for Peter. He was opposed to it. Enough to wreck expensive equipment? To shoot a deadly weapon at people—even if he didn’t intend to hit them? If he was at the top of the mound on a guerilla warfare adventure, where was Cece?

  “So what did you find out about Cece?” Tinkie jumped to the heart of the matter.

  Coleman shook his head. “No one around Marksville had seen her. Or Peter, for that matter. Not today, at least. But I did find out some things about Miss Devareaux.”

  The dead private investigator weighed on my mind—especially since I’d been shot at in the location where we’d found her body. “Spill it.” I wanted facts that would help me make sense of the mess that was my case. I didn’t know that any of the incidents were linked, but I tended to take things personally when bullets were flying around me.

  “Devareaux talked with the Avoyelles Parish sheriff’s office. They’d had no reports of missing women but agreed to check into it. She told the sheriff she’d been hired anonymously by a man she’d spoken with on the phone. He left a cash payment for her. The sheriff told me she was just starting out as an investigator and she seemed pretty excited about a lead, but she wouldn’t share any more information. The sheriff was concerned about the anonymous client business and he said he tried to caution her.”

  I’d had some pretty sketchy clients before, but none who were completely anonymous. We already knew this had ended badly for the gumshoe. Had she been hired by the killer? And if so, why? “She was investigating the disappearance of several women? Women no one else knows were missing? Were they members of the Tunica tribe?”

  “No,” Coleman said, and he frowned. “I can’t seem to link Devareaux’s presence at the mound with anything involving the Tunicas or the archeological dig. Or the missing women—who have not been reported missing. There’s no connective tissue except the fact that Devareaux died at Mound Salla. Or at least her body was left there and she’d been there asking questions.”

  “Do you think she was a … sacrifice?” I had to ask it.

  “Could be.” Coleman looked worried and weary. “This troubles me. Missing women who no one knows are missing. A private investigator with no connection to an archeological dig is murdered and her body found hidden at the dig. The sheriff over at Marksville promised to investigate further but, I have to admit, I’m thinking the whole missing-women thing is a hoax.”

  “But why? Why would Devareaux show up at the dig talking about missing women, looking for some kind of woo-woo link, according to the students. What am I not seeing? Whatever she wanted must have been worth risking her life.”

  “I agree,” Coleman said. “But I don’t know what that might be or why a young woman would pretend to be seeking leads on missing women.”

  “Delane told us Devareaux was talking heatedly with Cooley Marsh,” Tinkie said.

  “And it looks like Devareaux was involved with Frank Hafner. Romantically,” I added. He was our client, but I couldn’t hold back the truth from Coleman while Cece was missing. If her absence was tied to what was going on at Mound Salla, then Coleman needed every scrap of information we unearthed.

  “I’ll check into that.”

  I understood what he was saying. “So where is Cece? And Peter?” I was far more worried about my friend than the lawyer, but if Sister Grace was to be believed, it seemed they were in tandem. Find one, find the other.

  “I don’t have any evidence,” Coleman said, “but I believe they were going to the Winterville Mound.”

  “Why?” Tinkie and I asked in unison. Coleman’s statement was a revelation.

  “DeWayne got a call.”

  “From Cece?” Tinkie was hopeful; I was aggravated.

  “No, from Cooley Marsh.”

  “You have got to be kidding me.” While Tinkie and I had been chasing all around the Delta searching for Cece, she’d been calling Cooley Marsh. “She called him instead of us?” I was outdone.

  “This will answer a few of your questions. Cooley said that he met up with Cece in Zinnia this morning while she was walking down the street. She was asking him about the Devareaux woman, and he didn’t want to be seen talking to her so they stepped in the back alley. After they talked, she gave him a ride to the motel. He said she left her car there and got in Peter Deerstalker’s vehicle and they took off.”

  “And she just happened to leave her coat in the alley?” I said.

  “Cooley said he didn’t know anything about the coat. That she wasn’t wearing it when he talked with her.”

  Which could only mean she’d slipped out of it before Cooley Marsh talked to her in the alley. So she had deliberately left a trail of bread crumbs. “So Cooley was the guy in the hoodie following Cece?” I asked.

  “Apparently.”

  “I don’t trust him. There’s something off about him, the Devareaux woman, and that psychic—” I stopped but it was too late.

  “Psychic?” Coleman asked.

  There was no point lying so I told him everything Sister Grace had told us. Coleman took it all in without comment.

  “And we still don’t know that Cece is unharmed,” Tinkie said. “So she’s off following a lead with Peter Deerstalker? Why wouldn’t she just tell us?”

  “That’s not like Cece. She knew we were worried. Why would she sneak off with Peter like this?” I was getting a little hot under the collar.

  “When you find out, let me know. And her boss, too. Ed’s worried about her. And he’s upset. I don’t envy Cece’s return to the newspaper. Anyway, I have no reason to believe foul play is involved in her absence, and I’ve got two murders to solve, so I’m going to focus on that.”

  Coleman had a long leash of patience, but he’d finally hit the end of it with Cece, and I didn’t blame him. “So Peter has a good reputation as a lawyer, great. But did you find out anything that connects him to the dead women?”

  “Only Sandra Wells. It’s a fact he slept with her when she first came to town. My assumption is that he was trying to persuade her to abandon the dig. That didn’t work, so Peter filed papers asking that Mound Salla be turned over to the Biloxi-Tunica tribe or to the park services. That’s likely to go through,” Coleman said, “eventually. Which puts more pressure on the archeologists to get busy, and fast, if they intend to find anything before they’re shut down.”

  “Isn’t there some way both parties can have a little of what they want? Maybe excavate a small portion of the mound?”

  “A compromise is often shunned by both sides,” Coleman said. “If Mound Salla is discovered to hold some real significance, then it will become of great value to Sunflower County and the state, as well as to the archeologists. It could very well draw tourists into the area. It’s not about what’s just or fair.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” But now I would. “A lot of people ha
ve something to gain or lose in this situation. You learned something else at the reservation.” I knew it in my gut. And from the fact that Coleman wouldn’t look me straight in the eye.

  Coleman sighed. “One reason Peter is fighting this so hard is that he believes Mound Salla was built on the spot where a band of Choctaws said the red people had come out of the earth. It’s an origin story, and of great value to those who want to protect the tribe and their beliefs. In the story, the first Native Americans came out of tunnels in that mound. They rested on the side of Mound Salla to dry and prepare to learn to live on top of the earth. Mound Salla is a very, very sacred place to some tribe members.”

  “Is that what Frank Hafner is really looking for—access to some tunnels?” As crazy as it sounded, it had the ring of truth to it. “To what end?”

  Coleman didn’t say anything, and this time he didn’t break his gaze. “I don’t know.”

  “Why doesn’t Frank just say that?” I was puzzled. People were dead, lives were ruined. “What does he believe he’ll find there?”

  “I suspect it has more to do with Frank’s fear of other archeologists trying to horn in on the dig.”

  Per usual, it all boiled down to ego and greed. The knock at the front door startled all of us. I jumped up and hurried to open the door and found myself face-to-face with Frank Hafner. “Dr. Hafner, can I help you?”

  “Coleman invited me over. He said you were in a confab about the case and I want to participate.” He leaned closer to me. “I want to spend some time with you, Sarah Booth. I think we have a lot in common.”

  In the parlor doorway, Coleman cleared his throat. “Frank, you can’t be privy to this conversation. You know I didn’t invite you here. You’re the prime suspect in a murder.”

  “Which I tell you I didn’t commit. And I didn’t. What about the other dead woman? That private investigator. Why would I kill her? Clearly you can see that I’m not the villain in this story.” He smiled at me. “Sarah Booth knows I’m innocent.”

  “You’re my client. I believe you’re innocent of this crime.” It was a statement of true fact. I didn’t think Frank was a multiple killer, though he was pretty ego driven. I did have a question for him. “What are you really hunting for in that mound?”