“If you’re jerking me around, Peter, I swear to you—”
“Sarah Booth, Cece believed me when I told her I had nothing to do with Sandra Wells’ death and certainly not that other young woman that I didn’t even know.”
“Bella Devareaux is from Marksville, where the reservation is. You’re sure you don’t know her?”
“The reservation is tiny. I know all of the native families, but I don’t know everyone in the parish by any stretch of the imagination. Bella Devareaux wasn’t from Marksville. She’d moved there.”
“Bella left a notebook with some strange language in it. It might be the Tunica language.”
“It isn’t. The Louisiana sheriff showed it to me. I didn’t recognize it.”
“Did Cece say anything? Anything at all about her plans? If she went to Winterville with you she wouldn’t have left without checking out her story. Or I should say she wouldn’t voluntarily leave.”
“I didn’t hurt your friend. I wouldn’t. The last time I saw her she was fine.”
“Who was she talking to?”
He thought a minute. “On the way over, she did talk to one of the archeology students. Something about a secret organization.”
“What secret organization?”
Peter looked even more worried. “She wouldn’t say much, only that she believed Bella Devareaux was involved with some other people who had some kind of group desire to disrupt the dig. She said something about tattoos.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, she was talking to that Memphis TV reporter when I left her. But I didn’t hear much of the conversation, certainly not enough to have a clue what they might be up to. That reporter, Hartley, has been hanging out at the dig site and in Zinnia.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences.” I was scared for my friend, and that made me angry.
“Cece believes that I’m innocent. I had no reason to harm Cece and every reason to keep her alive. She was going to help me prove that I hadn’t hurt anyone.” He leaned closer to me. “I am being framed. I swear to you.”
“By whom?” I asked. The prickle of gooseflesh down my spine made me realize that what Peter said could be true. Could. Still, I had to pursue all leads.
“I don’t know.”
“Where have you been all day?”
“When I realized Cece was gone from the mound and wasn’t coming back, I called one of my friends from Marksville. His name is Jonathan Calvarese. He came and picked me up. Check my phone and call him. He’ll tell you.”
“Why didn’t you just drive your car back to town and let us know she was missing? She’s been gone hours now and no one knows where she is.”
“When Cece left, she took the car keys with her. I thought at first she’d done it to deliberately strand me out there at the mound. I was pretty angry, but now I’m thinking maybe something happened to her. And I didn’t rush back to Zinnia to report this because I knew I’d be a suspect and would probably end up in jail where I couldn’t help myself at all. Cece told me she had a lead. Because she’d been talking to Cissy Hartley in Memphis, I went there hoping I could find Cece. Jonathan drove me.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “See, I called him. Then I called Ms. Hartley, and I called Cece repeatedly. She never picked up.”
“She couldn’t answer or call you back. I found her phone on the ground.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I really thought she’d pulled a fast one on me. That maybe she had that guy call me about the evidence being hidden at Winterville Mound.”
“What guy?”
“I can’t be sure who it was. He just said I’d find what I needed at Winterville. So when Cece disappeared, I instantly assumed she’d put someone up to this to get me out of the way. I was pretty upset. It would seem I judged her just the way everyone is judging me.”
“Did you talk to Cissy Hartley?”
“I did, briefly. She refused to see me in person and I didn’t get much. The only thing interesting she said was that she got an anonymous tip something supernatural was happening at Mound Salla, that the spirits were unhappy because their graves were being disturbed, that something dangerous was walking in the night.”
“Cissy Hartley doesn’t strike me as someone who would be scared off a story by allusions to unhappy spirits.”
“She also said the caller said someone would die.”
His words sent a shiver down me. Judging by the staging of the murder scene, it was clear someone had planned Dr. Wells’ demise. But hearing that someone knew in advance and had not stopped it made it seem much darker.
21
I warned Peter to check in with Coleman if he knew what was good for him, and he swore he would. He was also surprised that Elton Cade had been injured. I wasn’t going to get more out of him grilling him in the hospital parking lot, so I concluded the conversation. He hurried inside the hospital to see about his friend and to sit with Lolly so she wouldn’t be alone while she waited for word about her husband.
I stood for a moment in the parking lot, knowing what I had to do but not wanting to leave Sunflower County with Coleman in the hospital. This was the choice I dreaded—duty or the needs of my heart. This was the price of caring I didn’t know if I could bear. And yet I had to.
DeWayne had brought Coleman’s truck around, and I knew one of the deputies would give Coleman a ride from the hospital, hopefully to my place. I took his truck and headed for Dahlia House to get Sweetie Pie and Pluto. Budgie had picked them up at the mound and brought them home while I rode with Coleman. Now I needed the critters’ skill set. In fact, I needed any help I could get.
It was two hours to Memphis, and I’d get there in the wee hours of the morning, a time that could work for me or against me, I didn’t know which. Cissy Hartley would never talk to me on the phone—I’d already tried that once—but in person she might not be able to refuse. If she knew where Cece might be, I’d get it out of her. I called Tinkie to tell her what I was doing and check on her work with Cece’s phone. I filled her in on Peter and what he said had happened to Cece. “The bottom line is that none of this makes a lick of sense. If Cece is just in Memphis talking to another reporter, why hasn’t she called us?” I was agitato by the time I concluded.
“I may have an answer for you,” Tinkie said. “Cece did try to contact us. My hacker can’t be certain if her phone was damaged before it was thrown out onto the ground, but he discovered a number of text messages to both of us from Cece telling us where she was and urging us to join her at Winterville.”
“Damn. I hope she realized the texts weren’t going out.” I hated the idea that our friend might think we’d been ignoring her requests for help.
“We’ll have to ask her when we find her,” Tinkie said. “Just promise me you’ll stay in touch no matter what. If you go off the radar on me, I’m going to call the FBI, the CIA, the KGB, the NSA—whatever alphabet agency I can think of.”
“I’ll stay in touch. Just remember, we don’t have the full picture,” I conceded. “Something else is going on, and we need to find her.” Buffalo Calf Road Woman’s warning hung heavily over me. I dreaded the rising of the next moon. While it appeared Cece was the one in danger, it could be Tinkie, too. And/or Coleman. Thank goodness Doc was on my side. He’d figure out a way to keep Coleman in the hospital and out of danger.
“I have a list of calls Cece made,” Tinkie said. “The last person she talked to was Cissy Hartley in Memphis.”
It was a confirmation of my plan. “All roads lead to Memphis,” I told my partner. “I’m headed there now. Could you track down Kawania and find out what she knows about the tattoos on Sandra Wells and Bella Devareaux? That’s the connection there. And Sister Grace.” Somehow the psychic played into this situation. I just didn’t know how.
“Sarah Booth, shouldn’t you wait for someone to be with you?”
“It’s more important that you run down any additional leads on Cece’s phone. I have Sweetie Pie and
Pluto. And it’s my friends who are in danger, not me.”
“What?” Tinkie was rightfully confused.
“I’ll explain when I get back from Memphis. If you get something off that phone, call me.”
“You do the same,” Tinkie said before she hung up.
I pulled out on the highway and headed north. The flat Delta spread out before me, black velvet with pinpricks of starry light that honored the vastness of the sky. High above floated the moon. It wasn’t full. And Coleman was okay. But Cece was still missing. I felt like a ticking time bomb was in the sky. I had to find Cece before the Crow Moon rose. And I didn’t have a moment to spare.
When I was near Memphis I called Doc to check on Coleman. Yes, I was a coward. Coleman would not approve of me heading off alone. Yes, I had Sweetie Pie and Pluto, but he would have preferred I took DeWayne or Budgie or Tinkie. But both deputies were needed on the job looking for Cece, in case my lead was wrong and she was in the Delta. I could handle one television reporter by myself, even if she did have a reputation for being a land shark—which actually gave me a brilliant idea. Cissy had the reputation for being a ruthless competitor in the mid-market of Memphis television. It was no secret she aspired to a national anchor job on CNN or one of the networks. She came on all sweet and nice, drawing her interview subject into a false sense of safety. Then she struck. She bit a person’s head off and crunched it while grinning into the TV camera.
Doc assured me that Coleman was fine. It was a flesh wound and Coleman was sedated and resting. “He’ll be awake by seven and fit to be tied, Sarah Booth. I recommend you return before then.”
“I promise I’ll be careful,” I told Doc. “I have to search for Cece.”
“I understand, but Coleman isn’t going to want to sit this out. If he must participate, which I don’t recommend, at least he can do so in your care. You’ll bop him on the head if you have to.”
It was true. I would not hold back with a smack if I thought it was necessary. “I’ll be back before seven. I just need to talk to Cissy Hartley and I need to do it when she can’t escape me.”
“How are you going to find her? She won’t be at the TV station and they certainly won’t give out her home address, no matter how nicely you ask.”
Doc was right about that, but I had a backup plan. And it involved my lack of talent and Sweetie Pie’s solo ability to carry an act.
“Doc, I need a big favor. You can’t release Coleman tomorrow until I’m back in town. Whatever it takes, you have to keep him at the hospital.”
“Sarah Booth, I don’t think that’s going to be an option. He’ll sign himself out. You know if you two ever have kids, you might produce an advancement in the evolution of mankind. Heads impervious to reason or injury.”
“Thanks, Doc. That makes my ovaries do flips.” I couldn’t help the sarcasm. “I’m serious. He can’t get out in the field tomorrow. He can’t.”
“Should I ask why?”
“I’d tell you but you’d call it woo-woo and laugh, so no, you shouldn’t even ask. Just trust me. Coleman is in danger. Keep him safe, please. It’s only one more day.”
“I’ll do my best, but I make no promises.”
* * *
When I pulled into the TV station parking lot, I snapped a leash on Sweetie Pie and gave her instructions for her part. I regretted that I hadn’t thought of a costume change, but it was too late now. Besides, I was tired. Really tired. My body hurt from the consistent abuse of pushing it up and down the steep inclines of those Indian mounds. I hadn’t slept in what felt like a week. When I had caught a nap, it had been plagued with worry. And I was hungry.
“Let’s do this, Sweetie Pie.” I didn’t have a costume, but I could wing it with a country twang.
I warned Pluto to stay in the car, which was about like pissing into the wind. He was catting my footsteps by the time I reached the locked entrance. Gone were the days when anyone could walk into any newsroom with a hot tip. Now the locked door would open only if someone rang me in. I pushed the bell. “Singing telegram for Cissy Hartley,” I said.
“She’s not here. Do you know what time it is? No one sends a singing telegram at this time of night.”
“Listen, I’m really late. My car broke down, and I had to pick up the singing dog, and—” I burst into tears. “I’m going to be fired and my grandmother is really sick and if I don’t make some money, she won’t be able to get her medicine.” I didn’t feel even a wriggle of remorse for lying. And I had to admit, I was selling it.
“Listen, lady, I’m sorry—”
I gave Sweetie Pie her cue. I began to sing the Patsy Cline classic “Crazy.” Sweetie Pie howled along as if she’d gone over the edge for love, too.
“Lady! Lady,” the guy on the intercom kept trying to interrupt.
I sang with my whole heart—and the voice of a dying toad. Singing was never one of my talents, and butchering the Patsy Cline song in this manner might be considered a musical capital offense. I would pay for my crimes later. I had to get Cissy’s address from this man even if I had to torture it out of him.
“Please! Please!” the guy kept saying. “Please, make it stop. Just make it stop! I’ll do anything you say.”
“Let me in,” I said, thinking of some of the more shadowy creatures that might demand entrance. He was lucky it was only one Mississippi gal, her hound, and her cat.
The buzzer sounded and the door unlocked. The critters and I spread into the building like a dark plague. We found the elevator and the production room in short order. Now I had to be my most convincing.
The man who met me at the door to the third floor was older. He had crow’s-feet around his eyes and he shook his head and blocked the entrance with his body. “Lady, I don’t know who hired you to sing telegrams, but they are either sadists or deaf. I don’t mean to be cruel, but you should find another line of work right away.” He finally noticed Pluto. “What does the cat do?” He couldn’t help his curiosity.
“We’ll show you!” It was the opening I craved.
“No, please, no! Don’t sing again.”
I went into the Shelley West–David Frizzell duet “You’re the Reason God Made Oklahoma.” I sang the David part and Sweetie filled in for Shelley. When she hit the part about the Santa Monica Freeway, her howl was so piercing I thought my eardrums might rupture.
The man dropped to his knees. “What do you want? Just name it. Make it stop and I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“I have to sing to Cissy Hartley so I don’t lose my job. Please, just call her and ask if we can stop by. Or even if I can sing over the phone—I’ll leave the sheet here for her to sign. Or she can meet us at the road. I don’t have to go inside her house. I know it’s really late, but I swear I’ll be fired and I can’t let that happen. My granny—” I sobbed brokenly again.
“Okay! Okay.” He was gasping for air and holding his ears. Sweetie waited until he dropped his hands and then gave it one more shrill howl. He ran into the production booth and I could see him on the phone.
After a quick conversation, he opened the door. “Who sent the singing telegram?” he asked.
“I can’t say until I deliver it in person. It’s part of my job description. I’m sorry. He did mention something about an opening in the D.C. newsroom for CBS.”
He ducked back into the room but before the door closed I heard him saying, “Get your hand camera and record this. We might be able to sell it to the military as a weapon.”
Clever man. I petted Sweetie Pie and praised her. She loved to sing, too. It was a shame no one appreciated either of us. When the guy came back to us, a piece of paper in hand, I grasped his hand and shook it hard. “Thank you. Thank you. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Completely unnecessary that you ever know my name,” he said. He held out the paper with Cissy Hartley’s address. “She said she would be expecting you.”
“Thanks!” I looked at the address. It was in an older section
of Memphis with huge lawns carefully landscaped for privacy. Good. I didn’t need any nosy neighbors poking around. “Let’s go, Sweetie Pie, Pluto. Our musical career lies ahead of us.”
22
It took about thirty minutes to make it to Cissy Hartley’s address. When I pulled up behind her cute little Mazda sports car, I heard the soundtrack to Sexy Beast going full volume. Sweetie Pie lay down at the door and covered her ears with her paws. I felt her pain. If Cissy didn’t turn that off before she answered the door, we’d never be able to sing for her. It wasn’t necessary to my goal that I actually sing, but I really wanted to.
I rang the bell and in a moment the door popped open. Cissy Hartley, who was an attractive woman even at the worst of times, beckoned us to follow her, giving me a chance to really examine the leopard-print leggings and sports bra she wore, along with spiked hot-pink high heels.
“I was just doing my Tai Chi routine,” she said. “Give me ten minutes to finish. I’m dying to know who sent me a singing telegram. That’s so old-school.”
I had no words to pause her—hell, with Sexy Beast roaring in surround sound, I had no words at all.
Cissy assumed a pose and began to go through the final forms of the ancient Chinese movement. She did it all in those heels, which was very disturbing for a reason I couldn’t put my finger on. It was amazing to watch her move with such fluidity, control, and grace with Sexy Beast pounding in the background.
When she finished, she turned off the stereo. “Man, I was thinking about some of my favorite movies. That Ray Winstone gets me hot. I like a lot of American actors, but that guy, he’s just so stone-cold amazing.”
“Yeah.” I had no other verbiage at my disposal.
“So, who sent me a singing telegram?” She held up a hand. “Do not sing to me. Do not do it. I will hurt you.”
I absolutely believed she would, too. “An admirer?” I sounded tentative even to myself. The sad fact was that the sight of Cissy in her leopard skin and stilettos doing the moves of Tai Chi had rattled my game plan right out of my head. It was like the worst melding of East and West, chi and methamphetamines, or herbal medicine and colonic cleanses.
Game of Bones Page 18
