Bone Appétit (15 page)

“Janet found this little bag under her bed. Brown leather and tied with a yellow ribbon. She opened it up and there was a nasty curled-up chicken foot in the bag, along with some other stuff. Janet thought Hedy was laying a curse on her.” He shook his head. “A pageant like this is a perfect atmosphere for gossip, rumor, cruelty, and nastiness. The other girls said Hedy was . . . that her family practiced voodoo. It upset Janet.” He shrugged. “Maybe Hedy put the gris-gris bag under Janet’s bed as a joke, or just to be mean. I don’t know.”

“What did she do with the bag?”

“I don’t know,” Harley said. “I told her to get rid of it. She was so upset, I told her it was foolishness. I meant to calm her fears.”

One thing I hadn’t expected from Harley Pitts was compassion. It was also interesting to note how close he’d grown with Janet. She’d confided her fears to him. Perhaps it was a ploy on her part to take advantage of his obvious fondness for her. Or maybe she was really scared. “Did you tell anyone else?”

“No. I should have, but I didn’t. I thought it was a prank and I didn’t want to fan the flames of silliness. Now, though, I can’t help but think I made a serious mistake by not taking action.”

“Did you ever talk to Hedy?”

“Not about the voodoo. I confined my talks with her to official questions. She was reserved. She answered the questions very politely, and she has an amazing talent with the violin, but she does the bare minimum at social events. I have to say, that’s counted against her, especially with the other judges. This title includes a public job. The winner needs to be comfortable at functions. It isn’t the right fit for someone who is shy or lacks self-confidence.”

I could almost agree with him that Hedy didn’t fit the job description for Miss Viking Range. She had way too many secrets. None that affected her cooking or ability to be a spokesperson, unless a secret baby fathered by one of the Delta’s wealthiest men qualified as a distraction from her duties.

“If you had to pick someone as a killer, who would it be?”

He thought about it. “Hedy wouldn’t be my top pick,” he admitted, “but it’s a woman. Maybe a male-female team.”

“That’s an interesting conclusion to draw.”

Harley shook his head like an old, tired dog. “Burning someone alive strikes me as a male activity. And poison, well, it’s a woman’s specialty, isn’t it? Lucrezia Borgia comes to mind.”

“Another woman smeared by unproven rumors,” I pointed out, proud to have hung on to at least one moment of my history classes. While Lucrezia was instantly associated with poison, there was no solid evidence to prove she’d committed any crimes. The same thing could easily happen to Hedy if Tinkie and I didn’t stop it.

“If I had to pick a suspect, I’d say Karrie Kompton. There is nothing that woman wouldn’t do to win.”

“I agree. But she’s so obvious.” In my last case, I’d gone for the obvious villain, and I’d been wrong. Way wrong.

“ ‘Brazen’ is the word I’d choose,” Harley said. “Perhaps that’s what she’s counting on—that no one will take her seriously because she’s such an obvious choice. Now you’ll really have to excuse me. I must prepare for the evening competition.”

“Thanks, Mr. Pitts.” I put my glass on the desk. “My friend Millie, who runs a café in Zinnia, will be one of the guest judges tonight. She’s one of your biggest fans. Please don’t be rude to her. It would hurt her feelings.”

One corner of his mouth twitched. “For you, Miss Delaney, I’ll curb my tongue. Just don’t ask a second time.”

Harley and I had zeroed in on the same suspect, but the problem was that I no longer trusted my instincts. This pageant killer was brutal, ruthless, and cruel beyond anything I’d ever been involved with. As I took the elevator down to my room, I tried to erase the images of Brook Oniada bursting into flames.

Who could do that to a beautiful young girl who merely wanted to win a title?

As I stepped onto my floor, my cell phone rang. I checked the number, feeling an instant remorse when I thought it might be Graf and almost turned it off again. The guilt
quickly shifted into anger that he could make me feel culpable. And all to no avail. The caller was Tinkie’s husband, Oscar. I was a bit annoyed with him, too.

“Sarah Booth,” Oscar said without bothering to identify himself.

“Yes.”

“Tell me Sweetie Pie has been spayed.”

Once again, Oscar had thrown me a curve. I’d been expecting a frontal assault and a demand that I accompany his wife back to Zinnia and the safety of his protection. Why was he asking about my hound? “I’m a responsible pet owner. Of course she’s spayed. Why?”

“Chablis is beside herself. And so am I.”

Dread crept into the pit of my stomach and punched hard. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m at the Sweetheart Café. I brought Sweetie and Chablis by for an ice cream.”

“And?” I prompted.

“We were waiting in line at the drive-thru and Sweetie saw this extraordinary hound come down the sidewalk dragging a leash. He took one look at her and let out this mournful, chilling howl and that was it. She leaped from the car and took off with him. Before I could even get out of the car and chase after her, she and the hound disappeared.”

I blew out a long sigh. When I’d first gotten Sweetie, she’d had some unusual hormonal issues. The dog had a regenerating ovary and though she’d been spayed—twice—it seemed her body might be up to its old tricks. She’d found a suitor. While she couldn’t get pregnant, she could still get into a whole lot of trouble running loose with a baying boyfriend.

“She couldn’t have gotten far,” I said. “Who does the hound belong to?”

“There’s a visiting librarian in town, Bobbie Ann Caswell, from Jamestown, New York, who’s helping Mrs. Kepler reorganize. It’s her harrier hound named Danny. He’s neutered, too. He broke free of her during a walk about ten minutes before he met up with Sweetie. Now they’re on the lam together.”

Zinnia was a small town, and Sweetie Pie was a local personality. Everyone knew she was my dog. Someone would eventually grab her and call the number embroidered on her collar, or else take her to the veterinarian. The new lady vet, Lynne Leonard, would kennel her for me. Sweetie was also microchipped, just to be on the safe side. Though all precautions had been taken, I was still worried. Sweetie and Reveler, my horse, were my family.

“I’m heartsick, Sarah Booth. And Chablis is inconsolable. She would have gone, too, but I grabbed her just as she was perched in the window to make a break for freedom. What should I do?”

“If she isn’t home by ten, Oscar, call me. I’ll come home.”

“And Tinkie, too?”

I heard the hope in his voice and accepted that he was genuinely worried for his wife and not merely trying to control her. “I can’t speak for her. She’s fine, Oscar. We’re attending a barbecue tonight. I’m sure she’s photographing the event for Cece. Graf has told me how proud of her you are.”

“Yes, Tinkie keeps discovering new talents.” He hesitated, and I wondered what he was really thinking. “Rest assured Coleman and Gordon both are on the lookout for the dogs, as are the librarians. Last I heard, Ms. Kessler and Ms. Caswell had the whole eighth grade lined up to do a massive search of the town. I just don’t know where those dogs could have gotten off to.”

“Check behind Millie’s Café. Sweetie loves Millie’s cooking, and food is always the bait for hounds.”

“Will do. I’ll let you know what happens.”

Sweetie Pie would normally never leave Chablis. This harrier must be one handsome fellow. Either that or Sweetie was on Oscar’s payroll to bring me and Tinkie home.

I called the library and spoke with Danny’s owner. Bobbie was concerned, but had a great trust in her hound’s ability to take care of himself.

“Danny never does anything like this. He’s perfectly behaved. So much so that Mrs. Kepler allowed me to bring him in the library while I was working. He saw Mr. Richmond driving by with that beautiful red tic in the front seat and that was it. He snatched the leash out of my hand and he was gone.”

The fact that Mrs. Kepler allowed Danny in the library spoke volumes about Danny’s winning personality. Mrs. Kepler was a “by the rules” librarian. She occasionally bent them for me, out of deference to my mother, whom she’d loved. But a dog in the stacks! Danny had to be loaded with charm.

“Sweetie knows Zinnia and Sunflower County,” I assured Bobbie. “Try not to worry. Oscar will find them.”

“I’m returning to New York in two days,” Bobbie said. “I can’t leave without Danny. He’s part of our family. Fiona Ramona McFee, my thirteen-year-old Chihuahua, will be heartbroken if anything happens to him. He’s her man, and he’s doing her wrong.”

“If he isn’t back by tomorrow, I’ll come home.” Not that I was any better at searching than anyone else. Truth of the matter was, Sweetie would more likely come out of her love nest for Millie before anyone else. Millie equaled chicken and dumplings, chicken potpie, roast—the things Sweetie loved. “Try not to worry,” I repeated.

“Danny’s had a hard life. He and his sister were chained to a doghouse so tightly they could barely get out to use
the bathroom. A neighbor lady rescued the two of them, and I adopted Danny. He’s just so . . . innocent.”

“And Sweetie is a woman of the world.” She had traveled more than your average hound. “But she’ll be gentle with him, and then I’m sure she’ll bring him home.”

As I closed my phone, I couldn’t help but think that now that I was trying to straighten out my romantic life, Sweetie had taken up the banner of sexual misconduct and rowdy living that my aunt Cilla had exemplified. Sweetie might
look
like a red tic hound, but when it came to wayward ovaries, she was a Delaney woman through and through.

Tinkie was concerned for Sweetie and her new man-dog-friend and offered to head back to Zinnia instantly, but she also believed my yodeling hound wouldn’t stray too far. Sweetie might yield to a regenerating ovary stump and the charms of a traveling harrier, but she wouldn’t put herself in danger. Tinkie recounted the times Sweetie had saved either my life or hers, or both. In most instances, had she stayed home like a good hound, Tinkie and I would be dead.

“Let her have a few hours of bliss,” Tinkie said. “It’s not every hound that turns Sweetie’s head. Actually, she makes better choices in the romance department than you do, Sarah Booth.”

Wisely, I ignored that jab and dressed for the barbecue. I wore my jeans and a snap-button shirt, and Tinkie shimmied into what looked to be a square dance outfit. Fitted bodice, skirt that stood out perpendicular to her shapely
legs on layers and layers of petticoats, the costume brought back nightmare memories of starch and itch. I figured if Tinkie got a chance to do-si-do, she’d do it at the drop of a hat. That was one of the joys of Tinkie: She was willing to experience everything with a glad heart.

The fete was held at Rocking River Ranch, a spread where Morgan horses were bred and trained. I instantly fell in love with the sweep of the land and the miles of white fences corralling elegant horses. To my disappointment, the “guest” judges were sequestered, so Millie was out of my reach. Plates of food would be delivered, and they would judge blind—without knowing who had cooked what. Cece had chosen to accompany Millie in exile, so Tink and I were on our own.

The tangy smell of barbecue was everywhere. Kitchen equipment had been installed in a wonderful screened gazebo, and the remaining pageant contestants were cooking their little hearts out as folks strolled by, examining the chicken, pork, shrimp, beef, and vegetables the girls prepared, all while preening and posing for photos with spectators.

Over the din of laughter and talk, I heard Karrie say, “I can’t believe the police released Hedy. And here she is, just waiting to poison someone else. I wonder how many of the folks here will drop dead from her efforts.”

Hedy was at the far end of the line, working over a bubbling pot of something. But she clearly heard Karrie’s remarks.

The crowd parted for me like I was Cecil B. DeMille commanding the Red Sea, and I walked to stand not four inches from Karrie’s perfectly made-up face. Not even a mist of perspiration touched her flawless brow, though almost everyone else was sweating in the heat.

“Hedy wasn’t charged with anything because she didn’t
do anything,” I said loudly. “Be careful or she’ll slap a slander suit on you that’ll make you look like you’ve been pulled through a keyhole.” The rumors about Hedy had to be stopped immediately or she could end up charged with murder, which would necessitate losing the title of Miss Viking Range
and
her freedom
and
her child.

“How much does Hedy pay you for that kind of defense?” Karrie asked. “If you don’t think she’s capable of poisoning someone, ask Marcus Wellington. She tried to kill him.” Marcus stepped out of the crowd, ready to relay details of his alleged near poisoning.

I saw too late the grand plan Karrie and Marcus had concocted. They would publicly paint Hedy as a dangerous psychopath who killed to get her way. Even if it didn’t succeed in getting Hedy put in jail and charged with murder, it would destroy her chances at the title. This was a setup designed to accomplish one thing: the ruination of my client.

The crowd stilled and folks drew closer, eager to hear whatever insults passed between Karrie and me. As much as I wanted to shove the flat of my palm into her nose, I couldn’t. Like it or not, I was Hedy’s employee, and whatever I did reflected on her.

I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and pretended to dial the number for Russell Dean, the attorney Tinkie had hired to represent Hedy.

“Mr. Dean,” I said loudly, “I’m calling in behalf of Hedy Blackledge. I believe we’ll be filing a slander suit against . . .” I zeroed in on Karrie and Marcus in turn. My smile widened. “Marcus Wellington. Yes, of the Wellington family, from Panther Holler. He’s here at the cook-off now, attempting to ruin Miss Blackledge’s reputation with unsubstantiated rumors just as the judging is about to begin. Should this impact Miss Blackledge’s ratings . . .”

It was a calculated risk, and perhaps such a lawsuit would
never stand up in court, but my theory was to fight a lie with a lie.