Bone Appétit (18 page)

Drawing near a small creek, I caught the fresh scent of the water and heard the rustle of the trees that lined the bank and also served as a windbreak. With the land so flat and open, strong winds moved too much topsoil, and farmers planted a row of trees to block the wind.

The night cry of a hoot owl came from the trees, but other than the thrum of roadside crickets, the darkness was still and quiet. The scene through the windshield was so familiar, so much a part of who I was that I wondered had I been born in another place, would I have found my way here, to this land and these people? Was the Delta my destiny? It was a curious thought.

I’d lived in New York City, and I’d worked briefly in the movie industry, yet here I was back in the Delta, headed to the old plantation that had been my family’s home since before the War Between the States. I was on a mission to find my hound, who was as much a part of my family as if she’d been carried in a Delaney womb.

I glanced at the passenger seat, half-expecting Jitty to put in an appearance. The space remained vacant, though.
Good for her. Maybe she was at a spiritual retreat. I smiled at my own humor.

The miles slipped beneath the wheels, and before I realized the passage of time, I found myself in Zinnia. Millie’s was closed, as was the Sweetheart Café and every other business. Like so many rural towns, Zinnia’s shops closed at 5:00, the end of the workday. Millie’s was normally open later, and the Sweetheart, a drive-in where the high school kids hung out, stayed open even later, but the latest of the late-night hangouts closed at 10:00 p.m., which worked for me. The silent streets allowed me to hunt for Sweetie more easily.

I pulled into the Sweetheart and got out, whistling for my hound. “Sweetie Pie Delaney, you’d better get up here,” I called. “They’re printing up wanted posters with your picture on them.”

If she was within earshot, she’d at least give a howl. One of the things I loved about Sweetie in particular and hounds in general was they didn’t play hard to get. If Sweetie heard me, she’d let me know.

Nothing. Only the sounds of a small town sleeping.

I drove around, calling her name, and growing more worried with each passing moment. I’d assumed—wrongly, it seemed—that once I got back to Zinnia and called her, she would come out of hiding. But what if she was injured? Or someone had caught her and—

I couldn’t allow my thoughts to go there. First things first. On the way to Dahlia House, I called Oscar to make sure he hadn’t found her in the hour since I left Greenwood.

No luck. Oscar had been hunting with Bobbie Caswell and several others. No one had seen the dogs lately.

At Dahlia House, I expected Sweetie to run out to greet me. She had a doggie door and she could come and go at
her whim. Perhaps she’d grown tired of Hilltop where Oscar led a far more structured life than was our wont at Dahlia House. But no matter how long I sat in the Caddy with the motor running, moving slowly forward and back, easing the headlights over the front of the house and surrounding yard, there was no Sweetie Pie.

I knew then that finding my hound was not going to be a simple matter. Calling in reinforcements was my only option, so I recruited the best.

The kitchen, without my hound in residence, was a lonely place. Even with Coleman Peters and Deputy Gordon Walters sitting across the table from me.

“No one has reported seeing her lately,” Coleman admitted. “But that doesn’t mean anything bad, Sarah Booth. There are thousands of acres of fields and woods, a paradise for a hound—especially one with romance on the brain. Sweetie and that new hound have likely holed up somewhere.”

“With twenty-eight pungent athletic shoes. Perfect. As soon as I get my hands on her, she’s going straight to the vet. If that ovary stump has regenerated . . .” I didn’t have the heart to threaten dire action for my wayward pup. I was too worried for empty threats. Sweetie Pie, since she’d come into my life, had never displayed this kind of wanton lust. Something must have happened.

Coleman and Gordon listed the locations they’d searched, all logically thought out. “Is there a special place?” Coleman asked. “Where does Sweetie Pie’s heart lie?”

The question stopped me cold. I pondered that exact question on the drive from Greenwood, but I’d been thinking only of myself. Now, I needed to reframe it with Sweetie in mind. Where
did
her heart lie?

“She loves the woods behind the cemetery.” Sweetie was as partial to the old grove of oak trees as I was. Some might say the Druid spirits lingered there, amongst those old trees. Or maybe Sweetie liked the possibility of snaring one of the many squirrels. Whatever her doggie reasons, she was drawn there as surely as I was.

“Let’s check it out,” Coleman said. “How are you holding up, Sarah Booth?” He put his hand on my shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. The kindness almost broke me. We’d been star-crossed in our affections for each other, but such feelings don’t die. We’d walked away from them, but Coleman still had a piece of my heart and always would.

“I’m okay.” I fought hard for control and clung to it. “And you, Coleman?” He’d lost a young woman he’d begun to show feelings for in our last case. We’d both thought she was guilty of serious crimes, but she’d only been a victim. Misjudgment had cost us both. A lot.

“As your aunt Loulane would say, ‘Time heals all wounds.’ ”

“That’s because you die eventually. Enough time passes and you’re dead. If you aren’t healed, at least you can’t talk about it.”

Coleman pulled me close and held me as laughter rumbled in his chest. “Gordon, whatever you do, don’t give this woman a gun. She’s a danger to others,” he said. “Now let’s find that hound.”

We left out the back door, flashlights in hand. “Sweetie! Sweetie Pie!” I called, and Coleman and Gordon took it up as well. As we walked past the Delaney Family Cemetery, I let my fingers run over the wrought iron surrounding the graves. Scrolled and ornate, the fence was not much good at keeping the dead in or the living out. Jitty visited me whenever she took a notion.

If I didn’t find Sweetie Pie in the next half hour, I’d find
an excuse to go up to my bedroom and see if I could get Jitty to help. She wasn’t the most tractable ghost. She appeared when she had something to say, not when I wanted to hear from her. But I was desperate enough to seek help from the Great Beyond.

We continued to the oak grove. Coleman slowed, swinging the flashlight beam around the area. “This is like a cathedral,” he said. “I’ll bet it’s something else in the daylight.”

There was a reason our connection ran so deep. Coleman understood the land the same way I did. We would not have romance, but we had something almost greater, a love of the land. “It was my mother’s favorite place,” I said.

Gordon, discreet as ever, walked slightly ahead, calling for my dog.

“Listen.” Coleman moved the beam along the ground until he picked up two gleaming red eyes.

“Sweetie!” I cried.

A low and mournful howl answered.

“That’s her.” I ran forward while Coleman held the light. I heard his gun clear the holster. I knew what he was thinking—Sweetie was so close to home. She’d heard us calling, but she hadn’t responded. Something was wrong, and it could mean danger.

Though I was cautious, I was also fast. I gathered Sweetie in my arms. She was too big to carry, and for some reason she didn’t want to move. “Bring a light,” I yelled.

Coleman and Gordon hurried to me. In the beam of their flashlights I discovered what ailed my hound. One very sick harrier hound lay on his side, the remains of at least two dozen shoes all around him.

“Sarah Booth, can you drive a vehicle back here?” Coleman asked. “I’ll get the veterinarian on the phone. I have a feeling this poor guy needs professional help.”

“Come on, Sweetie.” I headed for Dahlia House. I was
not in danger, but Danny was. Sweetie had listened to far too many Tammy Wynette songs. She intended to stand by her man.

I didn’t waste time trying to persuade her. I sprinted through the velvety warmth of the night, hoping we could get Danny to help in time.

“Danny should be just fine,” Dr. Lynne Leonard assured Coleman, Oscar, Bobbie Caswell, and me. “Surgery wasn’t necessary. Thank goodness the blockage moved through his system, but he’s still one very sick dog.”

“Thank you,” Bobbie said. “What a great community this is. Zinnia is a special town for everyone to help find these dogs.”

Sweetie gave up her vigil at the door of the examination room and flopped at my feet. She was asleep before she hit the floor, exhausted by her crime rampage.

“I’d like to keep Danny for the rest of the night, but we can release him tomorrow,” Dr. Leonard said.

“We’re due to return home to New York,” Bobbie said. “Will that be a problem?”

“Not at all. Danny will be fine to travel. Just be sure your shoes are out of his reach. Obviously, he can’t control
himself.” She patted Bobbie’s arm. “Sarah Booth, I’m glad you found Sweetie Pie.”

“Me too.” Relief had taken the starch out of my spine. I was ready to get horizontal.

Coleman’s radio barked, and he excused himself for a moment. When he returned, he was grinning. “Gordon says most of the shoes are undamaged. Danny only ate four.”

“I’ll replace those gladly,” Bobbie said.

“And I’ll kick in, too. Sweetie might not have eaten a shoe, but she was in this up to her canines.” For all the times Sweetie had saved me, I couldn’t fail to support her in one small criminal act.

“Then the case is solved,” Coleman said. “It’s after midnight. I suggest we get some sleep.”

“Thank you all,” I said as I nudged Sweetie gently with my foot. She got up, stretched, and followed me out the door. When she was in the front seat of the Caddy, she went back to sleep. No guilty conscience there, not even a twinge at all the worry and heartache, not to mention leather damage, she’d been the source of.

Back at Dahlia House, Sweetie perked up enough to make a quick patrol of the house and barn before she hurried up the porch steps behind me. I was dragging, so tired not even a libation held appeal. I doubted I could stay awake long enough to swallow. I opened the front door and stopped in my tracks.

Music played softly. Something old and nostalgic. At last I recognized Nat King Cole, a voice like a lover’s touch. What was Jitty up to now?

I closed the door and locked it. When I turned around, Graf stood in front of me. Whatever anger I’d held against him evaporated. I flung myself into his arms. After a long, delicious kiss, I asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?”

“It would have ruined the surprise. Tinkie knew. And Oscar is the one who told me Sweetie was missing.” He eased from my arms and bent down to Sweetie. “I’m glad to see the prodigal hound returns. You know, there are therapists in California who can help her overcome this shoe fetish.”

I had to laugh. “Danny needs the help. Sweetie was just a willing accomplice. She isn’t into stinky leather and painful cleats, but she sure can be swayed by a baritone howl.”

“She just likes the bad boys, eh?”

“Indeed. She has a taste for the fast and loose. I’m just glad she’s home.” Sweetie walked a circle at our feet and then slumped into another coma. “She’s worn out. Me too.”

Graf pulled me into his arms. “Too tired to give your fiancé a proper welcome?”

“Not too tired for that,” I said as I led him up the stairs to the bedroom.

We sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee and listening to the pop and sizzle of bacon in the pan. I cooked while Graf filled me in on his movie. It sounded fabulous. Action, but not overblown with special effects.

“We finish shooting in two weeks, if everything goes as planned,” he said.

“And then?”

He took my hand. “What about Ireland? A real vacation. Maybe we could find an old stone country church, a priest, a couple of witnesses, and tie the knot.”

It was an attractive offer. “Tinkie and Cece would kill me if I got married in Ireland and didn’t let them plan the wedding.”

His fingers teased my palm. “I never figured you for the type who’d want a big wedding.”

“Not a big one, but one here, in my family home.” I didn’t tell him I wanted to have it outside, close enough to the cemetery to give those there a chance to witness the event.

“Whatever makes you happy.” He leaned across the table and kissed me before he got up and turned the bacon. Good thing someone was paying attention to the food. Obviously, the cooking lessons had not penetrated my brain.

“What would make you happy, Graf?”

He didn’t rush his answer. “That you’re safe.” He focused on the bacon and shifted so I couldn’t see his face.

“Is that it? I know acting makes you happy—it shows in how wonderful you look. But isn’t there anything else?”

“Being with you. Planning a life. Knowing at last I’ve given my heart to someone and there’s a real chance to build a future together. That’s . . . a big deal for me.”

I related to everything he said. “We share those things in common.”

He lifted the bacon from the pan and finally put the spatula down. “I want to have a child, Sarah Booth. I don’t think I’d ever given it much thought until . . . well, I realize now I’d like a child. A son or daughter, it doesn’t matter. But someone who is a part of each of us. Someone to carry on the Delaney traditions and to develop new Milieu traditions.”

I poured us both more coffee to hide the tears, which had come unbidden. “Me too.”

“We can’t make that happen if you’re here and I’m in Los Angeles.”

“I know.” But I didn’t have a solution.

“We can work this out, Sarah Booth. Plenty of couples live between New York and Los Angeles. Mississippi is just a little harder to get to, plane-wise, but it’s doable.”

This was the spirit that made me love him. “How about French toast?” I asked.

“It’s the dish you cook best. And Sweetie Pie has joined us. I’m sure she’d enjoy a piece, too.”

I finished making our breakfast and we talked about everything except Hedy Lamarr Blackledge. When my cell phone rang and he saw Tinkie’s number, he handed me the phone without comment.