Bone Appétit (29 page)

“Let’s go.”

We sauntered around the lobby until we found Samuel,
Hedy’s friend, alone. We twisted his arm—only a little—to get a copy of Karrie’s room key. Samuel wasn’t thrilled with helping us, but he knew we were working to save Hedy from false accusations.

“If she doesn’t get her baby back, I don’t know what she’ll do,” he said glumly. “You think she has a chance?”

“The whole idea of winning a beauty pageant to save her child is far-fetched, if you ask me.” Tinkie slipped the key card into her pocket.

“Haven’t you ever been so far down that a long shot seemed like the only chance you’d ever have at a dream?” Samuel’s tone held disapproval. “Hedy’s never had anybody on her side. She’s never had anyone to talk her up or tell her she could do things. Sure, her mama loves her, but Miss Clara doesn’t see who Hedy really is. All she sees is a teenage girl got herself in trouble and lost her baby to a rich family. In Miss Clara’s book, there’s no point fighting the rich. She already had a heap of public spotlight on her life when her husband disappeared in the swamp, and she doesn’t want any more of that. To Hedy, this contest looked like it might be a ticket to a new life.”

“Even if she wins it, Samuel, they’ll take the title from her when they realize she has a child.” Hedy wasn’t dumb; she couldn’t believe they’d let her keep the title. Something else occurred to me. “How do you know so much about Hedy’s family situation?”

“ ’Cause I listen to what she says.” The angle of his chin told me he knew a lot but he wouldn’t spill it voluntarily.

“How do you know Hedy?” I should have asked this question long before. He’d offered Hedy a refuge in his apartment. He was not merely a casual acquaintance, someone she’d spoken to in passing.

“We went to high school together.” He struck a pose of
defiance. “She’s a good person. All she wants is her baby girl.”

Tinkie touched my arm. “If we’re going to scope out Karrie’s room, we have to do it now. She won’t be gone forever.”

True enough. We had to get busy. “We’ll talk later,” I promised Samuel as Tinkie and I hustled to the elevator.

“What are we looking for specifically?” Tinkie asked.

“Poisons. Confessions. Hell, I’ll know it when I see it.”

“That’s comforting.”

Tinkie was sleep deprived from her wild night with Oscar and it made her snippy. I ignored her sarcasm and led the way into the lioness’s den.

We stopped in the doorway. The room looked as if a professional staging crew had entered and cleaned up. Fresh flowers and a fruit basket adorned the table beside a reading chair where a comfy throw lay bunched on top of
The New York Times
. I’d expected Karrie’s reading material to reflect her attitude. Maybe the collected works of Miss Snark.

The place smelled like heaven, and I realized the floral arrangement contained stargazer lilies, one of my favorites.

“Take the bathroom and I’ll take the dresser drawers. Check out her prescriptions. Maybe we should even take a sample of each one—to have it analyzed.”

“Got it.” Tinkie pulled on latex gloves. My hands were already protected by the icky things. I hated the feel, and smell, of them, but they were a P.I. necessity. I’d brought a box from the office at Dahlia House.

Tinkie disappeared into the bathroom and I heard rustling noises. I opened the top dresser drawer. Karrie’s things were folded so neatly, I hesitated to touch them. There was no way I could put them back exactly right. I
looked, anyway. Other than a fetish for leopard-print thongs, I found nothing.

I went through all three drawers, then hit the closet. Her clothes, hung in groups by color, were pressed to a fare-thee-well, as if they’d just come from the cleaners. Amazing. I hadn’t figured Karrie for a neatnik.

On the floor beneath her clothes were four empty suitcases. I examined her shoes, hoping to find god knows what. They were polished, and the soles looked as if they’d been pressure washed. This wasn’t extraordinary neatness—it was either obsessive-compulsive or criminal.

“Nothing.” Tinkie exited the bathroom. “It’s like a pod person lives here. The only thing in there other than cosmetics and toothpaste is a bottle of aspirin, and I checked each tablet. They’re all aspirin. She has cotton balls, swabs, cosmetics—a really wonderful brand I’ve never tried—and personal items. I examined everything. What isn’t sealed is exactly what it appears. Even the shampoo.”

“There’s nothing here, either,” I admitted.

“This is one of the scariest things I’ve seen.” Tinkie’s arm swept the room. “Who did this, because I know Karrie didn’t? And why?”

“There’s not a cookbook or recipe or secret ingredient anywhere in this room.” All of the other girls brought vials and condiments to spice up their special recipes. I’d seen them in Hedy’s and Amanda’s rooms. Even my limited cooking experience involved a couple of “secret” ingredients, like the fresh horseradish in the Jezebel sauce Aunt Loulane taught me to prepare.

“Maybe Karrie’s stuff is at Marcus’s house.” Tinkie peered under the inset television.

It would allow Marcus to use Karrie, whether she knew it or not. If he was the killer, he could be contaminating her condiments.

Under the bed was the last place I’d been taught to look before I left a hotel room. That was where stray books, a sandal, a sock, or underwear went to hide. I knelt down on the soft carpet and scanned. Only one item, something dark and shapeless, blighted the pristine condition of the room.

I reached. My fingertips caught the edge of what felt like leather. I pulled it toward me, realizing it was a bag with a drawstring. My first thought was jewelry. Tinkie’s too, if I correctly read her expression. Holding the black bag, I sat up.

The ties were knotted, but I unlaced them and dumped the contents on the carpet.

“Holy crap!” Tinkie stepped back from the curled, shriveled chicken claw that tumbled onto the carpet amidst leaves, small bones, a die, a toy figurine of a beautiful girl, and an earring. “It’s a curse.”

“Or a charm.” Though my knowledge of voodoo or witchcraft was limited, Tammy had confirmed that charms could be either light or dark. I stared at the things scattered across the eggplant-colored carpet. “Do you think Karrie’s the next victim?”

“Or the killer.” Tinkie nudged the chicken foot with the toe of her shoe. “Sure hope the chicken wasn’t alive. We need to report this to Chief Jansen.”

I gathered the contents and returned them to the bag, which I stuffed back under the bed. “We need to get out of here.”

Putting words into action, we hauled it out the door, down the hallway, and to the bank of elevators. “Do we tell Karrie about that thing?” Tinkie asked as we waited for our ride.

“I think—”

The bell
dinged
. The elevator door opened, and Karrie
stepped out. She carried several packages, which she tried to hide. “What are you doing on my floor?” she demanded.

“I didn’t realize you owned Park Place, Boardwalk, and an entire floor of the Alluvian,” Tinkie said. “What’s in the bags?”

“Nothing you would be interested in.” Karrie brushed past us.

Tinkie stumbled, lurched forward, and caromed off Karrie. The sacks tore, and grocery items spilled across the floor.

“You careless oaf!” Karrie regained her balance but not her temper. “You did that on purpose.”

“No, I didn’t.” Tinkie was so busy documenting the contents of Karrie’s purchases, she didn’t even bother to look up. She grabbed a bag of hazelnuts. Beside her knee were macadamia nuts, a fresh coconut, and a specialty brand of dark chocolate. “So, we’re making something chocolate with fresh nuts and coconut. Yum.”

“You
can’t tell
anyone,” Karrie sounded like a petulant five-year-old. “You cheated. You’d better not tell anyone what I’m making.”

“Or what?” Tinkie asked.

“The rules state each contestant’s dessert is a surprise. If you tell Hedy, it wouldn’t be fair.”

I offered Tinkie a hand up. “We don’t care what you’re baking,” I said. “And you have our word we won’t tell the other contestants the ingredients we saw.” I wanted to ask her who’d cleaned and ordered her room—or, better yet, who’d left a dead chicken claw under her bed—but that would give away the fact I’d been snooping there.

Smugness crept over Karrie’s face. “I made the highest score on the ‘Taste and Copy’ last night. That puts me in the top position. I told you I’d win, and after tonight, the vote in my favor will be unanimous.”

She had no idea what “top spot” really meant in this contest. It could be a death sentence instead of a crown. “How do you know you won last night?”

“A little bird told me.” She was so confident, she didn’t even feel the need to invent a creative lie.

“A bird named Clive?”

“Tweedle-dee-dee.” She snatched up her ingredients. “What I can’t weasel out of Clive, Marcus can charm out of someone else.”

So that was Marcus’s early meeting with Belinda Buck. She likely had no idea she’d been pumped for vital information.

Karrie smiled her photo-op smile. “See you tonight. Bring that camera, Mrs. Richmond. I want a front-page banner when they put the crown on my head.”

“Karrie, if you’re the front-runner, you need to know Tinkie and I believe someone may try to kill you.”

“You are desperate, aren’t you? Two sad old ladies trying to influence a pageant. Can’t you see how pathetic that is?”

What I could see was the toe of my shoe planted in her butt. “We’re trying to warn you. You’re in danger,
if
you truly are the front-runner.”

“Amanda Payne was in the lead before last night and she’s just fine. No one tried to poison her.”

“The circumstances last night were controlled. Tonight, they won’t be. You girls are cooking, all at the same time. If one of you is the killer—”

“Voncil told me how you two tried to keep Amanda from participating last night.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Nothing you say or do will stop me from finishing this competition.”

Tinkie listened with a stony face. “Then I wish you luck, Karrie. Give it your best shot.”

“I don’t need luck, I have talent.” Karrie shifted her purchases and marched down the hallway.

“Do you think she’s in the lead?” Tinkie asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. The chicken claw under her bed . . . now it concerns me even more. The killer may have marked Karrie for death. We need to deliver the gris-gris bag to Jansen. There might be evidence in it.”

“We should have snatched it when we had the chance,” Tinkie said.

I followed her into the elevator. “We still have an hour before we can talk to Babs.”

“Do you think Hedy’s mother could be behind this?” Tinkie hesitated to express the thought.

“Her mother is killing girls and framing Hedy?” That angle would never have occurred to me, but Tinkie had a point. Hedy was estranged. A definite past existed, and if Clara Saulnier Blackledge was as nutty as Marcus made her sound . . .

“She’s the swamp woman, not Hedy. It sort of fits.”

“It does.”

“I’ll work on the Saulnier family,” Tinkie said. “I have a sorority sister who lives in the Pearl River area. I’ll call her and see what the score is.”

“We have something better than that. Find Samuel. Hem him up in a corner and make him talk. He knows more about Hedy than he’s let on.”

It wasn’t the best investigative technique, but we didn’t have time to drive to the southwest portion of the state and track down Clara Saulnier Blackledge.

“I can do that.” Tinkie put her arm around my waist and gave me a quick hug. “I know you didn’t want to work this case to begin with, but this is what we’re meant to do, Sarah Booth. Maybe not all the time, but at least part of the time.
Think how we’re helping Hedy. Without us, she’d likely be in jail by now and would never see her daughter again.”

I fought the fear that threatened to take me under. “We haven’t solved this thing yet. There’s a killer loose,” I reminded her. “Hedy could be in danger. Or you could.” I stopped to swallow a lump of emotion. “Graf is right about one thing. This work can be dangerous, and we have to take every precaution.”

We parted ways at the lobby. Tinkie went to stalk Samuel, and I went out to the courtyard to call Coleman. Lucky for me he was in his office at the Sunflower County courthouse. I needed a favor.

“You need to report the gris-gris to Jansen,” he said after listening to my account of finding the leather bag.

“I’d have to admit to breaking and entering. Jansen might put me in jail.” That was true. “He doesn’t value me as an investigator.”

“His taste is questionable,” Coleman said, “but I understand where he’s coming from. Did you touch anything?”

“You know me better than that.” I wasn’t insulted. “I hoped you might tell him about the chicken foot. Anonymous tip and all.”

Paper ripped and there was the noise of a printer chewing away in the background. “You want me to tell Jansen I got an anonymous tip about a case in Leflore County.”

“Your reputation as an excellent lawman permeates the entire Delta.” I groped for the right words. “Tinkie may be in danger. I can’t afford to end up in jail, even for a few hours.”

Coleman could do what I couldn’t. While I had charm and sass, he had a badge. There was a definite “brothers in blue—or brown or black—mentality” amongst law enforcement types. A mere private investigator garnered no respect. “If he arrests me, I’ll have to give you up.”

“Not likely to happen.” I almost sighed with relief. “Thanks, Coleman.”

“I’m glad you’re back in Mississippi working cases, Sarah Booth.”

“Me too.”

He must have heard the melancholy in my voice, because he asked, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Things are fine. It’s just been a long week, and I’m worried about tonight. It’s the final event.”

“Maybe I’ll come watch.”

The thought of Coleman there, keeping an eye on things, made me feel much better. “That would be a good thing.” It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Jansen to do his job, but one man and a small police department couldn’t cover everything. And Coleman would be, essentially, undercover. No one participating in the competition would know he was a lawman from an adjacent county.