Bone Appétit (35 page)

“You want to hurt me, don’t you?” Voncil asked. “I know. It’s a terrible feeling to be so . . . constrained. But I didn’t give you a fatal dose. You might be interested to know scopolamine is often known as the zombie drug. Excellent tool when things unravel a bit too fast.”

I struggled to speak, to lift a finger.

“Don’t get your panties in a knot about your partner. There’s nothing you can do. I checked her pulse before we left. She’s dead. No need to fret about it.”

When the rage and blind fury cleared from my brain, the sun had dipped a little farther in the west. The road surface had changed drastically. The SUV bumped and lurched down a rutted lane that cut through brakes and fields left fallow for too many years. Weeds towered over the SUV.

Voncil was taking me somewhere isolated. Whatever she’d given me had stolen my will. I had to snap out of it.

I shifted slightly. To my surprise, Jitty had managed to
squeeze in between Voncil and me. Jitty in a headscarf, a gingham dress, and a white apron. She’d put on at least two hundred pounds, yet she was still able to wedge onto the seat. My brain couldn’t grasp it.

“You lookin’ like your great-great-uncle Gustave after the mule kicked him in the head.” Jitty smiled, and I couldn’t believe how fat her cheeks were.

I wanted to shush her, but I couldn’t make the sound.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about Voncil hearin’ us,” Jitty said. “We committin’ telepathic communications. Fancy, huh?”

Since I couldn’t answer, Jitty had the entire stage. “That’s right. For once you can’t interrupt what I’ve got to say and you’re gonna have to listen.”

Tinkie!
I projected the image of my best friend lying broken at the bottom of the stairs. If Jitty could read my mind, she might as well put it to good use.

“I can’t be with Tinkie, Sarah Booth. I’m your haint. I can only be with you. Trust that Coleman is doin’ ever’thing possible. You have to focus on savin’ yourself.”

Why are you dressed like Mammy from
Gone with the Wind
?
I squeezed that thought out of my frozen mind.

“Sarah Booth, you are an embarrassment to the world of advertisin’. If you could look at me, you’d see I’m not Mammy. Think syrup or pancakes or grits. Back when you were a baby girl, you used to think I was married to Uncle Ben. Now that was some foolishness. Uh-huh, I see that light dawnin’ in your eyes.”

Mrs. Butterworth
. I shot the name at her knowing it would get her goat.

“I am
not
Mrs. Butterworth, and don’t you say that again. You know me. Another great icon of American cooking. My pancake mix was the first ready-made one ever created. And on top of that, Nancy Green portrayed Aunt
Jemima, the first living trademark. Now that’s some facts to chew on.”

I did indeed recognize Aunt Jemima.
Not very PC.

She laughed. “I’m dead, I’m black, I’m a ghost, and I never age. PC doesn’t count much in my world. And I’m honorin’ a fellow black woman. Nancy Green was born in Kentucky as a slave. She was fifty-six years old when she went to the World’s Fair as Aunt Jemima and served thousands of pancakes while she chatted and told stories with the crowd. She was a huge hit. Ain’t that somethin’?”

Why are you doing this now?

“You need some help, and I’m here to give it.”

Did you bring the Pillsbury Doughboy for kung fu moves?

“Very funny. Glad to see that even though you’ve been dosed with a drug that could be fatal, you’ve kept your sense of humor. I thought maybe you’d appreciate my suggestions. But if you’re handlin’ this on your own, I’ll—”

No. Stay.

While the manifestation of Jitty in a SUV driven by a psychotic serial killer might be a measure of my own insanity, I needed Jitty. She gave me courage, and I surely needed some of that as I tried to figure out how to get myself out of the mess I was in. Tinkie, I could not think about. Coleman was on the case, and I had to trust in him.

Why Aunt Jemima? Jitty operated in strange and unusual ways, but there was generally a method to her madness. Aunt Jemima was symbolic.

Keeping my thoughts going in one direction was a difficult feat. I had a mental image of Aunt Jemima with a platter of pancakes or pouring syrup over said pancakes or holding a bowl of grits, but I couldn’t summon up an association of anything except breakfast.

“Aunt Jemima represents somethin’. A good hot breakfast
served by somebody who cares. She’s the image of motherhood, always there, in the kitchen, smilin’ and ready to put that hot breakfast on the table.”

Jitty had still not answered my question. I concentrated on filling my lungs with air and feeling my rib cage expand. Sensation was returning.

“Aunt Jemima wasn’t selling foodstuffs. She sold home and love and security. Someone who cared.” Jitty leaned forward. “Do you get it?”

At last Jitty’s point hit home. I cut my eyes to let her know only to discover she was gone. There was only Voncil, gripping the steering wheel as we bumped over the rutted road.

Jitty had reminded me that someone would be waiting at home for me, relying on me to be there. I had to fight. The powerful drug wanted to rob me of my will, but I couldn’t let that happen. Once Voncil got within grabbing distance, I was going to clamp hold of her, and like a snapping turtle, I wasn’t going to let loose until it thundered.

The SUV hit a pothole and threw me into the door. The impulse to lift my arms and protect myself from further jostling was strong, and I felt a tingle race through my body as it started to come back to life.

Voncil laughed as she hit another hole and I was nearly thrown off the seat.

“Sorry about that,” she said. “We’re almost there. I’ll take care of you and have time to get back to Greenwood, change, and be on hand when Amanda wins the title.”

In the distance I saw a building. Not an old barn, but not a house, either. It looked like it had once been a business of some kind. Auto repair. Something with multiple bays. I didn’t have a good feeling.

I clenched my fist and my fingers responded, slowly, but they responded. I tried the other hand with the same result.
I moved my toes up and down at my command. Could I run? Could I fight? I didn’t know.

Voncil stopped. “Time to get out and walk,” she said. She picked up my hand to assist me in exiting. I didn’t move a muscle.

“Sarah Booth!” she snapped. She got a rope from the back of the vehicle. “Move it.”

I didn’t dare to breathe. She drew back her fist as if to slug me, but I didn’t flinch. Her laughter was deep and rich. “You’re still under, aren’t you? I thought you were coming out.”

She grabbed my arm and tugged and I allowed my body to follow, mimicking the behavior of someone with no will.

I tested the ground beneath my feet, amazed I could walk. It occurred to me I could shamble off into the weeds, but Voncil would smack me in the head with something. I had to hold on to the fact that each passing moment gave me more control over my body.

“Let’s go,” Voncil ordered. Instead of heading into the building, which I now realized was a defunct boat building facility, we walked through weeds and rubble around it. In the distance I heard something, a soft murmuring.

We trudged along a weed-choked path, Voncil holding my arm. A short distance from the building I realized where we were going and what Voncil intended to do.

In a matter of minutes we were on the banks of the Tallahatchie River. And we were about to have a Billie Joe McAllister moment, except I was what Voncil intended to throw off the bridge.

Voncil marched me to the bank of the river. It wasn’t a steep drop, and the water was yellow and sluggish. Not exactly what one would call dangerous. But if I couldn’t move my arms and swim, I could easily drown in two inches of water.

Voncil stepped toward a goat trail that led down the steep incline.

The buzz of a cell phone stopped her. She pulled my confiscated phone from her pocket and waited for voice mail to kick on. She smiled at me. “Doc Sawyer calling for you, Sarah Booth. Isn’t he the older doctor who knew so much about poisons? He almost ruined my plans.”

A beep signaled a message had been recorded.

“Just for kicks,” she said, retrieving it. She switched the phone to speaker.

“Sarah Booth. Doc here. Call me. I’m at the Greenwood hospital. It’s urgent.”

Voncil snapped the phone closed. “Nothing you can do or say. Down to the water,” she ordered.

I stood like a zombie. If she wanted to drown me, she was going to have to work a little harder.

“Now.” She tugged my unresponsive arm. “Get moving, Sarah Booth,” she ordered. She gave me a little push. I stumbled and almost fell but recovered before I tumbled down the bank.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said. She was panting from exertion. She brought out my phone again and went through the contact list. “Let’s see, I recognize Cece Dee Falcon.” She placed the call.

The sun was hot on my back, and I caught a whiff of the river smell of leaves and mud.

“Miss Falcon,” Voncil said. “I thought you should know I have Sarah Booth as a hostage. I’m going to tie her and leave her in a dangerous place. What I want you to do is call the Leflore County authorities and tell them that Amanda will win the title tonight. If they ever want to see Sarah Booth alive, my daughter will be crowned the winner and receive all of the scholarships and prizes that are her due. If that doesn’t happen, Sarah Booth will die a slow and terrible death.”

She snapped the phone closed and slid it back in her pocket. “Get down that bank,” she ordered.

Or what? The magical thought came to me like a bolt of lightning. Voncil had no weapon that I could see. She had only the zombie-like effects of a drug, which had begun to wear off.

She pushed me and this time I fell to my knees. Both fists clutched dirt. I’d learned a few things from watching bad
guys in cowboy movies. I brought the dirt up and threw it in Voncil’s eyes.

Blinded, she was an easy target, even for a half zombie. I swung hard with everything I had. My fist connected with her jaw and literally lifted her off the ground. She landed like a sack of disjointed bones.

Though my fingers were clumsy, I managed to tie her sufficiently with the rope she’d brought. She was coming around as I finished.

“You can’t leave me here,” she said. “What if something wild comes out of the woods? It’ll kill me?”

“New dish,” I said. “Pate of bitch.”

I removed my cell phone from her pocket. There were dozens of calls from Coleman, Jansen, and Graf. I dialed.

“Sarah Booth,” Coleman said, relief clear. “Where are you?”

“I’m okay.” I gave him my location as best I could and let him know Voncil was subdued. “What about Tinkie?” I couldn’t get rid of the image of my partner in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.

“She’s still unconscious. She’s at the hospital in Greenwood and Doc and Oscar are with her. Nothing was broken, but . . .”

“But what?” If the fall didn’t kill her, surely she’d be okay.

“Tinkie was overdosed with scopolamine.”

There was no reason to tell Coleman my own experiences with the drug. “But it isn’t fatal, right? She’ll come out of it?”

He sighed. “It’s touch-and-go. It’s like she’s fallen into a deep sleep and can’t wake up.”

Madame Tomeeka’s vision. Tammy had seen this, but I would not accept it. “She’ll be okay. Doc is there. He’ll pull her through it.”

“No one is giving up.”

“Doc will save her.”

“He’s doing everything possible. Oscar too. Cece and Millie are on the way. Calm down and tell me what happened?” Coleman’s voice was a lifeline for me to cling to.

I gave him the details as I limped toward the SUV. “How are Karrie and Hedy?” I asked.

“Both are okay. Karrie is demanding the contest be rescheduled.”

“And Amanda?”

“She’s at the police department. She voluntarily turned herself in. Jansen doesn’t believe she’s involved, but she’s waiting there.”

“And Marcus?”

“Severe concussion. He’s in a coma. They’ve flown him to Memphis. His parents have been alerted and they’re with him. Anna Lock is caring for Vivian. She had nothing to do with the murders, except for perhaps inspiring Voncil to pin the murders on Hedy.”

“How so?”

“They met last year at a gardening seminar in Jackson, Mississippi. They talked. Anna had pictures of Vivian. She told Voncil about her family. I think the idea for killing the contestants and framing Hedy has been growing for a long time in Voncil. She knew Amanda hated this life. This was her last chance.”

“She admitted to me that she killed her husband.”

“She has a lot to answer for. Where are you?” he asked.

“I’m on my way.” I’d reached the SUV. The hospital in Greenwood was my destination.

I’d come to despise the smell of hospitals. My gut reaction as I hurried into the Greenwood emergency ward was one
of fear and anxiety. I rounded the corner to the swinging doors clearly marked for hospital personnel only. I was about to push through when a strong hand clamped my wrist.

“You can’t go in there, Sarah Booth.”

Coleman held me in place. I was about fed up with people grabbing and tugging on me. “I need to see Tinkie.” When I finally looked around, I saw Hedy sitting in a plastic chair in the hallway. Tears dripped from her jaw.

“No, you don’t.” His tone, the deep lines etched in his face stopped me short.

“I have to see her.”

He put his arm around me and pulled me close. “Oscar’s with her. Let him have this time. Doc thinks it may be short.”

If he’d punched me in the stomach with a blackjack it wouldn’t have been more brutal. “That’s not possible. If she didn’t break anything in the fall, she’ll be fine. She was moving. I saw her. Just like Hedy and Karrie and me. And we’re over it. We’re fine.”

Coleman’s gaze scanned over me. “Are you sure you aren’t injured?”

“As sure as I need to be. It’s Tinkie I’m worried about. Let me see her.”

He pushed the door open a crack, but he kept his hand on my arm.

Tinkie lay on a stretcher, a white sheet drawn up to her chin. The bright emergency room lights seemed to enclose her in a cone of white, as if the heavens had opened up a path for her to ascend. Oscar sat in a chair beside her, his head bowed as he grasped her hand, clinging to her, holding her to this time and place.