Bonefire of the Vanities (2 page)

She was right, dammit. It was time for action. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and hit Graf’s Hollywood number. He would be on the set of the movie he was filming, but I could leave my message. When I got the signal to record, I cut loose.

“Graf, you have to give me a chance to tell you what happened. You’re judging me without all the facts. I honored your heart. You’ll never understand unless you allow me to tell you everything. But if you don’t want to hear it, I have no choice but to accept your unwillingness to listen. If I haven’t heard from you by this time tomorrow, I’ll send you back the ring. I love you, but I can’t be punished any longer without even a chance to talk to you.”

I turned to see if Jitty approved, but she was gone. She’d slipped away, perhaps in her classic convertible, to chase down clues. Sweetie Pie and I were alone on the porch.

But not for long. A teal blue sedan headed down the drive of Dahlia House and my spirits lifted instantly. Tammy Odom was coming to pay a visit. I frowned as I realized she was flying down the drive. Tammy was normally a cautious driver. She definitely had a bee in her bonnet about something. I hoped she hadn’t had a bad dream about me. Tammy’s ability to gaze into the future was a good thing—except when she saw danger or disaster.

She parked at the front steps and got out, her orange silk pantsuit billowing in the breeze off the cotton fields. “Sarah Booth, call Tinkie. I need the professional skills of Delaney Detective Agency.”

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Take a look at this!” She pulled a letter from her pocket and thrust it into my hands.

“Would you like to go inside and have a cup of coffee?”

“Just sit right here and read it, please.” She sank onto the top step and I joined her.

The envelope was addressed to Marjorie Littlefield. While I was a professional snoop, I hesitated to read another’s personal mail. At least someone who wasn’t a client or a suspect. “Is this
the
Marjorie Littlefield? The woman who was married to four of the men on
Forbes
’s ‘top ten wealthiest people in the world’ list?”

I’d heard that Mrs. Littlefield had retired to a palatial—and reclusive—home not too far from Zinnia in Sunflower County. When she’d been younger, a beautiful belle who blossomed in the gossip columns of national media, she’d walked down the aisle in turn with a rock star turned record producer, a physicist who invented some super-duper recycling system, an importer of exotic antiquities in New Orleans, and the head of the largest arms dealership in the world. During those halcyon days, she’d sought the limelight and the cameras. Now, though, she was in her sixties and tired of public attention. So she’d come home to the Delta, where she was just one of a number of incredibly wealthy eccentrics who sought courteous neighbors and a bit of anonymity.

“Yes, it’s that Mrs. Littlefield. She’s my newest client.”

“Well, hush my mouth!” I tapped the letter against my palm. “Is Marjorie Littlefield on the lookout for another husband or trying to communicate with someone from her past?”

“I can’t discuss my clients, and you know it, Sarah Booth.”

“Then why are you here? So I can pry into her private mail?”

“I told her I would show this letter to you and Tinkie. I’ve tried to talk her out of getting involved in this mess, but she won’t listen to me. She’s agreed to hire you to investigate this organization she’s involved in. Sarah Booth, you have to check into these people and prove they’re frauds.”

“What people?”

“Read the letter. Now.”

Tammy was never bossy, unless she was really upset. I opened the envelope and drew out the heavy stationery. The letter was typed.

“Dear Marjorie,” it began. I scanned through the paragraphs, growing more horrified by each sentence. When I got to the end, I noted the signature. “Sherry.” Just the one name and nothing more.

“What is this Heart’s Desire secret society?” I asked Tammy.

“It’s a scam,” she said. “Look at what they promise—that she’s included in a global group of the ultra-wealthy. She’s been chosen because of her ‘unique abilities.’ Hell, Sarah Booth, Marjorie’s talent is marrying well, but that’s about it. She’s a likable woman, but she’s not a rocket scientist or a healer.”

I considered for a moment. “So why do you care if she joins this group and they bilk her out of ten or twenty grand? She has money to burn.”

Tammy stood up and mimicked the pose Jitty had struck earlier. She put her hands on her hips in a no-nonsense gesture. “Because they are liars. The things they’re promising—it’s just a play on an older woman’s vanity. Even worse, this Sherry woman is claiming to have medium abilities.”

“And you don’t believe in such things?” I wasn’t clear what Tammy was objecting to. She knew people had special gifts. She was one of those people.

“This is obviously a play on Marjorie’s self-image. Look at the letter. They claim she’s ‘one of a special, select group’ chosen to be part of a ‘secret society that will shape the policies and practices of the world through investment opportunities.’ Come on, Sarah Booth. This is aimed directly at the recipient’s conceit, and they could take her for a lot more than twenty grand.”

“If pandering to the ego of a wealthy person were illegal, thousands of young women would be in jail.”

“You are missing the point, Sarah Booth.”

Obviously I was. “I’m sorry, Tammy. I don’t feel the need to intervene. Mrs. Littlefield is rich, ego-driven, and ripe for the plucking. Why should I interfere?”

“She was told she’d be able to communicate with her daughter.” Tammy paced the length of the steps.

“I wasn’t aware she has a daughter.”

“She had two children by her first husband, Paul la Kink, the rock star.”

“The guy the religious right went after because he claimed he deflowered a virgin in every city he played?”

Tammy gave a rueful smile. “Bingo. He was hot. I had a huge crush on him. God! He wore those tight pants and moved across the stage like a panther. He dated a black girl before he married Marjorie. He broke down some barriers.”

No wonder he’d figured so prominently into Tammy’s fantasy life. He’d taken a stand that most folks, at the time, were afraid to take.

She laughed. “Oh, he had that bad-boy appeal down to an art.”

“What happened to him?” The musician inhabited only the fringes of my childhood world.

“La Kink died very young in a wreck. His car didn’t make a curve on Highway 1 in California. Went straight over a cliff into the Pacific. It made news for days.” She frowned as if I were deficient because I’d forgotten the death of a rock singer known more for his sexual prowess than for his music.

“Marjorie Littlefield was married to him?”

“She was. A stunning widow with her two kids. Tragedy stalked Marjorie. The daughter, Mariam, drowned when she was about ten. The drowning was ruled an accident, but Marjorie believes her son, Chasley, killed his sister. Marjorie and Chasley’s relationship is worse than strained. They hate each other, I think. Marjorie wants to communicate with the spirit of her dead daughter and ask if Chasley killed her. This could get really ugly, Sarah Booth, especially if my suspicions are correct and this Sherry is manipulating Marjorie for her money. Marjorie is seriously depressed. I’m worried she’ll harm herself.”

“You think she’ll take her own life?”

“I’m worried. The Heart’s Desire organization may not be illegal, but it’s immoral. Using grief to manipulate is just wrong. In Marjorie’s case, it could have deadly consequences.”

I had to agree. “You’re sure Marjorie is hooked by this scam?”

“I know for a fact. She’s already gone, and she left her cat, Pluto, for me to keep while she’s at Heart’s Desire. Sarah Booth, I don’t think she ever intends to leave. At least not alive.”

“You’re being a little melodramatic, Tammy.”

She hesitated for a split second. “Marjorie left her will with me, too. Pluto inherits everything.”

“The cat?”

She nodded. “Her son, Chasley, will be very, very angry.”

“I gather Chasley and the cat are not … friendly?”

“An understatement. And when he finds out the cat is the sole heir, he’ll do everything in his power to kill it.”

I wondered if Tammy was exaggerating, but one look at her face told me no. She was genuinely upset. “This is a rich woman’s troubles, and yet you’re honestly scared for her.”

“Marjorie is pampered and vain and all the rest, but there’s more to her. She has a good heart, and she’s been hurt. When her daughter died—” Tammy shook her head. “I can’t imagine, Sarah Booth. My daughter and grandchild are everything to me.”

Tammy had certainly made sacrifices for Claire and little Dahlia. And god knew, Tammy had risked her life more than once to help me. “Okay, what do you want me to do?”

“Find out about this organization. What are they really up to? They hint at a link to the ‘other side.’ It’s just plain crazy. I’ve tried to reach Marjorie on her cell phone, but there’s a new message on there saying she’s in deep mediation and is no longer taking calls from
this plane
. Like she’s gone to another dimension or something.”

“You’re asking me to walk into a den of whackadoodles who think they’ll gain control of the world. You realize that, don’t you?”

Tammy’s tension eased and a smile lit her face. “Lord, Sarah Booth, you’ll blend right in.”

I had to laugh. “Where is this Heart’s Desire located?”

“I’m not certain. Within driving distance. Marjorie dropped the cat off with me on her way there.”

“She could have taken a private jet if it was a long distance.” I spoke aloud more to clarify my thoughts than anything else. Marjorie had the money to charter Air Force One if she really wanted it. She was worth billions.

“She always travels by limo with a driver. She told the cat she wouldn’t be far away.”

I flipped the letter and envelope around. “It says here to send a response to a post office box in New Orleans. I guess that’s where I’ll start.”

“We don’t have a lot of time, Sarah Booth.”

So now we were getting down to the gristle. “What’s so urgent, Madam Tomeeka?”

“I had a dream last night. Mrs. Littlefield was being held in a white tower. Like a prisoner. Pluto, her cat, kept jumping in and out of windows and popping out of bushes. Except for the cat, everything was pure white, until a streak of bright red blood leaked out of Marjorie’s window. It scared me. I think someone means to hurt her.”

“Sounds like if she is at that nutcase compound, she might be out of the reach of her son, Chasley.”

Tammy wasn’t placated. “I have a bad feeling. Try to find her, and fast, Sarah Booth. Marjorie left a lot of money for me to care for Pluto. I can pay the retainer with some of that. Marjorie has agreed to hire you, and she’ll be glad to see you when you find her.”

I waved her away. While Tammy was psychic, I wasn’t certain she had a great reading of Marjorie’s desires. “Don’t be silly. Graf won’t speak to me, and I’m at loose ends. I’ll look into this. It’ll keep me from moping around and feeling sorry for myself.”

“You and Tinkie have to figure a way to handle these cases and keep yourselves safe.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

Tammy’s brow furrowed. “Do you think what I’m asking you to do is dangerous?”

I caught her hand and patted it. “Absolutely not. This looks like a little bit of legwork. I’ll find Heart’s Desire and speak to Mrs. Littlefield and make sure she’s not being rooked by con artists.”

Tammy nodded. “That doesn’t sound dangerous, but somehow I suspect all of your past cases started out simple enough.”

“Therein lies the rub,” I agreed. “I would never deliberately put Graf’s heart in danger. Nor would Tinkie risk her husband, Oscar’s, feelings. But things happen. Beyond our control. Graf has to accept this is who I am.” I bit my lip.

Tammy grasped my hand and pulled me to my feet. “Help me find Marjorie and make sure she isn’t being held hostage by con artists, I’ll work on Graf and Oscar.”

It was a solution I hadn’t considered, but I knew it was a winner when I heard it. “You’ve got a deal.”

“I should be going. You have company coming.”

I was so used to Jitty’s wild predictions that I didn’t bat an eye. “How do you know?”

“Because I can hear the car coming down the drive.” She pointed toward a curve in the driveway, and just then Harold Erkwell’s black Lexus came into view. Harold worked at the bank Tinkie’s father owned and her husband managed.

I checked my watch. It was nine thirty in the morning. Harold should be at the bank. So what was he doing cruising down my driveway with … an evil, goateed little face in the front seat with him?

“He’s brought Roscoe!” I had actually missed the dog that once belonged to Millicent Gentry—before she embarked on a prison sentence as her reward for a life of crime. He’d been in my care only a few weeks, but the pooch had a way of stealing one’s heart, not to mention underwear, food, shoes, garbage, and secrets.

The car stopped, the driver’s door opened, and Roscoe leaped to the ground. He ran in frenzied circles for about thirty seconds and then dashed around the house to the doggy door. He was intent on finding Sweetie Pie for a romp.

“Ladies,” Harold said as he joined us.

“Taking Roscoe out for a playdate?” I couldn’t help but tease Harold. The dog was vile. In the first night he was at Harold’s house, he ate the stuffing from a leather sofa, knocked over the garbage cans all up and down Harold’s street, snatched barbecue off the grill at a neighbor’s party, and chased another neighbor’s cat up a tree. Harold had done nothing but bail Roscoe out of trouble ever since the dog arrived in his life. Yet Harold adored the creature.

“Indeed, Sarah Booth. The furniture store is delivering a new sofa, and I was hoping you could keep Roscoe for a few hours. At this point, I’m afraid he’ll bite the delivery man and the weight of his misdeeds will put him on doggy death row.”

I had to laugh, and after days of self-pity, it felt good. “I’ll keep him.”

“You can bring him home this evening, or I’ll stop by and get him. He adores riding in the car.”