Bones to Pick (3 page)

That was a vast understatement. "What about the McGees?" I asked.

"Seems that Franklin and Caledonia McGee had much better financial advice. They bought low and sold high. They're one of the wealthiest families in the Southeast."

"One thing about this case, we have plenty of suspects."

"Most of them are Oscar's friends." Tinkie started toward the Cadillac. "Want to go check out a few leads at The Club?"

"I think we should forgo the champagne and see what we can find at The Gardens."

Tinkie sighed. "Harold is at The Club, and I think he could use a dose of your humor."

"I'll catch him later today," I promised as we got in the Cadillac and headed the few blocks to the bed-and-breakfast run by one of the matrons of
Sunflower
County
.

When we pulled down the shell driveway, Tinkie slowed. Live oaks lined the way, some with magnificent limbs that crossed over the roadway and touched the ground on the other side. The place hadn't been named The Gardens without reason.

Unfortunately, the owner of the place, Gertrude Stromm, bore no resemblance to the bounty and generous beauty of her establishment. Her pinched face held eyes that shifted left and right, as if she might miss some social faux pas. I'd heard from several people who'd spent the night at the B&B that she served breakfast at seven. If you were late, you didn't eat. It was only the beauty of the place that kept her in business.

"Mrs. Stromm," Tinkie said as she stepped up to the front door. "It's good to see you. Oscar sends his regards."

"You're here to poke your nose into that terrible business with Quentin McGee." She said this to me, not Tinkie.

"Allison Tatum has asked us to pick up some things from her room," I said smoothly. In the sunlight Gertrude's red-tinted hair looked like tiny copper wires bent at the ends.

"You'll need a court order to get in there," she said.

"No, we don't," Tinkie said evenly. "Allison needs a change of clothes, and we're going to get it for her. We've been hired by her brother, Humphrey, to help her out."

"The sheriff's department has already sent someone here, tromping mud all over my polished floors. I won't have this. I'm going to pack up all of their things and have them removed from the premises."

"How far in advance did Quentin pay the room?" I asked.

"That doesn't matter one bit. I don't have to have snoops and cops disturbing my other guests."

"Mrs. Stromm, it looks as if you're going to need a new roof here before long."

Tinkie's observation was out of the blue, and it stopped both me and Gertrude in our tracks. It took only a few seconds for the meaning to register on each of us.

"How dare you!" Mrs. Stromm was honestly shocked.

"It's very easy." Tinkie laughed charmingly. 'This is called business. Now we'd like to see Allison's room, please."

The B&B was run like an old-time hotel, with a registration book on the front counter and pigeonholes behind the desk, where keys with large room numbers attached were kept. Gertrude got the key to Room 18. "Just follow me." She started to stomp away, but I stopped her.

"Who stays at the registration desk?"

"I do. I have to check and be sure the people who stop by are quality folk. If I'd had any idea about Quentin McGee, I would never have rented her or her
friend
a room."

I didn't doubt that for an instant, but it wasn't my point. "So when you're overseeing lunch or the gardens, who stays at the front desk?"

She frowned, and her cool gray eyes grew even icier. "What are you implying?"

"Is the desk left unattended?"

"Perhaps."

It was as much as I was going to get out of her without thumbscrews, but it was enough to tell me that anyone could have picked up a key and gone into Allison's room to steal her shoes. This was a point in our favor.

The hallway was long and dark. The floor was polished pine with dark beaded board wainscoting edging the walls. The upper half was wallpapered with hunting scenes. Not my idea of great decor, but it was part of the planter tradition.

When we got to Number 18, Gertrude unlocked the door and pushed it open. "I've made an inventory of every single thing in the room that belongs to me. If one thing is missing, I'll have both of you in a jail cell beside your
client."

"Do you think you'll go with shingles again or perhaps steel?" Tinkie's face was a careful blank.

Gertrude made a sound like a dog choking on a bone and stomped down the hallway, leaving us alone.

"Oscar would never hold up a loan on our account," I said to Tinkie.

"Of course not, but she doesn't know that. You take the dresser, and I'll take the suitcases."

The only interesting thing I found in the dresser drawers was a choice in undies--white lace thongs. Tinkie hit the mother load when she went through Quentin's brown travel valise. She held the note out to me, satisfaction in her eyes. She read it aloud.
"You're going to pay for dragging your family's name through the mud."

It was short, sweet, to the point, and virtually untraceable. Even I could tell it was printed on a laser printer. I held the note gingerly and finally dropped it into a plastic bag that had once held panty hose. "We'll take this to
Col
--Gordon." My correction had come too late. Tinkie gave me a look.

"Coleman probably won't come back to
Sunflower
County
, Sarah Booth." There was no malice in her tone.

"I know. Just a hard habit to break." In more ways than one. "Let's take this to Gordon. He's going to be testy because we found something and he didn't, but we knew what to look for."

She nodded. "This is very good in Allison's defense."

"Allison could have planted the note," I pointed out, "but we can hope to find others in
Oxford
."

"And we can hope that Gordon has some technology that can trace these notes," Tinkie said. "Or fingerprints."

Always the optimist,
I thought. That's why I loved Tinkie so. "Let's get out of here. I'm afraid if I stay much longer, the Wicked Witch of the West will try to steal my dog."

We were laughing as we opened the door.

Gertrude Stromm blocked the doorway. "I heard Quentin and Allison arguing," she said. "It was ugly. That young woman killed her friend, and I'm going to testify to that." She spun around and stormed back down the hallway. When she was at the end, she wheeled to face us. "For your information, Miss Sarah Booth Delaney, I don't like dogs, or cats, or any other animal."

"What a surprise," I replied, feigning shock.

Holding my second Bloody Mary of the day, I sat down at my desk to make a few notes on the Allison Tatum case. Tinkie had gone on to The Club to see her husband, and to see what new suspects she could dig up. The truth was, Tinkie would be able to function better without me tagging along. Zinnia was a small town, and everyone knew I didn't have enough money to be a member of The Club. Since returning to Zinnia the year before--an unsuccessful actress trying to save her family home from the bulldozer--my economic woes were in the public domain. My presence would be a distraction.

And I had other fish to fry. My hand reached out to pick up the phone.

"Don't you dare call that married man," Jitty said.

I looked up to find her gazing at me from behind a domino. "I have a right to call Coleman when I need some professional advice."

"You
need
to remember he's chosen to honor his marital obligation. If he wanted you, he'd be right here at your side."

Jitty had a way of making her point. Coleman could have divorced his loony wife and stayed in
Sunflower
County
, but he hadn't. He'd left his job, his career, and me. All for Connie. And for his child--the child she'd deliberately conceived to hold him. I had to keep that in mind. This was all about Connie's pregnancy, and it was the choice he should have made.

I withdrew my hand and picked up my pen. "Okay, you've emotionally bludgeoned me into submission."

Jitty moved toward me on the soft rustle of petticoats and silk. "No Delaney woman has ever been desperate enough to go chasin' after a married man."

I was sufficiently shamed; no witty retort came to my rescue.

"Why don't you call Hamilton Garrett V?" she asked.

I considered it but knew I wouldn't. I'd treated
Hamilton
shabbily. I had my reasons, just like Coleman had his, but in the long run, it wouldn't make a difference to
Hamilton
. I'd chosen and he'd lost, or at least it would seem that way to him. After all, I'd left him in an airport waiting for me while I ran off to help Coleman. No, it was better to let
Hamilton
alone.

"There are other fish in the sea," Jitty said.

"I prefer pork."

"Your palate will change." There was a hint of softness in her tone.

I examined her outfit, complete with sumptuous jewels and what appeared to be ermine on the collar. "You're advocating an era when members of the court slept with whomever they chose, married or not,
willing
or
not. It was a time without morals or decency. That's what brought on the French Revolution."

"Change is inevitable."

I rolled my eyes. "You're a walking advertisement for excess and out-of-control consumerism. I'm just glad no one else can see you!"

"Jealous?"

I pushed back my chair and got up. "When the guillotine drops, don't come crying to me."

She was laughing softly as I walked up to my room for my riding boots. In less than ten minutes, I had Reveler saddled and Sweetie Pie circling my legs with eager anticipation. I mounted, and we set off at a trot across the cotton fields. Soon the picked plants would be disked under, and the ground would be prepared for next year's crop.

There was something about farming that kept a person connected to the soil, and I felt myself relax as I thought about the passing of the seasons. I'd started my career as a PI last fall. In that short time I'd saved Dahlia House from the developers, found a stray dog that turned out to be a real treasure, obtained the best partner in the world, and been gifted with a horse from my friend Lee McBride. All in all, romantic train wrecks aside, it had been a good year. I had to put aside my longing for Coleman and my regrets about
Hamilton
. I was where I was supposed to be.

Reveler's long trot was a pleasure to ride. The wind whipped my hair across my face, and my ears were numb with cold, but it was pure bliss. Sweetie Pie bounded along beside me as we rode the edges of the fields. We could cover miles without running into a single vehicle.

The land spread out before me, a flat vista of wealth. The Mississippi Delta is some of the richest land in the world. Top soil eight feet deep. I could not imagine ever leaving it again, not even for Hamilton Garrett V.

We made a circle of the surrounding properties, and then I turned back to Dahlia House as early nightfall was drifting over me. It was only about four, but the cloud cover blocked the light. I wanted to get home before it got too dark to see.

Reveler eagerly took the canter, and I pushed aside all my negative thoughts and feelings and gave myself to the ride. When I trotted down the drive of Dahlia House, I saw a strange red Porsche in front of the house.

Slipping off Reveler's bridle, I walked him cool and left him grazing on the front lawn while I crept up the steps and into my front parlor. My mind was focused on who would enter my house without permission, and it was with relief that I found Harold sitting on Aunt Loulane's horsehair sofa, sipping a Scotch.

"I knew you were riding, so I made myself at home," he said.

"I need to take care of Reveler." I waved him to follow me. "New car?"

"Rachel encouraged me to get it. I'm selling it tomorrow as soon as the dealership opens."

"Nice color."

"I think I want a truck."

I burst out laughing. Harold was one of the most refined men I knew. He was a gourmet cook and a banker who kept a Haviland china service in his office at the bank. "Keep the Porsche. It suits you better."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

The worry in his eyes troubled me. Harold wasn't paranoid, and he didn't go around looking for something to obsess over. He occasionally paid me a visit, but not often. Perhaps it had been due to his involvement with Rachel, or perhaps it was my involvement with Coleman. It didn't matter; I was glad to see him.

I led Reveler to the barn by his mane, and Harold unsaddled him while I cleaned his hooves and poured up his ration of grain. We worked in companionable silence, but he'd come to talk with me about something important. I'd learned the art of waiting for the talkee to bring it to me.