Booty Bones: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery (15 page)

“None of that matters, Sarah Booth. It’s a reaction to a set of circumstances that are fact. The only thing that matters is that you find your way back to each other.”

Her logic squelched my anger. “And how do I do that?”

She bit her lip, and in a moment it popped out of her mouth, and I remembered the way I’d viewed her when I first returned to Zinnia. She’d been the ultimate sorority girl at Ole Miss, the rich princess who had every fantasy met—either by her father or by the numerous men in thrall to her. I’d viewed her as a shallow fool. I’d never underestimate her again. Not as a friend or as a smart woman.

“I don’t know that,” she said. “I wish I did. But I’m here with you to help you figure it out.”

I pulled her into a hug and held on. She was a constant in my life, and there were so very few of those. For everyone. I could only cherish her and thank her for being the friend she was.

“Why don’t we go visit that maritime museum?” I asked. “You can distract the owner while I scope out the old telescope there.” Her frown told me she wasn’t following my thought processes. “I’ll explain on the way. It involves the pirate treasure John Trotter claimed he’d found a key to.”

“So you aren’t dropping this case?” she asked.

“No, I’m not.” I kissed Sweetie and Pluto good-bye and followed her down the stairs to her car. “I think the worst thing I can do is give up my life and become dependent on Graf. That would feel like a trap in no time.”

“Smart girl,” she said as we both slammed our doors and headed to Mobile and the local university.

*   *   *

Dr. Lionel Prevatt was a slender man in a starched blue shirt and khaki pants. Though he was in his fifties, an air of youthfulness surrounded him. He walked with a boyish bounce, and he greeted me and Tinkie with a firm handshake and a smile.

“Welcome to the Mobile Maritime Museum. We’ve documented the history of the first ships of the explorers to the present day.” He waved a hand around the two-story building. “Is there a particular aspect of history you’re interested in?”

The museum held only four other tourists, so perhaps it wasn’t so unusual for the curator to welcome us so enthusiastically. But Lionel Prevatt’s fawning was a little disconcerting. At least to me. Tinkie was eating it with a spoon.

“Pirates are our interest,” she said. She was a perfect example of a simpering female. It worked on Prevatt like Viagra. He was swollen with manly gallantry.

“Right this way, ladies.”

Tinkie took his arm, and I followed behind them to the back reaches of the museum. “Why is the pirate collection so … discreetly displayed?” I asked.

“My dear, some of Mobile’s most prominent families can trace their lineage back to the pirates that raided ships off the Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana coasts. Fortunes were made in these illegal pursuits. Land was purchased, and in the space of a generation or two, the families gained respectability. They prefer their past remain … in the back of the museum, if you would.” He laughed, and Tinkie charmed him with a twitter of merriment.

“You have a way with words, Dr. Prevatt,” she said, hanging on his arm and looking up at him with her big blue eyes.

“Are any families related to Armand Couteau?” At last I’d found a possible motive for the murder of John Trotter that would make the puzzle pieces I held fit neatly together. The scenario that assembled in my mind went like this—Trotter finds location of hidden treasure. Prominent Mobilian who has something to hide finds out Trotter is about to reveal sordid family past, kills Trotter to shut him up. Treasure is taken or possibly never found.

“Why do you ask?” Prevatt’s loquacious manner dimmed considerably.

“I saw a portrait of him at an antique store on Dauphin Island. I’m vacationing there,” I said as sweetly as I could muster. “He’s a handsome devil. I just wondered if his good looks had passed down through the generations.” I tried to look dreamy eyed and romantic.

When Prevatt wasn’t looking, Tinkie stomped my foot and drew a hand across her throat to tell me to cut out the theatrics.

“He was a handsome man and quite the rogue,” Prevatt said. “I have several artifacts from his shipwreck on the reef near Dauphin Island.”

“We’d love to see them.” Tinkie stuck to him like a burr as he maneuvered toward a glass cabinet on the far back wall.

I followed along like the good first mate, admiring Tinkie’s handiwork. No matter how many times I saw her tie a man in a knot, I was always impressed. What a useful skill. One day I hoped it would rub off on me.

Prevatt opened the case with a combination, using his body to block us from seeing. When the heavy, shatterproof glass door swung wide, he extracted a sextant and demonstrated the use to Tinkie. My eye was on the telescope, a work of brass and what appeared to be teak. My hand itched to reach for it, but I knew better. If Prevatt sensed my interest, he’d be on to us.

Tinkie oohed and aahed appropriately and asked questions that surprised even me. “How do you know so much about sailing?” I asked.

“While you were busy with greasepaint and Sam Shepard plays, I took a class in sailing.” She laughed at my expression. “You were so dedicated to the theater, Sarah Booth, you missed out on a lot of other stuff.”

“You’re an actress, Miss…?” He finally really looked at me.

“No,” I said. “I was in college. My fiancé”—I must have looked stricken because Tinkie picked up flawlessly.

“Her fiancé is Graf Milieu, an actor.”

“I know his work,” Prevatt said with a return of his original enthusiasm. “The prereviews for his western are terrific. Even though the movie hasn’t been released, Entertainment Buzz is comparing him to Brando.”

I said nothing. The ache in my heart made me think I might need an ambulance.

“He’s staying at Dauphin Island,” Tinkie said without missing a beat. “He’s preparing for his next movie.”

“I’d love to meet him. Will he visit the museum?”

“Perhaps,” Tinkie said. “We’ll put a bug in his ear. What is that?” She reached in and picked up the telescope and put it to her eye. “My goodness, a magnifying glass! How clever. I believe I saw Errol Flynn use one of these in a pirate movie. Or was it Lionel Barrymore? Now were you named for Mr. Barrymore, Lionel?”

She was smooth. By the time she’d finished the discussion of Barrymore’s great films, I’d recovered enough to take the spyglass from her and glance out the front of the museum. It was an effective magnifying glass, bringing distant vistas into sharp focus. But using only one eye, it lacked depth perception, and there was a scratch on the glass.

“How was the lens scratched?” I asked.

“It was like that when we received it.” Prevatt was annoyed by my question.

“How did you come to own these items?” I asked.

Prevatt studied me. “They were purchased.”

“From John Trotter?”

He took the spyglass from me and returned it to the case, careful to lock it. “Who are you and why are you here?”

He was nobody’s fool. “We’re private investigators, and we’re working for—”

“Get out! That relentless bitch Angela Trotter sent you here to snoop. Her father sold the artifact. He took the money and sold the piece. It’s a done deal. She can’t have it back, no matter how much she harasses me or offers to pay for it. Tell her those exact words. Now leave.”

Tinkie’s eyebrows met, and I could almost swear lightning forked on the back of her retinas. “Listen here, you pompous ass. You can answer our questions now or find yourself before a grand jury for attempting to thwart an investigation.”

Doubt flitted across Prevatt’s face. Tinkie was a damned genius. She’d been around him ten minutes and knew perfectly how to play him.

“I’m not obstructing anything, but I don’t have to tolerate being harassed by Angela Trotter just because she wants her daddy’s artifact.”

I wanted to ask him if he’d ever lost anyone he loved. But I didn’t. An appeal to his emotions wouldn’t work. A threat of legal action did. Tinkie’s tactic was what I went with. “Asking a few questions hardly qualifies as harassment,” I said calmly. “Why do you think John Trotter valued the spyglass so much?”

“It belonged to Couteau. There’s no doubt about it.” He unlocked the cabinet and brought the item out again. Pointing to the burnished brass plating, he said, “See the writing?”

And I did. A. C. in ornate script was etched into the metal. Below that, a symbol I didn’t recognize. It looked like a sun with an arrow and a number I couldn’t read clearly. “What is that?”

“We aren’t sure. I personally think it may have been his mark. The sign he left behind after he’d robbed a ship or one of the New Orleans townhouses he was wont to burglarize. Pirates did that to prove their success.”

“I haven’t heard of his land activities. He robbed houses?”

“Oh, he was supposedly quite the cat burglar. Jewels, silver, artwork. He would charm his way into the household, get the lay of the land, and then strike while the owner was away. Except for the slave girl he stole. He took her from the French Market in broad daylight.”

“The beautiful LuAnn,” I said.

“So you know the story.”

“I am, after all, a detective,” I said wryly.

“And a good one.” Tinkie took my arm. “I think we’ve discovered all we need here. Thank you, Lionel. I’m sure we’ll return for another visit before we finish our case.”

He rolled his eyes and drilled our backs with his gaze as we took off.

12

The trip to the maritime museum had been a wonderful diversion from my romantic worries, but as we crossed the big hump of the Dauphin Island bridge, I was dumped back into the reality of my wayward fiancé.

“I’ll show you the beach,” I offered. Anything to keep from finding myself at the cottage confronting Graf.

We parked at the public beach, intending a walk all the way down to the cottage. We could ride the bicycles back to fetch Tinkie’s car. The day was overcast but still warm. At times the sun peaked through the clouds. I hoped Hurricane Margene had turned to the west. I didn’t wish her on Texas or Mexico, but I didn’t want her either.

Tinkie and I had only gone a short distance down the beach when I saw Dr. Phyllis Norris and her turtle crew digging in the sand. I started to skirt by her, not wanting to interrupt her work, when she called out to me.

Once Tinkie was introduced, Phyllis signaled us off to the side so her coworkers couldn’t hear. “Angela told me she’d hired you as a PI to investigate her father’s murder. I’m worried about Angela,” she said. “I saw her yesterday, and she seemed a little … irrational.”

“How so?”

She frowned. “She asked me about her father. Had he said anything about the treasure. She thought he
might
have shared information with me that I
might
have forgotten to mention.”

A polite way of saying Angela had accused her of lying. I waited for her to go on.

“Of course, I told her I didn’t know anything else. I’ve wracked my brain for any scrap of conversation or gesture or hint that might help Larry Wofford’s case. Nothing.”

“Why are you concerned about Angela?” I asked.

She looked past me at the researchers working with a nesting turtle. “Angela has put so much hope into freeing Larry. Failure will be like another death to her. Once she realizes Larry won’t be out for a long time, she’ll have to face the fact she’s all alone. That concerns me. John told me—” She broke off, looking slightly stricken.

“Told you what?” Tinkie asked.

“I shouldn’t reveal his confidences,” she said. “It’s wrong.”

“If it could help Angela, maybe it isn’t wrong,” I said.

“He just said she was an idealist. That she expected the best of herself and everyone she came into contact with. That kind of idealism often results in disillusionment and cynicism. He didn’t want that for her. John felt he’d failed her as a father. By following the treasure hunts, he left her alone too much. He wasn’t the dad he should have been.” She exhaled. “He beat himself up for all the things he didn’t do exactly right and never gave credit for all the things he did.”

“The sorry state of human nature,” Tinkie said, giving me the stink eye. “Sarah Booth has a tendency to do the same thing.”

I wasn’t about to argue my character traits in front of a biologist, so I ignored Tinkie. “Angela is convinced Wofford will prove his innocence.”

“Sometimes not even the truth is enough. I just don’t want to see her heart broken again. Please don’t give her false hope.” She smiled to take the sting out of her words. “By the way, I saw your handsome fiancé down the beach. He was walking with his friend. Everyone in town is buzzing how we have a movie star visiting.”

“His friend?” Tinkie asked. “What friend?”

“The woman who rented the Ocean Breeze. That’s the best cottage on the beach. Full Jacuzzi on the balcony. Every luxury you could desire. Now that’s the place to take a vacation.”

“Thanks,” I said. “How are the turtles faring?”

“This nest is almost gone. A few more along the beach and the season is over. We’re racing the approach of the storm.” She looked out to sea. “This could be paradise. The barrier islands of the Gulf are the most fragile and significant parts of a delicate environment. When they fail, it is the beginning of the end. If I had my way, not another person would be allowed on this island for any reason. Humans destroy everything they touch.” With a forced laugh, she pulled herself back. “My, how I do carry on. You ladies have a nice walk on the beach.”

Grasping Tinkie’s elbow, I aimed west, toward the cottage and Graf. While I’d been dreading a confrontation, I was now ready for it. If Graf felt no shame about strutting down the beach with his new friend, I intended to find out who she was and why he was spending time with her. Enough kicking myself. I had another target.

13

“Calm down, Sarah Booth,” Tinkie said, trying to use her weight to slow my churn toward Graf. I was too agitated to even go back for Tinkie’s car.

“I won’t calm down. I’ve pussyfooted around this for the entire week.”

“A mild exaggeration.” She pulled me around to face her. “Stop it. Rash action could prove fatal. Or at least lethal to your future relationship. Let’s think this through.”