Booty Bones: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery (29 page)

A loud clap of thunder made us all jump. The hiss of hard rain hitting the Gulf could be heard, and it was coming our way fast. We all ran for cover, including Sweetie Pie and Pluto, who streaked by me as if water would melt his fat little kitty self. He sure could move when he wanted to.

Tinkie and I made it into the car with only a second to spare. The rain came down so hard I had the sense a tidal wave had swamped the car. The din effectively silenced all attempts at conversation. Visibility was zero.

When the rain slackened, Tinkie started the car. “We have to follow Angela. She’s in some kind of trouble, and she’s trying to protect us.”

“I concur.”

But Angela had vanished.

“Well, sheet slitter!” Tinkie slammed the wheel with the butt of her hand. “She knew we’d try to follow.”

“Indeed, she did.” So what was our clever client up to?

Before I could pose my question, my cell phone rang. Cece Dee Falcon was calling. I put it on speaker so Tinkie could hear.

“I have some information, but I don’t know how much it’s going to help.”

“Thank you, Cece,” Tinkie said. “How are preparations for the ball?”

“The storm should blow through, and everything will be fine. They’re predicting good weather for New Orleans tomorrow. Are you two on your way?”

“Just about.” I shook a finger at Tinkie when she rolled her eyes. I wasn’t lying. We were ready to clear out; we just hadn’t made it off the island. It wasn’t our fault we had to save a sailboat.

“You’re still at Dauphin Island!” Cece wasn’t pleased.

“We’re loaded up and ready to go.”

“Where’s Graf?”

The silence said it all. Finally, Tinkie said, “We don’t know. We left him a note and the SUV. He can leave if he wants to. We have Sweetie and Pluto and Sarah Booth’s dress for the ball.”

“When this ball is over, we’ll find Graf and tar and feather him.” Cece didn’t take kindly to men who mistreated her friends.

“Not to worry.” My voice cracked. I’d successfully failed to think about Graf while we were wrestling with the boat. Now my predicament crashed down on my head.

“Is that Marion Silber still on the island?” Cece asked. “The nerve of her tracking Graf down and following him on his vacation.”

“She is.” Tinkie answered for me. “Or she was. I don’t know now. Surely with a child she’s taken the necessary precautions.”

“Did you find anything about the map and the French inscription?” I had to change the subject. I appreciated my friends’ support and loyalty, but talking about Graf and the screenwriter only made it more real in my mind.

“I did. That’s why I called. Sorry, I got offtrack.”

“No apologies. I’m glad you’ve got my back.”

“Always, dah-link! Now here’s the scoop. The map is a rough depiction of a coastline. Most likely, Dauphin Island. It’s impossible to say for positive because storms have changed the island so drastically. Those barrier islands walk. They literally move east and west, depending on the currents and winds churned up by hurricanes.”

I couldn’t hide my disappointment. I’d hoped for a definitive answer. Something we could use to pinpoint a specific location. “And the writing?”

“I have a rough translation. One of my journalist friends knows the head of foreign languages at Tulane University. So based on the time period, etcetera, etcetera, this is as close as we could get.” She cleared her throat. “The rising sun intersects with the shadow of a wall. There lies the crossing of destiny and fortune.”

“Say that again,” Tinkie requested.

Cece obliged, and this time I grabbed a pen from the glove box and wrote it down on a napkin.

“Any idea what it means?” Tinkie asked.

“Not me,” Cece said. “It’s obviously a clue, but it’s a code or something.”

“Thank you, Cece. You have more to do than anyone I know, yet you made time to help us with this.”

“I wish I’d been more successful.” Her laughter filled the car. “We can worry this knot when you’re in New Orleans. Once the ball is over, we’ll figure it out.”

“Of course we will,” Tinkie said stoutly.

“Yes, of course. Thank you again.” I said good-bye and clicked off the phone. “Let’s go.”

“Want to check on Graf one more time?” Tinkie asked.

“No.”

Tinkie angled the car toward the road that would take us off Dauphin Island just as a red Jaguar turned toward us. Marion Silber was at the wheel, her daughter in the passenger seat. They were laughing as they passed.

Not fifty yards behind them was Graf in the SUV. He swung into the marina parking lot and walked over to the Cadillac.

“I’ve booked some hotel rooms in Mobile,” he said. “Sarah Booth, we need to talk.”

Do we really? I wanted to ask. Judging by his tone and the way he failed to look me or Tinkie in the eye, I wasn’t certain there was anything left to say. “About what?”

“I have to tell you something important. And I want to do it before we leave the area. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

Tinkie reached out the window and grabbed his forearm. “If you’re going to hurt Sarah Booth, just be a man and do it now. Stop dragging this out.”

“There’s been a terrible wreck of a tractor trailer and logging truck. I-10 West is closed,” Graf said softly. “We can’t get to New Orleans right now. It’s foolish to head east or north. The storm will hit here and then hook to the northeast. Let’s stay at the hotel for one night. Give me a chance to tell Sarah Booth some things I’ve just discovered. It’s important. We’ll be off the island in case the storm is worse than it appears.”

“Okay.” I agreed before Tinkie could tell him no. The look she threw me said I was being too easy, too willing to be stepped on. But I knew Graf. He wasn’t the kind of man who took pleasure in cruelty. He had something to say, and whatever it was, he deserved the chance to say it.

He gave us the address of a hotel on the beltway, miles inland from the water. “The forecasters issued a new alert. Margene has picked up speed. She’s barreling toward the coast. The good part is that if she maintains this pace, she’ll make landfall and move inland quickly. Once Margene moves over land, she’ll deteriorate rapidly into a tropical storm. We should be fine.”

“They predicted landfall tomorrow morning. What’s the new time frame?” The weather had changed that quickly.

“Sometime this afternoon. We’ll be safe in Mobile.”

“We would be safer in New Orleans.” Tinkie’s jaw clenched with anger. “Why can’t you have your talk with Sarah Booth there? Or do it now. I’ll go visit Arley so you can have some privacy.”

“There’s something Sarah Booth has to see.” Graf swallowed, and I realized he was fighting to keep control of his emotions. “I want her to really understand.”

I put a hand on Tinkie’s shoulder. “I want a chance to talk with Graf.” My voice was steady and clear, though I felt like a giant’s hand was squeezing my heart.

“If that’s what you want.” Tinkie stared out the windshield.

“I’m going on to the hotel,” Graf said. “Are you coming?”

“Yes.” I answered when Tinkie didn’t.

A moment later, he was driving off the island. The clouds opened. The rain was so loud, we didn’t attempt to talk. When it finally passed, Tinkie put her hand on the key but didn’t start the car.

“Is this what you really want? You should tell him to kiss your ass, and we should go to New Orleans. They’ll have the interstate cleared in no time, or we can take the back roads.”

“I have to talk to him. At least he’s willing to tell me what’s happening. I don’t want any regrets because I was too much of a coward to hear him out.”

A tear slipped down Tinkie’s cheek. “I don’t know why this is happening, but just for the record, it’s wrong. And once the talking is done, the ass kicking is going to begin.”

“Once you drop me and the critters at the hotel, you should go to New Orleans.”

“And leave you possibly stranded here. Not on your life.”

Striving for a shred of humor, I said, “And the moral of this story is, never, ever, leave your set of wheels at home.”

*   *   *

We didn’t go straight to the hotel but instead stopped at a store to pick up flashlights and batteries. The supply was meager, but we found two heavy-duty lights. Good for hurricanes and future endeavors of snooping in the dark.

“Do you think we’ll lose power?” I asked.

Tinkie evaluated the people in the big box store. They had shopping carts loaded with beer and wine, chips and bread, bottled water and candy.

“These folks are preparing for the Second Coming. Only problem is, if they eat all that crap, they won’t get airborne during the Rapture.”

It was a relief to laugh. “How about some chips? Just in case.”

Tinkie snared a bag of vinegar and salt chips.

“If I was certain we had a freezer in the room, I’d get some mocha-almond-chip ice cream since I never tasted the ice cream you bought before we had to toss it.”

Tinkie pulled me down the aisle to the checkout. “Eat yourself into a coma. Right, that’ll make you feel loads better.”

“It will.” I sounded like I was five. I snatched a box of Krispy Kreme donuts on the way out, but Tinkie slapped my hands until I dropped them.

“Giving yourself dough belly won’t help a bit. You eat all of this junk food, and you won’t fit into your gown for the ball.”

“I don’t care.”

Tinkie put her hands on her hips. “Well, I care. A lot. Whatever happens here in Mobile, we are leaving for New Orleans in the morning. You and me and Sweetie Pie and Pluto. Graf is welcome if he wants to come and treat you like the love of his life.”

I ripped open the potato chips and stuffed a handful into my mouth.

“Sarah Booth!” Tinkie was shocked.

“You know he’s not coming.” I had to say it twice for her to comprehend me as I crunched the chips down.

She reached for the chip bag, but I snatched it away. I shoved another huge handful into my mouth. “Makes me feel better.” Little pieces of chip flew from my lips. “Makes me feel a lot better.” I ate more.

Tinkie patted my shoulder. “Okay. Let’s pay for them before they think we’re stealing.”

I nodded. My cheeks bulged, and the vinegar was tart. I needed a Diet Coke. Or at least a Jack and water. Now there was a thought. “Liquor.” I pantomimed mixing and swilling a drink.

Tinkie stepped very close to me and pinched my waist so hard I was paralyzed. “Stop acting like a very bad two-year-old.”

Because my mouth was too full to speak, I nodded with great passion.

She let me loose and snared my wrist. “We’re leaving.”

And so we did.

We stopped at a liquor store and bought some Grey Goose and Jack Daniels, and, at my request, we drove downtown. I wanted to see the old oaks and the antebellum homes. In many ways, Mobile reminded me of Greenwood, Mississippi, because of the number of stately homes.

At last we pulled into the motel. I almost changed my mind when I saw the red Jaguar in the parking lot. I felt gut-kicked. This, I hadn’t anticipated.

“I can’t believe Graf.” Tinkie pulled in beside the Jaguar. She immediately began rooting in her purse. “I have a Swiss knife. I’m going to stab her tires.”

“Don’t. Besides, the proper term is slash. Not stab. Slash.” My stomach was a little queasy from the assault of fried potato chips, vinegar, and loads of salt.

“This is too much. You’re worried about semantics while the woman who is wrecking your future is in the same hotel as we are. I knew Graf had lost his mind, but this is way over the top. To bring you here to see that she’s here, too. I won’t stand for it.”

I looked around at the rain-swept parking lot. We were just off I-65, and northbound traffic slogged by at a slow clip. Evacuees. That wasn’t a term I’d expected to use in America. My lack of experience had given me a certain naiveté. No wildfires in my life. No plagues or famines. I’d led a privileged American life.

Hurricane Margene was mild compared to many natural disasters—not to mention manmade ones such as prejudice, poverty, and pestilence. I’d had my vaccinations, my well-rounded menus, my education. While I knew the taste of personal tragedy, I’d been spared the big enchilada of disaster. Such a thing had never truly touched my world.

“I’m not prepared for hurricane devastation.” I spoke softly and counted the steady stream of traffic that passed in the northbound lane of I-65. “Hey, there aren’t any cars heading south.” A real Sherlockian deduction.

“I know.” Tinkie started to say something else but fell silent.

“I have to do this.”

“I know.” She cleared her throat. “I know you do. I would spare you this if I could.”

I gave her a smile. “So, now that we understand the situation, I want to go in and talk to Graf, and then I’ll be over to spend the night with you. Tomorrow we can decide whatever is left to decide.”

“Will you do me one favor?” Tinkie asked.

“Name it.”

“How did that woman know to show up at Dauphin Island? Has he been seeing her for a while? I want the date he first betrayed you.”

“Why do you care about that?”

“Specifics make a difference, at least to me. If this has been long-term and he let you beat yourself up again and again over his gunshot, I’ll shoot him in the other leg. That’s a promise.”

The rain was a steady downpour now. No more intermittent deluges. Hurricane Margene was coming across the Gulf in a direct line.

A door opened on the second floor of the motel, and raucous party sounds spilled out. Loud music, people laughing. Someone cursing. A young man, drunk, judging by the way he stumbled, rushed out to the rail, and for one scary moment I thought he would fall—or jump.

“Hurricane party,” Tinkie said. “I didn’t think people did that after Camille in nineteen sixty-nine. No one took that hurricane seriously, and she killed over two hundred people. Some were so drunk they weren’t aware the storm had turned deadly.”

Accounts of Camille and Katrina were part of the oral history of the state. Written, too, but many folks could remember exactly what they were doing when those two storms hit the coastline. Camille and Katrina divided lives into before and after, an event when life was radically altered.