Authors: Carolyn Haines
Buried Bones (41 page)
Brianna had escaped. I could read it in Coleman's posture, and I knew that Harold, by stonewalling in the jail for so long, had deliberately given her the time to flee. He was determined not to believe the worst of her, no matter what the evidence showed.
"Go home, Harold," I told him as I opened the door of his Lexus. "Don't tempt fate by getting in Coleman's face."
"Can you understand that
It didn't matter if he was protecting her because he thought that was what
"Go home," I said gently, putting a hand on his arm.
He caught my fingers and held them. "
"And Madame loved
His hand caught my wrist and stayed me. "Do you think we're always destined to make the wrong choices with our hearts?"
I couldn't tell if he was talking about the past or the present. We were both guilty of bad choices. "I don't know," I answered honestly.
"You've been a better friend to me than I deserve, Sarah Booth."
"That's where you're wrong, Harold. Very wrong."
"You thought me guilty and yet you kept trying to protect me. Why?"
"I thought you were guilty of caring about Brianna. I feared you might have done something to help her cover her tracks. Protecting the person you love isn't a sin in my eyes."
His hands slipped along my wrist to my hand. He brought the palm up to his face and held it against his cheek. "Thank you, Sarah Booth. When we've recovered from all of this, I want to have a serious talk with you."
I got out of the car and stepped back. Coleman didn't change positions as Harold drove away, and I walked up the cement steps as he watched me.
"How much of a lead has she got?"
"I wasn't even within sniffing distance."
"I really didn't know."
He opened the door and held it as I walked inside the courthouse. The hallway was still warm, a welcome respite from the freezing night outside.
"Where do you think she is?" I asked.
"The house was ransacked. It depends on whether she got what she was hunting for or not. Any guesses as to what she was after?"
"Scrapbooks, documents, photographs, anything that might give her material for her book. We found
Coleman snorted, which about summed up my opinion. "We'll get her. Eventually. I put on a fresh pot of coffee, come on in and have a cup." He held open the door to the sheriff's office and I followed him inside.
"I have to photograph the dance at The Club, but I have time for one cup." It seemed that a cup of coffee with Coleman was becoming a tradition at the conclusion of my cases.
"I found the system of delivery for the poison. Or I should say Doc Sawyer did."
I almost didn't want to know. "Tell me."
"A bottle of Jim Beam. I guess she figured it was the surest way
to
dose him, especially since he must have given his cat some food that she'd tried the poison in. I suppose everybody in town knew he had his five o'clock bourbon and branch."
"And if someone else had a drink of it?"
"One or two drinks wouldn't hurt. It was the cumulative effect."
I braced against the counter and closed my eyes for one brief second. It was all too sad.
Coleman's hand was warm on the back of my neck. His strong fingers kneaded the tight muscles for just a moment. "This is no time to quit. Better get yourself home, get into a dress, and go do your job. Cece gives you too many opportunities to meddle for you to let her down."
"Thanks for the pep talk, you silver-tongued devil." I accepted the cup of coffee.
Coleman laughed out loud, a resonating laugh that made me smile. The telephone shrilled loudly, and he answered it.
"You've got a phone call," he said. "It's your partner, Tinkie. She says it's urgent."
I picked up the black receiver. "Tinkie, what's going on?"
There was a sob at the other end. "Oh, Sarah Booth, I'm so sorry."
There are moments when time is telescoped. Those words mean only one thing--tragedy. I instantly knew that I'd lost someone dear to me, even if I didn't know who.
"I went by Dahlia House to see if you were back, and I found her in the drive. There was blood, so much blood."
"Who?"
"Sweetie Pie. She's at Dr. Matthews's. He's had to perform surgery. He said he'd wait at his office for you to get home."
Coleman's face registered concern as I hung up the phone, still unable to draw a deep breath.
"It's my dog. She's been hurt. Dr. Matthews has her."
"Want me to take you?" Coleman offered.
I shook my head, the tears threatening with relentless pressure. "I'll be fine," I assured him as I hurried out.
The lights were on in the vet's office, and Dr. Matthews was at the front desk filling out blood work forms when I went in. His smile was one of the best things I'd ever seen.
"Well, what you've got is a hound who's a medical miracle," he said, rising slowly to his feet.
"She's alive?" I hadn't dared to believe she might be okay.
"Alive and recovering. With remarkable alacrity."
"What happened?" I followed behind him as he led the way to the sick bay. Even as he opened the door I heard the familiar beat of her metronome tail.
"I can't be certain." He hesitated as he examined me. "It was a puncture wound in the abdomen, Sarah Booth. She must have fallen on something sharp, though how she managed that I can't figure out. It was a deep wound."
The caution of his tone registered. "You don't think she was hurt deliberately, do you?"
"It's impossible to tell but I wouldn't let her roam."
"She'll stay in the house," I promised before I was caught in the moment of seeing my dog, a thick white bandage around her middle. She slowly got to her feet and gave me the softest, sweetest, yodeling bark.
"Sweetie!" I rushed to the kennel and opened the door. She was a little unsteady on her feet, but her tongue
was
as
warm
and
effusive
as
ever.
"Oh, Sweetie." I hadn't realized how much I'd grown to care about that dog.
"She's going to be okay, Sarah Booth. In fact, you can take her home. Just keep an eye on her and make sure she drinks plenty of water and goes to the bathroom."
"No permanent damage?"
"It was pure luck, but nothing vital was severed. And while I was making the repairs, I also took a look around. I have to say that Sweetie is a remarkable creature."
"How so?" I fondled her silky ears and urged her to come out of the kennel.
"I spayed her myself, and as I said, I removed a uterus and two ovaries. But when I opened her up, there they were. Two ovaries, just as pink and healthy as I've ever seen. Lucky for you the uterus didn't regenerate or you'd be a grandma a dozen times over."
"They
grew
back?" I looked up at his face to make sure he wasn't pulling my leg. "My tonsils did that once."
"The only thing I can figure is that they somehow regenerated. It's a case that deserves major study. I've already sent the tissue off to a lab for evaluation."
"It's a sign." If there had ever been any doubt, there was none now. "Delaney womb," I said.
"What?"
"Nothing." It would be impossible to explain. But Sweetie Pie was a Delaney. And it was time to take her home.
"Thanks, Dr. Matthews. Whatever I owe you, I'll get straight."
"No charge, Sarah Booth. But I am writing that dog up for a medical journal. I hope you don't mind."
"Feel free." When I stood, Sweetie Pie came out of the kennel. She was still a little woozy, but otherwise just fine.
"Bring her back in ten days to get the stitches out."
"Sure thing."
"And Happy New Year, Sarah Booth. I think we can both make it home in time for a glass of champagne and a kiss."
I drove home slowly so Sweetie Pie could take a little air. The brisk cold seemed to revitalize her, and when we arrived at Dahlia House, she greeted her male admirers with a gentle woof.
"Not tonight," I told her, taking care to snap on a leash and make sure we got safely inside. I still had to photograph the dance for Cece, but I was certain I could do my journalistic duties and be home in less than two hours.
Once we were inside I took her into the kitchen and made her a cozy nest. She was restless, pacing the kitchen and whining at first the back door and then the dining room door. If I hadn't given my word to Cece, I'd move my pillows downstairs, collapse into them, and call it a year.
I made sure the doggy door was shut, and I latched the swinging door to the kitchen. Sweetie was feeling better, but she didn't need to be running around the house. As I made it up the stairs, her whining increased sharply. Then came the scratching. And finally barking at the top of her lungs. She wasn't happy about being detained, but it was for her own good.
Thank goodness I'd picked out my wardrobe. I hurried up to
my
room,
wondering why Jitty wasn't around. She probably had a haint party to celebrate the new year. Her social life was far more active than mine.
I dialed Tinkie, to thank her and also to reassure her that Sweetie was fine. Thank goodness she'd stopped by the house. Otherwise my pooch might have bled to death. I got the answering machine and left my message, reminding her that I'd see her at The Club at eleven.
The bathtub looked inviting, but I opted for a quick shower. Even as I stepped beneath the spray I heard Sweetie barking. She was sincerely unhappy.
The hot water, followed by a splash of cold, gave me the energy to finish up the night. I didn't have the heart to think about my case. I'd found the murderer, but she was still on the loose. And if Harold was right, she was probably somewhere in
I hadn't bothered to turn on the heat in my bedroom--a good motivator to dress fast. I slipped into the black velvet gown with the three tiny little straps from shoulder to derriere and felt a hit of satisfaction. The zipper sailed up as smooth as silk. Once I'd donned my glittery stockings and sexy black heels, I took a moment to admire the results. Too bad I hadn't had time to get my hair done. But I pulled up the curls with a few rhinestone combs and set to work on makeup. Even though I was working and didn't have a date, I wanted to look my best.
Makeup is a woman's best defense against lack of sleep, fatigue, stress, and the other evils of aging. I had a deft hand with base and eyeliner. It took only a few moments to change from tired and pasty to cool beige with highlighted lashes. I bent toward the mirror to apply my Show Girl Red lipstick. A movement in a corner of the room made me pause.
It was almost as if I were dreaming. Lean and lithe, Brianna Rathbone stepped out of the shadows and toward me. In her hand was a short-bladed knife stained a brownish red.
"Sarah Booth, this isn't what you think."
It had the vague ring of something Harold had kept saying--"you don't understand." I wondered if speech patterns were genetic. On a more important level, I wondered if she was going to hurt me. A tube of lipstick is not a good defense weapon. I lowered it slowly to the dressing table, aware of Sweetie's frantic barking in the kitchen. She'd been trying to warn me all along.
As Brianna came closer, I realized that Sweetie Pie hadn't fallen on something sharp. She'd been stabbed. The crazy woman slowly headed my way had stabbed my dog. Any lingering doubt that she might try to hurt me vanished.
"Don't make any sudden moves," Brianna said, her voice so soft it was hardly more than a whisper. "I'm not alone."
Right. She was not only mean, she was crazy. My gaze dropped to the knife. Yeah, and that was just a big, old, sharp letter opener.
"All I want is
She was within ten feet of me, and I could clearly see the manic light in her eyes.
