Crossed Bones (34 page)

She closed her eyes, her lips going into her famous pout, made even more sensual by that pink lipstick. "I feel better just letting you touch me," she said. "You have the most healing touch."

"I'll have my nurse call you with an appointment tomorrow," Dr. Haywick said. I checked his name tag. Gynecologist.

"Tinkie, if you're healed, we have work to do." I smiled at the doctors, who scattered as if I had the plague. I didn't inspire the need to heal the way Tinkie did.

"Isn't he a doll?" Tinkie whispered to me, her gaze following Dr. Haywick's back.

"You're married," I pointed out to her.

"He's a doctor," she whispered back. "That's the only fun married women get to have, Sarah Booth."

I decided not to answer. "What did Nandy say?"

"Oh, she was driving down
Bilbo Lane
when a wasp got in her car. She's terrified of wasps, you know. Very allergic. Anyway, she became panicked at the wasp and tried to kill it. In doing so, she caught the sleeve of her blouse on that stud in her eyebrow and yanked it right out. She was blinded by the blood that ensued. Half-crazy with pain, she realized the closest person she knew was Scott and she went to his house. He aided her and called an ambulance."

The entire time she was talking she looked straight ahead. When she finally looked at me, she was grinning from ear to ear.

"That's the biggest crock of shit I've ever heard," I said, grinning too.

"I know, but it's her signed statement."

"She signed a statement to that effect?" I was ecstatic.

Tinkie reached into her straw handbag and pulled out a typewritten sheet of paper that bore Nandy's signature. "I got one of the nurses to type it up. Nandy was very willing to sign it."

"How did you do that?" I was amazed.

"Oh, Oscar helped the nurse's husband get a loan for his lawn service business back--"

"How did you get Nandy to sign it?" I interrupted.

"Oh, that!" Tinkie's eyes twinkled. "I told her she could never get even with you for stealing Scott if she was locked up in a mental institution."

My grin faded. "You said that."

"Of course not! I was just kidding. I told her that I'd have a little talk with her father and explain the benefits of a trust administered by her husband. A mentally unstable person can't be trusted with large amounts of money. Nandy understood that if her husband was named her executor, she'd be his prisoner for the rest of her natural life. Not
exactly
historically accurate, but close enough."

"Tinkie, you are a genius!" I gave her a big hug before we parted in the parking lot and I drove home to prepare for my date.

27

I
held the white rayon dress in front of me and
stared in the mirror. It was perfect, except for the buttons. Faux pearl was just a little too dressy. I let the hanger slip from my fingers and reached into the closet for my favorite green skirt.

"Why bother with clothes? You won't keep 'em on more than five minutes."

I had been expecting Jitty, so I wasn't surprised when I heard her caustic voice. I looked behind me and she was standing there, arms akimbo, watching me.

"You're right," I said, frowning, "but I don't want to drive to Scott's house naked. What if I get stopped for speeding?"

"Honey, you're not just speedin', you're committing reckless abandonment. And it ain't behind the wheel I'm talkin' about." Jitty took a seat on the side of my bed and leaned back, her elbows supporting her. She was wearing a pair of low-slung jeans and a halter top made from a red kerchief. A strangely familiar outfit.

"Hey, those are Mama's clothes," I said. My mother had been very comfortable in the 1960s. She'd had the figure for hip-huggers and navel-revealing tops.

"No, I'm taller than your mama. These are mine."

"You copied them."

"The highest form of flattery, or so they say."

Jitty wasn't about to be shaken by my accusations or criticism, so I decided to tell the truth. "You look very . . . mod." Sleek
and
mod. Being dead, she didn't resort to mashed potatoes, ice cream, grits, and other comfort foods.

"And
you
look frazzled," she pointed out. "I can see your problem. It's hard to know how to dress for this very special occasion. Let's see, what would be appropriate for fish sticks? Maybe something red, to hide the catsup dribbles."

"Ha. Ha." I still held the green skirt and went through several unsuitable blouses before I dropped it to the floor and pulled a pair of black jeans out of the closet. The old classic five-pocket design.

"That looks a little more realistic," Jitty said. "Try the red cotton pullover with the black buttons."

I knew before I got the top out of the drawer that it was the makings of a sharp outfit. Jitty had flair, and I had the perfect pair of black stack mules to wear with it.

"That's a much better ensemble," Jitty said, nodding. "You go prancin' over to his house in a skirt and stockin's, and he's gonna feel bad about the charred wiener he's servin' you on a stale bun."

"I believe the menu is fish sticks," I reminded her. Jitty was contrary as a cornered snake. She'd spent the last year nagging me to find a man. Now that I had one, she wasn't satisfied. I knew her objections. Scott was a bluesman. He was a Yankee. He was a convicted felon and charged with the murder of a symbol for racial harmony. But Jitty's concerns went even deeper than that. Scott wasn't going to stay in Zinnia forever. Probably not for much longer now that Ivory was dead. It was his potential for transitory behavior that had her agitated. Trying to hide my actions, I selected a pair of red lace panties and matching demi-bra.

"Wasted effort," Jitty said. "That man is used to groupies who don't wear undies. Ex-pedient is the by-word you should use. You won't win Scott Hampton with
Victoria
's Secret. Fancy lace panties won't capture his heart."

I decided to take her head-on. "Tell me why you don't like Scott." I already knew all her reasons, but I wanted to make her say them. As she started to talk, I pulled the jeans over my hips, noting how easily they slid up. I'd lost at least five pounds. No wonder. I'd hardly had time to eat.

"It's not that I don't like him," she hedged. "It's just that he's an unknown, Sarah Booth. We really don't know anything about him, except what he's told you. He's not the kind of man to stay put in any one place. He could be gone tomorrow, and probably will be."

I saw it then. For all that Jitty harped on me getting bred and having a baby, she wanted the whole package. She was a true woman of the sixties--she wanted freedom
and
the security of a reliable man. But was that what I wanted? "The fact that Scott may move on isn't a problem for me. I don't believe in forever." I was testing the sentiment even as I said the words. "Maybe I like it that Scott won't stay here permanently." I zipped the jeans and gave a thumbs-up to my image in the mirror.

Jitty was suddenly hovering behind my shoulder. "That's what worries me. That ain't a dream, Sarah Booth. That's hidin' out from a dream."

"Pox on dreams." I was satisfied with my game plan, so why couldn't Jitty leave me alone?

"Dreams don't just happen. You have to work at 'em. I think you're afraid to dream, Sarah Booth."

"I have my dream and it's just fine." I liked the idea of independence. Scott was a man who wouldn't shackle me or try to pin me down. He was an artist. He understood the need to be free. He wouldn't try to define me or confine me like a lot of men.

"Tell me your biggest dream," Jitty said. Her voice was soft, not her usual disapproving tone.

"That would be the success of my detective agency." Ha! I had her there.

"At the sacrifice of everything else?" she asked, and I could see she was troubled. It was a strange twist of events. In the past, Jitty had deviled me endlessly, but I'd never been able to turn the tables. Until now.

"If Delaney Detective Agency doesn't succeed, I won't have this life, and neither will you," I pointed out to her. "I have to focus on making a success of this, above all else." I'd never realized before how true that was. If Scott stayed or left, I would continue with my new career. The detective agency was the constant in my life.

"Sarah Booth, don't squander your dreams on a job. Mortals don't realize how powerful they are. If you can dream it, you have the power to make it happen. You simply have to believe strong enough and focus hard enough." She held my gaze with hers. "You have to let other dreams fall away and choose only one. That's the secret. Now don't you have another dream?"

"I'm too busy on the first one."

Her smile was sad. "What about a family? Wouldn't that be a wonderful dream?"

"I had a family. I lost it." I was suddenly angry with her.

"I know," she said. "You lost your folks young, but now it's time you built another family, one with a steady man, not some blues-singin' guitar man."

"Family is
your
dream. You're the one who's always harping about an heir to the Delaney name." In the past, I'd bought in to Jitty's dream, but now I wasn't so certain.

"And you're the one who's gettin' laid tonight. Just remember, dreams can be suppressed but not destroyed, and I don't think you're tellin' the truth about what you want."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Not even Catholics use the rhythm method anymore."

"Taken care of," I assured her. And it would be. I had no desire to be a mother. None. I slipped on the red blouse and my shoes and took a turn in the mirror.

"Don't get serious with Scott. He won't stay here, Sarah Booth. You'll be alone again, and that'll do a lot more damage than you think. Guard your heart, and don't get careless."

"I won't, I will, and I won't," I promised her as I picked up my purse and keys and ran down the stairs. I was almost to the front door when Sweetie Pie came rushing out of the parlor and almost knocked me down.

She stood, tail wagging furiously. She wanted to go with me. "Okay, but no begging at the table," I warned her, knowing that she'd promise anything and then do exactly as she pleased. I opened the door and she shot out and jumped in the front seat of the roadster. I got her sunglasses and a scarf to keep the wind out of her eyes and ears, and we were off.

The night was hot, but driving created a wonderful breeze. Although I hated the heat, I loved many things about summer. There was the smell of fresh-cut grass and ripe watermelons. When I drove through a stand of pines on
Bilbo Lane
, I could hear the cicadas rising to a crescendo before they fell away to silence.

Turning down Scott's drive, I stopped the car in wonderment. The driveway was lit by at least a hundred candles in white paper sacks. Scott had created this magical starlit path just for me. For such a tough guy, he had a romantic streak a mile wide. I walked to the front door and found the porch alight with more candles. Even more flickering tapers beckoned me inside, and as I stepped into the front room, a shadow moved forward to greet me.

"Sarah Booth," Scott said, gathering me into his arms. "I've been thinking about you all day."

"This is beautiful," I told him. "Thank you."

He kissed me gently before pouring us both wine. The most enticing odor wafted from the kitchen. "What is that?" I asked, sniffing, wondering if I should have worn something with elastic in the waist.

"Prime rib. Not exactly Southern, but I think you'll like it."

"I think you're right."

Like Jitty, I'd halfway expected a "meal in a tin pan" that we didn't bother to eat, opting for bed instead. Scott had other ideas. He'd worked on the dinner all afternoon, and he'd put a lot of thought into the evening. We drank Merlot in coffee cups and ate off mismatched plates, and I'd never had a more elegant meal. As we ate, Scott told me anecdotes and gossip about the music business.

"I didn't realize you were such a host," I said, remembering my earlier fantasy of Scott standing beside me at Dahlia House, hosting an evening. He'd been born to money and gracious manners. He would be a perfect
guest
host.

"I haven't cooked in ages, but there was a time when I enjoyed having company. I'd like to do more of it, with you by my side. Things are going to start changing real fast once I'm found innocent of Ivory's murder. I think you'll really enjoy the music world, if you'll give it a try."

There was no aspect of the entertainment world that fascinated me more than the blues. It would be fabulous to sample it with Scott as my guide. Jitty was wrong. I had plenty of dreams. "I'd really like that," I said. "In between cases, of course."

"Of course," he agreed.

For dessert, he'd made a tart from the sand pears on the tree outside his door. I was impressed and told him so.

"Coffee?" he asked. "Fresh from the Folger's bean, roasted and ground only moments before you arrived."

"I couldn't turn that down."

When we both had steaming mugs, he reached across the table and took my hand. "Where are we going, Sarah Booth?"