Greedy Bones (23 page)

"Why did you go to Jackson?"

"To see Erin."

"Erin Carlisle?"

"Yes." Her voice was like wind shifting dead leaves.

Images started to flutter through my head. Cece had
been found in the parking lot of the strip mall where Erin's studio was located.

"Erin was with you in the parking lot?"

"Yes."

"Was she there when you were attacked?"

She hesitated. "We were walking across the lot to her studio. I don't know what happened to her."

"I'll be right back," I said before I raced out of the room.

I skidded around the corner on the slick linoleum tile and almost slammed into Doc Sawyer.

"Whoa, there, Sarah Booth. Coleman's looking for you," he said.

"Where is he?"

"Down in the cafeteria with Mrs. Bellcase. They went for a cup of coffee."

"Thanks." I wheeled and ran to the cafeteria. Sure, running wasn't allowed in hospitals. A foolish rule when it was Death they should have been trying to govern.

When I pushed through the swinging doors of the cafeteria, Mrs. Bellcase stood alone, a cup of coffee in her hand. Dazed, she failed to hear my approach.

"Where's Coleman?" I asked.

"He got a call . . ." She staggered a step, and I caught her and helped her to a table. Tinkie's entire family balanced on the thin edge of exhaustion. Instead of sitting down, she started toward the door. "Oscar needs me."

"Did Coleman say where he was going?"

Judging by the look on her face, she'd forgotten all about Coleman. "No, he didn't. Wait. He found a relative of Gordon's in South Dakota. He said she's coming here to be with Gordon. He doesn't have anyone else."

"You need some rest," I told her gently. Bossing Tinkie's mama didn't strike me as smart. I opted for suggesting. "Can I call someone to relieve you?"

"No." She squared her shoulders. "Sorry, Sarah Booth, my energy level plummeted for a minute. I'm fine, and Tammy Odom has offered to sit a while. She'll be here soon." She gathered herself. "Coleman never said where he was going, but he got a call that seemed urgent. I know he's terribly worried about Gordon. His temperature spiked to 105. The two women appear to be improving a tiny bit, but the men . . ."

"I'm glad Coleman found Gordon's cousin." Gordon's father had been the sheriff of Sunflower County at one time--a very corrupt man. Gordon had endured and overcome that family reputation to become Coleman's trusted right hand. I'd once suspected him of murder, but he'd earned my respect and my thanks, and it tore at me to see him so ill and helpless and alone.

While I was tempted to stop by the isolation ward and mojo up some kick-ass energy for the patients, I had other fish to fry. Erin Carlisle might be in danger, and both Tinkie and Cece needed my attention. But first Jimmy Janks. Coleman and Dewayne had searched Janks's office and come up with nothing criminal, but there were things about Janks that didn't add up.

Toke Lambert reclined on a wicker chaise lounge on the front porch of his home in a gated community. Each house on the cul-de-sac was a McMansion, an architectural statement that had become the equivalent of the brick ranch houses of the 1970s. Like the general American population, the style of houses had gone from functional
to opulent and obese. Toke's house had to be at least eight thousand square feet.

"Hello, Toke," I said as I plowed through the lush centipede grass of his manicured lawn. "Looks like life is treating you well."

He waved a hand as if to dismiss his surroundings. "You know, Sarah Booth, it's all about management skills. Some of us have it, some don't."

I'd never cared for Toke, and he knew it. The pleasantries were over. "What do you know about Jimmy Janks?"

"He's wanting to develop the Carlisle land. Or at least he was before all this ruckus started." He picked up a frosted glass and sipped.

"How did you meet Janks?"

"Tell me why I should answer another question, Sarah Booth. What's in this for me?"

I wanted to say that if he gave me something worthwhile I wouldn't bother smashing his face, but such threats were ridiculous. "Oscar Richmond is very ill, and I'm on the case. I'm sure Mr. Bellcase at the Zinnia bank would want you to cooperate."

Five houses in Toke's neighborhood were up for foreclosure. Despite his claims of managerial genius, he required credit. One word from Mr. Bellcase and Toke's credit line might disconnect.

Toke wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. "Luther introduced me to Jimmy. He'd arranged a dove hunting party last winter and Janks was there. Talk about a fool with a gun. He almost pulled a Cheney on one of the men. We took Janks's shells away from him."

"Didn't you go to school with him?"

Toke laughed. "I don't think so."

"Not even for a semester?"

"What's with you, Sarah Booth? I said no."

Toke, even though he was a lazy lout, had the inside scoop on Delta entrepreneurs. "Where does Janks get his money?"

He sat up. "At last, you ask something interesting? I've wondered exactly the same thing. He blew in here with a line of credit that none of us can understand, especially when credit's tighter than Dick's hat band."

"So what did you find out?" Toke would have pursued it. One thing about a birthright Buddy Clubber--he knew how to track the money source.

Toke tossed down the rest of his drink and swung his legs off the chaise. "Jimmy Janks has big wealth in his grasp. His line of credit is unbelievable. And it comes from a source outside this country. That's all I could find. Offshore banks in the Caymans."

So Janks's development project was bankrolled by foreigners. A foreign money source, genetically altered cotton, mutated weevils, a strange illness that would be fatal without intensive medical care but one that was also contained to a specific location. When I added those things together, I got something frightening.

"Thanks, Toke." I trudged back across his lawn.

"Don't mention it, Sarah Booth."

As I got in my car, I heard him yell out to his wife to bring him another gin rickey.

The small strip mall where Janks had an office was totally deserted when I passed by. A more perfect opportunity might never be found.

I U-turned and parked so that my vehicle was blocked from sight by a Dumpster. The front door was plate glass, but a regular steel door closed the back. Picking
locks wasn't my expertise, but I'd made up my mind to take a shot at it.

Before I tried my hand at B&E, I called Erin Carlisle. Her home number was listed, but she didn't answer. She wasn't at the studio--no surprise there. I left messages in both places, then walked over to the back door of Janks's office.

I rattled the knob for good measure. To my surprise, it turned easily and the door opened as if a magic spell had been cast. Which disturbed me.

Nonetheless, I stepped into the inky void of a storage room, giving my eyes time to adjust. The room was empty except for a half-dozen cardboard boxes.

A muffled crash came from the front office, followed by a curse.

No wonder the back door was open--someone had entered before I did. Moving quietly toward the sound, I wished for a gun. Tinkie had given me a canister of pepper spray that I had clipped to my key ring. I gripped it at the ready.

If Janks was in the office, I had to detain him.

Something else tumbled over. Whoever was up front was ransacking the office pretty thoroughly, or so it sounded.

Step by step, I made my way out of the storage room and into the hallway. The sounds were clearer now. Someone else had come to search through Janks's records.

With the pepper spray held in front of me at arm's length, I left the safety of the hallway and entered the main office.

Joe Downs, on his knees, yanked files from a drawer. Chaos reigned in the office. Papers floated everywhere. Drawers had been dumped, the contents strewn all over
the floor. Downs might call this searching, but to me it looked like rampant vandalism.

He clutched a fistful of files and threw them behind him onto the floor. His hand closed on another batch.

"Stop," I ordered him.

His reaction surprised me. Instead of yelling or being startled, he calmly lowered his hand. "Miss Delaney," he said, "what are you doing here?"

"Looking for evidence. What about you?"

"The same."

"It would seem you're more intent on destroying evidence than finding it." Was it possible Downs was in cahoots with Janks? Even to the point of killing his friend and employee Lester Ballard?

"Janks sent those cotton seeds to Lester. I know he did. I intend to prove it. I'll sue that developer for everything he owns. I'll get the CDC, the EPA, the FFA, the FBI, the CIA, and the KGB after him if that's what it takes."

"An impressive list of alphabet agencies." I held the canister at the ready. "Move away from the papers and call the sheriff's office."

"Surely you don't intend to bring the law into this." He wasn't scared, just annoyed. "You entered illegally, as I did."

"Good point. Doesn't make a damn." I motioned to the phone. "Call the sheriff's office now." I gave him the number.

When Dewayne was on the line, I took the phone. Joe Downs made no effort to stop me. He eased to his feet, perched on the edge of the desk, and waited quietly.

"Is Coleman back?" I asked Dewayne.

"Miss Bonnie Louise called and he took off. Something I can do for you?"

Downs reached into his pocket and brought out a
sheet of paper. He held it toward me. "You're wasting valuable time," he said. "I'm trying to help."

"Sarah Booth, are you okay?" Dewayne asked.

"I'm fine." Right or wrong, I came to a decision about Downs. "Dewayne, could you ask the Jackson police to make sure Erin Carlisle is okay? It's possible she was with Cece when Cece was attacked in Jackson. She might be a witness. Or she might be a participant in the beating."

"I'm on it right now, Sarah Booth."

"Thanks, Dewayne." I replaced the phone and pointed to the paper that Downs still held toward me. "What is that?"

"Read it for yourself." He passed it to me. "I found it here."

I scanned the description of the life cycle of the boll weevil. Written in hand at the bottom was a notation for a particular strand of cotton.

Downs pointed at the paper. "I've grown cotton in this area all my life. That's not a type of cotton MAT has ever planted. I'm telling you, Janks is responsible for all of this. Now do you believe me?"

"This doesn't prove anything." It didn't. But it painted Janks a darker shade of guilty.

Downs let his hands fall to his lap. "I spoke with the sheriff about an hour ago. He was able to match the blood on the carpet in Janks's hotel room with Lester Ballard's blood. Lester's hand had a cut on it. Any fool can see they got into an argument and Janks murdered my friend. If I have to go to jail to prove it, I'm ready to do so."

Downs was only trying to do the same thing I was. I clipped the pepper spray back onto my key chain. "Let's take this place apart," I said.

Though Joe Downs and I turned Janks's office inside out, we found nothing else. I wasn't certain I trusted that Downs had found the paper on the weevils and cotton at the scene. It was possible, in his need to avenge his friend's death, he'd brought it to the office himself. On the bright side, Tinkie was diving into Janks's investment background and Tammy Odom, a high school friend known as Madame Tomeeka, was sitting watch with the patients. Tammy had some serious psychic ability, and she never turned down a friend.

I returned to the hospital to finish my conversation with Cece. When I found her dozing, I considered waking her, but a phone call from Dewayne side-tracked me.

"Jackson PD got in touch with Erin Carlisle's receptionist. Erin hasn't been at work for two days. The receptionist
didn't know what to do, so she never filed a missing persons report."

"Thanks, Dewayne." This was not good news.

When I peeked into Cece's room again, she was still asleep, so I took the opportunity to speak to Tammy. Perhaps she'd had a dream or vision or message. I'd take help from any source available.

Tammy had not only come to sit, she brought a plate of food big enough to feed three starving timbermen. Pork roast, greens, cornbread, and sweet potatoes. Before anything else, Tammy insisted that I eat something. I took the plate to Cece's room and watched as the delicious aromas worked their magic.

Her eyes blinked open and one side of her mouth moved into a smile. "What smells so good?"

I listed the menu items. "Want a bite?" The oxygen tube had been removed, and though she'd suffered broken ribs, some internal bruising, and a broken nose, she was on the mend.

She opened her mouth, and I gave her a taste of the sweet potatoes, which she didn't have to chew. Corn bread with fresh butter was next. We shared the plate in companionable silence.

"I haven't even tasted it, but I've heard hospital food sucks, dahling," she said.