Ham Bones (26 page)

She had a point. "At least I can identify him."

"It might be smarter if we tailed him. Maybe then we
could find out where he's staying, what he's up to. Then we can call Coleman and he can call the Memphis police
and they can grab him. He's wanted as a material witness
in this case, you know."

She was right. "Good thinking, Tink! I'll go talk to the
valet and find out what kind of car Morgan is driving."

"I'll take over as bartender. I know you trust Graf, but
I'm not totally there yet. I want to keep an eye on him as
well as Morgan"

In the lobby we parted ways. Tinkie went to the bar
and I found the valet talking to a desk clerk. He gave me
his full attention when I palmed another twenty to him.

"Dude with strange whiskers?" he asked when I questioned him about Morgan.

"That's him."

"Pulled up in a Tahoe. Navy Blue. Told me to keep it
close, he wouldn't be long."

"I need to follow him when he leaves."

He nodded. "He cheating on his wife?" His grin was
wide.

"Something like that. When he starts to leave, could
you give me a signal?"

"I'll do more than that. I'll hold him up at the booth
until you can get behind him."

His name was on the tag on his lapel. "Thanks, Anthony."

"All in the name of justice." His grin was infectious,
and I was smiling when I took up my station behind a potted palm. It annoyed me that I could do nothing but wait,
but that was the role I needed to play. At least for a little
while.

Twenty minutes later Tinkie brought me a cup of
steaming coffee and some news.

"He and Graf have been talking. A couple of times, I
thought Graf might hit him, but Morgan calmed him
down. Whatever's going on between them is intense."

"Could you hear anything?"

"Not much" She glanced over her shoulder. "I think
they're almost finished. Are we set to tail him?"

"We're ready."

"Good. I'm going to turn the bar back over to the bartender. She's getting antsy."

"Thanks for the coffee"

She hurried back to the bar, and I sipped the strong
Colombian brew. Just as I put my cup down, a tall man
came out of the bar and walked straight toward me.

I eased back into the indoor shrub as much as possible,
but it was unnecessary. Morgan was preoccupied with his
own thoughts. I got a good look at him as he passed, and
I felt my heart begin to thud. It was the same man from
the cosmetic shop in Memphis. He'd thrown away the
white, muttonchop whiskers, which had obviously been a
disguise. Instead, his sideburns, while still oversized,
were salt-and-pepper, like his hair. He was younger, fitter,
and his mouth was a long, self-satisfied slash.

He passed me by and headed for the parking garage.

Graf was a minute behind him, as was Tinkie. I
grasped her hand and squeezed it. "It's him! He was behind that counter at La Burnisco! He's the one who sold
me that lipstick." I finally took a good look at Graf. He
didn't look good. "Are you okay?" I asked him.

He sank down on one of the sofas. "He's a real bastard."

"What's wrong?" I touched his shoulder.

"Renata sold my debt to him. He came to tell me I
owed him $350,000 at the interest rate of seven percent.
I've got until midnight to make my first payment or he's going to the tabloids and tell them all about my Mexican
drug experience." He looked up at me like a kicked dog.
"My Hollywood career will be over before it even starts.
No one wants a drug-crazed actor on location."

"Renata sold him the debt?" I was astounded. This
sounded like something from indentured servitude.

Graf rose abruptly and began to pace. "I thought I'd
gotten out from under it. Imagine that. I didn't kill Renata, but I had this completely idiotic idea that I'd finally
bested her. I was wrong" His laughter was bitter. "Renata
always wins. Even from the grave she's reached out to
hurt me"

"If you get the Hollywood deal, you can pay that off in
no time." Tinkie was the pragmatist, and I could clearly
see she wasn't overly concerned with Graf's financial
whine.

Graf looked at me. "I'm not sure I can get the movie
deal without Sarah Booth"

Anthony opened the door and windmilled his arm at
me in a get-going signal. I gave Graf a quick hug of support. "We have to go"

"I'm just going to sit here a little while." He plopped
back down. "When I'm feeling better, I'll drive back to
Zinnia."

He looked completely undone. I felt a pang of remorse
as I walked away from him. He was in a financial pinch,
but I was charged with murder, and the man who might
be able to prove my innocence was about to leave town.

To my surprise, Morgan headed south, taking 1-55
down toward the Delta. That would have been the last
place I expected him to go. As far as I knew, he was a
man without a place to stay. The police in New York were looking for him, and Gordon and Dewayne had alerted
the counties around Sunflower to be on the watch for him.
He would eventually be caught, but how much better if
we could herd him right into Sunflower County where
Coleman and the gang could snatch him up. Now that I
knew he was the same man that sold me the lipstick, I
knew he held my future in his hands.

Tinkie kept behind him a safe distance, but she
chanced a glance at me. "We should call Coleman. Or at
least Gordon. I'm serious, Sarah Booth. We need official
intervention here. If Morgan slips away from us, we
might not find him again. Coleman can set up roadblocks
and take him into custody. We can question him then. If
we can get him to admit he sold you that lipstick, then
you're off the hook, Sarah Booth"

To the east, the sun was creeping up the horizon. Another day was beginning, and for most people I knew,
their lives would fall into the normal rhythm of a Saturday morning. "You're right. We have to get him into custody." We were exhausted.

I pulled my cell out of my purse, then thought better of
it. We were still a ways from Sunflower County. "You
should call."

She slipped her hand into her purse, digging around
for the phone.

"Want me to hunt?" Tinkie's bag was almost as big as
she was. She had all of her cosmetics, credit cards, checkbooks, Blackberry, and God knew what else in there.

"Sure"

Just as I took the purse, I heard her indrawn breath. I
looked up to see that Morgan had floorboarded his
Tahoe. "I think he might have realized we were following
him."

I didn't know how that was possible. We were a hundred yards back and the cruise control was set on seventy-four,
a respectable four miles over the speed limit. Just like he
was. But something had spooked him. Some bee had gotten into his bonnet.

"Should I follow him?"

"We can't afford to lose him now." I dialed the sheriff's office number on her cell phone and handed it over to
her. She gave Dewayne the statistics in rapid-fire sentences. When she snapped her phone closed, she shook
her head. "He's flying, Sarah Booth"

And he was. He was doing at least 120 on that straight,
empty Delta highway. While the Caddy could handle the
speed, the SUV had a different center of balance. A couple of times it wobbled on the road as a wind current
swept over the empty fields and buffeted it.

"Did Dewayne say they'd stop him?" I asked.

"He was calling Gordon and Coleman to set the roadblock. I'm supposed to call back if he turns off the main
highway."

"I wonder what spooked him."

The answer came from behind us. The silver Porsche
buzzed past us as if we were standing still. I barely caught
a glimpse of Graf behind the wheel before he was gone,
blistering down the highway toward the Tahoe.

"Damn!" Tinkie had the pedal to the floor, but the
Porsche was created for speed. The Caddy was a luxury
vehicle.

"What is Graf trying to do?" I had no idea what he
hoped to accomplish by chasing Morgan.

In the early morning light, the little silver car had blended
into the gray highway. It was like he disappeared. The Tahoe
was still visible, and far in the distance a truck pulling a
tractor waited on the side of the road. When I saw it, I had
a bad feeling.

Tinkie's grip on the wheel tightened, and she eased off
the gas. We both saw the farm truck edge forward onto
the highway in the path of the Tahoe. It was almost like a
movie. The truck and trailer pulled onto the Interstate, the
Tahoe swerved into the left lane to avoid it, the Tahoe
wobbled slightly, ran off the road, swerved back on and
slammed into the side of the trailer, then bounced away,
veering off the road and into the ditch.

Morgan didn't have a chance. The Tahoe flipped three
times, all sorts of things flying out the openings as the
doors were wrenched free. Finally the vehicle settled on
its roof, dust roiling all around it. The explosion that followed felt like I'd been kicked by Reveler, and we were
still a quarter mile away.

I saw the Porsche then. Graf passed the wreck without
even slowing. He disappeared in the distance, swallowed
by the highway that faded into nothing.

In the carnage of Morgan's wreck, it didn't matter to
me that I was outside Sunflower County. Tinkie and I
waited, unable to do anything except watch the Tahoe
burn. The farmer, shaken but uninjured, sat with us as we
listened for the sirens that marked the arrival of the
deputies and an unnecessary ambulance. There was no
way Robert Morgan could have survived the wreck and
then the fire.

Tinkie didn't say anything. We both sat mute, watching the flames. The one person who could have proven
my innocence was dead. Perhaps he had killed Renata for
his own reasons. Most likely, we'd never know. Morgan
had died and taken his secrets with him.

Coleman gave me a look when he arrived, but his primary focus was on the safety of other drivers who were beginning to fill the highway now. He took a statement
from the farmer, and then Tinkie, and finally me.

"You're out of Sunflower County," he said.

"I realize that" I couldn't read his expression.

"Why don't you and Tinkie head home? Get a couple
hours sleep. Then I want to talk to you. At the sheriff's office at eleven."

I couldn't tell if he wanted to talk or if this was a plot
to get me close enough to the jail so he could throw me
in and lock the door. I honestly didn't care. I was beaten
down. My last hope at exoneration had been cremated in
the Tahoe.

I got in the car and slumped against the seat.

"I'm sorry, Sarah Booth" Tinkie touched my arm.
"We were so close."

"When I feel better, I'm going to kick Graf's ass all
the way back to New York" Why had he done that? Why
had he given such hot pursuit to Robert Morgan?

My head spun with fears and rationalizations, and none
of them changed the fact that I was in serious trouble.

--felt at least a hundred years old as I tossed beneath the
--hand-sewn quilts on my bed. Winter sunshine danced
in the windows, and if I looked out, I'd see Reveler and
Miss Scrapiron playing in the paddock. They'd become
the fastest of friends, and though I should have called Lee
to come and fetch her mare, I didn't. As long as I was
free, I wanted Reveler to have his lady friend. If I went to
prison, Lee would take Reveler and care for him. She was
that kind of friend. Tinkie would take Sweetie Pie.

But what of Jitty? Would she wait for me here? Tinkie
and Harold would stop the bank from foreclosing on my
mortgage as long as they could. But in reality, they couldn't
pay off the debt if I were sentenced to life. Dahlia House
would fade and decline without love. And though my friends
had true-blue hearts and money, the bank had rules and
stockholders to account to. It wasn't a personal charity
fund that those three could dip into whenever they felt the
need to rescue a friend from financial ruin. And if this
happened, what would become of Jitty?

As if I'd called her, she shimmered into being at the
foot of the bed. She wore a floor-length cotton gown, with
pale pink ribbons woven through the bib, and her hair was
braided and hung on her shoulder. If she'd had a candle in
one hand, I might have thought she'd stepped right out of
time and into my bedroom.

"Mr. Sandman must have an appointment with you," I
told her. "I'm glad one of us looks like she's going to get
some sleep."

"I don't need it. You do " She sat so lightly on the foot
of the bed that I couldn't feel her body weight. Then
again, she was a ghost. How much did she weigh? I'd
heard the weight of a soul was twenty-one grams. Jitty, I
was sure, would be only a fashionable nineteen. "Why
aren't you snoozin'?" she asked.

"I can't sleep. I'm worried."