Rock-a-Bye Bones (6 page)

“Do you think she's with someone in the music business?” At least it was a place to start, though half of Nashville was comprised of those with a big dream about making it in music. If Pleasant was using an alias, I'd be no closer to finding her.

“No, I really don't. If she was runnin' off to Nashville, she would have said so. And if she was makin' any money, she'd be sending something home for Faith. Those two girls were close as peas in a pod. Pleasant loves her family. She loves me and her cousin here. Growing up in the trailer park and getting mocked by all the kids in school, teased about where she lives and who she is, I can see why she'd want to bolt and run. I also know she wouldn't do it.” She looked me square in the eyes. “Someone took my oldest daughter. They snatched her up and took her, and no one will do a damn thing to help me find her.”

 

5

An hour later, I was pumped up on caffeine and fueled with righteous anger. The sheriff of Bolivar County, one Hoss Kincaid, hadn't lifted a finger to find Pleasant. He'd assumed, because of her family conditions or her pregnancy or her age or all of the above, that she'd run off. So he hadn't even tried to look. Not really. Sure, runaways happened all the time, but Coleman wouldn't have been so blasé about a missing, pregnant girl. Especially when her broken-down car was abandoned on the side of the road, as I'd learned from Charity Smith.

I hated driving to Rosedale, but my options were limited. Hoss Kincaid might have useful information. The second troubling aspect of Rosedale was that it sat on Highway 1, the road Gertrude Strom was suspected of traveling on toward a possible return to Zinnia. Gertrude was more than half a bubble off. To return to the area where every law officer in uniform knew who she was, what she looked like, and what she had done was downright insane. She'd also jumped a big bond, leaving a bondsman stuck. I knew Junior Wells, and he wasn't the kind of man to take kindly to such a loss. He'd be gunning for her, too, and that was literal. Junior loved his weapons and he knew how to use them. In my black little heart of hearts, I wouldn't be upset if someone ended Gertrude Strom. I blamed her for my breakup with Graf and for a lot of other things, too.

Rosedale is a small town not half a mile from the Mississippi River. I'd loved coming here and driving up to Levee Road to sit with Cece, who was Cecil at the time, and Tammy Odom, now known as Madame Tomeeka, the best psychic in the Southeast, Coleman, and several others in our high school gang. We'd play guitars and sing, and even though I had zero talent, no one told me at the time.

Pleasant Smith was talented. The song she'd written still haunted me, and I thought about the tough choices in life she'd woven into her song. No matter how old or young, those choices were still hard to make and accept.

Main Street was empty, but I parked behind the sheriff's office just to be on the safe side. I didn't want to come out and discover that Gertrude had set up an ambush. She meant to kill me. I had no doubt. As much as I blamed her for some of my problems, she blamed me for everything bad that had ever happened to her. Me and my dead mother, which was ridiculous.

My anger toward Gertrude seeped into my aggravation with Hoss Kincaid and his total lack of action. When I pushed into the sheriff's office, I was loaded for bear. He stood in front of the counter, and I recognized the sheriff from the billboard on the county line declaring Hoss Kincaid was a “work-hoss” against crime. Right.

“What's the status of the missing person report on Pleasant Smith?” I asked, rushing my jumps in a way I knew was stupid. I couldn't help myself. Hoss sported a handlebar mustache, à la Sam Elliot, and his baritone was nearly as deep. He might be crap for a law officer, but he could make a million in voice-over work.

“Miss Sarah Booth Delaney, you come busting in here demanding information. That doesn't work well for me, little lady.”

He knew my name, and I wondered why. I'd never been in trouble in Bolivar County, and I didn't think Coleman and Hoss were especially close lawman friends. “Have you done anything to find Pleasant Smith?” I slapped her high school photo on the countertop.

Hoss eyeballed me long and hard. “I heard you were uppity, but I also heard you were smart. You're not acting very smart. I don't have to cooperate with you, and I'm not inclined to put up with your attitude right now.”

His words sobered me up immediately. He'd hit the nail on the head. I was asking for his help, and he was under no obligation to give it to me. A private investigator had no more rights than a citizen when it came to cooperation from law enforcement. He didn't
have
to tell me a damn thing.

“Could you tell me what progress you've made on finding Pleasant Smith?” I restated my inquiry. When he arched his eyebrows, I added, “Please.”

“The problem here is that Miss Smith disappeared with a set of facts that doesn't support abduction. Her car appeared to be abandoned because it had stopped working. There wasn't a single indication that foul play was involved. Looked to me like she'd decided to strike out for a better life.”

“She was eight months pregnant. Hardly a time for a kid without any money or support to decide to begin a new life.” I kept my tone level and professional.

“No one saw a thing,” Hoss said, twisting the right side of his mustache like Oilcan Harry. “She took off to buy milk. She picked up a gallon at a little grocery and that was the last anyone saw of her.”

“And you figured she took her gallon of milk and hitched her way to a new life?” I did try not to sound like a smart-ass. I was about seventy percent successful.

“No, I didn't figure that at all. See, she left the milk in the car. I figured she started a new life sans milk.”

I deserved that remark, so I swallowed my pride and nodded. “Where does the investigation stand now?”

“We have a missing person bulletin out. Her photograph has been sent to major Mississippi towns, New Orleans, and Memphis. We never got a single hit. If she went to those areas, she stayed under the radar.” He calculated. “She'll be harder to find now since she's likely had the baby.”

“The baby is safe. Someone left her on my front porch. She's received medical care and Sheriff Peters is involved.” Where Libby was concerned, my trust factor was sorely lacking with Hoss Kincaid. He'd done nothing to earn my confidence.

“You have the baby but not the mother?” He had the decency to look concerned.

“Yes. I believe Pleasant was abducted and is being held somewhere.” I gave him the rest of the details about Libby but skipped over the fact that the baby was in the Richmonds' care. He could get those details from Coleman. I felt my jean's pocket for my car keys. It was time to move on. I wasn't gaining any ground here. “Thanks for your help, Sheriff. If you get any leads would you let me know?”

“I might,” he said, deliberately provoking me.

“Thanks again.” I headed out the door before I lost my temper and said something I would truly regret.

*   *   *

By the time I got back to Dahlia house, I was longing to see little Libby and get a dose of baby love. I would never admit it to Jitty, but in the short few moments she'd been completely mine, I'd felt a strange stirring in my chest.

I called Tinkie for an update and filled her in on what I knew.

“If something has happened to the mother, do you think Oscar and I can keep little Libby?”

“Tinkie, the optimum outcome is to find Pleasant Smith, the mother. Imagine how she's feeling.”

Tinkie's sigh was audible. “I know. It's just that Oscar loves her as much as I do. I never thought he'd come around to adoption, but he's talking about it. Seriously. And not just to placate me. Libby has him wrapped around her little finger. She is a Daddy's Girl in the cradle.”

If anyone could school a one-day-old infant in the art of man manipulation it was my partner. Tinkie could hand out Ph.D.s in DG training if she chose to. I'd never seen a more successful model of “make a man do what you want and love doing it.”

I entered the foyer and closed the front door behind me, still listening to Tinkie rave about the baby. “Tinkie, don't set yourself up for heartbreak. Love little Libby, but know it's temporary.”

“I know, Sarah Booth. I'm indulging in a bit of fantasy, but she isn't my baby.”

That sounded rational, but baby fever wasn't something one could will away. “Why don't you drop the baby with Madame Tomeeka and come help me with the case.”

“Tammy's out of town. She's in Memphis visiting her daughter.”

I tried to think of other friends who might take care of little Libby—to give Tinkie a break from the bonding that was going on. Cece was at the newspaper and wouldn't change a diaper for a lottery win, and Millie had her hands full at the café. Harold was great with dogs and kids, but he was at the bank working.

“Okay, I'll give you a call if I find anything.”

“You do that.” I heard the baby coo and my own heart melted. Those baby sounds spoke right to a woman's inner core.

I hung up and turned to the kitchen when I yelped from fright. A woman in a floor-length shirtwaist dress with her hair pulled into a bun stood in the parlor door. She had a baby in one arm and two clinging to her skirt.

“Motherhood is the most blessed of all conditions,” she said in a light, pleasant voice. “I have been blessed with a passel of children, all smart, all eager to journey into the world.”

I knew it was Jitty, but I had no clue who Jitty thought she was. Her habit of jumping around in time and space made me crazy. At least this was better than Rosemary with the spawn of Satan. “Give me a clue, please.”

She loved to make me guess.

“My brood calls me Marmee, and my girls grew up to be literary heroines.”

“Margaret March.” I had her pegged. “The perfect mother who raised a family of perfect girls.”

“The mantle of motherhood rested lightly on my shoulders. I had the talent for it.”

“And modest, too. I somehow don't think Louisa May Alcott is writing your lines.”

“I have no need of a speechwriter. I'm my own woman and I raised my darlings to be the same. They are perfect models of womanhood, but they are not vapid. They think, they do, they live, and, by god, they love.”

“Lucky they reside in a book. Otherwise, they might have been burned for witches with their progressive views.” I had a mind to devil Jitty a bit now that she was assuming the mother of all mother disguises. I knew what was coming next.

“Even Jo did her duty and produced an heir. Several, in fact, and they were the joy of her life.” Jitty dropped her beatific expression, and her plump white cheeks thinned, the skin shifting to the light mocha shade that was my haint. “When you gonna jump in the sack with one of those men sniffin' after you and get yourself with child?”

“It might be nice if I loved the father of my child.”

Jitty waved the phantom children from her skirts and they evaporated, as did her skirt. She had on skinny jeans and my favorite pair of boots. “Love comes and goes, Sarah Booth. Every relationship has its ups and downs. True love isn't guaranteed, but the love of a child is something you need to experience.”

I didn't doubt her evaluation, but I did question her timing. I'd just ended my engagement. I wasn't ready to jump in the sack and get pregnant just because Jitty thought I was behind schedule on producing an heir.

“You're going to pressure my ovaries into an early death.” The look on her face was priceless. I plied my advantage. “You know stress can kill healthy ovaries. Think of all those eggs shriveling away, defeated by cortisol and other stress hormones.” I had no clue what I was talking about, but lack of facts had never stopped Jitty. What was good for the goose was good for the gander, as my Aunt Loulane, fount of Proper Lady Wisdom, would say.

“You are lyin', Sarah Booth Delaney.”

I suppressed my grin and gave her my most serious expression. “I'm not.”

“You are too.”

“Not.”

“Are too.”

“Not!” I grabbed my abdomen. “I can almost feel them dying right now.” I went into a high-pitched, pathetic voice, “‘Make it stop. Make it stop. Stress is killing me.' Now that's the sound of some cracked eggs shriveling into dust because of pressure.”

Jitty waved her hand at me in disgust. “You think you're smart, but you are just a smart aleck.”

“Jitty, I'm doing my best.”

She sniffed. “Keep that little Libby for a day or two and I'll bet your eggs get a whole lot better.”

“Or it could be I discover I don't like minding babies.”

“Your mama is rollin' in her grave.”

I had to laugh then, because the one thing I knew about my mother, Libby Delaney, was that whatever path I chose to follow, she'd support me one hundred percent. “Give me some time, Jitty. There are a lot of fish in the sea.” For once, I was going to get the last word with my know-it-all haint.

“‘You don't need scores of suitors. You need only one … if he's the right one,'” Jitty replied, stealing a line from the Alcott book. And she was gone before I could think of a retort.

I put my pistol in the trunk of the car, called up Sweetie Pie and Pluto, and waved them into the front seat. I loved to ride with the top down, but it was securely in place due to the cold weather. I was headed to Bolivar County once again. I wanted to talk to the clerk at the convenience store where Pleasant Smith was last seen. Sheriff Hoss Kincaid hadn't mentioned questioning the clerk, and if his attitude was any indication, I doubted he'd made the effort. He'd written Pleasant off as a runaway. End of story.

Gertrude Strom was on my mind as I drove. She'd abducted my fiancé and shot him in the leg, all to punish me for some breach of trust by my mother. The whole thing was a fabrication, a story made up in the coils of her fevered brain. She'd demonstrated crazy again and again, and returning to the area around Sunflower County was just one more example of how nuts she was. Coming back here after jumping bail was stupid, and one thing about Gertrude, she wasn't dumb.