Rock-a-Bye Bones (17 page)

“Is Carrie Ann Musgrove her mother?” I asked.

“Yes.”

Tinkie shot me a look of warning, so I shut up.

“You and your friends need to pray Pleasant isn't harmed.” Tinkie went to the door and opened it. When Amber jumped up and ran for it, Tinkie stepped in front of her. “Send Lucinda in here right now.”

“I can't! She'll know I blabbed. I have to get this … vomit off me.”

Tinkie's eyebrow arched.

“Okay, okay. She's in history this period. I'll get her.”

“Before you go, do you know anyone who looks like this?” I showed the photo of Alfred Uxall on my phone.

“Yeah, Rudy.”

“And how do you know him?”

“He went to school here but dropped out a few years back. He'd been held back so many times I guess he was ashamed to keep showing up for class.” She laughed and the cruel girl showed through.

“Did you ever see him around Pleasant?”

“She was a freaking geek magnet. Rudy and that worm Frankie. Losers. They were drawn to her like flies to a turd.” And she was out the door like a shot.

“Why don't we pay a visit to Carrie Ann before we question Lucinda?” My partner was flushed and breathing hard. “By the way, you were amazing!”

She reached for the baby, and I released Libby into her arms. “Let's get out of here. Lucinda will come here and wonder what Amber is babbling about. Good plan. We'll use psychological warfare on them.”

“Brilliant.” And we were hoofing it out the front door of the school in ten seconds flat.

*   *   *

Carrie Ann Musgrove, née Binder, was the queen of Sunflower County High School when I attended. In the female hierarchy of public schools at that time, the majorettes were top of the heap, followed by the cheerleaders, then the friendly girls, then the female athletes, and finally, the brainiacs.

Above all of those categories, Carrie Ann Binder had reigned supreme. She was the girl with talent, with opportunity, with drive. Carrie Ann Binder had been on America's Olympic gymnastics team. She had been the best in America on the balance beam. Her picture had graced the ever-popular breakfast cereal, Wheaties.

And when she was just eighteen, Carrie Ann traded it all in for pregnancy and a shotgun wedding to Charles Musgrove, a local contractor. Perhaps she'd made the best choice, but based on what I knew about her daughter Lucinda, things didn't look all that peachy.

Tinkie got directions to Carrie Ann's house from the Internet, and when we turned down a rutted dirt road, I slowed the car. “This can't be right. Charles Musgrove is one of the foremost contractors working in the state. This area is seedy.”

“Carrie Ann and Charles divorced five years ago, Sarah Booth. You are so-o-o-o behind on the gossip. She moved to June Bug, which is a community on the line between Bolivar and Sunflower Counties.” She pointed at an abandoned trailer and a barn whose roof had collapsed. “But I didn't expect it to be this dismal. Charles caught her cheating. Photos, the whole thing. I guess the judge ruled against alimony for her.”

“Talk about the wages of sin.” We bumped along. Sweetie was hanging over the backseat licking Libby and making her laugh. “Surely Charles would have provided for his own daughter, though.”

“Lucinda sounds exactly like Carrie Ann. Maybe he'd had enough of both of them.”

But a real man doesn't walk away from his responsibilities. No matter what. I didn't know Charles Musgrove so I kept my comments to myself.

“Carrie Ann tricked Charles.” Tinkie continued the story without prompting. “She went after him, bragging to several classmates that she would be his wife before the year was out. And that's what happened. She got pregnant and insisted that he divorce his wife and marry her.”

“It takes two to tango. She was a teenager. He was what? Twenty-five? I'm not defending her, but he could have kept it in his pants.”

“True. She was smart and he was stupid. But can you imagine living with Carrie Ann for any length of time? She was awful to us when she was a big deal. Remember? She told everyone in school your parents were drunk and deserved to die.”

Oh, I remembered. Vividly. “Yeah, she's awful. Still doesn't excuse his part in it, and Lucinda is his child…” I looked at Tinkie. “Rut-roh.”

“Oh, my.” Tinkie caught the same wavelength. “Maybe Lucinda
isn't
his child. Charles wrecked his marriage and married a human spider, all because he thought he was going to be a father. What if he isn't and never was? No wonder he doesn't provide for Lucinda.”

Call me a sucker, but I felt a glimmer of pity for Lucinda. Ultimately, maybe she was nobody's child.

We pulled up at a small brick house. The yard looked like a tornado had just blown through. My pity for Lucinda notched up. She hung with the wealthy girls in high school, but she could never really belong. Coming from this home would be a hard road. I could only imagine the manipulation it took to keep her friends from dropping by for a visit.

“You're feeling sorry for Lucinda,” Tinkie said. “I know you. Always the champion of the underdog. The girl is healthy. Why can't she push a lawn mower or pick up trash? She's not afflicted with anything except a huge ego and a lack of morals. Don't feel sorry for her. She's lazy.”

Motherhood had brought out the mama bear in Tinkie. “You're not thinking of a move to Alaska, are you?” I asked.

“Have you lost your mind?” She marched through the weeds to the front door. “I knew better than to put on my good shoes, but here we are at God's little acre.” She banged her fist on the door. She was acting more and more like me than … me. “Carrie Ann, open this door and do it right now.”

When the door opened, I did a double take. Carrie Ann Musgrove looked nothing like the petite contortionist who'd been the most popular girl in high school. It had been rumored of Carrie Ann that once she locked her thighs on a man, he had to call the Jaws of Life to get free. Now, she was dowdy, overweight, tired looking, and not all that clean.

“Tinkie Bellcase Richmond, what are you doing here?” She caught sight of me. “And you, the professional snoop. What brings you here?”

That was all it took. Sweetie Pie and Chablis leaped out the car window and rushed to Tinkie's side. Sweetie's hackles rose, but she didn't make a sound. Chablis moved in closer and growled.

“My, my, look at you,” Carrie Ann said. Her small eyes held malice. She drank in the sight of Libby papoosed on Tinkie's chest, and then zeroed in on me. “Unless you managed a two-week pregnancy, Tinkie Richmond, you got someone else's baby. The question is whose?”

“We'll ask the questions,” I said.

“Those dogs need to learn their place.” Carrie Ann propped herself against the front porch column—which happened to be a four-by-four someone had nailed up a bit crookedly. “You'd better round them critters up and put them back in the car before I show you my shotgun. I could blast that little one into pieces so tiny you wouldn't have anything to bury.”

“Give it a try,” Tinkie said.

“State your business and get gone.”

“Your daughter is implicated in a kidnapping.” Tinkie pointed to Libby. “The mother of this child is missing, and Lucinda has something to do with it.”

“Prove it.” Carrie Ann might have lost her looks, but she still had her signature attitude.

“Don't worry. We will.”

“If you had anything on my daughter, the law would be here instead of you. Get off my property. And take that little bastard with you.”

“We'll find Pleasant. Alive or dead. And when we do, the law will be here.” Tinkie started to leave but spun back to face Carrie Ann. “What happened to you? Twenty years ago, you had the world by the tail.”

“Life happened. You've always been pampered and protected by your daddy's money. I never had that. I practiced gymnastics seven days a week all through high school for that one shining moment at the Olympics. My entire life peaked then. After that, it was all downhill for me. The male athletes get jobs as spokesmen or coaches or whatever. What's left for a woman? I came home from the Olympics and realized it was all over. I couldn't go back to the Olympics in four years. I would be too old, over the hill. So I took a shot at the good life I deserved.”

“You trapped a man into marriage
after
you broke up his first marriage. And the child isn't even his. Who is Lucinda's father?” I was goading her for a reaction, and I got one.

“Get off my land.” She rushed off the porch and grabbed an old rake with only four tines. It had been left in the weather and rusted away, a perfect metaphor for Carrie Ann's life. She raised the rake as if she meant to hit Tinkie with it. I started forward, but there was no need. Sweetie and Chablis were on the job. Cujo had nothing on them. At last, Pluto slipped around the corner of the house, waiting in case the cavalry was needed. Typical cat, he refused to expend energy until it was absolutely necessary.

“Hit me,” Tinkie said to Carrie Ann. She motioned for me to take Libby, which I did as fast as I could. “Hit me. I dare you. I will kick your ass into the middle of next week.”

“Tinkie!” I stepped in front of her. She was acting like a moron. She was only five-two and weighed less than a hundred pounds. I was always amazed that she could balance on five-inch stilettos and not topple over. If Carrie Ann tripped and fell on my partner, there was no doubt Tinkie would be crushed to a grease spot on the grass. “Don't be ridiculous. You aren't going to duke it out in the front yard.” My partner was way, way over the top emotionally. Baby love clouded her judgment.

“She's responsible.” Tinkie was almost breathing fire. I'd never seen her so out of control.

“If she is, she'll pay. Let's talk about this.” I leaned down. “You have a plane to catch. Pull yourself together and let's get back to Zinnia. You're lucky Bellow has a private jet.” I wasn't a big fan of Yancy Bellow, but he owned the plane that would whisk Tinkie, Oscar, and Libby into Boston for the doctor's appointment and home within a matter of hours. The trip via private plane would be much easier on the little family.

I broke up the staring match by grasping Tinkie's arm and turning her away. “Libby and I are leaving. You can stay and fight or drink tea or do whatever. I can't drag you and I'm not going to watch this descend into grounds for a lawsuit.” I started to the car.

“I hear you got left at the altar, Sarah Booth Delaney,” Carrie Ann called out. “Better snare a guy quick. The bloom is off the rose.”

I stopped in my tracks. “Kill her, Tinkie. You have my permission.” I didn't turn around, but I heard Tinkie cursing as she waded through the weeds back to the car.

Carrie Ann stood in her blighted front yard, an empty Cheetos bag fluttering past her in a gust of wind. “Don't come back here or I'll greet you with some double aught.”

We ignored her, but the minute the animals were safely in the car and the door closed, Tinkie rounded on me. “Carrie Ann is involved. The stink is all over her.”

“Possibly it's just poor hygiene. She looked rather unkempt.”

“She's guilty. She and that girl of hers. When I get back from Boston, I'm going to prove it.”

“Good plan.” On the one hand, I was relieved that Tinkie had taken an interest in work. On the other hand, she was something of a loose cannon. “I'll drop you at your car and then I'm—”

My pontificating was interrupted by the ringing of my phone.

Rick Ralston, the PI in Nashville, was calling.

 

14

I put the phone on speaker as I drove. Tinkie fed Libby, who was chugging down the formula. She had the appetite of a laborer. I eyed her with wariness now that I knew she could shoot vomit ten feet and hit a moving target.

“What have you found?” I asked Rick.

“Some very interesting facts.”

“Tinkie and I are all ears,” I said. “Be quick, Tinkie has to leave shortly.”

“Those songs you sent to me, I got a friend to play them and sing. I realized they sounded familiar. I made a tape and took it around to some of the agents I know. I had some real luck and hit on Benny Hester, one of the biggest agents in Nashville. He knew the music. In fact, he's representing the woman who claims she wrote the music.”

“Pleasant? Is she in Nashville?” I shot a sidelong glance at Tinkie, who had stopped breathing.

“No, that's not the woman who claims to be the songwriter.” Rick's voice was thin and tinny on the speaker.

Tinkie and I both were on the edge of our seats. “Who?” We said simultaneously.

“Tally McNair. She's a high school band director in Mississippi.”

“Are you sure? Young woman with black hair. Personable.” I didn't want to believe Pleasant had been sold out by her music mentor, the one person she should have been able to trust.

“I didn't think to get a description, but I will. She's a band director, though. I'm sure of that. Can you run her down?”

“I'll see her in about five minutes.”

“She's in big trouble. She said they were her songs when she signed on with Benny. He got a rising young star, Laney Best, to cut a recording. They've made a high-budget video and have planned a big release of the song. There's a lot of money in this. I heard Laney sing it at the Bluebird Café a few weeks ago. It's a damn fine song and brought the house down.”

“Thanks, Rick. Look, Tinkie will be home from Boston tomorrow. I think we'll drive up to Nashville with a photograph of Tally McNair. I want to be certain we're after the right woman.” I could easily send a photo of Tally, but I wanted some alone time with Tinkie.

“Sounds like a plan. I'll make an appointment with Benny. We'll get this sorted, and hopefully you can find the young woman who is missing.”