Smarty Bones (13 page)

“Anyone else on your list of suspects?”

“Frances Malone was certainly upset. She made public threats.”

“She’s harmless and you know it. She wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“I still have to speak with her and check her alibi.”

I didn’t envy Coleman. For all her bluster, Frances was delicate. The idea she might be
considered
a murderer would send her into a hissy fit. “Be gentle. You know she isn’t capable of harming Boswell, or Twist.”

Coleman’s crooked smile told me he didn’t view Frances as a real suspect. But a good investigator followed every lead.

“Any news on the exhumation?”

Coleman’s amusement vanished. “Twist will eventually get the order. The identity of the woman in the grave is a mystery. If Twist is willing to pay for the exhumation and the necessary DNA tests to identify the dead woman, I’m willing to bet the judge will rule in Twist’s favor.”

“And no one can stop this?”

Coleman shook his head. “A family member, but there isn’t a proven one.”

“Digging up a body seems wrong,” Graf said. “I mean, rest in peace should mean something.”

I completely agreed, but I understood the law wasn’t our friend in this instance. “I’ll call Tinkie and we’ll talk with Twist. I honestly don’t want to work for her, Coleman.”

“Then don’t.” Coleman didn’t pull any punches. “This will divide Sunflower County and the Delta all the way down to Lexington. If I could steer clear of this rolling stink bomb, I would.”

“Sarah Booth’s curiosity has been stirred.” Graf rumpled my hair. “Might as well let her feed it. I suspect Dr. Twist will be headed north by the end of the week. Might be delicious for our little Southern flowers to fleece the carpetbagger.”

“From your lips to God’s ears.” Coleman touched the brim of his hat. “Let me know if Twist confesses. And a word to the wise: get your retainer up-front, Sarah Booth. Olive likes to live large.”

Graf and I watched him walk away. “Let’s get that Bloody Mary,” I said. “I need to be fortified to deal with Twist, and I have to talk with her.”

“I’ll expect a full report when you get back.”

“Come with me,” I suggested.

“Not just no, hell no.”

I didn’t blame him. Not even love could drag him down that long, rocky road.

*   *   *

Tinkie climbed into the front seat of the roadster. “I thought about this all afternoon. I don’t want to work for her.”

“Neither do I.”

“Then why are we going to The Gardens to talk with her? Send her an email or a text message. Tell her we don’t have time.”

I had to laugh. Not so long ago, Tinkie had read me the riot act about the horrors of breaking up with a man by text. I would have thought the same applied to a business deal. When I asked her, she gave me an exasperated expression signifying I was gaucher than a grub.

“Twist is not a lady, nor is she a friend. We’ve never been involved with her in any way. She’s a
potential
client, who has yet to pay our retainer. We can decline the job by text.” She swatted my shoulder. “Stop laughing at me. It’s rude.”

“If we’re not going to continue with her as our client, we owe it to her to tell her face-to-face.”

“Since when did you become a maven of good manners? Last I heard, you were threatening to send Graf’s ring back to him by FedEx.”

She had me there, but I still had a little mischief in me. “We’ll find her and you tell her we quit.”

“Did she really hire us? No money crossed my hand.”

I turned down the beautiful drive to The Gardens. “She agreed to our price. When we went to Lexington, it might be construed as working for her.”

“I was working for Frances Malone. She’s a lady with some class. And Twist is a … I don’t know what she is, but it isn’t a lady.”

“Point taken.”

Tinkie lowered her sunglasses and pierced me with a blue gaze. “Go dancing with Satan for the price of a song, Sarah Booth, and just see what happens.”

“Hang on!” I swerved the car as someone jumped out of the shrubs in front of us.

“Holy shit!” Tinkie slammed forward, but the seat belt caught her before her face hit the dash. “Who the hell was that?”

Behind us Gertrude Strom stood in the middle of the drive shaking a fist at me. Tinkie’s jaw jutted forward.

“Let me handle the old bat.” Tinkie unbuckled her seat belt and opened the car door. “I’ve about had it with her low-class conduct. I’ll set her straight.”

Because I really wanted to hear it, I turned off the car and followed Tinkie.

“Do you realize you almost made us wreck?” Tinkie hurled the words at Gertrude as she stormed toward her. “Even a cow has more sense than to walk in front of a moving car.”

“Not really,” I whispered to Tinkie. “Cows don’t comprehend vehicular right of way.”

“Shut it!” Tinkie whispered back. She zeroed in on Gertrude. “What is wrong with you?”

Gertrude put the back of her hand to her forehead. “Thank goodness you’re here. I need help.”

“What help? Maybe shoving little children into ovens?” Gertrude was not my favorite person and I saw no reason not to devil her.

“Twist and Webber are at each other’s throats. They’ve hurled insults to the point they’ve declared a duel! I overheard them in the hydrangea garden. They’re set to fight it out at high noon.”

“There’s still time to find a good seat,” I said, consulting my watch. “Is it to be swords or pistols?” I had no real concern that the two academics would physically harm each other.

“I won’t have blood shed on my hydrangeas! High iron content in the soil will change the color, and I’ve worked so hard to achieve this dusty shade of pink.”

The woman was madder than a hatter. I couldn’t even compose a witty comeback.

“What are they quarreling about?” Tinkie, always the practical partner, asked.

“I don’t know. I have to stop it, though. Think what it will do to my B and B’s reputation if two guests try to kill each other.”

“It might increase business,” I said.

All expression dropped from Gertrude’s face, followed by sudden hope. “Do you really think so? The economy has been awful. Business is down forty percent, and I could use a boost.”

“Where are they?” Tinkie pushed me toward the car.

“The hydrangea garden,” Gertrude said with some irritation. She didn’t like repeating herself.

“Where are the hydrangeas?” I asked.

“Behind the summerhouse.”

I had a general idea. The grounds of the B and B sprawled for hundreds of acres. Gertrude had developed gardens on thirty acres centered around the physical building, but there were nature trails and wooded acreage behind us. I jumped behind the wheel of the car and Tinkie and I took off. We went straight through the parking lot and behind the tennis courts. I halted beneath the branches of an incredible old oak. In the distance I heard, “I’m gonna gitchew, you sonofabitch-chew.”

I was stunned Dr. Olive Twist knew the lyrics to a Kinky Friedman tune—much less could imitate a Texas-Jewish accent. Perhaps there was hope for her.

Instead of musing on musical heroes, Tinkie sprang from the car and ran into the clearing. “What the hell?” was her bemused comment.

I followed and found Webber and Twist standing inches apart, facing each other. Neither held a weapon, and both were red-faced from fury.

“You aren’t a historian, you’re a terrorist!” Olive shouted at Webber.

“And you, madam, are no lady!” Webber responded, making me ponder where I’d heard that line.

Twist beat me to it. “So you fancy yourself a modern-day Rhett Butler! Dream on, you bloodless ponce.” Twist’s smirk was a victory lap.

Webber drew himself up to his full height. “And you fancy yourself a human being. Better get your DNA checked.”

“My DNA is registered, which can’t be said for your intellect. Can you even hit double digits on the IQ scale?”

Oh, ouch! Tinkie and I took seats on the roots of an old oak tree. It was like a tennis match, only much slower and there were no racquets or balls.

“Published much?” Webber sneered. “Let’s see, your last publication was in
Weekly Reader.
But oh, yes, it was peer-reviewed, I believe. A panel of second graders.”

“And your last book sold what, six copies? Didn’t your mother buy all of them?”

“At least my mother can read.”

“Thanks to a prison literacy program!”

Bada bing! Score one for Twist.

“You listen to me, you bone with a hank of hair. You leave my mother out of this.”

Too bad for Webber. He showed the first weakness.

“Got a few mommy issues, do we, Dr. Webber? You probably started your history career doing genealogy for dear old Mum. Plundering the musty bones of your dead relatives give you a boner for history?”

“What type of mother could produce the academic version of a cross between Marilyn Manson and Charles Manson?” Webber asked.

Twist muttered what sounded vaguely like “helter-skelter” and lowered her head and charged. She butted Webber’s midriff with enough force to send him staggering backwards.

Tinkie and I rushed into the fray. Enough was enough. The war of words had turned physical. I caught Webber before he fell. Tinkie dragged Olive back.

“Get a grip!” Tinkie ordered. “What is wrong with you two? This isn’t elementary school. You can’t punch each other like six-year-olds.”

“As usual, words fail her!” Webber pivoted and strode toward the B and B, leaving me to wonder if plagiarism applied to stealing great lines.

“What in the world is wrong with you?” Tinkie asked Olive. “Your assistant has been murdered, and you’re out in a garden head-butting a grown man.”

“He deserved everything he got.” Twist was breathing hard, but she was calming. “He’s just … mean!” She burst into tears.

Tinkie rolled her eyes at me. “Will you drive the car back to the parking lot? I’ll walk with Olive.”

I knew then she wouldn’t quit the case. Olive’s show of helplessness was all it took to bring out the defender in Tinkie. Great. I wouldn’t be flying to Hollywood with Graf, and Olive Twist and Richard Webber wouldn’t be leaving Zinnia, either. We would all stew in our juices until poor Jimmy Boswell’s murder was resolved.

*   *   *

I found Tinkie and Olive in the bar. Olive was sucking down Bloody Marys, on Tinkie’s tab, of course, and was feeling much better. “Webber stole that last line from Gore Vidal,” she said. “He’s so unoriginal he rips off barbs.”

“Let it go,” Tinkie said. She inhaled her drink, working on the premise, I presumed, that if she couldn’t beat them she’d join them. She signaled the waitress for a round for all three of us.

“I’ll sue Webber.” Twist dared us to disagree.

“That should be fun.” The waitress set a glass in front of me. The Gardens’ bartender made an awfully good Bloody Mary. Lots of big fat olives. I chomped one in half.

“What big teeth you have,” Olive said.

“The better to eat you with, my dear.” I wasn’t in a mood for her foolishness. If she messed with me I might bake her in a pie.

“Listen, it’s imperative I exhume the body, get the DNA samples, and get out of this place. The heat, the crazies, it’s just too much for me.” Olive fished around in her empty glass for the pickled green bean. “I have to return to a cultured environ. This is a desert of ignorance.”

Tinkie grabbed her wrist. “You’re not endearing yourself to us, Olive. If you want our help, stop acting like an arrogant jackass. Boswell is dead. From what I gather, you’re the prime suspect.”

“I speak the truth, no matter whom it offends.”

“Then let me give you an etiquette lesson.” Tinkie slid from her chair and stood up. “You don’t insult the people who work for you or try to help you. I realize you were likely raised by bloodthirsty barbarians, but it’s time for an education. You will treat Sarah Booth and me with respect, or you’ll be on your own.”

Olive simply couldn’t help herself. She bared her teeth. “That sheriff won’t arrest me. He questioned me and knows I wouldn’t hurt Boswell. Besides, there’s a spark between us.”

Now I stood. “Coleman is a good man. He’s off-limits.”

She smiled. “Got a crush on the sheriff? Does your fiancé know?”

“Off-limits,” Tinkie said. “That’s all you need to know.”

A hard pause settled between us. At last Olive broke the silence. “How can I prove I didn’t kill Boswell?”

“Convince us.” I propped on my elbows.

Twist pushed her hair from her face, and sadness settled around her mouth and eyes. “I treated Boswell poorly, I know. But he knew I cared for him. He paid attention to all the little details. His research was thorough, and he was smart. He pursued a lead until he exhausted it. He cared about this work as much as I did. Sometimes, late at night, he’d get up and work more. Why would I harm someone so valuable to me?”

In Twist’s logic, she had no reason to want the young man dead. It was a start, though I wondered if she was aware he had been working behind the scenes to betray her.

“Have you noticed anyone strange following you?” Tinkie asked.

“Half the people in this town are strange.” Twist held up a hand. “Sorry. No one has followed me.” She frowned. “So you think the poison was meant for me?”

Tinkie nodded. “I believe Boswell was collateral damage. You have a knack for pissing people off.”

“Where did you buy the coffee beans?” I asked. “We’ll start by tracing the beans and everyone who touched them.”

“They were special ordered from a little market in Costa Rica. The beans are organically grown on a private plantation. One pound runs thirty dollars, but the coffee is worth every cent. Of course, there’s nothing to compare here in Mississippi. Do you even have imported beans?”

Tinkie sighed. “Your arrogance is exceeded only by your ignorance. We have specialty coffees, gourmet cheeses, chocolates—anything you can find in the big cities you love so much. And we also have clean air, and land that grows things other than gangs and litter.”

I gave Tinkie a high five. When she put it on someone, she lowered the boom.

“Look. I don’t mean to sound so—”

“Officious. Repugnant. Bigoted. Ill-mannered.” Countless options were available to me.