Smarty Bones (31 page)

“You won’t cover any ground if you try to ditch us,” Tinkie said. “I may be shorter than you, but piss me off and I can be a lot more devious. I will complicate your life like a stomach virus on a desert trek.”

I couldn’t allow Tinkie’s vivid image to distract me. The minutes sped away like scattered stardust. I could stand there and argue, or I could take them along with me. Or I could trick them. Door number three. “Let’s get the Range Rover.”

I headed for the tennis courts, wondering why Gertrude hadn’t moved the vehicle out of her precious four o’clocks and back to the parking lot. She had the key. There was no explaining the way Gertrude’s mind worked.

What I was about to do would be hard for Tinkie and Cece to forgive, but I would worry about that later. I’d begun to operate in a place where right and wrong blurred. Saving Graf pushed everything else to the fringes. I’d often heard that a person was capable of anything under the right set of circumstances. Now I understood with my heart as well as my mind.

Walking through the dappled moonlight on the grounds of a paradise, I wanted to thank Cece and Tinkie for such devoted friendship. For such intelligence and heart. Maybe they’d let me when I got back.

The Range Rover was tucked deep in a jungle of flowers that smelled as sweet as any summer night from childhood. Four o’clocks sprouted from a tuber and grew wild. Their blooms opened at four o’clock each afternoon and released a heavy, sensual perfume that was gone by dawn’s first light. The flowers, in variegated pinks and whites, yellows, and purples, covered the car.

“I’ll back out of the plants so you can open the doors,” I told them. “Keep Sweetie Pie with you.”

As I got in, I locked the doors, reversed quickly, threw it into drive, and gunned it. In a matter of seconds I blasted down the path toward the highway. Tinkie and Cece, as well as Sweetie Pie, would have a hard time forgiving me for tricking them. Maybe there’d been a different choice, but I hadn’t seen it.

I drove to Harold’s house. I didn’t expect approval, but of all my friends, Harold had the most complete understanding of me. Of who I was, and of what I might be capable of doing. My gender was not an issue when my anger and fear were aroused, and he would not treat me like a weak sister.

After a sleepy greeting, he stepped out of the entry to allow me to pass, but I stopped just inside. “I need a gun.”

Harold’s head tilted slightly. “What kind?”

“Something with a clip. I need several clips, too. Not a twenty-two.” I meant to blow them up, not wing them. “I’m used to a Glock.”

“Wait here.”

When Harold returned, he had a Glock 17 and five additional clips. That gave me over a hundred rounds. Annie Oakley on steroids.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“They have Graf. Whatever it takes, I intend to find him and bring him safely home.” The one thing I could not afford was to let my fear blossom out of control. I fought to remain tough, factual.

Harold handed me the gun. “Be careful. Can I come with you?”

“No. I’m headed to Buford’s. If you don’t hear from me, that’s where I went. Cece and Tinkie will be looking for me. They’ll call you.”

“I won’t lie to them. And you know I have to call Coleman. I’d stop you—”

“And I’d never forgive you. My choice, Harold.”

“And my choice to send reinforcements.”

I nodded. “Then delay them. I won’t endanger my friends again.” I felt a pinch on the back of my calf and looked down into the demented eyes of Roscoe. “If something should happen to Graf and me, I think Sweetie would love to spend time with you and Roscoe. Tinkie will take her. But Sweetie needs her dose of the dark side.”

Harold caught my hand and kissed the pulse at my wrist. “You’ll be fine, Sarah Booth. Pity the fool who comes between you and your love.”

“Take care of your daddy,” I whispered to Roscoe and slipped out the door and into the night.

We were into the wee hours of the morning. Dawn wasn’t far away, maybe three hours. If I meant to keep the element of surprise, it was now or never.

I headed east, toward Highway 55 and the center of the state. By logical deduction, I figured if the Heritage Heroes had Graf, then Buford was the go-to. He was absent from the cotton field shenanigans, so either he was busy with Graf or he was drunk.

He would, hopefully, be sound asleep. Buford knew the members of the Heritage Heroes and who did Jeremiah’s bidding. Before I left his sty, I’d make him squeal like a piggy.

As I sped through the night, I turned the question I’d asked of Jeremiah on Buford. How had a man with a solid future ended up in this place? Buford had too great a fondness for the drink. He didn’t have the mean streak Jeremiah had, or the desire to punish. His life was a caution for everyone—how easy it was to step from happiness into a world of dark emotions. Too bad Oscar hadn’t convinced him to voluntarily enter a mental facility. Now he was going to deal with me.

Buford’s white shell drive was surrounded by hardwoods that provided cover for a gracious, raised Creole cottage. Two elegant curved staircases led up to a beveled glass door and a veranda offering a shady rest on all four sides. Oscar was generous with the allowance he doled out to his cousin. Unlike Jeremiah, who had been given a lump sum inheritance to squander, Buford had been wisely kept on a financial leash.

I parked a dozen yards off the driveway and walked to the house, which was dark. I’d half expected guards or an alarm, but I’d underestimated Buford’s arrogance. He felt safe, privileged, beyond the reach of those who opposed his madness. All the better for me, I thought.

Harold wouldn’t be able to hold Tinkie and Cece off for long, so I had to get this done. I missed my hound and the redoubtable Pluto. But the kind of men who participated in this stupidity would think nothing of shooting a dog or cat. Probably not of shooting a woman, either, since they seemed to categorize living things into two categories—men and inferior beings. I couldn’t risk the people and animals I loved.

But I would find Graf.

I made it up the stairs without creaking a board. The front window was locked. If the floor plan of the house was similar to others of that style, Buford’s bedroom would be in the rear. I eased around to the back, trying windows as I went. If I had to break one, I would.

Which I did. Using the butt of the gun. Before I was certain whether the noise had awakened Buford or not, I ducked inside and made for the bedroom, Glock at the ready.

Buford was sprawled in a beautiful old sleigh bed, his mouth open, snoring. I smacked his feet with the gun barrel, and he awoke on a snort. “What? What’s going on? Why are you here?” He fumbled at the bedclothes. “Sarah Booth Delaney?” Indignation began to inflate him. “You have no right to be here. Get out! Who do you think you are, breaking in like that?” He pulled the sheet up to his chin.

“Where’s Graf?”

“That man you keep? How should I know?”

“Buford, there’s no one here to help you or hear you scream. I brought bolt cutters. I’ll start at the first joint of your toes. Each time I ask a question and you don’t answer, I’ll snip off another joint.” I whapped him upside the head with my hand to show I meant business. “That’s for tying up my friends.”

It took a moment for him to regain his senses, but a new light of respect shone from his eyes. “I have no clue where Milieu is. Why would I know or care?”

“Let me tell you what I know. I know about the Heritage Heroes. I also know about the Evergreen Tree cell. I’m not certain what you’re up to—yet—but I will find out. I suspect if you don’t serve time for kidnapping, you’ll end up in a mental facility where they’ll keep you so drugged you won’t be a danger to yourself or anyone else.”

“I’m perfectly sane. What a ridiculous threat.” He swung his legs to stand, but when I pointed the gun at his heart, he stilled. “In another few weeks, we’ll have the state judicial system in our pocket. I’ve invested wisely, and we’ve got the money to support our candidates. Once the state supreme court is responsive to our agenda, you’re going to see big changes. No more women running amok. No more illegals taking the jobs from our citizens. No more minorities getting a free ride.”

State elections would be held the first week of November, but I’d hardly given them a passing thought. Buford was spouting another whole brand of craziness.

“Coleman will deal with this. My concern is Graf. Who is the most likely person to have him?”

“None of us. What use is he to us?”

“To keep me from investigating you.”

Buford’s laughter came deep from his gut. “You’re kidding, right? Our goal was to run you and Cece off, not taunt you into more investigation. That Twist woman couldn’t have come at a worse time to stir up controversy and get the media down here. I have no clue where your fiancé is and furthermore I don’t care.”

I didn’t believe him. I put the gun to his head. “Where is Graf? Give me the wrong answer and someone will be cleaning your brains off the wall.”

At last the reality of his situation sank in. He wasn’t certain whether I would pull the trigger or not, but he’d sobered up enough not to risk it. “Wherever he is, we’re not involved. I swear it.”

“Not the right answer.” I pressed the muzzle hard enough to make him whimper.

“Call Jeremiah. Ask him.”

“You call. Put it on speakerphone, and if you say a word about me being here, I’ll kill you and I won’t blink an eye.”

He fumbled with his cell phone and dialed. Jeremiah’s gruff hello was tinny over the speaker. Buford had to clear his throat. “Jeremiah, do you have that actor fellow, Graf Milieu?”

“Have you lost your mind? What would I do with him?”

“Just tell me. Do you have him?”

“Are you okay, Buford?” Suspicion oozed in Jeremiah’s voice.

I pushed the barrel a little deeper into the flesh at Buford’s temple.

“No, I just woke up. Bad dream.”

“Don’t lie to me, Buford. What’s going on?”

A glint of fire sparked in Buford’s eyes. “That Delaney bitch is here. She thinks you’re holding her boy toy hostage.”

“Tell me where Graf is and I won’t hurt Buford. Again.” I smacked the gun on top of his head. Buford’s cry of pain was gratifying. Another retribution for tying up my friends.

“Buford, don’t let her bluff you. She won’t kill you. We’re on the way.”

Before Buford could say anything else, I whipped the gun against his cheek. He went down like he’d been struck by lightning. I picked up the phone. “Buford’s no longer conscious, Jeremiah. And I have news for you. The Lady in Red was stolen from the morgue in Jackson. Olive Twist is in jail, so she doesn’t have her. This is going to have the national media down here by daybreak.”

“Who took her? Who—”

“You answer my questions. If you don’t have Graf, where is he?”

“I don’t know, Sarah Booth. I’m not lying. We had no reason to take Graf.”

In my gut I knew Jeremiah was telling the truth. He didn’t have Graf or know what had happened to him. He and the Heroes weren’t involved in Graf’s disappearance.

If the hate group didn’t have Graf, I had no clue where to find my fiancé or how to help him. The realization was as profound as a gut-kick from a mule. I’d wasted hours chasing the wrong lead. I’d assumed Jeremiah or Buford was responsible.

I’d gone off half-cocked, ready to blame the easy target.

I called Tinkie from Buford’s phone.

“Buford?” she answered warily. “What the hell are you up to now?”

“It’s me. And I need help.”

The long silence told me how angry Tinkie was. And she had every right to be. At least she hadn’t hung up on me.

I tried again. “Graf isn’t being held by Jeremiah and his group. I don’t know who has him and I don’t know where to begin looking. I’m sorry, Tinkie. I was afraid I’d have to shoot Buford and I didn’t want you to share the blame for what I did.”

“You think if Buford was holding Graf hostage I wouldn’t shoot him myself?” Her indignation couldn’t be missed.

“Buford is Oscar’s cousin. I hurt him. A little.”

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine. Do you know who stole the Lady in Red?” There had to be a connection between Graf’s abduction and the body theft.

“Coleman talked with the lab. They have fingerprints from the break-in. The thing is they don’t have Webber’s to compare. Somehow he’s avoided a criminal record.”

But I knew where to obtain prints. “Tell Coleman to call campus police at Ole Miss. Webber has a leather sofa in his office. I’m sure his prints are all over it.”

“You want me to
relay
that to Coleman?”

Tinkie was nobody’s fool. She realized I didn’t want to talk to Coleman. Furious wouldn’t begin to describe his feelings toward me. “Please.”

“Webber’s in the wind. No one has seen him, either. I think he snatched the corpse—for what purpose I can’t imagine. Maybe he has Graf, too.”

“Thanks, Tinkie. And I’m sorry. Please tell Cece.”

“Tell it to your dog. She’s been frantic.”

I hesitated. “I know. I’ll pick her up.”

She must have heard the hopelessness in my voice and she took pity on me. “We’ll find Graf, Sarah Booth. We will. And he’ll be fine.”

*   *   *

Weariness clobbered me on the trip back to the courthouse. I was no closer to finding Graf than I had been when I left my friends in the dust. Adrenaline had carried me as far as it could. I was about to crash.

“Get the robot to drive the damn car.”

Jitty had joined me, but I couldn’t bear to look at her. Great private investigator that I was, I couldn’t find my fiancé. Graf, the answer to Jitty’s dream and heir-apparent dilemma, was simply gone. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Her perky tone caught me by surprise.

I chanced a look at her and the SUV swerved onto the shoulder before I righted it. Jitty’s red hair was parted in the center. Her minidress revealed full cleavage, slender thighs, and a tiny waist. Her face was all angles, from wide cheekbones to pointed chin. Jane Jetson rode shotgun with me. “Don’t you know any cartoon characters who are fat or dowdy?”

“Of course I do. But who would want to be them? Pa-lease! Marge Simpson with blue hair, married to that moron Homer? By choice? What planet are you from?” She coyly cocked a shoulder. “I’m from Earth.”