Smarty Bones (32 page)

“Jane ‘Jitty’ Jetson. Where’s L. Ron or Elroy or whoever?”

“I’m not worried about my children, I’m worried ’bout your fiancé.”

At least she’d cured my near energy collapse. I was wide awake, recharged, and thrumming with anxiety. “Why cartoons, Jitty? Will you just tell me that?”

“Sarah Booth, girl, that’s not the important question.” Her voice softened. “But I’ll tell you. As a kindness to Miss Alice.”

“My great-great-great-grandmother asked you to tell me something?” A million possibilities tumbled in my tired brain and I almost swerved off the road again. Why not ask Alice? She was alive during the Civil War. She
would have known
—or at least known of—Tilda Richmond. And all the other characters. She would have firsthand knowledge of the events surrounding Tilda’s escape from unwanted matrimony, her years in Washington, D.C., the scandals of her affiliation with Abraham Lincoln, and her untimely death. Grandma Alice could lay out the past, and then I’d be able to figure out the future. “What did Alice say?”

“Alice says there’s a future for you, Sarah Booth. No matter what happens, you come from people who don’t quit. Who don’t give up. She wants you to remember that.”

Not what I wanted to hear. Icy fear tickled down my spine. “Why did she send that message? Has something bad happened to Graf?” Jitty could not play coy. She had to answer.

“I don’t know, Sarah Booth. There are things even I can’t see. But Alice wants you to hold on to the future. ‘Hold tight, like you’re ridin’ a chargin’ stallion in a wild wind.’ Those are her words.”

“Jitty, just this once, please, tell me if Graf is hurt. If he’s—” I couldn’t say it. “I’ll never ask you anything from the Great Beyond again, but this time,
please
.”

Jitty shook her bobbed red hair. “Oh, you’ll ask, Sarah Booth. You’ll beg. You’ve got plenty of drama in the future, and it isn’t on a stage. You draw turmoil like a turd draws flies. If I could see the answers you want, I’d break all the rules to end this misery for you. All I can see are glimpses. And I know whatever happens now, you’ll smile again.”

Frustration fueled my hands and I jerked the SUV to a patch of dirt on the roadside and slammed on the brakes. If I could put my hands around her neck, I’d choke her. All I wanted was an answer. A simple yes or no. Was Graf alive? Was he injured?

In the milky light of the moon, Jitty was as cool as marble and just as calm. “Gather yourself, Sarah Booth.”

“Tell me.” I wasn’t negotiating anymore. I wanted an answer.

“I can’t. It’s that simple. The fact I stay at Dahlia House to watch over you is a violation of the natural order. Alice and Libby and James Franklin, they’re mighty strong-willed. But if I told you things, if I did that, I’d be called back.”

“Where is Graf? Can you tell me where to look?”

“The way to the future is one step at a time. Now, get yourself together and get busy solvin’ this case. The answers are there for you. Even the ones you won’t like.”

I would have sold my soul to the devil to know Graf was safe. The problem with such a bargain was I might not get the answer I wanted. I leaned down on the steering wheel and inhaled. I needed a cigarette, but I didn’t have any and there was no time to stop and buy a pack. The nicotine craving was a reaction to stress. I pushed it away and pulled myself together. I had to. There wasn’t a choice.

When I sat up, Jitty was gone.

Yet she’d left me with a clue to resolving the Lady in Red issue once and for all. But that was far down on my list. I didn’t care what Olive or Webber wrote—or did. I wanted Graf home safe and sound.

When I pulled into the parking lot at the courthouse, Coleman’s patrol car was there. And so was Tinkie’s Cadillac and Cece’s hybrid. And Harold’s car.

Pausing for a moment beneath the statue of Johnny Reb that graced the courthouse entrance, I stared up into the bronze face. He was so young, and so tired. The men of both armies had walked into raging battles where thousands of their comrades died. They’d stepped forward, knowing they would likely die. And if not death, their reward would be crippling wounds and maimed bodies. Yet they’d soldiered on.

Where did such courage come from? Was it merely youthful foolhardiness?

I didn’t have an answer.

Delay wouldn’t give me false courage. I ran up the steps and down the hall, and pushed in the door of the sheriff’s office. Heads swiveled in my direction. On the faces of my friends I read everything from pity to mutinous anger.

“I sent the ambulance to get Buford,” Tinkie said, all business. “Oscar’s meeting him in the ER. If Buford accuses you of anything, Oscar will shut him up. That’s what friends do for each other.”

The blood rushed into my cheeks. I had no defense. She was right. Friends looked out for each other, and though I’d been trying to protect her and Cece, she would never see it that way.

Coleman stepped into the awkward breach. “Webber’s vehicle was spotted in Jackson circling the morgue. The fingerprints on his office sofa matched prints at the morgue break-in. Good tip, Sarah Booth.”

“I found out what the Heritage Heroes and the Evergreen Tree group are up to—they’re trying to force the outcome of the state election. The supreme court justices. They want to control the judicial branch, but I don’t know that they were doing anything illegal.”

“That’s a worry for tomorrow,” Coleman said. “I’ll put in a call to the secretary of state’s election fraud unit and they can see what’s what.”

“There’s been no sign of Graf.” Coleman delivered the bad news, so I didn’t have to ask. “And I cut Olive loose. She was in jail for her own protection, but she doesn’t need safeguarding.” Anger heated his words. “Olive received a series of death threats, which she reported to me. That’s why I stayed so close to her. She wouldn’t take them seriously, but I had to.” Coleman’s temper climbed. “It took me a while, but I tracked down the threats. Olive sent them to herself. This was all hype for her documentary and book. When this is done and Graf is safely home, I’ll pursue action against Twist for wasting my time and the resources of this office.”

“You were never involved with her?” Cece asked. “I wondered how you could be. Dah-link, that would be like a tumble with a role of barbed wire.” She gave him a hug that ended in a pinch on the arm. “You could have told us, you know.”

Coleman cleared his throat. “I’ve asked the highway patrol to set up roadblocks on the main routes to stop Webber. Of course there are dozens of cotton field roads he can use, and he’s familiar with the farm-to-market road system. Why anyone would steal a corpse is beyond me, but if he has the Lady in Red, we’ll recover the body.”

Cece did a runway pivot as if rehearsing for the Black and Orange Ball. “Do you think he’s holed up in some ratty motel with a corpse? Puts a completely different spin on
Psycho
, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t care about a corpse—I want to find Graf.” Webber and Twist could go hang for all I cared.

“We should start at the B and B. I’ll convince Gertrude to let me search the unused rooms. It’s possible Graf is on the grounds.” Tinkie lifted her shoulders and straightened her back. She had to be as tired as I was, but she found her second wind. “Gertrude will talk to me and she hates you, Sarah Booth. This is a job I can handle and I’ll report back if I find a shred of evidence.”

Tinkie was helping me, and it was more than I deserved. “Thank you, Tink.”

“Take your dog home and check on your cat,” Tinkie said with more kindness than I could have mustered.

“I need to buy a new cell phone first thing tomorrow.” Oscar had retrieved mine, but it was in sad shape.

“Take mine.” Harold handed it to me. “Your friends only want to protect you,” he whispered.

“I have your gun. I didn’t shoot it, but there’s blood on it. I’ll clean it and return it.”

“Worry about such things tomorrow, Sarah Booth. Let’s go. I’ll follow you home to be sure you make it safely. For good measure, I’ll check the house and grounds.”

Even if I’d wanted to argue, I didn’t have the grit. I could only be thankful that my friends cared enough to look out for me, even when I made them worry.

18

When I drew near Dahlia House, I was flagged down by the two guards Coleman had stationed there. They gave an all-clear report and said the horses were grazing peacefully in the back pasture. No one had bothered the house or the animals.

I eased to a halt at the front steps. Harold’s car door slammed in tandem with mine. As we went up the steps, he took my elbow. “Roscoe’s in the car. I could call him in and stay with you for a while. I’m too wired to sleep, and I don’t really want to be alone.” He was worried about me, but he was too smart to rub my nose in it.

“Bring him in to play with Sweetie. Maybe he can soften her heart.” My dog had given me the cold shoulder on the ride home. Highly miffed at being left behind, she let me know it.

Pluto ran around the corner of the house to greet me, and Sweetie yodeled a mournful salutation at him. The cat walked past without even a whisker-twitch in my direction. I gathered Pluto in my arms. He was a rotund kitty, but it was all muscle, with a large helping of brains and courage. “You saved my life,” I whispered as I kissed his head. Pluto didn’t appreciate public displays of emotion, and he leaped from my arms, tail swishing, and led the parade across the porch.

The five of us, Pluto, Roscoe, Harold, Sweetie, and I, stopped in the foyer, gobsmacked. Dead silence echoed through the rooms. Dahlia House had felt this empty only once before—when I returned after my parents’ funeral.

The smell of old furniture, wood polish, and the passage of time permeated the air. The hall clock, an antique grandfather model, ticked ominously. I hadn’t wound it in weeks. Graf must have assumed the chore, but he never even mentioned it. He was like that, doing the small things that meant so much to me.

A sound of distress escaped me. Harold’s fingers clamped my elbow—the steadying hand of a friend.

When he was here, Graf filled the house with a manly scent of spice and forest. His step on the polished wooden floors created a familiar creak and sigh—and I missed those sounds. I wanted Graf home, safe and unharmed.

I pushed forward to the kitchen and brewed a pot of coffee. It was nearly dawn. No point in trying to sleep now. Harold loaded the dishwasher, working with quiet efficiency. We both needed to stay busy.

“Sweetie? Roscoe?” I retrieved two special doggy bones from the freezer and put them in the microwave to thaw. It would take some doing to win my hound’s forgiveness. She sat on the kitchen floor, facing away. When I called her name she wouldn’t even acknowledge me.

Harold sat down beside her and snuggled her into his arms. “She wanted to keep you safe,” he told her. “Don’t be such a hard-ass.”

“Be-yurlllll.” Sweetie’s response, though spoken in hound, was clear. I was in big trouble with her.

“I’ll make it up to you,” I promised as I stroked her long, silky ears. And when she began to thaw a little, I kissed the top of her head. Roscoe cackled—it sounded exactly like the Wicked Witch of the West. Harold didn’t deny the dog was part imp. Maybe half. Roscoe sprang at Sweetie’s face with demonic gusto. She growled and snapped at him—and the game was on. They tore out of the kitchen through the swinging door and I heard them thundering up the staircase.

“Thank you,” I said. Sweetie could never deny a request from Harold.

Pluto was on a special low-cal kitty diet food, but I treated him to an expensive can of kitty cuisine, then poured two cups of coffee.

“Will you go with me to the attic?” I offered a cup to Harold.

“I’d prefer the Casbah,” Harold said drily, “but the attic is a close second.”

His reference to the 1938 classic movie
Algiers
called to mind a former client, the beautiful and mysterious Hedy Lamarr Blackledge, named for the exotic and mysterious actress who starred in the movie. “If I could close my eyes and wake up in Algiers, it might be tempting to run away.”

“You’re as beautiful as Hedy Lamarr, Sarah Booth. But you’re as loyal as Sweetie Pie. You’re never abandon a friend in need.”

I retrieved two flashlights from a kitchen drawer and gave him one. When we reached the second-floor landing, he tilted his head to indicate the dogs were following us up the stairs. “And you’re as determined to have your way as Roscoe. We’ll find Graf, and everything will be set to right.”

I blinked back the surge of emotion and trudged upward to the attic. I had a reason for wanting to explore the old chest in the far corner that had belonged to my great-great-great-grandmother Alice.

The attic access was behind a closed door that gave onto another flight of stairs. When Dahlia House was built, the attic had served as a ballroom. If I ever had money to spare, I’d renovate the high-ceilinged room and hold a fancy-dress ball. Maybe for my wedding reception. Maybe just this once I’d take the money Graf so generously offered to help with Dahlia House. Maybe I’d show him that I could share my history and my home. If he came through this okay, I’d change my ways.

Our footsteps echoed eerily in the cavernous room filled with furniture, clothes, and Delaney artifacts. When I found the pull string for the overhead light, I flooded the attic with illumination.

“This is a treasure trove,” Harold said. “It isn’t the Casbah, but it’s something else.”

I ignored the plastic-wrapped racks of dresses that dated back to the Roaring Twenties. Alice’s clothing, which I would have loved to possess, hadn’t survived the war. Photographs had captured the antebellum splendor of her wardrobe, but none of the dresses remained.

“Help me open this steamer trunk.” I set down my coffee and flashlight. Harold and I put our backs into the effort, and the lid of the trunk groaned wide. The musty odors of crumbling pages and old sachets made me think of Aunt Loulane. I could almost hear her—“The past is best left
in
the past.” She had a homily for every occasion, which didn’t mean she wasn’t accurate.

“Are you seeking something in particular?” Harold asked. “Or is this just a side trip down History Lane?”