Bonefire of the Vanities (22 page)

“That’s a DG saying?” I had no idea my aunt was versed in the rules of DGdom. She was a genteel woman with proper upbringing, and she’d given six years of her life to care for me until I was old enough to go to college. I appreciated all she did, all she tried to do, even though she was nothing like my mother.

“Not a rule but a well-stated principle. Men will give you what you want a lot easier if you convince them
they want
to give it—if they think it’s their idea. Sarah Booth, you just state what you want and expect them to do it because it’s the right thing or fair or some such malarkey. You make it six times harder than necessary. A little giggle, a sigh in a man’s ear, a touch on his big, strong muscles—he’s happy to make you happy. But it has to be his idea, not yours.”

I understood the theory. And god knew I couldn’t deny the results. “But it’s … dishonest.”

Tinkie threw up her hands. “
You
want to convince a man’s brain.
I
work on other parts of the anatomy. My method is more direct, and also more effective. The man enjoys it more. So how is it dishonest?”

As I tried to formulate an answer to her question, we rounded a turn and came upon the barracks where the security guards lived. It was bigger than I expected and half a dozen off-duty men, all rugged and buff, turned to watch us draw closer. Or I should say watch Tinkie. She slung those heels over her shoulder and headed straight for them.

“Which one of you is Kyle?” she asked with body language that promised a wonderful reward for the right answer.

One of the men pointed to a young man seated alone on a bench beneath a poplar tree. Kyle slumped with his head hanging, dark hair falling over his face, visibly upset. It wasn’t hard to deduce he’d heard about Amanda and was deeply disturbed.

“He’s about as low as a snake’s belly,” I said.

“I wonder why he’s still here, at work, and not with—” She inhaled sharply. “Do you think they won’t let him off this compound to go to the funeral home?”

Anything was possible at Heart’s Desire. “Let’s see what he has to say.”

He saw Tinkie headed his way, but he didn’t react. He was either deeply depressed or dead. “Kyle, we’re friends of Amanda’s,” I said as we approached. “We’d like to ask you some questions.”

“I don’t have any answers,” he said glumly. Then fire sparked in his eyes. “What the hell happened? Who killed her? She was just a kid.”

He was hurting, and I didn’t know what to do to comfort him. Tinkie didn’t hesitate, though. She sat beside him on the bench and took his hand. “I’m so sorry. This is a terrible thing. Sarah Booth and I want to figure out what happened to your friend. The person who hurt her deserves to be punished.”

He blinked back tears, and my heart ached with a dull pain. “All I know is that she called me, hysterical, saying she had to get out of Heart’s Desire before they hurt her,” he said.

“They?”

“That’s what she said. She was so upset, she wasn’t making a lot of sense. She talked to me while she packed. From the sounds I heard, she went through her room like a tornado. I told her to find me before she left. The terms of my employment dictate that I can’t leave the compound. Screw the rules! I should have gone with her. I should have quit!”

He waved a hand at the barracks and men. “This is a ridiculous crock of shit. All these guns and guards—for what? A bunch of rich people who wouldn’t cause a ripple if they all disappeared. Amanda hated her job. I should have seen to it she quit Heart’s Desire.”

He was tense with fury and pain, but Tinkie hung on to his arm. “It’s not your fault, Kyle. We would have helped Amanda if we’d had any idea she was in danger. Disliking a job normally doesn’t lead to murder. You can’t blame yourself.”

“She was freaking out when she called. She was afraid.” He flayed away at himself.

“Did she say why?” I asked.

“She only said they meant to hurt her and she had to escape. We made arrangements to meet by our tree. It grows close to the wall, and even though we never did it, you could climb the tree and drop over the wall. We found the tree together and talked about how we’d see each other if one of us quit, using the tree. She was so unhappy with that Korean chef in the kitchen.” His anger burned away his tears. “I planned to climb out tonight and meet her. But she never made it off the compound. They killed her.”

“It’s possible it was an accident,” Tinkie said, tightening her grip on his hand. And a good thing, too. Her words were like gas on a fire.

“Amanda didn’t fall down those basement steps. What was she doing in the basement? Was she meeting someone? She had no reason to be down there. She was afraid of the place where they hold the séances. She said there were ghosts down there and she wasn’t kidding.”

Fury and frustration contorted his features. “We had plans! Once we were done here, we were moving to Austin, Texas. I wanted to work on a ranch, and she could find work as a chef.”

He was breaking my heart, but it was Tinkie who put her arms around him and hugged. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Sarah Booth and I want to find the truth. We want to punish the people who did this, but you have to help us.”

I gave him a moment to compose himself. “I saw her in the parking lot, and she had her things and was dragging them to her car. She was supposed to follow a friend of mine out of the compound, but for some reason she turned around and went back. Do you know why?”

“Hold on,” Tinkie said, tipping her head toward a trio of men drawing close. Two watched Tinkie, but the third one focused on Kyle. “You two go someplace quiet,” Tinkie said. “I’ll handle the troops.”

Tinkie did have her ways. I left her to it, and Kyle and I walked to a screened-in recreational area and took a seat in a corner. Tinkie charged the men in full-tilt flirting mode. Within two minutes, she had their complete attention.

“I can’t believe this,” he said. “Amanda was a child, really. She never did a bad thing to anyone.”

“You said Amanda was afraid. You don’t have any idea why?”

He struggled to find an answer. “She said there were spirits in the house. Unhappy spirits.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I thought it was her imagination. Amanda hated Yumi and the butler. She despised her job. I thought her imagination trumped her common sense. I should have listened closer, believed in her more.”

His hands clenched and I had a split-second fantasy of Kyle landing a fist on Palk’s arrogant chin. The butler brought out the violence in me. “Did she tell you what happened to make her quit?”

“No. We didn’t have time. It’s against the rules for employees to date, so we had to sneak around late at night. This came up all of a sudden.” He looked at Tinkie making googly-eyes at the other guards only fifty yards away, and hardness settled into his features.

“You can’t blame yourself.” He would. My words offered no healing balm.

He put both hands on his knees, as if he meant to steady himself. “She called me when she was almost at the gate. She was crying hard. She said she had to tell someone at Heart’s Desire something—she couldn’t leave until she spoke with one of the guests or maybe a staffer. She thought someone was in danger.” He frowned. “She left her cell phone at the base of the tree where we used to meet.”

“She had a cell phone?” Good news at last.

“I got it for her after they took hers. She kept it hidden. We used it to make dates, you know, text each other. She was afraid to try to sneak it past the guards. In case they searched her on the way out. They’d be able to see we’d been communicating. She was afraid she’d get me in trouble, so she left it. I retrieved it after I heard she was … dead.”

“Could I see it?” I asked.

He looked around, but no one was paying any attention to us. Tinkie had the other guards gamboling about her like puppies. From inside his shirt, Kyle brought out the cell phone. “When she didn’t ever leave, I thought she’d changed her mind. It wasn’t until I heard … You can keep the phone. I don’t need it anymore.”

“I’ll bring it back,” I promised. He seemed so dismal that I added, “I’m sorry, Kyle. I liked Amanda, too. If someone did push her down the stairs, we’ll find out who. Do you have any ideas?”

“No. Palk’s an ass, but not a murderer. When you find the bastard who did this, I want ten minutes alone with him.”

I couldn’t promise that. Coleman would never allow it. I rose slowly. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Don’t come back here,” he said. “They know everything that goes on. Once is happenstance. Twice is a reason for them to investigate. I don’t want to be fired—or worse—until I find out who killed Amanda.”

“Thanks.” I took his words to heart as I joined Tinkie. She bade her admirers farewell, and we headed back to the big house. I was eager to check out the phone, but I didn’t even want to try until we were somewhere no one could see us.

*   *   *

Halfway down the wooded trail, I stopped to examine Amanda’s phone. The only calls on it were to Kyle. Those kids stayed up all night messaging each other. Young love.

“That’s just heartbreaking,” Tinkie said. She had lost a lot of her sass as we read the sweet notes between Kyle and Amanda. “He texted her twenty times the night before she died.” She shook her head as if to dislodge the pain. “Man, that’s just too hard.”

The texts yielded nothing new. The phone had a camera, so we plowed through the photos. Most were of Amanda, dressed up for a rendezvous with her lover. A few sneaky shots of Yumi showed her working in the kitchen—or fussing at someone. Several were photos of the interior of Heart’s Desire.

“There’s nothing of any use,” Tinkie said. I’d told her what Kyle had related to me, and we’d both gotten our hopes up the phone might reveal something.

At last I came across what looked like a blurry picture of Yumi. I pulled it up. To my surprise, it was a video. Yumi was in the kitchen, and judging by the light, it was nighttime. I couldn’t tell what she was doing—cradling her ear? I clicked the video into action.

“I will take care of this matter,” Yumi said into a cell phone, and there was iron in her voice. “I always finish my mission. No one cracks the whip at me. I crack the whip.”

I had no doubts about that statement.

Yumi continued her rant. “I will handle this gnat, do not worry. Your political career is safe as long as you leave me to my job.”

The sound of a dish rattling caused Yumi to whirl around. The picture went crazy, then black, and I realized Amanda had slipped the phone into her pocket.

“What are you doing here?” Yumi demanded. “Why are you in my kitchen, little piggy? Here for a midnight treat?”

“I want baking soda and a lemon,” Amanda said. “I have heartburn, and those Nazis on the gate won’t let me go off the grounds to get some Prevacid. My granny used to make a lemon whiz when she had heartburn and I thought I’d give it a try.”

“You’re here to spy on me, aren’t you?” Yumi was furious.

“Why would I care what you do?” Amanda’s voice quivered.

“Who sent you?”

“Nobody sent me. I came for baking soda.”

“Get it and get out.”

There were rustling noises, then footsteps as Amanda retreated. The phone went dead. She’d turned it off.

“No wonder she hated it here,” Tinkie said.

“No wonder she didn’t want to try to smuggle this phone past the gate.”

“Do you think Yumi killed her?” Tinkie asked. “What could her mission be? She’s a chef.”

“She’s the best suspect we have right now.” I had a grand thought. “There are a couple of photos of Yumi in the kitchen. Let’s e-mail one to Coleman. Maybe he can do a background check on this crazy chef and see who she really is.”

Tinkie gave me a hug. “Some days you surprise even me with your mastery of technology.”

Without further ado, I zapped the best photo of Yumi to the sheriff’s office with a note and a question. “What have you found?” It was good to be in communication with the rest of the world again.

*   *   *

Tinkie and I returned to the big house to find Marjorie nearing a hissy fit. Clothes had been torn from hangers and thrown about the floor. “There’s a séance tonight,” she said. “Thank goodness. I was afraid we wouldn’t have another.”

My conscience pinged—I’d failed to tell her of the “visit” I received from a young girl who greatly resembled her daughter, the eerie concern the young girl had expressed. The ghost of Mariam—if it was Mariam at all—bothered me. Why was this spirit presenting itself to me instead of to Marjorie? If Marjorie was in danger, why didn’t Mariam talk to her?

In my dealings with the spirit world I’d learned a few things. One of the most important: Jitty might devil me, but she was always on my side. Mariam appeared to me, a stranger. Water dripped from her, as if she were forever caught between the Mississippi River and the present. If Mariam was in Heart’s Desire, why not communicate directly with her mother?

And another thing bothered me about the ghostly presence I’d seen. Jitty’s spectacular wardrobe spiked envy in me. Not so with the dripping ghost of my vision or on the DVD. Why was the ghostly little girl still wearing the dress she’d drowned in?

Was it because Mariam died suddenly and unexpectedly, and somehow was trapped in that moment? Was it because she was pissed off? Jitty had embraced death—and her role as resident haint of Dahlia House. Was it possible a spirit’s ultimate end was determined by attitude? That hardly seemed appropriate.

The point was, I had questions and no answers. And time to kill, until Coleman showed up or the séance began.

“I need a walk,” I announced.

“You just returned from a walk,” Marjorie pointed out.

For a moment I was speechless. It sounded like she thought I was really her maid. “Tinkie is here and I need to check something.”

“She is the more loyal of you two,” Marjorie said, annoyed.

Saint Francis on a trapeze! She was miffed because I wasn’t babysitting her. “I’ll be back.” I did my best interpretation of the Terminator.

“Watch out for ghosts,” Tinkie said, unable to suppress a smile.

I didn’t bother with a response but went out the door and along the hallway. At the first floor, I squeezed behind a decorative screen as Palk, with a half-dozen maids parading behind like chicklets, zipped past.