Bones to Pick (16 page)

"Jay and Jennifer Tatum are furious with Allison and with Humphrey."

"Why?" Allison was innocent, and Humphrey was trying to help his sister. I could understand worried, or confused, or maybe even hurt. But furious?

"Allison skewed their plans, and now Humphrey has fallen out of order." Tinkie bit into the corn bread, an expression of complete contentment settling over her face. "This is delicious. Aren't you hungry?"

I hadn't been--until I watched her eat. I picked up a muffin and buttered it. "What did they say?"

"At first they didn't want to talk to me at all. When I showed them the receipt for Humphrey's check, they were so shocked, they let me in. They were upset that Humphrey spent ten grand on his sister's defense."

"Did they express an opinion about Allison's guilt or innocence?"

Tinkie's face grew hard. "Allison is a bitter disappointment. They don't care if she goes to jail. As far as they're concerned, she's dead. That's a direct quote."

I ate the last bite of my muffin, trying to understand how parents could treat a child so coldly. My own parents would have died for me. If I'd been locked in a jail, my mother would have figured a way to break me out. She would have pulled the jail down brick by brick, if she had to. "And Humphrey? Is he dead to them, too?"

"They don't have the luxury of writing him off. He's the last hope. And he bears the name. They dote on him."

Such a position couldn't be easy for Humphrey, either. Perhaps it was why he'd developed into such a Lothario. "Are they just angry about the book, or do you think they're willing to write off their own daughter?"

"Hmm, how would you view telling me that they're going to stop payment on the check Humphrey wrote us?"

I shook my head. "Too late. It's cleared already. And where were they the night of the murder?"

"Believe me, I asked. I wouldn't put it past them to kill Quentin, but they have an airtight alibi. They were in
Washington
. Jay had gone up to see if he could get some federal funding for Tatum's Corner. The town has dried up and is blowing away. He'd hoped for some grants and was in meetings all Friday with Senator Trent Lott."

"I'd rather see ticket stubs from the airlines than take their word for all of this."

"I did get Oscar to call Lott's office, and the senator's secretary confirmed that the Tatums were on Lott's appointment book for Friday evening."

"Did the secretary actually see them?"

"Not personally. She was sick on Friday. But she did say that the senator kept a strict account of all his appointments."

"That still leaves all day Saturday."

"I stopped by the sheriff's office. Gordon is checking with the airlines in
Memphis
to see when the Tatums returned from D.C. If what they told me is true, which was a return flight that arrived in
Memphis
at ten p.m., that should give them a clear alibi for the time of the murder."

Tinkie was thorough. And hungry. Millie swept over to us with her arms loaded with platters of food. Pork chops, turnips, fried okra, squash, and sweet potato casserole. There was enough for eight people.

"I'll be back in a minute," Millie said. "There's something you should see."

"By the way, I talked to Cece, and she gave me the lowdown on your two visitors." Tinkie's lips curved up.

"Marilyn Jenkins and Lorilee Brewer? What gives with those two?"

"It's an interesting story, but it's going to have to wait for dessert." Tinkie's focus was on food and tormenting me.

"Tell or I'll steal your fork."

"Okay. It's too juicy to keep to myself." She leaned forward slightly. "Quentin hammered Marilyn on the land deal for the toxic waste disposal, but there was another story she didn't put in the book."

"Quit doling out details and tell me."

"Marilyn's mother died in a freak rock slide."

"We covered this already." I picked up another muffin. Damn, Tinkie was driving me to eat.

"She died naked."

"Naked?" Now Lorilee's comment about Marilyn's mother being a woman of loose morals made more sense. "Why would she be naked at a house she was showing?"

"The story I heard was that she was supposed to meet a contractor for a nooner. The rendezvous point was this picturesque stone wall in the backyard. Flat surface, secluded, the exotic sounds of nature all around."

I held up my hand. "I get the picture. Was Mrs. Jenkins married at the time?"

"Right. Anyway, no one is certain of the details, but something happened farther up the steep hill that caused several tons of rocks to shift and tumble down right on top of that wall where Mrs. Jenkins was--"

I held up my hand to stop her. "I get the picture." And I did, rather vividly. "Rather biblical, isn't it? She was committing adultery. The penalty for that in some countries is stoning." I shuddered.

Tinkie slowed her fork long enough to shoot me a wicked look. "I guess Quentin was so caught up in the toxic waste story that she let the landslide slip. I'll bet it was scheduled for the second book."

"And the contractor? Did he survive?"

"He must have been on top and seen the rock slide coming, because he escaped. There was no sign of him, but an agitated man called in the accident anonymously."

I nodded. "Lorilee was eager to
imply
all of this, but she was too cowardly to come right out and tell me."

Tinkie's grin was a million watts. "Remember that old saying 'People in glass houses . . . '?"

"One of Aunt Loulane's favorites."

"Lorilee should keep her rocks to herself. Quentin had the goods on her. Page 217." Tinkie picked up her tea.

"You'd know all of this if you took the time to read the dang book."

I suddenly had an inkling of the power of Quentin's book. I disliked Lorilee, and I wanted the story. "Tell!"

Tinkie daintily wiped her lips with her napkin. "According to Quentin's book, Lorilee's husband caught her in
a
delicate moment with the weed-eater boy!"

"He caught her in the act?" Talk about getting caught with her pants down.

"It's in the book, and there's not been a lawsuit filed, so I gather it must be true. Charlie Brewer followed a trail of grass cuttings and clothes to the pool cabana and caught them on one of last season's lawn chairs."

I could only shake my head. "The weed-eater boy? Would it have been more socially acceptable if he was the pool boy?"

"Make fun if you want, but it gets worse. According to the passage in the book, Lorilee was so taken with the boy's vigorous 'mulching' that she started a college fund for him. He was fifteen at the time of the affair."

"Damn. That's illegal, isn't it? Talk about a motive for murder. And Lorilee was so busy trying to point the finger of guilt at others."

Tinkie nodded. "Quentin as much as said that Lorilee was a desperate thirty-four-year-old who had to
pay
a child for sex. Desperate doesn't begin to do it justice."

Such a portrayal certainly made Lorilee Brewer look desperate, old, and over-the-hill. But it raised an even more interesting question. "Did Quentin have it in for Lorilee for some reason? They weren't in the same class. Lorilee's at least ten years older."

"I can't answer that. But Lorilee also had plenty of motive to want to hurt Quentin. Lorilee had managed to keep all of this hush-hush until the book came out. Now I hear her husband is talking divorce. Lorilee will be out in the cold without alimony or any job skills."

"The weed-eater boy? And she was paying him? Lorilee isn't so ugly she'd have to pay to get laid."

"Not on the outside, at any rate." Tinkie pushed her plate away. Beneath her stylish brown corduroy slacks, her tummy had taken on the slightest hint of a bulge.

"I've got to read that book." I'd have to dedicate an evening to go through it.

"Sarah Booth, your aversion to the written word is appalling."

"I don't have an aversion to reading. I love mysteries, but I don't like nonfiction. This isn't really nonfiction, though. It's more like an evening at The Club where everyone talks about each other's dirty secrets."

She shook her head. "Let's just say that Lorilee has as much motive as anyone else for killing Quentin."

Millie finished her work and came to the table with something in her hand. Before I could ask, she spread the pages of a national tabloid, the
Galaxy Gazette,
on the table in front of us. "Look at this." Her finger stabbed at a huge tabloid headline: DELTA DARLINGS DISH DEATH.

"Zinnia has made the big time, but the alliteration sucks," I said. "I'm sure Cece will be amused."

"Read the article," Millie insisted.

"Sarah Booth is typographically challenged," Tinkie said as she scanned the story. "Why, this paints Allison as the killer. The only person who even tries to show sympathy is Virgie. At least, they interviewed her."

"What does she say?" I couldn't read because Tinkie's and Millie's heads were in the way.

"She urges people not to judge Allison until all the facts are in. 'It isn't ladylike to judge,' she says."

"I think our next stop should be a visit to Virgie." I pulled my billfold out of my purse. "It might be good to get her take on the suspects we have so far, since they're all her girls."

Tinkie picked up the last corn-bread muffin. "If we're going to have to see Gertrude Stromm, I'm taking provisions. If she gets half a chance, she'll lock us in the basement."

'That house doesn't have a basement," I pointed out. It was built off the ground, with a crawl space.

"For all you know, Gertrude's out there right now digging a basement." Tinkie popped the muffin into her purse and led the way to the cash register.

Gertrude was busy serving tea in the conservatory when we arrived, and Tinkie, with the help of a forty-dollar tip, managed to get one of the maids to tell us Virgie's room number. Glancing over our shoulders to make sure Gertrude hadn't spotted us, we hurried down the hallway to Room 12.

"Do you remember sneaking through Mrs. Hathaway's yard?" I asked Tinkie.

"Of course. We were always terrified her Doberman would bite us." She slowed enough to look at me. "We're having exactly the same feeling now, aren't we? And it's only Gertrude."

"I'd rather face that Doberman than Gertrude Stromm," I said. We rounded the corner, and Tinkie knocked on the door of Virgie's room.

She answered it quickly, almost as if she'd been standing right beside the door. Her pearl gray suit was rumpled, and she looked worn and tired.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, forcing a smile to her face.

"How about a cup of coffee?" Tinkie, always the perceptive one, made the offer. "Sarah Booth and I would like to chat with you, but you look done in, Mrs. Carrington."

"I am tired." She straightened her shoulders. "This whole thing has been hard on me. I'm fond of Allison, and I hate to see what she's being put through."

"There's a lovely table out in the garden," Tinkie said.

"Sarah Booth, why don't you escort Virgie there, and I'll stop by the kitchen and order us all some coffee."

"Sure." I offered Virgie my arm and was surprised when she actually leaned a bit of weight on it. Watching her command performance at the funeral, I'd forgotten she was in her sixties. Now, she looked every bit her age.

"The wedding was going to be beautiful." She stared straight ahead as we walked along the polished pine floor. "I didn't approve of it. I mean my entire life has been focused on preparing my girls for marriage to a suitable man; I couldn't approve. But when I saw Quentin and Allison together, I couldn't deny what they felt for each other. I let my heart rule my head."

"That's not always a bad thing to do." I felt at a loss. Of all the people I imagined I might comfort, Virgie Carrington wasn't one of them.

"If my girls start letting their hearts rule, the structure of our society will erode. Why, look at you, Sarah Booth. You're a perfect example of that."

She'd almost won my sympathy--until that comment. "Right. I'm such a danger to the fabric of society."

Her grip on my arm tightened. "Deny it if you wish, but had you married properly, Dahlia House would be in excellent repair. You'd be planning day care for your children and the menu for your Thanksgiving dinner, not running around chasing murderers."

"That might be true, Mrs. Carrington, but what you haven't taken into account is my wishes. I don't wish to be married to someone for the sake of security and children."

She stopped and looked at me, her pale eyes amazed. "My dear, those are the only two reasons to
get
married. Why else would you even consider it?"

"For love?" I couldn't help myself. I made it a question at the end instead of the declarative I intended.

"Love? What poppycock!"

"It's become a popular concept in the last half of the twentieth century." I couldn't help myself. She'd insulted me and was now treating me as if I had a mental disorder.