Bones to Pick (21 page)

As the coffee began to perk, I heard the bathroom door slam. I made some fresh toast and poured a glass of orange juice. After a little while, I took them to her.

She sat pale and shaky on the old horsehair sofa. Her hand trembled as she took the toast. "I think I might die."

"No chance of that. You'll recover."

"I have this vague memory of glass breaking."

"Good. When you get the bill from The Club, you won't deny the wreckage."

Her face screwed up, and I got some aspirin. She swallowed them down without complaint.

"Cece is talking to Marilyn and Lorilee on your behalf," I told her.

"Good." She ate a little more toast. "I owe you an apology."

"Not me. Oscar maybe, and a half dozen other people, but not me."

"No, I put you in the middle of my marriage. That's not something you do to a friend. I'm sorry, Sarah Booth."

"I'm sorry you're hurting, Tink. But I know Oscar loves you. And you love him. Remember, the past is a nice place to visit, but it isn't where you want to linger. You have to let it go."

Her jaw set in a stubborn line. "You make it sound so easy."

I knelt beside her. "Tinkie, of all the people in the world, I'm the last one to preach to you. I'm haunted by the past. That's why I know it's so important to let it go." I patted her knee. "Or you could end up like me."

The doorbell rang, and Tinkie burrowed against the arm of the sofa. "If it's Oscar, tell him I died."

I chuckled softly as I opened the door to Cece. She was ravishing in a black slack suit with a faux fur-collared vest embroidered with gold. Her stiletto boots clicked across the floor as she unerringly zoned in on Tinkie.

"Well, well, if it isn't the vandal of high society." She tapped her toe, completely unsympathetic to Tinkie's sorry state.

"Go away," Tinkie croaked.

"I'm here for an interview. And to think, I turned down working for a really big newspaper in
New Orleans
so I could interview my friend about a drunken hair-pulling in Zinnia,
Mississippi
."

Tinkie forced herself upright. "If I recall, it was only a few weeks ago that I stood by you when you tackled a supermodel in the middle of the biggest high-society ball in the Southeast."

Cece grinned, her perfect white teeth glistening in the dim morning light. "How true, dahling. Birds of a feather and all that." She sat on the sofa. "Gather round. I had the most interesting night. I almost came over here, but I feared one of you was sleeping it off and the other was merely sleeping."

"What happened?" I knew she'd been with Marilyn and Lorilee, respectively. It must have been a grueling night, but if Cece had gone without sleep, I couldn't tell it.

"Lorilee was the bitch I've known for years, but Marilyn ..." She tapped her finger on the sofa arm. "Marilyn was very informative. Were you aware that Lorilee's husband, Charles, was arrested last year for attempted murder?"

Tinkie and I shook our heads. "No." We were all ears.

"It's a rather strange and bizarre story and follows closely on the heels of Lorilee's lust for the weed-eater boy."

Cece, knowing she held her audience captive, looked around. "A Bloody Mary would be nice."

I made three and forced one into Tinkie's hand. It was minus the raw egg, but I thought it might revive her. "Now tell us," I demanded of Cece.

"About three weeks after Charlie caught Lorilee with the boy, Lorilee was out in her yard, running the weed eater." She smiled. "Poetic justice, isn't it?"

I made a threatening gesture.

"Okay, okay. Lorilee was weed eating around the garage when the lawn tractor suddenly shot out of the garage, riderless, and nearly ran her down. Because of the noise of the weed eater, Lorilee didn't hear the tractor until it was almost on her. The only thing that saved her was a faucet. The tractor hit it and was diverted at the last minute."

"The tractor started on its own?" I found this too strange.

"Spontaneous starting?" Cece was having way too much fun. "I've heard of that when people live under high-voltage power lines.

"Death by mower." Tinkie was at last smiling. "Now that would have been a real mess. Talk about compost."

"That's disgusting." But I couldn't help laughing. "But even if the mower started by itself, how did it get gas?"

Cece had the answer. "I checked out the police report in their hometown. It appears the gas pedal was stuck at full throttle. If the damn thing had hit Lorilee, it would have flattened her and kept on going."

"Spontaneous starting and a conveniently stuck gas pedal? I'm just not buying that this was accidental."

"Hence the fact that Charlie was charged with attempted murder," Cece reminded us. "Lorilee dropped the charges when there were no fingerprints found on the mower. None. Not even hers."

"And the police let it go after that?"

Cece nodded. "I'm certain they felt it was all set up by Lorilee in an attempt to put Charlie on the defensive if he sued her for divorce."

"That's too crazy even for Lorilee." I looked at Tinkie.

"Do you think there was--" Tinkie was cut short.

"A note?" Cece finished. "Absolutely. That's why Lorilee charged her husband with attempted murder. She had written evidence that someone had threatened her."

"Does Lorilee still have the note?" I asked.

Cece shook her head. "I'm not sure. Marilyn didn't know that, but she did know that Quentin had found out about the arrest for attempted murder. Lorilee was livid. Charlie almost divorced Lorilee about the weed-eater boy and the false arrest, but then he backed off. Quentin was just about to drag it all out in the open again." She grinned. "It would have been the end of Lorilee's marriage for sure."

"And good motive for murder." Tinkie rose unsteadily to her feet. "I need a shower."

"Indeed, you do," Cece agreed. "While you're cleaning up a bit, I'm going to make more Bloody Marys." She grabbed the decanter of vodka and headed to the kitchen, pausing at the door. "By the way, Marilyn and Lorilee have agreed to drop the charges against you. You can thank me later."

"How did you do it?" Tinkie asked.

"I pointed out that I might pick up where Quentin left off and write a second tell-all. They chose not to be a chapter."

"I didn't realize they were that smart," I said as I got a notepad and followed Cece into the kitchen. While she found celery, olives, and the other ingredients, I made a few notes to myself.

"Did you know that Genevieve Reynolds received a threatening note, and then her mother was accidentally killed?" I wrote that down.

"Killed how?"

"Crushed by books. The note said Genevieve would die under the weight of her own intelligence."

Cece stirred the drinks and put them on the table. "May I make some cheese grits?"

"Go for it." I listed Marilyn Jenkins's name. "Marilyn's mother was killed by falling rocks while she was acting like a slut."

I had Cece's undivided attention. She held the bag of grits in her hand, but she stared at me.

"The note to Quentin said she would pay for dragging her family's name through the mud. And now we find out that Lorilee was almost killed, and she received a note, too. We need to find out what it said."

Cece put the grits in the pot and turned down the heat before she picked up the telephone and dialed The Gardens's number. "Lorilee Brewer," she said in her imperious tone.

In a moment she continued. "Lorilee, whatever did that note say when you were threatened?"

There was a pause. "
'Like wheat before the scythe, you will be cut down for your lust.
' Very interesting. Uh-huh, thank you." She hung up and turned to me. "What's going on?"

Tinkie returned looking half-alive. She took the drink Cece had prepared without comment.

"There's another death we need to look into." I glanced at Tinkie. "We need to go to
West Memphis
. Belinda Loper."

"The hairdresser?" Cece was intrigued.

"Right. We need to find her sister, Jolene."

Cece refilled her Bloody Mary from the pitcher she'd made. "So Genevieve Reynolds, Lorilee Brewer, Quentin, and possibly Belinda Loper all received notes? This would make a fabulous story."

"And clear Allison," Tinkie said. The beverage had obviously restored her brain function.

"But it also means that the killer is still on the loose," I pointed out just as the doorbell rang.

We all jumped, and it was Cece who leapt up first and ran to the front door. There was no sign of a person, but a small package had been left on the porch. As we approached, we realized the package was moving.

Humming, actually.

"It's a bomb!" Tinkie grasped our hands and pulled us back into the house. "Call the bomb squad."

I looked at her as she slammed and locked the door. "We don't have a bomb squad."

"Then call the sheriff's department!"

"Brilliant idea," Cece agreed, whipping out her cell phone and placing the call.

Before anyone could stop me, I rushed out the door and kicked the package as hard as I could. If it was a bomb, it wasn't going to blow up Dahlia House. The package flew across the lawn and landed in the driveway, rattling against the oyster shells.

We took our positions, peering out the front windows, waiting for help to arrive.

16

Within six minutes we saw flashing blue lights headed toward Dahlia House. Acting sheriff Gordon Walters must have jumped in the patrol car and floorboarded it. The glance I shared with Tinkie told me we were both impressed.

"Nothing like seeing the boys in brown jump to it," Cece drawled. None of us made a move as the patrol car skidded to a halt ten feet from the package, which I now noticed was pink and wrapped with a red bow. I suddenly had a very bad feeling.

"My, my," Cece said as Coleman Peters stepped out of the car and walked toward the package.

I unlocked the door and yanked it open. My bare feet slapped across the porch as I ran toward Coleman. "No! Don't touch it!" I yelled.

"My God, she thinks he'll be hurt," Tinkie cried, and I heard her running after me. Halfway across the lawn, I felt her arms tangle in my legs as she tackled me with a flying leap. I went down with a hu-ff-ff.

"Don't move!" Coleman ordered just as Gordon and Dewayne drove up in a second car. Gordon was wearing what looked to be a catcher's outfit covered by a Kevlar vest.

"Stand back, Sheriff," Dewayne said. "I'm equipped to handle it." He bypassed everyone and ran to the box.

He stared at it, bending closer. "It's not ticking. It's humming."

I swallowed and made no effort to dislodge my legs from Tinkie's grasp. We both lay in the grass, she in her attire from the night before and I in my flannel pajamas. I put my face down in the winter-dry blades and prayed that the ground would swallow me up.

'Just a minute here," Gordon said, tearing off the bow. "If this is what I think it is." He lifted the box lid, pushed aside the layers of tissue paper, and pulled out a humming vibrator. It was very lifelike.

"Good lord," Coleman said.

"It's the Elvis," Cece screamed, rushing over to it. "Watch." She hit another button, and the vibrator began to gyrate.

Cece pointed it at me with an accusatory glare. "You always had a thing for Elvis."

With as much dignity as I could manage, I said, "That does
not
belong to me."

Coleman's blue gaze raked over me, and though I wanted to cringe, I didn't. I wasn't responsible for the things left on my porch.

"There's a note," Cece said.

I wanted to beg her to shut up, but I merely arched my left eyebrow.

"It's handwritten, and it says,
'Warm up with The King; I'll be by later tonight."'
Cece looked at me. "It's signed Humphrey."

"Humphrey Tatum?" Coleman asked.

"He has a thing for Sarah Booth," Tinkie said softly. "He just won't give it up." She assisted me to my feet.

I couldn't speak. My tongue was paralyzed. I could only look at Coleman and wonder why he hadn't called me. Not even once. And here he was back in town and back in uniform.

"I guess the bomb scare is over," Coleman said. He cast one unreadable look my way, walked to his car, and got in.

Unable to do anything else, I stood frozen. He was leaving.

Tinkie edged past me and walked to the patrol car. She lowered her head to speak directly to him, but her voice carried back to me.

"What in the hell is wrong with you?" she asked him. "Are you in town, or are you moving?"

He gazed straight out the front window, ignoring me. "I don't know," he answered. "That's the whole problem. I don't know what to do." He stepped on the gas and shot down the shell drive, the faintest wisp of dust trailing after him.

Cece still held Elvis as she walked over and put an arm around me. "This is a very expensive model," she said, handing it off to me. "Whatever else you say about Humphrey, he gives top-of-the-line gifts."