Bones to Pick (23 page)

To my surprise, Humphrey didn't seem elated. His face showed only concern. "The will was sealed?" he asked.

"Yes. I opened it myself."

Tinkie and I stood. Humphrey shook his head as he gazed at us. "This won't look good for Allison."

"Maybe not," Tinkie said. "But all is not lost. Sarah Booth and I have some leads."

I nodded agreement while keeping an eye on the lawyer, who was looking at Tinkie like she was the main course of an expensive menu.

"Mrs. Richmond," Jocko said. "May I have a word with you?"

"Me?" Tinkie was surprised.

"Your husband called this morning. He's hired me to represent him in divorce proceedings."

Tinkie paled. "This is a joke, right?"

Jocko stood taller. "Absolutely not. Oscar is hoping for--"

He didn't get to finish. Tinkie was out the door like a shot.

17

Zinnia's
Main Street
was jam-packed with cars and shoppers as the pre-Thanksgiving sales began to draw folks in for holiday shopping. I maneuvered through the congested streets, looking for Tinkie's Caddy. I'd already checked Hilltop, and the maid told me Tinkie had come home, checked through the house, and roared away again, sending a spray of gravel flying that cracked one of the front windows.

I also gleaned the fact that Oscar had stayed up all night drinking and had left the house in a thunderous rage and without breakfast. Too late. I should have telephoned Oscar and told him Tinkie was safe at my house. We'd really pissed him off, and I wasn't certain what the consequences might be.

Worried for my friend, I drove out to The Gardens to give Virgie her photographs. I went straight to her room, and when the door creaked open at my knock, I walked in.

There is a distinctive scent that goes with being a proper older lady--floral sachet mixed with a light talc. It is a heady and, sometimes, frightening smell for younger women who fear they may never reach the pinnacle of propriety. I thought of my mother, who always smelled of sandalwood incense and something else dark and mysterious. And Aunt Loulane, who was proper but more of a vanilla extract kind of woman. Virgie was lavender.

"Miss Carrington?" I stepped into the room and glanced around. A slip dangled over a chair, and two sensible shoes lay as if she'd walked out of them. Virgie must have left the room in a big hurry. If she knew I was looking at this disarray, she would be embarrassed. A proper lady never left undergarments lying around.

To my amusement, there was also a pair of oversized muck boots. I couldn't imagine Virgie, in her cashmere twin set and silk skirt, wearing muck boots, but she was, like Gertrude Stromm, an avid gardener.

That was probably where she was. I backed out of the room and pulled the door shut and went to find her among the vivid mums. She was kneeling in khaki slacks and a harvest-hued sweater, a flush of exertion on her cheeks as she dug a well-established buck vine from the middle of a flower bed.

She wiped her forehead with her arm. "Gertrude told me I could have some amaryllis, but this damn vine is making it difficult. Is there something I can help you with?"

"I'm not in a rush. Please, finish what you're doing. Allison sent you some pictures." She attacked the vine again, and in a moment she pulled out a huge tuberous root. She removed stout leather gloves and took the pictures, her face falling into sadness as she looked through them.

"They seemed so happy."

I motioned to a bench beneath the oak, and we took a seat. "Miss. Carrington, I don't want to upset you, but Tinkie and I have unearthed several deaths that may not have been accidental."

"What?" She put the photos beside her leg. "Who?"

"Quentin, of course, was murdered. We also believe Genevieve Reynold's mother was murdered."

"Who would do such a thing to Betty? I didn't know her well at all, but she seemed perfectly delightful. She loved her daughter. Besides, this can't be true. She died in an accidental fall."

"Maybe not." I told her about the shelf in the library.

"Who could mastermind such a terrible thing? And why target Mrs. Reynolds?"

"I believe the murderer intended to kill Genevieve." I told her briefly about my suspicions regarding Mrs. Jenkins and Belinda Loper. "We don't have substantial proof, yet, but when we find it, we're going to be able to clear Allison totally."

"That is such a relief." She picked up the pictures and pointed to one. "Allison wanted roses and calla lilies. Quentin wanted poinsettias. I was able to forge a compromise." A tear traced down her cheek. 'You can't begin to imagine how hard this is. I loved those girls like they were my own. Better than their own parents loved them. I saw such a future for Quentin."

Virgie suffered the loss of Quentin as if she were blood, and I felt for Virgie. She wasn't a woman who enjoyed pats and hugs, so I stood up and offered my hand. "We'll find the person who killed Quentin. You have my word on it."

"Where is your partner?" She dried the tears from her face with the back of her hand.

"Tinkie is running down a lead." I glanced around. I'd hoped Tinkie might be at The Gardens, but she was nowhere in sight. I needed to find her. She wasn't the kind of person to do something rash, but she was carrying a heavy load--guilt, remorse, anger, fear, and now what had to feel like betrayal.

"What kind of lead?" Virgie asked.

"Oh, the biggest one." I stepped away. "I'll be in touch."

"Let me know as soon as you find something."

"I'll
do that," I promised as I turned and hurried to my car.

I drove through town several times again, hoping to see Tinkie's vehicle at Millie's; or the Cut and Curl; or at her salon; or the coffee shop; or even the library. Tinkie had vanished.

I drove past Jocko Hallett's office on the off chance she'd gone there to kill him. The parking lot was empty. In a last ditch effort, I drove to the bank. I needed to talk to Harold, anyway.

My heart dropped when I scanned the bank parking lot and didn't see Tinkie's car. I'd hoped she'd gone to Oscar and begged forgiveness. Now it was up to me.

I parked and went inside, asking for Harold. I was ushered into his private office. While his secretary brought in a tray of coffee and Scottish shortbread, I watched him pace the room, his dark brow furrowed.

"Oscar has lost his mind," he said as soon as the door closed behind his secretary. "He's divorcing Tinkie."

"I know. I was with her when Jocko dropped the bomb that Oscar had hired him."

"This is insane!"

"I know."

He paced some more. "They love each other."

"I know."

"So Tinkie pitched a drunk. Who hasn't? I've seen Oscar so tanked that Tinkie had to support him."

"I know." I'd become very good at saying that phrase with sincerity, and for the moment, Harold didn't want or need another response.

"What in the hell is wrong with Oscar?"

"I don't know."

Harold sat down across from me and poured the coffee. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know that, either." Tinkie's lump was a heavy secret as I stared into Harold's pale eyes. "I'm worried about her."

"I'm worried about them both." He offered the shortbread, and I shook my head.

"I'm going to talk to Oscar."

"Good." He stood up. "You may be able to talk some sense into him."

It was my experience that sense could never be talked into anyone. Still, there was nothing else for it. I rose, too. Harold opened the door and stopped. "Good luck," he said.

As I walked across the marble lobby of the bank, I felt all eyes on me. Business stopped as everyone watched me tap lightly on the door to Oscar's private office.

"Come in." It was a command, not an invitation.

I opened the door and stepped in, closing it firmly behind me. The look he gave me almost boiled my blood.

"What do you want?" He rose slowly, and I could smell the alcohol from where I stood. His suit was rumpled, his hair uncombed.

"Oh, Oscar," I said, walking to his desk.

"Get out of here. This is your fault."

I had his number, though. "Tinkie is afraid." I spoke softly. "She's terrified, and if she's going to get through this, she's going to need both of us."

"She's determined to kill herself, and I for one am not going to sit around and watch."

I walked around his desk and captured his hands in mine. Though he pulled them away, I held on. I was trading on the fact that he was too much of a gentleman to fight with me.

"Tinkie's not going to die." I looked him right in the eye. "I've lost everyone I ever loved. But not Tinkie."

"She has a lump in her breast, and she won't go to the doctor."

"I know." I held his hands tightly. "I know all about it."

"She's committing suicide, and I won't be party to it."

I gripped tighter, until I lost the feeling in my own fingers. "She's not going to die, Oscar. Tinkie believes the lump is healed."

"By some miracle." His tone was scornful. "Wouldn't that be wonderful, if we could just wish bad news away?"

Only yesterday I'd been urging Tinkie to see a surgeon, but suddenly I understood. "Oscar, this isn't about Tinkie's lump. It's about your fear."

He looked at me as if I'd grown a second head. Before he could react, I pushed him into his chair and sat on the edge of the desk, blocking him.

"You have to love Tinkie enough to allow her to seek the type of treatment she feels is best."

"But she'll die."

I put my hands on his shoulders. "You don't know that."

"Cancer is--"

"Tinkie was never diagnosed with cancer."

"But it's a lump."

"And it could be anything. Benign. Some kind of fatty tumor. A fibroid. It could as easily be nothing as something terrible. You and I, both of us, have jumped to the worst possible conclusion. We're wrong. Dead wrong."

He stared into my eyes. "You're saying Tinkie is right to ignore the lump?"

"I'm saying she has a right to do what she wishes, and we should support her."

"You're as crazy as she is." He tried to stand, but I pushed him back down.

"Maybe I am, but I know if we don't stand by Tinkie, we're both going to lose her."

"All I want is for her to get the damn thing biopsied. Is that so wrong?"

I shook my head. "You want to protect her because you love her."

'Yes!"

"But you have to love her enough to support her choice."

"Even when it's wrong?"

I smiled. I'd finally come to understand. "We don't know that it's wrong. Or right. Only Tinkie knows that. She's the one who must bear the consequences of her choice, so it's her right to choose."

Oscar slumped in his chair as if the air had been let out of him. "I want to fight this. I want to take action."

"I know." I cleared my throat. "There's something else."

He looked up at me. "What now?"

"Tinkie says she can't have a child. I think the whole breast lump-doctor business is tied together."

He looked out the window onto a bustling downtown Zinnia. "She blames me. Did she tell you that?

"Blame is easy to hand out but hard to get rid of."

"I wasn't ready to be a father."

I stood up and walked around his office, taking in the photographs of
Sunflower
County
from the 1920s. To my surprise, I saw Dahlia House, resplendent with fresh paint and pots of flowers. "You and Tinkie have to figure this out together." It wasn't the most original advice, but it was true.

"There's nothing I can do to make it up to her."

"So you've quit trying?" I looked at him. "I never figured you for a quitter, Oscar."

He looked down. "I would change it if I could. I would go back and change it." He shaded his eyes with his hand.

"Maybe that's all Tinkie needs to hear."

"It won't change anything."

"Except she'll know you hurt as much as she does."

"And that's going to fix everything?"

"It's a step in the right direction." I walked back to him and rubbed his back. "Tinkie feels alone. She feels isolated with only her broken dreams and a future that looks pretty lonely."

"She'll never be alone as long as I'm alive." I hugged him. "Now you need to tell her that." He stood up. "Do you know where she is?" "I was hoping she was here, but I didn't see her." My worry returned. "I've looked in all the usual places. We were supposed to go to
West Memphis
this afternoon." Oscar frowned. "Did you check The Club?" "No. I have tried her cell phone, and she isn't answering."

"I'll drive out to The Club. I want to talk to her." "Good. I'm going to head on to
Memphis
. I need to talk to Jolene Loper."