Buried Bones (28 page)

I put a hand on her shoulder. Tinkie couldn't take both her father and me chewing on her in one day. "It's okay. I wonder what set him off."

She shook her head, her blue eyes wide.

"He won't cut off your trust." He wouldn't either. He might get mad at Tinkie, but she was his only child. In his own way, he adored her. Tinkie had lived up to every expectation. She was beautiful, well groomed, a tempting bauble for any man to have at his side, and she'd married well, never causing gossip or a scandal by dating bad boys. Her only flaw was that she hadn't produced a child, which I suspected was Oscar's doing. Oscar was so tight he'd squeeze a nickel until the buffalo screamed. A child, what with private schools and college, would be an incredible expense.

"It's not my trust. Daddy won't disown me. He can't. I'm all he's got," Tinkie said slowly. "I saw his eyes, Sarah Booth. He knew something. And that scares me." Her bottom lip disappeared into her mouth as she sucked it in concentration. "What really went on up at that lake?"

I'd talked to everyone I could who'd been at
Moon
Lake
that summer and was still alive. Everyone except Jebediah Archer and the people who ran the Crescent casino. It was time for a road trip.

"I intend to find out, Tinkie."

"Sarah Booth!" She squeezed my arm. "Behind you."

I turned to find myself face-to-face with Brianna. She wore a black designer gown and five-inch heels, which put her at six-four. She had the height advantage, but I had the moral low ground.

"So, you decided to lurk in the kitchen with the help. How appropriate," she said. "Harold thought he saw you sneak off, and he asked me to come and see what you were up to. I think he was afraid you might be trying to steal the silver."

I
was
collecting the crystal, but I wasn't about to admit it. "If Harold's so concerned about what I'm doing, maybe he should come and check himself." It was a pitiful rebuttal, but the best I could do with my head full of
Moon
Lake
.

"Harold's too busy to be bothered with the likes of you." She turned to Tinkie. "And I'm shocked at you, cowering back in a kitchen corner. What's Sarah Booth doing, blackmailing you?"

"Sarah Booth is my friend." Tinkie stepped forward, and for a split second I was reminded of Chablis. They were both petite, and they both had a lot of heart.

"You always did take up for the underdog." Brianna's lip curled. "One day you're going to get bitten, Tinkie. Remember the old saying, 'Lie down with dogs, get up with fleas.' "

"Fleas are curable, Brianna. Stupidity isn't."

Score one for Tinkie!

"If you can drag yourselves out of the corner, Harold's going to make a toast. I'd like this particular photo to be on the society page." She looked at me. "Chop chop, Sarah Booth. You are working, you know."

"I'd like to plant my shoe right up her butt," Tinkie said as Brianna pushed through the door into the dining room.

I held up my hand for a high-five. "But you were terrific."

"Let's go hear this toast, and then I want to go home. My feet are killing me, and Oscar's threatening to fire the maid. I have to get home and keep the peace."

The duties of a wealthy wife. I grinned at her. "Let's go. And I have some evidence I need for you to sneak out for me." Tinkie would be the perfect person to haul out the wineglasses. After the fingerprints were removed, I'd figure out a way to get them back to Harold.

"Sure," she said, giving me a curious look. "Whatever you need."

I did the obligatory party shots as Harold toasted
Lawrence
's literary accomplishments and his humanity. His final words made me lower the camera and look at him.

"
Lawrence
was a man who held his friends and their secrets dear."

When I felt Harold staring directly at me, I lifted the camera to my eye and went back to work.

Cece nodded to let me know I was fulfilling her needs. At last it was over. I waited on the porch and gave Cece the camera and rolls of film I'd shot.

"You did great," she said. "I never really doubted you."

"Right." I grinned to let her know I didn't blame her. "Let me know how they turn out."

"I will. Where's the camera bag?"

I had a fib ready since I'd sent it off with Tinkie, filled with wineglasses. "I left it in the car. I'll run it by tomorrow."

She gave me a long, curious look before she hustled away, eager to get back to her story for the paper.

I was standing on the porch alone when Harold came out the front door. "I'd hoped to have a word with you," he said.

"Brianna isn't much use for intelligent conversation, is she?"

"Sarah Booth, I'm shocked at you," he said, barely able to hide his amusement.

"I'm shocked at you."

He lifted his eyebrows. "She's a beautiful woman."

I found my throat suddenly jammed. To my horror, I realized it was a lump of jealousy.

"I hear I'm the number one suspect in the murder," he said.

His abrupt change of topic derailed my green-eyed monster. I looked directly into his crystal gaze and tried to fathom what he was thinking. His mask of complacency was carefully in place.

"I don't believe that's exactly true," I hedged.

"Don't bother denying it. I've had a long talk with Coleman. He's a direct man."

If he valued directness, I'd give him a shot of it. "It's Brianna and the will. The
unwitnessed
will." I let that hang long enough for him to understand how easy it was to draw the wrong conclusion. "By the way, who does inherit
Lawrence
's things?" I'd heard that the
Caldwells
allowed him to live in the cottage free because he had no regular income.

"I inherit everything."

That was surprising, and it required all of my facial strength to keep my mouth from dropping open. "I didn't know you were that close," I said as casually as I could muster.

He shrugged. "There're lots of things people don't know."

Beneath that shrug was something else, something that glimmered with a patina of pain, but it was gone before I could pin it down.

"Is there anything of real value?" Mostly a rhetorical question, I asked it because I realized that of all the motives for murder I'd toted up, monetary gain from inheritance hadn't even made the list.

"Yes, quite a few things."

Another surprise. This time I didn't bother to hide my reaction. "No kidding. What?"

"
Lawrence
often encouraged young artists, as you know. When he had money, which was sporadic, he frequently bought artwork as part of his support system. Of course he had a fabulous eye for real talent. There's a storage facility in
Memphis
with quite a collection of early Warhols, Dalis and Monets, and some younger artists who are now very valuable. Not to mention some unpublished short stories of Faulkner's. Along with some other, lesser-known writers who achieved a certain amount of literary fame."

It was a good thing the porch railing was there and strong. I grasped it tightly and held on until my head quit spinning. "He had all of this stuff in a storage bin. Is it ruined?"

Harold put a hand on my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Nice jacket. The cut emphasizes your long legs."

"Screw the jacket! What about the paintings and stories?"

He squeezed a little firmer, moving his fingers in a way that suddenly made me sigh with pleasure. "It's a climate-controlled storage vault. The artwork is well preserved."

"You paid for the storage, didn't you?" A place like that would cost several hundred dollars a month.
Lawrence
could never have afforded it. "That's why he left them to you."

He shook his head. "He left them to me because he knew that I'd see they were properly placed. The
Lawrence
Ambrose Collection. It sounds nice, doesn't it?"

"You're giving them to a museum?" My stomach fluttered.

"Yes. To a place that will preserve them, along with
Lawrence
's reputation as a writer and artist. It's the best way I know to make sure he isn't forgotten."

With that kind of money, I could restore Dahlia House and then turn my hand to the life of a liberated Daddy's Girl. Imagine the mischief I could get into with my highly polished attitude
and
some money.

His hands working the tendons of my shoulders brought me back to reality. "Maybe, Sarah Booth, it would be best if you let the past rest."

Those words undid all of his massage. My neck tightened and I stepped away from him. "Why?"

He met my gaze. "Half a century has passed. Not even the ghosts are interested any longer."

"You're forgetting one small thing, Harold." I was having difficulty breathing. Harold was asking me to drop my investigation into
Lawrence
's murder.

"No, I'm not forgetting. I'm accepting. And
Lawrence
would prefer to let it drop. You have to trust me on this."

"Even if I let go, Sheriff Peters won't."

"Coleman has other things to occupy his time. It wouldn't be improbable for
Lawrence
's death to be ruled accidental. He cut his hand washing dishes."

There was a pain in my chest. I knew it wasn't medical but emotional. "
Lawrence
trusted you." The words were an accusation of his betrayal, if not more.

"I wish you would, too."

"He was poisoned." Each word was a deliberate stab at him.

"Sarah Booth, he's dead. There are other people who are alive."

I backed away toward the door. "I don't believe this."

He remained where he was, sadness slicing over his face once again and then disappearing in the carefully controlled mask. "You'd better. For your own sake, stay out of the past and away from
Moon
Lake
."

I hadn't heard Brianna come up to the door, but there she was. Her smile was victorious. "You tell her, darling."

18

Tired of pacing, I sat at my bedroom window and watched the sun push back the blackness of the night. It was going to be a gray day, one to match my mood. Although I'd gone to bed early, I hadn't rested. The case was working on me.

Ramone Gilliard's words at
Lawrence
's funeral were like tiny little digs of a sharp knife. Someone wonderful and unique had left this earth, and he'd been taken away before his time. Greed, fear, the protection of an old and moldy secret--whatever the motive--
Lawrence
had paid with his life. And half the town was saying to forget about it. Even Harold. Especially Harold.

I stopped at my window and looked out into the grayness. Normally the view from Dahlia House of the surrounding fields soothed me. This morning, the vista held a strange emptiness.

"How important is this case to you, Sarah Booth?"

I'd been expecting Jitty--her question was no surprise.

"It isn't the case." My eyes burned from lack of sleep.

"Maybe you should just drop it."

I rounded on her. "I can't."

"Sure you can. Just call up Madame and tell her you quit. You're not keeping her money anyway. Let Coleman tend to it."

I leaned my head into my hands and closed my eyes. I was bone weary. "I can't."

"Sarah Booth, I know you don't want to disappoint her, but think of what's at stake."

I'd spoken briefly with Jitty the night before, telling her of my conversation with Harold. What I hadn't been honest about were my fears. I'd never truly considered that Harold was involved--in any way--with
Lawrence
's death. I still didn't believe he'd done anything evil. But he was protecting someone who had. And betraying
Lawrence
in the process.

"I know what's at stake." I rose slowly. "Harold."

"Can't you just let it go? You don't want to take on the role of that Greek girl who opened the box."

I turned to look at her, and for a brief instant I wanted more than anything to find my place in the world she offered. I knew then why she chose to spend her time in the fifties. Women weren't allowed to risk. Father knew best. Men assumed the burden of responsibility. Women nurtured and accepted. I didn't want to completely yield to male dominance, but God, I didn't want to risk--at least not so much.

"What if you find out Harold
is
involved?" she persisted.