Buried Bones (39 page)

"Boll weevil!" I whispered, using the curse Aunt LouLane had taught me as the vilest thing a lady could possibly say. "Boll weevil and a plague of locusts." I threw the biblical image in for emphasis.

"Is that the black coat you been lookin' for?" Jitty asked, fading in beside the front door.

"Yeah."

"You'd better give it back to Sweetie. No help for that thing now."

"No, you're right." I let the coat slide from my grip and fall on the porch.

"Girl, what's wrong with you?" Jitty put a ghostly hand on my forehead, just the slightest whisper of something cool touching my skin. "You got a fever? This is the first time you ever agreed with anything I had to say."

"How did Brianna find the manuscript?" I asked, looking at Jitty with eyes that didn't actually see her. "How did she get her mitts on it?"

"Maybe she called the psychic hotline."

I ignored Jitty and went to the phone. "Can I have some privacy. I'm about to eat crow."

"And just when you were beginning to lose some weight," she countered before she walked out of the room.

I dialed Tinkie's number. The voice that answered was throaty, a little confused. There was a loud, rhythmic noise in the background.

"Tinkie! Are you okay?"

"Oh, it's you, Sarah Booth. I was just taking a little nap." She came more awake. "Just a minute. Oscar's snoring hard enough to suck the wallpaper down. Let me get in the bathroom." There was a pause, and she came back on the line, alert and energized. "I found out where Harold is. He's gone to
Memphis
. Not much of a vacation, if you ask me."

"Did you have any . . . trouble getting the information?"

"Sarah Booth, can I tell you the truth?"

How much of this did I want to hear? I was already bogged down in guilt. "Sure." The least I could do was commiserate with her sacrifice.

"Oscar and I really had a good talk. I mean, not like you'd think. I sent all the help home and I made us a bite of lunch. Nothing fancy, just some BLTs and iced tea. Oscar was a little suspicious at first, but once we started talking, it was like back when we were in high school. He told me things-- Never mind about that. I felt kind of bad. He didn't have a clue I was working him to find out about Harold. It never entered his brain. And I guess that made me feel a little guilty, so I was nicer to him than I planned. And he was nice back to me. And then we got to laughing and carrying on. We just wore ourselves out having a good time. He even said he'd heard the gossip that you and I were working together, and he said he didn't care. He thought it would be good for me to have an interest."

"Happy New Year, Tinkie." I felt as if I'd just dodged a bullet. "I've got another assignment for you."

"Great!"

"You sure you want to leave Oscar in there snoring?" I couldn't help but tease her a little bit.

"He needs his rest." Her giggle was young and happy. "You know how men are, Sarah Booth."

"Yeah, I've got a vague memory."

She laughed again. "I think you're going to get a big surprise tonight. Once Oscar got to talking, he just didn't want to stop. He told me a big, big secret."

"About the case?"

"No, silly. Something else. Something that's going to knock you right out of your shoes."

"Sounds divine, but right now we'd better focus on the case."

"Just tell me what you want me to do."

So I did. And with Tinkie on her way to Ruth Anne's with a request to call me back as soon as she saw the caller ID, I went upstairs to select my dress for the New Year's Eve dance at The Club.

Without Jitty's nagging and interference, I made my selections in a matter of minutes. By some stroke of fate, Sweetie Pie hadn't damaged my shoes. Everything was neatly stowed in my carryall when the phone began to ring. Tinkie didn't even wait for a hello.

"You're not going to believe this, Sarah Booth, but that call was made from Lawrence Ambrose's house. Do you--"

I didn't wait to hear the last of it. I dropped the phone, vaulted over my sleeping dog, and rushed out into crimson sunset of the last day of the year.

26

Driving to the courthouse, I had one thing on my mind--to find Harold. He was the only one who might possibly be able to interpret
Lawrence
's note.

Coleman was at his desk, and when I asked about Harold, he rose slowly to his feet. "He's in the jail," he said.

My opinion of Coleman rose in equal measure with my concern. Putting a man like Harold in jail was not a politically savvy move and one for which Coleman might pay a high price. The idea of Harold behind bars was bitingly painful. "I have to see him," I said, taking tough over pleading.

"He's had his phone call." Coleman sat back down and picked up some paperwork. He, too, was playing hardball.

"Brianna's still in town." I had bait and I knew how to cast.

He lowered the paperwork. "How do you know?"

"I'll tell you, if you let me see Harold." Bartering with Coleman was a dangerous game. He could easily pop me into a cell and I knew it. "You know Harold isn't capable of murder."

"Maybe not, but he's capable of being stubborn as a mule. I'll let you see him if you can make him talk."

It was an offer I couldn't refuse. "I have my ways."

Instead of taking me back, Coleman opened the door to the jail and motioned me through. Impeccable, as always, Harold rose from his cot as I approached the bars.

"Sarah Booth," he said in that deep, modulated voice. "I'd hoped to ask you for a dance tonight. I suppose that's out of the question now." He reached toward me but stopped. "Thank goodness you're okay. Did you find anything at--"

I leaned forward, pressing my face between the bars. I didn't want him to let on where I'd been. "You've got to make Coleman let you out of here."

Coleman had come up behind me. "All he has to do is answer a few questions. But my patience is wearing thin. With both of you."

I zeroed in on Harold. "Tell him what he wants to know."

Harold's ice-blue eyes held a spark of amusement. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for the party at The Club?"

"Stop it, Harold." I could take a little teasing, but this simply wasn't the time. "I've got something to show you, something meant for you. When you read it, you have to tell the truth. You can't protect her any longer."

It was as if ice had formed in his irises. "I don't have to do a solitary thing. Let's make that perfectly clear."

"He's one stubborn son of a bitch," Coleman said with disgust. "He must like his cell, because with an attitude like that he's not getting out any time soon."

I pulled
Lawrence
's note from my pocket, waving it slowly.

Harold recognized the handwriting instantly, and despite himself there was eagerness in his voice. "Where did you get that?"

Whatever religious nutcase said confession was good for the soul had obviously never done anything wrong. I knew I was going to be in trouble with both men. "I picked it up off the floor at
Lawrence
's. When I found the body. I didn't read it until today because I tucked it in my coat pocket and Sweetie Pie stole my coat and dragged it under the house." I said it all really fast in the hopes that some of the details would slip past them.

Harold's hands grasped the bars, and Coleman's hands grasped my shoulders.

"You what?" they both said in unison.

"Read it. Out loud." By diverting attention to the note, which I handed off to Harold, I hoped to keep Coleman from arresting me.

Harold hesitated, then did as I asked. When he finished he lowered the page and stared at me. He knew what
Lawrence
meant. It was plain on his face.

"What does that mean--tears of stone on Brianna's past?" Coleman demanded.

Harold walked to his bunk and simply stood there.

"Harold, tell us," I pleaded. "I found a page of the manuscript. It's awful. Madame will be destroyed. So will your aunt Lenore. We have to find that book and . . . and ..." I stopped, because not even I could suggest what needed to be done.

"It's too late for Lenore. It was too late for her years ago." Harold faced us. "The irony of this is that
Lawrence
began his biography with the idea of helping her. The book was part of his big plan."

For a man who mostly communicated in binary language, Harold was certainly being oblique. Coleman's glower told me that Harold wasn't helping his case for freedom.

I jumped in with both feet. "I read the last page of the biography, and I'm here to tell you it's cold, hard, cruel, life-destroying fact. It isn't designed to help anyone at all. Now where's this place where tears of stone fall? We have to get there before Brianna."

Harold came up to the bars and wrapped his hands around them, one still clutching the note I'd given him. He leaned his forehead against the metal. "Sheriff, what do you want to know?"

Coleman spread his feet for balance and looked Harold squarely in the face. "How did that rat poison come to have your fingerprints on it?"

For a moment I thought Harold wasn't going to answer. Then his distinctive voice began. "I found the poison in a linen closet the night of
Lawrence
's party. He wasn't feeling well and called me over to help set up for the party. I was looking for napkins and found the poison instead. I suspected that Madame had been poisoning the mice in the cottage, and I knew it would infuriate
Lawrence
. He disapproved of all poisons. To prevent a serious fight between Madame and Lawrence, I took it."

"When did you take it?"

"That night. I put it in my briefcase in my car."

"And how did it get back in
Lawrence
's house?" Coleman asked quickly.

I knew the answer to that. "Brianna stole it out of Harold's briefcase and took it back to the cottage to frame him." From the look on Harold's face, I knew that I was right. "The only problem is that she implicated Madame, too."

Harold talked over me.
"Someone
took it. I have no proof it was Brianna."

"Stop defending her, Harold." It tore me up to see that he was still in love with Brianna, still trying to find an out for her, a way for her to avoid punishment.

Harold's eyes flashed fire. "Be careful, Sarah Booth. You don't know what you're treading on. This isn't as tidy as you'd like to make it."

"I don't care," I answered hotly. The image of Madame, so deflated and old. The memory of Cece's voice, her fear that a difficult past would rise up to haunt her. The burden of that was on my shoulders. "There are other people getting hurt here, not just your precious Brianna."

Coleman ignored the escalating anger between us. "Do you know where the manuscript is?" he asked Harold.

"Yes, I believe I do."

Coleman held up the cell key. "Where is it?"

"
Greenwood
," Harold said. "At my aunt Lenore's grave."

"Coleman, please." I put my hands on his strong forearm. "Let him out. We'll go get the manuscript and bring it back. You have my word."

Coleman stared at me. "We had a deal."

"You bet. Brianna's at
Lawrence
's cottage." It gave me great pleasure to rat her out. "She called Willem and I traced it via caller ID."

Harold's hands reached through the bars and caught my arms in a grip that conveyed passion and anger. "It isn't Brianna. Brianna is my cousin, Sarah Booth. She's Lenore's daughter."

The tension of the moment was shattered by the ringing telephone.

"Let him out, Coleman," I said, trying to detain the sheriff. Coleman ignored me and went into this office. I wanted to say something to Harold, but I didn't know what. I couldn't even look at him.

In a moment Coleman was back. He went to the cell door and opened it, waving Harold out. "I'm trusting the two of you," he said. "Find the manuscript and bring it back. I have some doubts about doing this, but I don't have a choice. I've got to get Brianna and my deputy's got to go up to
Moon
Lake
."

"
Moon
Lake
?" Harold and I said in unison.

"They identified the body of a drowned man up there. It's that college dean, Joseph Grace. Folks up there are beginning to think it's a murder instead of a drowning."

Our journey across the Delta was mostly silent. For company I had my own thoughts and judgments--and a healthy dash of regret--and Harold had his.

I was still gnawing on the fact that Brianna was Harold's cousin. Over the past week I'd spent a lot of time trying not to imagine what they might be doing to each other. Now it was as if I'd been creating a pornographic film in my mind.