Hallowed Bones (28 page)

Clay looked only at
Hamilton
. "I'll get the chauffeur to bring the car around." He walked over to the Bogatas. "I can only apologize. I'll send a check for ten thousand for your charity function in the morning. If none of this makes the paper, I'll double it to twenty."

"You're only worried about your stupid reputation." A dribble of saliva stretched from Ellisea's mouth almost to the floor. She struggled in
Hamilton
's strong arms. "You don't care what she did to me. You never care."

Clay turned to look at his wife. His face was completely devoid of expression. "I suspect whatever it was, you deserved it, Ellisea. Now clean up your act before word of this gets back to your father. He would be very displeased." He looked at
Hamilton
. "Would you escort my wife to the car? I'll get our coats."

He walked away, and
Hamilton
had no recourse but to lift the struggling Ellisea and carry her in the wake of her husband.

"Cece, are you okay?" Tinkie and I rushed to her. We pulled her dress back on her shoulder, patted her hair back into place, and found the shoe she'd lost in the melee. The crowd around us began to break up and drift apart. The amazing thing was that not a single photograph had been taken. Was it the power of our hosts, the senator, or the Boudet family?

"Cece, Ellisea is a dangerous woman," Tinkie said. Her face was marred with genuine worry. "Her daddy's a mobster."

"So I've been told," Cece said, grabbing another glass of orange liquor from a passing waiter. "This is very good. Grand Marnier and... something." She took another sip. "I can't quite discern it, but it has just the perfect bite."

"We all know your taste in clothes, liquor, and all matters of sophistication are impeccable," I said. "What we're worried about is your judgment when it comes to self-preservation. Tinkie's right. Ellisea has a powerful family, and it would appear she has at least part of the NOPD in her pocket."

"Oh, dear. I suppose I'll get a parking ticket wherever I go."

Tinkie and I exchanged glances. Nothing we said was going to shake Cece. She was huffing victory, and it was as potent as glue. And about as deadly.

I felt a light touch on my arm. "It would be best if Cece left town in the morning,"
Hamilton
said. "Ellisea said she was going to get even, and she meant it."

"Did you hear that?" I asked Cece.

"Dahling, threats are a dime a dozen. I'm going to emcee that charity auction tomorrow, and I'll go home to Zinnia when I damn well please. The likes of an over-the-hill fashion model won't run me out of town." One eyebrow arched. "And, dahlings, aren't you even a little curious as to why she got so upset about a tattoo parlor? One would think you're both losing your touch as investigators."

Tinkie sighed. "Everyone has dirty little secrets, Cece. Not all of them are worth pursuing. Now let's do what we came to do and dance."

The rest of the night was truly a fairy tale. In
Hamilton
's arms, I felt like Cinderella. Tinkie and Oscar danced by on several occasions, and Cece found a six-six linebacker from the New Orleans Saints who knew how to salsa. Fairy dust had touched us all.

It was well into the wee hours when
Hamilton
squeezed my hand and asked if I'd had enough dancing. I didn't need a second invitation. We slipped out unnoticed and made our way to his apartment.

They say a girl shouldn't kiss and tell. Sometimes
they
are right. I went to sleep whispering one word. "Enchanted."

When I woke the next morning,
Hamilton
was gone. There was a knock on the door and I had to jump back into my ball gown to answer it. A young boy from the French market had a basket of fresh strawberries, a bowl of just-whipped cream, and a pot of strong, black coffee.

"Mr. Garrett asked me to tell you something," the young boy said, his gaze firmly on the floor. He was old enough to understand the implications of a woman in ruined makeup and a ball gown at ten in the morning. "He said to tell you that he'd never found it harder to leave, and that he would call you as soon as he could."

I tipped him with the fifty-dollar bill I'd stuck in my shoe for emergencies the night before, fell back in the bed with my breakfast, and savored my memories.

The sound of
an old-fashioned calliope awoke me. I went to the penthouse window and listened to the tune that reminded me of carousel horses, cotton candy, and the county fair.
New Orleans
was a city of magic. The unexpected could happen at any moment. It was nearly eleven, and
Hamilton
hadn't called. I took a shower, borrowed one of his shirts and a pair of sweatpants, and caught a cab back to the Monteleone with my ball gown over my arm. Cece could have it, but I'd be damned if I was going to walk down a runway wearing it or anything else.

Cece was waiting for me in the lobby. She took my arm, led me to the elevator, and escorted me to my room. Once inside she turned on the shower, shoved me into the bathroom, and told me I had five minutes. The charity auction began at noon. We'd miss the luncheon, but that didn't matter. I was going to be ready for the runway at one.

Perhaps it was the lingering influence of
Hamilton
's gentle caring, but I gave in. It meant a lot to Cece for me to do this. It would only be a few painful hours and then it would be over.

I reapplied my makeup, tried to re-create my hair with about a forty percent effect, put on some sweats, and grabbed the dress. Within twenty minutes, Cece and I were in a cab and headed uptown.

"Have you heard from Ellisea?" I asked.

"Are you kidding? Just watch for an ambush when we get to the restaurant."

"Do you really have the goods on her?"

Cece kept looking out the window. "No."

"Empty threats are the most dangerous?"

"And sometimes the most delicious."

"Are you okay?"

"No," she said, and looked at me. "Sometimes I wonder if I ever will be."

Post-traumatic fight disorder, I thought, but kept it to myself. I understood. After the anger cooled and the temper fled, there was often depression and self-doubt. I covered her hand with mine on the taxi seat. "The bitch deserved everything you gave her," I said. "If anyone dares to say a word to you, I'll deck 'em."

Her smile was worth a million dollars. "Thanks, Sarah Booth. I needed that."

We were late for lunch, but a waiter brought us something to nibble and a glass of wine as we got back into our dresses. Cece was first on the runway and then she took over the microphone as emcee.

Tinkie was radiant, and I made it without tripping. For Mollie's sake I erased my scowl and tried to look as if I were having a good time.

Ellisea was last in the lineup and her walk triggered what seemed to be thousands of flash units. She did look stunning, though I thought I detected a bald spot on one side where Cece had pulled her hair out. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. As soon as she made her walk, Ellisea shed her dress and left the party.

All told, over three hundred thousand dollars was raised for charity. Cece, Tinkie, and I rode back to the Monteleone in a taxi together. None of us was talkative. We were bushed.

"Back on the case tomorrow," Tinkie said as we parted company in the hallway of the hotel.

"Tomorrow," I promised, thrilled with the prospect of another evening alone with
Hamilton
. I rushed into my room, closed the door, and found the red light of my phone blinking. Almost trembling with anticipation, I retrieved my messages. I was totally unprepared for Lee's terse voice.

"Sarah Booth, you didn't answer your cell phone. Sweetie Pie has been arrested. She was going through garbage and when the owner tried to stop her, she bit the woman. You'd better call home as soon as you can. I'm afraid they want to give her the needle."

24

Hamilton
wasn't back at his apartment and
I
didn't have
time to find him. It was already four on a Sunday afternoon, and I was determined to have Sweetie out of the pound and home before morning. I left a message for Hamilton, another for Doreen at the Center, and a brief message for Tinkie in her room. Then I headed out across
Lake Pontchartrain
and northeast toward home. I hadn't told Doreen about Kiley, and I didn't want to do that in a phone message. My life was gradually slipping out of my control.

My first priority, though, was Sweetie Pie. Maybe she was being held at Dr. Matthews's, the veterinarian. She'd had her shots and she wore her tags. Maybe she was there, instead of the pound. My foot pushed harder on the gas. Not the pound! Even the best-run pounds were holding centers for creatures awaiting death. A million unwanted dogs and cats around the nation waited there for adoption, but the truth was, not very many would ever be rescued. I had to get to Sweetie Pie before she confronted the reality of just exactly how precarious a dog's life could be.

There was one person who could help me, and I called him. To my surprise, Rinda answered the phone, but she didn't give me any guff. She put me straight through.

"Coleman, Sweetie Pie's been charged with biting." I tried hard not to cry, but I blinked the tears out of my eyes as I drove.

"I know. She's right here."

"What do you mean?"

"She's here."

"Where, here?"

"She's being held in Sunflower County Jail."

"Not the pound?"

"Sarah Booth, I hope you know me better than that. She has her own cell, and the last time I checked, she was playing cards with a check forger."

The relief and happiness that rose up in my chest almost choked me. "God, Coleman, you are the best." I felt as if the sun had risen on a world expecting only darkness.

"I'm fairly selective in the people I prove that to. Of course, I'd die before I disappointed Sweetie Pie."

"I'm on my way home."

"We'll be here."

I drove straight through to the jail, stopping only once for coffee and a bathroom break. It was nearly eleven o'clock, and Coleman's pickup was still at the courthouse. He'd waited for me. I'd never doubted he would.

He was grinning when he opened the door to the jail. We looked at each other for a long moment. My heart and stomach did a jittery little dance before he stepped aside and cleared the aisle. I ran to my dog. Sweetie's metronome tail beat against the bars of her cell and she bayed a loud greeting. The inmates applauded.

"Sweetie," I said, kneeling down and grasping her ears through the bars. "What have you done?"

"She bit Mrs. Hedgepeth," Coleman said from about three feet behind me.

"Mrs. Hedgepeth?" She was a crotchety old busybody of a woman who used to try to get me sent to a juvenile detention center for eating sand pears that fell off her tree and into the ditch. "Mrs. Hedgepeth lives in town. Sweetie Pie must have done some traveling to get all the way to her yard."

"Mrs. Hedgepeth filed the complaint. She identified Sweetie for the dogcatcher."

"Where did they pick Sweetie up?"

"At Dahlia House, the best I can tell."

I was really confused. Sweetie wouldn't have rushed several miles into town to bite Mrs. Hedgepeth and then go home. It didn't make a lick of sense. Unless... "It's a lie."

There was a chorus of hoots from the jail cells. "The dog is innocent!" They picked up the chant and ran with it.

"Mrs. Hedgepeth had it in for me, and now she's after my dog," I said. But not even that made sense. Mrs. Hedgepeth had had it in for every child in the county. She hated children, cats, and dogs. But nearly three decades had passed since I'd walked by her house on my way to the courthouse after school.

Coleman tried hard not to grin. "I don't believe she was bitten, either, though she had her hand wrapped in about ten miles of gauze. She didn't go to the hospital or the doctor's office. I checked both."

"She's lying. Sweetie doesn't bite!"

"I suspect she's lying. Nonetheless, Reg had to pick Sweetie up and bring her in. He was taking her to the pound when I heard about it and got her brought here. She's perfectly fine, Sarah Booth. She has to be quarantined for ten days, though."

"And if Mrs. Hedgepeth develops rabies? She's mad anyway. There's no telling how far she'll take this."

"She's a mean woman, no doubt about that," Coleman agreed. "But I don't think she'll go through a series of abdominal shots just to spite a dog. And I told Doc Sawyer, if she showed up in the emergency room, to paint a really gruesome picture of the treatment she'll have to receive. Somehow, I think she'll back off this one."

"I could bite her myself," I said.

"The quarantine for you would be a lot longer."

His smile was infectious and I returned it. "Thanks for getting her, Coleman. I didn't want her in the pound."