Ham Bones (20 page)

"Now that we're all having breakfast," I said, "I need
to ask a few questions about Renata"

"Shoot" Doc ate the last bite of his Danish and
reached for the bag to get another.

"How did the poison get into the lipstick?" I asked.
"Has anyone figured that part out? Was the tube dipped in
poison?"

Doc's face showed concern. "Yes, a highly potent solution. Whoever did this wanted the person who applied the
lipstick to die. It was very clever of them to use a cosmetic scented with almonds to cover up the cyanide. I caught a whiff of it when I did the autopsy, but I couldn't
be certain until the tests came back."

"Could this have been an accident?" Tinkie asked.

Doc shook his head. "I'm sorry. I wish I could say otherwise."

"It looks bad for me because traces of cyanide were
found in the trunk of my car. I've never bought or used
cyanide in my life. I wouldn't even know where to get it."
Whoever killed Renata had set a perfect snare for me.

"It's not something you can buy over the counter." Doc
considered. "If I had to guess, I'd say whoever tampered
with Renata's lipstick understands poisons and reactions.
Someone with some medical training. That's where I'd
start looking."

"Thanks, Doc. That's a good lead. We'll check it out."
I sat back and thought.

"And someone who had access to Renata's things.
Whoever did this had to get the lipstick from Renata after
Sarah Booth gave it to her."

"I didn't give it to her. I gave it to Graf to give to her"
I met Tinkie's gaze without flinching.

"Sarah Booth-" She bit her bottom lip.

"He could have opened it and poisoned it. I know." It
looked bad for Graf, but I wasn't willing to believe he
killed Renata. Not yet.

"Why didn't you say something?" Tinkie's cheeks
were pink with anger. "These incriminating tidbits involving Graf just keep popping up"

"I know what it feels like to have someone jump the
gun and make an accusation based on circumstantial evidence. These things look bad in one light, but they don't
make Graf guilty." So many things were pointing directly
at Graf. He knew Renata better than anyone. He knew her intimately. Yet there was something else niggling at my
brain. "Doc, had Renata had any plastic surgery?"

He consulted the chart. "She had a mammoplasty,
saline implants. Why do you ask?"

"She went to a doctor in Los Angeles about eight
months ago. She made repeated visits. Could you see any
reason why?"

Doc frowned. "To be honest, Sarah Booth, I didn't
look for cosmetic surgeries other than injections with
toxins, such as Botox. The cyanide was obviously the
cause of death . . ."

"What are you thinking?" Tinkie asked me.

"I'm not sure. There's just something I can't quite
catch hold of here" I stood up. "I want to go to the sheriff's office and see if Dewayne or Gordon can help me
pull together a picture of the old man who sold me the
lipstick. I think it may be the same man Bobbe Renshaw
saw arguing with Renata in Reno. He sold me the lipstick, and he may be the one who poisoned it. If Bobbe
can identify him, then we'll have something solid to go
'
on.

"Great idea!" Tinkie was on her feet, too.

We both gave Doc a hug and hurried out of his office
and into the hallway beside the emergency room. I was in
such a hurry that I barely noticed a large, dark shadow
before I bumped into the solid chest of a well-built man.
My brain registered the brown uniform, the badge, and as
I looked up, the blue eyes of Coleman Peters. He looked
as if he'd been gaffed.

"I'm sorry." I stepped back quickly. In that brief moment I caught a whiff of his distinctive aftershave and the
starch in his uniform. Coleman managed to look crisp
and polished even in the worst of Delta weather. My heart
took a painful lurch.

"Sarah Booth" He cleared his throat. "Are you okay?"

His question had nothing to do with our bump in the
hall. "As well as can be expected. For a murderess" The
sharp words leapt from my mouth. "And tell your wife to
stop calling me. I'm not stupid, and she can play the victim for you, Coleman, but not for me. Brain tumor my ass"

I stepped past him and headed out the door, my back
so straight my breasts projected like the prow of a ship.

"She's really hurt," Tinkie said to Coleman as she followed me out.

"Don't make excuses for me," I told her once we stood
in the weak January sunshine. "He's the one who should
be making excuses for his behavior. He and Connie deserve each other."

"Did she really call you?"

I filled her in on the brief conversation I'd had with
Coleman's wife. Tinkie's assessment was the same as
mine.

"She's conniving again. I just lost all sympathy for
her." Tinkie opened the door of her Caddy. "Want me to
go to the sheriff's office with you?"

I shook my head. "Nope."

She slammed the door. "Good. I'm going to see if Doc
can't manage to get some medical records on a dead
woman. As county coroner, he might be able to get the
same thing Coleman can. That way we can circumvent
the whole sheriff's department thing."

Connie's behavior had riled her, too. I gave her a big
hug. "You got all the brains in this operation."

"Not true. But call me when you get the sketch finished. And you need to take a nap, Sarah Booth. This is
your last performance. When I talked to Keith Watley last
night, he said several important people will be in the audience."

Keith hadn't said a word to me. "What kind of important people?"

She sighed. "From a couple of movie studios. Graf has
been on the phone about you. They've come to look for
themselves." She slid her sunglasses on so I couldn't see
her eyes.

"It's so nice to be the last one to know."

"They didn't want you to get nervous, but I felt you
deserved to know. So take a nap. You need to be rested
and ready to wow them"

She walked through the gravel, her tiny red high heels
making a scrunching sound that reminded me, for some
reason, of the first day of grammar school and the sense
of being alone in a large world.

"This computer program isn't as good as a sketch
artist, but it's better than nothing." Gordon manipulated
the mouse as he talked. "How about these sideburns?"

I sat beside him, trying hard to remember the old codger
who'd sold me the lipstick. "Wider at the base. Really tufty."

Gordon cursed softly as he struggled with manipulating the program.

"That's it!" I said, patting his shoulder. "The eyebrows
were a little bushier, though."

He worked and I waited. Detail by detail, we created
an image of the old man at La Burnisco.

"Do you think this guy was wearing a costume?" Gordon asked.

The question stopped me dead in my tracks. It was so
painfully obvious, and yet I hadn't thought about it. Here
I was dealing with an actress and a man who looked like
he'd just stepped out of a Dickens novel, but it hadn't occurred to me that he might be made-up.

"Well, damn" I sat back, defeated.

Gordon saved the image and turned to look at me.
"Even if the whiskers and all are part of a disguise, we'll
still have a likeness of the guy"

"And how will that help?" I'd just wasted an hour of
my precious freedom. Lunchtime had passed, and I had a
date for a horseback ride at two.

"Keep working with me, and I'll show you." Gordon
turned his attention back to the computer screen.

I wasn't certain that I liked the kinder-gentler-Gordon,
but I wasn't about to complain when someone offered
help. We worked on the mouth and chin until finally we
had a likeness of the old gent that was very close to the
real thing.

"That's him."

Gordon hit print and in a moment we had the black
and white sketch in our hands.

"Now watch this," he said. With a few clicks of the
mouse, the white hair was close-cropped black, the whiskers
and moustache gone. The image on the screen was a man
in his forties-a rather handsome man who bore no resemblance to anyone I knew.

"Never seen him," I said.

"Perhaps not. But maybe someone else has. I'll circulate both pictures and see if I get any hits. We'll even fax
them to the television stations in Memphis. The media
has been all over Renata's murder, so we might as well
get some use out of them. I'll put this out as a witness
wanted in Renata's death. That might generate some calls."

"Thanks." I rose to go. "I appreciate all you're doing,
Gordon"

"No problem, Sarah Booth. I know you're innocent.
It's just a matter of time before we catch the real killer. I'll take one of the pictures by and see if Ms. Renshaw can
make a positive identification on the old gent"

"Thanks"

I walked out of the courthouse and stood for a moment
in the midday sun. It was nearly sixty, a warm, bright day.
I heard a laugh behind me, and Booter walked out onto
the steps.

"Tonight's your last performance, Sarah Booth," she
said. "I'll bet you'll be a smash star in the women's
prison. Once the play is over, Coleman can't continue to
let you run free" Her eyes were cold. "No matter how
much he doesn't want to lock up his paramour."

"Rooter, why do you have it in for me?" I decided to
confront her. My impulse was to smack her hard, but if I
got in any trouble my bail would be revoked. Words were
the only weapons I had.

The question startled her, at least for a second. "I don't
have it in for you, Sarah Booth. I wouldn't waste my
time"

"That's good to know. I was beginning to think you'd
followed me here. Like your life is so pathetic you have to
follow me to get some excitement."

"Follow you?" She looked around as if I had to be
talking to someone else. "Why on earth would I do that?"

"That's what I'd like to know." Suddenly my gut told
me that I'd hit the nail right on the head. Booter had followed me. To what purpose, I couldn't say. "You've been
in the cafe, at The Club, now here at the courthouse. You
are following me"

"You're paranoid." She skipped down the steps, leaving me to wonder why I didn't believe a word out of her
mouth.

Graf showed up at two on the dot wearing tan breeches,
riding boots, and a burgundy sweater that perfectly offset
his olive good looks. The wind ruffled his dark hair as he
groomed Miss Scrapiron while I readied Reveler.

Lee had been smart enough to leave a saddle and bridle for the bay mare, and Graf tacked her up without any
assistance from me.

"She's a lovely animal," he said as he swung into the
saddle.

"She is." I watched her move out, so eager. In a matter
of moments we were trotting around the barren cotton
fields side by side. Reveler occasionally nuzzled the mare
beside him, a gentlemanly attempt at paying court. Miss
Scrapiron was too much of a lady to acknowledge his
passes.

When we left Dahlia House behind, Graf settled his
horse to a walk. "Sarah Booth, have you told the law
about my adventures in Mexico?"

"No" I hadn't, yet I didn't know why I hadn't.

"Do you believe me?"

It wasn't the right question for a perfect afternoon, but
I knew I had to answer it honestly. "I do, Graf. You've always been impulsive. You've always thought that looks
counted more than anything else. I believe you could be
that foolish."

"You can call me a moron as long as you don't believe
I was smuggling drugs for a profit. I just wanted to stay
alive, to not be hurt"

I did believe him. Fool that I was. "Okay, but I think it
would be in your best interest to go to the police with this
yourself."

"So your boyfriend can pop me in jail? No, thanks. He
already looks at me like he wants to snap my head off. I don't really want to give him a reason to put me behind
bars."

"Coleman can't arrest you for something that happened in Mexico. He can't do anything about whatever
deal you made with Mexican authorities. To be honest, it
won't interest him. That's not his jurisdiction."

"You're his primary interest, and he views me as
someone who might take you away." He slowed Miss
Scrapiron until I was even with him. His hand touched
my thigh. "Tell me that isn't true."

He spoke with such certainty that I urged Reveler into
an extended trot and left him in the dirt. I was no longer
Coleman's primary interest. He had a recovering psycho
wife to fill that slot. At my whispered command, Reveler
stretched into a canter. Graf could keep up or not.

The scenery was a blur as we raced along the edges of
the fields. The wind whipped tears into my eyes, and I
could feel the sting on my cheeks and lips. Although the
weather was clear, it was still winter. Reveler's stride
lengthened into a full-out gallop, and I made no effort to
check him.