Ham Bones (21 page)

At last I slowed Reveler to a trot. The sound of hooves
came fast from behind, and he slowed to a walk. Reveler
was blowing lightly, but when an empty bag blew across
the path in front of us, he sun-fished, nearly unseating me
because I hadn't anticipated his move.

"He's something else." Graf's voice held admiration.
"You should have seen you ride, Sarah Booth. I think
when we get to Hollywood, we need to do a western. You
know, an old-timey adventure of the Old West where the
audience can get a full view of your posterior in a saddle."

For just a moment I saw Graf and me on horseback, riding the rolling hills of a studio back lot. It was tempting. I loved westerns.

When I checked my watch I saw it was after three. We
turned the horses back toward Dahlia House at a brisk
walk. If I was going to get a nap, I needed to do it soon.
"Graf, did Renata have any weaknesses?"

His look told me he didn't completely comprehend
what I was asking. "She had a weakness for chocolate,
like most people. She could be very disciplined. Amazingly disciplined."

"Any kind of chocolate?"

"What is this, Sarah Booth?"

"Humor me. Please."

He shrugged his broad shoulders. "She preferred dark
chocolate. She said it was loaded with antioxidants."

"Was she taking any other kind of drugs? Recreational
drugs?" I thought of cocaine or ecstasy, the party drugs.
There had to be some area in Renata's life that led to her
murder.

"I never saw her take anything. She took care of herself, Sarah Booth. Her body was her vehicle to success"

"Did she gamble? Play the ponies?" There had to be
something.

"Not to my knowledge."

"Was she afraid of aging?"

He gave this question some consideration. "Yes, but
not so much lately. I think the idea of a movie deal somehow eased her mind."

"Who benefits most from her death?" The sun slipped
behind a cloud, sucking the color from the day and leaving a sense of nostalgic loss on the air.

"I do. Me and Gabriel, her brother. My debt is forgiven, and Gabriel inherits all of her assets. Of the two, I
gain the most"

He was being brutally honest now. "You and Renata
were once close. Aren't you sorry she's dead?"

Graf's gaze held mine. "You asked for the truth, and I
owe you that much. I'm not sorry she's dead. For the past
two months she made my life a living hell. Threats, blackmail, temper tantrums, catching me backstage before I
went on and getting one more little dig into me. She
changed into a harpy and a shrew. I'm free of her, Sarah
Booth. She can't torture me anymore."

"I see" Now all I had to do was get through the last
performance with a man who might also be a murderer.

!e got home to Dahlia House in plenty of time for
me to take a nap, but I found I couldn't rest. Although I could see it hurt Graf's feelings, I sent him back
to his hotel. Alone, I paced the bedroom until I gave it up
and went downstairs. Though the idea of a Jack and water
was tempting, I avoided the sideboard where the crystal
decanter waited. I had my last performance as Maggie
that evening. Drinking was a dangerous trap. I wanted to
go onto the stage sober and sharp.

By six o'clock, I'd finally settled down. It was with a
sense of nostalgia that I drove to The Club and sat down
in Bobbe's chair to let her work her magic.

"That deputy showed me the picture of that old fart.
He's the guy I saw in Reno," Bobbe said. "I told the
deputy so. He thought that might help your case"

I closed my eyes as she applied the shadow. "Thanks,
Bobbe ."

"There you go" She tilted the chair up so I could see myself in the mirror, transformed from my everyday Zinnia looks into a glamorous woman. Nothing like my idol,
Liz, or my nemesis, Renata-but certainly not the Sarah
Booth I recognized. It was fascinating what shadows and
the artful application of color could change.

"Did Gordon say when you could leave town?" I asked
her.

Bobbe shook her head. "I'll be packed and ready first
thing in the morning. I can only hope the law doesn't
keep me here"

"Good luck. And thank you" I gave her arm a squeeze
as I stepped out of the makeup room.

"There she is, the dahling of stage and film!" Cece's rich
contralto made me smile. I was even more delighted when
she put a huge bouquet of zinnias in my arms. The vibrant
colors were magnificent, a reflection of the town I loved.

"Roses are for your everyday star," she said as she
hugged me. "Zinnias are for you, Sarah Booth. Our hometown girl headed for the big time."

"Sarah Booth, there are some people here to talk to
you after the performance" Keith bustled up, as usual
knocking everyone else out of the way in his hurry to
make sure his needs were met. "I told them you'd be available for interviews following the play."

"I'm so sorry. I'm going to a strike party," I said. The
expression on his face was priceless. I'd had to give up
my idea for a party, but Harold had stepped up to the
plate. He was throwing a bash, with candy lipstick as
party favors.

"But. But. I-"

"Keith, she's jerking your chain," Cece said, shaking
her head at him. "She'll be here after the play. I'll make
certain of it." She was edging me away from him as fast
as she could without pushing with both hands.

"Thank you, Ms. Falcon. Thank you" Keith caught
one of her hands and kissed it. "Thank you"

His gratitude was almost comic. When he was gone, I
arched my eyebrows at Cece. "What's the point of killing
all my fun?"

"You should be ashamed. Keith isn't worthy of your
torment. He's too easy a target"

She was right about that. I shrugged. "Maybe he killed
Renata. If it benefited his career, he'd do it."

Cece looped her arm through mine and walked me toward a quiet stretch of hallway. She let the silence grow
between us.

"What did you find out?" I finally asked.

"Not what I'd imagined." She faced me, and her expression was troubled. "The doctor Renata was seeing in
Los Angeles was Christian Varik, a retina specialist. He
wasn't inclined to give details, but he did imply that there
was something seriously wrong with Renata's vision."

A cold knot formed in my stomach. "She was going
blind?" That could account for a whole lot of meanness.
And for her hitting a dog with a car and not stopping.
Speaking of which, Kristine Rolofson was strangely absent from backstage for the last performance. I'd halfway
expected her and Giblet to come and wish me luck.

"I'm checking out Renata's visual issues," Cece said.
"Or should I say Gordon is checking it out. I gave the tip
to him. He told me he got an ID on the old geezer that
sold you the lipstick."

"Really?" I was amazed that Gordon had achieved
such a quick result.

"His name is Morgan, Robert Morgan. He's a New
York state licensed pharmacist, a former character actor
from a few Broadway productions, and a longtime friend
of Renata's."

"She had a friend?" I didn't mean it to sound as bitchy
as it came out. "I mean, Renata didn't cultivate a lot of
confidantes." Bubbling in the back of my brain was something Doc had said in his office only that morning. He'd
said that if he were hunting the killer, he'd look for someone with a medical background. A pharmacist would have
plenty of knowledge of poisons and how they worked and
how to administer them. "This has to be the same guy I
saw at La Burnisco." Excitement made me want to dance
a jig. At last we'd begun to move forward on the case.

"Let's hope this is the same guy. Gordon's got an APB
out for Robert Morgan in New York and all around this
area. Gordon wants to ask him a few questions."

"So do I" Like how in the hell did he manage to pull
off selling me a tube of poisoned lipstick without anyone
noticing that he did it? "Did Gordon get an address on
him?"

She nodded. "Some of New York's finest went to his
apartment this afternoon, and it looked like Morgan left
in a hurry. They searched the neighborhood, but he'd disappeared. Gordon says they'll get him, though. What
with credit cards and all of that, it's nearly impossible for
someone to truly disappear in this country."

I took a deep breath. I had to be on stage in a matter of
minutes, and I needed to pull myself together to assume
the role of Maggie the Cat.

"I'll see you after the show. Thanks, Cece " I kissed
her cheek and walked toward the backstage area where I
could have a few moments of privacy. This was it for me,
my last performance. I hadn't seen Graf since he'd left the
stables, but I had come to trust him-at least on the stage.

"Sarah Booth?"

Coleman's voice stopped me in my tracks. I had to force myself to turn around. The one thing I didn't need
was to be upset by my ex-boyfriend. "Yes?" I lifted my
chin and dared him to start something as I faced him.

"Break a leg." He turned and walked away.

He was wearing a suit. I could count on one hand the
number of times I'd seen him in a suit. I watched him exit
the backstage area without ever turning around, leaving
me to ponder the multiple levels of the message he'd just
delivered to me.

I felt a warm touch on my back, and I turned to find
Graf watching me watching Coleman. "Is everything
okay?" he asked.

"Yes" Like Maggie the Cat, I could take it on the chin
and still function. "Coleman came to wish me luck in the
performance"

"Doesn't want his prime suspect out of sight, does
he?"

"Thanks, Graf." I walked away from him, angry that
he might be correct in his assumption of Coleman's actions. And I'd let myself think the sheriff might have actually come to watch the performance. Would I never
learn?

The play went off flawlessly. It was, perhaps, the best
performance of the entire run. Sir Alfred kissed me as we
took our bows, and Graf used that as a perfect excuse to
bend me backwards over his arm and deliver a professional Rudolph Valentino kiss. The audience loved it, and
we went back for five curtain calls.

Keith brought me three dozen red roses, and with
Cece's instigation, all of my girlfriends in the audience
threw zinnias up on the stage at my feet.

I looked out over the audience and saw the faces of
people who cared about me, who were proud of me. Bernard had said my folks would've been proud, and for
a moment I allowed myself to imagine them sitting in the
front row, clapping until their palms itched. I took my
final bow and left the stage with tears in my eyes.

The cast was swarmed by well-wishers, and Keith
waited as long as he could before he drew me aside to
speak with a talent agent from Creative Artists Agency
and Federico Marquez, the director of five Academy
Award-winning films. The agent, Lester Lee, was unbearable, but Marquez was a modest, intelligent man.

"There's a strike party at Harold Erkwell's," I told both
of them. "You're welcome to come, if you'd like."

"We have a midnight flight out of Memphis," Marquez
said. "I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other,
Ms. Delaney, when you get to Hollywood. Again, congratulations on a brilliant performance"

When they were gone, I looked at Keith. "You told
them I'm charged with murder, right?"

He waved his hands in the air. "Are you insane? Those
charges will be dropped by this time tomorrow, and besides, they read the trades. They know all about it. Filmmaking is a gamble, and they're gambling that you'll be
free by tomorrow."

He was gone before I could pin him down on his optimism.

Tinkie appeared and whisked me to the party. Harold
had pulled out all the stops for this one, and the entire
lane up to his home glittered in white lights. Strands of
fairy lights were wrapped around the trunks of huge live
oaks, spun through the towering azalea bushes, and woven
into the decorations that lined the balustrade of his porch.

Harold met me at the door and reenacted Graf's kiss,
much to my astonishment and the enjoyment of everyone
there. Hoots and whistles followed as he raised me back to my feet. I felt the blush climb my cheeks as Harold
leaned close and said in a wicked stage whisper, "If Coleman is out of the picture, I'm throwing my hat into the
ring."

"I'm not out of the picture."

The room fell into silence, and I looked past Harold to
see Coleman standing with a ridiculous cup of nonalcoholic punch in his hand. He looked like a bear pawing a
petit four.

Harold released his hold on me and eyed Coleman. "If
I misread your signals, Coleman, I apologize. It's just that
when you charged Sarah Booth with murder, I assumed
the romance had lost its bloom."

"You know what they say about assumptions, Harold."