Rock-a-Bye Bones Page 12

  “Not comedian. Mother. Lucille Ball broke ground when she had a baby in real life and incorporated the baby into her television show. She was a working mother who played a stay-at-home mother. The brilliance of such a thing has never been fully appreciated.”

  “And your point is?”

  “A baby doesn’t have to be the end of anyone’s career.”

  I couldn’t tell if her message was directed at me or Tinkie. “Meaning?”

  “You know what I mean, Sarah Booth. Mothers come in all shapes, sizes, temperaments, and talents. You had a mama who could do it all with one hand tied behind her back. She could love and fight and mediate and never blink an eye.”

  I’d been on the verge of melancholy when I drove up to Dahlia House at the time of day my mother used to call “the blue hour.” She, too, had been struck by sadness at the close of day. Now, Jitty made me miss my mother more than ever. “Thanks.”

  “Missin’ Libby isn’t a bad thing. Because you can see the love you miss in her is exactly what you’ll have to give your own child.”

  In one more moment, Jitty would be talking about dying ovaries and blackened, shriveling eggs. “Enough.” I held up a hand. “I see where you’re headed.”

  “Call your partner. Buy one of those papoose sling things that mamas carry young’uns in. Make her put that baby in it and get back to work.”

  “So you weren’t about to tell me my eggs were dying, tick-tock and all.”

  “Me?” Jitty looked hurt. “I’m not sayin’ a word. I won’t say a word. Not even when your fallopian tubes dry up and fall out on the ground.”

  And of course she had to have the last word by disappearing on the fading scent of roses.

  12

  The buzzing of my cell phone in the pocket of my jeans woke me the next morning. I chose to ignore it. I was exhausted and starving. Eventually the sensation of my stomach digesting my backbone would push me out of bed. At the moment, a bit more shut-eye was important.

  But it was not to be. The phone buzzed—and then rang—relentlessly. I rolled out of bed and stumbled to my jeans. When I found the phone, I was highly tempted to hurl it out the window, but I checked to see Betty McGowin was calling. I came wide-awake with a much different attitude, eager to talk to the midwife.

  “Mrs. McGowin, are you okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’m fine. I thought you’d want to know a young man was here early this morning asking for medicine to ease a woman’s cramps after childbirth.”

  My heart rate jumped. “Did you get his name?”

  “I did, but it won’t do you any good. He made it up.”

  “What was he driving?”

  “Dark blue pickup. Couldn’t see the plates, and I couldn’t go out and check or I’d have made him suspicious. I want him to come back if the mother doesn’t get better.”

  “Smart.”

  “He wasn’t a nice man.”

  “How do you know?” I didn’t doubt her, I just wondered what evidence she’d seen.

  “He was dirty, and he stank of liquor. His eyes were red and runny, like he’s been doin’ a lot more than drinking. Just one of those shiftless boys given over to drugs and laying around in front of a television. Pasty skin. He hasn’t seen the sunshine in a long time.”

  “Any distinguishing scars or anything?”

  “Let’s see. He had light hair. I couldn’t tell if it was blond or red because it was shaved so close to his head. Blue eyes. He was at least fifty pounds overweight. Five foot ten or eleven.” She paused. “There was something at the corner of his right eye. Maybe a scar, maybe a birthmark. The skin was whiter there. About the size of a quarter.”

  “Would you work with a sketch artist?” I didn’t know if DeWayne would be mad at me for butting in, but I had to try. Betty lived in Sunflower County, so the local sheriff’s office could get involved.

  “I’d be happy to come into town and help. I’ll get dressed and be at the courthouse at eight o’clock.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. McGowin.”

  “Have you found any trace of that baby’s mama?”

  It was hard to say. “No, ma’am. We’re following leads today.”

  “Would you ask Mrs. Richmond to bring that baby by? I’d like to take a look at her.”

  “I’ll have her stop by your house. She and Oscar are taking the child to Boston for a specialist to examine the extra digit. They want to pay for the surgery.”

  “Bless them,” Betty said. “Childhood is a place of great cruelty to anyone who is the slightest bit different. Tell Sheriff Peters and Deputy DeWayne to expect me.”

  “I’ll make sure.”

  I put the phone on the charger and jumped into the shower. Fifteen minutes later, my hair still wet, I was dressed and ready for the day. While the coffee brewed, I called DeWayne and alerted him to the impending arrival of Betty McGowin. He rightly pointed out that a young man asking for medicine wasn’t illegal, nor did it prove that the man was involved in Pleasant’s abduction. He also agreed to work with Betty to come up with a composite—just in case.

  Sipping the black coffee, I went over my notes and decided another trip to Cotton Gin High was in order. I had to find the driver of the silver BMW Randy Hunter had seen the mean girls driving at the Riverview Motel, and I needed to check more facts with Tally McNair.

  Sweetie Pie whined at the door of the car and Pluto stood on the porch with his back to me. My emotions warred. I loved taking them with me, but if I ended up engrossed at the school, they’d be trapped in the car.

  Sweetie hit a low E minor with her sad howl and I opened the car door. “Come on, but if you’re bored, you’d better not damage the car.” Not so long ago, I’d left them in the car while I went sleuthing and they’d chewed and clawed their way out of the ragtop. And a good thing, too. They’d saved my life.

  The day was sunny and brisk, and Sweetie hung her head out the passenger window and Pluto curled along my thigh, kneading his sharp little claws through my jeans and into my tender skin. I couldn’t tell if he was messing with me or truly content, so I let him be.

  On the drive, I called Tinkie. Jitty’s visit as Lucille Ball had inspired me. I would never tell her, but she was correct. Tinkie had to learn to live her life, with or without Libby. She and Oscar couldn’t stop working and living simply because they had a baby to care for. Life continued. Tinkie’s only lifeline might be this work.

  “What time is your flight to Boston?”

  She yawned. “Not until four this afternoon. We’ll arrive late and we have the first appointment in the morning. We’ll be home shortly after lunch tomorrow. Is Mrs. Smith worried about us taking Libby?”

  “No. She’s fine. I’m worried.”

  “Stop it.” She yawned again. “I’m too exhausted to argue this morning. Libby wasn’t interested in a session with the Sandman last night.”

  “Get your clothes on, put the baby in a papoose carrier, and meet me at Cotton Gin High. This isn’t a request.”

  “You can’t boss me, we’re partners.” She yawned in the middle of her declaration.

  “I’ll send Coleman to roust you. Tinkie, if he thinks you’re going to be hurt when that baby goes home, he’ll take her now. Get up and get out of that house. We have a case to solve.”

  I easily imagined her mulish expression. People said I was hardheaded. And it was true. But when Tinkie planted her feet, she made me look wishy-washy. “Tinkie, I’m counting on you.”

  “Sarah Booth, you are impossible.”

  “I’ve heard that before. Too bad.” I pushed ahead. “Good thing Oscar bought a car seat. I’ll be in the band hall. When you go in, could you stop at the office and check for any student who drives a BMW?”

  “A high schooler at Cotton Gin High drives a Beamer?”

  “Times have changed.”

  “So it seems.”

  I hung up and pressed the gas harder.

  * * *

  Driving around the student parking lot, I
found the Beamer with no problem. It was a beautiful car, carelessly parked so that it angled in the path of a compact. The conclusions I drew about the driver were not pretty.

  Tinkie would find the owner, and I had some questions for Tally McNair. Skirting the office, I went directly to the band hall. I could hear the students practicing “Here Comes Santa Claus.” I’d almost forgotten the importance of marching in the Christmas parade for the local high school band. For a split second, I time traveled to my high school years. I’d played the flute, briefly. Only once did I march, when I was in seventh grade, but it had been such a big moment. Aunt Loulane had walked the entire parade route—at a discreet distance. She wasn’t worried that anything bad would happen, but she knew it would be a moment when I felt very alone.

  “Ms. Delaney, what are you doing here?” While I’d been wool-gathering, Tally had seen me. She didn’t add “standing outside the band hall door like a stalker.” She didn’t have to. Her expression said it all.

  “Do you have any of Pleasant’s songs?” I hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but I’d been caught off guard. “Her mother said you would have them.” Why not throw in a half-truth?

  “Her mother said I had her songs?”

  Her gaze slid away from mine. Red alert! “Yes. Pleasant told her mother she’d entrusted her music to you for safekeeping. I need to see it.”

  “Of course.” She motioned me into the band hall. Ignoring the drums and squawking of woodwinds and tinny brass, she led me to her office. When she closed the door, I sighed in relief at the quiet.

  She went to a filing cabinet bursting at the seams with papers. “Pleasant showed me a couple of songs, but I thought I gave them back to her.” She pulled out several files, flipped through them, and at last turned to face me, nodding. “I was mistaken. Here they are.”

  I took the sheet music, which had been written by hand. “Pleasant knows musical notation? She’s only seventeen.” I could barely write English at seventeen.

  “She’s a serious musician. I told her if she intended to pursue a career, then she’d have to be able to put her songs on the page, get copyrights, learn how to arrange and produce. That scholarship to Delta State would have put her in a position to step into a career.”

  I snapped photos of the sheet music and gave them back to Tally. “This is all you have?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to text a composite drawing of a young man to you later this afternoon. Would you show it around to your students, ask if anyone saw this man hanging around Pleasant?”

  “Sure.”

  “Who drives the silver BMW in the parking lot?”

  She hesitated.

  “You’ve lied to me once. Maybe you’d better rethink your position here.” I knew when to press an advantage.

  “I want to help, really. I’ll tell you what I know. The Beamer belongs to Amber Tallaniche.”

  “From the furniture store?”

  “Yes.” She tidied the files. “Amber’s part of the clique of girls who were mean to Pleasant.”

  “I know all about them,” I told her. “They’re next on my list for some hard questions. Do you think those girls are capable of hurting a pregnant teenager?”

  “Maybe.”

  That wasn’t the answer I’d anticipated. “You think they could kidnap or otherwise harm Pleasant?”

  “Those girls are used to getting what they want. They believe it’s their due. Lucinda lives in Sunflower County, but her mother pulled strings to get her into Cotton Gin High because her odds at getting scholarships were higher. This is a very poor school. Lucinda, Amber, Brook, those girls have had many privileges, and they’re going to school here to scoop up every good thing offered. They expected to walk away with all the offered scholarships and awards. Pleasant upset their plans. She’s a top contender for the Delta State scholarship. Or she was.”

  “A girl who drives a BMW to high school doesn’t need scholarships.”

  “The title of valedictorian helps with college acceptance. Amber will go east to school. Both of her parents are Princeton graduates, and while that’s a plus, it isn’t a guarantee.”

  “So it’s Brook and Lucinda.”

  “Be careful. Those girls are treacherous.” Tally was oblivious to the students throwing erasers at each other. One boy jumped a row of chairs, tripped, and hit his chin on the floor. I rose, horrified that he might have snapped his neck. Instead, he jumped up, blood streaming, and began chasing a girl, who danced out of his reach. The chaos in the band hall finally dawned on her.

  “Every year the school board tries to cut the band program. They view it as unnecessary. Any little incident can push the board over the top. But these are high-spirited kids and they have so little. They need band and music. Right now, I’d better call them to order or someone will be injured.”

  We stepped back into the din. “What does Lucinda play?” I yelled.

  “Clarinet. She’s very good.”

  “And Brook?”

  “Clarinet also.”

  “Thanks.” I escaped before my eardrums were permanently damaged.

  13

  Tinkie, with Libby resting comfortably in a designer black-and-white sling, was sitting in the principal’s office beside a pretty young girl, who obviously smelled something obnoxious, judging from her expression.

  “Sarah Booth, this is Amber. She drives the nice car.”

  “Since when is it a crime to have nice things?” Amber asked. She looked me up and down. “My mom is taking a load of clothes to the Goodwill. Maybe you should take them.”

  Tinkie stood up, sending Amber into screeches of pain. She writhed about in her chair with great drama. I didn’t understand what had happened until I noticed Tinkie’s stiletto squarely on Amber’s big toe. Tinkie stood with her full weight on it.

  “Oh, dear,” Tinkie said, looking down and not moving an inch. “I am so sorry. Could you please shut up, you’re disturbing the baby.”

  “Get off my foot.” Amber gripped the edge of her seat. “Get off me now.”

  “Oh, dear.” Tinkie started to move and then stepped back with force.

  Amber threw herself over in the chair Tinkie had vacated. “You’re going to break my foot.”

  Tinkie leaned down close to her ear. “Yes, I am, you simpering little brat. Now straighten up or I’ll pierce your toe.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Tinkie stepped away and Amber pulled her foot into her lap. Tears streamed down her face. Her lip curled and she started to say something, but when she looked at Tinkie’s grim expression, her mouth shut with an audible snap.

  “You have some questions for Amber?” Tinkie asked me.

  “The Riverview Motel. You were there four weeks ago.”

  “So what?”

  “So I think you and your buddies are involved in Pleasant Smith’s disappearance. When I prove it, you can kiss Princeton and all the rest of the goodies life holds for you good-bye.”

  “I didn’t do anything to Pleasant. Why should I care about her? In seven months, I’ll leave this dust pit behind. It was my mother’s brilliant idea for me to come here because I could excel. No competition.” She flipped her hair. “Pleasant Smith is nothing to do with me. She’s my past.”

  The big-fish-in-a-little-pond syndrome. “What about Brook and Lucinda?”

  “Maybe you should ask them.”

  “Oh, I intend to. You’re involved in this, Amber. I advise you to cooperate and help us, or I promise you, the future you think you deserve won’t bear any resemblance to life in juvy hall and a future with a criminal record. By the way, you’re old enough to be tried as an adult.”

  So maybe I was stretching the truth, but it had the desired effect. Amber glanced out the window and then back at us. I realized she was taking cues from Brook, who’d ducked in behind some lockers. I opened the door and started toward her, but she shot down the hall. I turned back to Amber. “Your friends can’t help you now.”

&nb
sp; “You can’t hurt me.”

  “Right, you’re the Gingerbread girl.” Tinkie edged her heel closer to Amber’s toes. “Are you so sure about that? Recall what happened to the Gingerbread boy?” She got in Amber’s face. “He was eaten.”

  Libby woke up with a giant squall and then upchucked all over Amber’s dress. The clotted and pungent formula spewed across the black silk blouse and several chunks flew in Amber’s glossy hair.

  “Oh. My. God,” Amber squalled. “Look what you did. My mother bought this blouse in Paris. It’s ruined.”

  “Oh, I believe it is. Libby has excellent aim.” I was unable to hold back the laughter any longer. Tinkie, too, was giggling.

  “Amber, dear, vomit is so caustic. I hope it doesn’t wreck your dye job. There are … clumps of clabber in your hair.”

  Amber rose and started toward the door.

  “Not so fast,” Tinkie said as she comforted Libby, who was none the worse for wear after the projectile vomit explosion. “We have questions for you.”

  “I can’t answer questions. I stink!” She clenched her teeth and shuddered.

  “Too bad. Sit.” Tinkie pointed at the chair.

  Amber hesitated, but she obeyed. Tinkie had won the war. Amber was a girl who didn’t yield, but she was afraid of Tinkie. Or maybe it was Libby, our own little secret weapon.

  “What have you done with Pleasant Smith?” Tinkie was so direct, I eased into the background. She had the floor and she knew what to do with it. It could have been my imagination, but Libby watched every move Tinkie made.

  “I don’t have that girl.” Amber touched her hair, found the upchuck, and dissolved into gagging sounds.

  “You want to clean that vomit off, then you’d better tell the truth.”

  “I don’t know what happened to her!” Amber edged toward breaking.

  “I don’t believe you. And you’ll sit here until that vomit molds and turns green.”

  Tinkie’s threat was bolstered by class change. Students passed by the window of the office and saw Amber. Laughter and finger-pointing ensued. Amber, probably for the first time in her life, was mocked and ridiculed by students outside her grasp. She’d been knocked from her pedestal by seven pounds of charm.