Charmed Bones Read online

  It was unsigned. And it had likely come from one of Trevor’s models. I wondered if Esmeralda or Kitten knew anything about sauces. It wouldn’t be hard to find out. But first I had to figure what was in this creation. I called Millie. Though she served Southern fare in her café, she was a fine French chef. She experimented all the time for her personal satisfaction. When she answered, I asked her about the sauce.

  “Not difficult if you have some reduced brown stock, a glace. Then it’s basically drippings and fat from pork, shallots, some seedless black grapes, the glace, herbs like sage and thyme, and the balsamic vinegar. It’s a lovely, lovely sauce. Why are you asking, Sarah Booth?”

  “Who in Zinnia would know about or serve this sauce?”

  “Plenty of people in the planter class. It isn’t something your average housewife would whip up, only because it isn’t traditional fare around here. People tend to cook what they grew up eating. Southern style. It’s not a lack of sophistication or culture, it’s just how humans are designed. The familiar brings comfort.”

  This wasn’t the help I’d hoped it would be. Many of Trevor’s models came from the upper crust. It was curious to me that ladies who spent thousands of dollars on their wardrobe were so eager to drop their clothes to pose for a nude painting. Any number of women could have left that note for Trevor—for any number of reasons. Still, I wished I hadn’t touched it. I could only hope that I hadn’t ruined any fingerprints that might be on it. Very carefully I put it in the middle of the stack of papers I’d picked up from the floor. It occurred to me that whoever had trashed his room might have been looking for that note. And while I was looking, I didn’t find any dainty female undies around that might belong to Esmeralda or any jewelry hanging on the bedpost. There was a rosary on the floor under a chair, sort of a strange object for Trevor, who expressed views more in line with pantheism and harbored Wiccans. Esmeralda’s possessions were nowhere in sight. I wondered if someone had beat us both to the punch.

  I reached for my phone to call Coleman. I had to alert him to the note and to the possibility that he’d missed whoever was hiding in the manor. He was going to be angry that I’d returned—not even retrieving Pluto would be a good enough excuse.

  Just as I started to call, I heard my cat screech as if someone had slammed a door on his tail. Pluto was not a screecher. I pushed the phone in my pocket and went after my cat.

  I moved through Trevor’s studio, aware that all of the paintings seemed to be watching me. The sensation was really creepy. I kept darting glances at the women captured on canvas, and their gazes seemed to connect with mine—and follow me as I moved down the long room. Outside the windows, a full moon floated high, illuminating the grounds of the manor.

  Pluto’s angry scream came again from the far end of the studio, and I jogged toward him. Out of nowhere a beautiful Siamese-looking cat shot out of the darkness and almost knocked me down. Pluto was close on his heels.

  “Dammit, Pluto.” I caught the cat and picked him up. “You can’t come in here and chase the cats who live here.” I was so relieved I kissed the top of his head. I’d been afraid that Pluto might have met something much meaner than another cat. “Let’s get out of here.”

  My thirst for answers was submerged by my desire to exit the manor. Coleman and DeWayne could come back in the daylight and search. I had Pluto and it was time to get while the getting was good. As I turned to leave, I saw someone on the lawn. With the lights on in the studio, I was highlighted to whoever was out there. It was no point trying to hide now. I went to the window and looked down.

  Pluto let out a low growl, his tail flicking, as he gazed down on the slender silhouette. The person was dressed all in black in a hooded cloak. Witch, warlock, or Fontana, I couldn’t tell. But the way the figure stood, like something from a horror movie waiting for the right moment to strike, chilled me to the bone. Who the hell was it and what did they want? How were they involved with Esmeralda’s and Trevor’s deaths?

  I had two choices. I could pursue the figure or I could call Coleman. By the time he arrived, the intruder would be gone. So actually, I had one choice.

  I went back to Trevor’s bedroom and picked up the stack of papers, including the note. I couldn’t risk leaving it for fear someone would come back and destroy it. Moving as quickly as I dared with a fifteen-pound cat and a stack of papers in my arms, I hurried down the stairs and out the front door. I put the papers in the car, but Pluto was not so easily managed. He shot out of my arms and took off.

  Retrieving the gun from the trunk, I was in hot pursuit. When I rounded the corner of the manor, I saw my cat halfway to the figure—who had not moved an inch! It dared me to come after it. And I was up for the challenge.

  Just when I thought the intruder might be a tree trunk or something stationary, it started to run. And it was fast. But not as fast as Pluto. The cat jumped on the fleeing person’s back and was rewarded with a yelp of pain. But the figure didn’t slow down. It moved faster. I ran as fast as I could, but I had no chance of catching the interloper. Whoever was beneath the black cloak was in good running shape. That left out Kitten Fontana. So who could it be? Malvik? But why would he be standing outside like a scarecrow? Or a murderer?

  The lights of the back porch came on and all three witches came tumbling out the back door. “What the hell is going on?” Faith demanded.

  “Call the sheriff,” I said. “Someone was trying to break in.”

  “Yeah, you! You’re trying to break in.” Hope was clearly angry.

  “I was trying to retrieve Pluto.” My excuse sounded lame even to me. “There was someone on the third floor, and then there was someone in the woods.”

  The sisters looked up to the third floor with skepticism, as if I’d made up the story. I had the tiniest taste of what it must feel like to Tinkie to have what she believed to be truth ridiculed. Tampering with someone’s belief system was dangerous ground, even for a best friend.

  “Please call the sheriff,” I said.

  “Not tonight.” Hope put her foot down. “We’re exhausted. The state board of higher education is sending an inspector soon to tour the facility. We have lots of work to do, and we haven’t had any sleep. The sheriff can come tomorrow and search. Tonight, you are leaving and we’re going to bed.”

  I was tired, too, and I knew Coleman had to be worn out. The truth was, I didn’t want to fight them on the matter. I had the papers I’d found. There wasn’t anything left to destroy. And I’d honestly come to believe that the sisters weren’t complicit in Trevor’s or Esmeralda’s deaths. The sisters had been inside the house and I’d clearly seen someone on the grounds. Daylight would give us a much better chance of finding evidence.

  I captured Pluto, whistled up Sweetie Pie, and went to my car. When I opened the driver’s door, I saw the stack of papers I’d gathered thrown over the floorboard and backseat. The threatening note was gone. If anything else was missing, I couldn’t tell. It would be futile to attempt to gain entry into the house. If the sisters had the note, I’d be willing to bet it was now a heap of ash. I’d really screwed up.

  15

  I awoke to the tantalizing smell of bacon sizzling. I had no memory of the drive home from the manor or of falling into bed. I was wearing a nightgown and my clothes were puddled on the floor beside Sweetie Pie, who also snoozed soundly. Pluto was nowhere in evidence.

  The bacon obviously had to be a Jitty illusion. She was down in the kitchen doing everything in her power to wake me up at the crack of dawn. I would kill her if she wasn’t already dead. Yawning, I rolled out of bed and headed downstairs to make coffee and see if there was anything in the refrigerator that wasn’t pulsing in a Tupperware container. I’d seen some of my recipes take on life forms—nothing I wanted to witness on this bright winter morning. I needed sustenance before I confessed my sins to Coleman.

  As I crossed the dining room, the wonderful smells of breakfast cooking grew stronger, including freshly brewed coffee. Cutlery scr
aped pots or plates. Jitty was going whole hog with the smells and sound effects. I pushed through the door and stopped in my tracks.

  Scott Hampton, the best blues player on the planet, stood at my stove with a cast-iron skillet going and a spatula in his hand.

  “Good morning, Sarah Booth.”

  Scott and I had been lovers, and he was a man I cared greatly for. And I owed him some details of the recent decision I’d made. Scott had been in Chicago negotiating with some blues clubs to form an alliance that would bring national talent to Zinnia on a regular basis. Scott had the European blues market sewn tight, but a new crop of young blues players was coming up and many found Chicago a great place to start.

  “I didn’t know you were home.”

  “Got in late last night.”

  “I’m glad you’re here. I need to tell you something.”

  “I know about Coleman. Jaytee told me. I’m happy for you.” He expertly flipped the bacon onto a plate lined with paper towels.

  I’d chosen Coleman over Scott and Harold. At least I’d had a chance to tell Harold in person. “I wish Jaytee had given me a chance to tell you myself.”

  Scott put down the spatula and came over to give me a hug. “I could see it coming, girl. Everyone could see it but you and that lug-headed lawman.”

  “I—”

  He didn’t let me finish but tightened his hug. “I don’t know that I’ll ever love anyone the way I do you, but I wouldn’t stand in the way of your happiness for anything. And I wouldn’t want to lose our friendship.”

  “That won’t ever happen. I do have guilt that maybe you moved here thinking this would have a different outcome.”

  “I did.” He grinned and pushed his beautiful white-blond hair out of his eye. “But coming to Zinnia was the smartest business decision I’ve ever made. Morgan Freeman knew it—the Delta is ground zero for the blues. I’m living and playing on the very land where the blues were created. It’s given me inspiration for new songs, the club is making more money than I can spend. It was simply the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”

  Women threw themselves at Scott every single time he performed. He could have his pick of anyone. I knew that, but I also remembered vividly what it felt like to be the one left behind. I’d never wanted to hurt him or Harold.

  “Are you marrying Coleman?” he asked.

  The question caught me off guard. “We haven’t discussed such a thing. We’re not even sure how this is going to work.” We’d had our differences in the past. We both had dangerous jobs and Coleman had been overprotective. “We’re feeling our way forward.”

  “Smart. Now how about some French toast? I made it just the way your aunt Loulane used to make it. Like you taught me.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Except, “Thank you, Scott.”

  He dipped some slices of French bread in the batter he’d already prepared. “I’m not giving up. At least not yet. I hope you and Coleman are happy. But if you aren’t…” He didn’t finish, he didn’t have to.

  “I don’t want that for you. Find the woman who completes you. She’s out there. You just have to be willing to see her.”

  His smile was as sensuous as his guitar playing. “That sounds awfully like wisdom, Sarah Booth.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. But I love you and I want you to be happy, too.”

  “Then let’s make it so. We’ll take each day as it comes at us.”

  I nodded and sat down in the chair he pulled out for me as the French toast sizzled in the skillet. It surely wasn’t the way I’d intended to start my morning, but I was happy to take it. I sipped the coffee he put in front of me and watched him cook. I couldn’t help but think that while my heart had suffered more than one break, I’d been incredibly fortunate in the men who populated my world. None were mean or malicious. All of them wanted only the best for me. And me for them. I’d tried hard to act with integrity, and they’d more than matched me.

  When the front door blasted open and I heard the tap-tap-tap of Tinkie’s stilettos crossing the old floor boards of my home, I couldn’t stop my smile. This was going to blow her mind.

  “I smell something good,” she said as she pushed open the swinging door. And stopped dead in her tracks. “Scott!” She turned to me. “Well, don’t you look like the cat that swallowed the canary.”

  “And he was delicious,” I said.

  Scott picked up instantly on my mischief and said, “We’ve really worked up an appetite, Tinkie. Care to join us for some French toast?”

  Tinkie took a seat, glaring at me. “How could you?”

  “I finally did what you’ve been pushing me to do.”

  “I did not push you to be a hoochie-coochie mama.”

  Scott barked out a laugh and covered it with a cough. I only grinned wider. “Why buy a cow if you can get the milk free from a herd?” I quoted Aunt Loulane in a way she would have been horrified to hear.

  Tinkie reached over and pulled the charm bag from beneath my nightgown. “Take this off right away. It’s affecting your … common sense.”

  I’d almost forgotten about the love charm that Tinkie had given me. Now I was really going to have some fun.

  Just as Scott put a stack of French toast in front of both of us, I said, “I just can’t get enough, Tinkie. It’s like I don’t have any restraint. My body actually twitches with uncontrollable desire. In fact, right now, I feel another powerful urge coming over me.” I glanced at Scott and winked before I had a mini-seizure, grabbing the table to hold myself upright.

  “Call an ambulance!” Tinkie commanded. “She’s having a fit. What have I done? What have I done?”

  “I must have sex,” I moaned. “I’ll die if I don’t.”

  “She’s been like that since I got here,” Scott said. “Let me take her upstairs.”

  “No!” Tinkie said, stepping between us.

  “Okay, you can watch,” Scott said.

  I almost choked but I started to slowly come around. When I quit twitching, I continued, “Tinkie bought a charm because I was too inhibited. By god, it worked. I just can’t stop myself sometimes.”

  “I’ll say,” Scott threw in. “Wanton! Hyper-sexed. That’s what I’d call it. I didn’t know if I’d live to get out of that bed.”

  “This is my fault.” Tinkie’s eyes filled with tears. “What have I done?”

  I couldn’t take it any further. Teasing was one thing, but this had gone far enough. “It’s a joke, Tinkie. Scott and I didn’t do the deed.”

  She blinked, and then a laser-sharp blue gaze filled her eyes. “I am going to get you, Sarah Booth Delaney. You had me worried sick. I thought you might have turned into a deviant because of that charm.”

  “Now you know how I feel,” I said, dropping the charm beneath my nightgown. For some strange reason, I didn’t want to take it off. Sue me, I was superstitious. It had finally brought Coleman to my bed and I’d managed to stay friends with the other men in my life. I couldn’t say positively that the charm had played a role, but I saw no reason to risk success.

  Tinkie’s brow furrowed, and then it cleared. “I came over here to tell you that Kitten Fontana was shot at last night.”

  “I don’t believe that for a second, unless Bob was trying to kill her so he didn’t have to pay alimony.”

  “Possibly true, but she called me at the crack of dawn this morning when she couldn’t reach you.”

  “She didn’t call me.” But the first thought was that I had no clue where I’d left my phone. It could be dead or it could be in the car or at the manor. Or dropped somewhere along the way. I hadn’t even looked for it when I got home last night. I’d dropped into bed and then this morning Scott had distracted me.

  “Oh, she said she called at least twenty times. She was upset that you ‘ignored her summons.’”

  “Oh, that really makes me want to respond to her. Right. Let’s finish breakfast and then pay her a call,” I suggested. If I got a chance to search her cabinets, I wond
ered if I’d find the ingredients for a special sauce.

  “I’ll clean up the kitchen,” Scott offered. “I have some time to kill before I have to go to the club. Mind if I use your computer and printer?”

  “Help yourself.”

  * * *

  The minute we were in Tinkie’s fine new car—full as ticks on an old hound—she turned to me. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Scott, but I think someone dangerous is in Sunflower County. Someone with an agenda that we don’t understand at all. Someone who took a shot at Kitten.”

  As if witches, warlocks, cunning men, spells, charms, dead bodies, and viable sperm weren’t enough to worry about. “Why do you believe this?”

  “Because…” She pulled the car over at the end of the driveway and reached into the backseat to retrieve a piece of paper.

  She handed it to me, and I read the words aloud. “‘The wages of sin are death.’ That sounds like something Aunt Loulane would say.” And it did. But my wonderful aunt had seldom been sinister, only religious. Her point was that people earned their place in Heaven by their actions on earth. Bad people were sent to smoking rooms, reservations determined by St. Peter.

  I studied the block printing of the note. Some of the letters looked similar to the note I’d found in Trevor’s bedroom, but I couldn’t be certain because that note was now missing. But we had this one. Coleman could get someone to analyze the handwriting. Or perhaps that was something he’d learned during his stint at Quantico.

  Tinkie returned the note to the backseat where it should be safe. Before I lost my nerve, I confessed the loss of the first note to her. “Coleman is going to be mad for several good reasons.”

  “Hold off on telling him.” Tinkie patted my shoulder. “Really. We may be able to figure this out.”

  Sweet relief and guilt flooded me. “A lie of omission…”

  “I didn’t say never tell him. Just hold off until we can study this note a little. You were foolish to go in that house without backup. Why get Coleman all stirred up unless we have to?”