Charmed Bones Read online

  “I didn’t hurt Esmeralda. Maybe it was that sheriff she was all atwitter about. They had dinner and she was beside herself with his charms.” She leveled her gaze at me, twisting the knife. “She said it was a very intimate … meal.”

  “So you talked to her after the dinner?” I was on top of my game.

  “What if I did?”

  “Then you may have been the last person to see her alive.” I loved it when I got to say that to a suspect I really disliked.

  “Bite me.” Kitten was reduced to eighth-grade replies.

  “No, thanks. I don’t eat aged and marbled beef.”

  Tinkie had taken a dainty sip of her orange juice, which caused her to splutter. I slapped her on the back to help her catch her breath. “That was a good one, Sarah Booth,” she whispered. “Let’s ditch this joint. I don’t think she was involved in Esmeralda’s death.”

  “I agree.” I turned to Esmeralda. “Coleman will be by, I’m sure. You can ask him yourself about his dinner with Esmeralda since you’re so consumed with curiosity. I’m sure he’ll have some questions for you.”

  “You two are fired.” Kitten stood up to her full five foot three height. “Leave my home.”

  “No refunds,” I said.

  “Of course you wouldn’t refund my money.” She pointed toward the entrance hall. “Just get out.”

  I drained the mimosa. Why waste good liquor? And Tinkie and I headed west.

  * * *

  Not five minutes on the way home, I felt my world slip out of control. “Something is wrong. Everything is spinning.”

  Tinkie pulled to the side of the road and looked at me. “One mimosa wouldn’t hit this hard. You’ve been drugged.”

  “You didn’t drink much of your drink?”

  “Only a sip. Because … Lean back. We’re going to the hospital.”

  Since I couldn’t do anything but lean and slump, I didn’t argue. Five minutes later we pulled into the ambulance bay and Tinkie sent for an orderly with a wheelchair. He pushed me straight into the emergency room, where Doc Sawyer tut-tutted when he saw me. “Kitten Fontana spiked your drink, eh?”

  “It had to be her,” Tinkie said. “Maybe she drugged Esmeralda and pushed her over the railing.”

  Doc didn’t reply as he shined a penlight in my eyes that made me yelp in pain. “Photo sensitivity, dizziness, loss of coordination. Sarah Booth, can you think straight? Don’t answer that.”

  “I can think, dammit. I can’t walk. And I am not a vegetable sitting here to be discussed. I’m not a squash. Or a rutabaga. Or a turnip.”

  “Stop with the produce. I can fix this.” He went to his cabinets and came back with a horse needle and syringe. It looked like he was going to spike an artery and put in a spigot.

  Before I could get my tongue unwrapped to scream, it was over. And sure enough, the wooziness started to pass and my clarity returned. Even my feet would tap when I asked them to. “Thanks, Doc. That’s a lot better.”

  He leaned over and whispered in my ear. “You need a better group of drinking buddies. You were drugged.”

  “With what?”

  “Some form of Klonopin or a similar drug.”

  “And that would be?”

  “You were given an antianxiety drug.” He checked my eyes again. “You’re fine. You could have slept it off, but since you were here…”

  I looked at Tinkie. “Why didn’t you drink your mimosa?”

  Tinkie paced the exam room. “Kitten was just way too sly about finally offering us a drink. I knew she was up to something.”

  “And I fell for it.”

  “No, but you were so determined to stick it to her that you swigged it down without thinking.”

  A lesson on being a greedy girl I needed to think about—at a later date.

  “So why was Kitten drugging you?” Doc asked.

  “Because she’s mean?” I asked.

  “I think that covers most of it. Sarah Booth had been tweaking her pretty good since we got there. Kitten finally had enough and reverted back to the days when she used to drug and roll her bordello clients.”

  “Whoa, there.” I nodded my approval.

  “You’re okay, Sarah Booth. Grow up. Stop drinking with your enemies. Now get out of here.”

  “Anything on Esmeralda’s cause of death?” I was really right as rain.

  “If she fell from the third floor into the koi pond, she was mighty lucky. She didn’t have a single broken bone.”

  “But how did she die?”

  “I can’t say just yet. Still running some tests. I will say her death doesn’t make sense. Esmeralda was otherwise in fine health. I’ve checked her records, and there’s no history of heart issues or any reason to believe she might suffer from such.” He sighed. “I’m still looking.”

  “Do you think the witches cursed her?” Tinkie asked.

  I held my breath. I didn’t want to admit it, but the same thought had run through my mind. Bit by bit, I was beginning to see the witches as a force or power. Good or bad, I couldn’t say. But the charm that hung between my breasts had moved me from a skeptic to a reluctant believer. And that opened the door to some wild possibilities. What were those sisters capable of?

  Doc studied Tinkie. “I’m a man of science. Hexes, charms, curses—they’re only effective if the person believes in them. It’s psychological, not magical. I don’t believe in curses, Tinkie. You know that.”

  “I do. But there isn’t another logical explanation.”

  “There is. I just haven’t found it.”

  * * *

  “Do you think Kitten ordered the maid to drug me?” I’d pondered this silently for most of the ride to the DDA offices at Dahlia House.

  Tinkie turned down the driveway. “I don’t know. How did she communicate that message to the maid? Do you think maybe the drug was meant for Kitten?”

  “Why would the maid drug Kitten? Why would the maid drug any of us? That whole episode doesn’t make sense. The gunshot that didn’t really happen, obviously. Her getting us over there to do what? It’s just … nonsensical.”

  Tinkie’s mind was more orderly than mine. She hated illogical things.

  “I’m just glad I didn’t fall over and crack my skull open. I couldn’t make my arms and legs respond.” I didn’t say it out loud, but I wondered if Bob Fontana had been suffering from a little dose of an antianxiety drug. His body had been almost boneless in its relaxation. I quickly filled Tinkie in on the details of Bob’s intoxication.

  “Why was it so important for us to be at Kitten’s house? Who benefits from us being there?”

  Tinkie was at least asking the right questions as we coasted to a stop near the front steps. Moments later she headed to the office and I was in the kitchen putting on a pot of coffee. Sweetie Pie, Pluto, and Chablis were glad to see me, especially when they realized I had some delicious catfish leftovers in the refrigerator for them. I understood the ways of my critters. If only humans were as easy to interpret.

  “Sarah Booth! Come quick!”

  I put the box of fish in the sink and ran toward Tinkie’s voice. She never panicked unless there was a good reason—or a cockroach. “What?”

  But she didn’t have to answer. I saw it. Someone had been through our agency office like a tornado on an April day. Papers were scattered everywhere. Files had been pulled from drawers and filing cabinets turned over. Whoever did this might have been hunting for something, but they’d also done the maximum damage they could. “Well, damn.”

  Tinkie leveled a gaze at me. “You asked who benefitted from us being at Kitten’s. Now we know. Whoever did this. It got us out of the way for certain so they could get in here and tear through our files.”

  I examined the big window and saw how they’d entered Dahlia House, breaking the old lock that had never been designed to forestall a modern intruder. “I need new locks on the windows. I’m glad there aren’t any more of those claw marks.”

  “Find the sunshine, li
ttle miss,” Tinkie said. “I’m aggravated.” She kicked off her heels and knelt on the floor as she began picking up papers and files.

  I sat at one of the computers and went through our case files. It didn’t seem that anything had been taken or deleted. I had no way of knowing if a file had been copied.

  “We don’t keep that much stuff on the computer,” Tinkie said.

  “Right. It looks okay.” I put in a call to the local hardware store and got the name of someone who could change out the window locks. I made an appointment and slid to the floor to help pick up the debris.

  “Did you find anything in Bob’s office?” Tinkie asked.

  I removed the pages I’d taken from my back pocket and unfolded them as I talked. “There was a receipt from Lisbet Bailey sent to Bob.”

  “For what?”

  I looked at the page. “It doesn’t say. It’s just a receipt for two grand.”

  “Wasn’t Lisbet in jail for that embezzlement and fraud scam at Arlington Woods? She’s still in jail. Why is she paying Bob anything?”

  “We need to make some calls. Too bad we don’t have any personal connections to the correctional officers at the Central Mississippi lockup.”

  “Keep on the path you’re going, Sarah Booth, and I’m sure we’ll have some close prison contacts before too long.”

  17

  The day was still young when Tinkie and I decided to head south on Highway 49 to pay Lisbet Bailey a surprise visit at the prison. Before we went anywhere, I had to find my phone and I hoped I’d dropped it in my car. To that end, we went out and began a thorough search.

  Knowing my propensity to let items slide out of my lap as I drove, I immediately began a search of the floorboard under the driver’s seat. Once I’d had a billfold slide off my lap and wedge under the brake pedal. Not a good move, trust me. At least the thin phone wouldn’t prevent me from stopping the car, but shifting around under my feet would not prove healthy for the device.

  “How can things hide in such a small area?” I asked as I wallowed around in the tight space.

  “Sarah Booth, it’s right in the backseat,” Tinkie said.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” I unscrewed myself from beneath the steering column and looked at the backseat. Tinkie wasn’t hallucinating. “I just don’t remember putting it there.” But I was glad to have it back and plugged it into the charger as we piled in for the drive downstate.

  In our work as PIs, we’d learned that long prison sentences sometimes made people more talkative. Especially if they were stewing in the juices of revenge. Lisbet might be willing to dish some dirt on Bob Fontana, Kitten, and the real estate developments that had gone sour and ended up with her spending her reproductive years in jail.

  “Why would she take the heat for Bob?” Tinkie asked the question that troubled me. “Why would she take all the blame and let him off scot-free?”

  “Maybe she’ll tell us.”

  The clarity of the air made driving a pleasure, and though we took the convertible, we left the critters at Dahlia House. Waiting in a prison parking lot in a car wasn’t a productive way for them to spend the day, and I didn’t know how long, or if, we’d be allowed to talk to Lisbet. As a personal favor to me—and without asking too many questions—Coleman had called ahead for us and opened the door for the interview, but institutions such as prisons moved at a crawl, even with the best prompting.

  “I did a little internet research on Lisbet Bailey,” Tinkie said. “I couldn’t find much. The case against her was pretty damning. They found documentation in her files that she knew the land they built on was in a floodplain, that the area was unstable, that foundations were liable to crack, yada yada. Lisbet simply never disclosed that information to the construction crews, or so the paperwork indicates. I don’t believe that, though. She and Bob were partners, but it seems she deceived Bob and everyone else. She went straight for the finish line and the payoff and so she paid the ultimate price.”

  “People build on bad land all the time when they rush to throw up developments. The problem is, they just don’t get caught until fifty years later when the foundation issues start to show up. Then the developer is out of business and the homeowners are up shit creek.”

  “How eloquent you are, Sarah Booth.”

  “It might apply, literally, in this case. When the Pearl River floods, there’s a lot of toxic sh … stuff floating around.”

  Tinkie slugged my arm with a lot of force. “You are too gross.”

  “Stop it. I’m driving.”

  “She’s touching me. She’s touching me.” Tinkie mocked me.

  I didn’t bother replying as we pulled into the check-in booth at the prison. Coleman had done his work and we drove down to the admin building. They would bring Lisbet to the visitor area. As I got out and looked around at the prison grounds, I could only hope Lisbet would view us as a distraction in an otherwise long and bland day and actually agree to meet with us. No one could force her to do so.

  Because Coleman had removed the hurdles, we entered the prison and were told Lisbet was waiting for us in an interview area. A guard would stay with us. I would have preferred to be alone with her, but I was glad she’d agreed to speak to us.

  When I opened the door, I saw the guard in the corner and a woman in her early forties with blond hair and dark roots dressed in an orange jumpsuit. Her eyes were a little wild, as if she’d been netted and brought to civilization against her will.

  Tinkie took the initiative and introduced herself. The woman eyed the guard and leaned forward to speak privately to us. “If Lisbet Bailey sent you, you can tell that bitch when I get out of here I’m going to skin her alive.”

  It wasn’t exactly the opening salvo I’d anticipated. I approached the topic with caution. “Aren’t you Lisbet Bailey?” I asked.

  “No.” She looked over at the guard. “I’ve been trying to tell these pinheads I am not Lisbet Bailey for a while now. This is a big mistake. I took a payoff to show up at those development homes pretending to be Lisbet Bailey. It was a simple scam. I just put out the paperwork, made a few bank calls for financing, got their signatures on the line. You know, closed the deal.”

  “And you did this why?” I asked.

  “For each deal I closed as Lisbet Bailey, I got a nice payoff. Imagine my surprise when a swat team of po-pos crashed through the door at this brick five/four I was showing. You would have thought I was Charles Manson. They hurled me to the ground and cuffed me. I was arrested and charged with a list of crimes as long as my arm. Now no one will believe that I’m not this Lisbet Bailey who cheated all of those homeowners. I don’t know a damn thing about bad foundations or floodplains. I was the front woman to close the deals that Bob Fontana had already set in motion.”

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Claudell Myers.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m Claudell Myers. Sometimes I think that I’ve lost my mind and made up Claudell. But that’s me. Even though they’ve pretty much erased me.” She grabbed my hand. “You have to get me out of here before I disappear completely.”

  “Do you know Lisbet Bailey?” I asked.

  “Never met her face-to-face. Like I said, I was hired to pretend to be her. All I had to do was show up and get the signatures on the house contracts. I’m a small-time con. I impersonate people and steal identities. When I got a call asking me to pretend to be this Lisbet person, the pay was too much to turn down. I should have known it was too good to be true.”

  “How much pay?” The question popped out and I wished I hadn’t spoken. She was on a roll and I’d thrown up a roadblock.

  “Not enough. I think about that a lot, lying on the two-inch cardboard mattress staring at cinder blocks. I sold my life for a song.”

  “You were tried for these crimes,” Tinkie said, pacing on our side of the table. “How could you go through the trial and be convicted and not be able to prove your true identity?”

  The woman sighed. “Because I am as st
upid as I look. They convinced me to keep up the pretense of being Lisbet during the trial. They said they’d set it all straight eventually, when the real Lisbet Bailey had a chance to get out of the country. They promised they’d come back and make this right and in the meantime, they were putting deposits into my bank account. Right. Of course they didn’t. When that prison door slammed shut behind me, I never saw them again. I was a fool.” The last was said with such bitterness that I almost felt sorry for her. Almost. But she was still a conned con who’d lost her freedom in a scam that had gotten a lot bigger than she was.

  “I can’t believe this,” Tinkie said. As the more logical partner, she was going on facts, not emotions. “Surely you could prove who you are.”

  “My entire life had been erased. Just erased. Oh, they did their job well. I don’t have family, and they knew that. High school dropout. I’d drifted around the country running scams, making sure not to leave any tracks behind. They knew everything about me that made me the perfect patsy to carry the weight on this. And I played right into their hands. I never dreamed anyone could be so deceptive.”

  Pot, kettle, both black. I didn’t say it. There was no point.

  “But the people who bought houses—surely they could testify that you weren’t Lisbet.”

  “Oh, really? They’d only talked to Lisbet on the phone. Since I met them for the closings and the document signings and the dealings with financing and the banks and said I was Lisbet”—she held out her hands palms up—“and as a con artist, I’d learned enough about financial matters that I could sell it, with some coaching from that bastard Bob Fontana and that bit—” She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “I’ve developed high blood pressure in here. I can’t get worked up. It doesn’t do any good and just damages my health.”

  “Well, I’d get worked up. If I’d spent my savings on one of those houses, I’d be really worked up.” Tinkie wasn’t sympathetic at all. “If what you say is true, the real Lisbet Bailey is running around living her life while you’re serving time for her crimes. I think you both need to be in jail.”

  I nudged Tinkie in the ribs. She wasn’t meaning to be a bruise masher, but she was doing a damn good job of it. “Ease off, how about it?”