Sticks and Bones Read online

  “Champagne?” Harold asked wickedly as he approached me with a crystal stem and a bottle.

  “Back!” I made the sign of the cross. “Coffee. Please.”

  Everyone laughed and Cece pushed a mug filled with strong black coffee into my hand. “Caffeine and something greasy and filled with carbohydrates will do the trick.”

  Tinkie nudged me into a chair and Millie put buttered toast and a side of hot grits in front of me. “The New Year’s food is on the way,” Millie said. “Eat this now and you’ll feel better.”

  Of course she was right. As soon as I ate, my stomach settled and the little man with a sledgehammer tapping on my optic nerve stopped. “Thank you,” I told them.

  “Too bad you can’t have a toast with us,” Harold teased.

  “I can toast. There’s no law that says it has to be alcohol.” I raised my cup of coffee and clinked with my friends as Oscar proclaimed the word for the new year to be “positivity.”

  The lunch at Millie’s had become a tradition since I’d returned to Zinnia. I looked around the room with gratitude. I was rich in friends. Good friends, and that was the greatest gift of all. But people were missing.

  “Where’s Coleman, DeWayne, Scott, and Jaytee?” Cece almost never left Jaytee’s side.

  “They’re coming,” Cece said. “I told the band to relax a little bit. After Harold’s party they went back and closed down their club. The work of a musician is never done.”

  “Or a lawman,” Millie threw in. “But here they all come.”

  Two cars pulled into the parking lot and the missing men entered the café to another round of hugs, greetings, and a toast.

  Surveying the smiling faces of my friends, I saw the ghosts of the past standing close behind them. My parents, Aunt Loulane, the people who’d loved and cared for me. But I pushed those sad thoughts aside and lifted my mug. “To the best friends ever.”

  As we all raised our drinking vessels to toast, the door of the café slammed open so hard the jangling bell fell to the floor. Tinkie gasped as Sister McFee stepped inside. The Wicked Witch of the South grand entrance redux, and she eyed Tinkie like she was Toto.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t a little celebration, and they’ve let Stinky attend. What’s with you? Have you all gone nose blind?”

  Oscar put his glass down and stepped toward Sister. “Either apologize to my wife or get out.”

  “This is a private party,” Millie said. “You should leave.”

  “The door was unlocked. If you want privacy, maybe you should lock your door.” Sister sauntered deeper into the room and picked up the bowl of grits I’d been eating. She sniffed it. “Someone loves clogged arteries, don’t they?”

  “Leave now, before I arrest you.” Coleman grasped her arm.

  “For what? Entering a diner? Oh please, you might humiliate me by tattling to the tabloids that I set foot in a place like this, but you can’t arrest me.”

  “This is a private party. You’re trespassing.” Coleman was deadly serious and Sister was a fool if she didn’t heed his warning.

  Cece pushed her camera in Sister’s face and took at least a dozen photos. She checked the shots. “Very flattering. Have you checked your nose lately? I think I have photographic evidence you’ve been practicing obsequiousness with someone.”

  I couldn’t help it; I burst out laughing. “Good one, Cece.”

  “What do you want, Frangelica?” Tinkie was the only one to ask the obvious.

  “I was checking this dump for a location for my movie, but I can see that if I brought a camera in here, the lens would fog with grease.”

  “Making a movie of that awful book that paints your dead brother as a murderer?” Tinkie asked. “The dead brother who can’t defend himself against your unfounded accusations?”

  “So you’ve read my book.” Sister grinned. “Like millions of others.”

  I put a hand on Tinkie to keep her from jumping the table and tearing Sister’s throat out. The animosity between the two was palpable.

  Coleman tightened his grip on Sister and escorted her to the door. When she was outside, he closed and locked the door and closed the blinds. “I took the trash out,” he said to Tinkie, who burst into tears.

  “She is just so damn mean,” Tinkie said, wiping her cheeks angrily. “I shouldn’t let her get to me, but she is the meanest person I’ve ever known.”

  “She’s pretty mean,” Cece said. Her wicked grin told me she wasn’t above a bit of mischief. “So let’s pay her back in kind.”

  “Do you have a plan?” I asked.

  “Oh, you bet I do. We’ll plot together at a later date. I think Millie is ready to put the food on the table.”

  In ten minutes we’d brought out the holiday fare from the kitchen, formed a buffet, and filled our plates. Sister and her attitude were forgotten. We laughed and joked and told stories of the past year. Scott rubbed my short—but growing—hair and thanked me and Tinkie again for saving his blues club. Everyone put Oscar’s word, “positivity,” to good use.

  We’d just dug into the pièce de résistance, Millie’s incredible Amaretto chocolate cheesecake, when we heard the sound of a glasspack muffler or a motorcycle in front of the café. A loud knock followed.

  Millie went to the door saying, “We’ll be open to the public at two—” She stopped in midsentence when she saw a tall, very handsome man wearing leather everything. Right behind him was a strikingly beautiful woman, also in black leather.

  “Oh my god!” Millie squealed. “It’s Marco St. John and his wife, Lorraine. Come in, come in.” Millie ushered them into the room and to the table, where Harold pushed forward two more chairs. “Have a seat and join us in a New Year’s Day celebration.”

  “Smells delicious,” Marco said. “I love Southern cooking.”

  Lorraine walked around the café examining everything. “This is perfect,” she said. “The light, the ambience … It’s the place to bring Cleo alive. It’s the perfect setting. This is a place she’d come and talk about her ideas for Mississippi education. She’d meet with the man on the street. She’d mingle with the real people here. Not at that old mausoleum they call Evermore.”

  “Cleo McFee often stopped by for breakfast or coffee and a slice of pie,” Millie said. “She was a lovely woman.”

  “Who are those people?” I whispered to Tinkie.

  “He’s a movie director. She’s a cinematographer. They’re the hottest film couple in Tinsel Town. Oblique, Touched, Fever Moon, Morgan Creek, Dead at Midnight.”

  I knew the movies and they were some of my favorites. “What are they doing in Zinnia?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid I know exactly what this is about,” Tinkie said. “It’s Sister’s book, Dead and Gone. They really are making a movie.” She sounded defeated. “I thought it was all a big bluff, but it isn’t. She’s going to have a movie made of her book. How is it possible that someone who is such a bully could be so talented?”

  Oscar brought his wife another glass of champagne and gave me a concerned look. I was worried too.

  Marco and Lorraine dug into the holiday food with gusto. The moviemakers were surprisingly open about everything except the name of the movie. “We can’t say,” Marco said. “Once the deal is signed, we’ll tell you everything, because we’re going to need your help.”

  While Marco and Lorraine ate, we peppered them with questions. Finally, Marco pushed back from the table. “Thank you for such wonderful food, but I’m here on business. I’m looking for Sarah Booth Delaney.”

  I raised my hand. “Here.”

  “May I have a word with you? Outside?”

  I followed him out the door amid a buzz of speculation. When the door closed, Marco leaned against the café wall. “I want to hire you to find out what really happened to Son McFee and his mother, Cleo.”

  “Hire me?”

  “Are you deaf?” He wasn’t being mean. He really thought I had a hearing problem.

  “No, I’m not deaf, but why hire me?”

  “You’ve read Frangelica’s book?”

  I rolled my eyes. “No. But you can bet it’s a pack of lies.”

  “Exactly. I’m making a movie of what happened based on the book. But I have a hunch there’s more to this story. I want to find out what happened to cause the accident, and to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, what happened to Son McFee.”

  “You’re really interested in the truth?” I asked.

  “Lorraine and I have our suspicions, but we want the truth. And I’m very serious.” He brought out his wallet and withdrew a personal check for ten thousand dollars. “This is a retainer,” he said. “I’ll hire you as a location scout for the movie, so that will give you access to everyone and everything.” He pulled the check back. “But this could be dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” I realized I did sound deaf. “I mean this is a cold case. Do you really think there’s danger?”

  “Someone damaged one of Lorraine’s cameras. It was deliberate sabotage.”

  “Okay.”

  “For some reason it’s very important to Colin and Sister McFee to make Son a villain. My experience as a filmmaker tells me that when someone promotes one and only one version of an unproved truth, there’s a reason for it. Colin has a lot to lose and something tells me he isn’t the kind of man to go down without a fight. Are you still interested?”

  This was a case I wanted. I hadn’t been close with Son in college. He was a year or so older than me, but he’d always been pleasant. Where Sister was a total B, Son had been funny and kind. It might be true that Son was drunk or on drugs and lost control of the car. But right at the entrance to the Sunflower River Bridge? It didn’t feel right. It never had.

  “Let me talk to my partner,” I sa
id.

  “Yes, we need Mrs. Bellcase on board. Tell her I’ll give you both walk-on parts.”

  “She’d love that.” Maybe Marco could cheer up my friend with a chance to be in a movie. It would be the best revenge ever against meanie Sister. “Let me ask her. I’ll be right back.”

  Five minutes later, Delaney Detective Agency was on the payroll of Black Tar Productions. The new year was off to an auspicious start.

  2

  The second day of January was brisk and cold. Bundled up like an Arctic explorer, I hurried out the front door of Dahlia House when I saw Tinkie coming down the driveway. Sweetie Pie bounded gleefully at my side. Even Pluto, who disdained all excited movement, jacked up his normal saunter and put it in gear to jump into Tinkie’s warm car. The cat might be covered in thick black fur, but he didn’t like being chilled.

  Tinkie drove toward the bridge on Highway 12 that linked Washington and Humphreys Counties. Cleo and Son met their fates attempting to cross the flooded Sunflower River. As we traveled, I filled her in on what I’d learned about the whole McFee clan, via a little Internet research and a few phone calls. It was an interesting story that paralleled the development of Mississippi. I pulled the papers I’d printed from my purse.

  “Stuart McFee emigrated to America in the late eighteen hundreds as a young man. He left Scotland—and accusations of horse thieving, robbery, and murder—behind him.”

  “Well, I don’t think the apple fell far from the tree,” Tinkie said. “Colin’s business practices have raised a few eyebrows.”

  “Nothing has ever stuck to Colin.” There had been accusations, but never charges and certainly not convictions. He played hardball and some people admired him for that. “Anyway, Stuart avoided the hangman’s noose and worked his passage to America on an immigrant boat. He discovered two things in New Orleans, his love of the Mississippi River and a young woman, a prostitute, named Amelia. Beautiful and cunning, she was notorious for rolling her customers. Stuart fell under her sway just as there was public outcry to imprison her.”

  Tinkie frowned, and it wasn’t from staring into the sun. “I don’t believe a person’s ancestry should be held against him, but there seems to be a component of that gene pool that includes aggression and chicanery.” Tinkie slowed and turned onto another two-lane highway. The fallow land seemed to stretch around us forever. Soon the giant tractors would be out turning the earth, preparing for planting.

  “Aggression, chicanery, and a streak of genius for making money, but not necessarily good luck. Stuart was a savvy businessman and he worked hard. Before long he had his own steamboats and a beautiful home in Natchez. Stuart and Amelia managed to put their pasts behind them. They had three children, but two died of fever. Only Jamie survived.” Tinkie and I both remembered Jamie McFee, a bearded thundercloud of a man who was greatly respected by adults and feared by children because of his booming voice and constant scowl.

  “So Jamie’s siblings died. People lost children all the time back then,” Tinkie said quietly. “It must have been terrible.”

  Tinkie’s sudden softening caught me by surprise. I shot a quick look at her. She was still suffering from the episode with little Libby Smith. That baby had stolen her heart, and while things had worked out and there had been a happy ending, Tinkie still missed being the baby’s mama. “Yeah. It affected Jamie a lot. He grew into a serious young man, a devoutly religious man. He believed the death of his siblings was punishment for his father and mother’s sins.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Tinkie said. “People aren’t punished like that.”

  “You and I know that, but when Jamie was a child, people believed a lot of superstitious things. He felt he was left alive to bring his family to heel, show them the path of righteousness. Sadly, he was destined for failure.”

  “Where did you learn all of this?” Tinkie glanced over at me. “You didn’t get this background off the Internet.”

  “You are correct. I called Mrs. Harris. She’s been working on the genealogy for every family in the Delta since I can remember.”

  “Teasie Harris?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good work, Sarah Booth. I’m impressed. Now tell me the rest.”

  “Okay, so it seems Jamie grew into a very stern man who married a very stern woman, Margaret O’Day. He expanded the McFee holdings to Europe and had one son, Angus, who proved to be a bitter disappointment. Angus was an excellent businessman, but he was a womanizer. He married and a few years later moved to Switzerland to run the European interests of the McFee family. He was shot to death in his own home when his son, Colin, was eighteen.”

  “Colin, as in Son’s and Sister’s father?”

  “Yes, the big man himself.”

  “No wonder he’s so driven. I feel a little sorry for him.”

  I sighed. Tinkie had a big heart, but Colin, as we both knew, was the kind of man who crushed anyone who stood in his way. He owned a development company that had a global reach. He’d bought and renovated some of the world’s most famous buildings, and everything he touched turned to gold. The Midas touch hadn’t prevented the loss of his wife and a son. It seemed the McFees, while able to turn dross into silk, were not lucky in family. There had not been a generation without tragic loss.

  “It’s dangerous to feel sorry for someone like Colin. What if he had his wife murdered? It’s possible.”

  “Very true, but it’s more likely Sister did it. She inherits Son’s half of the vast McFee estate.”

  “Interesting that Jamie skipped Colin in dispensing his estate.” It was something to ponder, but I didn’t see how killing Cleo or Son might improve Colin’s chances at inheritance. Everyone in Sunflower County knew the primary points of Jamie McFee’s trust—because Jamie had not been shy about publicly stating his intentions. The estate would go to his great-grandchildren. Sadly, Jamie died only months before Cleo drowned and Son disappeared.

  Tinkie sighed. “Jamie disparaged Colin constantly. He would come in the bank and talk to Oscar, saying that Colin was a whoremonger and a thief, that he didn’t understand what a vow meant.”

  “I guess that explains why Jamie skipped his grandson Colin and left his estate straight to Son and Sister. They were the only alternative for heirs.” Inheritance by default.

  “If Jamie had ever really known Sister, he would have given his estate to the Humane Society before he let her get her greedy fingers on it.”

  “Rich people do crazy things.” I could say that since I was a long, long way from ever being rich.

  Tinkie laughed, and her good humor seemed to be restored. “There’s the bridge. Let’s take a look.”

  She pulled to the verge, a good distance from the bridge, and we got out to walk the area where the accident had occurred.

  “How did Son miss this bridge?” Tinkie asked.

  “Good question.” I surveyed the side of the road. A road crew had recently shored up the shoulder and widened the roadbed. It would be impossible now to figure out what really happened.

  “And why were they even on Highway 12?” Tinkie asked. “I thought they were going to Jackson for a meeting. They should have been on 55. This doesn’t make sense. Why were they even on the west side of the state?”

  She was right about that. As I recalled the event, Cleo had spent the night in Oxford, Mississippi, meeting with community leaders about her Delta education initiative. She was seeking local businessmen to commit to funding preschool and kindergarten for counties with low tax bases. Her next stop was Jackson—so it didn’t make sense that she was on Highway 12. No one knew why she was there or how her big Cadillac Escalade, driven by Son, went off the side of the bridge. The Sunflower River was swollen and coursing with a dangerous current. Once the vehicle hit the current, it was swept rapidly away, tumbling and smashing into trees, docks, and other debris.

  I surveyed the river, now lazy and shallow. “How did they miss the bridge? It was raining. Hurricane Elsie hit the Gulf Coast and the back end of the storm flooded the Delta. But I still don’t see how Son went off the road and into the river.”

  “Car failure? Maybe the steering went out.”

  Tinkie made a good point. The problem was that Colin had hired one of the best private investigators in the Southeast, Hoots Tanner, to look into the wreck. Tanner had come up with zilch. And we wouldn’t have a chance to examine the physical evidence. By now, the Escalade was a cube of crushed metal, either recycled or in a landfill. Still, we’d have to pursue this angle as far as we could.