A Garland of Bones Read online

  Tinkie had supplied the limo with champagne, strawberries, and snacks. We were a loud and lively group as we sped through the Delta toward the river town of Columbus. Tinkie and I had gone to the University of Mississippi, better known as Ole Miss, which was northeast of Zinnia. Columbus was slightly southeast, right on the Alabama line. It was an old city with a fascinating history located at the junction of the Tombigbee and Buttahatchee Rivers and Luxapalila Creek. The Tombigbee Waterway was a vital navigation path in current times, and historically it had been a lifeline for supplies to Southern troops during the Civil War. Before that, the original settlers, Native Americans, had also used the river to move people and goods.

  “We have something planned for each evening,” Tinkie said, listing on her fingers the events she’d arranged for us.

  Tinkie was wearing her cruise captain hat, and she had our holiday organized to a fare-thee-well. While I admired and appreciated her wrangling of our schedule, I had hopes of sneaking away from the others for some very private time with Coleman. I had a few Christmas games up my sleeve.

  “Sarah Booth isn’t thinking about decorating the tree at the Columbus Riverwalk or tossing trinkets on the flotilla on the river.” Millie grinned wickedly. “She’s got her mind on wrapping holiday garlands around Coleman.”

  “Guilty as charged,” I said as I snuggled closer to Coleman. His hand brushed down my rib cage and I feared electricity would spark across the car. We had a mutual attraction that might ignite.

  “So as soon as we get to town, we’ll take a little walking tour,” Tinkie said.

  “I do want to see Tennessee Williams’s home.” I was a huge fan of the Southern playwright. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Suddenly Last Summer. The Glass Menagerie. All were plays that spoke to the many varied elements of being a Southerner. Not all were pretty or pleasant.

  “Can we tour the W?” Millie asked about the Mississippi University for Women. Once a female-only university, it was now coeducational but still known as the W. “I’ve always adored Eudora Welty’s writing. I want to picture her walking around the campus.”

  “And that we can do,” Tinkie said. “We’re keeping the limo the whole week so we can tour wherever we want to go and those who aren’t pregnant can sip a little bubbly.”

  Tinkie was a serious party girl when it came to Christmas and exploring her beloved Mississippi, but impending motherhood had her focused on a healthy baby.

  “What a relief not to have to drive,” Coleman said as he leaned back. He deftly slid his hand down my thigh and gave a wicked little pinch. To thwart him, I didn’t react.

  “The Bissonnette House is a boutique B and B on the outskirts of Columbus, and right on the river,” Tinkie said. “I’ve booked all six rooms, so you can spread out any way you like. The owner is something of an authority on Columbus and was very helpful in planning our itinerary. She’s something of a character, too. She serves a full breakfast each morning, lunch, and dinner if we make arrangements. Breakfast is the specialty, though. I told her we’d be up and about by eight.”

  Oscar, Coleman, and Harold groaned loudly. “You don’t have to get up every morning and go to work,” Oscar pointed out to his wife. “This is a holiday vacation. Operative word is vacation! We might want to sleep in.”

  “Fine. You’ll just miss breakfast,” Tinkie said, not the least bit perturbed.

  Millie only laughed. “I can rustle up anything you need from the kitchen at any time,” she said. “I’m just thrilled to have a whole week off. Now no more groaning and complaining.”

  Harold popped another cork and poured champagne all around. For Tinkie he poured sparkling water.

  By the time we got to Columbus, it was time for lunch. We found our rooms—mine and Coleman’s was a beautiful suite with a balcony that looked out over the river. I wasn’t prepared for the steep bluff, but I should have been. River towns that weren’t on a high bluff often didn’t last.

  I took a moment to watch a few smaller boats and a tug churning down the river. Harold had once owned a sailboat, but Coleman and I were landlubbers. Still, a flotilla would be fun. Tinkie had planned a full itinerary for us, and I was going to enjoy every second of it.

  “What are you thinking?” Coleman came up behind me and put his arms around me, pulling me back against him. His chest and abdomen gave me a sense of solidness and security.

  “We need to travel to the Gulf and try sailing.” Watching the river made me think of traveling slowly on the current. Huck Finn. My childhood obsession had been building a raft, much to my father’s amusement, especially since we didn’t even have a pond to float it on.

  “Really?”

  I laughed. Coleman wasn’t prepared for my wanderlust. “Maybe not. Riding horses is plenty of work. That’s what they say, you know. The two most expensive hobbies in the world are boats and horses.”

  “I’m good with the horses. Boats just aren’t my thing.”

  “I do love a naughty pirate.” I leaned back and tilted my face up so that he could kiss me. For a moment we lingered in the kiss, not wanting to take it further, but just savoring that moment.

  Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. “Sarah Booth, are you decent?” Tinkie was tap, tap, tapping at my door. I’d forgotten this aggravating habit of hers.

  “Come in.” Coleman was laughing as he spoke.

  “We’re ready to go to town and find some lunch. I have a list of places we should eat. We’re going to have to eat five times a day to hit all of them.”

  Tinkie was enjoying pregnancy, and she was like a tapeworm on steroids. “And Darla is down in the parlor. I want everyone to meet her. She’s been so helpful in planning our itinerary.”

  Coleman spun me around, gave me another swift, passionate kiss, and then led me to the door to follow Tinkie down the hallway and staircases to the first floor. An elegant woman in her mid-thirties was waiting for us.

  Tinkie made the introductions between Darla Lofton and the Zinnia crew. Darla’s hair was as perfectly glitzed and styled as Tinkie’s. If they’d been horses, they would have been a matched pair fit for pulling a royal’s carriage. They would have been high-steppers, too.

  “I’m thrilled to have the Delaney Detective Agency staying in my home,” Darla said. “And a representation of law enforcement, banking, and the music world, not to mention one of the finest eateries in the state, and, last but not least, a well-known journalist. I hope you’re planning on writing some stories about the Christmas festivities in Columbus,” Darla said, winking at Cece.

  “I am working—just a little,” Cece said. “Zinnia has a parade and storefront window competitions, but we need to up our game. Columbus has given me some ideas.”

  “There are so many wonderful traditions and customs in the Delta, but here on the other side of the state we have some fun activities, too. Mumming is our latest addition. I do so love to dress up in a costume!”

  Darla and Tinkie were twins! Sisters by another mother. The only thing missing from Darla was a cute little moppet dog. Chablis was the perfect accoutrement to any of Tinkie’s outfits.

  The front doorbell chimed, and before anyone could move to answer it, a pretty redhead came in. “Darla, I hope I’m not interrupting. I wanted to meet your Zinnia guests.” She held out her hand to each of us. “Kathleen Beesley, pleased to meet you.” Kathleen had pixie features and an impish smile. Her auburn hair was an incredible shade that contrasted beautifully with her pale skin and green eyes.

  “I knew you wouldn’t last an hour once you knew everyone was here.” Darla was chiding her gently, and with a smile. “Kathleen is a busybody,” she told us. “She has no malice, but she has to know everything going on. The good thing is she doesn’t gossip.”

  “Columbus is a small town, really. When something is happening, I don’t want to miss it.” Kathleen was unapologetic about her curiosity bone. “I should write for the newspaper because I am into everything. But it isn’t malicious.”

  It was impossibl
e not to like the two women. They were fun and shameless about their nosiness. Something I understood perfectly.

  “Where should we go for lunch?” Tinkie asked.

  “The Green Parrot Bar and Grill.” Darla checked her watch. “And they’re hosting a karaoke Christmas party this afternoon. A lot of the banks and businesses have closed for a half day of shopping for Christmas. And the karaoke competition is always highly competitive and fun. Some of these people make total fools of themselves, but it’s for a good cause. They’re raising money for an orphanage in town.”

  “We can’t turn that down,” Harold said. “Besides, Cece and Jaytee can actually sing.” He looked at me. “Sarah Booth, promise us you won’t try.”

  “Hey,” Coleman said, my knight in shining armor coming to my rescue. “Let her sing if she wants to. If anyone’s ears start bleeding, we can stop her.”

  So much for a rescue from my man. “I’m going to sing ‘Silver Bells’ and do all the ting-a-linging by myself!”

  Everyone was laughing as we headed out to the limo for a run into Columbus.

  3

  The downtown area of Columbus was bustling with activity as we made our way to the Green Parrot. The restaurant, which was perfectly set up for karaoke, offered an American menu, great drinks, and rowdy customers packed around tables as they cheered or harassed the singing talent.

  We found a table near the stage while a cute young girl sang “Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” Because we’d already been drinking champagne, we continued with glasses of bubbly while we waited for our food orders.

  Tinkie and Oscar were poring over the karaoke songbook while Coleman was fondling my knee beneath the table. Christmas karaoke obviously made him naughty. “Santa won’t bring you anything unless you straighten up,” I cautioned him in a whisper.

  “I’ve already got everything I want,” he said, attempting to inch his fingertips up my thigh.

  “I’ll scream,” I said.

  He only laughed, but leaned back in his chair. “Why are you looking at the songbook?” he asked with a wary note in his voice.

  “I don’t really need it. I already know what I’m going to sing.” I’d been thinking about this for days.

  Coleman deadpanned it. “Let us eat first, so if we have to run out screaming, at least we won’t be hungry.”

  Oscar joined in the teasing. “I thought Tinkie had a signed contract with you guaranteeing you’d never, ever sing in public.”

  “Keep it up.” I grinned.

  When the young girl finished, Tinkie grabbed Oscar’s hand and dragged him up on the stage. I was impressed with their rendition of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” It was one of my holiday favorites, and it was clear to see the pleasure they took in each other. And they both could sing.

  I was about to go onstage when a slender brunette in a terrific Christmas sweater and leggings jumped on the stage and grabbed the microphone. The emcee introduced her as Tulla Tarbutton. She nodded to the guy working the machine, and the opening music of “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” came up. She had a pretty good voice, and she knew how to sing to a crowd.

  She was about halfway through the song when an arc of electricity moved from the microphone she held to the speakers. There was a loud pop, the lights went out, and Tulla went into a spasm and dropped to the floor like she’d been hit with an ax. Clearly she’d been electrocuted.

  Coleman, Harold, and Oscar were on the stage in seconds as they set to work doing CPR. Tinkie called an ambulance, and Cece, ever the reporter, was taking photographs. Pandemonium broke out in the restaurant as the owners and servers rushed over to help. People everywhere were talking, and in the background, I heard a woman say, “Exactly what that ho deserves.” When I turned around to try to identify the speaker, I couldn’t pinpoint anyone.

  “Sounds like someone has a grudge against Ms. Tarbutton,” Tinkie said, easing up beside me.

  Before I could respond, silence fell over the place. When Tulla Tarbutton shakily sat up—with assistance from Coleman and the men—a cheer broke out and everyone went back to their tables to finish eating.

  Coleman helped the woman onto a stretcher when the paramedics arrived. It was then I realized Jaytee was examining the karaoke equipment. He wore a frown, and he was whispering with Cece.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “This equipment was tampered with,” Jaytee said. “It was deliberately shorted, or so it appears.”

  “Why would anyone do that?” I asked.

  “Well, you were up next to sing and she jumped your spot. Maybe they’ve heard you sing before?” Jaytee softened his teasing with a squeeze of my shoulder. “Really, I can’t say. But I know this was done deliberately.”

  “Would someone be able to control who was shocked?” I asked.

  “Maybe,” Jaytee said. “I’d have to really study this and I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  “Why—” Before I could finish my question, the owner of the Green Parrot took the stage and quickly began unplugging the equipment. A crew of several employees loaded everything up and started hauling it away.

  “Hey!” I said.

  He looked at me. “This equipment is going to a repair shop. No one touches it again until I make sure it’s safe.”

  I couldn’t blame him, but I wondered if we should tell the cops about the short in the microphone.

  “Let it go,” Jaytee said. “It could have been an accident. I just don’t think so. But the police officer there is examining the equipment. I’m sure he’ll see exactly what I saw. Remember, Sarah Booth, we’re on vacation.”

  What Jaytee said was true, but I approached the police officer and mentioned what Jaytee had found, just to be sure he was aware.

  “You know that was tampering with a crime scene?” the officer asked. “I could arrest you both for that.”

  I noted his name was Jerry Goode. “We only wanted to be sure no one else was shocked.”

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized, shaking our hands. “I do appreciate the help. It’s just that Ms. Tarbutton could have been killed. I can’t risk anyone else messing with faulty equipment that might shock them. What brings y’all to Columbus?”

  “We’re vacationing here. A holiday treat.”

  He picked up the karaoke planning book—the one the DJ used to cue the next song up. Instead of my name, I noticed that Tulla Tarbutton had been added in just above me. So at least the DJ, an employee of the bar, had known that Tulla was up next.

  I pointed that out to the officer. “Look, see, she was on the list, so the shock could have easily been meant for her.”

  He tapped the logbook. “Thanks for the help. As soon as the doc says it’s okay, I’ll have a chat with Ms. Tarbutton. If someone means to hurt her, the Columbus police want to be on top of it.”

  I returned to our table. I’d discuss it with Coleman when we were alone. If he wanted to take Jaytee’s information to Officer Goode, he could. It would carry more weight coming from another lawman.

  “Well, no karaoke for me and Cece,” Jaytee said with a pretend pout. “We might just have to find a stage tonight at a local club and belt out some blues.”

  “That would be worth watching,” I agreed. Cece could really sing. She had the blues in her bones. And Jaytee’s harmonica made women swoon.

  “No more karaoke, so let’s shop!” Tinkie was ready to get on with Christmas. Since she hadn’t partaken of any alcohol, she was perky and ready to hit the stores. I, on the other hand, longed for a nap. I knew just the perfect human pillow I wanted to snuggle with. But Tinkie had put her heart into organizing this trip, and if shopping was what she wanted, I was going to shop.

  The men split off from us, claiming they needed secrecy to find the perfect gifts. I suspected they were heading to a warm and cozy bar for some darts or pool, but it was good to have my girl posse. It wasn’t often that Millie could join us, and she and Cece recounted hysterical stories about celeb
rity gossip they’d dug up for their new Sunday newspaper column, “The Truth Is Out There,” which was a hit. The column had almost doubled the Zinnia Dispatch’s readership, and Ed Oakes, Cece’s editor, was more than pleased. Cece, the hard-facts journalist, and Millie, who was a devotee of celebrity tabloid news, cooked up just enough scandal and outrageousness to appeal to everyone.

  “Speaking of Ed,” Cece said, “he was telling me about Friendship Cemetery here in town, where the tradition of Memorial Day began. The women of Columbus selected a day, originally called Decoration Day, to honor the fallen Confederate dead, but when they got to the cemetery, they decided to honor all of the soldiers’ graves, even those of the Union soldiers. It became a national holiday to honor the graves of fallen soldiers.”

  Cece was often chock-full of interesting facts. “I wouldn’t mind a spin through the cemetery if we have time.”

  “Let’s focus on shopping. Look at that dress,” Tinkie said, pointing to a storefront window, where a red velvet number really was an eye-catcher. “Let’s look in there.”

  So of course we did, laughing and chattering as we selected gifts for others—and one or two for ourselves.

  When we’d made it down one whole street, we had more boxes than we could manage, and most of the afternoon had slipped away. “Darla said she was making dinner tonight, so we can relax back at the B and B,” Tinkie said. “My feet are tired.”

  My feet were fine, but I was also ready to give up the frantic shopping. In the best of conditions I was a terrible shopper. After three hours of it, I was more than done. I had managed to get Coleman an incredible riding jacket. It was warm and lightweight, with plenty of pockets. And it matched his blue eyes. I felt my hard work searching for a perfect gift had paid off handsomely.

  As five o’clock rolled around, the shops began to close. During the final days of the season, they would remain open later, and there was a big Wassail Fest event, in which all the downtown shops remained open until ten P.M. conducting business in a final push for those last-minute gifts.