Charmed Bones Page 24

  Tinkie checked her watch, a gentle nudge that time was slipping past. “Tell Coleman about Spurlock and Malvik and our plan.”

  And so I did, as quickly as I could. I needed his help, too, if I was going to set up a “sting.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Tinkie left for Musgrove Manor. Coleman headed to Bob Fontana’s office, and I hurried upstairs to book an appointment at the Mane Attraction, a salon and day spa. Kitten had a standing appointment each week at the salon. That would be the easiest place to catch her off guard. And, as Tinkie pointed out, I really could use a professional haircut.

  I’d hoped to find something sparkly and stretchy to wear—in an attempt to fit into Kitten’s world—but no luck. My closet was bare of glitz. I found a blue striped sweater and pulled it over my head.

  Right behind me I heard Pluto hiss and yowl like his tail had been caught under a rocking chair. I whirled around and stopped. Standing in the doorway was a woman with the most amazing buck teeth I’d ever seen. And her red hair had been fashioned into what looked like ram horns on each side of her head.

  She threw her arms wide and advanced, her green floor-length gown billowing as she danced. “I put a spell on you,” she sang with gusto. “And there’s hell to pay!” This was Bette Midler at her wildest, wackiest best.

  I backed up until I hit a wall. I recognized the actress—and the haint who’d taken on her image. Jitty was playing a role, and at last it came to me. Winnie Sanderson from Hocus Pocus. And my black cat danced and cavorted with the singing creature.

  “Pluto!” I finally snapped out of it and lunged for my cat. My hands grasped only empty air. Of course, it was Jitty having the time of her life. Not only had she conjured a movie witch, she’d put a spell on my cat. “Dammit, Jitty.” I stood up. “You have to stop this. I’m not in the mood for your shenanigans.”

  “I’ll make you believe in magic,” Jitty/Winifred said with a wicked glint in her eyes. “Oh, I’ll make a believer out of you. Because it’s vital that you believe.”

  “I don’t want to believe. I want things to go back to normal. I want the witches not to be witches, and I want my haint to be the person who protects me, not torments me. This magic foolishness is just a crock.”

  “Are you still wearing that charm Tinkie gave you?” Winnie edged closer to me.

  My hand went instinctively to the little silk bag that hung between my breasts. I hadn’t taken it off. Even when I thought about removing it, I’d left it beneath my shirt. It was my good luck charm that had finally delivered Coleman into my bed.

  “Give it to me,” Winnie said in that grating tone she’d used throughout the movie Hocus Pocus.

  “I will not.”

  “Oh, yes you will.” She came toward me, her hands extended like claws. Her fingernails were at least two inches long and curved.

  “Oh, no I won’t.” I scurried around the bed like a trapped rat, only to be faced down by a puffed-up cat. “Pluto! You traitor!”

  He high-stepped toward me, then do-si-doed back, darting under Winnie’s skirt when I grabbed for him. I might not want to believe that a magical charm had lured Coleman into my arms, but my cat was certainly under a spell.

  “Bring that lawman in here,” Winnie said, sounding more like Jitty than the villainous witch of the movie. “I need to suck the juices from him so I can stay young.”

  As I recalled the movie, the three sister witches—who were also blond, brunette, and redhead, a perfect parallel to the Harringtons—needed to feed on innocents to stay young. “Coleman is far from innocent.” I couldn’t help a little preen. “I can attest to that!”

  “I’ll have my way with him.” Jitty snapped her fingers and a high wind howled through Dahlia House. “Bring him to me or suffer the consequences.”

  “Ab-so-lute-ly not!” The very idea of it was distressing. “Stop it, Jitty. You’ve taken this far enough.” She really was getting under my skin.

  “You don’t want me to shrivel up and die, do you?”

  I’d come to count on Jitty in my life, as infuriating as she could be. “Leave Coleman out of this. And give me back my Jitty. And my cat. You have no power here in Sunflower County, Winnifred Sanderson. Go back to your wicked sisters and leave us alone.”

  The wind settled down and a glint of Jitty began to show through Winnie. Her eyebrows arched. “I hear you have an appointment to be pummeled, pumiced, and pomaded at that salon place. You need to do something about that straggly mess. Hair is a woman’s crowning glory.” She patted her curls. “Women reveal so much when they’re being beautified. And you could stand a little of that.”

  I’d lost my curls in an accident—and I was a tad sensitive. “It’s growing out. If you’re such a great witch, make it grow faster.”

  “Maybe I can help your hair catch up with your nose!”

  Oh, snap! Jitty as Winnie was quick and razor sharp. “I’m the only human you have to haunt, and you keep this up and I’ll move to town! I’ll leave you out here by yourself.”

  She smiled. “Never happening. Never. I see your future, Sarah Booth. Critters and clutter. Right here at Dahlia House. You had your Broadway fling. Your future is cast in the rich Delta soil.”

  I wanted to ask, “And children?” But I didn’t dare. Jitty never revealed the future. Never. And in her most recent incarnation as Winifred Sanderson, she was mean as a coiled pit viper. “I can move away. Just keep that in mind. Change your address, change your life.” I quoted some inane advertisement I’d heard recently.

  “Defy me and I’ll turn you to stone.” Winnie/Bette/Jitty leaned toward me, those buck teeth protruding.

  “Fie on you!” I bolted around her and down the stairs. I had an appointment to keep and I didn’t have time for mean witches or tormenting ghosts. But as surely as this case was over, I would have some payback for Jitty. I would figure out an appropriate revenge. She wouldn’t run me out of Dahlia House again—without some big consequences!

  As the front door slammed behind me, I heard her cackling. She had that part of being a witch down pat.

  I felt no guilt at leaving the two-faced Pluto behind, but I did give a whispered promise to Sweetie Pie that I would bring her something from Millie’s Café to make up for not taking her with me. The afternoon was bright and cold, and it wasn’t right to leave Sweetie in the car for the length of my hair appointment. I had to focus on the setup of my sting, and I needed all of my brain power.

  I parked at the Mane Attraction and sauntered in the door. I was an actress. I could do “casual.” The salon was the ritziest day spa in my region of the Delta. A woman had to go to Memphis if she wanted anything fancier. Marcel, the stylist I’d booked, came over and walked around me, fluffing my hair.

  “And what is it you think I can do with this?” she asked with a faux French accent filled with elegant contempt.

  Perfect. Snooty was the sign of a high-end salon, and Marcel, with her hollowed cheeks and straight black hair, projected hair haute couture.

  Kitten was sitting in the chair beside Marcel’s station. She eyed me with merry malice. “I came here because Kitten told Tinkie you could work wonders. I had a hair accident. I need a new style.” All of that was true.

  Kitten grinned. “Oh, Sarah Booth, I wondered if you’d ever take steps to shape that mop into a style.”

  “And here I am,” I said. “I really was inspired by you, Kitten. You’re always so camera-ready. I’m so glad to see you found a stylist who remembered the sixties and how to tease hair.” Okay, so it was a mild tweak that went right over her head. I had to control the impulse to snipe. I had a mission, which was winning Kitten over. My assessment was that flattery, not sarcasm, was the perfect ticket.

  “Take a seat,” Marcel said, pointing at a chair that tilted back into a sink. “I’ll have to charge you double for this … this affreux désordre. We have work to do.”

  I had no clue what she’d called my hair, but I knew it was an insult. I almost w
ished her luck, because she didn’t have a lot to work with. My hair was growing out, but it wasn’t my normal head of chestnut curls. I leaned back and let the shampoo girl’s strong fingers massage my scalp as she washed my hair. This was indeed heaven.

  When I was seated beside Kitten in the styling chair, I indulged in a little celebrity gossip. Millie knew everything about Hollywood and she kept me up to date. It was easy enough to engage Kitten in a discussion of the cult of Kardashians and other reality stars. I mentioned that I had friends in the movie business and they might be interested in a Mississippi Delta reality TV show. It was a fib, but an effective one.

  As I name-dropped director and cinematographer’s names—Marco and Lorraine St. John, respectively—and babbled on about dancing with Marco and working for the two film icons, I turned to Kitten. “You know, you would be perfect to host a reality TV show. You and Bob are self-made millionaires. You have a … definite fashion sense. The camera would love you. You’re part of this community, involved in a lot of different things.” None of them savory or of benefit to anyone but her elite buddies and stirring up trouble against people she didn’t like, but I didn’t say that part.

  As Marcel combed and snipped, her expression a permanent sneer, I kept up a lively conversation, talking about how Tinkie had been hired as a consultant on future reality shows by Black Tar Productions. “In fact, Tinkie was supposed to meet with some potential investors today,” I said. “Maybe Bob would be interested? You know if we could get some filming going in the Delta it would be good for everyone.” When the stylist was almost done, my phone dinged right on time. I checked it. “Oh, dear!” I played it to the hilt. “This is not good.”

  “What is it?” Kitten didn’t really like me, but she epitomized the old saying that curiosity killed the cat. Or the Kitten, if I played my cards right.

  “It’s Tinkie. She’s over at the Prince Albert. Something is going on with her investors and she needs me there right now.” I stood up, paid, and thanked Marcel, who’d actually given me a great cut. “Sorry to rush out, but this is an emergency.”

  I was almost out the door, fearing I’d overplayed my hand, when Kitten popped out of her chair and followed me. “Who are the investors?” she asked, catching up to me. She was short and had to take two steps for each of mine, but she hustled and kept abreast of me.

  “I don’t know,” I told her. “I don’t run in the same financial circles that Oscar and Tinkie do. Or you and Bob, for that matter.” I tossed her another ego bone.

  “What’s the reality show about?” she asked.

  “The glamour of Delta women and how the blending of the past and present have created a woman who is uniquely strong, but also feminine. The iron magnolia, as it were, but with modern women.” I was making it up as I went along. “You know, I think there were some real estate people interested in funding this show. Folks from Bolivar County. They want to film on the Mississippi River, which is of course a huge tourist attraction. And casino gambling. There’s some big money interest from that area in seeing a television production come to town.”

  “You can’t let Bolivar County steal this away from us,” Kitten said. “We have everything you need right here in Sunflower County. And we have the business expertise.” She’d already cast herself in the starring role and as head of production. I could see the dollar signs flashing in her eyes like some cartoon character.

  “Come with me to meet Tinkie,” I said. “You can offer some advice, and if Bob is interested…”

  “Bob is very interested.”

  Whether he was or not, he soon would be or he’d have hell to pay. We were at the door of the Prince Albert. A few tourists cluttered the lobby, but it was relatively quiet. Tinkie was supposed to be in the bar.

  I pushed through the revolving front door and walked into the central lobby. To the left was a lounge with a baby grand piano. Another more traditional bar and restaurant were to the right, elevators directly in front of me. As if on cue, the elevator doors began to open and Malvik stepped into the lobby. Coleman had done his part. I wondered if he’d also wrangled Bob Fontana.

  Malvik and Kitten both did a double take. I knew then that they were involved with each other. Perhaps not romantically, but financially. The same expression crossed their faces as they eased away from each other. “Run, Forrest, run,” was written all over them.

  Tinkie stepped out from behind a column near the piano lounge. “Do you two know each other?” she asked.

  “Of course not. I mean, we don’t know know each other,” Kitten said. She waved a hand at Malvik. “He’s one of those witchy creatures. He hangs out with the Harringtons. I heard from Esmeralda that he’s going to teach at their school. If the school ever opens, which I seriously don’t see happening.”

  “I’ve got friends in low places, but not as low as Kitten Fontana’s level.” Malvik whipped around so the red lining of his cape fluttered. He was a drama queen of the highest order.

  “Not so fast, Malvik.” The challenge came from the other side of the lobby, where Deputy DeWayne Dattilo stepped into the room. “I have a warrant to search your room.”

  “For what?” Malvik asked.

  “For papers stolen from Musgrove Manor.” DeWayne’s timing was spot-on.

  Kitten inhaled sharply and her mouth opened wide. She snapped it shut with an audible click.

  DeWayne handed Malvik the search warrant.

  “You have no evidence I was at the manor. I categorically deny I was there, and you can’t prove that I was.”

  “That’s not true,” I said, reaching up to rub the knot on my head. “I saw you. After you hit me and I fell to the floor.” It was a bluff, but what the hell. We were playing fast and loose with the truth. All for the greater good. But the biggest part of the bluff was yet to come.

  “Where are the investors you were meeting with?” Kitten asked Tinkie. She’d bought into the idea of a reality show so deeply she no longer questioned it. To her, because she wanted it, the show was a concrete fact, and she wanted a piece of the action.

  “In the bar.” Tinkie nodded toward the bar.

  Kitten pivoted and headed that way, but Tinkie blocked her. “Cool your hot britches,” Tinkie said. “You’re not messing up my deal.”

  As expected, Kitten rose to the challenge. “Get out of my way.” She was about Tinkie’s size, and they met eye to eye, both glaring.

  “Make me.” Tinkie threw down the gauntlet.

  Kitten lifted her arm and whammed Tinkie in the chest with her elbow. My partner stumbled back and almost lost her balance. She caught herself, and for one moment, I thought Tinkie might deck Kitten. I probably would have. But Tinkie gasped and stepped out of the way, letting Kitten pass into the bar. The look Tinkie shot me was victorious. Kitten had taken the bait.

  She went directly to a table where two men dressed in tailor-made suits sat talking softly. “Are you gentlemen interested in investing in a reality TV show?”

  They looked up. “Who are you?”

  She sat down and almost purred. “I’m your new star.”

  I didn’t recognize the men at the table, but I had to give Tinkie credit for turning up two guys who looked posh and polished. Tinkie leaned over to whisper, “Harold’s cousins. They’re brothers and just happened to be visiting. He called them into action.”

  “And where is Coleman?” I asked.

  “Right here.” Coleman stepped through the door and caught Malvik by the cape, just as he was trying for the exit. “You’ll be coming with me, Mr. Malvik. I have some questions for you. DeWayne, call me when you finish with his rooms.”

  “Will do.” DeWayne’s face was impassive, but when I was about to turn away, he gave me a wink. He was in on the sting, too.

  So far, so good. Malvik had been roped into the loop. Now it was up to Tinkie. She signaled the two men in the bar who joined us in the lobby. Kitten was right behind them. “Have you considered my proposal on the production?” Tinkie asked the
m.

  “We’d like to see the location. What is the name? Musgrove Manor?” the tallest man said.

  “Musgrove Manor?” Kitten blanched. “You didn’t say the show would be filmed there.”

  “It’s the only place in Sunflower County I would consider,” Tinkie said. “The sister witches would be a great supporting cast, don’t you think?”

  “No. I don’t think.” Kitten balked. If she failed to come with us, the plan would fall apart. “That’s a terrible idea. There are a hundred better places.”

  “We’d like to explore our options.” The taller investor held his ground. “Could we make that visit now? Our time is at a premium. We’re meeting with others who offer investment opportunities.”

  “I’ll call the manor and make sure it’s okay if we stop by. I’m thinking we could film in one of the outbuildings.” I pretended to make the call and gain permission from the witches.

  Before there were any more complaints, Kitten and Malvik were swept away into Tinkie’s and Coleman’s vehicles, respectively, and I had the fake investors with me. DeWayne had unfettered access to Malvik’s hotel room. So far, things were going according to plan. Now the really tricky part was on us. So much depended on the legwork Tinkie had accomplished with Hope. And how the other sisters reacted.

  The winter days were short, and the light was fading from the sky as I drove along the highway with two strange men in my car. They introduced themselves as Tad and Thomas Erkwell, two of Harold’s Memphis cousins who’d come for a dinner party.

  “Harold asked us to do a favor and we’d do anything for him,” Tad, the taller one, said. “It’s easy enough to pretend to be interested in the movies. We’d both like to be actors, but that isn’t an option for an Erkwell. We’re sensible businessmen.”

  I glanced at Tad, who was riding shotgun, and he made a sad face. He certainly had the looks and expressiveness, and so did Thomas. “Thanks for helping us out. You guys did a great job. I can drop you off at Harold’s house on my way to the manor.”

  “Could we come?” Tad asked.