The Devil's Bones Page 4

  “What’s going on between you and Slay?” Hans asked Erik.

  Tinkie, Cece, and I perked right up at this sudden shift in conversation.

  “I was suing him,” Erik said. “I’m just glad that worthless skunk is dead.”

  Not the smartest thing to be saying about a murder victim. “May I ask why you were suing Mr. Slay?” I asked.

  “He was a common thief,” Erik said, not bothering to hide his ire. “The man was a menace. He sued everyone all the time about nothing, but that’s not the worst. He preyed on old people who thought he was someone they could trust. He all but hung a sign around his neck calling himself Atticus Finch, the lawyer who would stand up for the innocent. He was a fraud.”

  Erik still hadn’t given us the reason he was at odds with Slay, but I could see Tinkie working it out in her head as to how to get that information. She put a hand on Erik’s biceps and gave a little squeeze. “What did Slay steal from you?” she asked.

  “A section of timberland,” Erik said. “Over in Butler County, Alabama. He tricked my father into signing it over to him as payment for writing his will.”

  I swallowed. A section of land was 640 acres. That land, if it had harvestable timber, was worth over a million just in timber, not to mention the value of the land itself. “That’s a helluva price to pay for writing up a will.” I could see why Erik was hot under the collar.

  “I don’t believe it will hold up in court. My dad was sick and in the hospital when he signed that agreement. He was dying, and he wanted to be sure he took care of everything. Perry Slay went in the hospital room. Dad was drugged and Perry got him to sign that document. It won’t hold up. Anyone can see that my dad didn’t realize what he was doing then.” He lowered his voice. “Only a snake would take advantage of a sick man. I’m glad Slay is dead. I’d like to shake the hand of the person who made it happen.”

  “If only I had my camera rolling,” Hans said. “That would have been a quote.”

  Erik sighed. “Of course I don’t mean that I’m literally glad he’s dead.” He paused. “I’m glad his ability to create mischief and strife for a lot of people is done. That I’m happy about.”

  “Who else hated Slay?” I asked.

  “Just about everyone who ever had any dealings with him,” Erik said.

  “What about your friend Cosmo?” I asked.

  “He’s not all that much of a friend, I just feel sorry for him,” Erik said. “That area where he lives is everything to him. He knows every plant, beetle, or butterfly. He loves it, even the snakes.”

  “And he was upset with Dr. Reynolds about…?”

  “Reynolds diverted the water from a natural spring that once flowed onto Cosmo’s property. It was vital in creating a wetlands where so many insects thrived.”

  “Can you legally divert water like that?” Cece asked. “In the Delta, water is frequently a property issue.”

  “It was a natural spring on the land that Dr. Reynolds owns.” Erik seemed to know the whole story. “To his credit, Reynolds had no idea when he dug a channel and diverted most of the water into his Dead Sea and Jordan River that it would have any impact on anyone else.”

  “But he won’t undo it?” Tinkie asked.

  “He can’t. The way he added on to and modified the Holy Land there, he needs that water, too. The little spring is abundant in the warm, wet months, but during the drier months, there’s barely enough water for Reynolds’s purposes.”

  “Who else would like to see Slay dead?” Cece asked. “Let’s make a list.” She whipped out a little pad and pen from her purse. She was a reporter—she was always prepared to take down information.

  “I heard he had a couple of girlfriends that he pissed off,” Erik said. “He sued some drug companies. They could have sent a hit man after him. Look, the man had a personality like a porcupine. He could needle anyone, even those who tried to be friendly.” Erik took the last bite of his pie. “Now if you’ll excuse me, ladies and gentleman, I need to get busy.”

  “Thanks for chatting with us,” Tinkie said. “You do stay fit, don’t you?” She was taking in his physique. “Are you a runner?”

  “Not hardly,” Erik said, but he flushed a little.

  “A gymnast?” She squeezed his muscle a little more.

  “Tinkie!” I was shocked. “That’s almost assault, girlfriend.”

  Tinkie and Cece howled.

  “I just stay on my feet a lot,” Erik explained. “I do a lot of gardening, too.”

  “Ignore them,” I told him. “Tinkie is pregnant and suffering from baby hormones and Cece is just plain wicked.”

  “I can handle that,” Erik said as he put money down to pay his check.

  We followed suit and filed out of the café. Hans excused himself, saying he had an interview to conduct. We stopped by the scratching post on Main Street, where back in the 1960s and ’70s movie stars had paused to scratch their backs. We all had to give it a try. It was a beautiful afternoon, and the little town was bustling with activity. Several car horns honked as Cece put a little more hip action into her back scratching than was really necessary.

  Erik grinned. “You ladies are going to set Lucedale on its ear.”

  “Might be fun,” Cece said with a wink. “We enjoy a little upset on occasion.”

  “If you need any aspirin or such, come on down to Best Buy Drugs. That’s my business.” He pointed down the block. “We even have an old-fashioned soda fountain.”

  He was about to walk away when I called out to him. “Erik, do you think Cosmo killed that lawyer?”

  Erik laughed. “Cosmo can’t kill a fire ant when it’s biting him. Highly unlikely that he’d kill a man. He’s the most peaceful man I know. He’s happy to stay out in those woods if others will just leave him alone.”

  “Who would kill Perry Slay?” Tinkie asked.

  “I’d be the most likely suspect.” He spoke without hesitation. “I hated his guts and made no bones about it.”

  “Did you do it?” Cece asked.

  “No. I hated him, but I didn’t kill him. Though, truthfully, it wouldn’t be any worse than stepping on a cockroach.” He gave a cheerful wave and headed down the street.

  “Stay out of it.” Cece looked at me. “You’re on vacation. You aren’t getting paid to poke into this. Let’s go for a massage.”

  “Right on,” I said and led the way to the parked cars.

  5

  Bonita, the masseuse, had hands of steel, and she knew how to use elbows and knees to work the deep kinks out of my muscles. I sighed with contentment as she pummeled, punched, and unknotted the long months of tension. Cece and Tinkie were also on tables getting a good working over. We would be useless for the rest of the day. A wheelbarrow would be required to get us back to our rooms. If we ever got a chance to go there. Tinkie was making sure we had every bit of pampering we could stand.

  “I’ve booked us for those special clay masks. The clay comes from a gully here in the county and it’s being called a miracle antiaging mask.”

  “Oh, Tinkie.” All I really wanted to do was sink into bed and conk out.

  “I’m the pregnant one, so stop acting like you’re about to run out of steam.”

  She was right. I needed to buck up and slither my way down the hall to the clay-mask session. I took some satisfaction in Cece groaning a little as Tinkie herded us to our next appointment.

  An hour later, we were sitting in chairs with our feet soaking for a pedicure while our faces were pulled and contorted by the drying clay. It was a creepy feeling, but also pleasant. The pedicurists brought shades of nail polish and we each picked one.

  “Hhwwts hor hinner?” Tinkie asked.

  She couldn’t actually move her lips to speak. It was kind of delightful. But I could interpret Tinkie speak—she wanted to know what was on the menu for dinner. She was hungry all the time.

  “Ladies, let’s wash those masks off,” the clinician said and slapped a hot wet towel over my face. In
just a few moments, the clay softened and was removed. I could talk.

  “Some kind of grilled vegetable delight. If I stayed here a couple of weeks, I could lose all the weight I put on over Christmas and it wouldn’t be a chore to do it. The food is delicious.”

  “And mostly plant based,” Cece threw in approvingly. She was admiring her newly painted toenails—purple passion. It was a color that suited her nature.

  “What’s next?” I asked, hoping Tinkie would say it was nap time.

  “A hike in the woods.”

  “Yay!” I tried not to sound sarcastic.

  There was a light rap on the door and the B&B owner stepped into the room. “Sorry to interrupt your relaxation, ladies, but there’s someone here to see you. Erik Ward.”

  “Please tell him we’ll be right there,” Tinkie said. She always had the best manners. “What does he want?”

  Donna’s mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. She knew something we didn’t and she was about to spill it. “I’d hazard a guess that he’s here to hire Delaney Detective Agency to prove he isn’t guilty of murder.”

  “What?” we all three said as we sat up.

  “Erik was charged with murder?” Tinkie asked.

  “He was.” Donna enjoyed sharing the nugget of gossip.

  “For killing that lawyer?”

  “Exactly.” Donna nodded. “Heck, everyone in town wanted Perry dead. I don’t see why Glory wants to go and pin it on Erik. Even if he did do it, he should get a medal and a stinking parade. Slay was a blight on the community.”

  I hadn’t met a single soul who wanted to shed a tear for poor, dead Perry Slay.

  I was about to start to the parlor where Erik waited when Donna put a hand on my shoulder. “Maybe take a look?” She gave me a hand mirror.

  I glanced at my reflection and then gave a yelp of horror. My face was beet red. As in cooked. I glanced at Cece and Tinkie, who were also an unattractive shade of carmine.

  “Not to worry. In about an hour, the red will fade and you’ll be left with the skin of a twenty-year-old.” Donna was trying hard not to laugh at our distress. “Normally our guests take a nap after a clay facial.”

  “Which is exactly what I’d like to do,” I said.

  Tinkie looped my hand through her arm. “Come on, ladies, time’s a’wasting.”

  * * *

  Erik stood at the large window looking out over the beautiful gardens where fallen bridal wreath petals had coated the ground like fairy snow. When he heard us enter the room, he faced us. He was a handsome man, and one who was worried. “They’ve charged me with Slay’s murder. Lucky I could make bail.”

  He gave us the rundown, clearly too upset to comment on our beacon-red faces. Erik had been overheard Saturday night having an argument with Perry Slay. The two had almost gotten into a fistfight, and Erik had loudly declared, “You conniving bastard. I’ll put you in your grave for tricking my father.”

  We listened to Erik’s story, but all I heard was a threat, certainly not evidence of murder. I couldn’t believe Sheriff Howard had actually arrested Erik on such flimsy evidence. “The charge is murder?”

  “Yes. The coroner’s findings are preliminary, but it looks like a classic case of poisoning.” Erik paced in front of the window. “You said you were private investigators. I did some checking around and you have a good reputation. Will you take the case? I didn’t do this.”

  “Of course we will,” Tinkie said. She looked at me and I nodded in approval. “Coleman and Oscar can do without us if we need to stay.”

  “Okay,” I said. Coleman would be very eager to see me when I finally got home, and I intended to take full advantage of that. “Other than making threats against Slay’s life and filing a lawsuit against him, what’s the evidence against you?”

  “The sheriff suspects poisoning. I have loads of different poisons at my fingertips in the drugstore. I’m educated in drug interaction. That, coupled with the threat on Saturday night…” Erik heaved a sigh. “And I was the last known person to see him alive.”

  “Can someone alibi you?” Tinkie asked.

  “I live alone, though I date a number of women out of town. I enjoy the single life. Maybe too much.” He sighed again and then drew out a checkbook and wrote out a check for our retainer.

  He hadn’t actually answered Tinkie’s question, but I let that go for the moment. “Who do you think killed Slay?”

  He scoffed. “Top of my suspect list is Dr. Mike Snaith.”

  “A medical doctor?” Cece asked.

  “Used to be—until Slay sued him for malpractice. Snaith either lost or gave up his license, not sure which. Now he concocts herbal remedies and snake oil that he sells on the internet. He’s a caricature of what he used to be.”

  Now that sounded like a motive for murder. “Where does Snaith have his business?”

  Erik frowned. “He has that old Victorian house with all the levels and balconies and turrets at the dead end on Ratliff Street. You can’t miss it.”

  I gave him my blank look. I didn’t know much about the town.

  “I did a lot of research on the area before I came. I know where it is.” Hans O’Shea had popped into the parlor without making a sound. For a big guy, he could move fluidly. “I’d be happy to show you, ladies.”

  “You’ll have to go on your own,” Erik said. “My presence will just excite Snaith into name-calling and threats. He hates me. Besides, I’m needed at my pharmacy. I have a terrific staff, but I need to be there. My customers expect personal attention.”

  “We’re on the case,” Tinkie assured him. “We’ll check out Snaith. Please get in touch with us when you close the pharmacy for the day.”

  “Sure thing.” Erik said his goodbyes and headed back to town.

  “Shall we boogie into town to talk to Snaith?” Cece asked. She was ready for an adventure. I noticed that most of the redness was gone from her face, and Tinkie’s, too. Which meant I should also be back to my paler shade of pale.

  “Road trip!” Hans called out. He was such a big kid that I couldn’t help but smile, and I didn’t see the harm in him tagging along.

  “I do need to talk to Dr. Snaith.” I was curious to meet the good doctor. If he was concocting herbal cures, it wouldn’t be a far stretch to think he might also be well versed in poisons. “And we need to get a copy of the coroner’s report. I believe Sheriff Howard will cooperate with us.”

  “Saddle up,” Tinkie said as she grabbed her purse. “Hans, are you coming with us?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for all the tea in China. Would it be okay if I film the investigation? It could make an interesting segment on traveling private eyes.”

  “I don’t know—” I started, but Tinkie cut me off.

  “That would be great fun. Have mystery, will travel. Kind of a modern-day paladin. Brave and heroic knights, or private detectives, as the case may be, on the road solving mysteries and bringing justice to all.”

  “You’ve been watching way too much daytime TV,” I whispered to her.

  “Nonsense! She’s right,” Hans said. “It even has the potential for a series. I can pitch this to my producers.”

  “We can’t solve a case a week,” I warned him. That kind of schedule for a weekly TV show was quicksand and I was the only one smart enough to see we were sinking fast.

  Hans laughed out loud. “We film year-round, but we only air eighteen shows a year. You can handle it.”

  I did sigh in relief. “Maybe.” I still wasn’t ready to commit.

  Hans had been in the area for several days, and he had mapped out the high points of interest, including Snaith’s Apothecary, as the doctor’s business was called. It was a quaint, two-story Victorian with big windows that gave a glimpse of a beautifully tiled floor and walls with murals of plants and gardens that contained fairies and elves tucked among the leaves. It didn’t strike me as the kind of décor that a former doctor/current herbalist would select.

  When we opened the
door, a bell jangled and Mike Snaith came from the back to greet us. He took in Hans and his video camera, Cece with her newspaper camera, Tinkie with her baby bump, and me. “How can I help you?” he asked.

  Hans took the lead, which surprised me but I was happy to go with the flow. “I’m filming a travel show on the Garden of Bones. I’m sure you’ve heard a body was discovered there.”

  “Oh, indeed I have.” He almost rocked forward on his toes in glee. “Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”

  Was everyone in this little town so open about their dislike of each other?

  “So you knew the deceased?” Tinkie asked. She put on her signature charm that could melt a man all the way down to his shoes. She sidled up to Snaith and batted her big blue eyes up at him. Men fell for this every single time.

  “Everyone knew Perry Slay,” Snaith said. “Everyone hated him. May I get you a chair, Mrs.…?”

  “Richmond.” Tinkie made all the introductions. “Hans is filming his TV show on the gardens and we’re interested in the murder of Mr. Slay.”

  “Interested? Why?” Snaith was almost the perfect Oil Can Harry. His dark hair was sleeked back, his mustache waxed on the very ends. He wore loose-fitting dun-colored pants with a high-collar shirt and wide braces. He could have stepped out of 1900.

  I didn’t want to give away that we were working for Erik—at least not yet. Thank goodness Hans seemed capable of carrying the whole conversation.

  “The murder is the perfect conclusion for my piece on the gardens,” he said. “I mean it’s not every day that a Gulliver is found dead amongst the religious Lilliputians.”

  “I adore Jonathan Swift,” Snaith said. “A man of great wit and political acuity. But your analogy has flaws. Gulliver was not a bad man. Slay was a vile miscreant.”

  “We’ve heard as much about Slay,” Cece said. She had her notebook and pen in hand. “Why did you hate him so much?”