Greedy Bones Page 5

  “My mother was pushed down the stairs, and then my father was hanged. A murderer is roaming free and still trying to swindle me out of my share of the estate.” She didn’t mince her words.

  “You think your brother is a murderer?”

  “Perhaps a serial killer. Isn’t that what you call someone who kills more than once?”

  I didn’t intend to banter psychopathic definitions with her. She was furious, and she was looking for revenge against her brother.

  “Do you honestly believe Luther killed your mother and father? His own parents?”

  She sat on the edge of the desk. “Luther is capable of almost anything.”

  I had the clearest memory of him sitting behind his desk in the trailer and sipping hot coffee from a delicate china cup. He’d been immaculately groomed, dressed in razor-creased Dockers and a crisp white shirt. He’d also been angry, though he’d covered it better than his sister. “Is he the reason you left Sunflower County and won’t come back?”

  She thought about it. “I loved that land and that farm with my whole heart. I had dreams for growing new crops, things that wouldn’t deplete the land and would help the environment. I spoke out about something that made my parents so angry that with a bit of prodding from Luther, they threw me out. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. It forced me to work hard and build my business. I struggled and got better and better. I’ve built my future here.”

  She was talented, no doubt about it. But while she might avow the destruction of her roots, she was far from unattached to Sunflower County. “The official verdict on your mother’s death was accidental.”

  Shaking her head, she stood. “I don’t believe that. She was in perfect health. No bad heart or weakness or dizziness or anything. She didn’t fall. She was pushed, and if the sheriff had been worth a damn, he would have found out who did it.”

  I couldn’t defend Coleman’s predecessors. “There were two people in the house. Not just one.”

  She cracked the knuckles of her long, elegant fingers. “My father and my brother.”

  “What if your father did it?” I asked. “Was there a big insurance policy?”

  “Half a million dollars for accidental death. The policy was less than a year old. My father was the beneficiary. Trust me, he didn’t kill Mom and then kill himself out of guilt and remorse.” She laughed. “Not a chance. My father didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘remorse.’ He would have spent that money and enjoyed every second doing it. Look, I’m sure my mother was murdered, but I’m doubly positive my dad was.”

  “Did you have Luther investigated?”

  She looked at me as if a large zit had popped up in the center of my forehead. “Waste of time and money. Luther is smart. He fooled the coroner and the sheriff, but he can’t fool me. You tell him that when you see him. And tell him that as executor of the estate, I’ll tie it up as long as I want to. I know what he’s up to, and I’ll never sell to a developer. That land has been in the family since before Mississippi was a state, and he’s not going to cover it in asphalt and shitty look-alike homes for soulless families who produce no-neck little brats.”

  Whew! Erin was passionate about the land. “Look, Ms. Carlisle, I’m not certain how your family plantation figures into all of this, but four people who went there are seriously sick. The CDC has been called in. There’s something else very peculiar. The cotton there is two feet tall, much more developed than any other fields in the Delta. This leads me to believe something suspicious is going on.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past Luther to do something to devalue my land for agricultural purposes. He wants to force a sell, and if no one would lease the land, I’d have to sell it to pay the taxes.”

  I noted again the use of the possessive, as if Luther had no share.

  “Let me get something straight. Your father inherited your mother’s insurance. Who inherited when your father died?”

  Her only reaction was a deep inhalation. “I don’t have time for this. Look, you have my permission to go inspect the land and house. There’s a trust. Luther and I are equal partners in the land. If Luther says anything, tell him I know what he’s been up to and I’m going to make him pay.” She didn’t hold back on threats.

  “I’ve already spoken with Luther, and he seemed concerned about what’s happening in Sunflower County.”

  She tapped a thick silver ring on her left hand against the fine wood of her desk. “I’ll bet he cried huge ole crocodile tears, too. Pretended to be so concerned for his fellow citizens. Don’t buy it. Luther cares about Luther. That’s it.”

  “What did your brother get out of killing your parents?”

  “Not what he expected, that’s for sure.” She pushed off the desk and paced across the room to a huge filing cabinet. Digging through a drawer, she kept talking. “He thought I was still estranged from Mom. He thought he’d permanently destroyed our relationship, but she and I had come to an understanding.”

  She pulled a large, heavy sheet of paper from the drawer and handed it to me. To my surprise, it was a lovely picture of a middle-aged woman who looked a lot like Erin. Lana Entrekin Carlisle had retained her beauty, but there was no escaping the sadness she’d also endured. It was written in her eyes.

  “This was taken only a week before she fell. And that bastard Luther didn’t even call and tell me she was dead. I missed her funeral. When I finally got there, they were putting the casket in the hearse for transport to West Point.”

  “Your father could have called.”

  She made a sound of disgust. “Could have and didn’t. He was furious that mother had changed the will, I’m sure. He thought he’d get the land back.”

  Now that was a point of curiosity. “How had the Carlisle land come into the hands of someone who married into the family?” I asked.

  “Father made some really bad decisions in the seventies. He borrowed money at a high interest rate, then nearly defaulted on the loans. He’d put the land up as collateral.”

  Harold hadn’t mentioned this to me, and it seemed that he would have. “The Bank of Zinnia held the mortgage?”

  “My father did his business with a bank in Chicago. He liked going to the Windy City as a Southern plantation owner. I guess they saw him coming a mile away.” She twisted the ring.

  “So your mom bailed him out?”

  “Exactly. And the land was transferred to her name. She was a far better businessman than my father ever dreamed of being.”

  “So when you breached the wall between the two of you, she changed her will.”

  “That’s correct. She recognized how much I loved the place and I was returned as coexecutor of the trust.” Erin was seemingly unaware that that action gave her and her brother equal motives for murder.

  “Say Luther killed your mother before he found out about the new will, why would he kill your father?”

  “Half a million in Mother’s insurance policy. Had he not stopped my father, he would have run through it just as he squandered the Carlisle money. Luther wasn’t about to let that happen.”

  “Do you know what your father spent money on?”

  “Unfortunately not, nor do I care. Now you need to go. I have a sitting in two minutes.”

  She stood at the door waiting for me to exit her office. When I did, she followed me to the reception area.

  “I’ve told you everything I know, Ms. Delaney. Everything. Don’t waste your time or mine by coming back.”

  She left the room, and her office door closed. The young woman at the reception desk busied herself writing something down. She ignored me as I left.

  Along with the cot, Cece had also managed to smuggle a recliner and a few other homey touches into the hospital for Tinkie. The families of the other sick people had left for a few hours, and I found my partner tilted back, her eyes closed, an OttLite reading lamp on beside her, and Mary Saum’s latest book sprawled across her lap. Tinkie had aged in the last week.

  I tiptoed to t
he window where I could view Oscar, Gordon, and the women. They were all four lined up, and it struck me that forty years ago, or less, they’d all been in a hospital nursery in tiny bassinets, arranged before another window for their parents to look on with pride. It just about broke my heart to think of the joy the earlier scene had provoked. Now, despair was the overriding emotion.

  Gordon had no real family to watch over him, so I concentrated on him for a while. His chest barely moved as the ventilator pushed oxygen into his lungs. The sores that covered his face and neck and arms—which was all I could see exposed above the sheet—had begun to scab over. Was the absence of fresh ones a good sign? I had to believe it.

  Two hazmat-suited nurses entered the isolation ward and began a check of vitals and the administration of some clear fluid into the drips that ran into the arms of each patient. As I watched the process, I realized Regina and Luann had fewer sores and better color. They were on ventilators, but they seemed, somehow, more alive.

  My attention turned to Oscar.

  “Doc says he may not wake from the coma.”

  I spun around to find Tinkie in the same pose, but her eyes were wide open.

  “Doc has never been accused of being an optimist. Tinkie, he has to tell you the worse-case scenario. He’s like an older relative. He doesn’t want to lead us to believe—” Where the hell was I going with this? No place Tinkie needed to follow.

  “To believe in a miracle,” she finished softly. “But I do, Sarah Booth. I’ve had my own miracle.”

  “You did indeed.” What ever happened to her breast lump—whether a piece of scar tissue, a bruise, a fibroid, or a cancer—it was gone. That was miracle enough for me to cling to for now.

  “Have you found anything?”

  “A lot of drama in the Carlisle family, but nothing solid enough to report.”

  “You will.”

  Her faith in me was humbling. “I’ll try. That’s for sure. Tinkie, can I take you home for a bit?” I knew the answer already.

  She shook her head. “Mother will relieve me in a while. You hunt for clues. I’m fine. I want to be here when Oscar wakes up.”

  “Chablis and Sweetie are having a blast, but your baby misses the two of you.”

  “We’ll be home soon.” She picked up her book. “I think I’ll read for a while longer. This keeps me from thinking about Oscar too much.”

  I bent and kissed her forehead. “I’m going to check with Coleman and see if the EIS agents found anything at the Carlisle estate.”

  “You’ll call me?”

  “You don’t even have to ask.”

  6

  When I pulled up beneath one of the budding white oaks that lined the court house square, I realized that news of the strange illness had broken with the media. Cece had honored her word and kept mum about it, but news vans from regional television stations in Memphis, Jackson, and Atlanta cluttered the public parking spaces.

  The source of the leak could have been anyone in the hospital or the bank, and it was bound to happen. It was incongruous, though, to see the gathering storm of media on a day that had been gifted by the gods. The courthouse lawn was a riot of color, from the fuchsia-hued azaleas to the yellow, purple, and red flower beds that local gardening clubs tended.

  Johnny Reb stood guard over the growing crowd, a bronzed soldier walking from the past into the present. As I passed the statue, I thought with a pang of the wonderful days I’d spent with my father in the court house. Protected and adored, I’d never considered that an accident or illness could steal the ones I loved. Now I knew how vulnerable we all were.

  “Ms. Delaney, may I speak with you?” Peyton Fidellas emerged from behind one of the huge white pillars that supported the second-floor balcony.

  “Have you discovered something?” I asked.

  He looked past me at the crowd gathering on the steps. “The sheriff and Bonnie Louise are holding a press conference here in five minutes. Could we find a more private place?”

  “Sure.” I was curious why Peyton wasn’t participating in the news orgy. Most people loved their fifteen minutes of glory in front of a television camera.

  We went to the back vault of the chancery clerk’s office, a place of old records and a few research tables—all vacant—because the court house offices had emptied to hear the press conference.

  Certain that we were alone, I asked, “Did Bonnie Louise cut you out of the limelight?”

  He shook his head. “I’m a scientist far happier running lab tests. I’m not interested in television interviews. Truthfully, she didn’t want to do it, either, but I pulled rank on her. She’s a good-looking woman, so she’ll play well on the screen. When she realized she’d be standing beside the sheriff, she didn’t object too much. She’s taken more than a passing fancy to him. Beaucoup has noted that the sheriff’s wife is AWOL.”

  “Beaucoup?” I couldn’t help myself. Normally slang for “lots of,” what did it mean in Bonnie’s case?

  “I gave her the nickname,” he said, his smile charming. “Bonnie comes across a bit sour, but she’s loaded with talent and smarts. I’m surprised, though, that she’s interested in a married man. Beaucoup is normally by the book.”

  It wasn’t my business to tell Peyton that Coleman had filed for divorce. “Did you want to tell me what you found?”

  “I’ve spoken to the sheriff, and he made it clear that I should share this information with you.”

  My heart thudded. “What is it?”

  “First of all, there’s an issue with the cotton. It’s a genetically engineered strand that allows for two growing seasons. The rapid growth is phenomenal. The cotton at the Carlisle place is nearing maturity.”

  Faster growing cotton wasn’t so awful. Or was it? “You said genetically engineered—is that the problem? Were you able to reach Lester Ballard, the guy who manages the agricultural lease on the land?” The CDC might accomplish what I could not.

  “Ballard is out of the country, and I’ve turned the search for him over to the sheriff. As to the genetically altered cotton, it’s experimental but not dangerous, as far as I can tell. Were it not for the other problems at the Carlisle estate, the cotton could be harvested in a month, six weeks at most. But that’s moot because of what’s happening now.”

  “And that is?” I asked. Peyton’s demeanor let me know this was serious.

  “Boll weevils.”

  I thought he was joking. Boll weevils were a type of beetle that devastated the cotton crop from Texas to the Atlantic Ocean in the 1920s. The insect had been brought under control by effective methods of sterilization, improved species of cotton, cyclical planting, and some use of pesticides.

  “Come on, Peyton, boll weevils?”

  “In two days they’ve eaten the cotton plants at the Carlisle estate. Whole sections are stripped bare of leaves, Sarah Booth. This is devastating. The weevils are gnawing it to the ground. It’s like a scourge.”

  I wasn’t an authority on farming, but I did lease out the land around Dahlia House. Last time I’d looked, there was no sign of weevils on my property.

  But every Delta child knew horror stories of the vermin that had destroyed an industry, an economy, and a way of life until they were brought under control.

  “Weevils don’t show until later on in the summer. If they eat the plants now, there’s no place to hatch their young and . . .” I wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t know.

  “Trust me. I’m as puzzled as you. These weevils aren’t typical. They have a strange green color to them, almost like a pine beetle.”

  “How does this fit into what’s wrong with Oscar and the others? Doc would have noticed if any of them were bitten by insects.” I was having trouble connecting the dots .

  “I’m not sure the weevils play a role in what’s happening with Mr. Richmond and the other patients, but I am concerned. Times are tough enough for farmers. This could mean economic devastation for some of the last large landowners.”

&
nbsp; Clearly I could see why. But a cotton crop could be replanted. Oscar and Gordon and the women might die. There would be no replacing them in the hearts of their families.

  “What will you do?”

  “We’ve collected some samples. Beaucoup is the authority on weevils. She’ll take them up to Mississippi State University at Starkville. It’s the best facility in the nation for this kind of study and she also has a contact with one of the world authorities on insects that affect farm crops.”

  “What about Oscar and Gordon and—”

  “We’re still working on that. We’ll begin testing the water tomorrow. There’s a chance they drank from a tainted well.”

  Waterborne microbes fell under Peyton’s expertise. He was new to the CDC, but Coleman had been impressed by Peyton’s research background. “If that were the case, you guys wouldn’t be in Sunflower County,” I pointed out to him.

  “I don’t have the answers you want.”

  “That’s not going to reassure anyone. If people perceive this as something that could spread, a panic will result.”

  “That’s why we’re holding a press conference. Sheriff Peters will give the facts, and Beaucoup will explain the basic science. This problem is contained to that single plantation. While it is potentially serious, we’re on top of it.”

  “Would it be possible for me to go to the estate myself?”

  His dark eyebrows arched in amusement. “You don’t trust us to do our job?”

  “My best friend’s husband may die. I can’t leave anything to chance. I would never forgive myself.”

  He shook his head. “Until we’re certain that whatever is out there isn’t airborne, I can’t let you go. We’ve quietly quarantined the plantation. Several local farmers are helping us turn people away from the area. Luckily, the land is on a private road.”

  “What about the other landowners? You’re sure there’re no problems?”

  “Sarah Booth, it’s my belief that somehow this is all connected to that particular cotton crop. So far, the only cases of illness have come from people who’ve set foot there.”