Sticks and Bones Page 5

  “Stop saying that—”

  “Or what? Are you threatening me?”

  “I don’t make threats. I’m just giving you some facts. Stop talking about Tinkie like that or we’re going to have a serious problem.”

  “Ooooo, ‘serious.’ My! I’m shaking in my boots.”

  Sister wasn’t a person who could take a hint. She was going to have to learn the hard way, and I wanted to be the teacher for that lesson.

  “Next time you see the car behind you, give me a call,” Coleman said. “Or if you could snap a photo of it. Maybe get the license plate. That would give me something to work with.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff. I knew I could count on you.” She reached out and took his hand and squeezed it. “I always liked you, Coleman.”

  He extracted his hand. “If I can do anything else for you, just give a call.”

  Sister walked past me as if I didn’t exist. And she was out the door.

  “She is such a capital B with an itch,” I said.

  “She has a real high opinion of herself.” Coleman agreed. “Now, what really brought you to my office?”

  I told him about the death of Liam McFee in Switzerland some fifty years ago. He agreed to get a copy of the investigation, with pertinent parts translated into English, and any relevant paperwork that could be found. I mentally checked the item off a long list of things to do, places to go, and people to talk with. I wanted to stay in the sheriff’s office, but I knew I’d get Coleman—and me—in trouble. Walking away was hard, but I did it, taking the critters with me.

  Pluto took a leap, swatting my butt with a claw. I couldn’t tell if he was congratulating me or giving me a spanking. I didn’t know which one I deserved.

  * * *

  Tinkie met me at Millie’s Café. The chow was so much tastier at Millie’s than my house. We ordered a late breakfast and filled each other in on what we’d discovered. Tinkie had been doing a little online research into Colin’s campaign, and into Susan Simpson McFee, Colin’s former mistress and now his wife.

  “Colin doesn’t actually need campaign donations. He’s very rich. Give the devil his due, he’s a fabulous businessman. Cleo was insured for five million dollars, but I can’t even see that as a motive because he’s so rich. Five mil is nothing to him.” Tinkie bit into a buttered biscuit and bliss infused her features.

  “I wish I had a life where five mil was nothing.” Five grand was a hefty sum to me. “So has anyone invested in Colin’s campaign?”

  “Some of the in-state politicos have started a PAC for him. It’s impossible to find out how much they’ve collected or who contributed. No one has to report anything these days.”

  “Don’t you love how elections can be bought by the man behind the curtain?” I was only a little bitter. My father had been a judge—an elected position—in Sunflower County. He’d been very touchy about the idea that elected officials could be owned by the rich. He’d refused contributions to his campaign from interests outside the state, but before he died he saw the direction things were headed. And he had not been happy.

  “There are several big investors who’ve made noises about contributing to Colin. Oscar has talked with one of them, and the man says that Colin is a genius in foreign affairs.”

  “Affairs, maybe, because he has the reputation of a real horn dog, but he hasn’t said anything about foreign policy except that Putin is the great Satan.”

  “Exactly,” Tinkie said. “This investor—Oscar wouldn’t tell me his name—thinks that Putin is behind all of the woes of America, because Colin says so. And if Colin can knock Putin out, then America will be on top again.” She rolled her eyes. “According to this contributor, Putin controls the weather because he’s put weather satellites into space that have the capability of manipulating El Niño. There’s no such thing as climate change—it’s all Putin.” She rolled her eyes again. “Putin is responsible for the mess in the Middle East because he’s going to take over Mecca and turn it into a brothel. And Putin is responsible for the drug problem in America because he’s the head of a big pharmaceutical enterprise that ships narcotics here. The contributor believes all of this without reservation. Because Colin says so.”

  I couldn’t fathom or change Colin’s bizarre political message so I refused to worry about it. “So what about Susan Simpson McFee, aside from the fact she was sleeping with her boss who was also married? Anything good there?”

  Tinkie finished the last bite of her omelet. “She’s been with Colin for at least six years and the relationship began when Cleo was very much alive. Susan was a secretary in his development company, a native of Memphis, graduate of Christian Brothers University, and a real party girl. Word on the street is that Susan can do things with her body that a contortionist would envy. She trained for acrobatics and contortion with a troupe of performers like Cirque de Soleil.”

  Millie stopped by and poured coffee for both of us. “Cece called to see if you were here. She’s on the way.”

  “Great! And thank you.”

  Millie gave me a hug and then went around the table to hug Tinkie. “So, Marco and Lorraine St. John are going to film a movie in Zinnia. Can you believe it?”

  “You should sign up for craft service, Millie.”

  Her eyes widened. “That’s a great idea, Sarah Booth. I will.” Another customer came in and she started toward him but turned back. “I took some chicken and dumplings out to the car for Sweetie Pie and Chablis and a little bit of amberjack for that cat. He is such a handsome creature.”

  “You are worth your weight in gold,” Tinkie said. “Hey, Millie, what do you know about Susan Simpson?”

  “I know I’d like to have her body. Well, before she got pregnant. She had the best figure I’ve ever seen. I hear she’s a gold digger and she wouldn’t hesitate to screw a man right out of his money and family, but he’d love every second while it was happening.”

  “Was she involved with anyone you know of before Colin?”

  Millie shook her head. “She’s not from around here. I’ll bet if you could talk to some of the other female secretaries at McFee Enterprises, you’d get a bucket-load on her job … qualifications.”

  “Thanks, Millie.” It was another good tip. It shouldn’t be too hard to find someone at McFee Enterprises who hated Susan. Women like her, the home-wreckers, created a lot of enemies.

  Tinkie pushed her plate back. “I’m so stuffed my pants hurt.”

  “Me too.” The holidays had packed on a few pounds. Jitty would be making caustic remarks if I didn’t put the brakes on my appetite.

  Tinkie leaned in closer. “The interesting thing I found out was that Susan was Colin’s alibi the night Cleo died. I called Hattie, the dispatcher over in Washington County, and she asked Sheriff Lenton, and he said Susan and Colin were together in Memphis. The file only said Colin was with someone who verified his alibi. It was Susan, which to me makes his alibi worthless.”

  “Damn. Sheriff Lenton should have put who Colin was with in the file.” I was miffed.

  “I mentioned that to Hattie, and she said the sheriff didn’t want the tabloids chewing on that piece of fat. It would hurt Cleo’s memory as much as Colin, and the major point was that Colin had an alibi.” Tinkie grinned. “And it was some alibi. According to Susan, they were together, all night. Susan was very clear about that. She’s not the brightest lamp on the street.”

  “Illumination isn’t her first concern. If she’s as good in the sack as people say, she doesn’t have to be smart.”

  “Why don’t men see that they’re just a chow wagon for some women?” Tinkie’s question encompassed more men than Colin McFee.

  I shook my head. “Ego dancing with the Little Head makes for a bad combination. I don’t blame Susan. She took advantage of a man who was ripe for the plucking. If it hadn’t been her, it would have been someone else. Colin is just that kind of man.”

  “Poor Cleo. And in a way, poor…” she made a face, “Sister.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for her.” I told her about the encounter in the sheriff’s office. “She’s toxic. What is the deal with her calling you Stinky?”

  Tinkie ignored my question. “Why don’t we check out the McFee estate, Evermore? I’ve always wanted to see the house.”

  “Maybe Cece will want to accompany us.” I nodded toward my journalist friend, who entered the café wearing denim leggings, boots, and a red pullover. She looked like a million dollars.

  “Maybe I’ll accompany you where, dahlink?” she asked, air-kissing both of us.

  “To Evermore.”

  She waved Millie away. “No time for food right now, we’re going exploring. I’ll be back for lunch.” She grabbed our elbows and we were off.

  * * *

  Evermore was east of Zinnia on some of the most fertile land on the planet. The McFee holdings in Mississippi were vast. In the near future, Sister was destined to come into a big bundle, including Evermore. The Neo-Renaissance Italianate house rose like a giant birthday cake from the flat lawn. Tall, slender cypress trees flanked the white shell drive. It wasn’t a house that struck me as beautiful—it looked a bit like an Old World prison—but it screamed wealth. Three stories, at least twenty arched windows on the first floor, tall windows on the second floor, and small square windows on the third. A quick calculation told me there were at least seventy rooms in the house.

  Jamie McFee had built it, and in many ways the perfect symmetry matched what I knew of the man. He lived a morally correct life, disdaining drink, womanizing, and gambling. He went to church every Sunday and believed in philanthropy. That was one of the reasons the old man had loved Sister and Son’s mother, Cleo. She’d also been devoted to good deeds and shared Jamie’s passion for helping others.

/>   Son had inherited his mother’s desire to make the world a better place, but I wasn’t certain Sister had ever drunk from the milk of human kindness. She was a lot more interested in Sister than she was in anyone else.

  Somehow, they’d all managed to live within the walls of Evermore until Son and Sister went off to college. Freed of the children, Colin had moved his development business to Memphis, and Cleo had, for the most part, remained in Zinnia at Evermore with Jamie. I could understand that. Though Jamie was strict, he was a kind man with a white beard and a hearty laugh. When I was a young child, he reminded me of Moses, which was a little scary. My parents had liked him, and my father said he was a man who earned your respect.

  As we drove down the drive, Cece whipped out her camera. “I heard they were going to film inside Evermore,” she said. “I’ll get a few shots of the house.”

  A few was more like several hundred. Cece got out of the car and went to work. I noticed the two motorcycles parked at the front steps. Marco and Lorraine were inside.

  We left Cece snapping photos as we knocked at the front door. To my surprise, Colin opened the door. He was dressed for success. No matter how nutty his campaign might be, he was a good-looking, older man who epitomized a statesman.

  “Why, Sarah Booth Delaney and Mrs. Richmond,” he greeted us. “Did you come to volunteer on my campaign?”

  “Wouldn’t that be fun, Sarah Booth?” Tinkie said, shifting in front of me before I stepped on my slack jaw. “What kind of volunteer help do you need, Mr. McFee? I have a lot of talents.”

  Tinkie reached back and snatched me through the door with her. “Sarah Booth is very talented too, though she’s going to catch flies if she doesn’t shut her mouth.”

  The door slammed behind me and I found myself in the paneled foyer where dozens of Vote McFee signs in red, white, and blue leaned against a delicate table. Red-blazered men and women hustled around, talking into Bluetooth headsets. The first floor of the house was in constant motion.

  “I’m sure I can find some exciting work for you. And when I’m elected to the Senate, you’ll have a friend you can call on.”

  “Thanks.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Let me get Adele to put you to work,” Colin said.

  “Wait!” Tinkie linked her arm through his. “Would you give us a tiny tour of Evermore? My whole life, I’ve wanted to be here. It’s like a dream come true.”

  “It’s a beautiful old home,” Colin said. “It’s my permanent address, by the way. Sister has given me permission to stay once she inherits. My business is in Memphis, but my home is in Mississippi. I don’t want any confusion about that matter when it comes time to vote.”

  I finally had a clear grasp on why Evermore had suddenly become campaign headquarters. As far as I knew, Colin hadn’t been back to the house for years. Now it was important to validate his residency in Mississippi if he meant to run for the Senate seat.

  “Shall we tour?” Tinkie looked up at him and pulled her bottom lip into her mouth. When it popped out, I knew she had Colin exactly where she wanted him—eating from the palm of her hand.

  “Of course, Mrs. Richmond.”

  Arm in arm, they set out for the parlor. I brought up the rear. I didn’t mind. It gave me a chance to really look around. The house was an architectural delight. Colin had made building his trademark, but he’d inherited the talent from Jamie McFee. Each room held some unique bit of beauty, whether it was tigerwood flooring, built-in book cases, or marble fireplaces—the place was elegant and darkly masculine.

  As Tinkie chatted up Colin, I hung back. When I slipped away to a small morning room off the front parlor, I saw a gun case. Most plantation homes boasted an assortment of hunting rifles, and that’s exactly what was contained in this glass case. No one was about, so I tried the door, which opened with ease.

  A rifle with ornate workings, including etchings in silver of a falcon and a lever with a falcon’s claw holding a crystal, immediately drew my attention. I’d never seen a gun with such craftsmanship. I lifted the gun out and smelled the barrel. It had been recently fired.

  The gun was a work of art, but it was also a weapon. I put it back and snapped a photo of it. Someone had taken a shot at me and Tinkie—and they might have been using that rifle. There was no way to prove it, and no way to disprove it.

  Footsteps came toward the morning room, and I bolted out the door and caught up with Tinkie.

  “Sarah Booth, Colin is showing me the kitchen. Come along.”

  The kitchen stopped me in my tracks. While it held the charm of the 1920s, it was thoroughly modern. The appliances were designed for a commercial chef, and a glass-fronted built-in bookcase held dozens of cookbooks. My gaze rested on How to Please a Demanding Man. I almost reached for it, but Tinkie and Colin moved on through an enormous pantry filled with enough foodstuffs to last through World War III. Chatting a mile a minute about his plans to bring Russia to her knees, Colin led Tinkie to the gardens in back of the house.

  He paused to look back and saw me malingering on the steps. “I would take you upstairs, but Susan is resting. She’s in a terrible mood, too. The baby keeps kicking and she can’t sleep. Have I mentioned I’m going to be a father?” Colin said. “A boy. Another McFee to carry on the name.”

  Colin was sixty if he was a day, but he’d used his pregnant wife and even the sonogram of the baby to good effect in his national TV ads. “It’s a boy for McFee,” was another campaign ad that made my skin crawl. Not because it involved a fetus, but because in the ad, Colin pointed out the baby’s genitalia and challenged Putin to produce a male heir. It was way over the top.

  When I started to turn back to the kitchen, Colin cut the garden tour short and followed me back inside. “It’s wonderful to think of being a father.”

  “Yes, it’s so sad about your first male heir, Son.” I struggled to contain my sarcasm.

  “Son wasn’t a fit heir. He was a drug abuser. He killed his own mother.” Colin’s brow warned of an impending storm.

  “He was your son,” I said softly but with an edge of steel. “You ruined his name without any evidence. You and Sister.”

  “Are you here to defend a dead man?” Colin asked, his voice rising so that several of his staff members scurried toward us.

  “No, not necessarily,” I said. “We’re here—”

  “We’re here to work with the film people,” Tinkie interjected, giving me a look. “Sister said they needed some extras, so we thought we’d come over and see if they could use us. Are you going to be in the movie?” she asked.

  “Over my dead body.” He moved on to new terrain. “That film will never be made.”

  “If they follow Sister’s book, it paints Son as the drug-addled killer,” I said. “Isn’t that what you want?”

  “I know enough about Hollywood to know they don’t have to follow the book.” He grinned. “But I’m not worried. I have some pull at the studio. I can’t have a film digging into my family’s tragic past while I’m running for a national office. Once I’m elected, they can do whatever they want.”

  “A film all about you. What would Putin think?” The words were out before I could stop them.

  “I’m sure Mr. Putin would be eaten up with envy,” Tinkie said, and this time she followed her look with a quick stiletto stab to my big toe. It was all I could do not to scream and hop up and down.

  “Putin can kiss my—biscuits,” Colin said. “He’s the biggest threat to our country and no one else seems to see it but the people of Mississippi. I’m digging into information that indicates he was involved in the Kennedy assassination.”

  I was stunned. “Was he even alive then? He was like, twelve. Which assassination?”

  “John and Bobby. Both of them!”

  Tinkie nudged me away. “Colin, would you mind showing me the second floor? We’ll be quiet so we don’t wake Susan. Sarah Booth is supposed to meet the film people right now.” She tapped her watch face. “Hurry along, Sarah Booth. You don’t want to keep important people waiting.”

  She was ditching me, and I didn’t blame her. I wasn’t helping her question Colin, I was just making it more difficult. But this would clear the way for some serious poking about the house. Tinkie was the best partner ever.