Bones of a Feather: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery Page 8

  It wasn’t worth asking if the prejudice against the Leverts was the family history or the fact that Monica looked fifteen years younger than her true age. The old green-eyed monster was likely at work here.

  “Do you know anyone who might want to harm the Levert sisters?” I asked.

  This brought her up sharp. Speculation glinted in her eyes. “Has someone harmed them?”

  “Please answer the question,” Tinkie said.

  “Everyone in town with breathe in his body might have reason, but I don’t know who would actually act against them.”

  “Not even Mr. Hightower?”

  “Oh, please. He’d love to hang them in a public exhibition, but he isn’t a violent man. He needs them hale and hearty to wage his literary battle.”

  “Sounds like so much fun,” I threw in.

  “I’m sure you’d rather settle your disagreements in a parking lot brawl behind a juke joint. John is a civilized man. And he has the makings of a bestselling book. Murder, scandal, ghosts, unpleasant heirs. He’ll be the darling of the literary world, and all on the backs of the Levert sisters. And just let me add, Monica has spent an inordinate amount of time on her back.”

  “She must have slept with someone you cared about,” I said, before I thought.

  “Get out of my house.” Helena pointed out the door. “Go now before I have to resort to legal recourse.”

  “Right.” I couldn’t hide my sarcasm. “Thanks for your time, Helena.” I knew my lack of formality would get under her skin.

  “Good day, Mrs. Richmond.” Helena ignored me as she closed the door.

  In the Caddy headed back to the Eola, Tinkie spoke. “Monica and Eleanor have made a lot of enemies. “

  “Do they have any friends in Natchez?”

  “We haven’t met anyone who likes the sisters. That would be awful, wouldn’t it? To live in a place where everyone hates you.”

  “Speaking of friends, we need to let Cece know what we’re up to.” Cece Dee Falcon was the society editor at the Zinnia Dispatch, and her journalistic instincts had served us well more than once.

  Tinkie pulled off the road. “I have to go home, Sarah Booth. Oscar is pitching a fit. We’re obligated to attend the Sunflower County Economic Development dinner at The Club.”

  The Bellcases did have certain social requirements that came with owning/managing the bank. While Tinkie was a fine private investigator, she was also Oscar’s wife. Duties attached to the title. “It’s okay.” I put a hand on her shoulder. “I can manage here for a day or so. Really.”

  She stared out the front windshield. “It’s a tough balancing act, to be a wife and a P.I.”

  “I know, but you do it so well.” I rumpled her hair. “Don’t ever apologize for being a good partner to Oscar.”

  She pulled back onto the road and in a few moments we were clearing the Natchez city limits. “Are you really going to stay?” she asked.

  “I feel I have to.”

  “But you won’t have a car.”

  “Not a problem in Natchez.” The town was compressed. “Eleanor might loan me one. Or I’ll rent one. In fact, it may work to my advantage.”

  John Hightower, Helena, and Millicent had seen the Caddy—a distinctive tomato red with white leather interior. A different car could give me an advantage if I had to tail someone. My personal car, an older model Mercedes Roadster that had belonged to my mother, was as eye-catching as Tinkie’s Cadillac.

  “Are you going to talk to Kissie McClain?” she asked.

  “I am. But I may invite her to the Eola.”

  “And you’ll call me if you need anything?”

  Her guilt was unnecessary. “You’re two hours away, Tink. I’m only asking a few questions.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Just placate Oscar. The one thing we don’t want is for him to feel you’ve put this job ahead of him.”

  Tinkie’s smile was tentative. “Sounds to me like you’ve learned the first lesson of being a Daddy’s Girl.”

  “Heaven forbid.” I made the sign of the cross.

  Laughter was the best note for us to part on. She dropped me off at the Eola and I watched as she drove away. She wouldn’t be far, and I had no gut feeling that anything dangerous waited in the wings.

  7

  I was crossing the lobby of the Eola, headed for the elevator and my room, when a baritone voice called my name. My skin responded to the masculine tone with a delicious shiver before I saw Don Cipriano.

  “Miss Delaney, would you have a moment?” he asked as he strode toward me.

  I was taken with his attire—black from his jeans and boots to his open-throated poet’s shirt—a perfect accoutrement to his darkly handsome features.

  “Of course.” I ignored my gut’s loud clamor to cut and run. Don Cipriano worked on me. He was one of the most sexual men I’d ever met, and though my heart belonged to Graf, my body wasn’t dead to the heat this strange man generated.

  He tucked my hand through his arm and escorted me toward the bar. “It’s a little early for a drink.” I had much to do and never drank with a dangerous man while I was working. Too many Delaneys had fallen off that horse for me not to take notice.

  “They serve coffee,” he said, flashing a dimple in his right cheek I’d missed before.

  When we were seated at a table in a dark corner, he sighed. “Why are you working for the Levert sisters?”

  I was taken aback by his question. “Why would you care?”

  He shrugged. “Natchez thrives on gossip. I understand Monica and Eleanor Levert are not to be trusted.”

  “Again, I have to ask why it concerns you if I work for them, trustworthy or not.”

  He stared deeply into my eyes, and for a split second, I was drawn into the brown depths. “Because they’re liars and cheats.”

  The harshness in his voice shook me out of the trance. “You seem to know more about the Levert sisters than you should. Would you care to explain yourself?”

  His hand reached across the table and found mine. Warm, strong fingers turned my hand over, and I found myself knowing I should stop him but unwilling to do so. He stroked my skin, a tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You have a number of stars in your palm, Miss Delaney.”

  “And that signifies what?”

  “Adventure, excitement, affairs of magnitude. Starred events can be good luck or crisis. There’s no way to tell. But you’ve recently had several … adventures. This past spring, there was heartache.”

  I tried to pull my hand away, but he held it. He leaned closer, his warm breath teasing my skin. “Let me look further.” He studied the etched lines. “A plump mound of Venus signifies a woman who enjoys sensual pleasures.” His finger traced the base of my thumb with such delicious delicacy I had to grit my teeth.

  “But here”—he touched the top line—“I see heartache. Romance has not been a smooth ride for you.”

  “You can say that to almost any woman and she’ll agree.” I had to put some perspective on this. Once again I attempted to withdraw my hand, but he held it firmly, his thumb moving sensuously in the cup of my palm. My heart thudded, and I ignored the impulse to run.

  “What are you afraid of?” he asked.

  “I’m not afraid,” I lied.

  “You are. I can feel your blood pounding.” His pointer slipped to my wrist, where he pressed a pulse point. “The blood never lies, Miss Delaney. I know these things. It’s a gift, a part of my heritage. I’m able to sense things about people, to know more than they wish to share.”

  The need to flee grew stronger by the second, but I couldn’t allow him to know he was getting to me. “Are you part Gypsy, Don Cipriano?”

  “I am,” he said. “Romanian Gypsy. My mother was an aristocrat, dazzlingly beautiful but of questionable character. My parents met in a small port city. Her sailboat docked to resupply and she met my father one evening in a bar. She seduced him, a simple man with the gift of p
rophecy. Their consuming passion overcame their different backgrounds. For a brief time they were happy, but one morning she was gone, vanished without a trace. I was an infant, too much of a burden for her to take.”

  “Sounds like a fairy tale or the plot for a romantic novel,” I said. He was making this up out of whole cloth, but I couldn’t deny he projected sadness.

  “Or a tragedy.” He brought my hand to his lips and pressed a kiss into the palm. Despite my best intentions, my body reacted.

  When he released me, I put my hand under the table, fingers curled in a tight fist. “What did you wish to speak to me about?”

  “To warn you.”

  “About the Levert sisters?” I squeezed every ounce of skepticism I could into those four words.

  “Perhaps it isn’t them. But there is danger around you.”

  “How much will it cost me to have it removed?”

  His eyes locked with mine. “I wish I could. If a fee would affect such a thing, any cost would be worth it. You’re in danger. You and your friend. But mostly you. If it is the Levert sisters who pose this threat, stay away from them.”

  “Surely you can see whether they’re the threat or not.” He was scaring me, but I refused to show it.

  “No, I can’t. I can only see darkness hovering over you. The source isn’t evident. But I had to warn you, Miss Delaney. Take care.” He stood, bowed slightly, and then walked away.

  I sank back into the chair as though someone had sucked my spine from my body. Don Cipriano might be a crank, a kook, or a manipulator, but he had presence and personal power, and he had succeeded in frightening me. I had no desire for another injury, physical or emotional.

  * * *

  My room had been cleaned and the bed made. I shed my clothes and stepped under the shower’s stinging hot spray. Weariness made my shoulders droop, but I wanted to interview Kissie McClain before the afternoon got away from me.

  And I didn’t want to think about Don Cipriano.

  I let the water sluice over my head, hoping to wash away the thoughts of him.

  When I turned off the shower, I thought I heard someone in my room. Grabbing a towel, I opened the bathroom door. Someone wrapped in a white sheet held a bow and arrow. The figure stood perfectly still at the foot of my bed.

  “Who are you?” I blinked water from my eyes.

  “The hunt is on. Beware the prey doesn’t turn into the huntress.”

  “Jitty?” What in heaven’s name was she up to now? I blotted my face to clear my vision. The sheet was actually a toga that draped gracefully over her athletic figure. She wore a crown of laurel leaves.

  “I am the daughter of Zeus and Leto, conceived in passion and born on Delos, a floating island, because jealous Hera refused my mother a haven on earth.” She came toward me. “There are times when virtue is the only path.”

  I’d been a theater major in college, and Greek mythology had been one of my favorite studies. I reviewed the hierarchy of the gods and demigods. “Artemis! She was the daughter of Zeus and Leto.” I tried not to smirk at my knowledge.

  “No sun shines on those who betray true love.” Jitty was the voice of gloom.

  “Are you talking about Don Cipriano?” Had Jitty buzzed from Dahlia House to the Eola to warn me to steer clear of the Gypsy? If so, it was wasted effort. I had no intention of falling under Don Cipriano’s mesmerizing spell.

  “You’re drawn to him.” Jitty sat on the foot of the bed. When she crossed her leg at the ankle, the entire goddess effect was totally ruined. “Stay away from that man, Sarah Booth. He’s trouble. A mistake like him can’t be hidden or undone.”

  “But he looks so virile, Jitty. And I’m ovulating right now. I hate to miss this chance to snare a sperm.” Oh, this was delicious. Jitty, who’d preached bed and bred for the past two years, was now hoisted on her own petard.

  “You got the very devil in you, Sarah Booth Delaney.”

  “Artemis. Goddess of the hunt and wild things.” A rare opportunity to torment Jitty presented itself. “And I sure am feeling wild for one tall, dark, and handsome stranger. Fact is, now that I’m all cleaned up, maybe I should ring his room and invite him for a game of ride the bronco.”

  I don’t think I’d ever seen Jitty at a loss for words, but she was momentarily stunned. “I don’t know what’s come over you, Sarah Booth, but I’m gonna find Tinkie. Either that or them men in white jackets. You’re talkin’ crazy.”

  I dug underwear and a pair of jeans out of my suitcase and pulled them on. “There’s no call to rile Tinkie or anyone else. I’m finished having fun with you.”

  She circled me. “The Gypsy man didn’t get his hooks into you?”

  “He’s compelling, but I’ve made a commitment to Graf. Disloyalty isn’t one of my many vices.”

  “Lord almighty, Sarah Booth, you ’bout sent me into cardiac arrest.”

  “Impossible. You’re already dead. So what’s with the Artemis getup?”

  “I considered Athena.”

  “The Goddess of War?” Thank goodness for Professor Brent and his love of all things Olympic. Athena sprang fully formed from the head of Zeus, her father. Grossly enough, he’d eaten her in an attempt to destroy her. The gods and goddesses of Greek mythology were a bloodthirsty lot, their lineage a tortured mess. Which may have been Jitty’s point when she thought I was going to jump in the sack with Don Cipriano.

  “Goddess of War, pregnant women, the hunt. One’s as good as the other.” A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “’Cept both of them goddesses were virgins, and I sure can’t say the same for you.”

  I’d had her at my mercy for less than five minutes and she’d already turned the tables. “Go back to Dahlia House. I’m not about to do anything stupid. And I’ll be home tomorrow.”

  “How you gone get home? You don’t have a car.”

  Excellent point. “I’ll call Cece.”

  “Done and done.” She was gone without a trace as the phone began to ring.

  Cece was on the other end, and I wondered for the thousandth time exactly how far Jitty’s powers might reach.

  “I’ve just gotten off the horn with Tinkie,” Cece said. “She thinks I should drive to Natchez to keep you company.”

  “Keep me out of trouble, you mean.” I was on to my friends, but I could only be grateful that they cared about me.

  “Natchez-Under-the-Hill has been known to lure more than a few damsels into unsavory circumstances. Drinking. Dancing. Fornicating.”

  “In other words, you want to go juking and use me as an excuse.” An evening with Cece was always fun, and Natchez was a town where we could play.

  Her laughter was warm and bright. “Tinkie told me about Don Cipriano. All I can say is, ‘yum-yum.’”

  Cece was a tough gal, but I wasn’t certain I’d throw her in front of that train. “I get the sense there’s more to him than he’s letting on.”

  “I think you’re right. Don Cipriano is the name of a character in a D. H. Lawrence novel. A Heathcliff figure. He’s using an alias, and an obvious one for any student of literature.”

  “I knew that. Sort of.” I was only a little indignant. “But who would think to reference that character in a novel? He could have picked Heathcliff—the name suits him perfectly. Dark and brooding.” I rummaged through my suitcase for a blouse. “He’s just too clever for his own good.” And too interested in the Levert sisters. Had he warned me about them because he was involved in the scheme to rob them and abduct Monica? I wouldn’t put it past him. Thank goodness I hadn’t revealed any of my business to him.

  “I thought it might be fun to figure out who he really is,” Cece said.

  “Excellent plan.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can sneak out of the newspaper office.”

  Knowing Cece, that wouldn’t take long. While I waited for her, I decided to track down Kissie McClain and see what she might know about Monica’s disappearance.

  * * *

  A
guitar’s plaintive twang drifted from the beautiful old home where Kissie McClain rented an apartment. By looking at the mailboxes and reading the names of the occupants, I deduced that the house had been broken up into five different residences. Kissie rented 3-C in the back.

  A female voice, low and resonant, accompanied the guitar. The song led me down a winding gravel drive that ended in a small car park at the rear of the house. The singing originated from a second-floor gallery.

  “Miss McClain,” I called.

  The music stopped.

  “Kissie McClain,” I called again.

  “Who wants to know?”

  I identified myself, and she invited me up without hesitation. The back door opened onto a narrow hallway that cut through the center of the house. A broad staircase took me upstairs, and I found 3-C without difficulty.

  Kissie McClain wasn’t what I expected. She could have been a throwback to the 70s with her tie-dyed T-shirt, long chestnut hair, and tight hip-hugger jeans. My first thought was that I hoped Jitty would not see the outfit. Jitty had a serious love affair with the fashions of the 70s and was prone to showing up as a hippie-child.

  “What do you want?” Kissie asked, but there wasn’t aggression in her tone.

  “To ask some questions about the Levert sisters.”

  Her dark eyebrows, angled to begin with, arched even more. “I don’t talk about my employers.” She started to shut the door.

  Using my foot and my hand, I blocked her. “Please, they need your help.”

  That gave her pause. “They’ve been really good to me. I’ll do whatever I can to help them, but I won’t discuss their private business. There are enough vultures in town hoping to pick their carcasses clean.”

  I instantly liked Kissie. She was loyal and straightforward. She signaled for me to enter. Beads, à la 1971, hung in a doorway that probably led to her bedroom. The sofa in her sitting area was covered in a multihued throw, and plants jammed every windowsill. Candles burned in saucers on the kitchen counter. Incense lingered in the air, though none was burning. She was definitely living in a time decades past.

  “How long have you worked for the Leverts?” I asked.