Booty Bones: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery (12 page)

“I don’t know. John was a curious man. He had things he loved. Old things. Mostly about sailing. He polished them and cared for them. It was almost as if he had a romance with the sea, the old ways. The spyglass was personal to him, and he wanted it bad. When he couldn’t buy it back, he hired me to steal it.”

This was an unexpected twist, and one I hadn’t heard from Angela. “And did you?”

“I tried. I went to the museum, and there it was in the case just like John told me it would be. I couldn’t get Prevatt distracted long enough to get the damn thing. I used to be a pretty good thief. It should have been simple. But Prevatt watched me like he knew my intentions were dishonorable. He followed me around pretending to tell me about the different pieces and so forth. He acted like he couldn’t trust me to even look at his precious artifacts.”

And with good reason, but I kept my lip zipped. “What was it about the spyglass?”

“John never said. It was special to him and he wanted it back and now he could afford to buy it. He said once he found the treasure, the value of everything connected to him would go up and he’d never be able to get his hands on it. He was right. Prevatt would never part with it, no matter how much John offered. That’s why he decided to steal it instead.”

“How’d it go down?”

“I put on my best suit and went in pretending to be a collector, but Prevatt wouldn’t even take it out of the case so I could hold it. Said it was too valuable. Lying cheat. He only gave John a hundred dollars for it when John was desperate for cash. Anyway, nothing I did could pry Prevatt away from the telescope. So that’s why I stopped by to see John. To tell him I’d failed in my mission. Unfortunately, I’d stopped by a few clubs on my way home. Like five or six. Had I gone back right away, I could have saved him from his killer.”

He stared at the table until he composed himself. “And that’s when I found him dying. I tried to help him. I put pressure on the wound in his chest and tried to stem the blood, but it was useless. I’d lost my cell phone, and John’s was nowhere to be found. I had to make a choice. Try to help him or run for help. He died only minutes after I arrived. You know the rest.”

“Why didn’t you call the cops and report it?”

“He died so quickly. Then I panicked. I knew how it would look, so I ran out, intending to go to my boat. That’s when Arley must have seen me. I got to my boat and drank everything I could put my hands on. I passed out. John was dead, and I wasn’t thinking rationally.”

“Did you ever tell anyone about the telescope?”

“Why paint John to be a thief? Didn’t seem to be a point in hurting Angela.”

The way he said her name told me a lot. He cared for her. In the romantic way. And I had no doubt she returned the emotion. My heart went out to Angela Trotter. She was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. She was in love with the man convicted of killing her father. “Were you dating Angela?” I posed the question as gently as I could.

“Absolutely not. She doesn’t need someone like me in her life. She’s a good person. She deserves more than a man who drinks his life away.”

I wasn’t sure that was the proper characterization of Larry Wofford. While he was certainly handsome and obviously had a problem with alcohol, there was more to him than I’d expected.

A tap on the door told me my time was up. “One more thing about Remy. Did you know he’d assaulted a woman?”

He couldn’t follow where I was headed. “He was always a jackass. Beating up on a woman sounds just like him.”

“The woman was Lydia Clampett.”

His reaction was shock. “Lydia? She said her husband hit her. Was she hurt?”

“Not enough to press charges. It just occurred to me, Larry, that the two of them may have played you. Remy kills John and Lydia delivers you into the trap. Think about it.”

“Shit!” The color had drained from his face. “I just met Lydia. She drove me from the bar because I was so drunk. She said she was married and made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone. I wasn’t involved with her or anything, but she made it clear her husband would hurt her.” He looked like he wanted to cry. “Shit.”

I took pity on him. “Don’t get your hopes up, but I’m doing what I can.”

“I’m going to take a risk and trust you, Ms. Delaney. So far, my judgment hasn’t been too good.” He signaled me to lean closer to him, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “John found something at Fort Gaines. I have no idea what, but it pertained to the treasure. I’m sure of it.”

“Did he hint at anything?” This might be helpful.

“Believe me, I’d tell Angela if I knew anything. He never gave specifics, but it was the way he acted. The fort plays a role in this.”

Staring into Wofford’s gray eyes, I believed him. “Thanks. You’ll be hearing from me.”

“Don’t waste your time, Ms. Delaney. I won’t be out until I’m in my sixties. That’s a bitter pill, but best to swallow it and move on. In here, one thing is for certain. I won’t fall off the wagon anytime soon.” His grin, while devil-may-care, couldn’t hide the pain.

When I got outside the room where Wofford was still held, I couldn’t find Chavis. The corridor was empty. Only a moment before, he’d been knocking at the door, urging me to finish.

Footsteps alerted me to someone coming and I turned, expecting the deputy. Instead, a large man in an orange jumpsuit barreled toward me. He clipped me hard with an elbow as he passed. “Watch yourself,” he said.

I couldn’t be certain if it was meant to be a warning or a random accident. But a good PI knows there is no such thing as a coincidence.

10

The ride from the prison back to Mobile was one long silence. Chavis seemed lost in his own thoughts, and I had plenty to chew on. If Chavis had sent the inmate to intimidate me, I wasn’t going to let him know I’d been affected, so that topic was off limits. I did have a few questions about the murder scene.

“Did you find any evidence of a burglary on Trotter’s boat the night he was killed?” I broke the silence.

Chavis chewed his bottom lip for a moment. “No. We looked, but nothing obvious was missing. Of course, no one really knew what John had on the boat, other than the essentials. There wasn’t an inventory of possessions, and John did have a few valuable nautical antiques. Those were untouched.”

The killer could have stolen from the boat and it wouldn’t have been obvious. “Angela wouldn’t have known?” I asked.

“Relations between Angela and John were strained. He loved her, but guilt kept him from acting on it. I know she loved him, but she was angry and hurt. Still, she moved to Mobile and took the job at the
Chronicle
to be closer to him. Given more time, they would have come to an understanding and put the past aside.”

Chavis wasn’t the cynic I’d painted him. “How do you know this?”

He hooked a finger in the collar of his shirt. “John talked to me. His big plan was to find the Esmeralda treasure and make up to Angela the years he hadn’t been a real father to her.”

“The picture I’m getting is of a man who talked too much about everything.”

Chavis cast me a sidelong glance. “John talked too much and bragged too much, but he knew where to draw the line. I never heard him give up any specific details of his hunts. Just big generalities wrapped around a good yarn.” He exited the interstate and looped around toward the sheriff’s office, where I’d parked. We were almost done.

“Have you ever had any doubts about Wofford’s guilt?” I asked.

“Do you really think if I’d put an innocent man in prison and then realized I’d made a mistake that I wouldn’t try to rectify it?” He halted the car in a parking slot.

“Some officers wouldn’t.” It was an ugly fact. Careers could be broken with a bad arrest and conviction, even when the officer had done everything in his power to apprehend the right criminal.

“You obviously have a low opinion of law enforcement officials, Ms. Delaney. Despite what you think, we want justice as badly as anyone else.”

“I know plenty of good officers, Sergeant Chavis. Unfortunately, I also know some really bad ones.”

“And you’ve got me pegged as one of the bad ones?” He opened his car door, got out, slammed it, and started toward the building.

“I don’t know yet,” I called at his back.

*   *   *

On the drive back to the island, I stopped at a couple of specialty shops for wine, cheese, seafood, and fresh produce. A few Sand Mountain tomatoes were still available, though the season was long past. I picked up two bunches of turnips to cook later. And sweet potatoes. The local fall crops had come in, and I was eager for the fresh produce. Or at least the idea of it. My appetite was nil.

When my errands were done, I called Tinkie and updated her on all I’d learned about John Trotter’s murder—and Chavis’s human side. I also asked her if she could get Cece to check on the whereabouts of one Lydia Clampett. As a journalist, Cece had access to databases that I didn’t. And the newspaper business was like a secret society of nosey people with good sources.

“I’ll get her on it. But think about this. If Wofford was framed, there has to be someone on the inside of the sheriff’s office, too. And the threat from the inmate confirms that. Someone had to put that brute up to intimidating you.”

She was right. And clearly Randy Chavis, the man on the scene, was the obvious choice.

“I’m not saying Chavis is playing you, but it wouldn’t be the first time a wolf donned sheep’s clothing.” Tinkie was ultimately logical, which was why she was the perfect partner for me. “Be careful, Sarah Booth. You’re a long way from home, and you don’t have me watching your back. How’s Graf doing?”

Loneliness washed over me. “He’s working through some things. How are plans for the Black and Orange Ball?” I didn’t want to talk about me or my problems.

“Cece has outdone herself. I believe she’ll top out at close to a hundred and fifty grand for charity. And just to lift your spirits, the surprise she’s concocted for you will blow you away.”

“Great.” I forced enthusiasm into my voice. “Any hints?”

“Can’t do it. Prepare to be shocked, though. In a good way. You have your dress, right?”

“Of course.” It hung in the closet beside Graf’s tux.

“Just FYI, Mattie Carlisle has set her cap for Harold. She asked Cece if Harold was bringing a date. When she found out he wasn’t, she made it clear she’s going in for the kill.”

Mattie Carlisle owned a Delta plantation and a New Orleans townhouse. She’d married well—and become a well-off widow—and inherited from her daddy. From a financial point, she’d make an excellent wife. I’d be willing to bet, though, when she doesn’t get her way, her hair turns into snakes. “Did you warn Harold?”

“I will. After a bit of fun.”

“Tinkie! Harold is our good friend.”

“And nobody’s fool. He can handle Mattie with both hands tied behind his back. I’m curious to watch her frontal assault. I’m thinking playbook of Attila the Hun.”

She did make me laugh, and I felt immensely better. I needed a good dose of Tinkie. Jitty was correct about that much. “Could Cece spare you for a day?”

“She has minions galore. Millie is here. I can’t believe she left the café, but she did. And Madame Tomeeka. She’s giving readings at the bar, but she has plenty of time to help Cece. And there’s a host of New Orleans society ladies Cece loves to boss around. Sure. How about tomorrow? I’ll run over and we can work on the case.”

“Excellent.”

*   *   *

By the time I got back to the cottage, it was the shank of the afternoon. The slanting sunlight was incredible, and I unloaded the groceries. Graf was freshly showered and going over a page of figures. “How was the trip to the prison?”

“Wofford wasn’t what I expected.” The case was our neutral ground. We could discuss that without treading on boundaries.

“Do you think he’s a murderer?”

“Hard to say. If he did shoot John Trotter, he may not recall it. Alcohol blackout is a real possibility. Or he could be innocent.”

“What’s your next step?”

“I want to revisit the fort. Wofford suggested there might be a clue to the Esmeralda treasure. If I can prove the pirate’s booty was the motive for John’s murder, I think I can bring new evidence for Wofford’s appeal. Want to go with me? The light is stupendous.”

“You go ahead.” Graf tapped the notepad. “I’ve neglected my bills and a number of other matters. I tell you what, I’ll put the turnips on to cook while you’re gone.” His cell phone buzzed the alert to a text message, but he didn’t reach for it.

“Aren’t you answering your phone?”

He shook his head. “My agent keeps aggravating me about two scripts he sent. I haven’t read them, and I don’t want to deal with it right now.”

Graf had worked too hard for each opportunity that came his way. Ignoring potential roles wasn’t his style. Still, I knew better than to question him about it. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

He blew me a kiss and returned to his calculations.

Sweetie wanted to go with me, but I asked her to stay behind with Graf. He needed her company. Besides, it was almost five o’clock and the fort would be closing. I might need to slip around a bit. While Sweetie could be appropriately sneaky, she was also a big red tic hound that weighed seventy pounds. Hard to miss.

I managed to get into the fort before it closed, and I made my way to the older section. From Civil War garrison to World War II post, Fort Gaines had been renovated and expanded. It was the older section that intrigued me. Wofford had said there was something at the fort that John Trotter had been very excited about. I wanted time to search. Alone.

An hour passed as I investigated the fort. Five lookout points gave views of the opening of Mobile Bay and also the Gulf of Mexico. Within the walls of the fort, soldiers had lived and trained. Atop a parapet, I stopped to watch the sun hang on the horizon at the level of the water, sinking second by second. How brave the men and women were who sailed to this country across miles of ocean and months of being trapped on a boat. My own Delaney relatives had emigrated from Ireland in the 1800s. I wasn’t certain I would have been able to find the grit and resilience to make such a journey.