Booty Bones: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery (23 page)

“Stealing is wrong.” Tinkie looked at me as if I would have an answer. Not going to happen. I couldn’t condone stealing, but in this instance, I also couldn’t condemn it. If Prevatt had been a decent human being, he would have sold the artifact to Angela and let it go at that.

“Maybe we can put it somewhere the law will find it.” That was my suggestion. “If it’s returned, maybe they’ll give up hunting for the person who stole it.”

“Forget it. I’m keeping it.” Angela crossed her arms.

There was no profit in arguing. Angela was as hardheaded as Tinkie or I ever dared to be.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” Angela said. She swung around to face us. “Someone called me last night. A man. He said if I didn’t back off trying to prove Larry innocent, he would hurt me and ‘my nosey investigators.’ He said the shot into my windows was to let me know he could strike anytime, anywhere. With the storm out there, maybe you should leave the island. We’re making someone very uncomfortable, so I know we’re making progress. I’m willing to double your fee if you come back after the hurricane passes.”

“We’re not leaving yet. Who called?” Tinkie asked.

“I tried to trace the number back, but I wasn’t able.”

“Did it sound like anyone you know?” I asked. My first thought was Remy Renault. He struck me as the kind who’d use anonymous threats.

“The voice was muffled, like they were talking through a cloth or something. It was male.”

“Angela, we should all evacuate. Until we do, though, I’m not quitting as long as I’m on the island.”

“Unless the storm gains speed, I can stay until Saturday morning.” Tinkie was no quitter, either. “Then I have to get back, and so do you, Sarah Booth. Cece is probably ready to skin me as it is.”

Footsteps on the dock drew our attention. Arley McCain stampeded toward us like a linebacker rushing for a tackle.

“Latest weather alert has the storm coming up the Gulf in this direction. It’s too early to call it, but we’d better batten down the hatches. Angela, I’d set sail if I were you. Either head up Fowl River to safer waters or move down the coastline. Maybe west toward New Orleans based on the current predictions. Stay to the west side of the storm, and you should be fine.”

Angela’s eyes expressed her doubt, even if she didn’t voice it.

“What’s wrong?”

“I haven’t sailed since Dad died.”

I didn’t know enough about hurricanes and sailboats like the
Miss Adventure
to offer an opinion. She wasn’t like a motorboat that could be loaded on a trailer and pulled behind a car. She was too big. “Maybe you should take her inland?”

“She’ll need a crew.” Arley’s brow looked like plowed Delta soil. “I’m taking another client’s boat up the river. After Katrina, we’re all a bit skittish about the tropical storms. Once I’m done with that, I’ll help you, Angela.”

“I could try—”I didn’t get a chance to finish.

“She needs experienced sailors.” Arley put a hand on my shoulder. “Good effort isn’t enough. The river’s tricky, and Angela isn’t a captain. The waters prove challenging for even experienced sailors.”

“Let me make some calls,” Angela said. “Maybe I can pull some sailors up for a short jaunt. The problem is, I’ve lost contact with the sailing world.”

“In another hour, this place will be crawling with boat owners. When they finish with their own craft, they’ll likely help you out.”

The sound of a motorboat drowned out Angela’s reply, and Dr. Phyllis Norris cut her engine and drifted up to the dock in a sleek powerboat. “Getting all tied down for the storm?” she asked.

“Angela wants to take her dad’s boat upriver. She needs a crew.”

“Let me make certain everything at the lab is shipshape, and I’ll give you a hand motoring up the river.” Phyllis jumped onto the dock and looped the painter over a bollard. “I used to sail with your father, so I know the ship and how she handles. I’ll be happy to give you a hand.”

“Thanks.” Angela’s demeanor lightened. “Can I help you with anything, Phyllis?”

“I’m gassing up, getting a few provisions. We’ve got a secure dock back at the lab, so I’ll leave my boat there. I don’t see this as a major storm, at least not based on the latest reports. Of course, everything can change in an hour. I’m focusing on a few loose odds and ends to pick up and store.”

“How bad do you think it’ll get?” Tinkie asked.

“This is a tight storm. Small eye but a lot of banding extending out for over a hundred miles. Predictions aren’t for fierce winds, but on-and-off deluges, so that could mean a lot of flash flooding. If it’s a direct hit, the thing to worry about is the tide. I doubt the wind will stay at a Cat Three. She’ll likely come in as a One. Still, if you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time, it can kill you. You folks heading back upstate?”

“New Orleans,” Tinkie said.

She nodded. “Looks like the Crescent City dodged this one. New Orleans will be fine, and the partying never stops.” She laughed. “Even if Margene pays us a visit, it won’t be like Katrina. My worry involves the impact on the turtles and other wildlife. We were just recovering from Katrina and the oil spill.” She indicated the oil rigs out in the Gulf. “If those haven’t been maintained properly, if the storm pushes a boat or something else into one of them.” She shook her head. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

“I’d be happy to help you with the turtles,” Angela said again.

“Not necessary. My staff is on top of it, and then they’re going to head to Mobile. I’ll run my errands and be back to help you move the boat. Maybe you should secure your cottage while I’m tending to the lab.”

“Good idea.” Angela held out a hand to Arley. “Thanks for calling me about the search.”

We all three angled toward the parking lot. At Angela’s car, I stopped her. “You have to report the telephone threat. This isn’t optional. If something should happen to you, we need to show it was premeditated.”

“That’ll be a comfort for me while I’m decomposing.”

Tinkie laughed first, and then I joined. Angela had a dry wit when she chose to use it. “Okay, so I could have phrased it better, but you know what I meant.”

“I think it’s a waste of my breath to call the sheriff’s office.”

I didn’t disagree, but I wondered if she had specific reasons. “Why?”

“I thought of it when I was talking to Randy. The person who called said I would be hurt and so would those nosey private investigators. Who really knows that I hired you—Chavis, the sheriff, Prevatt. We’ve rubbed their noses in it, so to speak. I think it had to be one of them. So why call the law if they’re the ones who did it?”

She had a point, but others knew we’d been hired, too. “Snill knows, and by now probably everyone on the island. Still, we need to document the threat. At a certain point, this could become a lawsuit.” I wasn’t litigious, but sometimes only threat of legal action forced people to do the right thing.

“I’ll think about it. But first I need to take care of my cottage. There are a few sentimental items I want to stow in a safe place.”

“Where’s the spyglass?” Tinkie asked.

“Oh, you can bet it’s well protected,” Angela answered. “I won’t involve you, though.”

She wasn’t about to budge. I had one more topic to discuss. “I did some checking.” Sometimes it was hard for a client to accept her history could prove fertile ground for trouble. This required delicacy. “Jameson Barr has a real reason to hate you. And he has connections. Do you think—”

“That he killed my father to get even for newspaper stories?”

I hadn’t intended to be that blunt. “Yes.”

“I haven’t ruled it out completely. Don’t you think I’ve tried talking to Zeke? He hates my guts. As unreasonable as it is, he feels like I caught him. Like he would have gotten away with killing Mrs. Barr if I hadn’t poked around in it. He’d rather stay in jail than help me. Even if I could convince the DA to offer some kind of incentive for him to tell the truth, he would hold it back just to spite me.”

“We’ve tried to link the murder to the treasure and your father’s actions. What if we’ve been on the wrong trail?”

“Barr is capable of anything. He’s an old-school politician who controlled Alabama for a long time because he rewarded those who were loyal to him and punished those who dared to challenge him. I have thought about this. But I believe Dad’s murder goes back to the treasure. That’s what my gut tells me.”

“We need to figure out the identity of the man Wofford saw on the wharf.” Tinkie came full circle.

“The problem is that as far as the authorities are concerned, that man is a figment of Larry’s imagination.” Angela held no illusions about what we were up against.

She was right. Without evidence to back it up, Wofford’s claim was viewed as a desperate attempt to throw suspicion on someone else.

“Maybe we should talk to Zeke,” Tinkie suggested. “What if Barr used the same hit man to kill his wife and Angela’s dad? Why don’t we head up to Atmore? It’s only a couple of hours. We can be back before it gets dark and still have plenty of time to pack up.”

“I’d feel a lot more comfortable if you’d head on to New Orleans, Sarah Booth.” Angela’s slumped shoulders told me she carried a heavy weight. “I have a bad feeling trouble is headed our way and it’s packing a wallop.”

“Maybe she’s right.” Tinkie faced the southern horizon, where storm clouds massed, a dark presence. There was no doubt bad weather was moving in, but it seemed far away. “We can come back, Sarah Booth. After the storm passes. Let Angela take care of her house and the boat. We’ll take care of ourselves and wait for this to blow over.”

At my feet, Sweetie Pie moaned as if it were the best idea she’d heard in a while.

“I agree with your partner,” Angela said. “See to your safety, then come back. You’ve made more progress than anyone else, and for the first time in months, I feel that we may be able to figure out what really happened to my father.”

Tinkie’s small hand grasped mine. “Let’s go to the cottage.” She tugged me behind her. “This isn’t over, Angela. We aren’t quitting, I promise.”

19

The cottage was empty when we got back. The SUV hunkered beneath the first-floor rafters, along with both bicycles. Graf was on foot. The day was winding down, and my life felt totally out of control. I checked my cell phone twice to see if he’d responded to my last text. Nada.

I stepped into the bedroom and went out on the balcony and dialed his number. His phone rang and finally went to voice mail. “Graf, we need to talk. We can’t keep avoiding this.” I almost said please, but I stopped myself. “Whatever is going on, ignoring it isn’t working.” I hung up, hoping he’d call me right back. When he didn’t, I rejoined Tinkie in the kitchen.

“Let’s call Arley and see if he kept slip rentals at the time John Trotter was shot.” Tinkie knew work was the best medicine for me. “We can interview the people we run down, maybe jog a memory. If we could get our hands on one other person to corroborate Wofford’s story of the yellow-rain-slickered person on the pier the night Trotter was shot, it could help Wofford.”

“Or even someone who saw or heard a motorboat. Good idea.”

While I brewed coffee, she took down names and phone numbers as Arley searched his records. “He gave me three names. It’s a long shot,” she said. “A lot of boats were docked, but no on lived on them. The night Trotter was killed, it was also raining. The people who were around were likely snugged into the apartments they were renting, but I’ll ask if they heard or saw anything that night. I don’t feel good about trusting the sheriff’s department to do a thorough job.”

My cell phone rang, and for a second I hoped it was Graf, but Cece’s number popped up.

“Hello, dah-link!” she said. “Are you ready for the latest gossip from the City that Care Forgot?”

“Slap me upside the head with it.” I wasn’t in a gossiping mood, but my friends were rallying to keep my spirits up, and I intended to meet them halfway.

“You remember Samantha Hebert, don’t you?”

“The striking filmmaker from Seclusiville Plantation?” I remembered her vividly. She could walk in a room and stop conversation. She was only in her twenties, but she’d directed an independent film that swept the Sundance competition. Graf had labeled her film brilliant.

“That’s her. She has a lot of grit and gumption.”

Cece would get to the story at her own speed, but I prodded her with a question. “Wasn’t she engaged to that stockbroker from Virginia? Handsome but stodgy.”

“Tim Kelso.”

“Yes. I recall. The young set thought he was the best-looking man they’d ever seen.”

“Fresh face on the scene. Always creates a stir.”

“Where’s this going, Cece?” I checked my watch. I was primed for action, not conversation.

“She broke off the engagement this afternoon in the hotel lobby. It was something of a scene.”

“Why?” She’d hooked me despite my best attempts not to be sucked in.

“Do you want the long story or short version?”

What I really wanted was to choke the details out of her. “Nutshell.”

“He went behind her back and mucked up the distribution deal she was working on for her film.”

“Why?” No reasonable explanation came to my mind.

“He was afraid she’d go to Hollywood and leave him behind. He was fine with her being a big fish in a little pond in Mississippi. He feared if she went to Los Angeles, he would lose her.”

“And so now he has.” I wasn’t sorry for him, but the situation was sad. Maybe he didn’t care about her in the right way, but he did care.

“The scene in the hotel lobby was exquisite. She pulled out all the stops. She brought in the Louisiana State University cheering squad. They spelled out B-A-S-T-A-R-D and then shook their pom-poms. I personally felt she went a little over the top with the Elvis impersonator singing ‘Jailhouse Rock,’ but it’s her breakup scene. Let’s just say folks will be talking about this for a long time to come.”

“What did he do?”

“She caught him completely unprepared. It was a beautiful thing in a terrible way. I suspect he’ll move and start over.”

“Men have to learn they can’t suffocate a woman into a secondary existence. Samantha would never have left him behind, no matter how successful she became.”