Booty Bones: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery (32 page)

“Mrs. James?”

She faced me. “You can call me Zerelda. Or Zee. There was no cause for the Ford brothers to kill him, you know. Just for fame. And a ten-thousand-dollar reward. But it never did them a lick of good. Not a lick. That Bob Ford shot Jesse in the head, and they were supposed to be friends. They put Jesse’s body on ice and exhibited it. Our son never even knew who his daddy was until Jesse was murdered. Then he had to face the truth. It broke me.”

“Jitty!” I couldn’t take any more of this sad, sad woman. “Jitty! Drop the act. We need to talk.”

Slowly the woman morphed into the mocha shades of my beautiful haint. “I thought the widow of Jesse James was a brilliant choice.” She sighed. “After her husband’s death, she spent the rest of her life in a debilitating depression. Not exactly the place I’d choose to hang out. Thanks for calling on me.”

“You never appear when I call you.”

She shrugged and moved on. “You know you’ve been on the border of death. I thought for a little while you were goin’ to check out without leavin’ a Delaney heir behind.”

“What are you saying?” She was talking gibberish.

She tapped her skull. “Whacked in the head by a piece of flying debris. Under other circumstances, you might have died. And if you don’t get up off your ass and help your friends, you gonna be deader than a flitter.”

“What debris? How was I injured?” She wasn’t making any more sense in her natural state than she had as Mrs. James.

“Think, Sarah Booth, but be quick about it. You’re ’bout to join the dead in Davy Jones’s locker if you don’t wake up and help your partner. Things are going to hell in a handbasket fast!”

I couldn’t deny her sense of urgency, but I hadn’t a clue what she was talking about. “What’s the message from Zee James?”

“You can’t let loss break you.” She tapped her foot. “Is that clear enough? Wake up, Sarah Booth. You’re hidin’ out. Tinkie and Angela are in real trouble. Wake up, stand up, and stop wallowin’ in loss.”

Jitty was enigmatic but never harsh. “What bee buzzed your bonnet?”

“Wake up!”

I drew back from the ferocity of her command and felt wet wood beneath my face. I opened my eyes and saw Tinkie’s deck shoes slipping on the rain-soaked deck of a boat. It took a few seconds for reality to return, but when it did, I sat up.

“Sarah Booth, thank God!” Tinkie burst into tears. “I thought you were dying. That piece of wood struck you right in the forehead. Frontal lobe damage and all that.” She crouched down and grasped my chin. “You haven’t been lobotomized, have you?”

“No.” I snatched my chin away.

“Then get up and help us.”

With the boat thrashing, I had no choice. Jitty had put it before me, in no uncertain terms. It was fight and survive or give up and die. Not a Delaney born had ever been a quitter. I would analyze Jitty’s appearance as Zerelda Mimms James, wife of the notorious outlaw, when I had some quiet time alone.

24

For the next half hour, Angela, Tinkie, and I fought the rising winds. We’d gain several inches on the rope, and then the wind would shift and pull harder against us. Ultimately, we were losing ground.

When Randy Chavis stumbled up from below deck, I was actually glad to see him.

“What the hell?” He shielded his face with his arm, covering a big gash on his left forehead that matched a smaller wound on the right side. The rain washed the blood from his face and chest. “What happened?”

“You were brained by a trophy,” Tinkie said, not wasting any words on niceties. “You and Sarah Booth have matching noggins.”

I rubbed the goose egg on my forehead. “Thanks.”

Randy took in our predicament and grabbed an extra coil of rope. Tying them together, he was able to use the main mast as leverage. The four of us pulling with everything we had in us were able to stabilize the
Miss Adventure
.

“If the water gets any rougher, she’ll break free,” he said. “Why is she still berthed here?”

“Let’s go below deck,” Angela said. “We need some answers.”

With the boat securely tied, at least for the moment, we trooped below. Getting out of the rain and wind was an immense relief. My body felt as if it had been battered all over by tiny fists. I slumped into a chair, and Angela tilted my face up to examine my damaged forehead.

“You need to see a doctor.”

No doubt. If I told her about Zee James’s visitation and my haint Jitty, she’d think I needed more than an M.D. More like a psychiatric facility.

Tinkie shifted her attention to Chavis. “You should have stitches.”

“Pull out a needle and thread. We aren’t going to find a doctor for the next twenty-four hours.” Chavis wasn’t kidding.

“I’ll try taping it,” Tinkie said. She was a lot better with wounds than I was, but sewing a forehead was more than she could take on. She turned his head so she could examine his neck. “Bring that lantern.”

We all moved in close to look at the clear puncture wound in his neck. When we were done with him, we went to Angela, who had an identical mark on her neck.

“So what happened?” Tinkie demanded. “The two of you were in Angela’s cottage and something obviously went down.”

“I’d come to warn her,” Randy said. His eyes widened. “Shit, I forgot about this in all the furor of securing the boat.”

“What?” We were a Greek chorus.

“Someone in the sheriff’s department is out to get you, Angela. And”—he frowned and looked down at his feet—“and I think you’re right about Larry Wofford. I think he’s innocent. I was duped.”

His stunning confession froze us for the space of a few seconds. “What changed your mind?” I had to know. Call me cynical, but I considered the possibility that Randy’s abrupt about-face was calculated to lull us into trusting him.

“It was what the museum owner, Prevatt, said to me when I called to update him about the stolen telescope.”

“What did he say?” Angela put her hands on her hips.

“Something about how he’d been double-crossed for the last time by men in uniform.”

Tinkie was puzzled. “And how does that clear Wofford?”

“It’s the context of the comment.” Chavis spoke directly to Angela. “I told Prevatt we’d searched the cottage the private investigators were renting and we’d searched your place and the ship and come up with nothing. No trace of the missing spyglass. He said he wouldn’t trust Mobile County deputies as far as he could throw them, that he knew how they could change evidence to convict an innocent man.”

“Did he mention Wofford by name?” I asked.

“No.” Randy looked less certain. “I’m sure that’s who he meant, though. And he seemed to think I was involved in framing Wofford. When I asked him what evidence, he changed the subject quickly. Like he realized he’d made a mistake.”

“What evidence might that be?” Angela asked.

I knew. “The security cameras.” I’d never understood why the cameras failed that night.

Randy looked miserable. “I took the CDs from the recorder into the station, but it was the next day before I looked at them. They were blank.”

“Wiped by someone.”

He took a deep breath. “The recordings from the night before the murder were perfect. Arley couldn’t find anything wrong with the cameras or recorder. We chalked it up to the rain.”

“Would you testify to that?” Angela asked.

“I will. I know you don’t believe me, Angela, but I like Wofford. I didn’t want him to be guilty. That’s the way the evidence laid out. I did my job, even when I didn’t like it. The evidence said Larry was the killer.”

“Except the evidence was tampered with.” Angela’s face was pale. “He’s been in prison over a year.”

“I realize that.” Randy held out a hand to her. “I’ll do everything I can to make sure his conviction is overturned. We’ll need more than Prevatt hinting Larry Wofford was set up and blank surveillance cameras, though.”

He wasn’t wrong about that.

“Arley’s testimony hurt Wofford, and I know Arley only told the truth as he saw it.” Randy pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. I didn’t doubt he had a whopper of a headache. “Sheriff Benson was positive Larry killed John Trotter. I let his attitude compromise my own. I shouldn’t have rushed to charge Larry. Maybe if I’d held off, the investigation would have been more thorough.”

“Why
did
you rush to charge Larry?” Tinkie asked.

“Sheriff Benson said it would be best for Angela if we could close the door on the investigation quickly. He said Wofford did it, and the best thing we could do for Angela was put him behind bars and hold the trial as soon as possible.”

“The sheriff.” Awareness dawned. “And now that Tinkie and I are poking into the past, who should end up abducted, drugged, and left to die on a boat freed from its moorings in a hurricane?”

“Me.” Randy’s voice was dead. “He used me, didn’t he?”

“I think he intends to frame you for killing Angela and Angela for killing Lydia Renault Clampett,” I added. I turned to Tinkie. “I’ll bet Randy’s and Angela’s fingerprints and blood are at each scene.”

“I wonder if Renault was in on the frame?” Tinkie asked.

The wind caught the boat, and we all lost our footing. The lantern swung, creating crazy shadows. We regained our balance, and the conversation continued.

I thought back to my encounter with Sheriff Benson. He’d been annoyed and helpful in just the right quantities. Antagonistic and gracious—hitting exactly the right notes. And he’d been very careful to control the situation. I’d been so focused on Randy Chavis as the bad guy I hadn’t considered Benson.

“But why?” Randy asked. “What does the sheriff or any of the detectives have to gain by sending an innocent man to prison?”

“The person who finds the treasure stands to gain a fortune. Wofford was collateral damage. A scapegoat to take the blame.”

Tinkie picked up the explanation. “They were getting rid of Randy, the same way they eliminated John Trotter. Two birds with one stone. Randy is the weak link in the case against Wofford. Once he realized Larry was innocent, they knew he’d fight to free Larry. They had to kill Randy or set him up for murder. They would take care of two big problems. It’s just a miracle Angela came to her senses and got out of that apartment before they went back to question her and then kill her. It’s all about the timeline.”

Another wave slammed into the boat. I had one more thing to reveal.

“I found something at Renault’s place, something I think he stole from John Trotter.” I told them about the painting in the car. “It was always the treasure. The painting depicts the coastline of Dauphin Island.” I went to the bookcase and selected a slender tube pushed into the back. “If my guess is right, this will be a nautical map of Dauphin Island today.” I unrolled the paper in the tube, revealing a map with figures, depths, reefs, shallows, and debris, all clearly marked.

“Anyone can order that map or even print it off the Internet,” Angela said.

“The painting your father did is the coastline of Dauphin Island as it was during the time of Armand Couteau. He’s researched it. That’s why he painted on a translucent surface. It’s meant to be put over this!”

“My father found the treasure,” Angela whispered. “He did it.”

A large wave hit the boat hard, and Tinkie fell to her knees. I landed on top of her. “I’ve had enough. We can finish this on land.” Tinkie signaled everyone to follow her on deck. “Let’s get off the boat while we can.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Angela called.

I figured she was retrieving the spyglass, but I saw no reason to point that out to Randy Chavis. While he might not be the bad guy I’d assumed, he was still a deputy and Angela had broken the law. We could sort through the legalities of her actions once the storm passed.

When we reached topside, the wind was relentless. I was worried sick about Sweetie and Pluto. They weren’t on the dock, and I hoped they’d taken shelter back in the Cadillac. Which would be soaked. Funny, but I didn’t recall leaving a window open wide enough for Sweetie to get out. Or even Pluto, for that matter. For a fat kitty, he could slink through some mighty small openings, but I’d left only a crack in the window.

A very bad feeling hit me.

Someone else was on the dock. Someone who had let my animals out of a safe car in a hurricane. Someone who was watching us, and likely waiting for us to get back to the dock.

I searched the rain and windswept pier and the surrounding parking lot. Tinkie’s red Caddy was a blur in the savage weather. I couldn’t see anyone or anything else. Still, my heart raced, telling me that my gut knew what my eyes couldn’t see.

Someone was there.

Angela joined us, and I shifted close to her. “Do you have the spyglass?”

She nodded.

“Someone is waiting for us, and I think they mean us harm.”

Angela lifted the glass to her eye and swept the parking lot. “There’s a dark car parked near the roadway. Black sedan.”

“Who does it belong to?” Like the car that had tried to run me and Tink down, and also the one drifting through Angela’s neighborhood when shots were fired. We knew it wasn’t Randy Chavis, since he was with us.

“I don’t know.” She scanned the horizon much as a sailor would. “I don’t see any movement.”

Tinkie and Randy joined us, and to his credit, he didn’t say a word about the stolen spyglass. “What’s up?” he asked. He took a look through the telescope. “That’s Sheriff Benson’s car.”

I motioned them down the steps again. We were safer out of the wind and rain and also out of sight. “Someone let Sweetie and Pluto out of Tinkie’s car. I’m afraid they’re waiting for us to get on the dock.” I’d finally put it together. “They want the spyglass. That’s what they’ve been after the whole time. It’s the key to the treasure.”

“What good will it do them? They could’ve had it anytime. It’s been in the museum for two years,” Randy said.

“But they didn’t have the other parts. The way John’s painting fits into the location of the treasure, the map on the wall at Fort Gaines. The rising sun intersects with the shadow of a wall. There lies the crossing of destiny and fortune.” Tinkie repeated the words written by Armand Couteau.