Buried Bones (23 page)

"I'll run them," he said, lowering the camera and looking at me. "You're forgetting one small thing, Sarah Booth. If the person these prints belong to doesn't have a criminal record, we won't be able to match them."

14

"Damn! Damn! Double damn!" I pulled at the stocking, trying to straighten the line up the back of my leg. The stupid thing was twisted, but that wasn't what was bothering me.

"Why don't you just get an ice pick and stab it?" Jitty said from the doorway of my bedroom. "You want to put a run in it, that'll be a lot faster and easier on you."

I stood up and glared at her. I had ten minutes before Harold was supposed to arrive. I'd decided on secret underwear--my private weapon. Harold might not know I had on my sexy black garter belt and stockings, but I would know and it would give me feminine powers. So far, though, the stockings were more than I could contend with. How was it possible that mankind could live in outer space but couldn't invent a silk stocking that went on without twisting?

"You look wild-eyed," Jitty said, plopping down on the foot of the bed. She began to rifle through the pile of clothes I'd tried on and rejected. "Anything left in the closet?"

"Where've you been all day?" The only way to deal with her sarcasm was to ignore it.

"Busy. Is Harold taking you to dinner?"

"We're having jerked butt, and it's going to be mine."

"I'm sure you can persuade Harold to be a little forgiving." She stood up and came to stand behind me, staring into the mirror. "I've seen you be highly persuasive."

"Harold's involved with Brianna. I don't want her leftovers."

Jitty lowered her chin so that her eyes bored into me. "You afraid to go head-to-head with her, aren't you?"

For a moment I simply stared back at her. "I'm not afraid of Brianna Rathbone on any terms."

Jitty's grin was sly. "Then spin a little silk, do your own sexy little spider dance, and lure him over to
your
web."

"You make him sound like an insect." I finally got the stocking hooked to the garter. I let it go with a snap that made me jump. "I thought you were against wanton sex and into marriage and family values."

"Once you get ahold of him, he'll pop the question again. Besides, I just want to see if you got what it takes."

"I won't be dared into laying snares for a man."

Jitty chuckled. "That's an interestin' statement. I'll keep that on file. So what are you gonna wear other than black lace underthings?"

I pointed to the black wool skirt with a slit up to my hip and a white silk blouse. My black wool coat was still missing, but I had a red one that would work. "Demure, yet--"

"More of a business slut. You musta got that in one of those secondhand shops in
New York
."

She was right on the money. "Illusions was the name of the shop. I've never seen anything like it."

"I wish I could shop in one of those places."

The wistful tone in her voice made me realize that in all likelihood Jitty hadn't been off the home place since she died. Maybe never.

"Have you ever been out of
Mississippi
?" Sitting down at my dressing table, I watched her in the mirror.

"
New Orleans
. Once. Right before the war. It was glorious, too. I've never seen a place so alive. Your great-great-grandma
Alice
took me with her when she went to meet the ship that brought a lot of the furniture for Dahlia House."

It was almost impossible for me to imagine how much effort had gone into the building and furnishing of my home. There had been no trucks. Every stick of furniture, every piece of hand-cut glass for the windows and chandeliers had been carried upriver by barge and then overland by mules and wagons.

"We had to love every stick of that furniture to work that hard to get it home." Jitty ran her left hand over the smooth finish of my bedstead. Her face was turned down, her attention on her hand brushing the polished wood. "Yes, indeed. Lots of hard work went into your home, Sarah Booth, and if you don't find you a husband and start a family, it'll all be for naught."

I gave her an evil glare. She'd sucked me right into the palm of her hand and then clapped. "You can leave now," I said. "And send in my dog. I want some good company."

"Wear those wicked black shoes you bought for Harold's Thanksgiving party. They put a good angle on your calf."

"Anything for Harold," I said.

"Don't get my hopes up, Sarah Booth." She walked back over and leaned closer. "Whenever you doubt your abilities, remember you have one thing that Brianna Rathbone can never get."

"What's that?"

"The Delaney womb," she said in a stage whisper. "Now that's a deadly weapon."

The doorbell rang and I slipped into my clothes. The skirt was an excellent choice.

"I'm coming," I called down the stairs to the front door. "Just a minute."

There wasn't time for any more primping. I went down to let Harold in. He was barely over the threshold when Sweetie Pie launched herself at him, nearly knocking him over.

"What are you feeding that dog?" he asked, eyeing her critically.

"Why?" I felt a surge of guilt at the peanut butter sandwich. Not to mention the fruitcake. I did hate to eat alone.

"She's put on ten pounds, at least."

I stepped back, unwilling to let his flesh-appraising eye dwell too critically on me. "She needed a little fattening up. Her ribs were about to poke through her skin."

Harold lifted an eyebrow. "She's a hound, Sarah Booth. She's supposed to be lean so she can run."

"Sweetie Pie has other uses for her energy these days."

"Yes, I saw the dogs when I came in. There must be fifteen of them out there. Well, it's a warm night. They won't freeze."

"Come in and I'll make you a drink. Bourbon?"

In the foyer mirror I saw Harold's gaze catch on the slit in my skirt as I moved away from him. His lips tightened slightly, and I felt a tiny little thumb pulse in response. Brianna might have snared him, but he wasn't firmly caught.

"Perhaps we should talk before we drink," he said, following close behind me. "What I have to say is serious."

I didn't like the sound of that, but my Daddy's Girl training had taught me not to disagree with a man. At least not in a head-on manner. I simply went to the sideboard and made our drinks while Harold watched. He was too well mannered to stop me. When I offered him his glass, he took it with a look of wary amusement.

"What
were
you doing at
Lawrence
's with Willem Arquillo?"

"What part annoys you the most?" I sipped my drink slowly, never taking my eyes off his. "That I was at
Lawrence
's or that I was with Willem?" Ah, there was a rush of color to his cheeks.

"Both. Both of you should know better. Especially you, Sarah Booth. You claim to be a private investigator. Surely you've bothered to learn a few of the rules. Such as don't disturb a crime scene."

"We were looking for the manuscript. Willem had agreed to turn it over to you. He just wanted to look at it."

"And I'm going to dance
Swan
Lake
in downtown Zinnia tomorrow."

I put my hand on my heart. "Madame will be delighted. She could never find men to perform in the ballet."

His gripped my arm firmly. "This isn't a game, Sarah Booth."

I locked gazes with him, fascinated, and a little fearful of the sudden intensity in his pale blue eyes. Harold was a man who veiled strong emotion in manners. Even when he'd proposed to me, he'd been so carefully controlled. Now I saw passion, a hint of exactly how hot the opposite of his ice control could be, and I liked it.

"Willem's mother is dying. He was afraid there was something in the manuscript about his family. He wanted to know so that he could prepare his mother. And if it wasn't in there, perhaps allow her to die in peace."

Harold's hand slipped down my arm, warmth sliding over the cool silk, but his gaze didn't falter a millimeter. "You believe that?"

"I did." Doubt suddenly plucked at me. "I do." Vacillation is a deadly sin in the Daddy's Girl rulebook. To err is human. To vacillate is begging for trouble.

"If such a thing were in the manuscript, why would Willem allow it to be printed?"

"How could he stop it?"

Harold's eyes narrowed. "I always took you for a bright woman."

I would accept his grilling, but I wasn't about to take an insult from a man who slept with one of the sexually undead. "Just because I don't spend my days foreclosing on poor widows and orphans doesn't mean that I'm soft or stupid. Willem made a promise to me. I have no reason to doubt that he would live up to it. Besides, what if he found the manuscript and took it? You've got that copy at the bank." I decided to try a bluff.

Harold went to the neon Christmas wreath, his finger touching the warm buzz of the lights. He sipped his drink and studied the neon as if he'd never seen it before. When he finally turned back to face me, his glass was empty. "There's no copy of the manuscript at the bank."

"What about
Lawrence
's safe deposit box?" I'd assumed there would be a copy there. It had to be there. "Maybe not the actual pages, but a computer disk?"

He shook his head. "Don't repeat that to anyone." As he walked to within a few inches of me, I caught the scent of his aftershave. Whatever it was, no one else wore it like him. "I've looked everywhere and I can't find
Lawrence
's work. I'm afraid it's been destroyed."

"I didn't--we didn't--take the manuscript from the house."

He nodded. "I believe you." He reached out and brushed his fingertips across my cheek. "I'm sorry I said you were dumb."

I looked down in my glass and found the decency to meet his gaze, far gentler this time. "I'm sorry I said you put widows and orphans on the street."

His chuckle was soft, amused. "You don't fight like the other ladies of your group. You go straight for the ba--"

"No need to point out my weaknesses," I interrupted. "If we went out to the family cemetery, we'd probably discover the ground all disturbed. That would be Aunt LouLane turning in her grave."

"She tried, Sarah Booth."

"She did indeed." And I had never felt more like a failure, at least in her eyes.

Harold held out his glass. "So what did you and Willem find, poking through
Lawrence
's things?"

I made us both another drink while Harold lit a fire. We settled onto the sofa. I was tempted to tell him about the rat poison, but something held me back.

"Someone had been in the cottage before us."

He tensed. "Are you sure?"

"The cat, Apollo, was in the house. Rosalyn said the cats had been left outside." If confession was good for the soul, I had more. "I went back to the house and got Apollo and took him to Lillian." I was on a roll. "And I went back again and exhumed a dead cat."

By now, Harold had firm control of his expressions. "You've been a busy girl."

"I think the cat was poisoned." It was the perfect moment to tell about the rat poison, but still I held back.

"Any suspects?"

Oh, yeah, the woman providing the bounce in his mattress. Again, I held back. Restraint had never been my long suit. Perhaps private-eyeing was teaching me a lesson of ladyhood that Aunt LouLane had said I would never learn.

"It's hard to make a guess without knowing what's in that manuscript."

"You really think the motive was
Lawrence
's book?" For a split second, there was flint in his eyes. It disappeared in a blink, but I'd seen it and I knew that he, too, believed the motive for murder was
Lawrence
's words.

"That's a logical assumption." It was time to turn the tables. "Who do you suspect?"

He got up to poke the fire. "It wouldn't be fair for me to say, since I have no evidence."

My pulse increased. Harold had a suspect! I was dying to know who it was, but I also knew he'd never tell me.

"Sarah Booth, what were you doing in Mrs. Hedgepeth's magnolia tree the other day?"

His question caught me by surprise and I almost choked on a swallow of bourbon. By the time I caught my breath, I was still unable to come up with a convincing answer. What was I going to do, confess that I'd been peering into his bedroom window with my binoculars? The answer was yes, because there was no other possible reply. He'd nailed me. Dang Mrs. Hedgepeth and her busybody ways. She probably had her own field glasses.

"Tinkie was worried about you. She said you weren't at work and Oscar was looking for you. She asked me to find you." It was almost the truth.