Greedy Bones

Greedy Bones

ALSO BY CAROLYN HAINES

Wishbones
Revenant
Ham Bones
Fever Moon
Bones to Pick
Penumbra
Hallowed Bones
Crossed Bones
Splintered Bones
Buried Bones
Them Bones
My Mother's Witness
Summer of the Redeemers
Touched
Judas Burning

CAROLYN HAINES

MINOTAUR BOOKS
NEW YORK

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

GREEDY BONES
. Copyright (c) 2009 by Carolyn Haines. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.minotaurbooks.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Haines, Carolyn.

Greedy bones / Carolyn Haines.--1st ed.

p. cm.

ISBN-13: 978-0-312-37710-6

ISBN-10: 0-312-37710-X

1. Delaney, Sarah Booth (Fictitious character)--Fiction. 2. Women private investigators--Mississippi--Fiction. 3. Mississippi--Fiction. I. Title.

PS3558.A329G74 2009

813'.54--dc22

2009007913

First Edition: July 2009

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

For Jordan Nocon and Justice Williamson,
the best of the lot

The germ of an idea for this book came during a visit to my dear friends in West Point and Starkville, Mississippi, during a book tour. Because of my deep love for and work with animals, I've always had a high regard for Mississippi State University in Starkville, where the Mississippi veterinary school is located. Amanda Lawrence, a Research Associate III at MSU who loves "sick" bugs and frisky cats, especially two named Fingers and Abby, sent me an e-mail about the potential for mayhem in the insect world.

In the twisted coils of my fevered brain, a plot was conceived. The resulting book has more to do with fantasy than reality, and Amanda has no responsibility for the liberties I took with science.

Many thanks are due to Suzann Ledbetter Ellingsworth, a good friend and a great reader. When my notion of a plague grew too biblical, she reined me in. Also many
thanks to Vicki Hinze, who offered her reading skills and comments.

While writing is a solitary endeavor, a good book always reflects the intelligence and care of a great editor. Kelley Ragland fits that bill. From Jessica Rotondi in the public relations office to assistant editor Matt Martz and artist Hiro Kimura and the marketing and sales representatives, the St. Martin's team has made this book, like
Wishbones, Penumbra,
and
Fever Moon
, a great publishing experience.

Marian Young is more than an agent; she's a trusted friend and accomplice in literary endeavors, equine conspiracies, and much more.

I have to thank Joe Downs, who made a generous donation to the Birmingham, Alabama, Hand-in-Paws organization, which is devoted to helping animals and humans. At a fund-raiser for Hand-in-Paws at the Alabama Book-smith, Downs won the drawing, which included using his name as a character in this book. Many people bought a "chance" to be a character with all proceeds going to Hand-in-Paws. The generous support for animals and good works by all who participated is greatly appreciated.

I also want to thank the booksellers who have hand-sold my novels. And the many, many readers who joyfully "hook" their friends and relatives on the first book in the series--and turn them into reading addicts. Without all of you, there would be no writers.

Greedy Bones

Dusk is a tricky time of day in the Mississippi Delta. Pinks, mauves, and lavenders illuminate the western sky while cobalt blue creeps forward in the east. Unlike dawn, dusk is a time of ending, and I've never done well with good-byes. Even with a lover at my side, or a friend, or my gallant horse and hound, the close of a day carries a twinge of sadness.

Today, I wonder if I can find the strength to climb the front steps of Dahlia House, home of the Delaney family for nearly two hundred years.

Things are worse than even I imagined. Oscar Richmond, the husband of my partner in the Delaney Detective Agency, is dying. There seems to be nothing medical experts can do. Now real-estate agents Regina Campbell and her assistant Luann Bigley are showing the same symptoms: a fever high enough to cook a brain, chills, a
rash that spreads by the minute and then erupts in draining pustules, and, finally, coma.

There is no doubt that some terrible illness has settled upon the land and the people I love. I am heartsick and scared.

"Bad times a'comin' to Zinnia, Sarah Booth."

Jitty's voice was soft and distinctly black, and I knew Dahlia House's resident haint was with me.

"If I turn around and you're wearing a robe of many colors and you say something like you're going to lead your people out of Egypt,
I'm
going to figure a way to exorcise you from this house," I warned her.

Though I would never, ever dare to let her know, I was so damn glad to hear her voice, I wanted to jump up and kiss her.

"You might consider revisitin' Sunday school. You're mixing your Bible stories. Moses led the people out of Egypt, not Joseph."

"And the walls came tumbling down." I shifted so I could take a gander at my ancestral ghost. Jitty had a tendency to skip through the decades to find costumes that flattered her latte skin and calendar-girl figure. What I saw shook me.

"Brother, can you spare a dime?" She wore tattered rags and held out a cardboard cigar box that I recognized had once held my collection of toy cowboys and horses. Dirt smudged her face, and there was a new gauntness to her high cheekbones.

"Are you sick?" Even asking caused me to leap to my feet and stride toward her. As far as I knew, ghosts didn't get sick, but my last adventure in Costa Rica had taught me that I knew almost nothing about the rules and guidelines of the Great Beyond.

"Soul-sick," she answered.

She was barefoot, her naked legs dusted with a haze of dirt. I'd honestly never seen her in such a condition. If I wore sweatpants to the corner gas station, she chewed my butt. Any slip of appearance and I put the future of the Delaney womb at risk. In other words, a potential stud might see me unadorned and be thrown off his desire to breed me on the spot.

"They run out of soap and hot water in the non-corporeal realm?" I asked, striving for a lighter note.

"I remember when the Confederate soldiers came through here, marchin' toward home after the war. Starvin', wounded, carried on by desperation. Same thing happened after the Flood of 1927. Poor folks barely hangin' on. Then again, during the Great Depression. Hardship and hard times."

Hell, if I'd been depressed earlier, Jitty now had me two steps away from finding a cotton rope in the tack room.

"Stop it." I put my hands on my hips. "This isn't doing either of us any good. We're both worried about Oscar, Regina, and Luann. I'm terrified that if Oscar dies, Tinkie will give up, too. I can't have you out here looking like a ragamuffin from a Dickens novel, spouting doom and gloom." Tears blurred my vision, which only made me angry. "Stop it, damn it."

When I blinked away the tears, Jitty was staring at me. Though she was still dirty and wearing rags, her face was rounder. The corners of her full mouth slowly tilted upward. "You know, for one second, you looked exactly like your great-great granny. You got Alice's fightin' spirit. I knew it was under all that mopin' and self-pity. I just had to find the right button to push to rouse it up."

I had been played.

On the heels of my righteous anger, though, was relief.
Jitty may have used foul means, but she'd managed to rattle me out of my maudlin mood. I was fighting mad, and that's exactly what she meant to accomplish.

"Oscar is going to be fine. Everyone is going to be fine." I swept my arm out to include the entire county. "Anything else is unacceptable."

"May I make a suggestion?"

Whenever Jitty asked permission to do anything, it always meant trouble. "No."

She grinned. "You know 'no' don't mean 'no' when you say it like that."

I leveled my gaze into hers. "If you say one word about my empty womb--"

She waved me to silence. "It's about Tinkie."

"Go ahead."

"She looks to you, Sarah Booth. You hold strong for her. Through all the hard times, you stand steady. Folks got to have that strength when they can't see the next day."

"Sage advice. The problem is how to go about it when I'm as scared as she is."

"You might crack open some of those old magazines in the attic. Once upon a time there was a man with polio who taught a nation how to hold on." Her tone had softened, and I couldn't help but wonder what of her own memories she'd stirred.

"I'm not illiterate," I said. "I know about FDR." But my words were lost on a sudden breeze that swept across the newly planted cotton fields silhouetted black against the fiery gold-peach glory of a dying day. From behind me the sound of a car approached.

Graf! Somehow Graf Milieu, my handsome lover, had managed to escape his Hollywood duties and come to
stand with me. But when I turned, it was to see the tan and brown colors of the Sunflower County sheriff's cruiser pulling up at the steps. In the front seat sat the tall figure of Sheriff Coleman Peters, the man who'd broken my heart--and falsely charged me with murder.