Greedy Bones (14 page)

The library's mahogany shelves were filled with books, sculptures, and other artwork. Persian carpets covered the oak floor. It was a room of expensive comfort. Sonja may not have had the family name, but she'd acquired the Carlisle lifestyle, or as close as she could come in a city instead of on a plantation.

"My mother was a singer," she said. From the mantel she picked up a photograph in a heavy silver frame and
handed it to me. The woman at the piano was a classic Nordic type. Sonja, with her peaches-and-cream complexion, favored her mom.

"She's lovely."

"Mother didn't have good judgment when it came to men." She hesitated. "She fell in love easily and always with someone inaccessible. Then again, it's worked out for me." She put the picture back. "So you've tracked me down and discovered that I'm the bastard daughter of Gregory and a Chicago torch singer." Her chin lifted. "So what? Luther knows. The only person this will harm is Erin."

She knew her siblings' names, though she claimed no interest in them. "And you care about Erin?"

Pacing the room, she settled in front of the fireplace. "I don't know her. We're the same age. I've always found that to be ironic."

Irony was one way of describing it. "What's your contact with the Carlisle family?"

"I receive the money. I've invested wisely." She crossed the room again and I was struck by her confident carriage. She found a remote control on a side table and ignited a gas log in the fireplace. "I won't ask you to keep what you've found a secret. You'll do what ever you feel you must. It'll only hurt Erin."

Again, she expressed concern for Erin, a woman she'd never met--a half sister who'd grown up in the family from which Sonja had been excluded. "I'm not interested in dredging up the Carlisle history, Ms. Kessler."

"What did you hope to gain by coming here? Blackmail?"

"I'm searching for some link to the plantation that might explain a serious illness in Sunflower County. Best indications are that it's confined to the Carlisle land."

"I've never been there. I know nothing of the estate except for a few remarks Mother made when I was a child."

"Do you remember them?"

She looked out the curtained French doors of the library. Dusk was fading and night falling fast. "Mother said my father was wealthy, that he owned a large tract of land where it was like stepping into the past."

"And you were never tempted to go?"

"Never. I focus on things I can attain, not those beyond my reach."

A healthy philosophy, if it was true. "Before you were acknowledged by Gregory as an heir--"

"I made a good living as a retail buyer. Unlike my father, I'm very good at managing money."

"And you've had no contact with Luther Carlisle about the land? He wants to sell it. You haven't attempted to claim any portion of it?"

"I wasn't named in the will. Luther has made it clear that I have no interests in Mississippi."

"You might have legal standing." I wasn't certain about paternity and inheritance laws, but a sharp lawyer could have made a case for her. "Why didn't you come forward?"

"Once Gregory acknowledged me, I didn't try to make contact with him. I didn't want to cause trouble. I don't now. I'm more than comfortable, and arguing can't change a childhood of growing up without a father or siblings."

"True." But it was also true of human nature that most people wanted all they could get. "Do you have DNA proof?"

"Gregory insisted."

"And you've been perfectly happy not to know your father's family or any of your Carlisle relatives?"

"I didn't miss out on anything, Ms. Delaney. I had a mother who loved me."

Outside the French doors the lawn's perfect lighting showed the exceptional landscaping. Sonja had security and beauty at her fingertips, but in that one moment, I understood the loss that had touched her. "In that regard, you're luckier than a lot of people. When did your mother die?"

"I was seventeen. She was accidentally struck by a car while crossing a street." If she felt pity for herself, she didn't show it. She glanced at her wristwatch and frowned. "I'm sorry, but I'm meeting a friend and I'm running late."

"Thank you, Ms. Kessler. I'll be in touch if I need more information."

"There's nothing to add, Ms. Delaney. My connection to the Mississippi Delta is a cash flow from a bank. That's all."

Night had blanketed the street when I walked to the waiting cab. My cell phone rang as the driver took off for the hotel.

"Hello, dahling," Cece said. "I wanted to give you an update. Jimmy Baby is taking me to Memphis for dinner."

"How's Oscar?" I'd been away less than a day, but in my absence anything could have happened.

"The same. Oscar and Gordon have stabilized, but there's no improvement. The two realtor ladies have improved, but only marginally."

Thoughts of Tinkie made my head throb. "I'll be home tomorrow on the first flight out."

"Find anything of value?"

"Sonja Kessler is getting a nice cut of the Carlisle pie, which Luther is doling out per Gregory's dictates. She claims she doesn't want any more than she's getting."

"And when will she be canonized?" Cece's tone was dry.

"My sentiments exactly. But so far, there's nothing to contradict what she said. She says she hasn't filed any claim."

"Well, you may have chased that rabbit into a hole, but I've got a lead."

"What?"

"Jimmy Janks is not who he pretends to be. And don't say what you're thinking--that neither am I."

"I wasn't thinking that at all. But what did you find out?"

"He's not from Mobile, and he doesn't come from old money." She laughed. "In fact, dahling, he's about the worst imposter in the world. He knows enough about Mobile to get himself into trouble talking about it."

Cece had spent several summers visiting relatives in the oak-shaded lanes of Spring Hill, the zip code destination of that port city.

In the 1800s, Spring Hill was the place to survive yellow fever epidemics that raged along Southern waterfront towns like Mobile and New Orleans. The wealthy moved out of town and into the higher elevations, while the poor died of mosquito bites down in the flatlands along the Mobile River and Mobile Bay.

"I'm sorry, Cece, I know he struck your fancy."

"I'm a journalist first and a burning love machine second," Cece said. "The first time I went out with Jimmy, I realized he was a pretender to the throne of Junior League date material."

"Tell me." Chicago whisked past the cab window.

"Dahling," Cece continued, "he held his fork like a savage. I sat there thinking, has he adopted the Continental
style for some reason? Then I realized he had no style at all. He clutched his flatware as if readying to attack his plate."

I couldn't help but laugh. There were more important things than proper table etiquette in Cece's life, but not many. "I'm surprised you didn't rap his knuckles with your bread knife."

"I considered it, but I knew if I chastised him for lack of upbringing, I'd never extract any information."

"And did you?"

"Enough to know he bears further research. In fact, that's why I'm calling. While you're in Chicago maybe you can track down his background."

"Here? In Chicago?"

"Yes, that would be the Windy City located in Illinois. Look around you."

"Save your sarcasm for your witty newspaper articles. I'm just shocked. Did he say he was from here?"

"He's not quite that dumb. The give-away was the fifteen-minute dissertation on the glories of the Chicago Bears, not to mention his intimate knowledge of the places Jimmy Hoffa might be buried. He knows Chicago and he doesn't know Mobile. Ergo, he might be from Chicago."

"Did you find anything on him? Something to help me get started?" Hunting down the background of someone in Zinnia was a different case than in Chicago. In Zinnia, I could most often turn up someone who knew everything, or most everything. In a city like Chicago, it was impersonal. While facts were concrete, they seldom told the whole truth.

"Preliminary Internet research showed nothing. The only thing I could find on Jimmy was his company and a list of the development projects he's done."

"College degree?"

"He never attended Ole Miss. I checked that out but didn't get any further. I would say Jimmy is definitely public school. That doesn't help much, I know."

"Could it be coincidence that he's from the same place as Gregory's illegitimate daughter?" How bizarre was that?

"You know what they say about coincidence, Sarah Booth. Look, I've got to go. He'll be here any minute."

The cab driver took a corner sharply, and my stomach lurched. The sensation did nothing to alleviate my concerns for my reporter friend. "Be careful with him, Cece. He may simply be a liar and con man or he could be dangerous."

"I'm on the double-alert. And I'll pump him as much as I can, and I don't mean in a sexual way."

"Behave, and don't put yourself in danger," I said. "Promise me you'll call Coleman and fill him in." We'd pulled up in front of my hotel and I rummaged through my purse for the fare. The minute my feet touched the pavement, my stomach settled.

"Will do. By the way, Sarah Booth, you're a damn determined investigator and a better friend," she said. "Tinkie should count herself lucky."

"No, I'm the lucky one. Don't take any risks," I warned her. "When I get home, we can tackle Jimmy together."

"Tackle . . . humm. That's an image I like. Ciao, baby."

"Cece!" But she was gone. It wasn't a good sign when she started using Italian phrases.

I paid the driver and gave her a fat tip. "Where are the public school records kept in Chicago?" I asked.

"It's a central location, not too far from here."

I asked her to meet me outside the hotel at eight in the morning. Before I left town, I wanted to pursue Jimmy Janks and his upbringing.

The night had grown downright cold, and I hurried into the lobby. The elevator lifted me twenty-two floors to my room. As tired and worried as I'd been, I still noticed the hotel decor, the strategic lighting, and the plush carpeting. There was even a spa service, if it wasn't too late for a facial or massage. A stay in a luxury hotel could do wonders for a girl's weary spirits.

When I unlocked the door, I froze. Something was wrong. The fresh, masculine scent of aftershave teased my senses. Someone had dimmed the lights, and a room service cart with a single red rose and covered platters for two commanded the center of the room.

A tall, dark stranger, a shadow in the minimal illumination, came out of the bathroom. "Your wish is my desire." His accent was vaguely Eastern European. Like Count Dracula. In the dimness, I couldn't get a clear look at him.

"I don't know who you are, buddy, but you'd best take your cart of food and beat it." I wasn't in the mood for some hotel gigolo. My concern turned to annoyance. I'd have the hotel manager's head on a pike for this. A secure room was the least they could provide.

I pointed to the hallway. "Get out now, before I kick your ass six ways from Sunday."

His response was a warm, sexy chuckle. The sound touched nerves at the base of my reptilian brain. I knew that laugh! I knew that aftershave!

"Graf!" I hurled myself at him. After a kiss that took my breath away, I smacked his arm. "You are vile. Why didn't you tell me you were coming to Chicago?"

"And spoil the joy of your warm reception? You were about to put me out on my ear."

"Damn straight." My heart was thundering with joy, but I played it tough.

"Aren't you even a little glad to see me?" He slipped the rose from the vase and lightly touched my neck with the soft petals. "Just a tiny bit? I had to track Cece down to find out where you were staying."

I conceded the game with a small moan as I kissed him. I wanted nothing more than to hold him tightly against me, to feel the lean muscles of his body pressed against me, his lips on mine.

He kissed me back with heat. "My god, I've missed you."

I hadn't acknowledged, even to myself, how much I'd missed him. Or how much I needed him to hold me in just this way. For the luxury of a long moment, I allowed myself to lean on him, to surrender to the support of his arms and his strong body.

He drew the kiss to a sweet close, then held me back and scrutinized me. "I ordered dinner for us," he said softly. "You look thin and tired. Cece--"

"She's been tattling on me."

"She's worried about you. And for good cause. Sarah Booth, you look . . . delicate."

While I might look delicate, something savage and wild was building inside me. I had no appetite for food or the bottle of champagne. I wanted Graf. I wanted to feel his skin and his touch.

I began to unbutton his shirt.

His hands covered mine. "No man could want you more, Sarah Booth. My strongest desire is to throw you down on that bed and make love to your for the next two hours. But I came to take care of you."

"Then do it, Graf. Take care of me." I freed my hands and snatched his shirt. Buttons flew around the room. "Stop talking and kiss me."