Greedy Bones (16 page)

His expression touched me. "You never change," he said. "That's a compliment."

"Want some coffee?"

"How about a Jack? I'm off duty."

Coleman seldom drank, and with Gordon sick, he was never off duty, but I fixed us both a short one without comment. God knows I could use a drink. I hadn't slept a wink the night before and I was running on pure adrenaline.

"What're you cooking?" he asked.

"Turkey and whole wheat noodles. For the dogs."

He stirred the pot with a big spoon. "Sounds like your
nesting skills are kicking in and the dogs are the beneficiaries."

"Chablis is virtually an orphan." I added the frozen peas and carrots. Though I had nothing fresh to cook, my freezer was well stocked.

The ground meat cooked quickly and while it was cooling, Coleman and I sat on the front porch to sip our drinks. While the days were warm, with night falling the wooden steps were cool. Soon the paint would be baking in the summer heat.

The fields around Dahlia House sprouted row upon row of tender green cotton, young plants that symbolized the South's tragic past and uncertain future. Even so, looking over the growing fields yielded a moment of serenity.

Coleman sipped the Jack. "I talked to the folks at DeFoe."

It was a good lead. I could tell by the way Coleman gripped his glass. "And?"

"Janks moved to Argentina, where he was a contract worker for a branch of DeFoe that creates crop pesticides. There was some trouble at the plant. They were reluctant to go into details, but it involved a breach of plant security and the theft of chemical formulas."

"What kind of chemical formulas?"

"There's a particular type of beetle in South America that destroys the roots of grass. It could devastate the beef industry there. Janks and several other scientists had reached a breakthrough on the pesticide, when someone broke into the plant. Janks was killed and the formula stolen. About a year later, a European company came up with a formula to resolve the beetles. DeFoe lost a lot of money."

"The boll weevil is a type of beetle," I pointed out.

"Exactly. The DeFoe spokesman glossed over the actual event. He'd only say that Janks was killed, burned to death in a chemical fire. He wouldn't come out and say it, but he hinted that Janks might have been involved with the break-in and the fire. I'd say the Janks clan is something to keep our eyes on." He lifted his glass in a toast. "Good work, Sarah Booth."

"Cece had a date with Jimmy last night? Did she find anything?"

Coleman, about to sip his drink, slowly lowered the glass. "I haven't spoken with Cece."

"She was supposed to call you last night. She went to Memphis with Jimmy for dinner."

"And no doubt to pump him for information." His forehead furrowed. "You haven't heard from her?"

I stood quickly. "No. I need to check right now."

Inside, Coleman dished up the turkey for the dogs while I called Cece's cell phone. The phone rang straight to voice mail. I left a message, asking her to call, and then tried her home phone. No answer.

The newspaper was closed, but I called, anyway, hoping she might be working late. When her voice mail picked up, I ended the call.

"I want to run by her house," I said.

"Let's do it." Coleman had his keys in his hand.

"Open up!" I pounded Cece's solid front door while Coleman went to the back.

"Cece!" I rattled the knob. The door was locked. Judging from the look of the house, no one was home. I amended the thought to no one
alive
was home. The sense of emptiness was palpable.

I retrieved my cell phone from my pocket and called information to get the home number of Amis Truesdale, the publisher and executive editor of the
Dispatch
. If Cece worked today, my fears were unfounded. But if--

"Amis Truesdale." His voice was crisp, no-nonsense.

I explained who I was and asked if Cece had been in the office that day.

"She didn't come in and she didn't call, which isn't like her." Concern was clear in his tone. "I sent a copy
boy over to her house, but no one answered the door. He said her car wasn't in the garage."

The thud, thud, thud of my heart felt as if it would break my ribs. Cece had possibly been missing for twenty-four hours and no one had noticed. Until now. Even though I knew she was seeing Jimmy Janks last night, I hadn't worried about her. Swept into my own drama and Graf's arms, I hadn't even tried to call her.

Coleman returned as I finished my conversation with Cece's boss.

"If you hear from her, Mr. Truesdale, please call me or Sheriff Peters."

"What was Cece into?" Truesdale asked. "I could tell she was chewing on something, but she never discusses her stories. She's got attitude, but she also delivers."

"Sheriff Peters will explain when he has something to reveal." I hung up. "She didn't show up for work today. I don't know if she made it home from Memphis. She could be inside the house, hurt or . . ."

"Don't do that to yourself, Sarah Booth. Her car is gone, and in all likelihood, Cece is fine. When she's on a story, she doesn't think of anything else, but she's resourceful."

"And courageous," I added. "And sometimes lacks good judgment. But she
never
misses work." I leaned against one of the front porch pillars because my legs were unsteady. "She could be bleeding to death in there right this minute."

Coleman read my deep fear. "I get the point. Stand back."

I stepped aside so he could ram the door with his full weight. In high school, Coleman had been a standout football player. He'd gone to college on a scholarship. He knew a thing or two about bodily assault. It took him
three tries, but the wood splintered, and we stepped inside.

At first, nothing appeared to be amiss. Except for the dishes in the kitchen sink. And the clothes tossed carelessly on the still-made bed. Cece was a neatnik, and wherever she'd gone, she'd left in a hurry. I could almost see her, getting ready for her date with Jimmy, rushing around, leaving the tidying up for later.

But if Jimmy had driven her to Memphis, where was her car?

"Where did Janks take her to dinner?" Coleman asked. He put a restraining hand on my shoulder as I started to the bathroom.

"She didn't say."

"What did Janks drive?"

"Black SUV. Tahoe, I think." I'd seen the plates when he drove around the building, but I didn't have a photographic memory to recall such details. "It had a Mississippi tag," I said. "I remember that because he said he was from Mobile."

"Let me get Dewayne to run a registration."

Dewayne Dattilo was Coleman's only other deputy, and the two of them had worked nonstop for days. For Coleman to call him in indicated great concern. "Do you think Cece's in trouble?"

"I think Cece is missing. The more we know, the quicker we can find her."

He borrowed my cell phone and placed the call to Dewayne. He returned my phone and shut the front door. "I'll get someone to repair the door. Let's get out of here."

"I can't just leave and--"

"We're going to Janks's hotel room. If he's there, and if he had anything to do with Cece's disappearance, I'll get it out of him."

The set of Coleman's jaw and his tone of voice convinced me it would be best to do as he said without a lot of questions.

Downtown Zinnia was a ghost town. Even Millie's was closed, and the two stoplights had been turned off. Each deserted shop front seemed an omen of tragedy as we sped through the town.

"How do you know where Jimmy Janks is staying?" I asked Coleman.

He drove for at least a mile before he answered. "Beaucoup had suspicions about him. The development deal on the Carlisle land depended on Erin being willing to sell the land for nonagricultural use. Janks seemed pretty sure the deal would go through."

"Good work on her part." I tried to sound sincere. It wasn't that I didn't respect Bonnie's intelligence. My problem had to do with the fact that she was a bitch. Much like Coleman's soon-to-be-ex wife. I had no stake in Cole-man's romantic life but, as a friend, I hated to see him hook up with another harpy. "Coleman, Bonnie is--"

"She's devoted to her job, Sarah Booth." He cut me off. "And she's good at it."

"I never said differently."

"No, you didn't. And please don't. We're both feeling our way through this. You have your solutions and I have mine. But to answer your question, I made it a point to run down where Janks is staying. Just to keep an eye on him."

Strictly business. I could handle that. "And where is Janks staying?"

"At the Gardens Bed and Breakfast."

"Uh-oh." The Gardens was one of the most beautiful old homes in the Southeast. Live oaks lined the drive, and
the house was surrounded with formal gardens designed and maintained in the style of European royalty.

Another small point--the owner of the B&B hated me.

Coleman chuckled. "I'll protect you from Gertrude."

"I don't need protection." I thought about it. "Well, I might. She really does hate me." She'd whacked me on the head--deliberately, in my opinion, though she'd said otherwise--when I was on a previous case. For an old bat, she had a pretty good swing.

"We're on official business. She'll understand."

"If it gets too rough, I'll call Tinkie. She knows how to keep Gertrude in line." Mentioning Tinkie's name made me realize that I hadn't checked in on her lately. I remedied that while Coleman drove.

She answered before the first ring could fully sound. "Where are you, Sarah Booth?"

"What's wrong?" I knew something had happened.

"It's Oscar. He had some kind of seizure and they took the ventilator out. Now he's trying to talk. He said your name. Can you come? He may talk again if he sees you. It's the first sign that . . . he isn't brain-dead."

The muscles in my neck and shoulders knotted so tightly, I could hardly turn my head. How could I tell Tinkie that Cece was missing and I couldn't come to the hospital because our friend might be in danger?

"Look, I'm on a serious lead right now. I can't leave. I'm . . . surveilling someone. It could be valuable and maybe lead to a clue about Oscar."

"Where are you?"

"I'll be at the hospital as soon as I can. I promise."

"I just thought if Oscar saw you, he might come back to us."

She sounded so forlorn and desperate. "As soon as I can," I promised as we pulled into the beautiful oak-canopied lane that led to the B&B. "I'll be there, Tink."

Gertrude, with her copper-wire hair sculpted into perfect obedience, stood behind the registration desk. Her smile was wide and welcoming. "Sheriff Peters," she said, "what can I do for you?" When she caught sight of me, the smile faded.

"I need to speak with Jimmy Janks."

She pinned me with her gaze. "Mr. Janks is a guest here. I'm not in the habit of letting anyone disturb my guests. Now if you get rid of the riffraff at your side, I might be amenable to helping you."

Coleman's temper was shorter than I thought. "Gertrude, I'll put you in jail for obstruction of justice if that's the way you want to play it."

Normally, he wouldn't stoop to a bluff, and I could have told him that Gertrude was smarter than the average bear. Too late.

"Do you have a warrant?" Gertrude pushed her glasses up her nose.

Coleman's sigh was an admission of defeat. "Gertrude, I can get a warrant, but time is critical. I need to check a room. It's a serious matter. You could play a big role in saving an innocent person's life. Will you help me?" He could turn on the charm when he wished.

"Sounds like a pile of rubbish, like what Adam Chandler would say when he's cooking up a plot on that soap opera." She sniffed and pointed out me. "Sheriff, I'm disappointed that you'd be swayed by Hollywood celebrity." She leaned on the counter, her breasts covering
the blotter where guests still registered with an ink pen. "Why are you keeping company with Sarah Booth Delaney?"

"I'm under arrest," I told Gertrude.

"Grow up, Sarah Booth. You aren't even wearing handcuffs."

"Gertrude, please." Coleman struggled for patience. "Is Janks in his room?"

"Possibly."

"May I check his room to see if he's injured?"

"Okay, but only because you asked nicely." She pushed the register toward him.

Coleman scanned the open page. "Room two."

She checked the pigeonholes where she kept the room keys and produced one. "The rooms, as you know, open on the hallway and the back gallery. I don't keep up with the comings-and-goings of my guests. I'm not nosey."

Right, I thought, like Norman Bates wasn't crazy.

Coleman took the key to Room two. "Thank you, Gertrude."

His boots rang on the tongue-and-groove oak floor as he walked. I hurried after him, afraid Gertrude would try to stab me with her registration pen.

"Sorry," I whispered. "She hates me. I told you she did."