Ham Bones (34 page)

"Those dreams are close enough to touch now."

I nodded. "But I have to figure out if I want to touch
them"

Tinkie started to ask something else, but she changed
her mind. "We need to know more about Robert Morgan.
Let's go by the junkyard and see if there was anything in
his Tahoe"

Abel's Junkyard was an amazing place. Kudzu had
grown over the thirty acres of wrecked cars, creating
clumps of vines, now wintery brown, that sometimes
took on the shapes of animals. It was like a crazy, deformed topiary on Planet Mars. And the proprietor
looked like something Stephen King might have dreamed
up. He was a tall, slender man with a stoop and a long,
asymmetrical face marked by profuse hair growth. Abel
Cain had parents with a twisted sense of humor and just
enough Biblical reference points to be vicious.

Tinkie made the introductions, handing the junkman
one of our business cards.

He looked at it for a long moment. "What can I do for
you little ladies?" he asked, his bushy eyebrows jittering
around on his forehead. I couldn't tell if he had a nervous
twitch or if he was trying to wink at Tinkie.

"We need to see that blue Tahoe" Tinkie pointed it
out, a burned and twisted heap.

"Pulled that off the highway myself. Man died in it.
Lost control." He clapped his hands so suddenly and
loudly that I stepped back. "He burned up fast."

Tinkie cleared her throat. "Fascinating. Could we take
a look at the vehicle?"

"Why?"

"We're investigating the accident. Insurance purposes."
She leaned forward, showing off her assets in a scoopnecked sweater. "It's possible fraud is being perpetrated
upon our Fremont Insurance, and they've hired us to find
out"

Tinkie was smart not to disclose our true purpose.
Abel Cain didn't look like a man who wanted any part of
a murder investigation, but insurance fraud was undoubtedly something he heard a lot about in his line of work.

He shrugged. "From what I heard the guy was speeding and lost control. Sheriff got some eyewitness reports.
The driver didn't make it to tell anyone anything."

"You didn't happen to find anything at the scene, did
you? Maybe a bottle of liquor, or something more interesting." Tinkie gave him a knowing look. "Wouldn't be
the first man got tanked in Memphis and tried to drive to
Jackson"

Abel shook his head, and I thought of a St. Bernard.
"Wadn't nothin' left in the car to find, but the good Lord
saw fit to give me some excellent peepers. I found somethin'
a little interestin'. Might appeal to two insurance ladies."

"Something you didn't show the sheriff?" Tinkie winked
at him.

"Wadn't a reason to involve the law. Legal prescription." He frowned. "Thought there might be somethin'
there, but I did some searchin' around and discovered
there's no market for what he was takin'. Unless it's the
insurance market"

I wanted to tie this guy in a knot. "Where is it?"

"Where's what?" He gave me an innocent look.

"Ignore her," Tinkie said, kicking me in the shin.
"What did you find, Abel? You could help me pop this case wide open, and if that happened, I'm sure you'd be
rewarded." She reached into her purse and brought out a
hundred-dollar bill. Who walks around with hundred-dollar bills in their purses?

I opened my mouth to tell her that Abel Cain was scavenging drugs from wrecked cars and trying to sell them.
He was little more than a petty drug dealer, capitalizing
on the misfortunes of others. I didn't even get the first
syllable out of my mouth when Tinkie clipped my shin
bone again. I despised those pointy-toed shoes of hers.

"Show me what you got, Abel," she said, taking his
arm and moving him away from me.

I was about to follow and make a few unbiased observations about the character of her latest male conquest
when my cell phone rang. I answered while trying to keep
up with Abel and Tinkie, who seemed determined to outdistance me.

"Miss Delaney, it's your attorney, Harry DeLa Bencher,
Esquire."

I almost groaned. "Yes?"

"I need you to come into my office immediately. Drop
whatever you're doing and come now."

I slowed my steps. "What's wrong?"

"I can't discuss this over a telephone line that isn't secure. That's not in your best interests. I am, after all, looking out for you"

"That's comforting."

"Miss Delaney, sarcasm doesn't serve you well in this
instance. I'll be waiting. And by the way, I'm putting my
bill in the mail."

I started to protest, but it wouldn't do a bit of good. I'd
fallen into the court system of America, and even though
I was innocent, I'd still have to pay my lawyer and forfeit the money given to the bondsman. Neither whining nor
threatening would lower the freight of this experience.
"I'll take care of it."

"Very good. And may I say that I hope your adventures in Hollywood prove profitable and shine the light of
success on your home town"

No point in arguing my future, either. It was obvious
that Bencher had an inside source on gossip. "Thank you"

I closed the phone and started toward Tinkie and Abel.
They were deep in conversation, and I saw the junkman
reach into his pants pocket and bring out a pill bottle. Tinkie had what she'd come after.

"What's up with Bencher acting all John Grishamy?"
Tinkie asked as we sped back toward Zinnia and her copy
of Physician's Desk Reference. Our intention was to look
up the drug and find the reason Renata had been killed.
Just because Abel Cain didn't recognize the little pink
pills didn't mean they weren't some kind of power-punch
drug. It was possible Renata had been involved in some
kind of drug scam-Graf certainly had been. Or it could
be the prescription was for something else entirely.
Something that might spell murder for a different reason.

"I can't begin to fathom Bencher," I said, "and I can't
wait to find out what STD Renata was passing around New
York" I opened the prescription bottle and dumped the
little capsules in my hand. I'd never heard of the drug before, and though the prescription was in Robert Morgan's
name, I didn't believe it for a moment. This was Renata's
medication. If only we could figure out why she was taking it.

"We're almost to the end of this case," Tinkie said. "We're going to find out what Renata was up to and why
she was killed. Then we're going to clear your name,
Sarah Booth"

We pulled into Hill Top, screeched to a halt, and ran
into the library. In a moment we'd found what we were
looking for. The particular drug in the bottle was new
just approved by the FDA for use in the treatment of progressive pseudobulbar palsy, among other things.

"What, exactly, is progressive pseudobulbar palsy?"
Tinkie asked.

I picked up the phone and dialed Doc Sawyer's number. He answered on the sixth ring, sounding as if he'd
been asleep.

"Doc, what is progressive pseudobulbar palsy?"

There was a pause. "So you talked to Coleman."

"No." I hesitated. "We found a prescription for Robert
Morgan, but we think it was actually for Renata ."

"That's what Coleman came to discuss with me. It
seems Morgan was the front man for Renata's illness.
Coleman got Renata's chart, and the prescriptions, written by Dr. Samen in Los Angeles, were for Renata under
Robert Morgan's name. Renata simply couldn't afford for
the news of her illness to get out"

"What kind of illness?" I almost couldn't wait to hear
it. Tinkie and I had been on the right path. Renata had
gotten involved in some kind of medical mess.

"She was diagnosed with PPP, a form of ALS. It's a
tough disease, Sarah Booth. Paralysis of the facial muscles, vocal cords, throat. For an actress, it would be the
worst possible thing. It would eventually have taken away
her ability to express emotion, then to swallow. Another
aspect of the disease is unbalanced emotions. Rage, hatred, despair. Someone suffering from PPP could go from
one extreme to the other at the drop of a hat. It's amazing she stayed on the stage as long as she did without coming
apart in front of an audience."

I sank onto a sofa, feeling as if the air had been let out
of me. "Is there a cure?"

"No. CoQ10 is being studied, and there are new drugs,
but no cure"

After all of this time, I was shocked at what we'd discovered. I'd anticipated finding that Renata had undergone some devious medical technique to hang on to her
youth or that she'd contracted some form of an STD that
might bring shame on her and someone in the White
House. I'd never considered that she faced a serious illness, an illness that struck at the heart of who she was.

"Where did Coleman go?" I asked.

"He didn't say, but he left about thirty minutes ago"

"Thanks, Doc" I hung up the phone and relayed the
information to Tinkie.

"Where the hell is Coleman?" she asked as she slumped
beside me on the sofa. "We know that Renata was sick,
but that still doesn't tell us who killed her. Or why."

No matter how hard I tried to shake the feeling of
doom, I couldn't. Renata, on the stage, was vital and
alive. Yet she'd been stricken with a terrible disease-

I sat up. The truth came like a clap of thunder.

"What's wrong with you?" Tinkie asked, concerned.

"Damn it." I jumped to my feet and began to pace.
"Damn it all."

"What's wrong?" Tinkie was really worried.

"It's all right there. Right in front of me. I just didn't
see it."

"See what?" Tinkie was growing impatient. She
stepped in my path and grabbed my wrists. "If you don't
slow down and tell me what you're so rattled about, I'm
going to kick you in the shin again."

That was threat enough. "No one killed Renata"

Tinkie took a deep breath, realization dawning hard
and fast. "Because she killed herself."

"Exactly."

"And in one last act of malice, she framed you"

I nodded. "I think she wasn't rational toward the end.
The disease was so awful for her. She focused on me, because there had to be someone to blame."

"And Graf cared about you"

I swallowed. "My God, Tink, can you imagine what it
must have been like for her?"

Tinkie grasped my arms and held them firmly. "How
can we prove this?"

My cell phone rang again and I answered, hoping in
my heart that it was Coleman calling to tell me the
charges against me had been dropped.

"Miss Delaney, it's your attorney, Harry DeLa Bencher.
I'm still waiting."

And I knew then that Coleman had no intention of
telling me. That was the message Bencher was meant to
deliver-that at last I was a free woman.

he charges are formally dropped, which means
there'll be no record" Bencher stroked his tie as
he talked. His manicured hands were impressively clean.

"Thanks, Harry." I was ready to leave. I had places to
go and things to do. Finding Coleman and confronting
him was right at the top of my list. He'd taken the coward's way out-leaving Bencher to tell me that the two
weeks of torment had been for nothing.

The case of Renata Trovaioli's murder was closed.
Doc had changed the cause of death from murder to suicide. Tinkie had gone to tell Oscar, and I stood on the
porch of the old home Harry had converted into his law
office, trying to figure out what to do next.

I heard the honk of a horn, and Graf glided into a parking space, the Porsche a glint of silver in the gray light.
We were going to have a storm. A big one. And I wanted
to be home when it struck.

To my surprise, Gabriel got out of the passenger side.
Both men walked toward me. "Gabriel .. " I faltered. How to deliver the message that his sister had taken her
own life? How much worse not to tell him? "I'm sorry. It
seems Renata was very sick. Her death has been ruled a
suicide."

He was stunned. He stopped, his expression hardening
before he controlled it. "Suicide? Renata? That's impossible."

I was the worst person to deliver the news to him, but
it was done now. "I am sorry. You can check with Doc
Sawyer at the hospital, or with the sheriff. They have all
the details, and once you hear them, I think you'll understand"

"I'll bet" His anger was back in place. "Renata would
never have taken her own life. This is some plan that redneck sheriff cooked up to make sure you didn't go to
prison."

"Gabriel." Graf put his hand on Gabriel's arm as if to
restrain him. "Hear her out" He turned to me. "Why
would she do such a thing?"

I told him about the palsy she'd been diagnosed with,
about the effects, and the ultimate conclusion. "Renata
didn't want to die like that, Graf. And I don't blame her.
Everything she'd worked so hard to become was going to
slide from her grasp, degree by degree. She couldn't have
swallowed food. She-"