Wishbones (5 page)

How was it possible that I hadn't noticed? I'd waited for
him to rush out the door and stop me, beg me to stay, give me some lifeline to hold on to while my career wobbled. "I was proud, too."

Another case of two reasonably intelligent adults making a train wreck of a relationship. "I don't want to screw this up again, Graf. If we have a second chance, I don't want to find myself in your arms and thinking about--"

"Coleman Peters."

I put my hands on the counter to steady myself. "I want to be sure the past is dead and buried."

"And I think that's the right thing to do. But I'm falling in love with you, Sarah Booth. Whatever I felt before, this is deeper and stronger. I never realized I could feel this way."

I swallowed. Honesty was not easy, but I owed Graf complete truthfulness. "I don't know what I feel for you, other than an immense sexual attraction, which I don't want to act on yet." Liar! What a liar I'd become. I wanted to jump his bones right then and there and damn the consequences. I needed the weight and warmth of another human body to block out the emptiness I felt. But this was the classic mistake of the re-bounder.

"Christ, Sarah Booth, you make it hard on a guy."

"No pun intended?" I had to get this conversation on a less serious track.

He groaned. "Please, we left high school years ago."

"You did, maybe. I feel I was gypped out of a real high school experience, so I'm going to go through it now."

His hands tightened on my shoulders and he leaned down and kissed my earlobe. "You can play it for humor all you want, but I know you feel something for me. That's enough for right now."

I turned my head and saw his lips. Before I could think it through, I was leaning toward them, hungry for his kiss.

The ringing of my cell phone brought me up sharp. "Shit." I answered with a gruff hello.

"Well, hello to you, too. By the tone of your voice, I gather you're still sexually frustrated," Tinkie said. In the background was a babble of voices and clinking dishes. She was in Millie's Cafe. I had a sudden hankering for a slice of Millie's homemade apple pie.

"What's going on?" I was hit with a wave of homesickness that made me almost gasp. Graf kissed my cheek and went onto the porch to give me privacy for my call. I kept finding new depth in him.

"Not so much here, but I see you've narrowly escaped a wildfire. You could have given us a call, you know."

Too late I remembered the reporters from the night before. The fire hadn't threatened us, but no telling what kind of story it had turned into. "We're fine. The blaze was contained before it got dangerously close."

"That's not what the story in
Hollywood Gossip
says."

"Tinkie, you know full well how some publications blow things way out of proportion." I was still a bit annoyed that the telephone had so rudely interrupted the kiss.

"True, but I don't know when the story is dead-on or when it's exaggerated. That's why you should call home and let us know."

I sighed. She was right. I'd been so caught up in my life that I'd forgotten my responsibilities to my friends. "We're fine."

"Are you?"

"Except that I'm missing you and Zinnia and everyone." Giving voice to that sentiment told me how real it was.

"How's the movie business?"

"The screen test was good. They're writing Sweetie into the movie. Graf is wonderful to act against. Everything is good here." I'd only been gone a couple of days, but it seemed an unbridgeable gap now. Tinkie no longer shared my life. We reported on events to each other. I thought of telling her about the message on the mirror in Bobby Joe's house, but I decided against it. While it would intrigue her, it would also worry her.

"Cece is planning a big story about you once the movie starts production. She hinted she'd like an invite to the set."

"Absolutely, and of course you and Millie might come with her?" My heart lifted at the thought.

"That's a distinct possibility."

"You've made my evening." I couldn't wait to see them, to show them the little I'd learned about Tinseltown.

"Stay in touch, Sarah Booth. Life continues here in Zinnia, but it isn't the same without you."

"I'll be a better caller," I promised before I hung up. I walked out to the porch to talk with Graf. He put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head.

"Let's start dinner. If I stay here with you, I won't be able to honor my word not to press you. I want to give you the time you asked for."

Before I could ask him to stay with me, he went into the kitchen and began rattling pots and pans. I was left with a million-dollar view and a body and heart at war with each other.

Graf had an early call the next morning, and Sweetie and I took advantage of a brisk March sunrise to head down the canyon for a hike. I'd lost at least fifteen pounds during my false murder accusation, and I was determined to keep it off. Climbing up and down the steep trails was the best exercise I could find, and I'd get to spend the morning with Sweetie Pie.

We went far down, dropping into cool shade and then barren patches of sun-soaked ground. When I got to the fire zone, I took great care. Sweetie stayed near me as I moved around the west side of the scorched area.

I was absorbed in trying to understand how the firemen had determined it was arson--I didn't see any empty gas cans lying around. Fire investigation was a talent I'd never looked into. Maybe later Tinkie and I could take a course.

Sweetie froze at my side. Her lips drew back and she bared
her teeth. A growl I'd never heard came from her. Instinctively, I reached for her collar. Before I could grasp the leather, she jumped forward with a wild, unearthly howl and disappeared into the brush.

"Sweetie!" I ran after her, remembering how blithely I'd dismissed Graf's warning about mountain lions and coyotes. "Sweetie Pie Delaney!" I made my voice stern as I pushed and panted my way through the dense underbrush that hadn't burned.

A long, low howl, as eerie as anything Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had created in
The Hound of the Baskervilles,
floated over the air. I struggled into a small clearing protected by jagged rocks in the shadow of one of the cliff faces. Sweetie stood over something blue, her muzzle lifted in a low, mournful cry.

"Sweetie." I rushed forward, my only thought to grasp her collar and snap on the leash that I wore around my waist.

I was upon her before I even looked at the blue object, which registered instantly as the size and shape of a human body.

Sweetie waited for me to get close enough to see that it was a woman. From the position of her body, I knew she was dead. Bones didn't grow at those angles. Sweetie nuzzled the dead woman softly with her nose and howled again.

"Stop that," I told her as I hooked the lead. The dog was creeping me out, howling as if she were in a ghost story.

I walked around the body, taking in the platinum blond hair, the manicured hands, adorned with expensive rings that seemed to clutch the dirt. I was no expert, but I'd be willing to bet the woman had been alive when she fell. I looked up the cliff face and saw where she must have slipped. Along with the blue athletic clothes, she wore hiking boots.

Sweetie had come home the night before--the night of the fire--with a piece of blue material in her mouth. I noticed that the dead woman's pants leg was torn, a piece of material
missing. The poor woman had been lying out in the canyon with flames raging a short distance away.

"We have to call the police," I told Sweetie.

Sweetie had other ideas. She tugged the leash from my hand and went straight back to the body. She nudged the dead woman again with her nose. A draft of wind caught the woman's blond hair and shifted it.

"Oh, my God," I whispered. I recognized the woman. It was Suzy Dutton, the actress.

"And you say you didn't know Miss Dutton?" Sheriff King asked me for the fiftieth time.

"Only as an actress." I gave the same answer I'd given fifty times before. In truth, the good sheriff was working on my last nerve. I'd called him to report the body, led him and some deputies to the place where I'd found her, and I'd been in his "custody" for the last few hours with only his aggressive behavior for my good citizen's reward. My butt was numbed by the hard chair in the sheriff's office, and I was worried about where they'd taken Sweetie Pie.

"There aren't any other houses near yours." Grady King spoke as if I'd personally destroyed a subdivision somewhere.

"Where's my dog?" I asked. King had finally allowed me to call Graf, and he and Federico were on the way. If I could keep from losing my temper until they arrived, things would get better.

"What reason would Suzy Dutton have for being in Lettohatchie Canyon?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. Sheriff, I don't know much about the canyon or the road that leads to the house or the lifestyle of movie stars. I just got into town." My words were a lie. I suspected Suzy was lurking around the canyon to
spy on me because of the role of Matty that was mine instead of hers. But to tell King this would guarantee that I'd be a suspect in her death. I'd just played that role in Zinnia, and I had no desire for a repeat performance. I'd keep my lips zipped.

"Were you and Miss Dutton in competition for the same role?"

The question brought me up short. Grady King had some inside source into the movie business. "Not to my knowledge," I said. "Federico Marquez offered me the role after I took a screen test. I never heard it was offered to anyone else." That was all truthful. I had simply omitted the conversation I overheard between Suzy and Federico.

"When was the last time you spoke with Miss Dutton?"

"I met her recently at Michael Mainheim's house at a party. We passed in a hallway. That's the only time I've ever crossed paths with her."

"I hear that Miss Dutton was distraught because the movie role you're playing had been promised to her."

"I've already told you, I don't know anything about that."

"Miss Delaney, I shouldn't have to point out that you were charged with the murder of another rival in Zinnia not two months ago. This appears to be a pattern. Kill off the competition."

Anger made me clench my fists, an action that King immediately noticed. My sudden fury wasn't directed at him, but I wanted to throttle Coleman Peters. His false accusation of me would haunt me the rest of my days. "The charges were dropped. Renata Trovaioli committed suicide. She wasn't murdered by anyone, most certainly not by me."

"And you got the role she was playing, which resulted in your most recent film success." He sat back in his chair, his hands steepled in front of him.

"I got this role because I did a screen test and it was good." I shifted in the hard-bottomed chair, checking my watch. What
was keeping Graf and Federico? "Have you found evidence that shows foul play in Miss Dutton's death?"

"I'm asking the questions here, not you."

"Fine, but that's a pertinent question, don't you think? As far as I could tell, it looked like Suzy Dutton slipped from the cliff. Maybe it's a simple accident."

"Or maybe not. Would Miss Dutton have any reason to want to burn you or Mr. Milieu to death?"

"That's ridiculous. That's a big stretch, Sheriff King, even for you. Have you found evidence that connects her to the fire?" I sat forward.

"We haven't finished the forensics yet, but we will find something, I promise you. We have state-of-the-art equipment, something you probably aren't used to in Podunk, Mississippi."

"No, Sheriff, in Zinnia, we rely on brains, not technology. Maybe you could hire someone with some smarts before you end up with egg all over your face." My temper overrode my good sense, but instead of getting angry, King smiled.

"I don't need to tell you that the media is all over this, Miss Delaney."

"That's not my problem."

He sat forward suddenly. "But I could make it your problem with very little effort."

"Are you threatening me?" I asked sweetly. "Let me point out that you should have found the body when you were investigating the fire. If it weren't for me and my dog, Suzy Dutton might have remained out there for a long, long time." I'd scored a point, but it was going to cost me. I could see it in the glitter of his pale eyes.

"You had a message written on the mirror in your house--"

"Bobby Joe Taylor's house," I reminded him.

"Telling you to go home. That sounds a bit personal to me."

"I have no way of knowing if the message was directed at me. I told you that."

There was a tap on the door and it opened to reveal Graf and Federico. The director looked slightly gray. The news of Suzy's death must have hit him hard. They'd been a couple for nearly four years before they'd split up.

"Is it true?" he asked. "Suzy is really dead?"

"She is. Her neck was broken in a fall." Sheriff King delivered the news without any attempt to soften it.

"This is terrible. What was she doing in that canyon?" Federico looked at each of us as if he hoped one of us could explain her death in a way that made sense.