Bone Appétit (12 page)

Inside our room I discovered Tinkie had wrangled the use of a laptop computer from somewhere—I didn’t even ask. Tinkie had her ways, and I’d find some poor fool wandering the hotel lobby, still enchanted with her flirtatious gambits.

“Look at this.” She turned the computer screen so I had a better view. “That’s the talent competition.” I recognized
the picture and realized Tinkie was reviewing the photos she’d taken for the newspaper the night before.

“Nice work, Tink. You’re the Ansel Adams of pageant butts. That’s a striking derriere hanging on the back of Crystal Belle Wadell’s backbone.”

“Look!” Her index finger pointed at the blurred image of a man lurking in the far corner of the building. “Lurk” was the only verb to describe his stance. Hat pulled low, shoulders hunched, he wore an expensive suit.

“Who wears a hat this time of year?” I asked, proud that I’d recognized the fashion faux pas right off the bat. Normally, Tinkie had to coach me in such matters.

“I’m not making a fashion comment,” Tinkie said. “Don’t you recognize him?”

I hadn’t, but I inspected more closely. “It’s Marcus Wellington, isn’t it?”

“I’m positive it’s him.”

“Now that opens a can of worms,” we said together. Tinkie held out her pinkie, and I hooked mine with hers.

“This trip to Greenwood has a
Twilight Zone
element,” I warned her. “We’re regressing, and it isn’t going to be pretty if you ask to borrow my training bra.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes, Sarah Booth, you act as if you were never a young girl.” For a moment, she looked stricken, remembering that a large chunk of my childhood had been stolen by the tragic death of my parents.

“It’s okay.” I gave her a hug. “So what do you make of Marcus Wellington attending the beauty pageant?”

“Two possibilities.” She was all business. “He might have been there to watch Hedy. Maybe he still carries a torch for her.”

“Maybe, but the Wellingtons aren’t the kind of people to set aside their desires. If he wanted Hedy, don’t you
think he’d demand her? Make her an offer she couldn’t refuse, so to speak.”

“She thwarted him once.”

“To hear her tell it,” I reminded Tink. “The second possibility is that he’s behind all of this to frame Hedy. No matter what papers she signed, she’s still Vivian’s natural mother and she stands a good shot at partial custody. Marcus may be cutting her off at the knees.”

Now that sounded more like the Wellingtons I knew and loathed.

“That family has a lot of pull in this county,” Tinkie continued.

“In this state. Actually, they have national juice.”

“Jansen could be in their pocket.”

When I’d first come home to Sunflower County, I’d wondered about Coleman’s integrity as a lawman. The good ole boy, pork barrel political system was by no means exclusive to Mississippi—corruption was everywhere, from the top to the bottom of every ballot. With that in mind, I’d sniffed around trying to catch a whiff of stink on Coleman, but he’d come out clean. He was the Matt Dillon of the Delta.

Professional law enforcement was not always the rule in other counties and states. People kowtowed to wealth, because riches equated to power. I had no proof Police Chief Jansen was anything other than an upright lawman, but the Wellingtons were strongly tied to a company supplying outrageously expensive goods—some of them so inferior as to be worthless—to our overseas troops. I was merely keeping in mind that Jansen might not be a city officer version of Coleman.

“If Jansen is in their pocket, things won’t go well for Hedy,” I said. “A conviction . . . she’ll never see her kid again.”

Truer words were never spoken. Was I cynical enough to believe Marcus would have two innocent girls murdered to frame Hedy? You bet. I relayed to Tinkie what I’d discovered from Babs.

“So she was behind the roaches.” Amusement glinted in her eyes. “I’m not surprised, but I really thought Karrie had done it to herself.”

“And Babs feels pretty certain Karrie retaliated by putting the pepper in her hair spray. It would appear these incidents are not related to the murders.”

“Two wrinkles ironed out.” Tinkie went to the closet and sorted through the many items hanging there. She’d brought an outfit change for every occasion. “I’ve wrangled us tickets to the barbecue tonight.” She hung a frilly outfit on the back of the closet door.

“I won’t ask how.” The tickets to any of the beauty pageant/cook-off events had become hot items. Murder brought an increased level of celebrity to the events. “Is Cece coming?”

Tinkie looked like the cat who’d swallowed the canary. “
And
Millie. We’ve arranged for Zinnia’s famous restaurateur to be one of the local expert judges for the barbecue.”

I could only nod. Tinkie had her ways, and with Cece’s power as a newspaper reporter thrown in, the two were potentially lethal. “Perfect.”

“The only fly in the gravy is Madame Tomeeka. Cece tried to get her to join us tonight, but she wouldn’t consider it.”

“Did Madame Tomeeka ever make her predictions about who would win the pageant title?” I’d almost forgotten all about Tammy’s promise to handicap the competition, and I hadn’t had a chance to thoroughly read the newspaper.

“Cece was annoyed, but Tammy wouldn’t say anything specific.”

“She wouldn’t even guess?” That didn’t sound like Tammy. I’d never known her to tout her abilities with claims to predict specific events, but once she told Cece she’d do it, she wasn’t the kind of friend to fudge on a promise. Especially since Cece had promised her readers. “What did Tammy say?”

Tinkie tossed several pairs of shoes over her head. They thunked on the plush carpet beside the bed. “Only that a black shadow hung over the whole competition, and red seeped around the edges. She said she couldn’t see the end of the pageant because a bad energy obscured the view. It was all very vague and unsatisfying. Tammy advised all of us to leave this pageant alone and ‘let the forces of darkness battle each other.’ ”

“Did she say there would be more murders?” The thought made me sit upright.

“No, she didn’t. She only said she couldn’t predict anything and she wasn’t pretending she could. She sort of hurt Cece’s feelings, but not deliberately.” Tinkie closed the closet door and faced me, suddenly serious. “Speaking of hurt feelings, Graf called me, Sarah Booth.”

Anger was my first reaction. Not at Tinkie, but at Graf. “Why did he call you? To report me for some infraction of the”—I made quote marks in the air—“ ‘serious relationship rules.’ ”

“He said you wouldn’t answer your phone.”

“Not true.” It hadn’t rung, because I turned it off whenever he called.

“Call him.”

“I will.”

“Sooner rather than later.” She gave me a look. “Learn from my mistakes and don’t let something like this fester. No good will come of punishing him by not speaking to him.”

She was right. I knew it even as she spoke, but Taureans are immovable at times. Graf had hurt me, and when I was wounded I had only two modes of conduct, and neither involved rational thought. I attacked like a wild shrew or I withdrew. Talking reasonably was too adult for me.

“Take off your astrological bullhorns and call the man. He made a mistake. He wants to apologize. Let him.”

I nodded. “Give me a little while to let my feelings calm down.”

“May I tell him that?”

She was damn persistent. Like Chablis, once she had hold of something she didn’t let it go come hell or high water. “By all means, call him. Tell him we’ll talk later tonight after he’s done shooting and
I’ve
finished the barbecue competition. But Tinkie, don’t hedge. If he asks if we took the case, tell him the truth. I won’t sugarcoat things to salve his ego.”

“Heaven forbid you sprinkle a little sugar on bitter truth.” She flipped her fingers in the air. “Now that I’ve salvaged your love life, let’s get back to the case. Why don’t we track down Karrie and see what she has to allow.”

Tinkie’s plan was to aggravate the remaining Miss Viking contestants until they talked to us. We found Karrie in her room, sans Crystal Belle, who’d gone across the street to the hotel spa for a facial and some relaxation. Had Karrie been my suite mate, I would have spent my time buying garlic to hang around the room.

“What do Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber want?” Karrie asked through a ten-inch crack in the door.

“A few moments.” Tinkie spoke in her sweetest tone.

“Nope.” Karrie tried to push the door closed, but I
blocked her. “I don’t have time for this,” she said through gritted teeth.

She was hiding something. I could tell by the way she kept looking over her shoulder into the room. Without further ado, I hit the door with my full weight and forced it open. As I stumbled into the room, Tinkie right on my heels, I came face-to-face with Marcus Wellington.

“Hello, Sarah Booth, Tinkie.” He picked up a cocktail and sipped it.

“Marcus,” I responded. “I didn’t realize you were working your way through all the beauty contestants. You’d better hurry, only a few nights left. Surely there’s one or two who haven’t yet yielded to your charms. Unlike present company, some of them must have some morals, or at least a healthy self-image.” My barb hit home because Karrie blushed a furious red.

“Since it’s none of your business who I sleep with, I’ll ignore that remark.” Marcus led with amusement rather than anger.

I started to tell him that Hedy had hired us and therefore it was our business, but Tinkie indelicately stomped my toes with her stiletto heel. “Marcus,” she said, “are you one of Karrie’s supporters?”

“He’s my number-one fan,” Karrie said. “Now how about removing yourself before I throw you out.”

“Hold on a moment.” Marcus stepped between them. “Word is out that Hedy hired you two to prove her innocence in these murders. Take it from me, there are things about Hedy you should know.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Blackledge is her father’s name, a father who disappeared when she was a small child. Some say the gators got him. Some say he drowned. Other say a dark phantom snatched him out of his motorboat, which was discovered
running in circles in the Pearl River swamps. No trace of him was every found.”

“And this would be Hedy’s fault, how? You said she was a child, if I heard correctly. Are you saying a prekindergarten girl had something to do with the disappearance of a grown man?”

Marcus stumbled, but only for a moment. “Her mother is a conjure woman. Saulnier is her mother’s maiden name, a family that goes back to old New Orleans.” His lips pulled up into what might be a smile. “Back to Marie Laveau.”

“The voodoo priestess?” I sounded like I was about eight and had just been told the bogeyman was in the closet.

“Correct,” Marcus said. “Those devil-worshipping swamp people will never raise my daughter. If you have good sense, you’ll get away from Hedy as fast as you can. She’s trouble. Whatever she’s told you is a lie. That’s the only thing you can count on. And let me make myself clear. Try to interfere with my paternal rights over Vivian, and I’ll prove I’m a match in meanness for your voodoo friend. Now get out.”

Grasping Tinkie’s arm to keep her from slapping Marcus’s smug face, I smiled. “Sure thing, Marcus, Karrie. Tell Crystal we came by to see her.”

Half-dragging Tink, I got us into the hall.

“Why didn’t you let me whip his ass?” she fumed.

“We came away with a lot of information, and that’s what we went for. What a nugget. Karrie and Marcus know each other. The roux thickens.” I deliberately ignored the accusations he’d made, but I intended to find out Hedy’s background, and soon.

“You think Marcus and Karrie are working together in this?”

“I don’t know,” I said as I led her down the hall. “But they both gain if Hedy is charged and jailed. Let’s stop at
the desk and see if Hedy got any calls last night at the room.”

“What are you thinking?”

“That someone lured her out of the hotel room so he or she could murder Janet and frame Hedy.”

Tinkie’s eyebrows lifted almost to her scalp. “But why wouldn’t Hedy tell us?”

“Because she’s not a trusting young woman.”

The call center operator at the hotel, once she realized we were private investigators working for Hedy, gave us the list of calls to Room 212. It was a virtual hotline—until about eight o’clock. Then, after eight, only one call. A 662 area code, which was local. There was no way to prove which girl, Hedy or Janet, received the call, but I wrote down the number. Tinkie whipped out her cell phone, dialed, and then held it so we could both hear.

“Hello,” a male voice said. Marcus Wellington.

“You are so busted,” Tinkie said. “You called Hedy, probably offering for her to see her child, and got her out of the room so you could murder Janet. You’re going to fry for this one.” She hung up.

“Mississippi doesn’t fry people,” I told her. “That’s Alabama. We have the gas chamber or lethal injection.”

“You say tomato, I say tomahto. He got the point.”

“Hard to miss it when you threaten to fry him. And let me just point out that I’m sure Marcus recognized your voice, too. But the real issue here is Hedy. She lied to us. And we can’t represent her if she isn’t going to tell us the truth.” I was dead serious. A lying client was the quickest road to trouble I’d ever found.

“I’ll have a talk with her and find out the truth,” Tinkie said. “I’m sure she has a reasonable explanation.” She knew
I was pissed. “Why don’t you check out the Saulnier background?”

“My pleasure.” Back in those halcyon high school days, when I had free afternoons and a library card, I’d read several novels about Marie Laveau. She was portrayed as both a misunderstood spiritualist and the devil incarnate. I was curious, to put it mildly. The idea of a conjure woman was exciting. Delaney Detective Agency once represented a faith healer, but voodoo had a different tonal quality that brought up all sorts of interesting images.

Tink and I parted ways, and I went to the room to see what I could find on the laptop Tinkie had appropriated. Soon it would be time for our cooking lesson, and then the barbecue cook-off. Life was never dull.