Booty Bones: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery (16 page)

“What’s to think?” Instead of crying, I was furious.

“Oh, a little thing like let’s find out who this woman is. Maybe there’s a legitimate reason. Maybe he hired a coach or rehab specialist. Maybe this is a relative he’s never told you about. Maybe—”

“She’s a hooker who’s doling out physical therapy of a very special kind.” Even as I said it, I didn’t believe it. The woman was elegant in a way that spoke of self-confidence, assurance, intelligence. Not that a hooker couldn’t have those traits. But generally she didn’t haul a young child along.

“Hey!” Tinkie put her hand to my cheek. “Calm down.”

The tears in her eyes got to me when reason wouldn’t. “Don’t you dare cry. I’ll take drastic action if you do.”

“I’m not going to cry,” she said, “and neither are you. Salt water isn’t the solution here. If it were, there’s an ocean to draw on.”

“What is he doing?” I asked.

“Let’s do what we do best, Sarah Booth. Let’s investigate. We need to get photos of this woman and figure out who she is.”

Logical, common-sense approach to the problem. That was Tinkie’s strength.

“Okay.”

“Come on.” We moved down the beach again, this time with Tinkie in the lead. She had her cell phone out, and I wondered whom she might call.

When we were close to the beach house the blonde had rented, Tinkie scanned the area until she found a suitable dune. “See, we can tuck in here and wait.”

“You think he’s in the house with her?” That seemed a million times worse than walking on the beach.

“I do,” she said. “And he’ll have to come out eventually. Let’s just hope she comes out with him.”

“How long do you think it’ll take?” I realized I sounded exactly like a spoiled rotten child on a car trip—are we there yet?

“As long as it takes. From here, I can get a fair shot if she comes onto the sand.”

“Thank you, Tinkie. I know you should be in New Orleans helping Cece.”

“Cece has the whole Black and Orange Ball committee. She doesn’t need me. But you do.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You love hard and strong and you are truly, deeply in love with Graf.”

“One hundred percent committed. No holding back.” I managed not to cry.

“Then we have no choice but to straighten him up.”

Her confidence raised my hopes, and just in time. Graf stepped out of the house, and the woman followed. Up close, she was even more beautiful than I’d suspected. Her flawless skin, startling blue eyes, and a countenance that bespoke serenity and also passion. Not to mention hair that would make Rapunzel jealous. My gut dropped to my toes.

“Who the hell is she?” Tinkie whispered as she snapped photo after photo. “She isn’t from the Delta.”

The woman reached for Graf’s hand and clung to it, bringing it to her lips and pressing a kiss onto his palm. The way she looked at him made me want to claw her eyes out. But I didn’t budge. “No, she’s a city gal. Look at her clothes.” The flowing linen shirt and red leggings were casual but fashionable. “California.” I could identify the look even if I couldn’t imitate it.

“I agree. Los Angeles. Diamond Rolex, gold necklace, very understated. She looks like a walk on the beach, but she’s wearing forty grand in jewelry.”

“Who the hell is she?” I repeated Tinkie’s question.

“We will find out.”

“How?” Taking photos was one thing. Figuring out who this person was would be another.

“I have my sources,” Tinkie said with the hint of a smile. “Coleman.”

“He won’t be happy.”

She laughed softly. “To help you, Sarah Booth, he would wade through a lot of annoyance with me.”

She selected a few of the best photos of the woman and sent them to the Sunflower County Sheriff’s Department with a note—“This woman is stalking Sarah Booth. Can you ID her?”

“Not exactly truthful,” I noted.

“But effective. You’d do exactly the same for a client.”

No point denying it; she was right.

“Let’s get out of here before they catch us,” she said. “You can confront Graf once you know the score.”

She was right. Jumping the gun and rushing over the sand dune like an invading army would only put Graf on the defensive. I followed her down the beach side of the dune, and in a quarter of an hour we were back at the rental. Graf had left the keys to the SUV, so I drove Tinkie to pick up her car.

“I know you need to get back to New Orleans,” I told her, though I desperately wanted her to stay. “Call me when you hear from Coleman.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Tinkie lifted my chin with one finger. “Cece doesn’t need me. Oscar has golfing dates back-to-back for the next two days. He’ll understand.”

*   *   *

Our tactic was normalcy. Tinkie and I agreed to strive for routine. I put together a seafood salad and served it on crisp lettuce and the last of the season’s fresh tomatoes. I’d just put the finishing touches on when Graf returned, wind-whipped and smelling of the sea.

“Have a nice walk?” I asked, earning a hard look from Tinkie.

“I did.”

“You’re looking much better.” Tinkie said. “I can’t detect any signs of your injury, Graf. Sarah Booth was a genius to bring you here. You’re a lucky man to have someone who loves you as much as she does.”

“I am indeed.” He walked through the room and out onto the balcony, closing the door after him.

I swallowed hard and poured a large glass of wine. Alcohol wouldn’t fix this problem, but it might anesthetize me enough to get through the evening while we waited for Coleman’s response.

Tinkie took the glass from my hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

The day had slipped away from us, and the sun vanished beneath a bowl of clouds that picked up the reflected light and turned the sky into a Cecil B. DeMille production.

We walked toward town. The shops were mostly closed. Instead of slowing, we continued up the hump of the big bridge.

“This place has a sad history.” I relayed the tragic story of the father who threw his four children off the bridge, allegedly because of a fight with his wife.

“I can’t believe that.” Tinkie’s horror turned into denial. “No one could be angry enough to throw their children off a bridge.”

But even as she spoke, I heard the faint echo of children crying. It wasn’t real, just a bit of geographic resonance. “I think sometimes people lose their minds.” It took effort to speak clearly and walk up the bridge at the same time. And I’d thought I was in pretty good shape.

Tinkie pointed to the crest. “We’ll talk there.”

She, too, was having a hard time making the climb and talking. I didn’t feel so bad about myself.

Huffing and puffing like the hungry wolf in the Three Little Pigs, we finally made it to the top and stopped short at the stuffed teddy bear and a bouquet of black-eyed Susans someone had left to mark the spot of tragedy.

“Time to go home,” Tinkie said instantly. She hadn’t brought me on a walk to make me think of even sadder situations than my life.

“Look out to the southwest.”

Night invaded the sky from the east, and lights on Dauphin Island blinked on. It reminded me of an old soap opera that my aunt Loulane adored.
The Edge of Night
. As I watched, darkness moved across the sky. We both stood and watched the magnificence of nature until the lights on the bridge blinked on with the orange cast of mercury vapor. It was a sickly contrast to the natural beauty of the sky.

“We should—” I stopped as Tinkie’s cell phone rang.

I tried, without success, not to eavesdrop and focused on a car headed toward us. In our long walk, we’d seen only a handful of cars headed in either direction. With the approach of night, the day-trippers had gone home. The island residents were settling in for a brisk fall evening.

Tinkie arched one eyebrow at me. “Yes, Coleman. It’s a legitimate case—I assure you. Who is the woman?”

As hard as she tried, she couldn’t hide her reaction. She lowered her eyes and bit her lip. “I see. You’re positive?”

She thanked him and hung up.

“Who is she?”

Tinkie prepared her answer. “Her name is Marion Silber. She’s a screenwriter and director.”

“I know that name. He has her script.” Relief. Sweet relief. This wasn’t so bad. Their talks were work related. But that wasn’t the complete truth. If it was work, why hadn’t Graf introduced her to me?

Tinkie shivered. “Let’s go.”

There was something she didn’t want to tell me.

“And?” I prompted.

“And she and Graf had a two-year affair back long before he came south and found you again.”

Marion Silber was an old lover. Someone he’d been close to. I wanted to sit down near the bridge railing, but I didn’t. I’d tasted defeat before, but never this bitter. “Why did they break up?”

“Coleman didn’t have any details. He was just shocked we were asking about a Hollywood type. He’s not stupid, Sarah Booth. If he hasn’t figured out what’s at the bottom of this, he will. He could see the beach in the background of the photos I took.”

“It doesn’t matter.” And it didn’t. If Graf was two-timing me with an old love, all of my friends would know sooner rather than later. My wounded pride was the least of my concerns. “I don’t want to go back to the cottage.”

“Where do you want to go?” Tinkie asked.

“Maybe we could pack up and head to New Orleans.” I didn’t want to go there, either, but I couldn’t very well take Graf’s SUV and leave him stranded, though it would serve him right.

“Okay.” Tinkie didn’t voice her doubt, but I heard it in her tone.

“Let’s move.” I started down the bridge’s hump, aware of a car speeding toward us. Out of habit, I grasped Tinkie’s upper arm and shifted her closer to the rail. The vehicle hit warp speed, and the driver seemed inebriated or worse.

“What’s wrong with that driver?” Tinkie asked, alarmed.

“Hell if I know.” We inched even closer to the rail. I took one long look down at the water. The steep drop would kill us.

“Sarah Booth, he’s headed straight at us.”

She wasn’t exaggerating. Grabbing her jacket sleeve, I yanked her to the other side of the road just as a sleek black sedan hit the curb and jumped toward the bridge railing. Just in time, the driver managed to regain control and aim the car toward the center of the lane.

Red taillights gleaming in the dark, it disappeared over the crest.

“He meant to hit us,” Tinkie said.

I couldn’t dispute her deduction. I ran to the top of the bridge and watched the car disappear, the driver now completely in control. He hadn’t been drunk or distracted. He’d been intent on murder.

Slightly out of breath, Tinkie stopped at my elbow. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Sarah Booth?”

“I wasn’t certain Larry Wofford was innocent of the murder of John Trotter, but now I am. I’m trying to free an innocent man from prison.”

14

Tinkie spent the night in the bedroom with me. Graf had, once again, selected the sofa. Now I realized his sleeping arrangement wasn’t a choice of protecting his injured leg from an accidental jostle. He was on the sofa because he was guilty. He was two-timing me with an old flame. Maybe I should be grateful he had enough ethics not to sleep with me while wooing another woman, but I wasn’t.

The intimacy Graf and I had shared was sacred to me. From the very beginning, we’d enjoyed our physicality, and the sex was great. No working at it as some couples reported. Now it was gone—evaporated in the betrayal. I found myself trapped in that strange limbo of physical desire but emotional fury. Disgusting and unhealthy.

My partner was still asleep when I left the bedroom and headed to the kitchen to brew coffee and let Sweetie and Pluto out. From the second-floor window, I watched feline and canine cavort.

For the cat, the beach was an exotic world of small crabs, lizards, and birds that raced on foot along the edge of the surf, taking flight only as a last resort. To my keen eye, Pluto had lost at least three pounds. A good thing for such a hefty kitty. Sweetie simply enjoyed the wind flapping her long hound ears and bringing the seafaring smells to her nose.

With a cup of java in hand, I stopped by the sofa to watch Graf sleep. It occurred to me that I might pour the hot coffee on him, but I didn’t. That wouldn’t make him love me. In fact, I couldn’t think of a single thing I could do—good or bad—that might reverse the choices of his heart.

Who knew what emotions had played into his decision to spend time with Marion Silber, but he owed me answers. Had he planned on meeting his old lover at the beach? How had she managed to show up at the same time we were there? Had the relationship begun as a business meeting over a script and evolved?

Even more important, why couldn’t he talk to me? Tell me what he was feeling or needing. Give me a chance to meet him halfway. In this last week, I’d surrendered my heart to him completely, and I feared I would pay a terrible price. Letting my guard down would result in pain and anguish. Yet it was done now, and there was no undoing it. I loved him completely.

He stirred in his sleep, restless, as if ready to awaken and get away from me as fast as he could. I saved him the trouble and hurried down to the beach with my coffee and my four-legged family.

Pluto had cornered a hermit crab and was trying to bat the poor creature into a game of chase. I saved the crab and earned a scowl from my cat. “Tormenting helpless creatures isn’t for us,” I scolded him.

Sweetie played chase with the surf, and far down the beach I thought I recognized the turtle protectors, a group of five or six dedicated biologists and students who seemed never to sleep.

I had a question for Phyllis Norris about her relationship with John Trotter. It would eat up some of the morning until Tinkie awoke, so I sauntered down the beach toward the group. It wasn’t until I was almost upon them that I realized Phyllis wasn’t with them.

“Will Dr. Norris be here soon?” I asked a thin young man with a sunburned face.

He shrugged. “She was here and she left.” He put aside the buckets of water he was hauling and wiped perspiration from his forehead. Temps on the beach would register under seventy degrees, but with a warm wind blowing and the sun reflected off the water and sand, it was hot.