Smarty Bones (25 page)

“I gather Buford wasn’t interested in a paid vacation in a mental institution.”

“After what he did, I think we have cause for involuntary commitment.” Tinkie brushed at the dust on her black slacks. “He’s going to pay. Oscar will see to that.”

I went to my fiancé and put my arms around him. “What matters is that none of you were hurt.” Even at the thought of harm coming to Graf, my heart ached. “Where did Buford go?” I asked.

“We don’t know,” Cece said. She’d been too quiet for too long—a sure sign the wheels were turning in her mind. “Those diagrams were important. Buford was frantic to make sure we didn’t see them. And he snatched up that laptop like it was the Holy Grail. I have a really bad feeling my brother and his associates are into something seriously bad. They act like buffoons, but Jeremiah is smart. Buford, too.”

I looked out the door—the sun hung above the treetops. If we hustled, we could get back to Zinnia before full dark.

13

“You don’t really expect me to shake in my shoes at the idea Buford Richmond is plotting against me, do you? He’s a pathetic waste of skin.”

Olive’s voice grated like the whine of a bone saw. “I don’t care if you shake, fart, or fizzle. But you should take this threat seriously. Buford is unbalanced. He drinks too much, and he has muscle by his side. Buford’s buddy looks mean, and he has the physique to back it up.”

“Are you referring to that big handsome man with shoulders as wide as a doorframe?”

“How do you know what Arnold looks like?” Alarm spiked through me, because I knew the answer.

“He’s in the bar, with Buford. I believe they’re having their third round of Scarlet O’Haras. Buford runs his mouth, but the big man sits back and watches. He doesn’t miss much. I like a man who knows how to be attentive. Buford is a swaggering fool, but Arnold … has potential. I could have some fun with him. But I need the DNA sample from Buford, so I guess I’ll have to stroke that pig.”

“Clear out of there, Olive. Seriously. Both of those men are unstable, and your presence could provoke a saint into carnal sins.”

“Very funny, Sarah Booth. I’m sure you’re an authority on sin, carnal and just plain nasty.” The pause lasted long enough to set the teeth of her trap. “Someone sure taught the sheriff how to do devilish things.”

Even when I tried to save her life, she was the supreme bitch-a-rama. It would be a relief if Buford bashed her brains out. In fact, it might be a public service. I might even contribute to his defense fund if he did.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” she taunted.

“Olive, you make it very hard for me to care if you get killed or not.”

“You’re just jealous. Everyone in town says you’re still half in love with Sheriff Peters.”

Damn Gertrude Strom’s wagging tongue. No one else in Zinnia would talk to Olive because she was a social pariah. Yet Gertrude flapped her gums about me every chance she got.

I couldn’t even defend myself. Graf sat beside me in the roadster as we flew toward Zinnia and The Gardens B and B. Luckily he couldn’t hear Olive’s end of the conversation, but he cast a curious glance at me. When I didn’t respond, his attention returned to the cotton fields speeding by. Behind us, Cece drove the Range Rover with Tinkie riding shotgun.

“The truth hurts, doesn’t it, Sarah Booth.” Olive couldn’t resist digging a little harder.

“You’re way off, Twist. And if you want me to drop you as a client, keep it up.”

“You must be with Graf. That’s why you won’t talk. Now, Mr. Hollywood is a good-looking man. Charismatic. Sexy. Women probably throw themselves at him.” She chuckled. “I’ll bet he’s cool about you and the lawman. Or at least he pretends to be. Old flames and all. A secure man wouldn’t let it bother him. Sometimes, though, I’ll bet he sees the way Coleman looks at you. I’ve sure seen it.”

Starlings swooped above the expanse of cotton plants, elegant black shadows flitting with the grace of angels against the pink sky. Soon it would be dark, and we were racing the clock to save Olive Twist. It was an exercise in masochism.

“Olive, go back to your room and wait for us there.”

“Can’t argue, can you? You’ve got your claws in ol’ Coleman Peters good and deep. Me-ow!”

I couldn’t answer her charges or take up for Coleman. Not with Graf sitting beside me. “We’re on the way and will be at The Gardens in a matter of minutes. Go to your room and wait there.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize God died and put you in charge.”

“You are a stupid woman. When you’re dead, Coleman will arrest Buford and his crew, the Lady in Red will be returned to her grave, and everything will return to normal.”

She laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “You sure know how to kill a buzz, Sarah Booth.”

Was it possible she was going to do what I urged? “Quit complaining and move out of that bar.”

“Keep your shirt on, I’m going.”

I heard the
flap, flap, flap
of her big shoes on the hardwood floor as she left the bar area and walked along the porch to her room. She wouldn’t talk and she wouldn’t hang up. Nothing like being held hostage on the phone. Next thing she’d take me into the bathroom with her. This woman didn’t have a shred of grace.

I tried several times to get her attention, but she moseyed along. I pictured those skinny hips swishing left and right. Any minute now she’d deliver the famous Prissy line, “I don’t know nothin’ ’bout birthin’ babies.”

“Olive!” I screamed into the phone.

Graf took it from my hand. “You drive, I’ll yell.”

My hero—he’d saved me from blowing a gasket. I snatched a quick glance at his profile, phone pressed to his ear. My love for him had grown deeper than I’d ever anticipated.

“Olive?” he said. He signaled me that she was on the line.

We flew into the darkening eastern sky, only a few minutes from Zinnia now. The Range Rover’s headlights followed steadily behind me.

Graf nodded as he spoke into the phone. “Yes, Olive, what were you saying about your documentary? You believe HBO will air it? That would be incredible.” He winked at me. He could do more with Olive in ten seconds than I could in a lifetime.

“Olive! Olive!” Graf’s tone bordered on panic.

“What is it?” I asked.

“The phone went dead. She was talking about the wonders of her film and how
I
could use
my
contacts to get better distribution for her. I heard what sounded like a thud and then nothing.”

I took the phone and listened to footsteps departing. Not the mud-flappers of Olive’s wide shoes but quick, hard footsteps. And then moaning.

“Call Coleman. Tell him Olive’s been attacked.” I tossed Graf the phone and pressed the pedal to the metal.

*   *   *

I wheeled into The Gardens with Cece right behind me. Graf had called Coleman and then Tinkie to let them both know what was happening. We abandoned the cars and rushed inside. Gertrude Strom blocked the hallway a few doors up from Olive’s room, but she stepped aside as if she were actually happy we were there.

“An ambulance is on the way,” Gertrude told us. “She’s still not conscious, but her vital signs are good.”

I wasn’t aware Gertrude had medical training, but it was good to know.

“Did you see anyone?” I asked.

“I don’t have to talk to you. This is all your fault. Wherever you go, trouble follows.”

So much for détente. “Did you see anyone, Gertrude? You don’t want the B and B to get a reputation for endangering guests. It would be best to help us find the attacker.”

She signaled us to follow her down the hall. “No, I didn’t notice anyone. Buford and the giant created a disturbance in the bar. When I went there to sort it out, I sent the two of them hightailing it off the premises. That’s when I realized Dr. Twist had also left the bar. I meant to stop by her room, but I was distracted by another guest. When I finally got to Olive’s room, I found her unconscious on the floor. Her room is trashed. I’ll bet Buford doubled back and did this.”

It didn’t make a lot of sense. The timing was off. I was talking to Olive when she left the bar. Graf had her on the phone when she was attacked. All within minutes. So was an intruder hiding in her room? Had the interloper remained hidden while she chatted with Graf? Or had she opened her door to the attacker?

What was he doing in Twist’s room? Stealing? Not likely. Her research simply wasn’t that valuable. But someone had been to Dahlia House and taken Graf’s note—and nothing else. Olive’s research wasn’t a cure for cancer or a new app—goods people would pay money for—but that didn’t mean it wasn’t valuable to the right person.

“You didn’t see anyone leaving?” I repeated the question to Gertrude.

“I’ve already said no. I’m not in the habit of changing the facts to suit myself.”

Holy Swiss cheese, Olive and Gertrude shared many of the same personality traits. They were both insulting, insufferable, ornery, and prickly.

We found the door to Olive’s room open. The professor sat groggily on the floor holding one side of her head. “Somebody knocked me out. Sneaky bastards. They came at me from behind.”

I knelt beside her, aware that a tornado had swept through the room. When she saw the mess, she was going to be hotter than a hellcat. “EMTs are on the way. Try to stay still. Maybe you should lie back.”

“Maybe you should find five aspirin and a glass of water.” She pushed me away. “I need to find the a-hole who whacked me upside the head. I hate a damn ambush.”

I should have known she was too freaking mean to die. “Did you see your attacker?”

“The bastard came at me when my back was turned.” Olive pushed to her feet and surveyed the destroyed room. “My work! My work!” She flapped her arms as if she might burst into flight.

“Calm down, Dr. Twist.” Gertrude tried to capture her.

“You stupid old bat, my work has been purloined. Can’t you see, everything is gone?”

“Dr. Twist, you should remain calm until a doctor has checked you over.” Graf spoke with gentleness and reason.

“Shut up! Any man stupid enough to marry Sarah Booth shouldn’t be giving advice to others.”

“Hey, that’s enough.” Cece pinned Olive’s arms to her side. “Calm down or I’ll sit on you. And stop being so rude to people who are only trying to help you.”

For whatever reason, Cece achieved the desired result. Olive settled down and I was able to assess the damage in the room. Someone had wrecked it, and it would take time to ascertain what was missing. If anything. It might simply be an act of vandalism.

Before I could ask, Coleman entered the room. Olive pulled free of Cece and hurled herself against him. Her long arms circled his chest and she pressed her face into his starched shirt and sobbed. Every one of us, even Gertrude, looked away, mortified for Coleman.

“Let’s track down Buford,” Cece said with a deadly undertone. “He’s stupid enough to stumble back to the bar. I have a score to settle with Mr. Richmond … and my miscreant brother.”

“I’ll call Oscar,” Tinkie offered. “Buford will cooperate with us—or else.”

By unspoken consensus, we agreed not to involve Coleman in the incident at the river camp. It was out of his jurisdiction, and my personal ambition was to figure out what the Heritage Heroes were up to.

“Keep an eye on Olive,” I said to Coleman. “I think there’s a plot afoot. She’ll be safe with you.”

Graf draped an arm around my shoulders as we left Olive to the tender mercies of the law.

*   *   *

The bar at the B and B was empty of everyone—except Richard Webber. He perched on a stool, elbows on the old teak, sipping a bourbon and reading the late Shelby Foote’s last book. He never looked up when we entered.

“Engrossed in Foote’s work?” I asked.

“He was a gentleman and a scholar, as the saying goes.” Webber still didn’t look at me. When Tinkie pushed up to his other side, I backed away. He was a man who’d respond to Tinkie’s charms much quicker than to my questions. A good investigator uses the right tool for each occasion.

Graf, Cece, and I took a table in a far corner. When the bartender—Misty, by her nametag—took our order, I asked her about Buford and Arnold.

“They left a while ago. After that skinny, mean woman left. They were right on her heels.” She shrugged. “Glad to have all of them out of here. Every time that woman steps foot in the door she starts a fight. She’s going to get the piss slapped out of her. Or worse. And I would laugh. Lord, she rubs me the wrong way.”

Color me guilty. The shame was I felt no remorse.

In a matter of moments Misty had our drinks made and delivered.

“To a long day.” Cece rubbed the chafed places on her wrist. “It’s a good thing Buford isn’t here. I’d have stomped a mud hole in his ass and walked it dry.”

Cece seldom got colloquial, but I always enjoyed it when she did. “I could sell tickets to spectators.”

She grinned at last, acknowledging the humor of such a vision. “What is wrong with the people around here?” she asked. “Why are Buford and Jeremiah still breathing? And people on the streets treat them with respect, as if they were more than a grease-based life form.”

“There was a time a person’s good name meant something. The Falcon and Richmond families stood for integrity and honor. Jeremiah and Buford are trading on the past.”

“Not anymore,” Cece said. “My parents are spinning in their graves.”

I wondered if that were true. Were my parents watching what I did? Would they find Graf to be a suitable son-in-law? Were they proud of me? I’d never know for certain.

“Watch Tinkie,” Graf directed us with more than a hint of admiration. “She is something else.”

I had to agree. Tinkie had Webber smiling at her and bending down to listen to her every word. He whispered in her ear, and she looked up at him and giggled. He laughed heartily and his hand strayed to her back.

Soon she’d have the pass codes to his Swiss bank accounts, if he had any. It was almost unfair to unleash Tinkie on the unsuspecting. Webber might be the master of easily impressed graduate students, but he was not on a level playing field with the Tinkmeister. He would end up bruised and bloodied.