Smarty Bones (7 page)

“Sheriff Peters, you find the person who did it and make him pay for all the damages. Whoever did this is gone, but I fear he’ll be back. Once word gets around about Olive’s project, every yahoo and half-wit in the area will be after her, and I don’t intend for my bed-and-breakfast to become a war zone. But I believe this book needs to be written. A lot of hoity-toity people will get their comeuppance.”

“You like what she’s proposing to write about?” I asked.

“I like the truth,” Gertrude said. “Sometimes it takes centuries for it to finally roll around. If the Lady in Red was involved in killing President Lincoln, the whole world needs to know about it.”

Dr. Webber drew himself up to his full six-foot-two height. “I can assure you, madam, that such is not the case. I’ve done extensive research in this area, and the woman in that grave was Abraham Lincoln’s lover, not his assassin.”

“Oh, King Solomon with a meat cleaver! Where did that come from? Lincoln’s lover? And just how do you intend to prove that?”

“I’ve been working on this premise for the past two years. Dr. Twist became aware of my research and has stolen my concept and tagged a ridiculous assassination charge onto the end of it. Tilda Richmond, and I’m reasonably certain she was a Richmond and not a Falcon, though there is some blurring to be cleared, was in love with Lincoln. She would never have conspired to harm him. I personally believe she returned to Mississippi to try to mend the wounds of the war. She loved her homeland and she loved Abe Lincoln. She was a woman caught between two gigantic forces. But I scoff at the notion she wanted Lincoln dead. Olive Twist is the worst kind of intellectual thief—one who takes a solid theory and bastardizes it into soap opera drama. Next thing you know, she’ll be a cable TV pundit.”

“Why haven’t you sued her?” I asked.

“You can’t copyright an idea.” Tinkie knew a lot about business law. “She took your findings and built on them. It’s how academia perpetuates itself.”

“I realize that.” Webber’s chin lifted. “But there is a code of ethics involved here. Twist has violated them. Professors don’t steal each other’s research.”

“Like drug companies don’t steal research, or movie studios pilfer writer’s ideas,” Oscar said. “I think research is fair game, Dr. Webber.”

“Legally, you are correct. There is no recourse in a court of law. But that doesn’t excuse what she’s done.”

“This is hogwash,” Gertrude said. “She beat you out fair and square. She got busy and came down here. You should have pushed aside your cabal of devoted graduate students and gotten busy.” Her smile was smug. “You might better plan on being at the press conference Olive has called for eleven o’clock tomorrow morning at the Lexington Odd Fellows Cemetery. She plans to announce approval for the exhumation.”

“Over my dead body,” Oscar said, rising from his chair.

“I’m sure that wouldn’t bother Dr. Twist a lick,” Gertrude replied before she pivoted and walked away.

4

The ceiling fan in my bedroom swirled round and round, casting a lazy breeze over our sheet-clad bodies. It was late afternoon, and while I knew I should feel guilty for wallowing around in bed when there were grave robbers to snare, I couldn’t deny the time with Graf had been well spent. We’d come home from The Gardens and raced up to the bedroom like teenagers.

I stretched and fought the temptation to curl up beside him and sleep. I’d never been one to take naps, but then I’d never had such a pleasurable bedmate. Snuggling against Graf made a nap sound as tempting as a slice of Chocolate Decadence cake.

A delicate black paw patted my chin, and I looked into the green gaze of Pluto the cat. “Hey, big boy.” I pulled him against my side for a few strokes. His owner was recuperating from a near-death experience. It was still up in the air if she’d leave Pluto with me permanently, but I was already attached to the handsome and smart feline.

Pressed between Graf and Pluto, I wanted to drift back to sleep. Unfortunately, I owed Frances a call to report how our meeting with Olive had gone. And I wanted to check in with Coleman to see if his crime analysis had revealed any clues about the bomb thrower.

Sliding from beneath the sheet, I stood up and stared at my handsome lover. Graf had it all—movie-star good looks, talent, personality, charm, and me. He was one lucky devil. And just to prove it, I decided to slip downstairs and stir up dinner. I could multitask with the best of them.

The thought generated a growl from my stomach. We’d had drinks at The Gardens but no food. It was time to find something to eat. I pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt advertising an Irish liqueur and padded barefoot to the kitchen.

My mother’s favorite cookbook was open on the countertop, and I put on a pot of coffee while I leafed through the entrée selections. I decided on couscous with fresh cucumbers, tomatoes, bell peppers, and mango chutney, corn on the cob, and sweet potato salad. Even with the air-conditioning and fans churning, it was too hot to eat a heavy meal. To that end, I began peeling and cubing the sweet potatoes while rehearsing in my head what I’d say to calm Frances and yet keep her from having any false hope I could send Olive packing.

The next thing I knew, a slender hand sporting a honking diamond ring was shoved under my nose. No surprise, Jitty had joined me. What was unexpected was the black pageboy hairdo, the cute little skimmer dress with a black patent belt emphasizing her tiny waist, and matching pumps. “Who this time?” I asked wearily.

“Archie proposed to me. Not Betty. Me. After more than sixty years, he finally popped the question.”

“Archie Bunker?” I knew she meant Archie Andrews, but I couldn’t help tormenting her. If she could appear as vintage comic characters, I could pretend not to recognize her.

“You are a meathead,” she said in disgust.

“You spend way too much time watching television. Too bad I can’t book you on a trivia show. You might win us money.” I returned to my pursuit of creating the perfect sweet potato salad. From the cabinet I pulled out local honey and then chopped celery while the potatoes cooked.

“You know who I am, Sarah Booth. The classic triangle. Betty, Veronica, and Archie.”

“I do.” I refused to look at her. I’d deduced Jitty hated it when I ignored her special outfits. “Veronica Lodge. I get it. So Archie asked you to marry him. After sixty-something years. Your eggs are probably all dead and shriveled and I doubt Archie is going to be worth the wait, sexually. I mean, he’s been a virgin forever. Low libido. Stifled sperm. Bad choice, Jitty. I figured you’d be more the Wolverine type. Howling at the moon and all.”

“Well, I never—”

“Can the outrage. If the shoe were on the other foot, you’d dog me to my grave about my aging eggs.”

“That’s true, but it’s also beside the point. Comic-book characters and ghosts don’t procreate. Humans do. Or at least those who aren’t too hardheaded to manage wrangling a man into bed for a little contribution to the cause of motherhood.”

There were some days when Jitty made me so mad I thought my hair would catch on fire. This was turning into one of those days. “I don’t have to trick Graf into making love to me.”

“Where’s the proof?”

“Where’s Betty? You know, the girl Archie
should
have proposed to.” I hoped to distract her.

“Check the Kleenex factory. She’s still boo-hooing. Wholesome just doesn’t cut it when it comes to a man.” She grinned, and I swear she looked exactly like Veronica Lodge. Why would Archie choose her over Betty? Could it be Veronica was an heiress? What in thunderation was I doing trying to figure out the motives of cartoon characters?

I gathered my focus. “I don’t care for this incarnation, Jitty.” I had to be honest. “I never liked Veronica back in the day when I read comic books. I don’t really care for Betty, either. Or Archie for that matter. And Jughead was too weird, though I liked his crown.” I flicked wet fingers at her, showering her with water. “Go away and come back as someone interesting.”

“Stop that! Ghosts don’t like water.”

“What? Will you melt?” I tried to look eager at the prospect.

“I’m a ghost, not a witch,” she grumbled. “Instead of flapping your hands like a hysterical female, you should do something useful.”

“I have a better idea. Why don’t you make contact with the Lady in Red and find some answers for me? Was she associated with Lincoln? Did she conspire to kill the president? If you could get a few basic answers it would make my life a lot more wholesome.”

“You think I got nothing better to do than your legwork?”

I put down my knife. “Yes. That’s exactly what I think. If you can come here as a comic character, I think you have time to burn. If you aren’t going to help me, then don’t devil me with my lack of a child. Graf and I aren’t even married yet. All things in time.”

“Graf’s asked for your hand, and I think you should speed up those wedding plans. Time’s a’wastin’.”

“Go talk to Graf. He wants to marry in Ireland in April.”

“As long as it’s just the wedding in Ireland.” She preened a little. “I could be right popular with some of the departed Irish if we went over for a celebration. But you are both coming back to Dahlia House to live, right? You’re not thinking of moving to Ireland, are you? Why, that would be as bad as living in Hollywood.”

I had no idea what had her in such an insecure mood. “Of course we won’t live in Ireland.” Like it or not, Dahlia House was my anchor and my millstone. I could never leave the land I loved.

Jitty walked across the room, her hips swaying. “Sarah Booth, you don’t have the stretch of time a cartoon character has. There’s only dust and mold for most people. Have that baby, a Delaney to carry on the name and the lineage. Think of the joy of watching your daughter grow up here. And a son. You want at least two children.”

Jitty always pushed me to follow the regime she’d outlined. I seldom obliged, but this time she snared me with her fantasy. I could envision a little chestnut-haired girl running through the rooms searching for her handsome father.

“Don’t you want a family?” she asked.

“I do. And it will happen. Soon enough. The clock is ticking, but I have time left.”

Jitty perched one hip on the edge of the kitchen table. Her beautiful face took on a pensiveness Veronica Lodge could never have managed. “Time goes so fast, Sarah Booth. That’s one of the shocking things you learn when you’ve been around for a few centuries.”

I’d also felt the speeding up of the clock’s hands. “Everything will work out.”

Jitty was staring out the kitchen window at the cemetery where she and her husband were both buried. “After the men left for the war and it was just me and Miss Alice to work this land and tend the young-uns and try to keep body and soul together, it seemed like each day was a century.

“We’d go out to those fields in the hot sun and work until we staggered back to the house to eat. And then the long afternoon called us back out there. There was never enough time to get everything done, yet it seemed each day would never end.”

I slipped beside her, looking out at the gravestones. “I never had to work that hard, but I understand. After my parents died, it felt like I was trapped underwater and time had stopped. I’d fall asleep and it would seem years passed, but I would wake up and only ten minutes would be gone. I thought I would die before I found a way to stand against the grief.”

“In the good moments, time speeds up and goes much too fast.” She gave me a hint of a smile. “These are the fast days for you, Sarah Booth. In the blink of an eye, you’ll look in the mirror and see an old woman. It goes way too quick. Don’t let it slip away without havin’ those children.”

“I won’t.” I wished to comfort her, but I didn’t know how. “I promise.”

“Promise what?” Graf sauntered into the kitchen in jeans and nothing else. “And who were you making a promise to?”

“Myself.”

“You’re talking to yourself and you’re very pleased about it.” He caught me in his arms and pressed me against him. “What did you promise yourself?”

I kissed his chin and then his jaw. “That I’ll love you with every bit of my heart every day. I won’t waste a moment of this precious time together.”

He eased me back so he could look into my eyes. “I love you, Sarah Booth. You constantly surprise and amaze me. I’m the luckiest man alive.” He brushed his lips against my ear in a way he knew drove me crazy. “Let’s not waste any more time.”

Reaching behind me, I turned off the sweet potatoes. Food could wait a little longer.

*   *   *

The sun had set when I got Frances on the phone. I invited her to Dahlia House so I could update her on Olive Twist. I hoped Graf’s presence would help her maintain her calm. Ladies like Frances never created a spectacle in front of a handsome man.

When she arrived, Graf walked her into the parlor and poured her a glass of sherry. She was old-school. I abstained, until I got past the bad news.

“I’m so sorry, Frances, but Dr. Twist isn’t planning to leave town. In fact, she’s holding a press conference tomorrow to announce the exhumation of the Lady in Red.” I blurted the facts before she interrupted.

“This can’t be true.” Frances looked at Graf, hoping I was playing an awful practical joke. “Surely she won’t be allowed to desecrate a grave?”

Graf sat down on the horsehair sofa beside her and patted her free hand. “She’s petitioned for the right to exhume the body. I don’t know if she’ll be granted legal permission. It’s up to Judge Colbert. Do you happen to know him?”

“Delbert Colbert? Of course I know him. And his daddy, and his granddaddy.”

“Then I suggest you make a few phone calls. If there’s a protest against the exhumation, it will at least delay it. But you have to have grounds to stop it.”

Frances drew herself up and belted the entire glass of sherry. “That grave is a historic site. It should not be tampered with so an interloper can test out a ridiculous theory she’s concocted.”

“Exactly what you need to tell the judge.” I felt relief. If nothing else, we could create a delay.

“This is already causing trouble in our community. Serious consequences will occur if this desperate woman isn’t stopped,” Frances continued.