Bones on the Bayou: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery Short Story (3 page)

“I can help. I’m the best person to help. As Oscar’s wife, I wouldn’t have to testify against him.”

She was right about that, but the burden of proof would weigh heavily on her. “Let me see what I can do. If I need you, I’ll call. In the meantime, when Oscar wakes up, see what he can remember.”

“Take me back to the hospital. He’ll talk or else.”

I put an arm around her shoulders. “We can’t jump to conclusions. We don’t know anything other than a tasteless joke has been played. Enzo may be rolled up in bed with a hot woman.”

“Oscar jumped to conclusions, and that’s why he’s in the mess he’s in.”

True, but saying so wouldn’t help. “He loves you.”

“And I love him. I still want to kick his butt into next Sunday. Oscar wouldn’t hurt a fly, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t kidnap Enzo in a drunken fit. If he did that and Enzo presses charges…” Tinkie turned away. “The situation could be dire.”

“Dire? Well, maybe not dire.” I tried to hedge the truth, but things were pretty freaking dire.

“Take me to the hospital, please.” Tinkie’s mind was made up, and I had work to do with Harold. I drove her there in silence, the miles ticking by, just like the minutes.

Harold had hidden Oscar’s Land Rover at the back of his house. I found him outside with high intensity lights, Luminol, and what looked like a real crime scene detection kit. “Where did you get that?”

“It’s your Christmas present. It was supposed to be a surprise,” he said, totally unrepentant. “I thought, what better use? That’s how I found the three dark hairs.” He held out the baggy. “Where can we run DNA?”

“Hold your horses, Gil Grissom. We don’t know a crime has been committed.”

“Oh, a crime has
definitely
been committed. Cece has photos of the man doll. She emailed them to me. I’d say that’s a crime against nature. A noose! Not a man who saw those photos will fail to get the willies. Thank God she isn’t running them in the newspaper.”

I had to laugh and it did make me feel better. “Boys and their toys.”

“Very clever,” he said. “Now take a look at this lipstick.”

The bright coral shade was definitely not Tinkie’s. Harold was right about that. “Only a person with olive skin could carry that color.”

“So it isn’t Tinkie’s. I am vindicated! And it was in the front seat and the hairs in the backseat. The story the evidence tells me is that Oscar had a woman with him in the front seat and they abducted Enzo together.” He picked up a magnifying glass a la Sherlock Holmes and faced me, one eye huge and unblinking. “We must find the woman!”

“Brilliant deduction,” I grumbled. “How do you suggest we go about sussing her out?”

“We contact Cece Dee Falcon. If anyone knows this brand and shade of lipstick and who might wear it, it’s Cece.”

“You are smarter than you look, Harold.” I pushed the magnifying glass aside.

“I may take up deducing in my spare time,” he said.

“Heaven save us.” I caught his hand and tugged him toward the roadster. Enzo’s continued absence concerned me. Harold and I couldn’t evade questions for much longer.

Cece’s office in the back of
The Zinnia Dispatch
looked like a mini-nuclear explosion had occurred. She was hidden behind the files stacked on her desktop, but I could hear the tap, tap, tap of the keyboard.

I rattled the bag of cream cheese Danish I’d picked up at the bakery next door. None of us had had time to eat. Cece’s manicured hand slid into the bag and brought forth a pastry. I passed the bag to Harold, who held a tray with three fresh coffees.

“Who wears this lipstick?” I handed the tube to Cece.

“Wildene Jones wears a very similar shade. In fact,” Tinkie pulled open a filing cabinet and lifted a thin file. “Check it out. She had on a dress that shade at the big party for the Italians at The Club.”

In the first photo in the stack, Wildene struck a pose with Enzo. A coral lip outline imprinted his cheek. Wildene’s tinted lips exactly matched her dress and the tube of lipstick Cece now held.

“Wildene and Oscar?” I couldn’t put the two together in my mind, much less his SUV.

“What about Wildene and Oscar?” Cece had a nose for news. “Do tell.”

“Then I’d have to kill you,” I said blithely. “Where is Wildene?”

“Just step out the door and holler ‘Sooie! Sooie! She’s a ho hog if ever I saw one. She’ll come running.”

“You don’t like her, do you?” Harold asked.

“What gave me away?”

I pivoted sharply to hide my laughter. Cece was a pistol and she enjoyed deviling Harold.

“Do you know where she hangs out?” I finally asked. “We need to find her.”

“Try Boopsy’s Boutique. Wildene shops for a living. That’s one of her favorite local places. In fact, it’s the only place she’ll shop in Zinnia. Otherwise she’s in Memphis or New Orleans. There are only a handful of shopping days left, so I’m sure she’s making the cash registers ring on behalf of her clients, who are too worthless to buy their own gifts.”

“Thanks, Cece.” I blew her a kiss and headed out the door before she could grill me about my interest in Wildene. Harold was right on my heels.

We left the car and walked down Main Street. Each storefront sparkled with Christmas scenes, from Victorian carolers to snowmen. I stopped to examine each one. Window dressing was an art form that had passed into history in many small towns. Shoppers no longer strolled the streets, dreaming and fantasizing about the displays so artistically created.  Now everyone drove to malls or shopped on-line. A budding emphasis on pedestrian traffic in Zinnia had brought back the golden era of fantastical window displays.

A cold wind blew out of the north, and I huddled deeper into my un-chic barn jacket. Harold epitomized debonair in his topcoat and fedora. Few men could wear a hat and pull it off. Harold happened to be one of them.

Boopsy’s Boutique catered to the woman, or man, with money and lots of it. Date dresses ran upward of a thousand dollars, and some of the high-end designer frocks touched five figures. The dresses were exquisite, emblazoned with crystals and pearls, complete with jewel-encrusted shoes to match. Needless to say, it wasn’t a place I frequented.

We entered, and a subtle and delicious perfume instantly caught my attention. A saleswoman made a beeline for Harold, completely ignoring me. “Mr. Erkwell, out for some last minute shopping. Surely there are a number of special women on your list.” She shot a sidelong ray of disapproval at me. “And you brought your help to carry the packages. Wise move on your part.”

“Ms. Delaney is my…special friend.” His grin radiated wickedness. “We’d like to see some of your finest lingerie. We have a very athletic evening planned.”

The woman actually put her nose in the air. “Our lingerie section is in the back.”

“Wildene Jones was supposed to pick up some gifts for me,” Harold said. “Have you seen her?”

“She should be here—” The little brass bell at the door jangled. “Now.”

Wildene swept into the shop with two lackeys behind her. “We have at least thirty gifts to retrieve here, then we’re on to Cobblestone for the boots I ordered for Darlena Goodman’s husband.” She took note of Harold, and then me.

“Why, Sarah Booth Delaney,” she said. “I’m surprised you have enough Christmas spirit left to shop, since you were all but dumped at the altar.”

“She’s amazingly resilient…and limber,” Harold said archly. “Wildene, whose naughty list are you topping this year? I saw you at The Club. You charmed the socks off that Italian stud.”

I had to hand it to Harold, he was a smooth operator.

“Enzo was a wonderful diversion, for the afternoon.” She flicked her hand as if he were a troublesome fly. “Haven’t seen him since.”

I took note of her long, dark hair and the coral lipstick that appeared to be her signature. “I thought I saw you and Enzo leave together,” I said sweetly. “He is a handsome devil. How much did you have to pay him for his…time”

“You saw no such thing.” She brushed past me. “I haven’t seen Enzo since the party, and I didn’t leave with him. Why would I?”

“I heard you were fulfilling his shopping list for his wife and children back in Venice.” I smiled. “What did you find for his wife?”

“Earrings,” she said. “Black opals. Enzo loved them.”

“What’s the story with Oscar?” Harold asked. “Did he hire you to shop for Tinkie?”

The slyness of a fox crept into her eyes. “What gave you an idea like that?” she asked. 

“Oh, someone saw the two of you driving around in his SUV, and I assumed it involved Christmas shopping.” Harold picked up a lacy black thong. “This would suit you well, Sarah Booth.”

I almost choked, but was quick enough to cover my reaction. Wildene looked from the panties to me, her lip curling. “Do those come in her size?”

Okay, she wouldn’t talk so pretty through a busted lip.

Harold chuckled. “Wildene, you’ve worked for the stick people too long. A woman with curves is a lush pleasure.” He licked the corner of his mouth, “Surely by now you know what men like. Speaking of which, I have a list, and I’m late selecting gifts this year. Would you have time to do a little shopping for me?”

“Of course.” She almost sniffed the air for the satisfying smell of money. “I charge twenty percent of whatever gift I select. And I don’t return gifts. If you don’t like one, you have to take it back yourself.” She sidled up to Harold. “But I’ve never had a man dislike anything I offered him.”

“I can see why,” Harold replied.

I stepped on the back of his heel, but he ignored me.

“Sarah Booth, would you mind jogging over to Millie’s and putting in an order for a hamburger steak for me, and whatever you want for yourself. I’ll join you there shortly.”

I had no choice but to smile and nod as I shuffled out the door like Step-and-Fetch-It. Harold wanted an empty playing field to tackle Wildene, still, he would pay at a later date.

The café was two blocks down the street. The afternoon lull had struck Millie’s, the magical time between lunch and before the teenagers piled into the café booths after school. I placed Harold’s order and put in my own.

“You only want turnips and cornbread?” Millie asked.

“I crave some properly cooked greens. I know you buy yours fresh from Mr. Hobby.”

“Any sign of Enzo?” Millie asked as she sat down. She clutched a tabloid in her hand. “He’s something of a hell raiser. He was in Miami for a tradeshow and an angry fiancé shot at him and barely missed. Seems like he can’t keep his hands off women, especially those attached to someone else.”

“If he can get the milk free, why not let someone else feed and clothe the cow.” It wasn’t exactly the way Aunt Loulane said it, but I got the point across. “Single women might have expectations. A married woman, or one involved in a relationship, has as much reason to be discreet as Enzo does.”

“He’s not what I would call discreet.” She pushed the tabloid my way.

“Italian Lover Flees For His Life.” The story had an illustration of a mustached man pulling up his pants and fleeing as a bullet whizzed past his head. The story went on to detail Enzo’s conquest of a young woman at a Miami tradeshow. Her fiancé showed up unexpectedly, caught them in the act, and chased a naked Enzo through a hotel lobby and into a cab, where he made a get-away.

“What a cad.” I slid the tabloid back to Millie.

“I heard Oscar showed his ass at The Club.”

Man, the news had spread far and wide about Oscar’s tantrum. This was not good. “He’d been drinking.”

“He’s the president of the bank.”

Millie wasn’t criticizing, she was making the point that every one of her customers had likely made. “Folks drink too much and make a fool of themselves. It happens. By next week, some other holiday misbehavior will push Oscar out of the gossip mill.”

The door opened and sheriff Coleman Peters stepped into the café. He smiled at us and walked over and took a seat. Millie went to get coffee. “I just got a call from Chief Pret Parker over in Shaw. The Italians have filled a missing persons report on Enzo Aceto. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Sarah Booth?”

I bristled. “Me, I didn’t even talk to the creep.”

“You didn’t, but Tinkie did. And Oscar had plenty to say two days ago at The Club.”

Millie returned with a cup of hot coffee and put it in front of Coleman. “Lydia made a coconut crème pie this morning?”

Coleman patted his abs. “I can’t resist that.”

Millie left to retrieve the pie and Coleman leaned down. “After the prank at the Christmas Parade in Shaw, Pret is worried someone may have really harmed Enzo. The Italian hasn’t been seen. And just so you know, there was a witness to Oscar’s shenanigans in Bolivar County. He was wading in Silver Bayou with a gun, shooting at something in the water.”

“He was drunk.”

“Not an excuse,” Coleman said.

Too bad I didn’t have a better one. “Any clue what’s happened to Enzo?” I tried to sound casual. “He’s got half the men in three counties out for his scalp.”

“Pret’s talking to some of the women Enzo was involved with.” Coleman pushed his coffee cup back. “Tinkie’s on the list.”

“That’s ridiculous. She and Enzo were only flirting.”

“And Oscar showed his ass and then was seen floundering in the bayou where a blow-up sex doll, complete with a death threat, later showed up in front of an entire town.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” I had to tell Tinkie, and fast. Harold entered the café and it was the excuse I needed to step to the ladies room for a phone call. Tinkie answered on the first ring.

“Sarah Booth.” She was crying.

“What happened?”

“Oscar thinks he may have harmed Enzo, but he can’t remember clearly. He was very drunk and picked up that awful Wildene Jones. She was angry with Enzo too. Oscar may have had sex with her and then the two of them may have…killed Enzo.”

“I’m on the way.”

“I have to go. Don’t be mad. I have to protect Oscar.” She hung up. When I redialed, there was no answer and the call went straight to voice mail.

Harold rose from his seat at the table as soon as I returned. “Millie’s putting our lunches in to-go boxes,” he said. “I have to get back to the bank.”