Bones to Pick (12 page)

Since Humphrey had brought it up, I decided to dive in. "Yes, and I've also heard that you were interested in marrying Quentin because she was due to be an heiress."

He leaned back against the horsehair sofa. "That's true. My parents had settled on Quentin as my bride-to-be. I didn't object. She was a beautiful woman."

I couldn't tell what he was feeling. "But Quentin wasn't interested in marrying you."

"My little sister grabbed the brass ring." He shrugged. "What difference did it make? The money would be in the family."

"It truly made no difference?"

"Not to me. Once Quentin and Al hooked up, it took the pressure off me. Quentin was certain to remain unmarried until she gained the inheritance. Once she grew tired of Al, I was prepared to step in and pay court to her."

"You would have married Quentin without loving her?"

"You are naive." He finished his drink. "Name me one marriage that isn't based more on economic need than romance."

"Tinkie and Oscar." I said it without thinking.

"The question to ask is, would either of them be happy married to a pauper?"

I
didn't know. They were perfect for each other because they came from the same background, shared the same values. "In your quest for financial stability, have you considered a profession?"

He laughed out loud. "Very cutting, my dear. Actually, I have an MBA in business. Unfortunately, it doesn't do any good if I don't have a business to manage."

"So why are you leaving questionable gifts for me?" I asked. "I have nothing to offer in the way of financial security."

He rose in a graceful motion. When he stood in front of me, he held his hand out. I accepted it, and he lifted me to my feet. "You have fire, Sarah Booth."

"Not exactly a marketable quality."

"But one that intrigues me."

"I hear a lot of women intrigue you."

He touched my cheek. "Someone has been listening to dirty gossip." He leaned closer so that his breath ruffled the curls beside my ear. "I do like my games, Sarah Booth, and I think you like them, too."

He gently hooked his thumb beneath my jaw and tilted my face so that we looked at each other. "Tell me you don't."

It was a dare, a challenge. "You're . . . interesting," I admitted, stepping away from him.

He chuckled. "You're too honest for your own good."

"Perhaps." I freshened my drink and made him another. "You're a handsome man, Humphrey. There aren't many women alive who don't enjoy the attentions of a handsome man."

"I'm good in bed." He took the drink, his fingers brushing mine.

"You're also too modest."

My sarcasm only made him laugh. "Why did you come back to Zinnia, Sarah Booth? You could have stayed in
New York
. You could have married well and had the perfect life."

I was surprised to discover that I wanted to answer him honestly. "This is my home. This is where I belong."

"That kind of attitude will only get you into trouble."

Beneath his glib remark, I saw a flicker of something. 'You love Tatum's Corner, don't you?" I saw I'd hit my mark.

"I have fond memories of the town. It's dying, you know. We need jobs and industry. We--" He realized how passionate he sounded. "I didn't realize I brought my soapbox inside with me. I apologize."

"Quentin's money would have come in handy."

He nodded. "Yes, it would. But that's a moot issue."

"Who will inherit?" I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. "If the death certificate reads that she died after she turned twenty-five, then I presume she has a will."

"You don't know for certain?" I found that hard to believe.

"Okay, she has a will, but no one knows the terms."

"No one?"

He finished his drink. 'You're a born schemer, aren't you? The will is to be read Thursday morning, but enough about money. I'm going to further shock polite society by skipping the wake tonight. Why don't we step out for dinner?"

I wasn't a fool. Humphrey was in town because of the will. I wondered what he hoped to gain, and if the help he'd extended to Allison was a bid for managing her money, should she inherit. "If I go to dinner with you, I'm not changing clothes."

"Heaven forbid that you should make an effort on a man's behalf," he said as he crooked his arm for me to take. "I'll take you somewhere dark and low class. It'll be
a
perfect evening for you."

9

I had to wonder about my baser motives as I let Humphrey Tatum drive me through the brisk November night. My partner was working a wake, and I was going to dinner with a man who touted his kinkiness. Somewhere, my life had gone terribly awry.

Humphrey pulled into the parking lot of Playin' the Bones, a nightclub run by an old client of mine.

"This is high class, not low," I said. Patrons of the blues club might show up in jeans and work boots, but it still reeked of class. The music was hot, and the barbecue, which was smoked out back on an open pit, was tart. It fit my mood perfectly.

"I understand you know the owners," he said, grasping my wrist to prevent me from getting out of the car. "Please, Sarah Booth, give me a chance to be the gentleman."

He walked around, opened my door, and helped me out. "Thank you, Humphrey." I did a royal curtsey. "I just don't know how I could have managed to open that heavy ole door all by myself. A big, strong man like you"--I squeezed his bicep for good effect--"well, you just make me glad I'm a helpless little woman."

His laughter was rich. "When you were in
New York
, they obviously failed to offer you the role of Betsy Iron Magnolia. What a shame."

I was surprised that he knew about my former client list as well as my failed acting career. Humphrey had done his homework, which told me his romantic maneuvers were calculated.

Inside the club, we found a table against the back wall. He ordered our drinks, naming my preference without asking. Once the drinks arrived, he ordered our dinners. My job, apparently, was to sit still and be quiet.

"I took Quentin out once," he said. "She was insulted by the way I ordered for her."

"It is insulting." I sipped my drink.

"Did I get it wrong?"

"It's not about the menu. I'm not a mute; I can speak for myself."

"But"--he stopped himself--"the world is changing."

He looked so lost that I felt a twinge of sympathy for him. He'd been raised to inhabit a world that no longer existed. For the second time that evening, I thought of Ashley Wilkes and his attempts to hold together his family heritage. He'd loved Scarlett, yet he'd married Melanie. That choice had destroyed both of them.

"What will become of Tatum's Corner if Allison doesn't inherit, or if she's sent to prison?"

"I'll marry well."

"That simple?"

"For me, it is." He finished his drink and signaled the waiter for another one. Percy Sledge was playing on the juke box, and I couldn't help but contrast the lyrics of his classic song "When a Man Loves a Woman" with the reality that Humphrey faced.

"How old are you, Humphrey?"

"Thirty-nine." He tipped the waitress a ten. He might be on the edge of financial ruin, but he was going down as a man who knew how to live well. "My birthday is December fifth. I'll be forty."

"And Allison is twenty-five?"

"Yes. Her birthday was last April." He swallowed half his drink and signaled for another. Though he showed none of the affects, he was drinking hard. "Allison was still in diapers when I went to
Livingston
Academy
in
Richmond
,
Virginia
. She was in fifth grade by the time I returned to Tatum's Corner. We never had a chance to be close."

"Were you ever friends?"

"No." He rattled the ice in his glass. "Allison stayed in her room. She read a lot. She wanted to be a writer."

That was news. "Yet Quentin wrote the book."

"My parents ignored Allison. I was the apple of their eye, and there was no room for her. Whenever she told them about her dreams, they were amused. I remember one Thanksgiving dinner when she wanted to read a poem aloud. They shushed her." He leaned toward me. "They literally shushed her. I don't think she ever said another word about writing. If they'd ever taken the time to encourage her, things would be a lot different."

The waitress brought his drink and our food just as a lone guitarist walked onto the stage and strummed his guitar. The club gradually quieted. The young man adjusted the mike, shifting from foot to foot as he did so.

"Hi, folks. I'm Adam Sinclair. I'm glad to be here at Ida Mae's club. I have some exciting news. I just signed a record contract with Bristol Studios."

He waited for the applause to die down. "I owe this to Rutherford Clark." He pointed to a table at the front of the stage where a balding man sat surrounded by three beautiful young women and thousands of dollars worth of silicon. "Stand up,
Rutherford
," Adam said.

The balding man beamed a smile around the club as he stood to applause. The young women at his table all but hung on his arms.

The singer spoke again. "Mr. Clark heard my songs, and he made some phone calls. He got me this chance, and this first song is for him." He sat back on the stool that had been provided for him and began to play.

"Sarah Booth, what's wrong?" Humphrey asked.

I was staring at Rutherford Clark, husband of Umbria McGee. The man who was supposed to be in
Russia
. Instead of attending his sister-in-law's wake,
Rutherford
was in a blues club with a bevy of buxom women.

"Do you know Rutherford Clark?" I asked.

"We've met before." He made a mock-surprise face. 'You're shocked that he's here instead of at the wake."

'Yes," I said. "Quentin was his sister-in-law. I would think he'd be with his wife."

"Have you met
Umbria
?"

"Not yet, but what's that--"

"Wait until you meet her. As every good warrior knows, never face the dragon head on."

"Is she that bad?"

"Only if you're sober, and
Rutherford
has found that the McGee money is adequate compensation." He nodded toward the girls. "They don't last long, but there's always a new one to take the empty place. I think Rutherford must go to
Memphis
to pick them out."

"And
Umbria
? Does she have her little flings?"

"What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, or so the saying goes."

'You wouldn't happen to have any names of the men she sees, would you?"

"I can supply you with a list if you're really interested." He studied me without a qualm.

"I am interested. Very." My gaze rested on
Rutherford
. He sipped champagne from the blonde's glass while one brunette fed him pieces of barbecue she tore into bite-sized chunks. I provided that kind of service only for my hound.

"
Rutherford
better enjoy it while he can," Humphrey said.

"Why is that?"

"Once the family accepts the time of death, and Quentin is posthumously crowned heir apparent to the McGee fortunes, I have a funny feeling his life will change dramatically."

All the more reason for him to want Quentin dead before her birthday, I thought. It was another lead to investigate. We'd finished our barbecue, and I rose from the table. "Will you excuse me?"

"Headed for trouble, I see. I'll pay the tab just in case we need to leave in a hurry."

I walked over to
Rutherford
's table. He ordered another bottle of bubbly and ignored me. "Mr. Clark," I said.

"Who are you?" He was annoyed by my interruption. "Can't you see someone is singing?"

I introduced myself and leaned down. "How was
Russia
?"

"You're that private investigator," he accused. "What do you want?" He took another bite of barbecue.

"Where were you on Sunday night?" I asked. "Don't bother with the whole Russian lie. It won't take me any time to check the airports."

"He was with me," the blonde said. She laced her arm through his. "We had a wonderful time. What's it to you?"

"And your name?" I asked, pulling a notebook from the back pocket of my jeans.

"
Brittany
Spears." She didn't bat an eye.

"Very amusing, but you're a little long in the tooth to pretend to be
Brittany
."