Bones to Pick (13 page)

She stood up, her chest heaving in indignation. "You bitch!" She swung hard, but she was slow. I ducked and the force of her swing tipped her off balance. She fell across the table, sending champagne flying.

"Catfight! Catfight!" The cry echoed throughout the club. Before I could do anything, one of the brunettes jumped on me. She was tugging my hair and trying to bite my ears as I stumbled into the stage. The singer stopped, putting aside his guitar so that he could jump into the middle of it.

I felt the screeching brunette pulled off my back, and Leo, Ida Mae's bouncer, appeared at my elbow.

"Ida Mae told me to get you outside," he whispered just before he bodily lifted me and carried me toward the door. Behind me I could hear the sound of chairs being smashed, fists thunking into flesh, and loud cursing.

As we slipped through the door, we passed two women coming in. They wore the Carrington uniform and carried themselves with the attitude of proper debs. They disappeared inside as Leo set me on my feet.

"You were just about to get your ass whipped, Miss Delaney," Leo said. "Don't you know better?"

"I didn't start it." I was already laying the groundwork for my defense. "That blond bimbo jumped me."

Humphrey sallied out the door, his face wide in a grin. "Sarah Booth, I didn't realize you were a woman of so many talents. That was one helluva bar fight you started."

"I didn't start it," I protested.

"I doubt Rutherford Clark will ever forget you. The last I saw of him, he was calling his lawyer. I think he may sue you. Leo, Ida Mae needs your services inside."

The bouncer went back in, and I sat down on the bumper of a pickup and put my face in my hands. My ears were ringing. My head throbbed. I felt Humphrey's hand on my elbow as he lifted me to my feet. Before I knew it, I was seated in his car and riding through the night toward Dahlia House.

To my surprise, Humphrey left the motor running when he helped me out of the car and walked me to the door. "I'll give you a call tomorrow." He kissed my cheek and walked across the porch. On the top step, he turned. 'You may think I'm shallow and a game player, but just understand, Sarah Booth, I like my opponents worthy and prepared to play. I'll
see you again when you're at your best."

I watched as he roared down the driveway, beneath the bare white limbs of the sycamores, and turned onto the main road.

"I'd like to see that one in knee breeches and a codpiece."

Jitty had joined me on the porch. I didn't have a ready answer, because I was conflicted where Humphrey was concerned. Just when I thought he was too shallow to hold rainwater, he surprised me. "What do you make of Humphrey?" I asked.

"He's a gentleman out of time."

She was right, dang her. "What are his motivations in hiring me to help his sister?"

She opened a fan and whipped it rapidly in front of her face even though I was freezing. "If Allison inherits, he needs to be in her good favor. If she doesn't, he can appear to be the loyal brother. It's a good place to be, whichever way it plays out."

Jitty was the ultimate pragmatist. "You find Humphrey insincere?"

"No." She slapped her fan closed in her palm. She'd added a beauty mark to the corner of her mouth. "The fate of his home rests in his hands." She pointed the fan at me. "Much like Dahlia House rests on you." Her lips lifted just a fraction. "I remember when you stole Chablis."

She could have hit me in the head with an axe and not delivered such an effective blow. In my life I'd done things I wasn't proud of, but stealing Tinkie's dog was the worst. I sat on the steps, ignoring the icy bite of the wood on my butt. "I did a terrible thing."

She sat beside me, her skirts rustling in the night like the whisper of dying leaves. "You saved your home."

"I stole my friend's dog."

"Life isn't simple, Sarah Booth."

"I should tell Tinkie what I did."

She shook her head. "Never. You owe it to her to keep that information to yourself. That's part of the bargain of friendship. Tinkie looks up to you. That's your penance." She stood up. "Sorry to rush off, but I've got a date."

'Jitty--" But it was too late. She was gone. Evaporating after a zinger was her specialty.

I sat alone on the steps, thinking about the past. I might want to clear my conscience by telling Tinkie the truth, but Jitty was right. I owed it to Tinkie to keep my mouth shut. There was nothing for it but to get to bed and face the prospects of Quentin McGee's funeral service the next morning.

Tinkie was waiting in the parking lot of Rideout Funeral Home, wearing a perfect navy "uniform" and a frown. "I tried to call you three times last night, and you didn't answer." She didn't tap her toe at me, but she wanted to.

"I was having dinner with Humphrey."

Her entire demeanor changed. "That's great, Sarah Booth. And to think I was afraid you were holed up in bed, pining for Coleman." She looked me over from head to toe. 'You look perfect. So where did you and Humphrey go?"

I told her about my dinner date and my run-in with
Rutherford
and his chicks.

"A bar fight!" She was about to give her Daddy's Girl squeal when I grasped her arm.

"I didn't start it."

"Sure." She rolled her eyes. "While I'm working the case, you're going out to dinner with Harold and then Humphrey, and you're starting bar fights. Let's see. I got to stand beside a spray of roses while wearing sensible shoes. Someone is getting the best end of this case."

"Tinkie!" I was shamed. "I apologize. I--"

Her laugh was mischievous. "I'm only pulling your leg, Sarah Booth. I learned a lot at the wake.
Umbria
was there all night, lurking in the back of the room. There was no family receiving line." She adjusted her veil. "There wasn't even a picture of Quentin. It was like a bad cocktail party where all the guests hate each other. I hear Gordon is allowing Allison to attend the service."

Tinkie steered me up the steps. The service was going to be in the chapel of the funeral home. A man in a dark suit with a boutonniere opened the door, and the scent of carnations floated out on air conditioning. Tinkie steadied my elbow as we walked in together and found a seat at the back of the chapel.

"Virgie's picking up the cost of the funeral. The McGees refused to pay for the cremation or the burial," Tinkie whispered.

"She told you that?"

"No, I overheard her talking with the funeral director. The body was finally released last night. He had to take it to
Memphis
for the cremation, and Virgie was writing him a check."

Tinkie had become very good at eavesdropping. I nudged her shoulder. "What else?"

Tinkie didn't get a chance to answer. A gaggle of gray-suited women came down the center aisle. Their heads were covered, and their faces hidden by veils. To a woman, they were wonderfully groomed, physically fit, and elegantly coiffed. Even if my mother had sent me to the
Carrington
School
for Well-Bred Ladies, I would never have been able to live up to the standard of dress. As I sat on the bench, I had a sudden urge to snatch off my panty hose and throw them.

"Look." Tinkie nodded toward the front of the chapel.

Allison, escorted by Gordon, entered the chapel from a side door. To my surprise, she wore a carnelian red suit with matching lipstick. She took her place on the first pew, the one reserved for family.

"
Umbria
is going to love this," Tinkie said. "All last night she was spewing vitriol about how Allison corrupted Quentin and virtually forced her to write the book."

There was a commotion behind us, and everyone swiveled to watch Umbria McGee stalk through the church, headed straight for Allison.

"Get out of here,"
Umbria
said, pointing at Allison. 'You killed my sister. You have no right to be here! Get out!" She made a lunge for Allison, her fingers curled into claws.

Deputy Dewayne Dattilo materialized. He made an effort to detain
Umbria
by stepping in front of her, but when she resisted, he simply picked her up and carried her, squawking like a hen, out of the chapel.

As the doors closed behind them, I could still hear
Umbria
's angry remarks, but I couldn't tell if they were directed at Dewayne or Allison.

The chapel doors opened again, and all heads swung around. At this point, Elvis could have walked in and no one would have been surprised. The striking figure of Humphrey Tatum strode down the center aisle to a few low murmurs of feminine approval. He stopped beside the pew where Tinkie and I sat.

"Sarah Booth," he said, reaching for my hand and kissing it. "Thank you for supporting my sister." He released my hand and walked to the front pew to sit beside Allison.

"My, my, my," Tinkie whispered. "Don't look now, Sarah Booth, but two-thirds of the women in this room would like to cut off your head. The other third would like to find out what you did to charm Humphrey." She leaned a little closer. "What, exactly, did you do?"

"Check out the altar," I whispered, pointing to the front of the chapel.

10

Virgie Carrington took center stage in front of a spray of red roses and calla lilies. It was the only stand of flowers in the small chapel, jammed with dozens of women in the prerequisite Carrington suit, hat, and veil. A few men, including Harold, were also in attendance. Tinkie and I moved up about midway in the chapel. The one thing I noticed was that not a single person shed a tear. The Carrington class of 1999 was in attendance, but no one was mourning the passing of Quentin McGee.

We took our seats just as Virgie Carrington stepped forward. A buzz emanated from the vicinity of two women I'd seen the night before at Playin' the Bones. I poked Tinkie in the ribs. "Who are they?"

She tilted her lips up and beckoned me to lean close. 'That's Lorilee Brewer and Marilyn Jenkins. Honestly, you'd think they could can the whispering for the length of a funeral."

I couldn't understand any of what was being said, but it had the angry tone of hornets, and the two women were intent on what they were saying.

From the front of the chapel came Virgie's sharp voice.

"This is a funeral service, not an opportunity for gossip." Silence as heavy as a shroud fell over the chapel. "Quentin McGee was the most talented student I ever taught." Her gaze seemed to rest on each of the women in the chapel, measuring them and finding them wanting.

"With one exception," she continued. Her gaze focused on the front row. "Allison Tatum."

Several people gasped. Propriety warred with curiosity until, at last, I swiveled around to look. Everyone in the audience was surprised by Virgie's statement. Marilyn and Lorilee were whispering again. Only Allison failed to show any emotion. She sat rigidly beside her brother, looking neither left nor right.

Virgie's tone had grown gentle. "Allison truly has the talent to write. She has the heart and imagination to create a novel, yet it was Quentin who published a book. That is an irony bitter beyond belief. The only thing I have to add is that Allison is no killer. Certainly not of the person she loved above even her talent."

No one moved as Virgie talked. The chapel was so still that when the air conditioner kicked on, the sound was disruptive.

Virgie looked over the crowd. "At first, I would have said that Quentin and Allison made an unlikely pair. But as I came to know them, I saw the love they shared."

A whisper moved around the chapel. The only indication that Virgie heard was the tightening of her mouth. "It will surprise some of my Carrington girls to realize that I had agreed for Allison and Quentin to be married at the school. Neither of their families would allow the ceremony to be held at their homes. In fact, the families requested that the wedding be moved from their towns. So I offered the school. I saw the love these two women shared, and I wanted to help them celebrate it. The wedding date had been set for December twenty-first, only a few short weeks away. Now, instead of celebrating a union, we're here to grieve a passing. The joyful plans that Allison and Quentin made are ashes."

She stepped out from behind the podium. "Allison is left alone, accused of murdering the companion she intended to spend the rest of her life with."

Virgie walked slowly across the front of the chapel. She seemed to study her next words. "Quentin was a woman who made enemies more easily than friends. I've known her since she was a young girl. When she was ten or so, she'd occasionally come to the school to visit her sister,
Umbria
. Her parents were hoping that some of
Umbria
's social skills and ambitions would rub off on Quentin." She shook her head. "Never were two sisters more opposite."

Virgie's hand went up to touch the triple strand of pearls at her neck. "Quentin was a neatnik." Her fingers clutched the pearls. "It has always been one of my tenets that an ordered house reflects an ordered mind, but Quentin was more than ordered. She was compulsively neat. Once when she came to spend the weekend with
Umbria
at the school,
Umbria
went through her suitcase and didn't put things back in order. I thought Quentin was going to have a conniption on the spot." The memory made Virgie smile. "Quentin was a stellar student. She had a photographic memory. She loved sports, especially riding horses. She was kind and generous to those who treated her with kindness and generosity. She was a champion of the underdog to the point that she often aligned herself against authority. Any authority. And more than once I found her taking the leftover food from the Carrington kitchens to the homeless on the streets of
Memphis
. These are things few people know about her. She never needed public approval, or acclaim, for her deeds."