Bones to Pick (20 page)

I sucked down the last drop of my shake and wadded up Sweetie's clean napkin--she never let a drop of ice cream escape her--and headed to pick up the photos.

The clerk yawned as she bagged everything and handed it over to me. "How's the case coming, Miss Delaney?"

I was surprised that the teenager would recognize me, much less know I was on a case. "It's coming," I replied, with a knowing nod.

She nodded and compressed her lips. "Will these photos help?"

I hadn't seen them yet, but it really didn't matter. "I'm sure they will." I took them and headed into the night.

Sweetie was more interested in the wind in her ears than looking at photos, so we went back to Dahlia House, where I could go into my office with good lighting and privacy to see what I'd netted.

At first I was disappointed. The photos were of Allison and Quentin at a restaurant, then a dress shop, then a florist, all around the Delta. I recognized some of the establishments where they were shopping--ritzy, expensive places. The two women were together in each shot, laughing and looking at each other with obvious love. This was a documentary of their wedding planning trip. When it occurred to me that someone else had taken the photographs, I wondered who. It could have been an employee at each different business, or it could have been someone who was with them, planning the wedding. The photos had elicited another question for me, but they would also be something for Allison to hang on to, once she was cleared.

I put them in my desk drawer and locked it, thinking how fleeting happiness could be. And sometimes what an illusion. Tinkie had me worried. The road to romance was mighty rocky. My heart squeezed as I thought of Coleman. I had to let him go. I had to.

My friends, and Barbara Mandrell, were right. There was no future in loving a married man. Did I love him? I wasn't sure. Love was an emotion that swelled and withdrew. The truth was, I didn't want to plumb the depths of my feelings for Coleman. What good would it do?

Though I expected Jitty to appear and make a comment on my morose attitude, she didn't. Jitty had little tolerance for self-pity and even less for self-inflicted pain. I didn't have to see her to know what she'd be saying, and it was the best advice I could follow.

I headed upstairs for a long bath and the bed, with Sweetie Pie at my side. I'd just made it beneath the quilts when the telephone rang. My first inclination was to ignore it. I was tired, lonely, depressed, and wired from sugar. No one would be calling at eleven o'clock at night unless it was bad news. As unprofessional as it was for a private investigator, I didn't want to hear it.

On the fifth ring, I couldn't stand it and picked up the phone just before the answering machine got it.

"Sarah Booth?" It was Cece's breathless voice.

"What's going on?"

"You'd better get to The Club, quick."

I didn't have ESP, but I knew something serious was wrong with Tinkie. "What's happened?"

"Tinkie is drunk as a lord and on a tear. She slapped Oscar, and he left her there. The manager of The Club tried to contain her, and she slugged him. He's called the police to have her arrested."

I sighed. "I'll go get her."

"I'll meet you there. What's going on with her?"

"It's a story she'll have to tell you," I said as I fumbled for my clothes and began to dress.

15

I was a little too late. When I pulled up at The Club, blue lights were whirling against the front of the exclusive establishment, and Tinkie was sitting in the back of a patrol car. When she looked at me through the window, her eyes wouldn't focus. I'd never seen her drunk before, and it wasn't a pretty sight.

Bernard, the barkeep and an old friend, was talking with Deputy Dewayne Dattilo when I walked up to them.

"She's just upset. Miss Tinkie isn't a problem, and I'm sure Oscar will pay for the damages. Just take her home." Bernard tapped the window and gave Tinkie a thumbs-up.

"She assaulted two women, who say they're going to press charges," Dewayne said. "I called Mr. Richmond, and he hung up on me before I could tell him what was happening. I don't want to take her in, but I don't know what else to do." His face showed no desire to be in the middle of the mess he was in. "When her father hears about this, there's going to be hell to pay for everyone involved. Mr. Bellcase
owns
the bank!"

Tinkie's father was not going to be happy to wake up to a phone call telling him Tinkie was incarcerated for public drunkenness and fighting. "She doesn't have to go to jail. I'll take her home with me. I'll call her father."

He looked at me with relief. "That would be great."

"Once tempers cool, I'm sure Oscar or Mr. Bellcase will pay for any damages." No matter how mad Oscar might be with Tinkie, he would come to his senses and realize his wife should not be in jail. "If you'll tell me who wants to press charges against Tinkie, I'll have a talk with them."

"Me, too," Cece said as she walked up. "I would think most people would prefer to keep this off the society page." She smiled her hungry canine smile. "Give me their names, and I'll explain it to them in a way that makes them understand."

"Suits me," Dewayne said. "
Lot
less paperwork if all of this fades quietly away."

"We'll handle it," I assured him.

He opened the back door of the patrol car and stepped away. And just in time. Tinkie hurled herself out of the car, grabbing at him.

I stepped in front of her. "Tinkie, don't make me call your daddy."

For most women, but especially a Daddy's Girl, the threat of calling Daddy is the biggest switch of all. Tinkie halted in her tracks. She wobbled unsteadily, and I didn't offer a hand. She had to make up her own mind without anyone touching her or trying to coddle her.

"Mind your own business," she slurred, but there was no fire behind her words.

"I'll take you to Dahlia House, and you can sleep it off." I held her weaving gaze. "Or I can call your daddy to come and take you home with him."

She did the best about-face she could manage while tottering and lurched to the roadster and got in the passenger seat. She promptly opened the door and threw up all over the ground.

"At least she had the presence of mind to open the door," Cece said, one hand on her hip. "Now, Dewayne, who are the women pressing charges?"

He rolled his eyes. "Marilyn Jenkins and Lorilee Brewer. It seems Tinkie threw a drink on them." He shook his head wearily. "I wish Coleman was back at work."

I opened my mouth to echo his sentiments, but Cece cut me short.

"Don't worry, Dewayne, everything is under control." Cece gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Remember, get her to drink a Bloody Mary with a raw egg in it. That'll make her feel a whole lot better."

"Or give her salmonella." I had no desire to see the offering of a raw egg returned to me.

"Well, at this point salmonella would feel better than the hangover she's going to have in the morning." Cece turned and sashayed over to her car. "I'm off to visit Marilyn and Lorilee. I intend to catch them before they wash their make-up off and reveal scales. Wish them luck!"

I walked into The Club and found Bernard sweeping up a mountain of broken glass. I didn't want to imagine the scene that had occurred there so recently.

"Bernard, are you okay?"

He nodded. 'Just feelin' bad for Miss Tinkie."

"What happened?"

"It all started when Miss Tinkie and Oscar got in a terrible fight." He stopped sweeping and held the broom. "It was my fault."

That was impossible. "Why do you say that?"

"Miss Tinkie came in and started drinking vodka martinis. After the fourth one, I tried to cut her off, but she started making a scene. So I called her husband to come get her. I should've minded my own business."

"It isn't your fault, Bernard. Tinkie was primed for a fight with Oscar."

"She sure got one. They had it out, and then he left, and those other two women came up and said something smart to Miss Tinkie. She poured her drink on one and grabbed a drink off the bar and tossed it on the other one. Then all hell broke loose."

"If it's any consolation, those women deserved whatever they got."

He still looked down. "I know. They were no-count women. They been in here before, complainin' about everything. After the drink incident, I had to grab one of them and hold her. But that won't make it any easier on Miss Tinkie."

I gave him a hug. "She'll be fine. Please give Mollie my love." His wife was the best seamstress in the state and had created my unforgettable gown for the Black and Orange Ball last Halloween.

"Will do. You take care, and take care of Miss Tinkie."

"I promise."

When I got to the car, Tinkie was, thank goodness, out cold. I left the windows down as I drove through the clear night. The frigid air didn't even make her eyelids flutter. When I got to Dahlia House, I was in the process of dragging her up the steps when I heard someone clear a throat. I turned to find Humphrey sitting in one of the rocking chairs.

"Need some help?" he asked.

"No, I think I'll just leave her out here on the steps." Tinkie was a petite woman, but she was deadweight. I was struggling, and he had to ask if I needed help.

He laughed. "It might be easier to leave her there for several reasons. You can hose the steps down afterward."

"If you're going to sit there and crack wise, you can leave." I lugged her limp body up another step. At the rate I was going, it would be dawn before I got her inside.

He sauntered over. "Allow me." He lifted her in his arms and carried her inside.

"Put her on the sofa," I said, trailing behind.

He did and stepped back. "She smells like a distillery, with a back note of something distinctly unpleasant."

"I know." I got some warm, soapy water and a washcloth from the downstairs bathroom and set about bathing her face. Behind me, I heard the tinkle of ice and the splash of liquor. Humphrey appeared at my elbow with a Jack on the rocks.

"For you. A little hair of the dog that bit her."

I rocked back on my heels and took the drink. Tinkie looked awful, and it was only a prelude to what she was going to feel in the morning. "I should call her husband. And her father."

Humphrey put a hand on my shoulder. "No, you shouldn't."

"Why not?"

"Tinkie is a grown woman. She shouldn't have to report to any man. Not her father or her husband. Secondly, you can't patch up her marriage, no matter how much you may want to, Sarah Booth. If Tinkie wants to see her husband, she'll have to call him. The hardest lesson in being a parent or a friend is to step back and let folks learn the lessons they need to learn."

I was amazed. "How much money did all that knowledge cost you?"

"I haven't been in therapy. I learned this from personal experience." Humphrey perched on the arm of the sofa. He took an ice cube from his glass and held it to Tinkie's lips. "My parents rushed to get me out of every fix I got into. If they'd left me alone, I would have had to grow up."

"Tinkie is grown." I watched with fascination as he ministered to Tinkie. She'd actually parted her lips to accept the ice.

"If you truly believe she's grown, then you trust her to choose what's right for her."

I closed my eyes and sipped my drink. He was right, damn him. "Okay."

"Let's go out on the porch and talk."

I followed him out into the night. The sky was a dull black velvet sprinkled with the winkings of a million stars. I stood near the balustrade and felt his arms circle me. He pulled me back into his chest and wrapped his arms around me.

"You're shivering."

"It's thirty-something degrees."

"Are you sure it's not anticipation?"

I smiled. Humphrey had the ego of the accomplished lover. "It's not anticipation. I'm exhausted. And worried. And longing for something that can't be."

"And honest. Maybe too honest." He held me close. "You're more than a conquest, Sarah Booth. You might be the woman who makes me grow up."

Staring into the night, I felt only sadness. "I'd stay a child if I were you. It's a far better gig than being a grownup."

He laughed, and the touch of his warm breath near my ear made me realize how lonely I was. I stepped from his arms and turned to face him. "Thank you for your help tonight."

"I'm being dismissed." In the soft moonlight, his face showed no anger.

I touched his cheek. "I need a friend. And you've been that."

"How about we skip the serious relationship and go straight for the kinky sex?"

I kissed his cheek. "I'll call you tomorrow."

He went down the steps. "I'm not giving up. I know there's something in my bag of tricks that will turn you on."

I blew him a kiss and walked into the house and the very unladylike snoring of my partner.

"Oh, God, I'm dying!"

I put the water in the coffeepot and ignored Tinkie's howling. She had come to at about six o'clock, with a roiling stomach and her head pounding against an anvil. She'd refused the glass of water and buttered toast I'd offered her. In another few moments she'd be on her knees in the bathroom.