Greedy Bones Part 32

He wouldn't come with me. He had legal standards to uphold; I had blood in my eye. It was a testament to the bonds of friends.h.i.+p that Tinkie, Cece, Coleman, and Doc made no effort to halt me.

Graf pushed me down the hallway until we came to an open door. Oscar shuffled forward. He looked like h.e.l.l, but he was on his own feet.

"Thank you, Sarah Booth." His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "I've thought all morning what to say to you. The only thing I've come up with is 'thank you.' "

"Not necessary, Oscar." Seeing him standing was enough for me. "Thank Doc. He's the one who figured it out."

He motioned down the hallway. "Regina and Luann went home and Gordon is next door. You should say h.e.l.lo to him. Looks like the worst is over. Fidellas and Kessler are under arrest . . ." His voice drifted into silence.

"Tinkie loves you more than you'll ever know," I told him.

"And the same applies to you." He s.h.i.+fted from foot to foot before he stepped forward and patted Graf's shoulder. "Take good care of her, Graf, she's a rare breed."

"I plan to do just that." Graf set the chair in motion but I waved him to a halt at Gordon's room. Now that Gordon was able to speak, he might be able to resolve one tiny part of the mystery. Graf tapped at the door and we entered.

The deputy was propped up on pillows in the bed. He looked like warmed over h.e.l.l, but he greeted me with a wave.

"Gordon, do you remember when Lana Carlisle died?" I asked.

"It's funny. I can count on my hands the number of times I ever saw my father commit an act of kindness. That was one. I was out of the house by then, but I remember one night he was talking about it on the front porch."

"How do you mean an act of kindness?"

"Lana Carlisle had cancer. Ovarian. She was facing a long, difficult death. She got her ducks in order and killed herself. She fell down the stairs so it would look like an accident. She didn't want her kids to have to live with a suicide."

Of all the explanations, I'd never have guessed. But it made sense, in a strange way. Her visits back to West Point, the purchase of a cemetery plot. For years she'd yearned for her home, and once she knew she was dying, she made the arrangements to see that she would rest there for eternity.

"And Gregory?"

"The way he cheated on Lana, no one would've believed his love for her. In his own way, though, he did. That was one screwed-up family, no doubt about it. I remember the talk that Gregory had killed Lana or that Luther had killed them both, but I think in the end, Gregory took his own life."

If Gordon hadn't been comatose, he could have resolved at least this element, and perhaps I wouldn't have been so willing to believe that Luther was one of the primary criminals. As it stood, both Luther and Erin were p.a.w.ns in a dangerous game.

Luther's greed had been his undoing and had nearly cost him his sister's life.

"Thank you, Gordon."

"I'm the one who owes you thanks, Sarah Booth. Especially you, but Tinkie, too. I'm glad you're home. Zinnia isn't the same without you."

His words moved me, but before I let my softer side take over, there was something I needed to finish. Graf maneuvered me out of the room and we traveled in silence down to Room 312. He halted the chair at the door. "Sarah Booth, I'll take care of this."

"I have to do this myself." I awkwardly pushed myself out of the chair. My arm throbbed, a ba.s.s note complimented by the tremolo of my other injuries. I didn't have a gun or a bat, but I'd work with what I could find.

"I'll be right outside the door."

"Keep everyone else out." I pushed open the door and stepped into the room where Peyton lay in bed, both arms conveniently handcuffed to the bed railing. I closed the door.

"I don't have anything to say to you." His tone was so cheerful, I fought the rage that washed over me. Three people were dead. Oscar, Gordon and two realtors had almost died. I'd suffered a personal loss he'd never understand.

"Talking isn't what I had in mind." I kept my voice as dead calm as a cotton field in August. I moved up beside the bed. "I want you to clearly understand how much I want to hurt you. I have this fantasy of you screaming."

The first doubt flickered across his face. "Where's the sheriff?"

"In another wing of the hospital. He's detained. Like Doc and the nursing staff and everyone else. For all practical purposes, it's just the two of us, Peyton."

He looked out the window and I walked around the bed and closed the blinds. The hospital wasn't totally modernized, and an old air-conditioning unit cranked out cool air. I flipped it to high so the fan rattled loudly.

When I faced him again, he wasn't so self-a.s.sured.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

I accepted then that I didn't know. I'd followed my gut need to come here and hurt him, but my taste for blood had waned. Hurting Peyton wouldn't undo anything. It wouldn't even give me satisfaction. What really mattered was that my friends and fiance stood behind me if that's what it took to help me heal. That was the important thing to remember. I started toward the door.

"Defeated so easily?" he asked.

I gave him one last look. "No, actually, victorious. I'm not capable of the things I ought to do. And in the long run, that's the real victory."

I left the door open as I settled into the wheelchair that Graf held. His arms came around me and the stubble of his beard tickled my cheek. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you couldn't hurt him."

"Yeah, me too." But I felt as if I'd fallen deep into a hole with no ladder to climb out.

Graf spoke softly in my ear. "He'll spend the rest of his life in prison. He'll suffer more there than with any physical harm you could deal him."

Graf's confidence was the sunlight at the top of the hole. I turned my face up to it and closed my eyes, hoping that it would be enough.

Dahlia House settled around me. I crept out of bed and with Sweetie Pie as my companion walked across the dew-soaked gra.s.s to the pasture where Reveler and Miss Sc.r.a.piron grazed.

The night was soft and drenched in the sadness of wisteria. Inside, Graf slept. We'd talked until the early morning hours, and he'd held me while I cried. Now, I was alone with the past and the sense of loss that was as familiar as my own reflection.

A clear soprano cut the night sky. "Ah, sweet mystery of life, at last I've found thee; ah, I know at last the secret of it all." Jitty came across the yard in a beautiful gown.

I leaned against the fence railing and enjoyed the spectacle. I'd never known that Jitty had an operatic voice, but then she was quite the chameleon.

When she finished the Victor Herbert lyrics, I applauded gently. "The version I remember is Madeline Kahn in Young Frankenstein."

"That would be the thing you remembered," she sniffed. "Try Jeanette MacDonald in a little movie called Sweethearts."

Jitty did resemble the chestnut-haired songbird. Still, I wasn't certain how opera had become part of my evening.

I waved a hand toward Dahlia House. "Graf is exhausted."

"He won't hear me. No one hears me but you, Missy. And even you don't listen."

"I've had sort of a rough day," I warned her. "I don't mind a musical serenade, but I don't want a lecture." To be honest, I'd dreaded confronting Jitty. She was the only person who could fully appreciate what had happened, and she would be as wounded as I was. That was an additional burden of grief I simply couldn't shoulder.

"Take a walk," she said.

Jitty was p.r.o.ne to strolling through the dewy gra.s.s in ball gowns, wigs, and gla.s.s slippers, so I fell into step beside her. I wasn't surprised when she aimed toward the family cemetery. Somehow, I'd known this night would end there.

The old wrought-iron gate creaked as I swung it open. My parents lay buried in the center of the plot, side by side, their tombstones plain. When they'd died, the fas.h.i.+on for grave markers had been simplicity. All of the details for their burial had fallen on Aunt Loulane, a woman overwhelmed with a grieving twelve-year-old.

"I should replace these stones," I said. "Something more representative of--"

"They serve a purpose."

I couldn't argue with that. "I like the older ones, the flutes and angels and ivy columns. They tell something about the person."

Jitty, with a columned stone topped with ivy, a lute, and an angel, was buried beside my great-great-grandmother Alice. Friends in life, survivors of the nation's most tragic war, they'd been laid to rest side-by-side as the partners they'd been.

"Why are we here?" I asked.

"This is just a place, Sarah Booth."

"That's where you're wrong," I told her. "This is a destiny."

Her laugh was soft and warm. "Your mama would shake you 'til your teeth rattled for such foolishness."

At last, she made me smile. "Death and taxes--the only certainties."

"There's this moment. There's this land and these dogs and those horses. And that man asleep in your bed in that house."

"And in a next few seconds, it could all disappear." I ran my hand across the top of the smooth stone on my mother's grave. I would have a new one done. One that symbolized who my parents were. And Aunt Loulane, too. She'd gone for the simplistic approach when she'd preordered her own marker.

"Would you really want to know when it will end?" Jitty asked. "Madame Tomeeka gets a glimpse sometimes, but she doesn't know. And even that is TMI." She held up a hand like a sa.s.sy character in a TV commercial. "You don't want to know the time line of your life."

"I had everything. For a couple of months . . ."

Awareness dawned in Jitty's eyes. "I see now what ails you. Once before in your life, you had ever'thing. You had it all, love and safety and joy. Then your parents died, and you lost it. Since then, you've been tryin' to pull all of that back into your life. Then you had it again, until that Peyton Fidellas took it. But Doc says you're fine and healthy. No lingerin' ill effects. It's all still there, Sarah Booth."

"And what do I do to protect it?"

"The gettin' and the havin' are two very different positions to hold." She nodded. "Requires a different skill-set."

I sighed. She'd hit the nail on the head. "So what do I do? Every decision I make in the future could be the one that destroys it. Like when I decided to go with Peyton . . ."

"Self-doubt isn't the bed partner you want." Jitty's face had gone stern. "You took every precaution. You did your job to help Oscar. Ain't no profit in beatin' yourself up for the actions of a vile man."

She was right. Jitty was most often right. But the doubt still gnawed at me. "If I'd only--"

The live oak that shaded the cemetery whipped in a sudden wind. The branches rattled, throwing wild moon shadows over the tombs. "You keep that up and you'll surely lose everything." Jitty was stern. "I came out here to make a point." She held up a hand and took an operatic stance, her pure voice floating on the night. "All the longing, striving, seeking, waiting, yearning . . ." She stopped and walked closer to me, her gown and hair a pale s.h.i.+mmer in the moonlight. "For 'tis love, and love alone, the world is seeking," she sang on. And then she spoke. "'Tis the answer, Sarah Booth. Now get in that house and stoke the fires of love. Because of you, Tinkie has a man to hug up on. Because of you, she has the life she almost lost."

I felt the wetness on my cheeks, but I wasn't crying. The pain was simply leaking out. "Thank you, Jitty. I'd expected you to be angry with me. I mean, you've waited so long for a Delaney heir."

She shook her head and indicated we should amble homeward. "I hate to see you suffer, Sarah Booth. But I have faith. In you and in the future."

I realized that she'd grown transparent. I could see Dahlia House through her beautiful gown. "Don't leave," I requested.

"Oh, you don't want me around." Her chuckle was soft and slightly wicked.

"What?"

And then I heard Graf calling me. He came out the back door, a flashlight in his hand. "Sarah Booth!"

"I'm here," I answered. My feet skimmed the wet gra.s.s as I moved from a walk to a jog. The jarring sent shock waves up my arm and ribs, but Graf flicked on the back door light and I could see him, silhouetted against the house that I'd grown up in and loved. Sweetie ran forward, baying a greeting.

"I woke up and you were gone. What are you doing outside?" He came down the steps and softly brushed my hair from my face.

I'd worried him, and it was good to be the focus of his concern. "I couldn't sleep. I went out to the cemetery."

His arm came gently around me. "Come inside, Sarah Booth. I'll make you some cocoa laced with a little Kahlua." His body was warm against mine. "Remember when you were little and your parents read you to sleep. I'll read that script Federico sent to you."

I nodded, taking comfort from his strength. "That sounds like a plan."

ALSO BY CAROLYN HAINES.

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