Free Ham Bones by Carolyn Haines

in the
school wanted to be my sweetheart. Compared to that, my
memories of Art Appreciation dim a bit." She batted eyelashes an inch long. "I guess being unpopular, you have
completely different memories."
    Tinkie's smile had something feline in it. "I know what
you mean, Booter. When I heard the entire Ole Miss football team, including the B string, bragging about shaking
your pom-poms, why, I just realized what a wallflower I
was with only the president of the Greek system for my
homecoming date. How I survived without having my
name and phone number on the boys' bathroom walls, I'll
never know."
    Tinkie selected the plumpest olive from Booter's salad
and popped it into her mouth. "I adore Greek salads,
don't you?" She took my elbow and steered me to the
back table where Cece and Millie were waiting. I'd called
a pow-wow of the smartest women in the state of Mississippi. During the sleepless night, I'd determined to fight
back.
    "Sarah Booth, could I have your autograph?" Cece
held out a paper napkin. Beside her, Millie laughed out
loud.
    "Don't look so glum, Sarah Booth." Millie whipped
out the National Enquirer. She was an avid fan of that rag
and the Star. "Look! You're a bona fide star! You're on the
cover!"
    Indeed I was, in a clinch with Graf taken when we were
onstage. Even though I knew it was a play, I was trans fixed by the way we stared at each other. It was downright
passionate-filled with love and longing and hate.
     
    "You're going to be a big star!" Millie got up and went
to the counter for two more coffee cups and the pot.
"Jimbo in the kitchen is fixing you up a piece of fresh
apple pie, a la mode. My treat"
    My gaze had just found the headline above my picture,
which read, "Graf and old flame suspected of murder."
Below that was a picture of Renata taken several years
earlier. "Star dies of poisoning" was the headline for her
photo. I almost missed the tiny picture of the shaggy red
dog, but the headline caught my eye. "Giblet the Miracle
Dog tells why Renata Trovaioli needed to die!"
    Great, the dog was giving interviews. I turned to the
page listed. Whatever the dog was saying expressed the
sentiments of his owner. As far as I knew, no one had seriously looked at Kristine Rolofson as a possible killer.
And God knows she had a motive. She'd devoted her life
to making Renata pay for the hit-and-run of Giblet.
    "I've already read that," Millie said. "It was awful. Little Giblet was trotting down the street. He went every
morning to the deli and picked up coffee and a Danish for
his owner, Kristine."
    "I know you three are crazy about dogs, but really!"
Cece wasn't pulled in by the canine-interest story. "How
did the dog pay for the coffee and Danish? I've been to
New York, and I never saw a deli owner putting up with
that."
    Millie rolled her eyes. "Kristine had an account at
the deli. She paid by the month or week or whatever!"
She turned back to me. "The little dog had just picked
up the sack with the coffee and Danish and was headed
back to Kristine's apartment when Renata came flying
down the street going at least ninety miles an hour."
     
    "There was a witness who clocked her speed?" Cece
shook her head. "Sounds like-"
    "Kristine herself was sitting on the steps of her building waiting on Giblet. But she wasn't the only one. Another person saw Renata. She got the license plate of the
car and actually reported it, but the police wouldn't do a
thing because Giblet was only a dog"
    "Only a dog," I repeated.
    "At any rate, Kristine saw the accident and was able to
get Giblet to the vet immediately. After extensive surgery
and much pain and suffering, Giblet was saved. When the
police wouldn't prosecute, Kristine went directly to Renata. The only thing she wanted was an apology. Renata
slammed the door in her face!"
    Tinkie had been silently following the conversation.
Her brow furrowed as she spoke. "There's no doubt Renata was a heartless bitch.