Free Hallowed Bones by Carolyn Haines

was just there."
    "Did you walk over here?" I asked, looking around for her car.
    "I sure did. I got up this morning feeling fit as a fiddle." She smiled. "I'm going to drive into town and see about buying some material. I got the urge to sew again."
    "Really?" I couldn't hide my excitement. "I was going to ask if you could make me a gown for the Black and Orange Ball in New Orleans Halloween night, but I wanted to make sure your hands were feeling okay."
    "My hands are--" Mollie held them out, the fingers straight and lovely. She flexed them. "My fingers are just fine. Better than fine." She grasped my hands with hers. "Doreen held my hands, Sarah Booth. She held them tight and she prayed over them. When she let go, the arthritis was gone."
    8
    Throughout the night, I'd dreamed of ball gowns, pumpkin carriages, and a fairy godmother who looked exactly like Mollie. Anticipation woke me. By
six o'clock
Monday morning, I was dressed, packed, and eager for all the pleasures
New Orleans
promised.
    Tinkie and I chose to drive south on Highway 61 and we rolled onto
Louisiana
soil not too far from Angola Penitentiary. The river formed the fourth boundary of the huge prison farm, and local lore had it that not a single inmate had ever been able to swim across to freedom. Those who tried had been sucked down by the powerful current.
    We stopped in St. Francisville for breakfast, Tinkie still complaining that I made her leave her Cadillac and ride with me in the roadster.
    "Oscar's coming down in a day or two. He can bring your car,"
    I pointed out as I parked beneath the shade of a huge live oak laced with Spanish moss.
    "I hate being without wheels." She got out of the car and stretched. An eighteen-wheeler that was passing the small cafe let out a blast on its air horn. The driver shrilled a wolf whistle at Tinkie. She was in a far better mood when we sat down at a small Formica table and placed our order for eggs and bacon.
    I'd already filled her in on the case files I'd read and Doreen's unholy trinity of lovers, and over breakfast I told her about Mollie's hands. As amazing as the story seemed to be, I wasn't prepared for the slightly breathless, glazed look on Tinkie's face.
    "Doreen is a healer," Tinkie said in a voice soft with wonder. "She really is. I sensed something about her."
    "I don't know, Tinkie." I'd seen the evidence, but overnight I'd had plenty of time to think of other explanations.
    "How can you not know, Sarah Booth? Mollie's hands were terrible. She had to give up sewing and she loved doing that. One doesn't give up the thing one loves because it hurts a little."
    "You're beginning to sound like Cece with the royal 'ones.' "
    "You have no faith, Sarah Booth." She was stricken by her own assessment. She put her fork down on her plate. "You don't believe in miracles at all."
    "Guilty as charged." I tried another bite of egg, but my appetite was gone, too. "And I don't believe in Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. So sue me."
    But Tinkie wasn't in a litigating mood. She was, instead, sad. "Maybe that's why Doreen has come into your life," she said, "to teach you to have faith."
    I picked up the ticket and pushed back my chair. I wasn't in the mood to be the recipient of someone else's charity, especially in the faith department. "I'm perfectly fine just as I am."
    "I'll get the tip," Tinkie said, effectively ending the discussion in a way that made me suspicious. Tinkie never dropped a debate so easily. "What are we doing first when we get to
New Orleans
?"
    "Checking in with the NOPD and seeing if Doreen has made bond. Then we need to interview the men she's been seeing. Do you have a preference?"
    "Yes," Tinkie said sweetly. "You talk to all of them. I'll go through the financial records. Oscar said the baby was too young to have an insurance policy, so that's not a motive. But there might be a monetary reason someone wanted to frame Doreen and get her out of the way. Some kind of financial impropriety.