Free Smarty Bones by Carolyn Haines Page B
Authors: Carolyn Haines
she’d failed. The last words she’d spoken to her brother included the phrases “rot in hell” and “too dead for backtalk.” If they clashed, I didn’t trust Jeremiah not to hurt her.
“Do you know where Jeremiah might be?”
“Jeremiah doesn’t socialize much, but I heard Buford was holding court in the bar at The Gardens. If Jeremiah is with Buford Richmond, they’ll be knocking back the whiskey. The two egg each other on. Normally, Jeremiah is standoffish and aloof, but he’s changed lately. Buford, too. I can’t put my finger on it, but I don’t like it. I hope Oscar hasn’t gone there to try and talk sense into Buford. That’s a waste of breath.”
Testosterone and liquor were never a good combination. Especially not when mixed with rampant ignorance, a sense of superiority and entitlement, and guns. Buford had an arsenal, including illegal automatic weapons. Everyone in town knew Jeremiah carried a derringer in his boot. A boot he didn’t have enough sense to pour piss out of when he was in his cups.
“I’ll go to Cece’s and then work my way to The Gardens.” I would rather take a beating than return to Gertrude’s den, but Cece was my friend. Jeremiah and Buford were both crazy enough to shoot her if she got in their faces.
“I’m sorry, Sarah Booth, I can’t go with you. I have to find Oscar.”
“No apologies, Tinkie. If I run across him, I’ll call.”
* * *
Harold was waiting at Cece’s when I pulled into the drive. “She’s not here,” he said. “I peeped in every window. She isn’t home.”
“The Gardens.”
“Okay.” He knew my history with Gertrude. A wicked smile lit his face as he petted Sweetie in the backseat of my car. “Can I bring Roscoe? He’s here with me.”
Roscoe was a demon with four legs. That his vet file labeled him “canine” didn’t mean a thing. A DNA test would prove he was a descendant of Beelzebub. “Sure.” If I could give Gertrude Strom a stroke by taking Sweetie, it wouldn’t hurt to have Roscoe along, too. “Maybe Roscoe will pee on Gertrude’s foot. I don’t know why she hates me so much. It’s almost as if she thinks I’ve plotted against her.”
“I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it, Sarah Booth.” Harold held the car door open for Roscoe, who flew across the porch making a noise somewhere between grumbling and snorting. He was a vile little customer.
The dogs loved my old roadster convertible, and we set out for The Gardens just as the sun slipped behind the tree line. When I turned into the lane, shaded by beautiful oaks and brilliant with blossoming shrubs and beds of flowers, I had to stop the car and take it in. The peachy light of sunset saturated the golds, russets, and purples of the mums. As we idled in the drive, shadows overtook the day.
“I love dusk,” Harold said. “The soil seems to absorb the sun’s light. The day is over; the night begins.”
“I love it, too, but it’s a sad time for me.” I couldn’t say exactly why, but the day’s ending brought the past closer. As light slipped from the sky, memories took on the texture of reality. Many of my remembrances were sad, moments lost in time. “I prefer sunrise. New potential.”
“When the night is burned away by the golden orb. You’ve had enough shadows in your life, Sarah Booth. You deserve to bask in the sun.” Harold patted my shoulder. “You’re a good friend. We don’t tell you often enough.”
“As are you. I’m blessed with good friends.” I pressed gently on the gas and put the car in motion. “Gertrude will be angry about the dogs.”
“Gertrude is angry at you no matter what you do. Want me to ask her why she has such a burn-on for you?”
I laughed as we found a parking spot. “Nope.” I turned to the backseat. “Sweetie, Roscoe, stay in the car.” Sweetie sometimes obeyed, but I had no expectations for Roscoe except trouble.
“There’s Cece’s car,” Harold said. “And the ancient Jaguar
“Do you know where Jeremiah might be?”
“Jeremiah doesn’t socialize much, but I heard Buford was holding court in the bar at The Gardens. If Jeremiah is with Buford Richmond, they’ll be knocking back the whiskey. The two egg each other on. Normally, Jeremiah is standoffish and aloof, but he’s changed lately. Buford, too. I can’t put my finger on it, but I don’t like it. I hope Oscar hasn’t gone there to try and talk sense into Buford. That’s a waste of breath.”
Testosterone and liquor were never a good combination. Especially not when mixed with rampant ignorance, a sense of superiority and entitlement, and guns. Buford had an arsenal, including illegal automatic weapons. Everyone in town knew Jeremiah carried a derringer in his boot. A boot he didn’t have enough sense to pour piss out of when he was in his cups.
“I’ll go to Cece’s and then work my way to The Gardens.” I would rather take a beating than return to Gertrude’s den, but Cece was my friend. Jeremiah and Buford were both crazy enough to shoot her if she got in their faces.
“I’m sorry, Sarah Booth, I can’t go with you. I have to find Oscar.”
“No apologies, Tinkie. If I run across him, I’ll call.”
* * *
Harold was waiting at Cece’s when I pulled into the drive. “She’s not here,” he said. “I peeped in every window. She isn’t home.”
“The Gardens.”
“Okay.” He knew my history with Gertrude. A wicked smile lit his face as he petted Sweetie in the backseat of my car. “Can I bring Roscoe? He’s here with me.”
Roscoe was a demon with four legs. That his vet file labeled him “canine” didn’t mean a thing. A DNA test would prove he was a descendant of Beelzebub. “Sure.” If I could give Gertrude Strom a stroke by taking Sweetie, it wouldn’t hurt to have Roscoe along, too. “Maybe Roscoe will pee on Gertrude’s foot. I don’t know why she hates me so much. It’s almost as if she thinks I’ve plotted against her.”
“I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it, Sarah Booth.” Harold held the car door open for Roscoe, who flew across the porch making a noise somewhere between grumbling and snorting. He was a vile little customer.
The dogs loved my old roadster convertible, and we set out for The Gardens just as the sun slipped behind the tree line. When I turned into the lane, shaded by beautiful oaks and brilliant with blossoming shrubs and beds of flowers, I had to stop the car and take it in. The peachy light of sunset saturated the golds, russets, and purples of the mums. As we idled in the drive, shadows overtook the day.
“I love dusk,” Harold said. “The soil seems to absorb the sun’s light. The day is over; the night begins.”
“I love it, too, but it’s a sad time for me.” I couldn’t say exactly why, but the day’s ending brought the past closer. As light slipped from the sky, memories took on the texture of reality. Many of my remembrances were sad, moments lost in time. “I prefer sunrise. New potential.”
“When the night is burned away by the golden orb. You’ve had enough shadows in your life, Sarah Booth. You deserve to bask in the sun.” Harold patted my shoulder. “You’re a good friend. We don’t tell you often enough.”
“As are you. I’m blessed with good friends.” I pressed gently on the gas and put the car in motion. “Gertrude will be angry about the dogs.”
“Gertrude is angry at you no matter what you do. Want me to ask her why she has such a burn-on for you?”
I laughed as we found a parking spot. “Nope.” I turned to the backseat. “Sweetie, Roscoe, stay in the car.” Sweetie sometimes obeyed, but I had no expectations for Roscoe except trouble.
“There’s Cece’s car,” Harold said. “And the ancient Jaguar