Carolyn Haines - Wishbones

“Tinkie, that was a close one.” It made me feel better to talk to her, even if she was unconscious.

“Could you carry me to another place? These rocks are uncomfortable.”

“Tinkie!” I knelt down beside her and helped her into a sitting position. “I thought you were knocked out.”

“I was, for a bit. I came to while you were carrying me. I’m glad I didn’t have to try to lift you.”

“Good point.” I sat down beside her so we could lean against each other. “I’d be willing to bet ten thousand dollars that someone damaged the brake line on the car. Probably a small puncture so the brake fluid leaked out slowly.”

Tinkie was feeling her face to see how much damage had been inflicted. She ignored my bet, which told me she agreed with my deductions.

“You don’t think Graf has been abducted, do you? You think he’s involved.” I spoke softly.

She hesitated. “I think he could be. He left you that message luring you up to the house when he wasn’t there. Sarah Booth, he wasn’t at the house and he hasn’t been. That was a setup. And we know there were at least two people involved in all of this.”

She was right. I couldn’t argue it if I wanted to, but I also couldn’t believe Graf would do such a thing. “But why, Tinkie? Why would Graf do it?”

“I can think of a few reasons, but so can you if you put your mind to it.”

Greed, sex, revenge, lust, envy-always the same basic motivators when it came to murder. None of them looked good on the man I’d grown to care about. And none of them truly fit him, either.

We heard the sound of a siren in the distance. Sound travels a long way in the clear mountain air, so we knew we still had a bit to wait. “You’re overlooking the possibility that Graf might be another victim,” I said.

“No, I’m not, Sarah Booth. I just don’t want to think what may have happened to him if Jovan got to him first.”

Tinkie’s dark words hung in the sky as the red lights of the ambulance strobed around the hairpin curve that could have killed us.

To my utter amazement, Sheriff King showed up as the paramedics were giving us both a nearly clean bill of health. While we were banged and bruised, we weren’t seriously injured. King had heard the call and come to check on us. I was even more stunned when he sent a deputy to sit with Sweetie and Chablis because Tinkie refused to do anything until we knew the dogs were safe.

The tow truck pulled the totaled Cadillac away, and King gave Tinkie and me a ride down the mountain to the movie lot. He was quiet, but the look on his face made me anxious. I was used to snappish, not pensive. The fact that he was nice scared me.

As we rode to the studio, dawn brightened the sky. Funny, but the weather in California was seasonless-paradise by anyone’s measure-but I found it annoying. The last winter at Dahlia House had been lonely and on some mornings bitterly cold. The summers were often unbearable. But weather marked the passage of time in a rhythm that was familiar.

We were almost to the studio when King began to talk. “I have some information on the situation,” he said. “I’ve got men at the studio, and I just talked with one of my captains. We believe Jovan is holed up on a sound stage with hostages.”

“Hostages? Plural?” My voice broke.

He cast me a quick glance. “Two or more. We can’t be sure. We’ve got surveillance equipment trained on the building, but the visibility isn’t great.”

“Are the hostages alive?”

He rubbed his chin. “As far as we can tell. But I’m not going to kid you, this is a bad situation.”

“Has anyone tried to talk to her?” Tinkie asked.

“A hostage negotiator called and she said if we called again, she’d kill the people she’s holding. And I believe she will. She’s coming unraveled fast.”

As I watched the sun come up on one of the most beautiful places I’d ever been, I was paralyzed by dread. The car seemed to crawl forward, and while Tinkie asked questions, I couldn’t make out any of the words.

I felt her hand on my shoulder, and I squeezed her fingers to let her know I appreciated all she was doing. Graf was okay. I had to believe that. Somehow he’d gotten caught up in this mess, but there was no reason for Jovan to kill him.

Except that she’d killed Suzy Dutton and almost killed Estelle, not to mention taking a swipe at me and Tinkie. Homicidal maniacs didn’t need a reason.

As we turned into the studio lot, I saw the patrol cars, a line of eight, waiting for the sheriff. Snipers with high-powered rifles stood talking beside the cars. This was serious business, and while Grady King was calm, he was prepared for anything.

“Graf is okay, Sarah Booth.” Tinkie spoke with the confidence of a friend. “Feel it? He’s fine. Don’t worry.”

“Sure,” I said, though I felt only the sensation of dropping into a void.

King stopped and we got out. He talked with several of the SWAT team members, then came back to us.

“It’s like this. We can see one man we believe to be Marquez tied in a chair. There’s no sign of the second man. We can see Jovan pacing back and forth, talking to the man in the chair. We’ve used the bullhorn to alert her that we’re law enforcement and that she should surrender. She’s not inclined to listen.”

“What’s your plan?” I asked.

“We can’t get a clear shot on her. We need someone to try to talk to her. She won’t answer her cell phone.”

“I’ll go talk to her,” I said. I had to get to Graf and make sure he was alive.

King assessed me. “You’d risk your life?”

“Yes.” I didn’t want to. I had a pretty good life. If something happened to me without producing the Delaney heir that Jitty kept hounding me about, I’d never hear the end of it. Jitty would haunt me in the afterlife just as she did now.

“No!” Tinkie stepped forward. “Let me do it. She has reason to hate Sarah Booth because of the movie. I’m not involved with any of it. She may listen to me.”

“She whacked you on the head and kicked Chablis,” I reminded her. “You’re as vulnerable as I am. And you look like a raccoon. She won’t talk to you.”

The bruises from the wreck had already begun to settle around Tinkie’s eyes. She did look remarkably like the masked bandit of the animal world.

“She’ll be a lot more receptive to me,” Tinkie insisted.

“Ladies.” King held up a hand. “I’ve never seen two civilians argue for the chance to get shot.”

“You’ve never met a true Mississippi gal,” Tinkie said.

“And hope never to again,” King said under his breath. He looked at me and then Tinkie. “She’s going in.” He pointed at Tinkie. “Get her a vest and as much protection as we can,” he said to one of the men, who led Tinkie away to make a Kevlar selection.

“You can’t let her risk herself,” I told him. “She has a husband and friends who love her.”

He only arched an eyebrow. “All we need is for her to get the door open. She’s short and if we have to, we can take the shot right over her head.”

The idea was awful. But I could see from King’s and Tinkie’s faces that they were going full ahead. “I’ve got to find a toilet,” I said. “I’m going to be sick.”

“That way,” a young deputy pointed.

Vomit was such an effective threat. They were only too glad that I was ambulatory and could clean myself up. I slipped away without anyone giving me a second thought.

The sound stage looked to me like a huge warehouse with metal doors that slid on runners. Inside, there were different sets and climate-controlled conditions. I had no idea which set Jovan might be occupying with her prisoners, but I would find out.