Bones on the Bayou: A Sarah Booth Delaney Mystery Short Story Read Online Free Page A

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    “Who wears this lipstick?” I handed the tube to Cece.
    “Wildene Jones wears a very similar shade. In fact,” Tinkie pulled open a filing cabinet and lifted a thin file. “Check it out. She had on a dress that shade at the big party for the Italians at The Club.”
    In the first photo in the stack, Wildene struck a pose with Enzo. A coral lip outline imprinted his cheek. Wildene’s tinted lips exactly matched her dress and the tube of lipstick Cece now held.
    “Wildene and Oscar?” I couldn’t put the two together in my mind, much less his SUV.
    “What about Wildene and Oscar?” Cece had a nose for news. “Do tell.”
    “Then I’d have to kill you,” I said blithely. “Where is Wildene?”
    “Just step out the door and holler ‘Sooie! Sooie! She’s a ho hog if ever I saw one. She’ll come running.”
    “You don’t like her, do you?” Harold asked.
    “What gave me away?”
    I pivoted sharply to hide my laughter. Cece was a pistol and she enjoyed deviling Harold.
    “Do you know where she hangs out?” I finally asked. “We need to find her.”
    “Try Boopsy’s Boutique. Wildene shops for a living. That’s one of her favorite local places. In fact, it’s the only place she’ll shop in Zinnia. Otherwise she’s in Memphis or New Orleans. There are only a handful of shopping days left, so I’m sure she’s making the cash registers ring on behalf of her clients, who are too worthless to buy their own gifts.”
    “Thanks, Cece.” I blew her a kiss and headed out the door before she could grill me about my interest in Wildene. Harold was right on my heels.
    We left the car and walked down Main Street. Each storefront sparkled with Christmas scenes, from Victorian carolers to snowmen. I stopped to examine each one. Window dressing was an art form that had passed into history in many small towns. Shoppers no longer strolled the streets, dreaming and fantasizing about the displays so artistically created.  Now everyone drove to malls or shopped on-line. A budding emphasis on pedestrian traffic in Zinnia had brought back the golden era of fantastical window displays.
    A cold wind blew out of the north, and I huddled deeper into my un-chic barn jacket. Harold epitomized debonair in his topcoat and fedora. Few men could wear a hat and pull it off. Harold happened to be one of them.
    Boopsy’s Boutique catered to the woman, or man, with money and lots of it. Date dresses ran upward of a thousand dollars, and some of the high-end designer frocks touched five figures. The dresses were exquisite, emblazoned with crystals and pearls, complete with jewel-encrusted shoes to match. Needless to say, it wasn’t a place I frequented.
    We entered, and a subtle and delicious perfume instantly caught my attention. A saleswoman made a beeline for Harold, completely ignoring me. “Mr. Erkwell, out for some last minute shopping. Surely there are a number of special women on your list.” She shot a sidelong ray of disapproval at me. “And you brought your help to carry the packages. Wise move on your part.”
    “Ms. Delaney is my…special friend.” His grin radiated wickedness. “We’d like to see some of your finest lingerie. We have a very athletic evening planned.”
    The woman actually put her nose in the air. “Our lingerie section is in the back.”
    “Wildene Jones was supposed to pick up some gifts for me,” Harold said. “Have you seen her?”
    “She should be here—” The little brass bell at the door jangled. “Now.”
    Wildene swept into the shop with two lackeys behind her. “We have at least thirty gifts to retrieve here, then we’re on to Cobblestone for the boots I ordered for Darlena Goodman’s husband.” She took note of Harold, and then me.
    “Why, Sarah Booth Delaney,” she said. “I’m surprised you have enough Christmas spirit left to shop, since you were all but dumped at the altar.”
    “She’s amazingly resilient…and limber,” Harold said archly.