Greedy Bones Read Online Free PDF Page A

growth--flashed past the window of my roadster as I drove Tinkie to Hilltop, the estate she shared with Oscar. She held Chablis in her arms, and Sweetie lounged in the backseat, occasionally slurping at Tinkie's cheek with a long tongue. As it turned out, it hadn't been too difficult to get Tinkie out of the hospital. Once they wheeled Oscar away for tests, the spell broke. Tinkie nearly collapsed.
    "I'll take a shower and change. Then you'll drive me back, right?"
    "Absolutely." I intended to drug her with one of my sleeping pills and see that she got some rest. Doc had okayed my plan and promised he'd call me once Oscar was returned to the isolation ward. While Tinkie slept, Iwould sit vigil at the hospital window. Tinkie desperately needed a break. Cece said she'd stayed awake all night.
    "You won't trick me, will you, Sarah Booth?" Her blue eyes held trust.
    "Nope." I'd never expected to use my acting skills in this manner.
    "I think he's a little better, don't you?"
    "We'll know more after the tests."
    She stroked Chablis and looked out the window at a land as familiar as her own face. A rare pecan grove, the new leaves so bright, they were almost painful, flashed by us. "Where are we?"
    "Nearly home," I said gently. She'd lost all bearings, geographical and emotional. Hilltop was visible in the distance.
    "If Oscar dies--"
    "Tinkie, don't even go there." She was breaking my heart. I thought Coleman had done sufficient damage that the old ticker was impervious to serious hurt. Tinkie had found a new place to crack.
    "No, listen. If he dies, I want you to promise you'll go back to Hollywood and resume your career. I don't want you hanging around Zinnia because you're worried about me."
    "I hadn't given it a thought."
    She confronted me. "Liar."
    It was all I had to give her. "Only for my best friend." At the front door Sweetie Pie and Chablis bounded out of the car, running around the house and exploring as if they'd been gone for half a century.
    Even Tinkie's footsteps, usually so perky and authoritative, were subdued. She shuffled into the house and then into the bathroom while I brewed some coffee andwhipped up her favorite breakfast, made from an old family recipe. Tinkie's maid had kept the house well stocked while she was out of town.
    I crept upstairs until I heard the shower, then I crushed the sleeping pill in the batter for the French toast. By the time she came downstairs, a towel wrapped around her hair, I had breakfast ready.
    I handed her a cup of coffee. She smiled and traded it for the one I was drinking out of. Tinkie was exhausted but she wasn't stupid. Of course, I was foxier than doping her coffee.
    Ten minutes after she'd eaten, the drug kicked in. She had time for one accusatory look before I tumbled her onto the living room sofa, made a bed for Chablis beside her, and left Sweetie Pie to guard them both.
    Tinkie would be out for at least eight hours, but I had only until Doc called to say Oscar was going back to the isolation ward. While I might drug my friend, I wouldn't leave her husband without a champion.
    Happy Trails trailer park was ten minutes from the hospital down a narrow private road that in my childhood had been dirt. Now it was paved. What ever I'd anticipated with a name like Happy Trails, the place was neatly located under budding pin oaks. Oleanders bloomed in profusion around a flagstone patio that held a huge barbecue pit. Trailers and lots were neatly maintained. There was a goofy golf course, a swimming pool, and what looked to be a common area for gathering and parties. I felt transported back to the 1940s.
    A tall, slender man with sharp gray eyes, a straight, aristocratic nose, and thinning hair came out to meet me. Luther Carlisle. I had no high school memories of him.
    "Can I help you?" he asked, pleasantly enough.
    I introduced myself. When I told him I was a friend ofTinkie and Oscar's, he nodded, inviting me into the trailer that served as his office.
    "That's a