Smarty Bones Read Online Free PDF Page A

some gourmet dog treats and donate them to the fund-raiser. I don’t think any dog in its right mind would eat one of these things.”
    Silence was the wisest choice. When the kitchen was tidy again, Tinkie motioned me to follow. “I have an appointment. We can talk while I’m getting dressed.”
    Tinkie was a clotheshorse, and I had total appreciation for her élan and taste. She’d look good in a feed sack, but her closet was filled with the latest fashions. I settled onto an overstuffed burgundy velvet chaise and gave her a chance to ask me the news. I wanted her full attention.
    She shook out her blond curls. “You never come to Hilltop if it’s a case, so this has to be personal. What has you picking your cuticles? You and Graf have a lovers’ spat?”
    I shoved my hands into my pockets. Tinkie had the vision of an eagle. “Graf and I couldn’t be better. It’s something else. It’s not as bad as it may sound at first, but—”
    “Spill it, Sarah Booth, before you give me a coronary.” Tinkie tapped her bare foot on the carpet. “It must be horrible for you to be so afraid to say it.”
    “A university professor is in town doing research on the Lady in Red.”
    “That old grave they found out in a field?” Tinkie opened the closet door. “Whatever for? And more importantly, why is this news? Folks have speculated about the woman in that grave for fifty years and nothing has ever come of it.”
    I wanted to broach the subject with finesse and calm. Those were not my strong suits. The end result was silence.
    “Well, what is it?” Patience exhausted, Tinkie put her hands on her hips. “You look like you’re constipated. Tell me or let me get dressed.”
    “There’s a crazy bitch in town who claims the Lady in Red is a relative of Oscar’s and that she intended to assassinate President Abraham Lincoln. She’s a university professor and she’s come here to prove her theory.”
    Tinkie’s cheeks turned pale, then flushed. I could see her body temperature rising with every passing second. “Who is this person? Surely not someone from Ole Miss. The history professors there have far more breeding than to try to stitch together this ridiculous tale.”
    “No, not Ole Miss.”
    She caught the scent of the story. “Where the hell is she from then, and who is she?”
    “Her name is Olive Twist. She’s a—”
    I got no further. Tinkie burst into her tinkling trademark laughter. “You are pulling my leg, aren’t you? Olive Twist. What is she, a martini garnish?”
    “A toothpick would be more apt. Her parents were Victorian scholars.”
    “Olive Twist. Like the Dickens character, only female.” She caught on fast.
    “Correct. Or so I’ve been told.” One thing about the education we’d received from our literature teacher, Mrs. Nyman—we knew our classics.
    “So she’s from where? Duke? Emory? Vanderbilt?”
    “Camelton College. In Maine. It’s an up-and-coming Ivy League—”
    “I know where it is. But why is someone from there interested in the Lady in Red?” She caught the fabric of the whole quilt. “Oh, I see. She believes one of Oscar’s relatives was mixed up in the assassination of Lincoln. This is a big deal. She can come down here and dig up crap on prominent families and hope she gets enough notoriety out of it to publish a paper or get tenure.”
    “Not just Oscar’s ancestors, but Cece’s, too. And she said something about a bestseller. Her ambitions go beyond academia.” Oscar was the most even-keeled man I knew. Olive Twist wouldn’t get under his skin, because he wasn’t invested in the past. Cece was another matter. Her past was a wound. She lived with it, but I knew how deeply she hurt. “If Twist gets wind of Cece’s background, she is going to have a heyday.”
    Our friend Cece Dee Falcon had once been Cecil. Now he was a she and she was the head of the society pages and the best investigative reporter at the Zinnia Dispatch . When Cece had demanded the