Coleman leaned over to me. “You aren’t in this alone.”
“I know that. It’s what worries me the most.”
He kissed the back of my hand. “Why don’t you call Jaytee and let him know that Cece will likely be home tomorrow. I’ve kept him updated, but I’m sure he’d like to hear it from you that she’s fine.”
“Good idea.” Coleman always remembered the things that slipped past me. I reached into my back jeans pocket for my phone to find it gone. Then I remembered it was waterlogged. “Can I borrow yours?”
“It’s in the truck. I’ll get it for you.”
“No.” I pushed him back into his seat. “The trunk is around the corner, not fifty yards from here. I can walk over there and get it. I need to move and I need a moment to myself.”
“Bring some more snacks,” he said. “That Donna knows how to put together a good nosh. I’ll bet she and Harold could roll out some finger foods at a party.”
“No doubt.” I kissed his lips lightly, just a promise of what was to come as I left to find his phone. “Make our excuses and meet me in my room,” I whispered.
“I’ll give you ten minutes, then I’m coming after you.” There was an edge to his voice that sent a blaze of heat through me.
I took off at a trot so I would have enough time to answer all of Jaytee’s questions and still meet Coleman within the time frame. I’d just rounded the corner of the inn when I stopped in my tracks. A beautiful woman was reaching up to pick an apple from a laden tree. A naked woman. Both the woman and the apple tree had magically appeared. She seemed to have no sense of her nakedness. She was childlike in her innocence.
“Who are you?” I asked, realizing as the words left my mouth that I should have known better. It had to be Jitty. She was the only haint who could appear in such magnificent beauty in the middle of a garden where anyone, at any moment, could walk around the corner and see her.
“Do you believe knowledge should be forbidden?” she asked.
I wasn’t going to get caught in this trap. “Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t. Humans do a lot of terrible things with knowledge, like building atomic weapons and learning how to maim and kill vast numbers of people. We’d be better without that knowledge.”
“Is that your answer?” she asked. Her fingertips caressed the apple, and I knew who Jitty was portraying. Eve. According to the good book, her desire for knowledge was what got her and Adam booted out of the Garden of Eden.
“No. Because science has also cured a lot of diseases and given sick people a chance to stay alive.”
“Is that your answer?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t have an answer. It would be marvelous to be innocent all of our days, wouldn’t it?” I thought back to the years when my world was so much easier to navigate. Right and wrong were simple. No shades of gray. No struggling to pick the least bad path. Life had an order and a purpose back then that I’d somehow lost.
“Ignorance is bliss,” Jitty said. From somewhere she’d gotten some fig leaves to cover her nakedness. How she kept them in place I couldn’t say. And I wasn’t going to ask. She wouldn’t tell me anyway. “You don’t have any responsibility to choose good over evil if you’re ignorant.”
I was seeing more and more benefits to the innocent aspect.
She sighed and the last vestiges of the biblical Eve slipped away, leaving full-bore Jitty. “If you were so innocent, you wouldn’t have a smokin’ man waiting for you in a big comfy bed.”
“Oh.” She had a point. Truly innocent meant no sexual pleasures.
Jitty grinned wickedly. “‘Oh.’ Is that all you can say?”
“I can say goodbye. Goodbye.” I tried to brush past her but she called my name.
“You’re just here to torment me, Jitty. I’m tired. Coleman is waiting on me. I would have thought you’d be pushing me in a wheelbarrow to that bedroom.”
“Life isn’t fair, Sarah Booth.”
There was such sadness in her voice that I faced her and inhaled. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Yet.”
“Please, just tell me.”
“I can’t.”
This was old ground. We’d covered it a thousand times since I’d come home to Dahlia House to find my ancestral home haunted by Jitty. “We’ve solved the case. Hans is arrested. Cece is okay. Tinkie is pregnant and while we’re driving home, we’ll talk about religions and belief systems, magic and ghosts—all the things she wants to either tell or hide from her baby when it comes.”
“Tinkie is a traditionalist. She’ll go with Episcopal.”
I couldn’t help smiling. Jitty was dead-on. That was the church Tinkie had been raised in, and that’s where her little bundle of joy would also go. But Tinkie would be sure to expose her baby to all the wonders of the great teachers of other religions, too. This baby would have choices. And choice was all about knowledge. I had my answer for Jitty. “Reach up and grab that apple and take a bite,” I said. “We can’t make good choices without knowledge, and losing our innocence is the price of knowledge.”
Jitty pulled one apple and the tree vanished. Still, she held the fruit in her hand. “Are you sure?”
“Positively.”
“Better get that phone. I’ll wait right here for you.”
That was weird. Jitty generally disappeared with a pop and a sizzle. Now she was lingering. Frowning, I went to the truck and opened the passenger door. His phone must have come out of his pocket when I was jammed up against him. The memory made me realize I was ready for some full-body contact sports.
I saw the phone and reached for it and a note fluttered onto the floorboard. Curious, I picked it up.
The note read: It’s not over, Sarah Booth. Not by a long shot.
I looked over to see Jitty waiting for me with a worried expression. She’d seen Gertrude slip up here. It wasn’t over. It wouldn’t be over until either I was dead or Gertrude was locked away. That knowledge sank into me all the way to the bone.
I folded the note and put it in my pocket and made the quick call to Jaytee, who was in between sets at Playin’ the Bones. His joy at Cece’s safety and return home was the real deal.
When I looked back at Jitty, she was gone. A single apple sat on the side of the fountain, which had replaced the apple tree. When I walked by, I picked up the apple, polished it on my shirt, and took a big bite. I could handle the truth. And I would handle Gertrude Strom. Coleman would help me.
At the thought of Coleman waiting for me, I picked up my pace until I was running over the gravel and up the stairs. I didn’t stop until I was in the bedroom. Coleman was under the covers in bed. “I choose you,” I said to him.
I stepped out of my clothes and slid up against him.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I am.” I could tell him about the note tomorrow. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Not as glad as I am! Let me show you.”
I reached over and turned out the light.
Acknowledgments
When I was in grammar school in Lucedale, Mississippi, the Easter trip to Palestine Gardens (formerly Palestinian Gardens) was one of the high points of the year. On Good Friday, my class would take a school bus to the western edge of the county where we would tour the miniature Holy Land created by a Presbyterian minister with a love of history and geography. As Reverend Harvell Jackson led the tour, Bible stories came to life.
Following the tour, we’d have an Easter egg hunt in the open fields and woods around the gardens. Our classroom mothers provided the dyed eggs, candy, and prizes. While we toured the miniature Holy Land, they would be busy hiding eggs. Following the egg hunt, there would be sandwiches or burgers and ice cream—another treat provided by the classroom mothers. It was a day of adventure, learning, and fun. It is one of my favorite and most carefree memories.
While the miniature Holy Land in my fictional story is based on the real place, none of the events portrayed in the book ever hap
pened. To my knowledge, a dead body has never been found among the holy cities.
Reverend Jackson and his wife began creating the miniature Holy Land in 1960 and gave year-round tours to anyone who stopped and showed an interest. There was never a charge. You could donate if you wished to support the project. As the years passed, the cities and towns of the Middle East sprang to life, the project growing and covering more land.
Reverend Jackson retired and sold the gardens to Don Bradley and his wife, who now manage the property and give tours, still maintaining and building on. If you’re ever in the area, it’s just off Highway 98 west of Lucedale. And if you’d like to look into it, here’s an article from Atlas Obscura: www.atlasobscura.com/places/palestine-gardens.
So many things go into writing a book—not just the writing but the sharing of ideas and thoughts, the editing, the typesetting, and the cover design. So many people work hard, not just the writer. I want to thank Jennifer Haines Williamson, Diana Hobby, Gloria Howard, Susan Y. Tanner, and Don Bradley, who helped me recapture the wonder of these magical gardens.
Many thanks to my terrific “team” at St. Martin’s: Hannah Braaten, Nettie Finn, Lisa Davis, and John Morrone. Thanks also go to the art department’s David Rotstein. A special thank-you to my agent, Marian Young.
As always, a thank-you to the wonderful readers and booksellers.
Another Sarah Booth adventure comes to a close, but there are more cases to be solved. Hope to see you in the future for the next Bones puzzle to solve.
ALSO BY CAROLYN HAINES
SARAH BOOTH DELANEY MYSTERIES
Game of Bones
A Gift of Bones
Charmed Bones
Sticks and Bones
Rock-a-Bye Bones
Bone to Be Wild
Booty Bones
Smarty Bones
Bonefire of the Vanities
Bones of a Feather
Bone Appetit
Greedy Bones
Wishbones
Ham Bones
Bones to Pick
Hallowed Bones
Crossed Bones
Splintered Bones
Buried Bones
Them Bones
NOVELS
A Visitation of Angels
The Specter of Seduction
The House of Memory
The Book of Beloved
Familiar Trouble
Revenant
Fever Moon
Penumbra
Judas Burning
Touched
Summer of the Redeemers
Summer of Fear
The Darkling
The Seeker
About the Author
Carolyn Haines is the USA Today bestselling author of the Sarah Booth Delaney mystery series and a number of other books in mystery and crime, including the Pluto’s Snitch paranormal-historical mystery series and Trouble, the Black Cat Detective romantic suspense books. She is the recipient of the Harper Lee Award for Distinguished Writing, the Richard Wright Award for Literary Excellence, and the Mississippi Writers Guild Lifetime Achievement Award. She is a former journalist, bartender, photographer, farmhand, and college professor, and lives on a farm where she works with rescue cats, dogs, and horses. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Acknowledgments
Also by Carolyn Haines
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
First published in the United States by Minotaur Books, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group
THE DEVIL’S BONES. Copyright © 2020 by Carolyn Haines. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein
Cover illustration by Hiro Kimura
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Names: Haines, Carolyn, author.
Title: The devil’s bones / Carolyn Haines.
Description: First edition. | New York: Minotaur Books, 2020. | Series: A Sarah Booth Delaney mystery; 21
Identifiers: LCCN 2020006759 | ISBN 9781250257864 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781250257857 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Delaney, Sarah Booth (Fictitious character)—Fiction. | Women private investigators—Mississippi—Fiction. | Murder—Investigation—Fiction. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3558.A329 D49 2020 | DDC 813/.54—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020006759
eISBN 9781250257857
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First Edition: May 2020