Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [96]
There was the sound of snapping fingers, and I saw the most beautiful blond woman perched on the hood of Tinkie’s car as we drove along Franklin Street. She wore a flowing gown with layers and layers of beautiful teal material that came together in a drop-dead V, centered with a bodacious diamond brooch. The neckline plunged to an inch above her navel. Full breasts peaked dangerously at the edge of the material, swaying as if they meant to spring free at any moment.
I couldn’t say anything. Tinkie drove as if the woman weren’t there. And she wasn’t—except in my head. I was on the receiving end of another visitation for my haint.
“I’m a wonderful housekeeper, Sarah Booth,” the blonde said. “Every time I divorce, I keep the house.” Her laughter tinkled inside the car like little drops of joy. Jitty was on another rampage. The woman she emulated was iconic and familiar, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on her.
“Who are you today?” I didn’t have to speak aloud. In fact, if I talked with Jitty, Tinkie would think I’d lost my mind.
“You know me from your childhood. You and your parents watched reruns of my sister’s very popular TV show. Don’t ever go to television, Sarah Booth. You’re meant for the big screen. I kept telling Eva that, but she wouldn’t listen. She played a farmer’s wife.” She laughed. “My sister, on a farm. Now think about that ludicrous image, darlink.”
“But the show was a success.” I remembered Green Acres. Eva Gabor on a tractor in rubber boots. Hysterical comedy in the 1960s.
“Eva never stopped pointing out what a success her show was.” Jitty flipped a fur boa around her neck. The wind caught it, sending it streaming behind her. “She never tired of telling everyone she was the successful sister, the star, the one who brought home the bacon—even if it meant sharing billing on a stupid television show with a pig.”
The sibling rivalry of the Gabor sisters had begun to bore me. “Why are you riding on the hood of Tinkie’s Cadillac?” I asked.
“Look closer, Sarah Booth.”
I leaned toward the front windshield. Tinkie stuck out an arm and pushed me back into the seat. “What the hell is wrong with you, Sarah Booth?”
“Nothing,” I managed to mumble.
Jitty laughed. She tapped on the window. “I like you. You can call me Zsa Zsa. All of my friends do. It’s just my sisters I have to watch out for. Beautiful women are always the most dangerous. Keep that in mind.”
“What do you want?” She was straining my brain.
“In order? Number one on my list is a baby for the Delaney womb to carry. Number two is a husband for the last Delaney, a—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Give it a rest, Jitty. I’m doing everything I can.”
“Who the hell is Jitty?” Tinkie asked.
My head swiveled from Jitty on the hood to Tinkie and back to Jitty, who had begun to fade! “Damn it, get back here! This is no time for your pranks!” I said, obviously aloud, because Tinkie looked shocked.
“Sarah Booth! Sarah Booth!” Tinkie jabbed me in the ribs. “What in the world is the matter with you? You’re talking crazy, about to drool on yourself, and you’re acting like you want to climb through the front window of my car.”
I’d been so deep in my imagined conversation with Jitty / Zsa Zsa I’d lost sight of the real world. We were still on Franklin Street, the river to our west. This was one of my favorite parts of Natchez, with historic homes and elegant trees—Barthelme should have been hanged from one, along with the other thieves and rascals of the nineteenth century. I’d lost my place in present-day time. “Where are we going?” I asked.
“Where should we go?” Tinkie countered.
“Let’s get a burger.” My watch showed 4:40. Time moved too slowly while we waited for the kidnapper.
“A hamburger?” Tinkie’s tone said it all.
“I’m only human. I have to eat. What else should we do for an hour and forty minutes? We’re hamstrung until the call comes in. I eat when I’m nervous.” Cranky wasn’t pretty when I wore it, but waiting was never my best activity.
“Kissie and Jerome have taken a runner. And you’re slipping in and out of reality and worried