Carolyn Haines's Independent Bones is the next novel in the series that Kirkus Reviews characterizes as “Stephanie Plum meets the Ya-Ya Sisterhood” featuring sassy Southern private investigator Sarah Booth Delaney. When Dr. Alala Diakos, a visiting professor of Greek literature, comes to teach at Ole Miss in Oxford, Mississippi, it doesn't take long for controversy to follow. With her fervent feminist ideals and revolutionary leanings, she quickly earns the admiration of many—and the ire of others. During a speech in the park, in which Alala tries to organize the women of Zinnia to demand equal pay, the crowd gets unruly, with men heckling the professor. And when PI Sarah Booth Delaney finds a sniper rifle and scope in the bushes, she begins to worry that there are more than fighting words at stake. Sarah Booth calls her boyfriend, Sheriff Coleman Peters, who offers the protection of the Zinnia police department, but Alala rejects him, saying she has no use for the law or men. And when a notorious domestic abuser is found dead the next day, suspicions turn to Alala herself, who was overheard bragging that she would take him down. Tensions deepen when connections are drawn between Alala and two similar, previous deaths. But Sarah Booth doesn't want to believe Alala is a murderer, and when the professor shows up at Sarah Booth’s doorstep, asking her to find the real criminal, Sarah Booth embarks on a case stretching across the Delta. Yet Alala remains at the center of it all, and Sarah Booth can’t help but wonder if the killer has been with her all along …
Release date:
May 18, 2021
Publisher:
St. Martin's Publishing Group
Print pages:
320
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The first scattering of sycamore leaves tumble across the grass in front of me as I walk with my PI partner and friend, Tinkie Richmond. We cross the newly christened “Erkwell Park” in the heart of Zinnia, Mississippi. Tinkie and I are at the grand opening of the park, a space donated and supported by our good friend, Harold Erkwell. A playground and entertainment center are much needed in our county, and Harold took it on as a personal mission. While parks have not been a high priority in a poor state, Harold donated all the funding to create this little bit of heaven on the outskirts of our bustling Delta town.
“Harold worked on this all summer,” Tinkie says as we admire the landscaping of native trees and a host of flowering shrubs that will be Nirvana for butterflies and bees next spring and summer. She points as she talks. “Swing sets, slides, a splash pad, tennis courts, that adorable putt-putt course with boll weevils.” She sighs. “My baby is going to love coming here.”
I hold my peace. Tinkie, who is pregnant, and as big around as she is tall, looks like she might pop out a two-year-old ready to lift weights and pole-vault.
“I know you’re thinking it, so you might as well say it,” she says.
“That baby is going to be born with teeth.” I grin to take the sting out. This baby is the thing Tinkie wants most in life and all of her friends are anxiously awaiting the birth of the next generation’s Queen Bee of the Delta. Even Tinkie’s parents, who have been touring Europe for what seems like an eternity, are coming home for the big event, which should happen in two weeks. Tinkie is going to produce a little Scorpio—watch out, world!
The sunny breeze is soft and teases Tinkie’s sun-glitzed curls as we watch children and adults play in this wonderful green space. Some forty yards away is a dais with a speaker system. A striking woman with abundant black curls, dark eyes, and red lipstick takes the stage. I didn’t realize Harold had planned speeches.
“Who is that?” I ask Tinkie. She knows every woman in the Delta, their pedigree, their political persuasion, and their moral character.
“I’ve never seen her,” Tinkie admits. “But I can take a guess. She must be that professor of Greek literature who’s writing a book. She rented the old Compton house not far from Cece. Her name is Alala Diakos.”
“She’s intriguing.” With her perfect posture and toned body, she projects power.
“I’ve read some of her articles. She’s a force to be reckoned with, but I’m not sure Zinnia will be receptive to her … philosophy.”
“Which is what?” I’ve never heard of the woman.
“Men who abuse women should be exterminated with the utmost efficiency. Hopefully, by a mob of angry women.”
I glance at my friend. “And you disagree with that?”
She laughs. “Nope. But, I just wouldn’t say it out loud. She’s been giving speeches around the Delta and she’s stirred up some hot protest from the Neanderthal contingency.” Tinkie glances around the park, where folks have begun to gather at the dais. “Looks like she could start some trouble here.”
“In Zinnia? You think there are people who support men who abuse women?”
Tinkie stops and frowns. “Of course there are. We just aren’t friends with them. Look under any rock, though, and you’ll find a man who thinks males should be able to control women. You know Mississippi didn’t vote to ratify the Nineteenth Amendment until 1984.”
That tidbit stops me in my tracks. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly serious. Harold and Oscar were approving home loans for women back in the 1990s when other banks wouldn’t. If a woman didn’t have a husband or a daddy to cosign, a lot of banks wouldn’t loan her money. Financially, even today, women are second-class citizens.”
I didn’t have to respond. The Greek professor with the flashing eyes begins to talk. She introduces herself and explains her presence in Zinnia. She’s rented a house where she can write in peace and draft her nonfiction book, The Moon Rises, the story of the fight for women’s equality.
Dr. Diakos says, “Until we have equal pay and equal say, we are not equal citizens.” The statement draws applause from the crowd gathered around the dais to hear her talk, mostly younger women and a few men. Dr. Diakos obviously has a local following.
The professor continues. “Basic fact: retired women are twice as likely to live in poverty as retired men.”
“Because they aren’t smart enough to manage money!” a man in camo shouts. He stands defiantly at the back of the crowd. “Women need a man to manage their business. That’s the fact you need to grasp.”
I didn’t have to ask Tinkie who the man was. We both recognized Curtis Miller, a well-known domestic abuser who Coleman had arrested at least five times. Unfortunately, Miller’s wife, Tansy, had refused repeatedly to take legal action. Even now she shifted to take a protective stance in front of her husband, who outweighed her by at least sixty pounds.
“That Tansy doesn’t have sense enough to pour piss out of a boot,” Tinkie said. “Look at her. Like she’s going to go all Rambo on anyone who comes at Curtis.”
I shook my head in disbelief and disgust. Curtis had broken her arms at least twice, fractured her eye socket, bitten off part of her ear, and broken her fingers. In a town like Zinnia, everyone knew the dirty details of their marriage and the pattern of violence. But not even Coleman could persuade Tansy Miller to press charges or leave Curtis.
Dr. Diakos ignored the heckling. “Women still shoulder most of the household chores, even if the woman also holds a job.”
“That’s because cooking and cleaning are women’s work,” Miller yelled out. “Get over it and get in the kitchen where you belong. If you had a man to keep you satisfied, you wouldn’t be yowling in the public park like a cat in heat.”
I quietly dialed Coleman. When he answered, I just said, “Better get over to the park. It’s going to get bloody. Bring the deputies.”
“On the way.”
I set my phone to video so I could document what was likely to be a physical encounter as the female supporters of Dr. Diakos began to move toward Miller.
“Y’all better leave my husband alone.” Tansy stepped out in front of her husband. “Go on, shoo!”
I thought of a mouse defending a lion. And she was sporting a black eye to boot. Some unfortunate women had no concept of how a real relationship worked, where partners were equal. Too often women caught in the web of men who were bullies had grown up in families where the pattern played out again and again. No matter how smart or talented, they’d find themselves trapped. Tansy’s situation was tragic.
As the crowd quickly began to turn into a mob, I saw a flash of wiry gray and white hair on four legs. Oh, how well I knew that devious little fiend. As if things weren’t hectic enough, Roscoe Erkwell, Harold’s no good, troublemaking, bruise-mashing canine was right in the middle of everything. And Harold was nowhere to be seen. The dog ran to a parked truck with giant mud tires. Someone had left the door open and he hopped up in the seat. When he jumped out, he had a lacy red thong in his mouth flapping in the breeze.
“Roscoe!” Tinkie and I called simultaneously. “Come here!”
Per usual, Roscoe completely ignored us. He ran up to Tansy Miller and dropped the panties at her feet. Her eyes went big and round and her mouth followed. She picked up the thong with fingertips and held it up, then turned to look at her husband. “Those are Moody Moody’s panties. I recognize her getup from the Silver Stallion men’s club. How did they get in your truck, Curtis?”
His response was a backhand.
And that’s when the fight started. Whether he was bright enough to realize it or not, Curtis Miller had stepped into a fire ant mound. The women, as if reacting to a command, advanced on him all at once, kicking, spitting, and screaming. All hell broke loose. I glanced up at the dais, where the good professor stood with a satisfied look on her face. This was exactly what she’d hoped for, or so it seemed.
Coleman and both deputies, who’d arrived in the nick of time, waded into the group and started sorting it out. Curtis was on the ground and the women had done a number on him. He held a tooth in his hand and looked like he was about to cry. Typical bully. I waved DeWayne over. He held two struggling and cursing women, one under each arm.
“Curtis started it,” I told DeWayne.
“I’ll get some cuffs on him when I can turn these two brawlers loose. Put a foot on his back until I get back.”
I was happy to oblige.
Tinkie started into the fray, but I snatched her wrist and drew her out of danger. “You cannot mix it up with those people,” I warned her. “Now stay here with Curtis. I have to find Roscoe. Someone is going to kill that dog because he has his snout in everyone’s personal business.”
“Can I sit on Curtis?” Tinkie asked. The red spots in her cheeks told me she was stoked and ready for combat.
“Whatever floats your boat,” I told her, straining on my tiptoes to keep Roscoe in sight.
“I want to break his face,” Tinkie said.
I sighed. “Wanting something never killed anyone, but if you get hurt, I will kill you. Oscar won’t have to worry about you. Now stay put!”
DeWayne, who’d come up for the end of the conversation to claim his prisoner, laughed at me when I gave him the stink eye as I ran toward the dais, in the direction Roscoe had gone.
Dr. Diakos stepped down to say something to me, but I brushed past her. I was more than a little annoyed that she’d started a riot on such a lovely fall day. “Roscoe! Roscoe! Where are you?” I stepped into an area thickly planted with beautiful shrubs. Up ahead I heard Roscoe’s evil growl. Whether he was angry or pleased, hungry or sated, happy or sad, he generally sounded like a possessed person. It was part of his charm.
“I’m going to bake you in the oven,” I said sweetly to Roscoe. “With a meat thermometer stuck right up—”
I stopped in midsentence. Poking out of the bushes was the barrel of a rifle. The sniper’s gun, like something from World War II, was propped up on a stand, but the shooter was nowhere in sight. I dropped to the ground to see where the gun had been sighted. No surprise, it was right at the dais where Dr. Diakos had been standing. Someone had planned to shoot her. I backed away from the rifle, feeling for my phone in my jeans pocket. I had to let Coleman know.
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