Bones to Pick by Carolyn Haines

himself. He'd treated my scraped knees and coughs when I was a child. He'd given me tonics and vitamins when my parents were killed. Though he'd done his best, he'd had no medicine for a broken heart.
    "I have."
    "How's he doing?" I forced myself to add, "And Connie? How is she? Is the baby okay?"
    He didn't look at me. 'Those are questions only Coleman should answer, Sarah Booth. It isn't my place."
    "You're right." I stood up, suddenly ashamed at my inability to keep my errant heart in check. "If you talk to him again, tell him I said hello."
    "Sarah Booth, whoever killed Quentin meant for her to suffer. There's an element of malice here that I haven't seen in many murders. Be careful."
    "I will," I promised. "I think it's a lot more dangerous to drink your coffee."
    He shook his head. "You're just like your mama."
    Dusk had fallen by the time I got to my car and headed back to Dahlia House. Lights began to flicker on in the houses I passed. In a few, I could see the blue glare of a television, and a sudden longing for family traced through my heart. I was lonely. Tinkie had hit the nail on the head. After a year of being back in Zinnia, I still went home to an empty house.
    My last case, with Doreen Mallory, had changed me. Doreen was a woman who believed in miracles. The day-to-day kind and the big ones. She also believed that everything in life happened for a reason. At first I'd fought against such a belief, but now my mind was exploring the possibility. The question I had to answer was why I chose to be alone.
    As I pulled up in front of Dahlia House, I heard Reveler whinny a welcome. Sweetie Pie came charging around the house to whip my legs with her eager tail. So I wasn't exactly alone. I just didn't have a man and children--the family that seemed so desirable, and so elusive.
    "Pull yourself out of that slump and feed your horse," Jitty commanded from the porch.
    How foolish of me to think I was alone. "Yes, ma'am." I detoured from the porch and went to the barn to give Reveler his grain.
    His soft muzzle blew kisses on my neck and cheeks as I brushed his coat while he ate. The sound of his chewing was comforting. When he was done, I went back to the house to confront Jitty.
    The back door was locked, so I had to walk around to the porch. If Jitty was going to inhabit the house, it would be nice if she could be a little helpful, like opening a door or making coffee in the morning. But no, noncorporeal beings didn't have to lift a finger in the residences they haunted. It was some kind of ghostly union rule.
    I was still gnawing on my grievances when I tripped on something. Sitting right by the front door was a big box, gift wrapped.
    "Special delivery," Jitty said.
    Somehow she'd managed to fit her huge dress into one of the rocking chairs. As she tipped back and forth, I could see her pantaloons.
    "It's a good thing you waited for fall to play French Revolutionary. If you'd done this in August, you'd have died of heat exhaustion in all those clothes."
    "I don't sweat," she said.
    "Ah, another benefit of being dead."
    "I can eat anything I want and never gain weight, and my hair never frizzes."
    Now she was getting insulting. I picked up the box, which bore no sign of any delivery system. Pulling the red ribbon that tied it, I sat down on the steps and opened the box. Layer after layer of tissue paper concealed the contents.
    "What's in there?" Jitty asked. She'd stopped rocking.
    "Hold your horses. I'm getting there." I peeled back at least twenty layers of flimsy red paper before my fingers struck something furry. I gave a little squeal as I pulled out a tiny froth of a silk garment.
    "The French do have the best design sensibilities when it comes to bedroom couture," Jitty said as I sorted out the straps of a risque red teddy trimmed in fluff.
    "Who sent this?" I felt a flush touch my cheeks.
    "Harold, I hope," Jitty said. "There's always a strong current beneath those still waters. That boy has some idea of