Tinkie couldn’t hide her disappointment. She knew as well as I did that standing in front of a group of twenty people was a terrific alibi for the time Koby was killed.
“What time did the revival break up?” I asked.
“It was after two in the morning. I had four conversions and six testimonials last night. The Spirit moved through the congregation. It was a powerful thing to witness.” Smug was the only word to describe Farley. Well, smug and fervent.
“We hear you have a problem with Playin’ the Bones. Folks around town say you’ve been intimating there may be serious problems there.” Tinkie stepped closer, which made him step back.
Farley smiled, but it was ugly. “I don’t hold with places that play the devil’s music. Serving liquor, creating an atmosphere where sin can set up house and breed. Such places cater to the darkness in the human soul. It was bad enough when the blacks ran it, but now it’s pulling in our people and taking them down the road to Hell.”
“Our people?” Tinkie pressed him. “What exactly do you mean?”
I was around the car and at her side. I put a restraining hand on her shoulder.
“You know exactly what I mean.” Farley’s eyes burned with his passion. “There is an order to God’s creation. The white man has dominion over the animals, the women, and the other races. The white male was created in God’s image and was given the rights and duties to rule. When that order is out of balance, the world is endangered. God will destroy the Earth with fire. It’s promised in the Bible. Those who fail to heed God’s word will pay the price. I stand against sin, and I do so with pride.”
Farley was the most dangerous kind of zealot—one who believed he had God’s personal attention and approval. While he might have been in front of a congregation last night, it didn’t mean he hadn’t sent one of his followers to take action against the blues club. We’d learned what we came for and now it was time to leave before things got out of hand.
“Let’s go, Tinkie.”
“Good idea.” Farley grew louder and louder. “You’d best get out of here, you whores of Babylon. And don’t come back. We mind our business here and you’d better mind yours. Next time I see you, I don’t doubt you’ll both be pillars of salt. Go back to your Sodom and Gomorrah.”
I saw movement behind the windows of one of the little campers. A curtain eased back and the frightened face of a woman stared out at us. Another woman broke from one of the tents and ran toward the church. The long skirt of her dress hampered her ability to move fast, and when she glanced back at us, she was clearly terrified.
Tinkie’s fists clenched. She wanted to belt Farley, and that was out of the question. I eased her into the backseat and jumped behind the wheel. Before I could start the engine, though, Farley had something else to say.
He leaned into the open window and glared at us. “I know who you are, the both of you. You think you’re high and mighty, two women running around playing detective and acting like men. There’s an uprising coming. Men are tired of women who try to dominate them. You two are headed for a great fall, and when it comes, there won’t be anyone willing to offer you a hand. When you feel the ground rumble beneath your feet, that’s us coming for you. You will learn your place or perish.”
“My place will be dancing on your grave,” Tinkie said.
I turned the engine over and rolled up the window before Tinkie could climb through it and scratch out his eyes. I drove out over the bad road with a lot less care than Tinkie had taken coming in. In the rearview mirror I saw the second man approach Farley. They watched us depart. When we were finally on the paved road, I pulled over and took a breath.
“You can’t provoke people like them,” I chided her. “He’s dangerous. You think he’s just a fool, but he believes his actions are righteous, and that makes him capable of anything.”
“I hate people who use fear to repress others. I was hoping he’d hit me so I could charge him with assault.”
“Pushing him to rash action isn’t smart.”
“Pompous asshole.” Tinkie climbed over the seat and into the front. “You should have let me deck him. He’d have blubbered and called for his mama. Men like that are always titty-babies.”
“Whoa, I haven’t heard that word since second grade.” I glanced over at her. The hint of a smile tugged at Tinkie’s lips. Her temper was hot, but short-lived. “I wonder what he meant about them coming for us.”
Tinkie shook out her blond hair. “Who knows. Who cares. He’s a fanatic. As much as I’d like to pin this on him, he has an alibi for the time when Koby was killed. Folks like him talk big but they’re usually cowards.”
“I fear you’re correct. We haven’t eliminated him, but we haven’t unearthed any evidence.”
Tinkie checked her watch. “It’s time to take you home,” Tinkie said, waving a hand to get the car on the road and moving.
“What are you planning?” Tinkie was up to something.
“Nothing. Just preparing lunch for Oscar.”
I didn’t believe her for a second, but I knew she’d never tell me anything different.
* * *
Sweetie Pie and Pluto met me at the front steps, expecting Tinkie to take a moment to shower them with affection. Instead Tinkie tore down the driveway as soon as I was clear of the car. I could call her and ask again what she was planning, but I’d get the same answer. Nothing. She’d tell me when she was ready.
Weariness weighted my feet as I climbed the steps. I hadn’t slept well. I lingered on the porch, taking in the golden light of the afternoon. When I could procrastinate no longer, I went in and started the process of unpacking my clothes from New Orleans, including the beautiful ball gown.
The strains of a favorite old song came to me from the first floor, and I walked to the landing. This was not the style I might have expected from Jitty, but it was a perfect summation of my emotions. She was in the foyer, waif-like with a cloud of dark curls. Instead of the beaded ball gowns of the 1940s, she wore tight jeans, a black and white loose-fitting top, and stiletto boots. Jitty was styling, but it was the song and lyrics that told me who she was impersonating.
“… to be a diamond…” She had the Rosanne Cash visual and vocals down pat. “Blue Moon with Heartache” could have been written just for me.
I sat on the top step, clutching my ball gown. Cinderella and her pumpkin coach had nothing on me.
Jitty finished her song and came to sit beside me. “Don’t let anyone make you a victim for free,” she advised, borrowing from the song’s wisdom. “Ass kickin’ is my recommendation. You’ll feel a whole lot better.”
“I just need a little time.”
Jitty blew out a breath. “Sarah Booth, I wish I could tell you life had handed you all the hard knocks you’re gonna get. I can’t. A successful life is about resilience.”
As much as I wanted to get mad, I couldn’t muster the emotion. She was correct. Everyone got knocked down and kicked. Success was all in getting back up. “I’ll be fine. I have to build new dreams.”
“And you will. You got a whole cheerin’ section in the Great Beyond ready to back your play.” The silver bangles jingling on her arm reminded me of our first encounter. I’d heard the bracelets only a moment before she first materialized and changed my life forever. “In the next few weeks, you’ll have a big choice, Sarah Booth.”
Jitty never told me anything about the future. It was against every rule of the Great Beyond. “Why are you sharing this now?”
“This is important. You’re gonna want to harden your heart, protect yourself from pain. Choose the opposite. That’s what your mama says. Choose to love.”
“That’s pretty stupid advice. I’ve just had my heart ripped out and you’re telling me to love again.”
“Uh-huh. Exactly.”
“Well, that’s damn fool advice.”
She smiled, and I realized that she’d been setting me up to get mad all along.
“Dammit, Jitty!”
“Sarah Booth,” Scott called from the front door. “May I come in?”
I stood up. “Sure. I’m on my way downstairs.”
Although I did my best to hide my recent emotional roller coaster, Scott picked up on it. He took my hand and led me to the kitchen.
“Sit while I make us some café au lait.” He set to work, chatting about the phone calls and public concern he’d received at the club. He kept it light, but he felt responsible for Koby’s death. I saw it in the shadows haunting his blue eyes. It was a heavy, and unnecessary, burden to carry.
When the coffee was brewed and a cup put in front of me, I told Scott about our morning efforts. “If Frisco and Angela weren’t fa-la-la-ing in the shrubbery, they had plenty of time to kill Koby.”
“A car salesman?” Scott was skeptical.
“He’s a former bull rider and a competitive marksman. His middle name should be Competitive. You beat him out of the club, and he’s a man who takes things personally. He wouldn’t shirk a physical confrontation and he owns shotguns. Though it would be pretty brassy to display a murder weapon.”
Scott rubbed his eyes. “It’s impossible to believe a man would kill over a business deal.”
“The dance teacher will uphold Frisco’s alibi.”
Scott sipped his coffee, his shoulders slumping. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I keep thinking I’ll go to the club and Koby will walk out from behind the bar and tell me it’s all been a mistake.”
Scott was in the denial stage—and I had no desire to push him out of it, but it was my job to update him on my investigation.
“The preacher, Reverend Jebediah Farley, might be capable of inspiring his disciples to kill, but he has an airtight alibi. Coleman is checking it just to be certain, but I think we can rule him out as the killer. Personally, I think he’s a blowhard who gets off on bullying and repressing women who have nowhere else to turn. Killing a man doesn’t seem to be his style.”
“I talked to the band members, and no one can think of a single reason anyone would target Koby.” He almost flinched. “His girlfriend is coming to Zinnia,” he checked his watch, “any minute now. I don’t look forward to this. Koby never mentioned anything about a girlfriend moving here with him.”
Based on Koby’s flirtatious ways, I was a little surprised too. “Does she know he’s been killed?”
“She does. She called to talk to Koby and Jaytee told her. She was halfway here with the U-Haul loaded with all her possessions. She doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“What will you do?”
“She’s a bartender. She wants to work.”
“Geesh.” He was in a tough place.
“There’s something I really need to talk to you about.”
Why did I feel like the second shoe was about to kick me in the shins? I put down my coffee cup and flattened my hands on the table, possibly for stability. “What?”
“I talked to Coleman about Gertrude.”
This wasn’t where I expected the conversation to go. “There’s nothing Coleman can do until she violates the law.”
“I think both you and Tinkie should have some security until the old bat is behind bars. Coleman thinks so too. In fact, he’s checking her alibi for the time of Koby’s murder.”
Their concern was touching but impractical. “I’ll stay alert for Gertrude, but I won’t have bodyguards following me around.” I picked up the coffee and sipped. “Tinkie and I are smart enough to steer clear of a psychopath.”
“If she’s stalking you, Sarah Booth, she means to hurt you. We’ve all been trying to figure out why someone is targeting me or the club. What if it’s you that’s the target? You were outside. You could have been killed as easily as Koby.”
He was right, but vigilance was my only option. I couldn’t hide in Dahlia House, afraid if I stepped outside, Gertrude would plug me.
“Scott, I appreciate your concern. But—”
“Coleman told me you’d resist common sense.”
Instead of getting angry, I laughed out loud. “It’s comforting to know the two of you are diagnosing my stubbornness.”
“Coleman and I will be adversaries at a later date. We both care about you. And Tinkie. She’s in danger too if she’s hanging around with you. So you two should stay together and have some protection.”
Instead of the divide and conquer, Scott and Coleman had come up with the combine and protect philosophy. “Okay.”
Scott’s mouth opened and nothing came out. “What?” He was confused. I’d capitulated too easily.
“Okay.”
“Are you serious?”
“Would you prefer if I forced you to argue and reason and try to persuade me?”
“This was way too easy.” His eyes narrowed. “What are you up to?”
“Tinkie and Oscar have to come here. I’m not leaving the horses. The Bellcases only have Chablis and she lives here half the time anyway. They can move into Dahlia House for a while.”
He looked up at the ceiling. “You know Oscar—”
“I’m not leaving the horses. If it’s for a few days, they can come to my house. If it’s longer, I’ll move the horses to Lee’s and go to Hilltop. How about that? See, I can compromise.”
“I’ll take it.” He stood just as his phone rang. When he glanced at the number, he frowned. “It’s Tatiana Scitz, Koby’s girl.”
This would be a hard conversation. I signaled him to sit and I picked up the dirty dishes and put them in the sink, then walked out in the backyard to give him some privacy.
In a moment the screen door slammed and he walked with me to the barn. “I have to go to the club. Come with me.”
“Sure. Let me check my supplies. I may need to swing by the feed store.” We entered the barn, which was dark and chilly. If I had the money for a modern barn, I’d have light and better ventilation, but this old structure had withstood time and the elements. It was as much a part of my home as Dahlia House. I flipped on the light switch and inhaled the scent of fresh hay and leather cleaner. This place soothed my spirit.
“Why are you being so agreeable, Sarah Booth? I don’t recall you having a pliant streak.”
“I don’t want to be hurt and I don’t want anyone I care about to find themselves in a bad situation for helping or protecting me.”
He stepped closer and I knew he meant to kiss me. I wasn’t ready. I pushed lightly on his shoulder and he instantly backed away.
“Sorry, I didn’t plan that.” He flushed. “I’d promised myself I wouldn’t press.”
My palm warmed his cheek. “This hard time will pass. I have to rekindle my hope that opening my heart is more than a trap for pain. I have to believe love doesn’t always end in being left alone. The only way for me to get there is to find my own path.”
“I’ll help you find that hope, if you’ll let me.”
“I can’t make any promises, Scott.”
“I know you have feelings for the sheriff.” His fingers traced my jaw. “The future is something no one can guarantee. You know I care for you, and I think you feel something for me. Now it’s time to step back and give you room. Rebound is a word I don’t care to have a personal relationship with.”
“Thank you.”
“Let’s head to the club. This conversation with Miss Scitz won’t be easy.”
In deference to the solemnity of the situation, I opted to leave the animals at home, but I wanted to be sure they were safely inside. I whistled up Sweetie Pie. She bounded around the house, long hound ears flapping behind her. It took Pluto a bit longer to arrive. He was a cat and therefore disdained any movement that lessened his dignity. He could be lightning fast when chasing a hummingbird, but he never exceeded a creep when he had the opportunity to make a human wait for him.
“Molasses is slow,” Scott said as we waited. “That cat has a definite attitude.”
I picked Pluto up and put him in the house with Sweetie and carefully locked the door. “He’s a cat. By definition he has an attitude.”
Scott climbed behind the wheel and turned on the CD player. The voice of Howlin’ Wolf filled the van. As we left Dahlia House, I remembered another trip with blues music playing. When I was in college, I’d traveled with a vanload of fellow students to a blues festival in Memphis. A golden memory.
A hint of sadness settled over me as we pulled up in the parking lot of the blues club. Only a few hours earlier Koby Shaver worked in and owned the space behind the bar. He’d been a giant of a man with a big presence. The place was empty without him. But not for long. A female tall enough to rival Cece came out of the ladies’ room. Her black, black hair was shaved on one side and bristled on the other. A dragon tattoo curled around her neck, shooting flames into her cleavage. I couldn’t count at first glance how many holes she had pierced in her ears, eyebrows, and nose, but it was at least a dozen.
“Tatiana Scitz,” she said, holding out a bejeweled hand banded at the wrist with a studded leather bracelet. Her miniskirt was black leather and her top, little more than a halter, was also leather. Her lushly curved body was blue from the cold, but she seemed impervious. “Have they found the asshole who killed Koby?”
“Not yet,” Scott said. “Let’s go in the office and talk a minute. This is Sarah Booth Delaney.”
We shook, and I realized her grip could break all the bones in my hand. She was tough and strong and proud of it. Her appearance would give Zinnia something to talk about for at least a week.
Scott sat behind an old wooden desk and Tatiana and I took seats in front of it. Photos of famous blues players hung around the room, and a map of Mississippi showing the Blues Trail had been stapled up. Someone had thumbtacked notes on the map with facts about current clubs, performers, and contact information.
“Maybe in the future we’ll have a movable blues feast,” Scott said, noting my interest. “Change the venue around to different bars. The best thing to fertilize the blues is to soak the soil in plenty of opportunity for talent to rise.”
Bone to Be Wild Page 8
