Bone to Be Wild

by Carolyn Haines

  Coleman twisted Mason’s arm behind his back and pushed him down the aisle and out of the chapel. For a moment no one knew what to do. Cece had the presence of mind to begin to speak.

  “Let me tell you what I know about Koby Shaver.” She launched into a funny story about stocking the bar with various tequilas and how Koby knew details and anecdotes about different musicians and what they drank. Slowly the tension faded from the room.

  “We have to investigate Farley much more closely,” Tinkie whispered to me. “I thought for sure we had Frasbaum in our sights. Now, though, even if Farley didn’t pull the trigger, he’s mongered fear and hatred.”

  “And Bijou. We haven’t determined what her influence over Mason might be. Everywhere I turn, her name pops up.” Thoughts of the female barracuda made me wonder how the brownies had gone down. As if I had a psychic connection, my phone vibrated. Doc Sawyer was calling. “Excuse me,” I said, leaving the chapel and going outside where Coleman had Mason pressed against the patrol car and was talking to him. I watched but stayed out of earshot so they couldn’t overhear my conversation.

  “What’s happening, Doc?” The elderly doctor, who looked remarkably like Albert Einstein with his cloud of white hair, had saved my life more than once. He’d been my family doctor until he retired from private practice and took over the emergency room at the local hospital. Now instead of working twelve-hour days, he worked 24/7. He also performed the autopsies for the county.

  “Bijou LaRoche is in an exam room. She’s asked the nursing staff to call Coleman.” Even as I talked to Doc, Coleman dismissed Mason and reached for his cell phone. He nailed me with a glare as he began to talk.

  “And?” I wasn’t admitting to anything.

  “She’s claiming you tried to poison her.”

  “Oh, really?” It was hard not to laugh. “What kind of poison?”

  “She says you put something in brownies and then gave them to her as a gift.”

  “She sounds crazy. Does she have any evidence?”

  The long pause indicated Doc had confirmed his worst suspicions about me. “What was in the brownies? She’s in bad shape. She can’t get more than six inches from a toilet.”

  “Which might indicate how full of shit she is.”

  “Sarah Booth!”

  “Oh, quit pretending, Doc. She isn’t hurt. She’s begged for something like this for a long time. And remember, this conversation is protected by doctor-client privilege.”

  Doc’s chuckle told me everything I needed to know. “She’s a bitch,” he agreed. “This won’t kill her, but right now she’s having a really bad experience. Re-al-ly bad.”

  “Boo-hoo.”

  “Might I ask what brought this on?”

  “Roscoe was held prisoner in a filthy cage in her barn. He has two broken ribs where someone kicked him. Bijou meant to have him destroyed. I can’t prove it, but I’d stake my life on it.”

  Doc sighed. “I have to treat her. I took an oath.”

  “I know,” I said. “Just maybe slow down the remedy as much as you can.”

  “You’re a pistol, Sarah Booth. Your mama would approve, and your daddy would keep you out of the hoosegow. You’d be his only client, you know. He wouldn’t have time for anyone else.”

  “I love you, Doc.” And I did. He connected me to my childhood with one sentence, bringing my parents back to me even if the visit was brief. “Here comes Coleman, gotta go.”

  The look on Coleman’s face warned me that the phone call he’d received had indeed come from the hospital regarding Bijou’s accusation. How she’d known so quickly I was the culprit, I couldn’t say. In a way I was glad she knew—as long as she couldn’t prove it. Now I wondered what Coleman would do.

  “Did you send Bijou a box of brownies?”

  “Me?”

  “Are you denying it?”

  I had to think quick. I didn’t mind lying, but I didn’t like doing it to those who loved me. I faked a frown, as if I were thinking hard. “Brownies? You know I don’t bake.”

  “She’s in the emergency room with intense intestinal distress. She says you’re responsible.”

  I shrugged. “Perhaps it’s merely a case of karma. She’s a real pain in the ass to a bunch of people. Maybe the karmic boomerang has struck her down.”

  Coleman put an arm around my shoulders and ushered me back inside the funeral home. “You know if Bijou decides to press charges I’ll have to investigate. There’d better not be any evidence tying you to her problems.”

  “When would I have time to bake brownies?” I asked.

  His arm squeezed me tight. “You are a one-woman force of trouble. Trespassing, bad brownies. Just beware. You’ve been warned,” he whispered in my ear, making goose bumps pop up on my neck and arms.

  We entered the chapel in the middle of Cece leading the gathering in an a cappella rendition of “Amazing Grace.” It was a joy to watch her with Jaytee, who stood slightly behind her, singing along, but proud to let Cece have center stage. So many horrid things had happened in the past few weeks, so much loss, but Cece had found someone to love who seemed to love her back. Her affair with Jaytee was whirlwind and irrational and possibly a danger to her heart, but I couldn’t fault her for going for it full bore. She’d spent years changing her gender to become the woman she knew in her heart she was destined to be. She’d accepted that her life choices were difficult for some people to accept. Yet she’d honored her inner truth, courageously changed her body to match her heart, and now she had let Jaytee into her life without reservation. Her passion and trust in the future put me to shame.

  The service concluded and Scott led us out into a day where massive thunderclouds loomed in a front on the western horizon. Sometimes the clouds formed and floated over the Delta, but my predicting ability said a storm was settling in for a hard stay.

  “Come to the bar for a drink,” Scott said. “In honor of Koby.”

  It was a fitting conclusion for a bartender.

  11

  My sleep roiled with nightmare images, gunshots, and Gertrude Strom. I awoke in midmorning more exhausted than when I’d gone to bed. Tonight was the reopening of the club, and I had much to do.

  Tinkie blasted out of Zinnia at daybreak to chair a national meeting of her Ole Miss sorority in Memphis, but she would be back by midafternoon. A horseback ride was in order if I wanted my brain to function. To that end, I checked in with the two security men and told them my route, saddled Lucifer, and trotted off around the fields with Sweetie Pie at my side. Riding clarified my thoughts and simplified my emotions.

  As the sun beat down on my shoulders and Lucifer surged beneath me, I allowed my thoughts to return to Koby’s death. Senseless. I was pissed off and worried for my friends. Now I had to push emotions aside and sort facts, but I took a moment to savor the success of my culinary prank.

  Revenge, though sweet, could have a bitter aftertaste. I didn’t feel bad about what I’d done to Bijou, but it wasn’t an appropriate punishment. She needed to do jail time, suffer public humiliation. For her, I’d vote to bring back the stocks, complete with rotten vegetable pelting. My hard emotions were provoked by the suffering of an innocent animal. Well, not innocent, but one who hadn’t deserved such brutal treatment.

  At last I was able to push my angry thoughts away and ride. A mass of clouds marched on the western horizon. The fat underbellies hung low, promising a drenching when the storm front finally arrived. I gave Lucifer his head and we settled into a rocking-chair canter. He covered the ground with incredible speed. When we came to a brake and small stream, he sailed over the water without missing a stride. Yes, bad things had happened in my world, but there was also a tremendous joy.

  Hunger finally drove me home to discover Tinkie idling her Caddy at the front door. “I got halfway to Memphis and blew off the meeting,” she said. “Are you okay, Sarah Booth?”

  “I am.” We hadn’t really had a chance to talk, and there was a lot I had to tell her. “W
ant to come in for coffee?”

  “When I drove in, Gertrude Strom was parked about a hundred yards down the road from your driveway. When she saw me, she took off. There was someone in the car with her.”

  “Who?”

  “I couldn’t get a good look. I called Coleman. He’s speaking with the security men.”

  “Let’s put the coffee on.”

  Tinkie checked her watch. “Sure, I have this crazy urge to go home. It’s like we’ve been trapped in a bog of people being hurt for a year, but it’s only been four days. It makes me want to hide in my house and hunker down.” She turned off the car and picked up Chablis.

  “I know.” We entered the house to the joy of Sweetie Pie greeting Chablis and the disdain of Pluto, who sat on the stairs and licked a front paw.

  Instead of the kitchen, we aimed for the office. “I have a confession.” I told her about the adventure Harold and I had at Hemlock Manor, and about Roscoe. I kept the brownie part to myself. I didn’t want to implicate her in Brownie Blowout, but I wanted her to understand the situation had been successfully resolved.

  She grabbed up her car keys. “I’m going over to Bijou’s right now.” Her cheeks were hot pink—never a good sign. “She will not hurt Roscoe without consequence.”

  I took the keys away and gripped her hands. “It’s been handled. I promise. And there will be more retribution in the future, but you can’t get involved in it.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “What did you do?”

  “If I tell you, it may come back to haunt both of us.”

  “I gather you wish to withhold the details. Which means it must be something illegal.” She bit her bottom lip in concentration. When it popped out of her mouth, I couldn’t help but think of the effect that simple maneuver had on men. Tinkie could bring Samson to his knees and never have to touch his hair.

  “I promise, I’ll tell you later. I don’t want to taint you with knowledge, in case there are legal repercussions. If I get in trouble, you have to be free to help Scott.”

  “This sounds delicious!”

  “In a manner of speaking,” I said.

  “Curiosity is killing me.”

  “I’ll give you a hint.” If she didn’t get the info from me, she could draw her own conclusions. “Talk to Doc Sawyer. You’ll put it together and I won’t have to tell you anything.”

  “I’ll do that. Now let’s figure out what’s going on with Koby’s awful death.”

  For the next twenty minutes we laid out the pieces of the case, trying to fit the facts into a coherent pattern. Mason Britt’s audacious appearance at the funeral home colored our perception of the facts. Mason was a zealot in a church that hated the blues. Koby, though, was a bartender, not a musician. And Koby and Mason were friends. Or had been close. They’d survived a terrible war, a bond sometimes closer than blood.

  “Mason Britt may hate the blues and think Satan has us by the shirttails, but would he really gun down his combat buddy?” Tinkie asked. “I can’t buy that. He’d be more likely to kill Scott or a band member, someone he felt dragged Koby into sin.”

  “I agree. Maybe the shooter wasn’t Mason but someone else in the church. Or, it’s possible the shooter, if it was Mason, didn’t see Koby clearly and thought he was a musician. I still think Frasbaum looks like the best choice. Or maybe Frisco Evans.”

  “Good points. Coleman will have to investigate Frasbaum. The Chicago PD won’t work with us. And I have to say, if Frisco and Angela were doing it in the bushes, I think they should both be put in jail for bad taste.” She shuddered. “How could that be fun? It’s cold, and there are bugs.”

  “You are not a nature girl, Tinkie.” My partner was more the five-star-hotel type. “If we could get someone from Farley’s church to talk to us…” I was thinking out loud. “Maybe one of the women.”

  “They never let the women off the compound, Sarah Booth. Coleman should handle Farley.”

  Tinkie wasn’t afraid, but she recognized we’d have little influence on Farley and his group. Our gender rendered us ineffective there.

  “What troubles me are the warning calls. Those seemed designed to scare Scott away from Sunflower County, to force him not to open the club. Mason works for a woman who plans on using a resurgence of interest in the blues to further her business holdings. Whether she knows it or not, her office equipment is being used to stir up hard feelings toward Scott and the club. And Bijou told Angela she’d prefer a different kind of club. Let me add that I don’t think a single thing happens at Hemlock Manor that Bijou isn’t aware of. She’s playing both ends of this dance club thing. Maybe that’s smart business, but it sure looks like she’s manipulating the situation to get the outcome she wants.”

  “Her motives and actions are at odds,” Tinkie said, summing it up neatly. “You’re right.”

  “So where does that leave us?”

  “Worried about tonight.” Tinkie yawned. Though she was perfectly turned out, it was evident she hadn’t slept well either. “If someone is truly opposed to Scott opening his club, he’ll do something awful to destroy the big show. A terrible feeling is churning in my gut.”

  Tinkie wasn’t prone to premonitions or even bad attitudes. “Have you talked to Madame Tomeeka lately?” Tammy Odom, also known as Madame Tomeeka, was a former classmate and Zinnia’s full-time psychic. While some might scoff at Madame Tommeka’s dreams, visions, and ability to see the past and future as well as communicate with the departed, I knew her gift was real. Sometimes she was able to warn us when danger stalked. She’d saved my bacon more than once.

  “I haven’t had a chance. She went to Memphis to visit little Dahlia and just got back. I barely had time to say hi at the funeral.”

  “Let’s give her a call.”

  I had Tammy on speed dial. When she answered, she said, “What worry brings you to my door, Sarah Booth?”

  “How did you know it was me?” I fed her the joke line.

  “I am psychic, but it was caller ID,” she said, but she didn’t laugh. “You and Tinkie have been on my mind for the past four days.”

  I didn’t care for what that implied. “Can you come over? Tinkie is here and we’re working on a new case.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  I had concerns that Tammy might be able to sense Jitty in the house. Tammy was sensitive and sometimes Jitty liked to tease my guests, fluttering a curtain or rattling a pan. Jitty always claimed it was a breeze, but I suspected otherwise. Now I had to have a word with my haint. If she showed up singing the blues, Tammy would surely sense her. Best to nip this problem in the bud.

  “I’ll put on some coffee. Back in a minute,” I told Tinkie.

  “I’m creating a flow chart of our suspects. So far, we don’t have a damn thing.”

  “I know.” I left her to it and hurried to the kitchen. “Jitty! Jitty!” Calling my ghost was about like spitting into the wind. She arrived when she wanted, and she left when she felt like it.

  The irresistible sound of a plunky guitar filled the kitchen. Jitty, carrying a bit more weight than normal and wearing trousers and a man’s shirt, sashayed into the room. “You a hound dog.” She sang the blues number Elvis Presley had sent to the top of the rock ’n’ roll charts. “You gotta quit that snoopin’,” she said.

  She was dazzling and sassy and I instantly recognized her—Willie Mae “Big Mama” Thornton. I couldn’t resist tapping my toes and I wanted to shake my hips. Big Mama inspired my body to dance. But I knew the dark side to Big Mama’s spectacular talent. She was often overshadowed by other singers performing the songs she wrote. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was another way Jitty was trying to warn me.

  “Madame Tomeeka is on the way over,” I said. “Don’t mess around, okay? You know she can sense you’re here.”

  “Maybe we could collaborate and start a 1–900 hotline to the spirit world.” Jitty was full of herself.

  “I’d appreciate it if you cooled your jets. She’s
here to help with the case.”

  “I wish I could sing at Playin’ the Bones.”

  It was the first time Jitty had ever expressed a wish to participate in an activity of the living. It pierced me. She came and went between my world and the Great Beyond, but she could never fully be in the here and now.

  “I wish you could sing at the club, too. You’d be excellent. Scott and the band would love you.”

  She smiled. “I would be good, wouldn’t I?”

  “You would indeed.”

  “Sometimes bein’ dead is a real pain.” She tucked in the tail of her shirt, which had slipped out when she danced. “Don’t worry. I’ll steer clear of Tammy Odom. She’s more aware than the average human, and I don’t want to scratch her suspicions. Though I could have a little fun with her.” The twinkle in her eye was dangerous.

  “Thanks.”

  “Have fun at the club tonight. And Sarah Booth, be careful. There’s mischief afoot.”

  I knew better than to ask her what was happening or who was behind it. The Great Beyond had a whole lot of rules, and a big one was not tipping off mortals. We were supposed to find our own way without guidance from a ghost. Jitty did everything she could to help me, but there were limits. And I didn’t press her. Over the past year I’d grown to rely on her. If she got recalled from Dahlia House, I would be all alone.

  “Sarah Booth!” Tinkie’s voice echoed in the house. “Where’s the coffee? Tammy is here!”

  “Coming.” The kitchen was empty. Jitty had departed. I put three mugs of hot coffee on a tray with sugar and cream and headed back to the offices of Delaney Detective Agency.

  Madame Tomeeka and Tinkie commandeered the rolling office chairs, so I perched on the edge of a desk. “How’s the bundle of joy?” I asked Tammy. Babies weren’t really my thing, but this baby had won my heart when she was born.

  Tammy, who was close to my age, wore the serenity of grandmotherhood. Her face held an inner glow when she spoke of her daughter and grandchild. “Growing too fast, Sarah Booth. She’s a beautiful baby. One day she’s going to be someone great.”