Playing with Bonbon Fire

by Dorothy St. James

  “Because Carolina left you?” Tina asked.

  Bubba looked surprised.

  “We know what happened,” I said. “We know about the rumor connecting you and Bertie.”

  “It wasn’t just a rumor. I loved Bertie, you know.” He dipped a conch fritter into a cup of spicy cocktail sauce. “I was ready to marry Carolina, but I loved Bertie. How crazy is that? I would never do anything to hurt either woman. Not in a million years.”

  I glanced over at Tina, who looked just as troubled by his surprising revelation as I was.

  “Why are you telling us this?” I demanded, shocked he’d admit (unprompted) to such a thing. What angle was he trying to play? Was he even telling us the truth?

  He finished chewing his fritter. “Because this guy thinks I’m a money-grubbing swindler and because of the way your sister is looking at me. She already thinks I’m guilty of murdering Stan. I suspect you agree with her. You think I killed Stan and then ran my car into your shop.”

  “Don’t forget how we found you chasing Candy through the woods just now. She said an old man was chasing her, trying to kill her, and then you appeared,” Tina added.

  “Old man? You think I’m an old man?” He sighed deeply. “I suppose you would think I’m old. Still, it hurts.” I looked me directly in the eye. “I wasn’t chasing Candy. Although, if I’d known that sick young’n was running through the woods just ahead of me, I might have. For her own good, she needs to be caught.”

  “You loved Bertie?” I asked, getting back to his first revelation. My hand shook as I took a sip of my sweet tea, causing the ice to clang around in the glass. Was this the secret Bertie had been desperately trying to hide? Was this the secret Bertie had been threatened over? I hated to ask the question, but I had to. “Does that mean the rumors were true? Was she cheating on her husband with you?”

  “No! A million times no,” he protested. “She was classy. But the feelings—as wrong as they were—they were real. At least they were for me.”

  “We found a note in Bertie’s purse that said, ‘Secrets are deadly. Look at what happened to Stan.’ Did you send that to her? Were you warning her to be careful?” I asked.

  He dipped a clam in cocktail sauce. “She showed that to me. She had no idea what it meant or why she found it tucked under the windshield wiper of her car. I don’t either.”

  “She showed it to you?” And not me? I was hurt.

  He nodded. “She’s been helping me track down the missing sheet music. She’s got a good heart, that one. She wants to help the town just as much as I do.”

  “But you have no idea why her looking for the music made someone—Candy perhaps—nervous enough to threaten her?” I asked.

  “No idea at all.” He bit into the clam.

  “Do you know where Carolina went?” Tina asked.

  “I wish I did. I’ve always wanted a chance to talk to her, to explain things. It breaks my heart to know that she cut ties with everyone in Camellia Beach, including her own family, because of me.”

  “Breaking a woman’s heart like that is a hard burden to bear, man,” Bixby stopped pouting long enough to say. “I know it only too well.”

  Those two sure had inflated opinions of their effect on the women in their lives. I found it hard to believe that Carolina would run away and join a band of traveling fortune tellers just because she thought Bubba had been cheating on her. Something else must have happened to her. I feared her tale had ended more than forty years ago.

  “So let me get this straight.” I grabbed one of the conch fritters before Bubba ate them all. “Stan wanted Carolina. He started the rumor that you were cheating on her. When she didn’t fall into his waiting arms, he packed things up, wrote a song that was even better than ‘Camellia Nights,’ and left Camellia Beach. Is that what happened?”

  “Why was Stan so set against having anyone sing ‘Camellia Nights?’ ” Tina asked before Bubba could answer me. “If it was so good, you’d think he would have wanted Ocean Waves to sing it.”

  Bubba shook his head. “I can’t figure any of it out. Even though it happened back in the seventies, I remember it as if it were yesterday. We were fixing to practice the song when he grabbed the sheet music from everyone’s stands and ran out the door. When he returned about an hour later, he told us he was quitting the band.”

  “Is that when he told you he thought the rest of you were too small-town for him?” I tasted the fritter. It was chewy and salty and delicious.

  “No, that didn’t come until later. The next day I confronted him. He came into town driving a shiny new car as if he’d already hit the big time. I demanded right away that he tell me what was going on. That’s when he told me he was going out to California to find his fortune. Strange thing about it is that he didn’t show anyone in town the song that was going to become his big hit, ‘Love on the Waves.’ It was such a campy hit. Why didn’t he show off that song before he left? I never even had a clue he’d written a second song. Not that it mattered. It was his song. But still, he always liked to show off. He liked to prove he was better than the rest of us.”

  “He didn’t write it,” Bixby said. He uncrossed his arms.

  “What?” I asked. “I thought he won a Grammy for writing it.”

  “I talked with a friend of mine who works for the record company that initially signed Stan. My friend asked around about Stan with some of the old-timers and found out that the company only signed him as a favor to some bigwig politician. The company provided the song.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.” Bubba chewed on the last conch fritter. “Why would everyone say he wrote ‘Love on the Waves’?”

  Bixby shrugged. “Happens all the time.”

  Was that what Bixby did … all the time? Had Candy been right about him traveling to small-town music festivals to buy the song rights and then claim them as his own?

  Bixby had told Tom that all a singer needed was one good song. But that wasn’t right, was it? One big hit didn’t make Stan’s career. His band fell into obscurity soon after “Love on the Waves” faded from popularity.

  “If he had his big hit, why didn’t the record company keep providing him with more good songs?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.” Bixby picked one of the fried clams and sniffed it. “If I were to guess, the industry execs didn’t like that they’d been pressured to sign a singer they hadn’t discovered. After fulfilling what the politician wanted them to do, they probably stopped putting any effort into producing any future records for Ocean Waves.”

  “That stinks.” I kind of felt sorry for Stan. “You didn’t happen to get the name of the politician, did you?”

  Bixby tapped his chin. “It was something like Kramer or Farmer or Framer?”

  Not Ezell.

  “How did he get some politician to do that for him?” Bubba wondered aloud. “It wasn’t as if any of us came from anything. His parents were teachers at the public school.”

  But that wasn’t quite true. Bubba’s mother had been an influential politician. But their family name was Crowley, which didn’t sound anything like Framer or Farmer.

  “Perhaps Trey Ezell’s daddy pulled some strings with one of his political colleagues to help Stan get started,” Tina said.

  “What? Ezell?” Bubba shook his head violently. “Why would Ezell lift a finger to help Stan? They weren’t friends. Ezell would come and drink and listen to us play. He’d sometimes drive us into the city if he happened to be going in that direction anyhow. But he went to private school. His friends all went to private school. He’d never do anything to help a gang of poor hellbenders like us get ahead.”

  I looked at Tina and wondered if she was thinking the same thing. Ezell had claimed to be Stan’s friend. He’d also told us that Bubba and Stan weren’t friends. And now Bubba was telling us the complete opposite.

  One of them had to be lying.

  Tina raised her brows and nodded toward Bubba. Of course she’d think he was the one
who was lying. She believed he was the one who was guilty of murder.

  “Maybe Stan had something on Ezell that convinced him to ask his daddy for help,” I said and then looked directly at Bixby. “Candy mentioned drugs. Maybe Ezell had sold Stan drugs. Don’t all musicians use drugs?”

  Bixby jumped up from his chair. “If we’re going to perform tonight, I’d better get going.” He dropped some cash on the table and then, with a nod to his security team, hurried away.

  Chapter 37

  I followed Bixby as he fled without answering my question. He was moving quickly. I caught up to him just outside the entrance of the makeshift backstage area on the pavilion’s second floor. I flashed my badge to get close enough to talk to him. “I need a moment in private.”

  He glanced around and then pointed to a curtained-off area. Inside the curtains we found musical instruments in their black cases, neatly stacked by band name.

  “Candy gave us this to give you.” I held out the bag of white pills for him.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t know what that is.”

  “She said she’s your supplier.”

  His ears turned red. “She also tells people she’s my lover.”

  “Well, if it isn’t yours,” I said and started to stuff the bag back into my purse.

  With a growl, he grabbed it. “You going to turn me in?”

  “Not for this. No, I’m going to tell you to give the poor girl a break and leave her alone. You give her attention. You let her bring you—what is it?—some kind of opioid? And she gets nothing in return. No wonder she throws rocks at you.”

  “It’s not opium.” He stuffed the pills into his baggy jeans pocket. “It’s vitamins. Anti-aging vitamins if you must know. They’re illegal in this country. Such stupid laws. But Candy knows a source who buys these for her in South Korea. They work. They keep my face looking like this.” He struck a pose. “And they keep my hair looking like this.” He posed again. “My voice, my face, and my hair are my life. I’m king of the mountain in the rock world. I need these pills or else a younger singer will come along and knock me off this peak I’m standing on right now. I can’t let that happen.”

  “It’s only a matter of time before the police pick her up,” I warned.

  “Not likely.”

  I narrowed my gaze at him. “What do you mean? What have you done to her?”

  “I haven’t—” He tossed his hands in the air. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone. Get out of my way.”

  He pushed me aside and nearly tore the curtain from its rod in his haste to escape. Tina was standing just outside the room. The look on her face was harsh. Was she upset with me for confronting him?

  She followed me through the backstage area. She didn’t say a word until we had emerged into the sunlight. “I didn’t know,” she said. “I swear.”

  “Of course you didn’t. You wouldn’t have put up with anyone who was taking advantage of a mentally ill woman like that.”

  “Do you think he killed Stan?” she asked.

  “You mean, do I think Stan found out about the illegal vitamins and tried to add Bixby to his money-making scheme? Bubba said Stan was always looking for ways to make more money. It’s possible that’s what got him killed. But that wouldn’t explain the attempts against the rest of the band. If those attempts were actually targeting the band, that is.”

  “So we don’t think Bixby is guilty,” Tina said.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  * * *

  Just as the first opening act started playing, the state police arrived to help out with security. I spotted Gibbons giving orders in the VIP area, which he’d commandeered and turned into a makeshift police headquarters.

  Things would have been so easy if Gibbons had gone ahead and caught Candy already and found some evidence on her that proved she killed Stan. Given how things were right now, after confronting Bixby, I didn’t know what to believe anymore.

  The sun, lower on the horizon, was still a bright yellow ball in the sky. The clouds, which had been white and fluffy most of the day, were gradually taking on a more ominous shade of dark gray. I wasn’t surprised. Afternoon thunderstorms were the norm at the beach whenever the weather turned hot. But I was concerned.

  Tina hooked her arm through mine to keep us from getting separated in the crowd. I didn’t mind. Someone in this crowd was a killer.

  “We’re running out of time,” she told me. “The Embers go onstage in less than two hours.”

  “And we need to find the killer?” I started to turn around to head over to the VIP area to talk to Gibbons.

  “No, silly bean, we need to find the sheet music.” She gave my arm a tug. Listen to me,” she shouted in my ear over the music that was growing louder and louder, “the police are searching for the killer. They don’t care about a missing song. We do.”

  “You’re right.” Drat it. “The Embers need to sing ‘Camellia Nights’ before Bixby buys it. That way they can get credit for writing it.”

  “Plus, Bixby can’t buy what he doesn’t have.”

  “Let’s go find it.” This time, I was the one who tugged at her arm.

  “Where do we begin?”

  “Haven’t you been paying attention?” I urged her to pick up the pace. She stumbled a bit over her feet as she followed me through the dense crowd of people.

  We wove our way down the length of the pier until we reached the “Ezell for Senate” booth. The melted chocolates had been swept from the table and the booth was empty.

  “He must be shaking hands with potential voters again,” Tina said, not even slowing her step. We were women on a mission.

  The residents from the Pink Pelican Inn were still set up in their do-it-yourself living room at the shore side of the pier. I steered us toward them.

  “You,” I said, pointing to Arthur Jenkins.

  “What?” He cupped his hand to his ear.

  “We need to have a word with you,” Tina said.

  “What?” he repeated.

  I crouched down beside his armchair and shouted, “Did you recognize the boys who were singing the beach music this morning?”

  “The boys?” he shouted back. “No. Didn’t see them. Just heard them shouting the words. Terrible singers, them boys. Catchy tune, though.” He started to hum.

  “You didn’t recognize their voices?” Tina had crouched beside me. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted toward Arthur, “They had to be locals.”

  Arthur shook his head. “Children keep away from us as if afraid they’ll catch our old.”

  “Thank you,” Tina shouted as she jumped back up to her feet. She grabbed my arm again. This time I stumbled as I struggled to keep up. “You really need to dress more appropriately for island life,” she scolded. “Those shoes are completely impractical. You’re getting a makeover before I leave. Ah, there he is.”

  “Who?”

  She pointed to the bottom of the pier’s steps. Bubba stood there with his arms crossed. He spotted us and waved.

  “I texted him and asked him to meet us here.”

  She did? “You did? I thought we weren’t chasing the killer.”

  “We aren’t. And there’s more police in this small area than at a policeman’s ball. Come on.”

  I still had no idea what she hoped to accomplish by meeting with Bubba. But since I felt fairly certain he hadn’t killed anyone—this was Bubba we were talking about—I went along with her.

  We got the obligatory greetings out of the way, which were shortened by the fact that Bubba needed to get ready for his turn onstage. The first band had plunged into the driving beat of their last song.

  “Tell us everything you know about those boys singing your song,” Tina said.

  But I had another idea. “Bubba, do you remember Stan’s lyrics?”

  He looked at me and then at Tina before saying, “The score for the song was in my hurricane box. I don
’t know what in the world happened to it.”

  “I’m betting Candy took it and dumped it. And some boys found it,” Tina said. “We need to find out more about those boys.”

  “No, that’s not the right question,” I argued. “Bubba, you must remember some of the lyrics, don’t you?” I dug around in my purse. “Can you write down what you do remember?”

  “Don’t know how that would do us any good,” Bubba complained. “Bixby won’t buy a partial song.”

  “Please”—I held out a small notebook I found in my purse—“humor me.”

  With a sigh, he took the paper. I quickly found a pen and pushed it into his hand. He clicked the pen open and closed several times. Its nib had barely touched the paper’s surface when he looked up at me. “I don’t remember the entire thing.”

  “That’s okay. I don’t want to sing it,” I said, while Tina sputtered something about how this line of thinking wasn’t helping us find the song. “I just want to understand what the song is about.”

  “Oh, that’s easy. It’s about Camellia Beach.” He started to hand the notebook back to me.

  I refused to take it. “It’s about more than that.”

  With a nod, he started writing. He wrote several lines, hummed for a while, and then wrote a few lines more. By the time he’d finished, about half the page was covered.

  He handed me the notebook. “There is another verse, but I can’t tell you hide nor hair about it.”

  “That’s fine.” At this point, I was happy to get anything. That is, I was happy until I read the words he’d written. My heart dropped.

  The first verse was about a man taking a woman for a ride on a boat on a channel that cut through the tangle of marsh grasses behind the island and stopped for a while at the old red-and-white brick lighthouse. The man then came back alone “under the starry sky in the middle of a steamy Carolina night.”

  “Yeah, it’s a sad song,” Bubba said after I gasped. “Stan was writing from a dark place. His girlfriend had recently broken up with him. He’d taken it pretty hard.”

  I gave Bubba a hard look. “Really? His girlfriend left him at the same time you lost your girlfriend? Don’t you think that’s a little convenient? I heard Stan was the one who started the rumor about you and Bertie.”