Mississippi Blues

by D'Ann Lindun

  With her shoulder to him, she mumbled thanks when he tossed her the tee. She smiled when she saw the logo over the pocket. Juliet Police. He didn’t smile back. Her expression turned serious as she faced him full on. “You’ve got to get out of here. Leave me. I won’t tell the Chief where you went. I promise. But, you’ve got to go.”

  “Since when do you care what happens to me?” He couldn’t allow himself to trust her. She hadn’t been in her right mind last night. Soon she would be thinking clearer. Remember who she was — a Bouché. Duty-bound, she’d turn on him in a jumpin’ jack flash.

  She turned away and tugged the tee over her head. “I don’t care. That doesn’t mean I want to see you get killed.”

  “I’m not going to get killed ’cause I have you for insurance. Your daddy isn’t going to hurt me as long as you’re along. So until I figure out where I’m going, you’re stuck with me.” He forced his voice cold and mean. “You chose to put yourself this position. You’re along for the ride now.”

  “No problem.” Her tone matched his. “Where are we going?”

  “Nowhere for awhile. I like it here. I can rest, think, come up with the perfect plan.”

  “There isn’t any perfect plan. The Chief won’t quit until he has you back behind bars.” She didn’t sound positive.

  “I’m not worried about your old man.” Jace stepped close and gripped her chin in his hand. “Know why? Cause he’s nothing to me but a bad memory.”

  • • •

  Trey was worried sick.

  By noon he knew he should’ve kept searching for Lindy. She thought she was so grownup, so independent, but the truth was she was still a young girl. He hated to think of all the things that could happen to her. Half the women back in Afghanistan had been raped. Some by their own people, some by American soldiers.

  Just for a moment, he allowed his mind to return to Katia, a young woman he’d known there.

  • • •

  His unit had come across a burned out village. In one still-standing, but badly used building a group of women and children huddled, terrified for their lives. One woman, about twenty, had stood up daring them to fire. He’d admired her spirit. All the guys had.

  Reassuring her they meant her no harm, they’d taken the women and kids back to base for medical treatment and a safe haven for those who were physically well but had nowhere to go.

  Katia recovered from her ordeal faster than most of the others. Her English improved every day and she found odd jobs around to make herself useful. In spite of his feelings for Summer, Trey found himself drawn to the little spitfire. Nothing like Summer, petite, with dark hair and eyes, Katia thawed the ice around his heart just a bit.

  They spent a great deal of time together, healing.

  The orders came down from brass that the women were to be moved to a refugee camp outside camp.

  Trey was helpless to keep her from going.

  He promised to find a way to bring her back.

  When he didn’t hear from her in a few weeks, knowing she wouldn’t just disappear without a word, he tracked her to an unmarked grave on a hill overlooking the city. Grief-stricken and enraged, he didn’t give up until the story came out.

  Just as she had stood up to the American soldiers, Katia dared the Taliban to harm her.

  Her bravery cost her life.

  She’d been murdered, her throat slit.

  • • •

  Trey forced thoughts of Katia away. He had to focus on a woman he could help. Where to begin? First, who did Lindy hang out with? He didn’t have a clue if she still ran around with the same kids he used to know. If she did, none of them had been at the quarry last night. He hadn’t recognized any of them. Bothering his mother wasn’t an option. Neither would the Chief have time for this right now. Who else would know anything?

  Etta. The family’s housekeeper. She was the pulse of the family, had been for as long as he could remember. She’d be home now from her visit with her daughter. She’d made Lindy’s celebratory dinner, but hadn’t stayed to serve it. He went to the kitchen to find her.

  The old black woman was bent over the stove, removing a tray of fresh cinnamon pecan cookies. Seeing him, her eyes went wide and she let go of the tray. It clattered to the floor, scattering her cookies. “Mr. Trey. You came home. Oh, lordy, thanks be alive.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He enveloped the tiny woman in his arms. Her ice white hair tickled his nose. “All because of you. I couldn’t stay away from my girl any longer.”

  “Pshaw.” She wiggled out of his arms. “Never mind that. You’ve been gone too long.”

  “Yes.” He knelt to reach for the cookies and she swatted his hand away. “I got it. Just you sit down at the table proper. You’re in my kitchen now, not some camp on a mountain.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Obediently he sat at the table and poured a tall glass of orange juice. He took a sip and waited for her to pick up the crumbled cookies. Then he said casually, “Do you know who Lindy spends her time with nowadays?”

  Etta’s mouth puckered as if she’d swallowed something distasteful. “No, sirree, I don’t. All Missy Lindy’s friends used to come here. I haven’t seen any of them in longer than a beaver’s front teeth.”

  “Not even Becca? Or Mary-Gray?” He held the glass poised halfway between his mouth and the table. The three girls had been inseparable since the second grade.

  “No, sirree. None of them.” She turned away, but not before he saw the sadness on her face.

  He stood up and put his hands on her shoulders, moving her toward him. “Miss Etta? What is it?”

  She kept her gaze locked on his feet and dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron. He lifted her chin, and tried to read into the depths of her black eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head. “I ain’t gonna talk poorly of this family. No matter who done what.”

  “Just tell me what’s troubling you so much,” he urged. “I need every lead I can get to find Lindy.”

  She took a deep breath. “I’m worried.”

  “About what?” His pulse sped up.

  She was obviously reluctant to talk. “Missy Lindy.”

  “Miss Etta, what about her?” He let go of her chin and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Tell me. I want to help, but I can’t if I don’t know what the problem is.”

  “Missy’s gone, that’s what.” Tears filled her eyes again. “I just know something bad’s happened to her.”

  Trey’s heart lurched. His fears exactly. “How do you know that? She’s probably just spent the night on someone’s couch.”

  “I doubt that,” Etta muttered. “You been gone for a long time, Mr. Trey. Missy Lindy isn’t the girl you knew. She gone … bad. Real bad.”

  “What do you mean?” He kept a tight rein on the surge of fear that coursed through him. His version of bad and an old black woman’s might be somewhat different.

  “Missy is disrespectful to your mama and daddy, number one.” She held up two bent fingers. “Number two, she runs with a rotten bunch of skunks. Lilah told me she saw my young miss at that trashy joint on the outside of town. And you know them kind that runs outta there.”

  “Lilah knows this for a fact?” His heart pinched into a painful crease. What was Lindy thinking?

  Etta nodded. “Yes, sirree. My Lilah don’t lie none.”

  “What else did Lilah say?” Trey planned to make sure Jimmy Ray got his ass kicked. He had no business allowing an underage drinker in his bar. Everything from illegal guns to drugs was rumored to be found there. A girl like Lindy would be an easy target for the scum who trolled around there.

  “Nothin’.” Etta held up a third crooked, arthritic finger. “Another thing. Most days I hear my missy come in about the time I get up. I might not be as young as I o
nce was, but I still got ears and I still climb out of bed plenty early. Yes, sirree, I do.”

  All her life, Etta rose before the sun came up. Close to daybreak most mornings. In her opinion, the most productive hours were the earliest. Who in the hell was Lindy spending her nights with?

  “What does the Chief say to her?”

  “I ain’t told on my missy.” The housekeeper hung her head again and for the first time, He noticed how fragile she seemed. When had she shrunk so much? “Mr. Samuel’s so tied about in knots about Miz Emily he can’t stand it. I didn’t want to burden him more.”

  “He hasn’t noticed Lindy’s actions?” The Chief had never been soft with his children. Why hadn’t he put Lindy under restriction?

  She twisted her perfectly pressed apron in her hands. “If he has, he hasn’t said.”

  “You should’ve said something,” Trey said gently.

  “I couldn’t.” Etta studied her feet. “Because of what he’d do to her. Send her away. Same’s he done to you.”

  Trey didn’t have a response for that one. She was right. If the Chief found out his teenage daughter was running wild, no telling what he’d do to her. Whatever the punishment, it was bound to be severe. He had to be torn up bad by Emily’s illness to let something like this slide. Trey knew he better run interference and find out what was going on, fast. He gave the top of Etta’s head a light kiss and her thin shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Try not to worry anymore.”

  She wiped her wrinkled cheek with a corner of her wrinkled apron. “Go on now. Git. I gots chores to do.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ducking her lightning fast slap, he grabbed two warm cookies off the tray. Licking frosting off his fingers, he went to find the Chief.

  Finding Lindy was top priority.

  Chapter Seven

  Ida Baker sat behind her desk, in front of the Chief’s office, guarding it like she had for the last twenty years. Nothing, from her cat eye glasses to the sensible shoes she’d always worn had changed.

  Trey winked at her. “Hello, Miss Ida. May I go in?”

  She blushed and gave him a look of mock anger. “Not just now. Someone’s in there. When you do see the Chief, make it snappy, young man. He has a lot on his mind.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He grinned at her, and she fumbled with some papers on her desk.

  A minute later, the door swung open and an attractive redhead came out. Without a glance at him or Ida, she hustled by them, slipping on sunglasses. Ida didn’t look up, but sniffed. Trey hurried inside.

  The Chief sat in his walnut colored leather chair, head in hands.

  “Sir, what is it?” Alarmed, Trey hurried to his side. “Did that woman know something about Jace? Has something happened?”

  The Chief looked up with bleary eyes. “Huh? Oh, her. No. Forget about that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I said nothing. What is it?”

  “Lindy didn’t sleep at home last night,” Trey said. “She never came back after she stormed out.”

  “You positive about that?”

  “Yes, sir. I looked for her last night, but couldn’t find her. I thought I saw her headed home, but she wasn’t in her bed.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” Accusation filled the Chief’s voice.

  Trey hesitated for a moment. “I thought she’d be home by this morning.”

  “Damn it,” the Chief spat, “your sister is in big trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?” Trey’s mind raced with the possibilities. ‘In trouble’ in Juliet, Mississippi usually meant pregnant and unwed, but he didn’t think that’s what the Chief meant this time.

  “Don’t you see?” The Chief pounded his desk with his hand. “That Hill boy has got his hands on her.”

  “That’s quite a jump, sir. Do you know for sure that he even came home?” Trey wondered at his father’s mental stability for a moment. “Pardon my saying so, but Lindy seems a little flighty. Maybe she just spent the night with a friend.”

  “I should’ve seen this coming when I got the word that boy was on the loose.” The Chief held his head again. He wasn’t making sense.

  “I’m not following,” Trey said.

  “This.” With an explosive wave of his arm, the Chief scattered a pile of letters to the floor. “Threats, all of them. Jace Hill had promised to get even for years. Now, he’s making good on his promise. He’s paying me back.”

  “You’re saying Jace has threatened you from prison?” Trey couldn’t believe it. His former friend had sent promises of revenge through the mail? “Why didn’t you tell the warden?”

  The Chief’s complexion was pale and a sheen of sweat covered his forehead. “I figured I was man enough to take a few nasty letters. A thing like this can get a prisoner in the hole for a good long time.”

  For a moment, Trey was speechless. This was the closest thing he’d ever heard to the Chief admitting he felt anything but good about Jace’s conviction. “Sir, do you think there’s any substance behind these threats? Do you believe Jace would come back here and harm one of us?”

  “Hell yes, I do.” He slammed his fist on the desk. “That’s the last time I make a mistake where Hill’s concerned. If he harms a hair on my daughter’s head, I’ll hunt him down and drag his cold, dead body back to Angola myself.”

  “There’s no reason to think he has hurt Lindy, is there? I mean it’s probably just coincidence she’s not home.” Trey tried to remain the voice of reason although his heart was sinking fast. None of this looked good for Lindy. Or Jace. “What are you going to do?”

  “What I should’ve done sooner.” He picked up the phone and bellowed into it. “Ida, get every available body here. We’re going on a manhunt.”

  “I’m going to keep searching, too. Will you let me know if you find them?” Trey headed for the door. If he didn’t beat the Chief to Jace, one of them might die.

  • • •

  Trey drove across town to Mary-Gray’s place. She lived in the older part of town in a large antebellum mansion. Surprisingly, she answered the door herself. She wore tennis whites, her brunette hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. “Trey! Hello! What are you doing here? I thought you were in Afghanistan.”

  “May I come in?”

  “Of course. Please.” She threw the door open and waved him in. “I was just having lunch on the patio. Won’t you join me?”

  He followed her to the flagged-rock patio and waited while she sat at a table under an enormous umbrella. The sweet scent of jasmine scented the air. As she poured him a glass of tea he didn’t want, he studied her. Bearing no resemblance to the gawky thirteen-year-old he remembered, she had grown into a stunning young woman with a clear, smooth complexion, expertly made up eyes, and shiny hair. Her perfect smile and long legs would drive the boys at Ole Miss or Vanderbilt crazy. For him, she did nothing. All he could think of was Summer. He forced his attention back to Mary-Gray when she spoke.

  “When did you get home?”

  “Night before last.” He ached to jump all over with questions, but small talk was the polite, southern way. He forced a smile. “Not soon enough.”

  “I hadn’t heard.” She leaned over and gently tapped his forearm with a perfectly manicured hand. “Naughty of you not to come by and say hello sooner.”

  He watched her pink nails on his arm, wishing she’d remove them. “Actually, I’m trying to find out what Lindy’s been up to. Naturally I thought of you. You ladies have been friends for forever and a day.”

  Her lovely face clouded. “Not anymore. For the last three or four months, since your mama got really sick, Lindy quit talking to me. Becca, too. Instead of turning to us so we could help her, she completely shut us out. We tried to help, but it finally got to the point we realized we weren’t wanted. I don’t know if she even
plans on going to college. You know the kind of grades we’ve always had? Lindy’s are in the toilet. Pardon me, but she seems to have just quit caring about everything. Even herself.”

  “Do you know who Lindy hangs around with now?”

  “Not a clue.” She took a delicate bite of lettuce then waved her fork. A sour look passed over her face. “I saw her with Candy-Can awhile back. No one I’d ever be seen with.”

  “Why’s that? And why do you call her that?”

  “Oh, you know. Candy can and will do anything any boy wants her to. She’s just lowlife. A river rat. Lives in one of those shanties down on the banks of the river that no well-bred young lady is supposed to know about, but we all do.” She made a clicking noise with her tongue. “I’ve heard her mama … well … does things no lady should for money.”

  Trey kept his silence. He’d almost forgotten how sharply the lines were drawn in this small town. Mary-Gray wouldn’t think she had a mean bone in her body, but her ignorance of other people’s troubles made him cringe. Maybe he had a clearer picture than most because his mother had crossed far over the social line to marry a poor police officer just beginning his career. Or maybe being a Marine had taught Trey early on that people often did things out of sheer desperation. He thought of Katia for a moment before he pushed back his chair and stood. “Thanks, Mary-Gray. I’ve got to be going.”

  “Don’t be a stranger, okay?” She followed him to the door and saw him out. “Come by any time. Maybe we could have dinner, talk some more.”

  “Sure.” He wouldn’t be seeking her out again.

  • • •

  Pulling into the Curl Up and Dye’s parking lot for the second time, Trey ignored the way his pulse sped up. Telling himself he’d come there to talk about Jace, he couldn’t help but hope there was more.

  Disappointment filled him as he entered the little beauty shop. Summer was nowhere in sight. Only Lilah at her station reading a novel. The radio played a pop tune he didn’t know. “Hey, stranger.”