Crossed Bones

by Carolyn Haines

“Yancy is right inside his house. You can get any information you need straight from the horse's mouth.” My hand went to the ignition, and Coleman's fingers on my shoulder tightened. Not painfully, but close to it.

  “Please. I want to talk to you.” He released the tension on my shoulder.

  I put both hands on the wheel as if I were driving, and tried to breathe deeply. My lungs had shrunk. There wasn't enough room for air.

  “What is it?” I asked, my focus straight ahead.

  “Let's go for a ride.”

  “No.” I didn't want to be alone with Coleman in the August night. A million stars were scattered across the sky, and I remembered several moments Coleman and I had shared in the dark.

  He opened the door and began sliding into the seat. He was a solid man, and I remembered, unwillingly, how comforting I found his arms. I had no choice but to move to the passenger's side, though it meant a slightly humiliating scramble over the console.

  Coleman started the car and eased into drive, circling around the park and then heading out County Road 16 toward Opal Lake. The lake was a well-known parking spot for teenagers, and on such a lovely summer night, there were bound to be dozens of lustful couples parked along the shore. I slunk down in the seat and decided that silence was the weapon of choice.

  The warm August night kissed my face as we drove down the lonely road. Coleman made no effort to talk until we turned down the rutted lane that led to the lake. We passed four cars and two pickups before we parked beneath a tallow tree that gave a lot of privacy but allowed a good view of the silvery lake.

  “Did Yancy tell you who bonded Hampton out of jail?” Coleman didn't look at me as he spoke.

  “He did not. You could get all of this information from Yancy. He said he didn't have to tell unless he was called into court.”

  “He doesn't have to tell anyway,” Coleman said. In the light of a three-quarter moon, he was grinning slightly. “I already know.”

  “You do?” I regretted the question as soon as it popped out. It made me sound way too impressed.

  “You should know this, Sarah Booth. Bridge Ladnier put up the bond money for Hampton.”

  “Why would Bridge do that?” I asked, trying to hide my surprise. But Coleman saw through me and he had his answer. Anger washed over me. “So I didn't know the man I'm dating bonded Scott out. Just another shining example of all the things I don't know about men. So sue me.”

  Coleman's hand touched my face, a whisper of electricity. “My God, Sarah Booth, you make me want to risk everything.”

  My anger, my only weapon, evaporated. I wanted him to fold me into his arms, to kiss me until I had no reason. I wanted him in that age-old way of women and men. Yet I knew that such an hour of wantonness would destroy us. We would end up hating each other and ourselves.

  “Take me home,” I said in a whisper. “Please.”

  It was the please that did it. Coleman started the car and drove, very fast, back to his patrol car. He got out of the roadster and started to walk away, then he turned back.

  “This isn't something we can continue to ignore,” he said softly.

  “I don't have any answers.” I was sick with conflict. My body, my heart, and my brain were all at war, all clamoring for a different resolution. There were things I knew were wrong, and tempting a man out of his marriage was way high on the list. But there was no satisfaction in taking the moral high ground. Damn!

  “I'm the one who has to find an answer,” Coleman said. He hesitated, his strong hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I'm not trying to interfere in what you do, Sarah Booth, but I'm worried. Be careful with Bridge Ladnier. Fifty grand is a lot of money to risk on a whim. I don't want to see you used. And I don't want to see Scott Hampton dead, and that's likely what'll happen if he isn't in jail. Every faction in the county wants to kill him.”

  I slipped over the console, got behind the wheel, and headed for the safety of home.

  By the time I got to Dahlia House, I was numb. Coleman had slapped me with dire warnings that Scott Hampton was likely a dead man if he left the protection of jail, and the ugly possibility that Bridge's motives weren't pure—which called to mind what Coleman's motives might be in doing that. To complicate matters further, Tinkie had left a message on the answering machine saying she had gone to New Orleans with Oscar on a business trip. Drat! Just when I needed to grill her a little about the man she'd picked out for me.

  As I hurried up the stairs to my bedroom, I couldn't decide who I was angrier with—Coleman or Bridge. Why in the world had Bridge interfered?

  There was only one way to find out and that was to ask him directly. I picked up the bedroom phone and dialed his number. After fifteen rings I had to admit he either wasn't home or wasn't answering.

  “You callin' that man 'cause the one you want ain't available?”

  I almost dropped the telephone. Jitty had slipped into my bedroom and nearly startled me to death.

  “I'm calling Bridge on official business,” I pointed out. She was wearing a Nehru jacket and slim-cut black jeans set off with high-heeled boots. It was a magnificent outfit, but a little warm for August. Then again, ghosts didn't suffer from temperature extremes.

  “Men are stupid, but even the dumbest ones catch on eventually, Sarah Booth. You mad at that sheriff, and you're calling up Bridge for consolation.”

  “I am not! I have a question to ask Bridge.” What I said was true, but Jitty was also on the mark.

  “What is it you want?” Jitty asked, and all of the needling was gone from her voice.

  “I don't know.” That was completely honest. I didn't know what I wanted. I was attracted to Bridge on many levels, but in some strange fashion, I'd hooked myself to Coleman. Certainly not in a physical way, but emotionally. Then there was the troubling Scott Hampton. He was a sexy man with no other redeeming qualities.

  “You have to know what you want to get it,” Jitty said.

  “I don't want to be a home-wrecker.”

  “No, you don't,” Jitty agreed. “The trouble with you is that you know what you don't want, but you don't know what you do want. You got to get your priorities in order. Look at Tinkie. She had her list—security, social position, a man who would be good to her—”

  “That's fine for Tinkie, who is vacationing in New Orleans while I'm stuck here working.” I didn't add that the idea of Oscar made me want to join a convent. There was nothing wrong with Oscar, except he viewed Tinkie as a possession. Sure he was good to her. He gave her everything her heart desired, materialistically. What he couldn't give her was respect. He loved her, but he didn't even have a clue who she was beneath her beauty, charm, and the façade of the Daddy's Girl.

  “No man is ever goin' to know who you are, Sarah Booth.” Jitty's voice was dark with warning. “Now get that idea out of your head right now. You the only person who knows you inside out.” She sat down on the edge of the bed. “You the only person can stand knowing all of that.”

  “A man doesn't have to know me inside out, but he has to have a clue. He has to want to know.”

  “That's asking too much.” Jitty shook her head. “That's a dream, Sarah Booth.”

  “Just like equality is a dream,” I fired back at her. It was a direct hit. Her eyes widened. “Not two days ago you were telling me how important it was to have a dream. Well, I have one, too. I want a man who knows me, or at least tries to. I want a man who'll put the same energy into me that I'm willing to put into him.” I picked up the telephone receiver again. “And the only way I'm going to find that man is to spend some time looking.”

  “It's nearly ten o'clock on a Saturday night,” Jitty said with a hint of sadness in her voice. “I shouldn't have to point out that it's another Saturday night and you ain't got nobody.”

  She was gone before I could respond. Jitty had pulled her famous vanishing act while lambasting me with a line from an old Sam Cooke song.

  18

  Something wet and warm slur
ped across my face. I opened my eyes to sharp white teeth and a long pink tongue that swept over my right cheek.

  “Sweetie Pie,” I mumbled as I focused on the bedroom window. It was late Sunday morning. I'd slept for almost twelve hours. Jitty's harangue the night before had exhausted me.

  I threw off the cotton sheets and swung my feet to the floor. From out in the pasture I heard Reveler's whinny. Rushing to the window, I saw the sun was well over the horizon. Dang! It was already hot outside. Normally I got up early to ride.

  I put on jeans, a sports bra, a sleeveless T-shirt, paddock boots, and a tractor hat with the logo “Cowboy Hardware.”

  Hurrying outside, I realized I was going into the world without the benefit of even one cup of coffee. The truth was, I didn't want to hang around inside Dahlia House. I didn't want to see Jitty. I was still sore at her from the night before. It was fine for her to have her grand dreams of world peace and equality for all, but I couldn't have a personal dream of relationship happiness. Right.

  Reveler came willingly. When I held out the halter, he put his head in it. He loved our morning rides. Lee, my friend who bred the finest horses in the world, had loaned me an old Stuben saddle. It weighed almost nothing as I lifted it onto Reveler's sleek back. In less than twenty minutes, we were curried, brushed, tacked up, and ready to ride. Sweetie spun circles beside the horse's legs as she waited for me to mount up.

  The three of us headed out through the cotton fields of Dahlia House. One of the equestrian benefits of cotton fields is the lack of fencing. The entire county is virtually wide-open. As long as I kept to the edges of the fields, no one seemed to care that I rode on their land.

  Reveler had a trot that could eat up the miles, and I let him set his own pace, feeling my body relax into the rhythm of the post. Riding was pure joy.

  We left my land and continued across the fields, picking up one of the straight dirt roads that seemed to go nowhere and do nothing except cut through the middle of rows of cotton.

  My stomach growled a complaint that I'd left home without sustenance, but I promised it angel biscuits, sausage, eggs, and grits when I got home. I was headed vaguely north—I had no destination. I merely wanted to ride.

  It wasn't until we came to a small yellow creek that cut through the fields that I realized I'd ridden for at least twelve miles. The sun was burning down on me, and I could feel the heat in my arms. A new crop of freckles was incubating, and probably something worse. This was the century with a hole in the ozone—suntans were out.

  Sweetie flopped in the creek and wallowed, and Reveler, too, stepped into the cool water and took a long draught. It was a little late to think about something for me to drink.

  The creek was bordered on both sides by trees. The farmer who owned the land had wisely decided to use the tallow and birch trees as a windbreak. The Delta wasn't often hit by high-wind storms, but when they did come around, they could blow off a foot of valuable topsoil.

  I let Reveler meander up the stream for a ways. It didn't matter that I wasn't sure where I was, because home was due south. With the sun shining, I could hardly lose my way.

  We came to a small bridge that was too low to ride under, so we ambled up the bank. There was something vaguely familiar about the area. When I recognized it, I felt a chill. Bilbo Lane. I was only about a quarter of a mile from Scott Hampton's rented cottage.

  It was a little past noon on a Sunday. If Spider and Ray-Ban were around, they were probably still asleep. If they were out and about, I might ask them one more time to leave Sunflower County. Especially now that Scott's bond had been met.

  Reveler took up an easy trot and we were at the driveway in only a few moments. Sweetie was right at my side, which made me feel a little safer. She looked harmless enough, but she'd saved my life more than once.

  The first thing I noticed was that the fast-food wrappers and beer cans were gone. Spider and Ray-Ban had obviously heard that Scott was getting out of jail and they'd busted their butts picking up their trash.

  There was the sound of chopping coming from the backyard. I nudged Reveler forward. As we turned the corner beside the cottage, I saw a lean, bare back and jean-clad buttocks. My mouth went even drier.

  Sweetie Pie gave a soft bark and ran forward just as Scott Hampton turned around. His chest was covered in sweat that glistened on well-developed muscles.

  “Ms. Delaney,” he said, lowering the axe he was using to chop wood. “What a surprise to see you.” But his gaze didn't linger on me, it traveled over the horse. “He's a fine-looking animal.”

  “Thanks.” I was about to call out to Sweetie, but she ran forward, tail wagging, and accepted the hand he put on her head.

  “Nice dog, too.” He looked back at me. “You're just full of surprises, aren't you?”

  “Not nearly as many as you. When did you get out of jail?”

  “The sheriff cut me loose this morning. He said my bond had been paid. In fact, my bail was made Saturday, but no one bothered to tell me. I'd still be sitting in that cell if some reporter hadn't called my attorney.” He lifted the axe effortlessly and then let the handle slide through his hand until he was holding it at the head. “You wouldn't know who paid my bond, would you?”

  “Coleman didn't tell you?” I looked around, expecting Nandy to jump out of the bushes at any second. If Scott was out of jail, why wasn't she on his trail?

  “I didn't give the sheriff much of a chance to explain anything,” Scott said. “I was pissed off.”

  “So, you showed him your charming side?”

  “I lost my temper. He said he thought it would be safer for me to stay in jail. That wasn't his call to make. After our conversation, I guess he didn't really care if I was safe or not.”

  “You would be safer in jail.” I couldn't shake the sense that Nandy or someone was lurking in the underbrush that had taken over most of the backyard.

  “It isn't his place, or yours, to decide about my safety.” Scott stepped closer.

  He had a point, so I decided to shift the focus of the conversation. “Your benefactor is a man named Bridge Ladnier. You have a right to know this. Bridge wants to buy Playin' the Bones, and I know he's hoping you'll stay and play at the club if he buys it. More to the point, though, someone else attempted to make your bail. Robert McBruce. Nandy's husband. I'd be on the lookout for an ambush.”

  His reaction was similar to my own. His mouth dropped. He snapped it shut. “Why would Nandy's husband want to bond me out?”

  “I can't begin to imagine. Everyone in town knows Nandy has been up at the courthouse like a dog in heat.” I glanced down at Sweetie, who was sitting at Scott's feet. “Sorry, girl.”

  Scott knelt down and patted Sweetie. “She didn't mean it,” he whispered in her long, silky ear. When he looked up at me, his smile was unexpected.

  “You look hot,” he said, rising to his feet in a smooth motion. “How about some iced tea? I just made some.”

  Sweat was rolling down my back. I could hear the compressor of an air conditioner. “That would be great.” I slid to the ground, taking a moment for my feet to adjust to my weight.

  “Ms. Delaney, who is this Bridge Ladnier? Should I know him?”

  “He's a very wealthy entrepreneur, a local man, sort of. And he's a blues aficionado. I have to say he has one of the best blues collections I've ever seen, and he's a big fan of Ivory's work. And yours, of course.”

  Scott thought, then shook his head. “I can't be certain. There were a lot of folks in the club who loved the blues. Why would he make my bond?”

  “Like I said, he wants to buy Playin' the Bones. I suspect his motive was twofold. To put him on Ida Mae's good side and to tempt you to stay on if he should manage to get the club.”

  “To obligate me?” Scott asked sharply.

  I shrugged. “I can't say. I haven't talked to Bridge. But I will, and I'll ask that question.” I stroked Reveler's neck. “Bridge honestly doesn't strike me as the kind of man who would tr
y to use that leverage, but I don't know him all that well. I will ask.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Delaney.” He pointed to a pasture that was field-fencing on three sides and split rail on the one facing us. “We can put your horse in that field,” he said. “There's a little creek. He can drink and cool off.”

  Scott Hampton was being social. More than social—courteous and concerned for my animals. “Thanks,” I said, unbuckling the saddle. Before I could do anything else, he was standing beside me. He lifted the saddle off Reveler's back and put it on the top rail of the fence.

  I walked Reveler through the gate and removed his bridle. He gave me one headshake and two bucks as he ran around the pasture before he dropped to roll in a patch of dirt. I latched the gate and leaned on the fence rail to watch him.

  “Healthy animal,” Scott said with admiration as he walked up beside me and hitched a boot on the bottom rail. A cowboy boot, I noticed.

  “Do you ride?” I asked. It wasn't something I expected of a Yankee bluesman.

  “Used to. There was a time when I wanted to be a cowboy.” He grinned at my startled look. “I was taught to ride English, though. Cowboys were frowned upon in my family. Just about everything I was interested in was frowned upon.”

  There was humor in his tone, not self-pity. “I wanted to be an actress. Lucky for them, my parents weren't alive to see that fiasco.”

  He laughed. “From what I've heard around town, they would have supported you if you'd decided to be a sword-swallower.” His smile was rueful.

  In that second, I was completely charmed. The man had complimented my parents and achieved a rueful smile. He was also charged with murder, unemployed, without family or references, and had friends who should be under a jail somewhere. He spoke to my heart.

  “That's a slight exaggeration, but they would have supported me in almost anything.” He'd also ignited my curiosity. “Who was talking about my parents?”

  “Ida Mae, for one. She had great respect for both of them. She said something about baby clothes. You were a girl, so your mother brought some boy baby clothes she'd gotten to Ida Mae.” He looked over at me. “And the sheriff spoke of you. He urged me to cooperate with you.”