Crossed Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  Learning the true nature of Spider and Ray-Ban was going to be costly for Scott. Though the two bikers would be caught and punished, Scott would never forgive himself. He'd given succor to the enemy.

  “If that rich bastard doesn't confess, I'll beat it out of him.” Scott's fists were clenched. He was ready to inflict pain on someone, because he was hurting himself.

  I didn't bother to argue. That wasn't in my game plan for the night.

  Further talk was stopped as headlights came down Scott's driveway. Halfway, when there had been enough time to see my car in the beams, the headlights stopped. A door slammed. In a few moments the boards of the steps creaked.

  “Hampton?” Bridge's voice called out.

  Even though I'd anticipated this, had planned for it, my heart sank a little. Though I believed Bridge to be guilty, a part of me had hoped for a different outcome.

  “Who is it?” Scott's voice held anger. He was playing his part to the hilt.

  “Bridge Ladnier. Is Miss Delaney there?”

  “What's it to you?”

  “I've come to negotiate with the two of you. I believe you have something I very much want.”

  “I'm not interested in selling the records. Beat it.”

  The porch creaked as Bridge came to the open door. He held a stack of hundred-dollar bills in one hand. “I want those records. I'm a collector.” He tossed the money to Scott, who caught it with one hand. “Keep that just for talking with me.”

  Scott threw the money down on the table and grinned. “I like the way you do business. Come on in.”

  “Bridge, don't trust him.” I stepped into the fray. “He's going to try and cheat you.”

  “Shut up!” Scott yelled at me.

  “Sarah Booth,” Bridge said smoothly, “I enjoy a challenging negotiation. It's the art of entrepreneurship. The win is no fun unless there's risk.”

  “Don't trust him, Bridge. He killed Ivory to get these records. I came here to get him to confess. I thought I could—”

  “I'm not telling you again.” Scott grabbed my arm so tightly that I almost dropped to my knees. His grip was the only thing that kept me standing.

  “Hey!” Bridge started toward us.

  “Stay out of this.” His voice was threat enough to stop Bridge in his tracks. “This bitch has to learn who's running this show.” He pushed me slightly as he released me. I stumbled against the coffee table but caught my balance. Scott was damn good at this. Almost too good.

  “May I hear the merchandise?” Bridge asked.

  Scott got the record I'd shown him from one of the boxes and put it on the old phonograph. There was some chatter among the musicians.

  “Lord, we're gonna show the world that Mississippi is a place where music rules.” Ivory Keys was talking.

  “Put your hands on those keys and start us off.” I would have recognized Elvis's voice anywhere. Even if I hadn't, the look of rapture on Bridge's face would have clued me in.

  The music was red-hot and blue. Elvis's voice wasn't the slick Vegas drawl he'd perfected later. It was raw and moaning. Without a doubt it was some of his best work.

  “What do you want for all of them?” Bridge waved at the records.

  “Ten million.” Scott didn't blink an eye. “And something else.”

  “What?”

  “Don't listen to him. Bridge, I was wrong about him. He killed Ivory. He can't be trusted. He'll take your money and kill you.” I stepped forward so Scott had a clear shot at me. He swung and came at my head. As his palm connected with my cheek, I felt almost nothing, but there was the sound of fist meeting flesh and I knew Scott had somewhere learned the art of wrestling. He'd slapped his chest while pretending to strike me. I let him push me back onto the sofa, and collapsed as if I were unconscious. I fell with my face and one hand right in the crack of the pillows where I'd secreted Scott's phone and my tape recorder. I could work both devices with minimal movement.

  “Sarah Booth!” Bridge's voice was indignant.

  “She's not hurt.” Scott was matter-of-fact, as if he punched me out every day. “She's just quiet for a while. Now that she's not chattering on, let's do business.”

  As they talked, my fingers found the necessary buttons. I hit the speed dial button on Scott's phone and listened to the tinny ring buzzing in my ear. I'd left my cell phone in the boxes of records in Coleman's office closet. I counted five rings, and panic was setting in when Coleman picked up the phone and said hello. I didn't answer. I just inched the telephone so he could hear the conversation in the room, and I clicked on my tape recorder.

  “I'll give you the ten million for the records,” Bridge said. “Cash. Right now.”

  “That's a fair price, but I want something else.”

  “What?” Bridge was antsy.

  “A confession.”

  “To what?”

  “Don't play dumb with me. Sarah Booth thinks I killed Ivory, but I didn't. She came here offering those records she found, hoping to trick me into confessing. I told her what she wanted to hear, because I don't expect to hang around here for the trial. But I want to know who did kill him.”

  “Why are you asking me?”

  “Because I think you killed him trying to get these records.” Scott laughed. “It's a good thing you realize you can just buy them from me or I might be in danger myself.” He laughed again. I had to hand it to the man, he had a flair for the dramatic.

  “I would have bought the records from Ivory, no doubt about that. But he wouldn't admit to me that he had them.” Bridge wasn't biting.

  “Right. That old man was tough. It took me a long time to get him to trust me. I knew he had those records all along. That's what kept me hanging around.”

  Scott sounded so believable. And Bridge sounded so genuinely confused. I risked opening one eye. Their expressions matched their words.

  “I didn't have a thing to do with Ivory's death. As a collector, I wanted these records. But I wanted to buy them. I admit, after he was dead, I tried to buy the club because that was the logical place he would have hidden them.” Bridge shrugged. “But even that didn't work. And someone had already searched the place. It was trashed when I took a contractor over there in the hope of finding something. Whoever killed him knew a thing or two about tossing a place.”

  I opened my other eye. This wasn't going as planned. Not at all.

  Scott walked over to the record player and picked up the record. He held it delicately. “Tell me you killed Ivory or I'm going to smash this record.”

  Bridge's face paled. “I didn't kill him. Please don't destroy that. It's invaluable to someone like me. I'll give you twelve million.”

  I started to sit up when there was the sound of a gunshot. A bullet splattered into the wall beside Scott's head. I ducked back into the pillows, but kept one eye open on the door. Spider and Ray-Ban walked into the room, and both of them held guns.

  34

  "I'll take that,” Spider said as he stepped forward and took the album from Scott's hands. “We went to a lot of trouble trying to find those records. Where're the others?"

  It was all I could do to force my body to remain limp on the sofa. Where in the hell had Spider and Ray-Ban come from? They were in Biloxi. Jimmy John had said they were there, but then I realized he hadn't. I'd simply assumed they were there. I had committed what might prove to be a fatal mistake.

  “You killed Ivory.” Scott's voice was without inflection, and I realized that not until that moment had he really believed his friends were guilty.

  Spider gave Scott a contemptuous look. “That crazy old negro talked way too much. Everyone in prison knew he'd played with Elvis on some records. After you got out and came down here, we decided that we'd travel south and find what he had stashed away.” He pointed to the three boxes of black records. “You being here and so tight with the old fool made it a whole lot easier on us.” Spider's grin was wide. “When we showed up at the nightclub, he remembered us and wasn't all that welc
oming. Then we reminded him we were friends of yours and took such good care of you in the joint. He loosened up, let us right in, and set up a round of drinks for us, talking about how everybody deserves a second chance.” Spider leaned down and grinned. “Thanks, brother.”

  Scott lunged at Spider, but it was an act of fury and not a planned attack. Ray-Ban deftly stuck out a foot and tripped him. Spider drew back the butt of his pistol and brought it down on Scott's cheekbone as Scott was falling. I heard the bone crack. Scott crumpled and fell on the floor moaning.

  Instead of standing, I took a horizontal route to Scott, sliding off the sofa and scrambling on the floor. I was almost to him when I felt the barrel of the pistol pressed into the small of my back.

  “So, Miss Sarah Booth Delaney, you don't look so high-and-mighty now.” Ray-Ban had shoved his sunglasses up on his forehead as he leaned over and pushed the metal deeper into my back. It was the first time I'd actually seen his beady black eyes, and I looked away from the hate and malice.

  “Stop that! Leave her alone.” Bridge started forward to defend me. Though he was an athletic man, he was no match for Ray-Ban. In one swing, Ray-Ban swept the gun from my back to Bridge's jaw, connecting solidly. Bridge dropped like a sack of cement, momentarily stunned and in pain.

  “Stay out of it, Moneybags,” Ray-Ban said. He looked down at Bridge. “By the way, that's a nice ride you've got. Hope we didn't hurt it when we hit that ugly dog.”

  Rage boiled in my heart, but my brain was clear enough to know that if I hurled myself at the bastard, he'd simply cold-cock me, too. I took the opportunity to check on Scott. He was moaning and spitting blood. His cheekbone was definitely cracked and I could see chips of tooth in the blood he was spitting. “He needs a doctor,” I said. I put a hand on his chest to hold him steady on the floor. If he tried to get up, they'd simply whack him again.

  “Load the records. I'll keep an eye on them.” Spider pointed Ray-Ban at the sturdy cardboard cartons. An ugly grin lit his face. “Put them in the trunk of the Jaguar. Moneybags won't be needing that fine car anymore.”

  Ray-Ban hefted one box first.

  “The records won't do you any good,” I pointed out. “Everyone knows about them. No music company will buy stolen goods.”

  “Who needs a music company? I've already got a private collector lined up. He doesn't care where the records come from or how I get them.”

  Damn. Spider was a lot smarter than I'd anticipated. That was the flaw in my whole scheme. I'd never considered that the two creeps were smart enough to conceive of such a plan and execute it by themselves. I'd vastly underestimated them. “What are you going to do with us?” I asked.

  “Kill you. I don't believe in leaving loose ends behind.” Spider grinned, and I knew he was telling the truth. We were only moments away from a bullet in the brain. The cavalry should have ridden over the hill by now. Delay was the only tactic I had left.

  “I thought Scott was your brother.” I eased his head into my lap as he tried to rise up. His eyes were dazed with pain, but his fists were clenched.

  “Scott broke the code when he sided with that old negro against his brothers.” He made a face. “He should have understood that standing up for a black was something we'd never forgive. We got a name for someone like him.”

  “And I don't want to hear it.” I had to keep them talking. “Why'd you try to kill my horse?” I asked.

  “If I'd really been trying to kill him, he'd be dead. At first, we wanted to scare you off. We painted the tombstone and shot at the horse, but that was before you became a real pain in the ass. You kept snooping around, poking into things. Once you climbed in the sack with Scott, we knew you'd never give up trying to help him. So we decided the easiest remedy was to kill both of you.”

  “You're a real specialist with fire, aren't you?” I asked.

  “I like my cocktails dry and hot,” he grinned. “But the grocery store was more fun. It really burned.”

  Ray-Ban had loaded one carton of records. Our time was running out. “Hey, Ray-Ban. Maybe you'd better play some of those records. You might be in for a big surprise.”

  Spider was instantly alert. Still holding the gun on us, he walked over to the last box. Pulling up a black record, he examined it a moment before he threw it to the ground. “Glenn Miller!” He pulled out another one. “Frank Sinatra? What is this?” He threw the record against the wall.

  “Hey, those are very valuable. They're collector quality.” I didn't try to hide my smug grin.

  The muzzle of the gun swung down at me. “Where are the Ivory records?”

  His finger inched the trigger back, and I wondered how it was going to feel to die. Once I told him the truth, he was going to shoot me. Then again, he was going to shoot me anyway.

  “Bite me,” I said with the biggest grin I could muster in the face of death.

  “You little—”

  “I can make her talk. In fact, I'd love it.”

  All heads swung to the front door where Nandy Shanahan stood, all tricked out in a pink cloud of lace and nylon. She stepped into the room and I realized she was wearing pink acrylic glitter heels with a little pink-feathered pompon on each foot. She was also wearing Baby Doll polish and lip gloss, which contrasted nastily with her glossy red hair. The episode of self-mutilation must have ended with some type of psychiatric therapy and some mighty good drugs. Nandy was clean and polished. Despite the problem with her color choices, she'd been transformed from a grunge groupie to a strange kind of glamour girl—if peignoirs were your taste. The metal staples in her forehead gave her Barbie meets Bride of Frankenstein panache.

  My big problem with Nandy wasn't fashion, but that she was standing in Scott's doorway. Once again, I'd assumed. I'd been told she was gone by two sources. I'd assumed it was fact. Twice in one day I'd violated the golden rule of a good detective. I might not live to break it a third time. I could see from his expression that Spider was not impressed with the latest visitor, no matter how bizarre her getup.

  “You're that crazy bitch from the courthouse,” he said, unfazed by Nandy's fashion flip.

  “I can make Sarah Booth squeal, but you have to promise that you won't hurt Scott.” Nandy looked at me with anticipation. “I would enjoy making her talk.”

  She was serious. “So, you came for one more shot at scoring with Scott.” I pointed at her getup. “Everyone in town knows that you only have sex when you're wearing your Barbie peignoir set. I can't help but wonder what you wear to the shrink. Does Barbie have a cute little pink straitjacket?”

  “When I see that big-mouth Robert again, he's a dead man.” She was fuming.

  Scott pointed at the door and mumbled something to the effect that she should get out.

  Nandy rubbed her feathered pom-pom on his leg. “Baby, I'm the only one who can save you. You might as well accept it.”

  Scott tried to sit up, but I held him back. At this particular moment, Nandy was a good thing. The longer she diverted Spider and Ray-Ban, the better our chances were. I was positive Coleman had heard enough of the conversation to realize Scott and I were in grave danger, though not from Bridge. Surely Coleman was racing through the hot night at this second. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself.

  Spider and Ray-Ban exchanged glances. Spider stepped closer to Scott. “I don't need a crazy bitch to get anyone to talk.” His booted foot pressed down on Scott's left hand as he gave me a victory smile. “You tell me where those records are or I'm going to crush his fingers. He'll never play again.”

  “Okay,” I said, pushing his foot away. “I'll be glad to tell you.”

  “Don't trust her.” Nandy stepped up to Spider. “She was a liar in the womb. Every time she's in a tight spot, she lies. In the sixth grade, she was caught drawing penises on pictures in her geography book. She pretended she'd never seen those pictures and then said that I'd borrowed her book the day before.”

  I'd forgotten all about the pen-and-ink penises. I hadn't actual
ly accused Nandy, but now I realized how the teacher had figured out she was the guilty party. No one else in sixth grade would draw a penis with a tiara on it.

  “She's a total psycho,” I interjected. “She honest to God believes she's heir to the Scottish throne. Forget the fact that there hasn't been a Scottish throne in centuries.”

  Nandy's pale face flushed, and I noticed for the first time that when she was upset, the flush extended down her legs. It was a fascinating bit of science.

  “That's a damn lie, Sarah Booth Delaney. I'm sick of you interfering in my life. I want him to kill you.” She turned to Spider. “She took the records to the courthouse. I saw her.”

  Spider pushed Nandy aside with such force that she fell against the sofa and whacked her head against the wall. I could tell by the way she landed she was unconscious. It was the preferred state where Nandy was concerned.

  “Where are the records?” Spider had a one-track mind and it was focused on me.

  “Nandy's finally right about something. The records are in Sheriff Coleman Peters' office. In his closet.” I pulled the telephone out of the pillows, pushing the off button as I handed it to him. “Call Coleman and ask, if you don't believe me.” I wanted to call Coleman. I wanted to call him and give him a piece of my mind. Where in the hell was he? I'd designated him the cavalry, and he wasn't riding over the hill.

  “You'd better be lying,” Spider said as he lifted his boot.

  I snatched Scott's hand off the floor. Then I realized he hadn't intended to stomp Scott. He was going to kick me.

  Bridge had remained silent throughout the entire exchange. He chose this time to speak, though he didn't bother with words. With a loud roar he charged at Spider.

  I watched in horror as Spider shifted the gun from me to Bridge. I saw his finger pulling the trigger back in slow motion. There was the sound of a gunshot. Bridge's body changed course in midair as he dove beside the sofa where Nandy sprawled. Spider turned slowly to face the door as he staggered and began to fall.