Bone to Be Wild (10 page)

There are pockets of primitive belief Christian churches all over the world. Most deal with living a life based on a strict interpretation of the Bible, but some, like Foundation Rock and Reverend Farley, had moved from Sunday services to taking action against those they labeled sinners. Picketing, protesting, and other legal forms of expressing an opinion were too soft for Farley.

Congregation members had been caught throwing rocks through store windows of people who were “ungodly,” and a few had gone so far as to deface tombstones in Zinnia's main cemetery. They'd burned effigies of politicians and movie stars they disagreed with. Such events were sporadic and committed mostly by underage members of the group.

While I respected civil disobedience, there was an edge of danger to the Foundation Rock group. Coleman kept an eye on them, and for the most part they remained cloistered on their compound. As far as I knew, they'd never crossed the line from property damage to harming a person.

If I understood the things Foundation Rock opposed, Scott would be high on Farley's list of top ten sinners. Playin' the Bones violated any number of Farley's strict mores. Because blues music delved into the pain of lost love, the primal pull of sexual desires, hard times, and loss some people called it the devil's music. Reverend Farley had been outspoken on the subject, insisting the blues ignited the sex drive and the desire to do bad.

I didn't doubt Farley was a kook, but was he off-center enough to shoot a man in cold blood? I intended to find out.

The church was north of town down a long dirt road that would be treacherous during a good rain. I hadn't expected such a depressing situation, but that was exactly what we found. The tin church, an ugly rusted hull with window slits that made it look more like a fortress than a place of worship, was surrounded by small motor homes and even a few tents where the members of the congregation lived.

A couple of Porta-Potties were set up by the edge of the woods beside four abandoned vehicles. Several cook fires burned unattended. The place looked depressingly abandoned.

“We shouldn't be here,” Tinkie said the minute she saw the terrain.

“Too late.”

A man wearing a black suit, starched white shirt, and black hat and carrying a book came toward the car. There was no other sign of a human being. If the RVs and tents were occupied, the inhabitants stayed inside. I thought of a prison yard, empty of inmates, everyone locked away in cells.

“This is private property,” the man, who I took to be Jebediah Farley, said as he neared Tinkie's rolled-down window.

“Are you Reverend Farley?” I asked.

“I am and this is my property.” He reminded me of a lightning rod, eager for a bolt from the heavens to prove his worthiness.

“I thought this was a church,” Tinkie responded.

“You don't look like a believer to me,” he said pointedly staring at our jeans. “God doesn't hold with women wearing pants.”

“Can you show me where the Bible says women can't wear pants?” Tinkie asked.

Heat jumped in his neck and cheeks. Jebediah Farley had a bad temper, but today he managed to keep it in check. “Please leave before I call the sheriff.”

“Please do,” Tinkie said. She was tiny but she was tough. She opened the car door with enough force that she would have hurt him had it struck him. She stepped out and stretched. “Actually we're here at the sheriff's behest.”

“You are indecent! Showing off your woman parts in those tight britches. Now get in your car and leave!”

Farley's raised voice drew another man out the door of the church. He was tall, lean, and rugged. His arms bulged with muscles, and his black T-shirt stretched tight across his chest. He didn't approach, but he focused on us in a way that was threatening.

“Where were you last night?” Tinkie pressed.

I got out on the passenger side of the car, ready for action. I'd picked up a flashlight, intending to use it as a club if Farley or his minion tried to lay a finger on Tinkie. She was provoking him, which I wished she'd stop doing, but he wasn't going to hurt her as long as I was there to protect her.

“We're in the middle of the fall revival,” Farley said. “I was preaching a sermon. I don't owe you an explanation, woman, but I'm giving you one so you'll take your sinful attire away from this temple of the Lord.”

Tinkie couldn't hide her disappointment. She knew as well as I did that standing in front of a group of twenty people was a terrific alibi for the time Koby was killed.

“What time did the revival break up?” I asked.

“It was after two in the morning. I had four conversions and six testimonials last night. The Spirit moved through the congregation. It was a powerful thing to witness.” Smug was the only word to describe Farley. Well, smug and fervent.

“We hear you have a problem with Playin' the Bones. Folks around town say you've been intimating there may be serious problems there.” Tinkie stepped closer, which made him step back.

Farley smiled, but it was ugly. “I don't hold with places that play the devil's music. Serving liquor, creating an atmosphere where sin can set up house and breed. Such places cater to the darkness in the human soul. It was bad enough when the blacks ran it, but now it's pulling in our people and taking them down the road to Hell.”

“Our people?” Tinkie pressed him. “What exactly do you mean?”

I was around the car and at her side. I put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

“You know exactly what I mean.” Farley's eyes burned with his passion. “There is an order to God's creation. The white man has dominion over the animals, the women, and the other races. The white male was created in God's image and was given the rights and duties to rule. When that order is out of balance, the world is endangered. God will destroy the Earth with fire. It's promised in the Bible. Those who fail to heed God's word will pay the price. I stand against sin, and I do so with pride.”

Farley was the most dangerous kind of zealot—one who believed he had God's personal attention and approval. While he might have been in front of a congregation last night, it didn't mean he hadn't sent one of his followers to take action against the blues club. We'd learned what we came for and now it was time to leave before things got out of hand.

“Let's go, Tinkie.”

“Good idea.” Farley grew louder and louder. “You'd best get out of here, you whores of Babylon. And don't come back. We mind our business here and you'd better mind yours. Next time I see you, I don't doubt you'll both be pillars of salt. Go back to your Sodom and Gomorrah.”

I saw movement behind the windows of one of the little campers. A curtain eased back and the frightened face of a woman stared out at us. Another woman broke from one of the tents and ran toward the church. The long skirt of her dress hampered her ability to move fast, and when she glanced back at us, she was clearly terrified.

Tinkie's fists clenched. She wanted to belt Farley, and that was out of the question. I eased her into the backseat and jumped behind the wheel. Before I could start the engine, though, Farley had something else to say.

He leaned into the open window and glared at us. “I know who you are, the both of you. You think you're high and mighty, two women running around playing detective and acting like men. There's an uprising coming. Men are tired of women who try to dominate them. You two are headed for a great fall, and when it comes, there won't be anyone willing to offer you a hand. When you feel the ground rumble beneath your feet, that's us coming for you. You will learn your place or perish.”

“My place will be dancing on your grave,” Tinkie said.

I turned the engine over and rolled up the window before Tinkie could climb through it and scratch out his eyes. I drove out over the bad road with a lot less care than Tinkie had taken coming in. In the rearview mirror I saw the second man approach Farley. They watched us depart. When we were finally on the paved road, I pulled over and took a breath.

“You can't provoke people like them,” I chided her. “He's dangerous. You think he's just a fool, but he believes his actions are righteous, and that makes him capable of anything.”

“I hate people who use fear to repress others. I was hoping he'd hit me so I could charge him with assault.”

“Pushing him to rash action isn't smart.”

“Pompous asshole.” Tinkie climbed over the seat and into the front. “You should have let me deck him. He'd have blubbered and called for his mama. Men like that are always titty-babies.”

“Whoa, I haven't heard that word since second grade.” I glanced over at her. The hint of a smile tugged at Tinkie's lips. Her temper was hot, but short-lived. “I wonder what he meant about them coming for us.”

Tinkie shook out her blond hair. “Who knows. Who cares. He's a fanatic. As much as I'd like to pin this on him, he has an alibi for the time when Koby was killed. Folks like him talk big but they're usually cowards.”

“I fear you're correct. We haven't eliminated him, but we haven't unearthed any evidence.”

Tinkie checked her watch. “It's time to take you home,” Tinkie said, waving a hand to get the car on the road and moving.

“What are you planning?” Tinkie was up to something.

“Nothing. Just preparing lunch for Oscar.”

I didn't believe her for a second, but I knew she'd never tell me anything different.

*   *   *

Sweetie Pie and Pluto met me at the front steps, expecting Tinkie to take a moment to shower them with affection. Instead Tinkie tore down the driveway as soon as I was clear of the car. I could call her and ask again what she was planning, but I'd get the same answer. Nothing. She'd tell me when she was ready.

Weariness weighted my feet as I climbed the steps. I hadn't slept well. I lingered on the porch, taking in the golden light of the afternoon. When I could procrastinate no longer, I went in and started the process of unpacking my clothes from New Orleans, including the beautiful ball gown.

The strains of a favorite old song came to me from the first floor, and I walked to the landing. This was not the style I might have expected from Jitty, but it was a perfect summation of my emotions. She was in the foyer, waif-like with a cloud of dark curls. Instead of the beaded ball gowns of the 1940s, she wore tight jeans, a black and white loose-fitting top, and stiletto boots. Jitty was styling, but it was the song and lyrics that told me who she was impersonating.

“… to be a diamond…” She had the Rosanne Cash visual and vocals down pat. “Blue Moon with Heartache” could have been written just for me.

I sat on the top step, clutching my ball gown. Cinderella and her pumpkin coach had nothing on me.

Jitty finished her song and came to sit beside me. “Don't let anyone make you a victim for free,” she advised, borrowing from the song's wisdom. “Ass kickin' is my recommendation. You'll feel a whole lot better.”

“I just need a little time.”

Jitty blew out a breath. “Sarah Booth, I wish I could tell you life had handed you all the hard knocks you're gonna get. I can't. A successful life is about resilience.”

As much as I wanted to get mad, I couldn't muster the emotion. She was correct. Everyone got knocked down and kicked. Success was all in getting back up. “I'll be fine. I have to build new dreams.”

“And you will. You got a whole cheerin' section in the Great Beyond ready to back your play.” The silver bangles jingling on her arm reminded me of our first encounter. I'd heard the bracelets only a moment before she first materialized and changed my life forever. “In the next few weeks, you'll have a big choice, Sarah Booth.”

Jitty never told me anything about the future. It was against every rule of the Great Beyond. “Why are you sharing this now?”

“This is important. You're gonna want to harden your heart, protect yourself from pain. Choose the opposite. That's what your mama says. Choose to love.”

“That's pretty stupid advice. I've just had my heart ripped out and you're telling me to love again.”

“Uh-huh. Exactly.”

“Well, that's damn fool advice.”

She smiled, and I realized that she'd been setting me up to get mad all along.

“Dammit, Jitty!”

The front door opened and Jitty was gone on the last tinkle of her bracelets.

“Sarah Booth,” Scott called from the front door. “May I come in?”

I stood up. “Sure. I'm on my way downstairs.”

Although I did my best to hide my recent emotional roller coaster, Scott picked up on it. He took my hand and led me to the kitchen.

“Sit while I make us some caf
é
au lait.” He set to work, chatting about the phone calls and public concern he'd received at the club. He kept it light, but he felt responsible for Koby's death. I saw it in the shadows haunting his blue eyes. It was a heavy, and unnecessary, burden to carry.

When the coffee was brewed and a cup put in front of me, I told Scott about our morning efforts. “If Frisco and Angela weren't fa-la-la-ing in the shrubbery, they had plenty of time to kill Koby.”

“A car salesman?” Scott was skeptical.

“He's a former bull rider and a competitive marksman. His middle name should be Competitive. You beat him out of the club, and he's a man who takes things personally. He wouldn't shirk a physical confrontation and he owns shotguns. Though it would be pretty brassy to display a murder weapon.”

Scott rubbed his eyes. “It's impossible to believe a man would kill over a business deal.”

“The dance teacher will uphold Frisco's alibi.”

Scott sipped his coffee, his shoulders slumping. “I can't believe we're having this conversation. I keep thinking I'll go to the club and Koby will walk out from behind the bar and tell me it's all been a mistake.”