Bone to Be Wild (12 page)

“Sarah Booth Delaney,” she said, her gaze sweeping my jeans, barn jacket, riding boots, and messy hair. “I'll gladly treat you to a makeover and haircut. It's depressing to see someone my age look so … dowdy.”

I wanted to blow smoke in her face but I'd tossed my cigarette. “Thanks, but no thanks.” I almost added I had important work to do, but such a point would be lost on Bijou, who had nothing to do all day but spend money and torment people.

“Mr. Bellow,” I said, “I hear they're giving free vaccinations at the local pharmacy. I doubt rabies is on the list, but you might want to check into it if you're going to hang with mad dogs.”

His laughter was gratifying, and so was Bijou's flush. “You're a total bitch,” Bijou said under her breath.

“What brings you to Playin' the Bones?” I asked Yancy. It wasn't my business, but I was protective of Scott. He didn't need anyone pressuring him right now, and Yancy had offered to invest.

“Just a friendly visit,” Yancy said. “I want this blues club to open in Sunflower County. Having your bartender gunned down in the back of the club isn't exactly the best beginning. I want Mr. Hampton to understand I'm available to help him with whatever he needs.”

Bijou put her hand on Yancy's arm. “We both are. I have a number of properties in the county perfectly suited to be excellent B&Bs. If this club takes off, I can keep them booked year round. Yancy wants to start a music festival, maybe bring in some big rockers who trace their musical lineage back to the blues. He'll cover the expenses to get it started.”

So the two were hoping to get rich off the club, which was fine with me. “I'm sure Scott will be delighted to hear your plans. He's inside.” In the distance I saw Tinkie's Cadillac headed toward us. Rescue was on the way. “There's my ride,” I said, edging away.

“Don't rush off,” Bijou said. “Maybe we can find some money to brighten that rambling old hut you live in. It might appeal to the discount traveler.”

Bijou could insult me all she wished, but Dahlia House was another matter. “Your point is taken, Bijou. Compared to the whorehouse you grew up in in New Orleans, I guess Dahlia House is a bit sedate.”

“Ladies!” Yancy winked at me. “Pull in the claws. We have business, Bijou. Sarah Booth, always a pleasure.”

“Oh, Yancy, tell Sarah Booth your good news.” She smiled. “Yancy just bought The Gardens. Gertrude Strom needed cash, and Yancy helped her out.”

The news hit me hard. I'd wondered where Gertrude got the money for bail, and now I knew.

“With the proper management, it will be a showcase B&B for the region,” Yancy said, apparently oblivious to the repercussions of his actions.

“A win-win,” Bijou said. “Let's head inside. I'm freezing.”

They were gone before I could muster a response.

*   *   *

The highway back to Zinnia was a long stretch of emptiness. I loved the Delta in November, a world both endless and timeless. The fields had provided bounty for generations before me, and I hoped they would for many generations after I was gone. Tinkie drove, and I told her about Tatiana and Gertrude.

“I had no idea The Gardens was up for sale,” Tinkie said. “Oscar never mentioned it, but at least now we know
how
she found bail money.”

Yancy's role in putting Gertrude back on the street troubled me. “Do you think it was deliberate?” I asked Tinkie. “He knew about Graf.”

“Yancy is a businessman first and foremost. I don't think it mattered why Gertrude needed the money. She could have been buying a home in the Bahamas for all he cared. “

“That's not a consolation,” I noted.

“No, but if Bijou is chasing Yancy, maybe she's loosened her grip on Harold. Yancy has dealt with women like her all his life. He'll get what he wants from her and then cut her loose. When he does marry, it will be to have an heir. Bijou will never be his wife. She'd eat her own young and she's getting a little long in the tooth for breeding purposes.”

Tinkie was hitting too close to Jitty's familiar refrain. I had to change the subject. “I think we should use the rest of the day for background checks on all the band members and see if we can run down Wilton Frasbaum.” Scott's former manager, Frasbaum, lived an ocean away, but we still had to eliminate him from our suspect list.

“You're the boss,” she said. “Well, actually you aren't.”

I had to laugh. “We're partners. There is no boss.”

“Let me pick up Chablis. They won't allow her in the garden club meetings so I had to leave her home alone.”

The no-dog policy was reason enough for me to avoid such gatherings, but Tinkie had an obligation as Avery Bellcase's daughter and Oscar's wife. Participation in clubs and the organizing of civic events came with the territory as head society belle. Tinkie could whip a committee into shape in five minutes flat, but she'd been unable to get around the no-pets-allowed attitude of some of Zinnia's society ladies.

Chablis was at the door when we got to Hilltop. Before we could get inside, Chablis leaped into Tinkie's arms and then jumped over to me for a lick on my cheek. Cradling Chablis, I settled back in the passenger seat as Tinkie ferried us to the PI office at Dahlia House.

As we turned down the drive, I took comfort in surveying the pastures. The first frost had come early, and though the grass was still green, it wouldn't be long before the brown of winter was everywhere. It was my favorite time to ride.

Tinkie's boots scrunched across the oyster shell drive and gave me an idea. “Want to take an hour and go for a jaunt on the horses?” I asked. She seldom took me up on my offers for a horseback adventure, but this time she stopped on the top step.

“How far is it to The Gardens from here?”

I considered. “About five miles, if we cut across country.”

“Let's sneak in from behind and find out what Gertrude is up to.”

I couldn't believe my ears. Tinkie didn't hesitate to break the law when necessary, but I wouldn't exactly put this scenario on the list of must-dos.

“Are you sure?” If Gertrude caught us trespassing, it might lessen the impact of my testimony against her when she was finally brought to trial. Then again, she might shoot us, so testifying would be a moot issue.

“She's up to something, Sarah Booth. I want to know if she has a black truck hidden on her property. We can't just drive up and inspect the premises. Coleman doesn't have enough probable cause for a search warrant. It's up to us to sneak in and find out.”

I knew from a previous case that Gertrude's cottage was tucked away in the woods behind the B&B. There was access to the back of her property through the fields and a stand of hardwoods, but I'd never actually been there on horseback. “We may run into some fences or obstacles.”

Tinkie shrugged. “Then we can turn around and come home, can't we? We can talk about the case on the way. Kill two birds with one stone.”

“Good thing you supplemented your lumberjack wardrobe.” I indicated her boots, jeans, and a dark green polar fleece jacket. Tinkie was normally very chic, but the past two days she'd worn more woodsy attire. “How did the garden club take to your rural persona?”

“They hated it.” She grinned. “Cece told me to shake folks up every now and again.”

“Cece would be the queen of jolting people out of their comfort zones. Speaking of which…”

I dialed our journalist friend and told her our plans. “Just in case we don't come home, you'll know where to find us.”

“I gather you didn't call Coleman and tell him what you're planning because you know he'd have a hissy fit.”

“Right.”

“Okay. Call me when you head back to Dahlia House. If you aren't home or answering the phone by five, I'm calling the National Guard.”

Some would think that hyperbole, but I knew better. Cece would do it in a heartbeat. “We'll be careful and home by five.”

I signaled Tinkie toward the barn. “We'll take Sweetie Pie, too.” I looked at Chablis, who couldn't keep up with the horses. Her legs were only three or four inches long.

“Never fear,” Tinkie said, tucking the dog in her jacket. Chablis's tufted little ears poked out at the top, giving an interesting alien look to Tinkie's chest.

We saddled Reveler and Miss Scrapiron and headed out the back of the property at a nice trot. Although I worried at first, it seemed Chablis enjoyed the rhythmic movement. Sweetie seemed to know we were on assignment. Rather than run ahead, she stayed right beside Reveler.

The horses were fresh and eager for a run. Tinkie sat secure in her seat so we let the horses gallop. They covered the distance in no time. We slowed to a walk at a copse of trees behind Gertrude's property, and my misgivings ripened. My partner deserved protection, not endangerment. This had been her idea, but I should have convinced her it was too dangerous.

“How about you hold the horses here.” I suggested.

“I'm not your squire, Sir Sarah Booth.” The twitch of her lips said she wasn't offended, but she also didn't intend to cooperate.

“I can be much quieter slipping around by myself. And if I see something suspicious and need to break in, I know the layout of her cottage.” I should, I'd been held prisoner there with Graf.

“So do I.
You
hold the horses.”

She'd chosen difficult over cooperative. I couldn't blame her, though. I wasn't about to be left behind while she risked her safety. Arguing would bring no satisfaction because Tinkie was every bit as hardheaded as I was.

We walked along the edge of the woods for half a mile, before I found an opening that led to a trail through the trees. I urged Reveler forward. Tinkie followed on Miss Scrapiron.

The moment we stepped into the canopy the temperature dropped by at least ten degrees. We'd been warm riding over the fields in the sunshine at a brisk canter. Now it was cold. Steam rose from Reveler's neck and flanks. Good to keep the horses moving until they cooled down.

The animals seemed to sense our need for quiet. The horses plodded along and Sweetie Pie took the lead, moving unerringly toward the back of Gertrude's property. A few times I paused, breaking a limb that blocked our path. The lower portion of the trail, obviously used heavily by deer, was clear. Tinkie and I had to duck repeatedly to avoid being slapped off our horses by scrub branches or vines.

At last we came to a clearing. Through the thick underbrush I spied Gertrude's cottage. My gut twisted painfully, and I slipped down from Reveler's back. Now one of us would have to hold the horses while the other checked out the premises.

The last time I'd been inside the house, I'd held Graf's hand as he was loaded onto a gurney and rushed to the hospital for surgery. “I'll be right back.” I handed Tinkie my reins and took off at a jog before she could protest. I skirted the cottage and checked out the old barn and a garage stuffed full of antique furnishings that could be used in the B&B. But there was no black truck. I returned to Tinkie crestfallen. “Nothing.”

“Seems like we ran into a load of bad memories for no reason,” Tinkie said. “Dammit, I was certain we'd find the truck. I honestly thought that even if Gertrude wasn't the shooter, she was helping the person who did it.”

My disappointment was all out of proportion. In my far-fetched fantasies, I'd daydreamed about finding the truck and the shotgun and proving that letting Gertrude out on bail had been a serious mistake. Reality proved nothing of the kind.

“Let's head back to Dahlia House.” Exhaustion tugged at my feet. Even walking was a chore. I leaned against Reveler's stout shoulder.

Tinkie checked behind her at the crackle of a stick. “Let's get out of here before we're caught.”

“Good idea.” I shifted to turn Reveler around when Sweetie Pie froze. A guttural growl came from deep inside her.

Tinkie and I stopped moving and searched the area. Sweetie sensed something we didn't. Someone who posed a danger to us was near.

“Shit,” Tinkie whispered. “We have to go forward to turn around. Once we step into the clearing, we'll be easy to spot.”

“So she presses trespassing charges against us,” I said, striving for a fearless tone. “It's only a misdemeanor.”

“You and I both know she could as easily shoot us dead.”

A stick some twenty yards away snapped. Sweetie's growl escalated.

“Run!” I commanded Tinkie. “Run for help. Give me your reins.” She'd never get Miss Scrapiron turned and headed out. I could hold the horses while she went for assistance or called for help if we had cell phone reception.

“I'm not leaving you. But take the reins.” She stepped up beside me and handed me Scrapiron's reins. The gun in her hand startled me.

“Where did you get the gun?”

“We both have them. You should carry yours. Times like this they come in handy.” She stepped in front of me and the horses.

Another limb cracked—closer. Sweetie's hackles rose. Maybe it was a wild animal. There had once been bears and panthers throughout the Delta. I'd rather face a wild animal than Gertrude Strom.

The woman of my nightmares finally stepped out of the thick underbrush. Sweetie took a defensive stance in front of us. Teeth bared and hackles raised, she let Gertrude know she meant business. But Gertrude's gaze was on Tinkie's gun.

“Well, well,” she said, “trespassing and armed. What an interesting combination. How's that gimpy boyfriend of yours, Sarah Booth? I've been incarcerated but I heard he dumped you.”

“Shut your piehole.” Tinkie chambered a round in the pistol. “It would give me immense pleasure to put a bullet right between your eyes.”

Tinkie was a good shot. She could do it. But she wouldn't kill Gertrude in cold blood no matter how much the old witch deserved it. Gertrude was unarmed. I brought out my cell phone only to discover there was no service so far from the main road. “I'm calling Coleman,” I bluffed.