Bone to Be Wild (20 page)

With grit I could only admire, Tammy turned the conversation. Her tone was girlish and excited. “I'm wearing this wonderful blouse I got in Memphis while I was visiting little Dahlia. It's red-and-black striped and sparkly. And I'm bringing a date, so you two don't embarrass me.”

“Who?” Tinkie asked. She looked at me and I shrugged. I wasn't aware Tammy was dating. She meddled in my love life, like all the rest of my friends, but she'd never hinted she was interested in a particular man.

“Parker French.”

“
The
Parker French?” Tinkie and I said in unison.

“None other.” Tammy tried hard not to preen, but she was totally unsuccessful.

I swept a bow to her. “My, oh, my!” Parker French was a highly regarded music critic for
Rolling Stone.
“How the heck did you arrange to get Mr. French down here?”

Tammy posed with a coy look over her shoulder. “I just batted my eyelashes and—”

“Give it a rest,” Tinkie said. “Tell us the truth.”

“Parker is a friend of the Mount Sinai Methodist minister. I was telling Reverend John Hillet about the troubles Scott was having at the club, so John called Parker and asked him to come. They went to seminary together. Parker studied to be a minister until he realized writing about music was his calling. Anyway, I said I'd be Parker's chauffeur. I brought him back from the Memphis airport on my way home.”

“And you've kept it a secret all this time!” Tinkie shook a finger at Tammy. “You are a sly one, aren't you?”

“This is amazing.” Scott would be over the moon when he heard. A big-city music critic coming to Podunk, Mississippi, was big news for Cece too. I had to let her know ASAP.

“I left a message for Cece.” Tammy gave me a crooked grin, letting me know she could read my mind as well as predict my future. “We're arriving at the club a little early so Cece can talk to Parker. And Reverend Hillet has asked the entire congregation of the church to come, too. We're showing strong support for Scott. The blues have nothing to do with Satan, and we're sick of hearing it.”

“You are an amazing friend, Tammy.” I kissed her cheek. “Amazing!”

“This club is important to me and my friends. We don't practice voodoo or worship Satan and the blues are no more sexual or suggestive than country or rock and roll. I'm a little tired of hearing cheap talk from ignorant mouths.”

“What have you heard about the club and the devil?”

“Whoever is working against Scott is organized and has financial backing. There were flyers all over downtown Zinnia. Millie and her waitresses were hustling up and down the street, pulling them down. She said she got every one she saw, but who knows where they were distributed.”

So Mason had actually put up his hateful flyers. No wonder Tammy was having bad dreams about the club. Who would have thought we'd end up waging a PR campaign about a form of music born in the cotton fields right outside my door. The blues were part of the Delta. A few legends about Robert Johnson trading his soul to the devil at the crossroads and people went nuts. I had a deep and ugly suspicion this attack on the blues had a lot more to do with race than any devil's bargain.

“This makes me mad as a hornet,” Tinkie said. “There's nothing satanic about this music. The blues grew from the old field hollers where one person or group sang a line and another group answered. The blues are about drinking and loving and dancing and temptation and revenge and jealousy and joy and every other human emotion—just like any other music.”

“My church group is already handing out
our
flyers,” Tammy said. “We'll have a good turnout. I promise. We won't let Scott down. We have to get dressed to the nines and put on the dog. That's what we can do. We can be there and take photos and put it all up on social media. We'll make this opening the biggest thing to ever hit Sunflower County.”

Tammy was right. “I've got to pull together a hot outfit.” Tammy had her clothes planned and Tinkie never looked less than perfect. I had work to do. “I can't be the ugly duckling while all of you are strutting your stuff.”

“That's the ticket,” Tammy said. “See you both tonight!”

*   *   *

For three hours, Tinkie and I labored over the suspect list. No matter how we approached it, we simply didn't have the evidence necessary for an arrest. We ate lunch and worked until the clock struck four.

Coleman's call gave us a chance to take a break. “I talked with Gertrude, who claims she was alone and had stopped on the road to let a bee out of her car.”

“A bee?”

“She's up to something, Sarah Booth. Watch out. I can't arrest her, and we have security men at Dahlia House, but you're going to have to be vigilant. I'm worried.”

“I'll use extra precautions,” I promised. “See you tonight.”

Tinkie stretched and yawned. “I'm going home and taking a nap. I don't know if our brains aren't working or if we're simply exhausted. But it's pointless to go through the facts again.”

I wanted to disagree, but I couldn't. Tomorrow, after the club opening, we'd take another run at Foundation Rock. Our plan was to slip in and try to speak with one of the females. It wasn't a brilliant strategy, but at least we had a plan of action.

As Tinkie drove away, Chablis's little red bow bobbed in the breeze from the open window. Pluto at last rubbed my legs. I was forgiven. Together the cat, Sweetie Pie, and I tumbled into bed for a snooze.

 

12

Based on the enthusiasm of the crowd and the fact that Scott had to open the doors and let the music pour out into the parking lot where the overflow crowd tailgated and camped in lawn chairs brought from home, I judged the club a smashing success. Curtis Hebert's jambalaya ran out by nine o'clock—just as the band cranked up to full-tilt boogie. I'd never seen a bigger collection of sparkle, dazzle, and dance moves. While the dress was casual, it didn't prevent the women from wearing a fancy blouse over jeans and styling shoes. A few men even wore suits. And everyone danced!

Cece sang a few numbers, wowing everyone in the audience. She was the belle of the ball, and enjoyed every moment. Yancy Bellow was in the front row with another bit of arm candy, an elegant blonde who spoke with a Dutch accent. The surprising thing about her was not her looks but her encyclopedic knowledge of the blues. I wondered if Yancy's interest in the music came first or if Chantal Noordeloos inspired his willingness to invest in Playin' the Bones. She was certainly beautiful and interesting to talk to. And Yancy had the money to indulge her passions. I hoped Scott wouldn't have to take an investor, but the fact Yancy and Chantal were there boded well if that turned out to be the case.

At ten o'clock, Scott took the microphone and settled the crowd. “While this is a celebration tonight, Koby Shaver is very much on our minds here at Playin' the Bones. Koby had only been a part of the club for a short time, but we'd all grown to care about him. His death is a loss—a cruel and unnecessary loss.”

I watched the crowd, searching for a wrong expression. The people in the club had been vetted by the security team out front and I knew many of them. No one showed a suspicious reaction to Scott's words. My gaze strayed to Tatiana, who wiped at her cheeks with a bar napkin. For a gal who looked so tough, she teared up easily.

Scott scanned the room as if seeking someone. “Now I want to acknowledge a local man who has made an extraordinary donation. Mr. Bellow, would you stand?”

Yancy tried to deflect the attention, but Scott waited him out. The businessman finally stood.

“Mr. Bellow has given ten thousand dollars as a reward for information leading to the arrest of the person who shot Koby.”

The crowd rose to its feet, clapping and whistling. Yancy blushed, waved at everyone, and quickly sat down. Chantal leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“Would you care to say anything, Mr. Bellow?” Scott asked.

Yancy stood and cleared his throat. “I hope this reward money will bring forth new leads,” he said. “There are many rumors about why Mr. Shavers was killed. Only the person who pulled the trigger can know for certain why such an act was committed. Our heritage is under attack. If I can contribute to justice in some small way, I'm happy to do so.”

He sat down and Scott took pity on his discomfort and pulled the crowd's attention back to the stage. “Now, I want you to dance and enjoy the evening, but don't forget Koby and the injustice done to him and those who loved him.”

The band picked up an old tune, and the party atmosphere returned.

After five dances in a row, I went to the bar to get another Jack and water and evaluate how Tatiana was holding up. If necessary, I could take her place. She looked like she'd be more at home in a grunge bar than a juke, but she knew her stuff when it came to mixing drinks. She was a virtuoso, pouring several liquors at once, plopping lime wedges and lemon slices as garnishes, chatting up the patrons.

When she saw me approaching, she took a deep breath, as if she'd been working hard to hide her sadness and could now relax. “Sarah Booth, it's been a day, hasn't it?”

“Indeed. Do you need a break? I can take over. I'm not as quick or flashy as you are, but I can mix a drink.”

“Working keeps my mind occupied. Part of me wants to crawl to Koby's house and hide, but I'm doing this for him. He would've wanted me to help open the club.” She nodded toward the packed room. “I think Scott has a hit on his hands. I thought the murder would scare off the customers.”

“Everything is moving like clockwork. Even the rain has held off.”

“The band is hot. I see why Koby moved down here. It's like a family. The sad truth is, most of us are have no strong ties to blood relatives.”

“Do you think you'll stay?”

“I don't know. For a while, at least. Zinnia is such a small town and I stand out like a sore thumb. I went to buy groceries and the Piggly Wiggly manager followed me around like he thought I'd steal his beans.”

She almost made me laugh. “Folks will adjust to you. It is a small town with a measure of narrow thinking. Once folks know you, they'll stop judging you based on appearances.”

“Except I work at the club where the band has a contract with Satan. The checkout clerk at the grocery was almost afraid of me. She said my mortal soul was in danger. People don't like the idea of this club. She had a flyer saying we worshipped the devil and had orgies and wanted to blend the races into one.”

Mason Britt and his damn flyers. “I wouldn't say a lot of people feel that way, Tatiana. Superstition and ignorance are everywhere, not just here in the Delta. Once folks adjust to a successful blues club, the stupidity will die down. I love Zinnia, but anything new is always suspect. This whole blues-equals-contract-with-Satan campaign isn't really about the music.”

“Yeah?” She leaned her arms on the bar and stretched her back. “What's it about?”

“History that's been twisted. And prejudice. Against blacks and women.”

“Good to know.” She stood up. “I guess my appearance fits right in with the Satan worship idea.”

I couldn't deny it, but I also wouldn't say it. Once folks met and talked to Tatiana, they'd learn she was a girl grieving the death of her boyfriend. The tattoos, leather, and piercings didn't define her. Like everyone else, only her conduct mattered.

Yancy stepped up to the bar and ordered an old-fashioned. “Sarah Booth, it appears Mr. Hampton has opened with great success. Even the weather has cooperated. The torrential downpours predicted haven't materialized. Scott must walk under the auspices of a protective star.”

“He's a good man. Sometimes good things happen to good people.”

“Well said. I was afraid the death of his bartender might negatively impact attendance. The power of a great band overcomes the biggest obstacles.” He held up his drink. “To the blues.”

We tipped glasses and drank.

“To a very generous action.” We clinked and drank again. To be honest, the way Yancy stared at me gave me a little gut twist. He had the reputation of a man who loved women, and he looked at me like I was a juicy little hunk of sausage. “Where's Bijou?” I couldn't help myself. I really couldn't.

“She had health issues.” One side of his mouth twitched in what could have been a hastily controlled smile.

“Too bad. You two make a handsome couple.”

“Bijou is a lovely little cannibal.”

At first I didn't believe I'd heard him. Then I almost choked on my drink. He gallantly slapped my back until I caught my breath. “There, there, Sarah Booth,” he said, “I'm not in Sunflower County a great amount of time, but Bijou's reputation precedes her.” He laughed at me and leaned closer. “As does yours. What did you put in those brownies?”

“I don't know what you're referring to.” I got the denial out with as much conviction as I could muster around the impulse to laugh. Yancy had pegged me, and nothing I could say would change his mind.

“Very well.” He signaled Tatiana for more drinks. “Are there any new developments in the search for Mr. Shaver's killer?”

“No.” I hated to admit it, but there was no point lying, especially not to a man who'd just donated so generously. “I hope the reward money helps.”

“Me, too. Sarah Booth, I was very sorry to hear about your troubles with Gertrude Strom. It was terrible what she did. I realize by buying her B&B I complicated things for you and I'm sorry.”

“Gertrude is unbalanced and dangerous.” And out on bail, I could have added but didn't.

“Your mother tried to be good to her. She helped Gertrude through a time of personal turmoil and even spoke with me about hiring Gertrude for clerical work. At the time, I had closed my office in Sunflower County. I can't remember the details of Gertrude's distress. Something like an unwanted pregnancy, as I recall. Strange Gertrude would focus all of her ire on you. It appears she's brought out the big guns for her legal defense.”