Bone to Be Wild (27 page)

“They hurt people. They do it all the time and no one ever stops them.”

“Who is they?” I asked.

“The church. Not the church people, but the big shots. The men who run it.”

Heat jumped into Tinkie's cheeks. “Reverend Farley?” she asked Nandy.

The girl nodded, so miserable she couldn't even face us. “Him and those bigwigs. They got private planes and they come in big black cars and off they go to do business. They hate that kind of music, and they hate places where black and white people mix. They hate women. They hate everything.” She started crying. “They burned Mr. Ned's house because he helps the migrant children. But mostly they burned it because he helped me study to go to college.” She grabbed Curtis's arm. “They'll hurt you and Patricia, too. They don't believe girls should have an education. Reverend Farley says an education is a ticket for the weaker sex to go straight to hell.”

“Farley is a total asswipe.” I couldn't stop myself. “He's wrong, Nandy. He's wrong about everything he says. You can't let crazy talk influence you.”

“He hurts everyone except for his chosen. That's who was at the club last night. That's the man in the picture. Fred Doleman. He was there snooping for Reverend Farley. Fred can do things none of the others can because Reverend Farley says he's impervious to temptation. He said he's been tested and passed. He was at the club spying. That's why I couldn't chase him away from the door. I didn't want him to know I was there.”

Beneath her fear, anger bubbled. If she was ever going to break free of the training she'd been subjected to, she'd have to hold on to her anger and wield it like a sword. “What they taught you and did to you is a crime.”

Cece knelt down, able to remain graceful in her miniskirt and high heels. “Honey, each one of us has a right to be who we are. No matter what they told you, the man upstairs loves each of us just the way we are. All he asks is that we're kind to one another.”

Nandy's tears fell silently. “Fred says the people in the club will pay for their sins. Reverend Farley and his friends have so much money. Before I left the church, I overheard the reverend talking with one of the rich people who fly in to see him. He was talking about millions of dollars and shipments and such. How can he have so much money when the people who follow him don't have enough to eat sometimes?”

“Did he say what was being shipped in?”

Nandy shook her head. “It's all a big secret, but it was hinted that this was food to be sent to different groups surviving in the wild. A network of folks living off the grid and ready to take back America from the socialists. Sometimes the women and teenagers help unload trucks late at night. Mostly into old sheds hidden around local farms. We were never told what we were doing, just that it was God's work.”

“Can you take us to some of the sheds?” I asked.

She shook her head. “We never saw where we were going, and it was always at night. We knew not to ask.”

What Nandy described amounted to little more than slavery. “We'll handle this,” I promised her.

“They'll burn that blues club down like they did Ned's house.”

“You know they burned Mr. Gaston's house?” I pulled my cell phone from my pocket to call Coleman.

“It had to be them. They were mad, because I told them I was going to college.” She was crying so hard it was difficult to understand her. “I saw them at the store one day. Fred and Wanda. They're always the ones who get to leave the compound and act like normal people. I didn't run. Instead, I stood up to them. I told them I was going to college, that I was going to be someone. They said the people who corrupted me would pay. They said a woman's place was to be obedient to her father and husband. I shouldn't have gotten in their face. I should have run away. Now they'll hurt Curtis and Patricia, too.”

“Do you have any proof they set fire to Ned's house?”

The question calmed her tears. “No. I just know it.”

Unfortunately, that wasn't good enough for an arrest. Nandy had a lot of suspicions based on the terrible treatment she'd received. But it wasn't evidence.

While Tinkie comforted Nandy and Cece made some notes, I called Coleman. I recounted what Nandy had told us, and he asked to speak to Curtis.

“We'll be along as soon as I finish the concession here. I can't leave these people in the lurch. Maybe another hour. Would you send someone to check on Patricia? Listening to Nandy talk, I'm worried now.”

He handed me the phone.

“Good work, Sarah Booth,” Coleman said.

“I can't take credit for stumbling over this.” Another instance where fate, not my sleuthing abilities, handed me a piece of the puzzle.

“Would you stop by Mrs. Hebert's and alert her to potential trouble?” Coleman asked. “I've known Patricia Ann for a long, long time and I feel sorry for anyone who tries to cross her. But let her know there's a risk.”

“Ten-four.”

While Curtis finished with the barbecue, we chatted with Nandy. She calmed down as she talked about the church. “The men are everything. They make all the decisions. The women do the work and obey. If a woman tried to speak out or even say what she felt, she was punished. My mother,” she teared up again, “Daddy cut her hair. In front of the church. And then he whipped her with everyone watching.”

“Why would he do that?” Tinkie asked.

“She said I was smart and maybe I should go to a church school. He said she defied him by questioning his authority.”

“How did you get away from them?”

“I saw Reverend Farley and Wanda Tatum having sex. I stole Wanda's cell phone and took pictures of them. Then I hid the phone. I told them I had the pictures and I'd sent them to a friend who would give them to the police if anything happened to me.”

I wanted to clap and applaud Nandy. She'd learned meek behavior to survive, but she was smart and strong and brave. “And so they let you go.”

She nodded. “I thought they had. Then Mr. Ned's house burned, and I knew it was them, getting back at me.” Her chin trembled. “I have to go back. If I don't, they'll hurt more people.”

“No, they won't,” Cece assured her. “Why did your mother agree to join Farley's group in the first place?”

“My little sister drowned while we were swimming. Mama was smoking weed and sunbathing down at the river. Daddy told Mama it was God's punishment for her sinful ways. He said God took Julie because Mama was sinning. He made her believe she was bad. Something happened to her. It was like she broke. She just quit fighting. Daddy had been going to meetings with Reverend Farley and the Midnight Templars, and he said we were selling the house, joining the church, and living a godly life from now on. We sold everything and moved into a tent.”

“How old were you?” Cece asked.

“I was eleven. They pulled me from school, and I lived on the church property in a tent until I ran away.”

“Tell us about the Midnight Templars,” I requested. I'd never heard of the organization, and I had a very, very bad feeling I wasn't going to like a single thing Nandy offered.

“I don't know much. Only men can belong. Sometimes Reverend Farley and the head people go to New York or Washington for business meetings. Those are the rich people. A few of the church men belong, but in a different way. Men like Fred and Mason Britt train and practice in the woods with weapons. They teach the children about all the conspiracies in the government, how America is becoming a country of sinners.”

“Sinners as defined by Reverend Farley?”

She nodded.

“Nandy, Sheriff Peters will take care of this, and I promise you he'll do whatever is necessary to keep you and the Heberts safe.”

*   *   *

We dropped Cece back at the newspaper and a cooperative Patricia Ann Hebert at the courthouse. Tinkie and I stopped at the hospital. Coleman, as promised, had called to fill us in after talking with a very groggy Mike Hawkins. Mike had been moved to a room, and when we tapped on the door, his wife invited us in.

“He's gaining strength,” Danni told us. She was ghostly pale and shaky, but her smile was a million watts. “Every hour puts him more in the black.”

“Is he strong enough for questions?” I asked.

“He told the sheriff everything he could remember.” Danni didn't want to say no, but protecting Mike was her first duty. “Just a few.”

“I know Coleman asked, but do you remember anything about the truck?” I hated to be blunt, but the day was slipping from us. Night was only a few hours away, and I dreaded the possibility another band member would be attacked.

Mike closed his eyes. “I got out of the van and started toward the house. I saw Danni in the doorway, waiting for me. I was so excited about the opening and how well it went. Since Danni was pregnant she had to miss the big night, and I couldn't wait to share the evening with her.”

Danni picked up his hand and kissed it.

“So you were walking toward the house, yet you turned back to face the street. Why? Did you hear something?”

“I
did
hear something.” A light touched his face. “I didn't tell the sheriff this because I'd forgotten. I heard music.”

“The blues?”

He shook his head. “No—”

“It was the national anthem, ‘The Star Spangled Banner,'” Danni said, leaning forward. “I'd forgotten, too, but it was strange. The music was so loud, coming from the truck, except I didn't see the truck. It was like the music came out of the darkness because the truck was parked there, idling, without any lights.”

Mike was excited. “I heard the music and then the loud muffler, and then the diesel engine when the truck roared past the house and the gun went off.”

“You turned at the sound of the truck's muffler?”

“At the music. That's why I was shot in the chest instead of the back.” Mike looked shaky but triumphant that he'd remembered.

“Thank you,” I said. “We're going to find the person, Mike. You're already in the healing process. Scott will save the club. Before you know it, Bad to the Bone will be on the stage and playing the blues.”

“The person who did this has to be caught,” Mike said. “This is bigger than me or Koby or Scott and Playin' the Bones. This is about intimidation and people who are willfully ignorant. It makes me mad they're using our national anthem when they commit acts of terror, and that's what this is. We aren't going to let them win.”

“No we're not,” Tinkie said. “Now you rest. This has been a lot of help.”

“How's Jaytee? And Davy? And Zeb?” Mike asked. “Are they safe?”

“They are.” Tinkie checked her watch. “Davy's in his B&B and Zeb is at his place. Both promised to stay put. Jaytee is at Cece's house. She'll make sure he stays right there, so no worries.”

“Keep us posted,” Danni said.

“Absolutely,” I promised. We left before we tired Mike.

Tinkie and I ran by Millie's for a quick bite and then headed to Hilltop to pick up the critters. Dahlia House and Delaney Detective Agency was our destination. We had work to do researching the Midnight Templars. The crazy thing Mike and Danni had remembered—the playing of the national anthem—was a very loose connection to what Nandy had told us about the Midnight Templars and survivalists who felt they were losing control of “their” country. We needed to solidify that connection with real evidence, not my gut feelings.

But the very first thing I had to do was let Harold know his prank against Bijou might have dire consequences. He meant to inconvenience Bijou by cluttering her life with the Foundation Rock people. He'd invited them to hold a revival on her property, and while I was positive Bijou was tough enough to deal with pit vipers, Harold might want to reconsider his action. The problem was I didn't want to tip Tinkie to what Harold had done. He could tell her, if he chose to.

We were almost home when Cece called. Tinkie answered, and in a few seconds, she grabbed my arm. “Turn around. We have to go to Cece's.”

“Why?”

“Jaytee is missing and it appears there was a fight in the house. Cece just got there from the newspaper. She's almost hysterical.”

“Damn,” I said inelegantly, as I whipped the car around in a U-turn and pressed the accelerator to the floor.

 

15

Harold was on the scene by the time we arrived. He and Roscoe were doing their best to comfort a distraught Cece, with no success.

“There's not a sign of him. And look!” She pointed at the overturned sofa, a broken lamp, the laptop on the floor, spitting and sizzling. I reached over and unplugged it from the wall where it had been charging.

“We'll find him, won't we, Sarah Booth?” Tinkie kicked my foot, but gently.

“Sure we will.” I pulled my thoughts back to the immediate moment. “When did you last talk to Jaytee?”

Cece didn't have to think. “After you dropped me at the paper, I called and told him I'd be home within the hour. I had to do the edits on my story about the club opening. I finished and came straight home. To find him gone!”

Cece wasn't a wailer or a whiner, but she was on the verge of losing control. I couldn't blame her. I knew what it felt like to have your beloved taken by a crazy person. But I wouldn't think of Graf and Gertrude. I wouldn't bring that bad karma to this door. Jaytee would be fine. He had to be. Cece deserved a shot at happiness, and Jaytee was the man for her.

Coleman, haggard and exhausted, arrived with DeWayne and began the tedious process of searching for forensic evidence. The TV shows that depict finding DNA or trace evidence in a blur of magical whirring machines and technicians who can spot a molecule on a dust mote are so far from the truth of how most small, underfunded crime units worked that it is laughable.