Bone to Be Wild (37 page)

Coleman had a key to the club and opened the door. We filed in. Tinkie and I sat at the end of the bar, away from Jaytee and Mason. Coleman went behind the bar and quickly poured a round of drinks.

When he served me and Tinkie, I grabbed his wrist. “How can you let them get away with this? Did you know?”

“I did not,” he said. “And I'm angry. But it's the system, not the fault of these guys. The feds often don't clue in the locals. It's a serious problem, and this time I believe people were hurt because of the lack of communication. But this is something to address tomorrow. Tonight,” he increased the volume of his voice, “I raise a glass to Sarah Booth and Tinkie, who saved the club from being torched.”

A flash went off at the door, followed by a squeal of delight as Cece dropped her camera to a tabletop and rushed into Jaytee's arms. His kiss appeared to be the real thing, but I wouldn't bet good money on it. He was a deceptive man. Cece would hear the truth from me, and then she could make up her own mind. Witness protection, double agent, spy, James Freaking Bond—I wasn't impressed with a man who would lie to his beloved.

Before Coleman could pour Cece a drink, Harold and Oscar came in the door, followed by thundering dogs. Petite Chablis nipped Sweetie and Roscoe on the back legs as she chased them around the bar. It seemed everyone had forgiven everyone else, except me and Pluto. I was angry at Mason and Jaytee, and Pluto was angry at me. He jumped on the bar and came toward me. His green gaze zeroed in on me like a heat-seeking missile. His black paw knocked my drink into my lap.

“Uh-oh,” Coleman said. “Someone is pissy.”

“Indeed we are.”

“Love the new hairdo, dah-link,” Cece said as she sauntered over, leading Jaytee by the hand. “I never realized you had such a big head, Sarah Booth. You know when the West was being settled, men would advertise for brides. Often they included the measurements of their heads in the advertisement. A big head was much sought after.”

“Now, now. She sacrificed her hair to save the club,” Jaytee said.

“Fascinating.” I burned him with a glare.

“Dah-link, we can have seams tattooed on her head and nickname her Spalding.”

It was funny, but instead of laughing I shot a death-ray at Jaytee. “Fess up now,” I told him.

“What's the matter with her?” Cece asked her boyfriend.

“There are things we have to tell you, and chances are you're about to become extremely mad, too,” Jaytee said. “We're waiting for Scott and Zeb to get here. We'll tell it all once and be done with it.”

*   *   *

The dogs had settled down and Pluto had allowed me to hold him in my soggy lap when Mason and Jaytee began the story.

“There are a lot of things I'm not proud of in this case,” Mason said. “Koby Shaver and I served together in the marines. Koby signed on as bartender for the club because he was helping me work this case. In that respect, he's dead because I asked for his help. I will point out that Koby believed in what we were doing. I regret I didn't take this threat more seriously. If I had, Koby might be alive right now.”

“What case?” Tinkie interrupted.

“We were investigating the Midnight Templars, a national organization with a focus on isolationism, a church-based state, and a hatred of the federal government, which they intend to overthrow. They're involved in weapons, drugs, and counterfeiting,” Mason said. “Their goal is to take down the U.S. government and drugs are their weapon of choice. To that end, they bring in heroin from Mexico and the Middle East. They sell it to buy guns to arm their survivalist militia. The Delta, because of the isolation and the numerous small landing strips on the farms, has become a hub of the operation.”

“The boxes of food.” I suddenly saw the bigger picture. “It isn't food.”

“That's right,” Mason said. “They launder drug money through legitimate businesses. They also move weapons, using local farm buildings to store the guns and drugs until they can fly them out from the farms' landing strips. They use local isolationist groups like Jebediah Farley's because they're cultish, and the cult members obey without question and are easily manipulated.”

“You know all of this and you didn't stop it?” Fury pounded in my head. “Koby is dead and Mike is shot.”

“I had no idea anyone would be hurt,” Mason said. “Attacking the blues club was a way to rally the church members. It was a ploy, and Farley intended it to work as motivation, not bring about serious injury. That's standard for cults. To unite the congregation, Farley needed a symbol of sin and evil. I never thought he'd send assassins to kill folks associated with the club.”

“Then you thought wrong.”

Coleman put a hand on my arm and Scott grasped my shoulder.

“What's the bottom line?” I demanded. “Who's headed to jail? And don't tell me Wanda is going to take the fall for all of this.”

“Farley, Fred Doleman, Wanda Tatum, or Tatiana, as you knew her, and that's just the beginning, are in custody. We'll clean up this local cell of the Midnight Templars, but I had hoped to infiltrate the top financial ring.” Mason's jaw clenched. “That's why I pulled Jaytee into this. And why I didn't act before now. Farley is the local level. This involves powerful people. Very powerful. But my plan didn't happen, and my cover is blown. In a rather spectacular way.”

“My part is done,” Jaytee said. “I didn't really get off the ground as a spy. It's just as well. I can go back to being a musician. And be with my gal.” He put his arm around Cece and led her over to me and Tinkie. “I didn't want to be involved in this, but Mason needed my help. He'd hoped to introduce me to Farley, and through Farley get to the big money. I would reveal my background in finance, my past history and hatred of the government, and offer to help launder the money. My role wasn't that big, and I certainly didn't mean to hurt Cece. I do love her. I know it's fast and impetuous and all the things our parents warned us against. Here we are, nonetheless, and I intend to love and care for her for as long as she'll let me.”

I had to admit, it was hard to stay mad at him when Cece looked so happy. “Couldn't you have called her and reassured her you were okay?”

“He wanted to, but they were watching him so closely,” Mason answered the question. “I would have called Cece, but I didn't dare do anything to tip our hand. We were so damn close to infiltrating the top rung of the Midnight Templars. The meeting was set for tonight. Obviously, it's been canceled.”

“Who was attending?” I had a sudden suspicion.

“We'd enlisted Bijou LaRoche to help us,” Mason said. “Which is how I ended up as her foreman.”

“I can't believe Bijou volunteered to help you.”

“She didn't exactly volunteer,” Mason said. “She needed money.”

“And yet you took a dog captive, mistreated him, and—” I got off the barstool. Just thinking about poor Roscoe, who appeared no worse for the wear, actually, refueled my anger.

“Hold on a minute,” Mason said. “Roscoe showed up at Bijou's. He went out in the pasture and was chasing one of the bulls. He got kicked. I picked him up and confined him, and to be honest, I meant to drop him off at Harold's, but you came after him before I got the chance.”

He had an answer for everything, but I didn't believe him. It was all too convenient. “And Bijou is a federal agent, too?”

“Not exactly.” Mason said. “She'll be charged with tax fraud and drug sales. It seems Ms. LaRoche has been cooking her books for a long time where the farm is concerned. Lots of expenses, none of them legit. She owes the IRS at least half a million dollars.”

For the first time, I thought I might be able to forgive Mason for tying me up, pushing me onto the floor, leading me to think I was going to die, and forcing me to worry that my friend's future happiness would be shattered. Not! I drew back and slugged him in the jaw. The shock slammed from my knuckles to my elbow and up to my shoulder.

Mason rubbed his jaw, and I thought my arm would fall off.

“That's enough,” Coleman said, but I could tell he sort of wanted to slug Mason, too.

“Can I take a swing?” Tinkie asked.

“No!” Coleman grabbed her wrist. “Don't force Oscar to keep you in line. You need to learn your place.”

Steam rose from the top of Tinkie's head. “How dare you—”

Coleman burst into laughter, along with everyone else, even me. “Sorry, Tinkie,” he said, “but I knew you'd see the humor once you got over being mad.”

“I don't find that humorous. Not really.” Tinkie was pensive, not angry. “Why would women participate in such a repressive belief system? What about those people who believed in Jebediah Farley? Their lives are ruined. Or at least upturned. Some of them will never be able to find their old lives. To believe in someone and something and then realize it's all about power and money…”

She'd summed it up far better than I could.

“This is a tragedy,” Coleman said. “For a lot of people. Most of all for those who cared about Koby Shavers.”

“And Bijou?” I asked. “Will she see jail time?”

“It's out of my hands,” Mason said.

“Because she cooperated?” Tinkie asked.

“She did. She allowed us to use her property, which gave us an edge. And she set up meetings with wealthy men. We'll follow up on those and hopefully round up some of the big money people, but we really don't have any solid evidence and I never infiltrated the top rungs. Farley is a bottom-feeder.”

“Was the bid to buy Playin' the Bones real?” I asked.

Mason nodded to Oscar.

“There was money in play, but I could never get a firm lead on where it was coming from,” Oscar said.

“Who owned the black pickup truck?” That was a final puzzle piece.

“It belonged to Farley. He bought it in Memphis and never registered it in Mississippi. He kept it in a shed on the church grounds.”

“And who was making the threatening phone calls to the band members?” I asked.

“Fred Doleman made most of them. The female caller—we haven't cleared that up. We will before it's over.”

Mason had answered most of my questions. “Will you let us know if you take down the big money people?”

“It won't be me,” Mason said. “I've been recalled to D.C., where I'll get a new assignment. We think the Midnight Templars will be dissolved here. At least for a while. But they have cells all over the country. There are always people who want to believe they're superior to others, and a new leader will show up to enslave them. It's the way of the world.”

“Not comforting,” Tinkie said.

Oscar put his arm around her. “And you and Sarah Booth will be here to stop it from taking root.”

 

21

Sitting in the two
A.M.
cold, smoking a cigarette on the front porch at Dahlia House, I tried to recognize the constellations in a black sky spangled with stardust. My father had taught them to me long ago: Orion's Belt, the Seven Sisters, the Archer, Taurus, Scorpio. Each had a legend, a story he told, often while we were sitting in the spot I now occupied.

Sweetie Pie snoozed beside me, and Pluto sat at my feet, his little kitty brain conjuring his next revenge plot. He was mostly over being miffed, but not completely. A word to the wise—a miffed cat is not your friend.

Headlights turned down the drive, and for one moment my heart lifted before I reality checked myself. Graf was not coming home.

The florist van pulled up at the front door and a young male in jeans and a coat hopped out and retrieved an enormous vase of red roses—at least three dozen.

“Miss Delaney?” he asked, hidden behind the flowers.

“Yes, bring them in.” I jumped up and opened the door. He placed them on the side table near the mirror. The bouquet was incredible. I'd never seen roses so big and fragrant.

“Who sent them?” I asked.

“There should be a card. I didn't take the order. I'm simply the delivery guy.”

I tipped him and he left. No florist shop in Zinnia made deliveries this late at night, so they hadn't been sent locally. By the time I thought about checking the tag on the van, it had pulled down the drive. I couldn't read the license plate but I did see the name of the florist. Bountiful Bouquets. I'd never heard of them. Whatever, they did lovely work.

I went back inside and opened the card, which was typed on plain white stock. “Congratulations. Until next time.”

A chill traced down my spine. I read the card again. The only way to interpret it was as a challenge. I considered throwing the flowers away, but they were so beautiful, and I wanted to show Coleman in the morning. I would not call anyone tonight. It was too late and everyone was exhausted. Tomorrow would be soon enough. A vase of flowers didn't seem like an imminent threat, even if the card was weird.

A soft voice spoke behind me. “Company's comin'. Don't dress for bed yet.”

I didn't have to turn around to know that Jitty was with me. “Sing me a song,” I requested. Now that I'd discovered Jitty could mimic all the blues greats, I had plans to keep her busy.

“What would you like to hear?” she asked.

Amazingly, she let me pick the song. Jitty never gave me choices. She was all about ultimatums.

“I'd like to hear ‘Voodoo Woman,' the Koko Taylor version.”

“A perfect selection.” Jitty morphed into the full-cheeked diva with the mischievous eyes and big smile. She sang away, a heavenly musical accompaniment coming from somewhere. I'd learned not to ask too many questions.

Jitty got down on my favorite part that listed all of the charms from a rabbit foot, a toad, and a crawfish to rattlesnake dust and spider bone and “if that don't do it baby, you'd better leave it all alone.” Yes, Jitty was a voodoo woman.