Bone to Be Wild (33 page)

I had no defense, except I was trying to protect her and that would
not
be a good thing to say right now. “How did you find me?”

“There's no time for this,” Coleman said angrily. He was furious with me too. “Did you see Jaytee? Is he here at Bijou's? Is he injured?” he asked.

My face must have given me away.

“What?” Tinkie and Coleman asked in unison.

I had to swallow before I could tell them. “Jaytee isn't a prisoner. He's here of his own free will. I saw him. And Gertrude—or at least I saw the convertible parked at Bijou's front door.”

It took Tinkie all of three seconds to absorb the implications of my statements. “I don't give a damn about Bijou, but I will kill Jaytee with my bare hands,” she said softly.

“Get in line,” Coleman said.

Tinkie didn't want to give up so easily on Cece's love. “Before we jump to the wrong conclusion, someone tore up Cece's house and made it seem like there was a struggle. That doesn't make any sense. Why would Jaytee go to such trouble? He was there alone. No one to stop him. He could just take what he wanted and leave. Cece—” She broke off because her voice had started to quaver.

“He's the man on the inside. I don't know how or why. I didn't get a chance to talk to him. But I did see him, and there's more going on here than just a backwoods minister fighting against music he doesn't like. Now, please cut these freaking ropes.” I turned around and Coleman sliced the clothesline. At last my hands were free, and I leaned against my car. “Sweetie and Roscoe had Mason Britt down in a field. Maybe they've hurt him, and if so, good. But I heard one of the dogs cry out. If he did anything to them—let's take the fight to Mason and his minions!” I had my second wind and I was ready to find Sweetie and Roscoe.

“Stop right there.” Coleman's tone brooked no argument. “Tell me everything.”

I relayed what I had witnessed and what had transpired and how someone had struck me and Mason had bullied me. “I'm pressing charges.”

“He'll counter with trespassing,” Coleman noted.

“He can't. It isn't his property. Bijou would have to.” I was feeling smug until I remembered the whole brownie incident.

“Bijou has no love lost for you,” Coleman said.

“Yeah, you're right.” If I pressed any number of charges against Mason, Bijou would surely nail me for trespassing since she couldn't
prove
I'd sent the brownies. The term
boomerang karma
came to me. Madame Tomeeka had warned me more than once that whenever I did anything nasty, it would come back to me tenfold. And here it was, sitting right on my doorstep.

Tinkie whipped her handgun out of the top of her boot. She was the only woman I knew who could turn the phrase “armed and deadly” into a fashion statement. “It's time to retrieve the dogs and confront Jaytee.” Tinkie wanted her pound of flesh, and I didn't blame her.

“Put that thing away,” Coleman ordered her. “I'll question Bijou and I'll find Jaytee. And if Gertrude is there, I hope to tie her into some illegal activity and get her back in jail.” Coleman was angry, but he'd long ago learned how to tamp down his feelings and think with his brain, not his heart.

“We'll go too,” I volunteered.

Coleman shook his head. “You're rounding up the dogs and getting off Bijou's property this instant.”

As if they'd been summoned, Sweetie Pie and Roscoe raced down the drive to the car. They were caked in mud but seemed none the worse for wear. With his pointed Vandyke and wiry eyebrows, Roscoe looked like some horrific animated voodoo doll made of clay. Sweetie resembled a big gray tick with her ears plastered to her narrow head by the mud.

“Thank goodness they're riding in your car,” Tinkie said with just a hint of malice. She was still angry, but Jaytee was the primary target for her ire.

“What should we tell Cece?” I asked Coleman. “And where is Cece?”

“She's at the club with Scott and the rest of the band. I convinced her to stay there until I found you. And Jaytee. The security men have the road barricaded.”

“This is going to kill her,” Tinkie said. “The band is like part of her family. She won't only lose Jaytee, she'll lose singing at the club and all of it. She'll think Jaytee only liked her because he was using her.”

“Jaytee will have a lot to answer for when we do find him,” I said. My anger had cooled. Jaytee deserved a chance to tell his side of things. And I was eager for him to start talking.

“Load up and get moving,” Coleman ordered.

“How did you know where I was?” I asked. “Just tell me that. Did you track my phone's GPS?”

“You texted me a photo of Jaytee's billfold with your location,” Coleman said.

I shook my head. “I was about to when Mason caught me. I'd punched in the number, but I never got to hit the send button.”

The implications struck all of us at once. Someone else had sent the text I'd begun. “My phone has to be in Mason's cottage,” I added.

Pluto took that opportunity to swat me on the butt. I reached back and felt the bulge in my hip pocket. My phone. “How—?”

I'd been unconscious for an undetermined amount of time. It could have been someone who came into the cottage while I was out of it, but somehow I didn't see Mason being that careless. The bottom line, though, was that someone at Hemlock Manor had sent a text to Coleman on my behalf.

“We'll puzzle this out later.” Coleman walked around the cruiser to the driver's door. “Do not come back here unless I call you. Understood?”

We nodded.

“Tinkie, I'm deputizing you and putting you in charge of Sarah Booth. If she doesn't do exactly what you say, arrest her.”

“You can't do that.” They were treating me like a troublesome two-year-old.

“By the time you get out of jail, it won't matter whether I can or can't,” Coleman said. “I can't do my job and rush all over the county plucking you out of trouble.” Coleman slammed the door and drove toward Hemlock Manor.

Tinkie had ridden to the scene with Coleman so she had no choice but to ride with me and the mud-dogs. Pluto used the hole the dogs had chewed in the ragtop and was already in the front seat, ready for home and dinner. Roscoe and Sweetie jumped in the back, a long smear of mud rubbing across the leather of the backseat. It would all clean up.

For an awkward moment, Tinkie and I stood at the car. “I'm sorry,” I finally said. “I thought I could sneak in, snap a photo of Jaytee being held prisoner, and it would give Coleman probable cause to get a search warrant.”

“Because you were being held here, he had probable cause.” Tinkie wouldn't look at me. “And just so you know, he could have gotten a warrant for Bijou's place. It was the church property that had his hands tied. Your excuses don't hold water.”

“I shouldn't have come here without telling anyone. It was a mistake in judgment. And before you say not the first one, I know. I can't undo what happened. But we still have to find the person who killed Koby and shot Mike. Whatever else Jaytee did, he couldn't have done those two things because he was with Cece.”

“You're right there.”

She would forgive me, but I needed it to be now, not later. “Tinkie, if you want me to grovel, I'm groveling.”

“They could have killed you, Sarah Booth, and no one knew where to start looking. We were frantic. Coleman wasted precious time worried about you.”

“I'm sorry. This wasn't how I expected it to go, obviously. Now, please! Let's put this aside until we resolve the case.”

I gave her the rundown of my time as a captive, and she reminded me that Amanda Tyree was DeWayne's cousin. “He's been secretly talking with her and learning about the Foundation Rock group. She told DeWayne she thinks there's a lot more going on than religious repression.”

“She said there was a meeting tonight. People from out of town and Bijou. Mason was talking with another member of the congregation about a plan to unite this country in some kind of godly reform. It didn't make sense.”

“Coleman has been worried about Farley's group for a while, but mostly because of the treatment of the female members of the congregation. There is clearly abuse, but unless the women will come forward and testify, there's not a lot the law can do.”

“Do you think we should try to get Amanda out?”

“Oh, hell, no! Get in the car and drive. I promised Coleman I'd get you off the premises and I intend to honor my word. At least one of the people in Delaney Detective Agency should be able to stand for something.”

Holy cow, she was like a dog with a bone. She wasn't going to quit chewing on me until she was good and ready.

I didn't argue but backed into the drive and headed out the gate. On the way Tinkie told me that Coleman had checked into Zeb and the Memphis gangs. “Zeb's past doesn't appear to be involved in the shootings in Sunflower County, but the Memphis Police Department have been monitoring gang-related activities in north Mississippi. There's been a lot of gang activity in the rural areas. If there's a connection, they'll find it.”

It was a relief to hear Coleman had some help. “What gang-related activities?”

“Smuggling guns and drugs,” Tinkie said. “The Memphis PD told Coleman they believe gangs are using farm buildings to hold the contraband until they pull together a megashipment for transport north. But this has nothing to do with Zeb.”

“That's pretty smart. There are sheds and barns all over the county that no one checks for months, until it's time to fertilize or harvest. Free storage
and
no legal responsibility.”

“And the contraband is easily accessible,” Tinkie said. “You don't have any outbuildings around Dahlia House, do you? Coleman said it can happen and the property owners never know.”

“A few.” I leased my fields to Butch Watson, and he kept a sharp eye out, but I would give him a heads-up, just in case. “This should greatly relieve Zeb. He was carrying a heavy load of guilt.”

“While you were busy being held hostage, Zeb talked with Davy's family. They've made arrangements to pay off his debt. He'll pay them back, without the risk of being kneecapped or shot. Let's hit the road. We have to talk to Cece.”

“You got it.” I'd hoped to go home. The dogs were a wretched mess, my head throbbed, and my body ached. But home wasn't an option. Coleman had asked Tinkie to stop by the club and fill in Cece and Scott.

It had been a long day and I didn't look forward to what lay in our path.

*   *   *

Security guards stopped us at the crossroads near Playin' the Bones. In the day of the original blues club built at that location, the roads had been only dirt—impassable in heavy rains and as hot as asphalt in the summer sun. A clear vista stretched in all directions. The lights of Playin' the Bones shimmered like a mirage in the distance. The tin roof winked in the starlight.

The guards insisted on searching us and the car. While the delay annoyed me, I was gladdened by the extra security precautions. Night had fallen, and the sky glittered with stars. There was little light pollution in the Delta, making the sky a rich, black backdrop highlighting the Milky Way and other constellations.

Tinkie and I had reached a precarious agreement. We would not tell Cece about Jaytee being free. We would simply tell her I'd seen him and he was uninjured. That would relieve her mind without breaking her heart. While we couldn't prevent future pain, we could delay it. Coward that I was, delay sounded like the better option.

Our friends were at the bar, and an air of desolation lingered over the club. We filled Scott, the band, and Cece in on what had happened at Hemlock Manor. Cece took the news of Jaytee's safety with joy. She was grilling Tinkie for details when I escaped outside with a bottle of dish soap, buckets of hot water, and some kitchen towels that I would replace. Sweetie and Roscoe, if the mud dried completely on them, wouldn't be able to move. It was tempting to let that happen to keep them out of mischief, but the rascals had come to my rescue once again and I owed them.

Koby Shavers's death was very much on my mind as I set to work cleaning up the dogs. Tinkie had called Harold, who was on his way to retrieve Roscoe, so I washed him first.

The entire time I lathered him up, Roscoe growled. He was the most cantankerous creature I'd ever met, and I still adored him.

To my surprise someone in the club picked up a guitar. I recognized the song instantly. The rough, powerful female voice that picked up the lyrics to “St. James Infirmary Blues,” surprised me. Cece could sing, but this didn't sound like her.

The song tickled down my back and arms. Chill bumps danced, even though I was up to my elbows in hot water and suds.

“I went down to the St. James Infirmary, I saw my baby there. She was stretched out on a long white table, so cold, and fine, and fair. Let her go, let her go, God bless her, wherever she may be. She can search this world over, never find another man like me.”

The classic blues song touched me with dread, and when I saw a woman standing in the dim light from the back windows of the club, I recognized the wild hair, the ring-covered fingers gripping the microphone, and a voice that died too young. Janis Joplin, a Texas girl who tried too hard and never knew her own worth.

I held the squirming Roscoe in the tub of water as I sat on the steps and listened to a song I'd loved from the first moment I heard it.

“Not a good song for tonight,” I told Jitty when she'd finished singing. “No one here is going to die. We'll get to the bottom of this.”

“Watch your back, Sarah Booth. Folks aren't what they seem.”

“Tell me about it.” I thought of Jaytee.

“Folks are never what they seem. Not a one of 'em.”