Crossed Bones (21 page)

The three of us headed out through the cotton fields of Dahlia House. One of the equestrian benefits of cotton fields is the lack of fencing. The entire county is virtually wide-open. As long as I kept to the edges of the fields, no one seemed to care that I rode on their land.

Reveler had a trot that could eat up the miles, and I let him set his own pace, feeling my body relax into the rhythm of the post. Riding was pure joy.

We left my land and continued across the fields, picking up one of the straight dirt roads that seemed to go nowhere and do nothing except cut through the middle of rows of cotton.

My stomach growled a complaint that I'd left home without sustenance, but I promised it angel biscuits, sausage, eggs, and grits when I got home. I was headed vaguely north--I had no destination. I merely wanted to ride.

It wasn't until we came to a small yellow creek that cut through the fields that I realized I'd ridden for at least twelve miles. The sun was burning down on me, and I could feel the heat in my arms. A new crop of freckles was incubating, and probably something worse. This was the century with a hole in the ozone-- suntans were out.

Sweetie flopped in the creek and wallowed, and Reveler, too, stepped into the cool water and took a long draught. It was a little late to think about something for me to drink.

The creek was bordered on both sides by trees. The farmer who owned the land had wisely decided to use the tallow and birch trees as a windbreak. The Delta wasn't often hit by high-wind storms, but when they did come around, they could blow off a foot of valuable topsoil.

I let Reveler meander up the stream for a ways. It didn't matter that I wasn't sure where I was, because home was due south. With the sun shining, I could hardly lose my way.

We came to a small bridge that was too low to ride under, so we ambled up the bank. There was something vaguely familiar about the area. When I recognized it, I felt a chill.
Bilbo Lane
. I was only about a quarter of a mile from Scott Hampton's rented cottage.

It was a little past noon on a Sunday. If Spider and Ray-Ban were around, they were probably still asleep. If they were out and about, I might ask them one more time to leave
Sunflower
County
. Especially now that Scott's bond had been met.

Reveler took up an easy trot and we were at the driveway in only a few moments. Sweetie was right at my side, which made me feel a little safer. She looked harmless enough, but she'd saved my life more than once.

The first thing I noticed was that the fast-food wrappers and beer cans were gone. Spider and Ray-Ban had obviously heard that Scott was getting out of jail and they'd busted their butts picking up their trash.

There was the sound of chopping coming from the backyard. I nudged Reveler forward. As we turned the corner beside the cottage, I saw a lean, bare back and jean-clad buttocks. My mouth went even drier.

Sweetie Pie gave a soft bark and ran forward just as Scott Hampton turned around. His chest was covered in sweat that glistened on well-developed muscles.

"Ms. Delaney," he said, lowering the axe he was using to chop wood. "What a surprise to see you." But his gaze didn't linger on me, it traveled over the horse. "He's a fine-looking animal."

"Thanks." I was about to call out to Sweetie, but she ran forward, tail wagging, and accepted the hand he put on her head.

"Nice dog, too." He looked back at me. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Not nearly as many as you. When did you get out of jail?"

"The sheriff cut me loose this morning. He said my bond had been paid. In fact, my bail was made Saturday, but no one bothered to tell me. I'd still be sitting in that cell if some reporter hadn't called my attorney." He lifted the axe effortlessly and then let the handle slide through his hand until he was holding it at the head. "You wouldn't know who paid my bond, would you?"

"Coleman didn't tell you?" I looked around, expecting Nandy to jump out of the bushes at any second. If Scott was out of jail, why wasn't she on his trail?

"I didn't give the sheriff much of a chance to explain anything," Scott said. "I was pissed off."

"So, you showed him your charming side?"

"I lost my temper. He said he thought it would be safer for me to stay in jail. That wasn't his call to make. After our conversation, I guess he didn't really care if I was safe or not."

"You would be safer in jail." I couldn't shake the sense that Nandy or someone was lurking in the underbrush that had taken over most of the backyard.

"It isn't his place, or yours, to decide about my safety." Scott stepped closer.

He had a point, so I decided to shift the focus of the conversation. "Your benefactor is a man named Bridge Ladnier. You have a right to know this. Bridge wants to buy Playin' the Bones, and I know he's hoping you'll stay and play at the club if he buys it. More to the point, though, someone else attempted to make your bail. Robert McBruce. Nandy's husband. I'd be on the lookout for an ambush."

His reaction was similar to my own. His mouth dropped. He snapped it shut. "Why would Nandy's husband want to bond me out?"

"I can't begin to imagine. Everyone in town knows Nandy has been up at the courthouse like a dog in heat." I glanced down at Sweetie, who was sitting at Scott's feet. "Sorry, girl."

Scott knelt down and patted Sweetie. "She didn't mean it," he whispered in her long, silky ear. When he looked up at me, his smile was unexpected.

"You look hot," he said, rising to his feet in a smooth motion. "How about some iced tea? I just made some."

Sweat was rolling down my back. I could hear the compressor of an air conditioner. "That would be great." I slid to the ground, taking a moment for my feet to adjust to my weight.

"Ms. Delaney, who is this Bridge Ladnier? Should I know him?"

"He's a very wealthy entrepreneur, a local man, sort of. And he's a blues aficionado. I have to say he has one of the best blues collections I've ever seen, and he's a big fan of Ivory's work. And yours, of course."

Scott thought, then shook his head. "I can't be certain. There were a lot of folks in the club who loved the blues. Why would he make my bond?"

"Like I said, he wants to buy Playin' the Bones. I suspect his motive was twofold. To put him on Ida Mae's good side and to tempt you to stay on if he should manage to get the club."

"To obligate me?" Scott asked sharply.

I shrugged. "I can't say. I haven't talked to Bridge. But I will, and I'll ask that question." I stroked Reveler's neck. "Bridge honestly doesn't strike me as the kind of man who would try to use that leverage, but I don't know him all that well. I will ask."

"Thank you, Ms. Delaney." He pointed to a pasture that was field-fencing on three sides and split rail on the one facing us. "We can put your horse in that field," he said. "There's a little creek. He can drink and cool off."

Scott Hampton was being social. More than social-- courteous and concerned for my animals. "Thanks," I said, unbuckling the saddle. Before I could do anything else, he was standing beside me. He lifted the saddle off Reveler's back and put it on the top rail of the fence.

I walked Reveler through the gate and removed his bridle. He gave me one headshake and two bucks as he ran around the pasture before he dropped to roll in a patch of dirt. I latched the gate and leaned on the fence rail to watch him.

"Healthy animal," Scott said with admiration as he walked up beside me and hitched a boot on the bottom rail. A cowboy boot, I noticed.

"Do you ride?" I asked. It wasn't something I expected of a Yankee bluesman.

"Used to. There was a time when I wanted to be a cowboy." He grinned at my startled look. "I was taught to ride English, though. Cowboys were frowned upon in my family. Just about everything I was interested in was frowned upon."

There was humor in his tone, not self-pity. "I wanted to be an actress. Lucky for them, my parents weren't alive to see that fiasco."

He laughed. "From what I've heard around town, they would have supported you if you'd decided to be a sword-swallower." His smile was rueful.

In that second, I was completely charmed. The man had complimented my parents
and
achieved a rueful smile. He was also charged with murder, unemployed, without family or references, and had friends who should be under a jail somewhere. He spoke to my heart.

"That's a slight exaggeration, but they would have supported me in
almost
anything." He'd also ignited my curiosity. "Who was talking about my parents?"

"Ida Mae, for one. She had great respect for both of them. She said something about baby clothes. You were a girl, so your mother brought some boy baby clothes she'd gotten to Ida Mae." He looked over at me. "And the sheriff spoke of you. He urged me to cooperate with you."

"He did?"

"He said you were the only person in town willing to give me half a chance and that I should work with you. He said you were my only hope."

I didn't want to think about Coleman. "Why do you think Robert McBruce wanted to make your bond?"

He shrugged. "Let's get that tea. I'm about to die of thirst."

Sweetie Pie and I followed him up the back steps of the cottage and inside. The kitchen was spotless. A pitcher of tea waited on the counter. He got a bowl from the cabinet, filled it with water, and put it on the floor for Sweetie. She lapped gratefully, splashing water all over the floor.

"I'll clean it up," I said. The floor, until our arrival, had been freshly mopped.

"Forget it. It's only water." He cracked an ice tray, filled two glasses, and poured us tea. I took a sip. It was sweetened perfectly.

"You make good tea, for a Yankee," I said.

"For a Delta girl, you give good backhanded compliments," he responded.

"Touche."

He led the way into a living room that reminded me of magazine pictures of hippies.
Madras
throws covered the sofa. There was a brass incense burner on the coffee table, which also held a textbook on the local Indian tribes. Posters of blues musicians hung on the wall, and the floor was covered with a straw mat.

"Time warp, isn't it?" he said as he took a seat on the sofa beside me. "I always felt like I missed my era. I would have been great in the sixties."

"You would have been dead," I responded without really thinking. But it was true. "A white man playing the blues in a black club in
Mississippi
would have been a great target for the Klan."

"Am I a target for the Klan now?" he asked.

Scott wasn't kidding. It was a serious question, and one that deserved an answer. "I don't think so. The KKK was active in the sixties, but they were mostly thugs. They preyed on people who had no recourse, folks who didn't stand a real chance in the justice system. I don't really see you that way."

"Thanks, I think." He sipped his tea, then put his glass on a coaster on the table. He'd been brought up with good manners, and he took care of things, even if it was only a pine coffee table.

"Scott, who would want to frame you for murder?"

"That's a tough question. I didn't realize anyone around here hated me that much. They'd have to really hate me to kill Ivory just to get me."

For the first time I had an inkling of the scope of his loss. And the burden of guilt he carried. If his scenario was correct, someone had killed his friend and benefactor to set him up. He was, in a way, the instrument of Ivory's death.

"You think Ivory was just a tool to get you?"

He sighed. "What else could it be? The money and the shank were planted on me. The place was ransacked, and part of my tattoo was cut into Ivory's back. It looks to me like the entire thing was constructed to point the finger at me."

He was in anguish as he spoke, and I put a hand on his arm. "Even if that's true, it isn't your fault."

"Easy for you to say."

It was, indeed, easy for me to say. Of all the punitive emotions, guilt is the worst. And Scott was struggling under a tremendous weight of it. "You can't assume responsibility for other people's actions. Whoever did this was mean and depraved, but you can't take on their guilt."

"If I hadn't come here, this wouldn't have happened. I'm like a fatal disease. If I let anyone close to me, they suffer and die."

The pain in his voice told me as much as his words. A large part of Scott's coldness and rudeness was his desire not to be hurt, or to hurt others. "You and Ivory were great friends. You can't let what happened destroy that fact for you. The things that happened aren't your fault."

He leaned back into the sofa and closed his eyes. "That's all I think about. All I see. They beat Ivory before they killed him. He was an old man. Who would do such a thing?"

"That's the question we have to focus on. Now, I've got three suspects."

He opened his eyes. "Who?"

He wasn't going to like this, but he had to hear it. "Spider and Ray-Ban and Emanuel Keys."

"Emanuel wouldn't kill his own father. That kind of talk could destroy Ida Mae."