Bone to Be Wild Read online

  “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.”

  He knew an awful lot about my family background. And about Gertrude’s motivation and her legal maneuvers. Someone had been talking about Gertrude’s private business, but I knew my mother had never betrayed a confidence. I sipped my drink. “You’re well informed.”

  “I was at The Gardens for dinner tonight. I’d made plans to meet Bijou, but she wasn’t inclined to venture out in public. I ended up dining with Alton James. I met him last year at a cocktail party in New York, so it was natural for me to ask why he was in Zinnia.”

  “I heard he was representing Gertrude. He’s a very expensive lawyer.”

  He put his glass on the bar. “Yes, he is. He’s also a legal shark. I’m afraid I played a role in bringing him here.”

  I couldn’t hide my shock and anger. “You gave Gertrude money for a top defense lawyer? Why?”

  “It wasn’t what I intended. Gertrude contacted me and offered to sell the B&B. You know my interest in building tourism. I agreed to buy it on the spot. The property has tremendous potential, and I overpaid. I acted quickly, without thinking of the repercussions, because I wanted to close the deal before other investors heard the place was going on the market. I wanted you to hear this from me before my name got all tied up in Gertrude’s legal mess.”

  My anger simmered, but not at Yancy. At least he’d had the huevos to tell me to my face. “Thanks for telling me.”

  “This is a small community. My dinner with Mr. James will be all over town by tomorrow. I wanted to get ahead of the gossip. Sarah Booth, I had great affection for your mother. She was remarkable. There were those who felt she was too outspoken, too much a champion for justice, but I admired her courage.”

  “She was passionate about her beliefs.”

  “And you are cut from the same cloth.”

  “That’s a compliment I’m not sure I deserve.”

  “Let’s put this unpleasantness aside. Would you care to—”

  Coleman appeared at my elbow, putting a hand on my shoulder. “May I have this dance?” he asked.

  “Sheriff, enjoy your dance.” Yancy picked up his drink. “I need to speak with Ms. Falcon about an article on the rise of five-star B&Bs in the Delta. We need to generate a buzz.”

  I smiled my appreciation for his classy conduct. “Thank you for the reward money, Yancy.”

  He eased through the crowd, greeting people as he passed. While he appeared to be shy, he had a bit of the country politician in him as well. “He’s an interesting man,” I said. “He wanted to tell me about buying The Gardens and how Gertrude managed to make bail. I think he felt guilty, but he shouldn’t. He was merely conducting business.”

  “No shop talk for four minutes while we dance,” Coleman said. “You know this is a rare occasion for me. I’m not all that comfortable on the dance floor.”

  I would have goose-stepped to a wind-up monkey slamming cymbals for a chance to dance with Coleman. All the years I’d known him, he’d avoided the dance floor like the plague. I linked my arm through his and led the way to the center of the floor.

  I put my hand in his and we faced each other. The first notes of Percy Sledge’s classic, “When a Man Loves a Woman” slid down my body like an intimate touch.

  Scott’s voice, crisp and clear and sexy, did justice to the lyrics of the love ballad. While the song wallowed in sexual overtones, it was also filled with sadness. It epitomized yearning, an emotion I had extensive personal experience with. It was also a song I’d cherished for year
s. My parents often danced to it, loving each other so much their love spilled over onto me. Watching them bonded in a musical embrace, I’d wanted the same kind of love. I had to wonder if such a thing existed now, or if a special magic had fallen over my folks giving them such intense, wonderful passion and understanding because their lives were destined to be cut so short.

  “You okay, Sarah Booth?” Coleman asked.

  “I am. Right this moment I’m very okay.”

  “Hold on.”

  He swept me into his arms, pulling me tight against him. I had no objection. I didn’t try to talk. I simply let the music sway me, and Coleman’s arms support me. For the first time in weeks, I felt safe. It would last only the length of the song, but it was a welcome relief.

  Although I wasn’t the most graceful dancer around, I loved trying, and Coleman was a strong lead. We swept past Madame Tomeeka dancing with the debonair Mr. French, who looked more than a little taken with his chauffeur. The music critic held Tammy in his arms, his eyes closed, as he moved her about the dance floor with technique and style.

  Coleman maneuvered me to the back of the room, his strong hands on my back. I was acutely aware of the smell of sunshine and fresh laundry that always clung to him, the rasp of his beard against my cheek.

  Moving among the crowd of dancing couples, I glimpsed Tinkie and Oscar, and Harold and Cece. Jaytee was on the stage, blowing the harp to a fare-thee-well. Yancy danced with the lovely Chantal.

  Folks had come from as far away as Chicago and New Orleans. They came to listen to the music and dance. While I knew a lot of the people attending, there were also many strangers. A few I didn’t recognize had come costumed as the Blues Brothers or as famous blues singers. My heart skipped at beat at a mocha-skinned beauty, who had fashioned her attire after the incredible Billie Holiday. I feared for a moment that Jitty had acted on her stated desire and showed up to attend the opening. A closer inspection revealed the young woman as a local, Panky Street, an aspiring rapper who’d gone to school with Madame Tomeeka’s daughter.

  The band’s reputation, and Scott’s raw sex appeal, brought many of the people to Zinnia, but the club itself had magic. The junction of Highways 61 and 49 at Clarksdale was traditionally thought to be the crossroads where bluesman Robert Johnson traded his soul to the devil for musical ability. Once that deal was signed and word spread, legend had it that several other bluesmen followed in Johnson’s footsteps here at the junction of Sawmill and Pentecost roads.

  This had been a gathering spot for field workers from all over the Delta. In the early days, someone with a wagon would ride along the road, allowing those on foot to jump aboard for an evening of music, dance, and drink. It was a place where the hard work of sharecropping could be forgotten for an evening of pleasure.

  The rural South of the early 1900s held little hope for blacks. The rich Delta land was owned by wealthy whites, and sharecropping, for poor blacks and whites alike, was a hard life filled with scarcity. Music was the ticket to a better life. Desperation, the legend noted, drove more than one man to trade his soul for talent and the ability to earn a living.

  Many, like Robert Johnson, who died at the age of twenty-seven, found the bargain to be a hard one. But some of the most remarkable music ever created had also been played here.

  A blues club had stood near the crossroads since 1870, and though the building had twice burned to the ground, a new club always rose again. Stories had it that the ground had been saturated with talent, and those who sought a career in the blues would do well to play here, to soak in the magic.

  Judging from Bad to the Bone’s performance, the superstition was true. I’d never heard Scott play and sing better, and the other band members were equally on fire. Even the audience shared in the intensity. Folks from all different backgrounds had come together. Everyone looked happy.

  I took mental snapshots of my friends, something Cece had been doing all evening with a real camera. The next edition of the Zinnia Dispatch would put to rest some of the stupid rumors Mason Britt and his faction had instigated. People would see the harmless fun everyone was having, the joy. How could anyone find fault with a place where people danced and laughed and let the music wash away all their differences?

  This was a night to remember, a celebration of the sound that was a part of the land we cherished and the rootstock of rock ’n’ roll. For one evening, what mattered most was music and friendship. We’d come together: black and white, old and young, religious and non, and we were celebrating our history and love of the blues.

  The song ended and Coleman dropped me at the table with my friends. “I’ll take a spin around the exterior,” he said. “The security team reports everything is calm, but I like to check it out myself. You ladies have fun.”

  When Scott shut down the bar at two A.M., I’d had more than enough to drink, and I’d danced so much my legs were numb. “It was a spectacular show,” I told Scott. We’d had the last dance together, a belly rubber called “What Can You Do?” Jaytee and Cece had performed it together to a standing ovation that brought the house down. “I believe the launch was a huge success.”

  “It was.” He took my hand and we joined my friends. “Thank you all. Tammy, I owe you big time. I so appreciate meeting Parker French and having a chance to talk to him.”

  Parker interrupted an intense conversation with Oscar. “It was my pleasure, Scott. For a white boy, you sure can sing the blues.”

  Tammy slapped him playfully on the arm. “We don’t see color here, Parker. We’re just people. Neighbors who care about each other.”

  “Mississippi has taken big steps,” Parker said. “I’m proud to see it. Proud to be here and participate in this opening. Living away from the South for the last twenty years, I’ve failed to see the progress. Old stereotypes are hard to destroy. I’m glad to meet all of you. I owe Reverend Hillet more than he knows.” His hand on Tammy’s shoulder said plenty. “And I’ll be sure and let Wilton Frasbaum know that his evaluation of Playin’ the Bones is way, way off track. Some would even call it sour grapes.”

  “What exactly did Wilton say?” I kept my tone conversational though my heart had begun to pound.

  “He said he’d once managed the band and that Scott had cheated him. He made a few other allegations, including that the talent was second tier. He also said this venue would never work out. Too rural, he said. Too rustic.” Parker watched Scott’s face. After all, Parker was a journalist, and a good one. He was here for the story, whatever that might be.

  “Parker?” Tammy was in shock.

  “Mr. French, did Wilton Frasbaum say he’d seen the club?”

  Parker hesitated. “Not in so many words, but he clearly implied he’d been down here investigating.”

  “When did you talk to him?”

  “He called me this morning,” Parker said.

  “Did he say where he was?” I pressed.

  “No, but I half expected to see him here tonight.”

  Oh, not on a bet, I wanted to say. Coleman would pop him in jail so fast his head would spin. “Thanks,” I said, eager to pass the news to Coleman. If Wilton Frasbaum was in the area, Coleman needed to know.

  * * *

  Waiting for a chance to speak with Coleman, I reviewed the night. I’d danced with Harold and DeWayne, and even the band members when they could break away from the stage. I’d danced with men whose names I didn’t know. I’d spent the night as a dancing fool. The bar was shutting down, and so far, so good.

  Coleman and DeWayne were in the parking lot checking to be sure each guest was safely buckled in his or her car and on the road home—with full driving faculties.

  Zinnia didn’t have a taxi service, but Scott had engaged drivers to ferry those too inebriated to drive. I’d kept my word to Tammy and stayed strictly inside. Now I finally went out for a smoke. The event was over. If someone had intended to do something terrible, the moment had passed.

  I lit up, enjoying the cigarette as I observe
d Coleman and DeWayne. The four security men came up from the roadblock and reported nothing had given them reason for concern. The grand opening had gone off without a hitch, and I, for one, was relieved. And ready to go home. Sweetie and Pluto would have to be pacified before I could sleep. They weren’t used to being excluded from my cases, but a juke joint was no place for a cat and dog. When I crawled out of bed in the morning, I’d take Sweetie for an ice cream and stop at the seafood place for a treat for Pluto.

  First and foremost, though, Tinkie and I had to determine if Frasbaum was in the area, and if he was a threat or just a blowhard. News of the reward money would spread quickly and I hoped callers would give us new information.

  Gertrude hung over me like a thundercloud, but she’d wisely stayed out of my sight. Lurking on my road was an intimidation tactic, but she’d failed to file trespassing charges against me and Tinkie, which was a curious thing. Her lawyer should have advised her to do so, because it would have damaged my credibility as a witness against her. Yet she’d taken no action. If she was spying on me, I hadn’t caught her at it. I could only hope that her trial date would arrive soon, a conviction would be handed down, and she’d spend the next twenty years behind bars, Alton James or no Alton James.

  A low rumble of thunder warned that while the storm didn’t ruin the opening, I might not be so lucky. It felt like the sky would unzip at any moment. When Graf and I were together, I’d loved Dahlia House in the rain. We’d prop ourselves up in bed and talk and daydream. The rain had sealed us in the house, given us an excuse to shut out the rest of the world and attend to each other. The thought of going home alone, especially after dancing the night away, was depressing.

  A flurry of rain splashed down, and I stepped under the eaves of the blues club to finish my cigarette. Movement at the oak that shaded the picnic table caught my attention. A silhouette stood, watching the club. In the darkness I couldn’t discern any detail, but the way the figure watched the club was ominous. It was almost as if he or she waited for something to happen.