Bone to Be Wild Page 18

  “Don’t go anywhere!” If drug money was truly behind the shootings, the worst thing Zeb could do was run around in the open where he was an easy target. “It may have gone beyond the money you owe, Zeb.”

  “Stay where you are,” Tinkie threw in. “Rushing out will only endanger other people. We don’t know your debt is behind the shootings.”

  “What else could it be? Scott’s a great guy. The other band members—” His voice broke.

  “Zeb, you have to pull yourself together and stay safe. There’s no proof this is the reason Mike was shot. Or Koby. Did any of the gang show up at the club during the performance?”

  “No.”

  “When was the last time you heard from them?” Tinkie asked.

  “Monday.”

  “Did they give you a deadline?” It wouldn’t matter if they gave him until the cows came home. He’d never raise that kind of money unless he sold his own organs.

  “Yeah. Friday.”

  “Not much time to raise two hundred thousand dollars.”

  “Tell me about it.” Fear and self-loathing lingered in his tone. “At this point I don’t care if they kill me. I just want them to leave the band and my friends alone.”

  “Now you listen to me,” Tinkie said. “You stay right where you are. We’ll send a patrol car to get you just as soon as an officer can break loose. An officer will escort you to the hospital so you can talk to Scott. Do not move until a deputy shows up. If you care about your friends, do as I say. Stay put. We don’t need to waste manpower chasing after you. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be right here.”

  “Good. Now there’s no proof any of this traces back to you. Keep that thought. The calls Scott received seemed to point to an enemy who wants to wreck the club, not a debt you owe. Try not to beat up on yourself and just hang tight.”

  Tinkie put me to shame. Instead of heaping guilt on Zeb, she offered compassion and possible absolution. And she was right. We had no evidence a Memphis gang was picking off club employees to settle a drug score.

  “We’ll call you as soon as we have word about Mike,” I added.

  “Thank you.” He sounded like a kicked dog.

  Tinkie and I hung up. We didn’t need to talk. We were running on raw nerves and anger. “What’s the story on Davy Joiner?” I asked.

  “Jump in the shower and change clothes, then we’ll take Sweetie Pie and Pluto to Oscar at Hilltop and I can freshen up. On the way, I’ll fill you in on Davy.”

  “Give me fifteen minutes,” I said.

  Tinkie slumped in her chair. “I’ll snatch a few winks while I wait for you.”

  * * *

  The hot shower helped, but fatigue had settled over both of us. We were dragging as we pushed ourselves down the stairs and toward the car.

  Tinkie’s conversation with Davy Joiner had been simple and to the point. The kid had never been in any trouble and he understood that keeping himself safe kept others from risking injury. He agreed to stay in his room at The Gardens, a rather expensive place for a twenty-one-year-old musician to be staying.

  “His father’s a doctor,” Tinkie explained, covering a yawn with her hand. “He’s a good kid. I suggested he might want to visit his parents for a few days.”

  “And?”

  “He’s a young man with more sense than most, but he won’t run away from this. He’s staying to support Scott and the band.”

  I couldn’t blame him, though I wanted to pack his bags and send him home to his mama before he got hurt. “Are you sure he isn’t hiding any dark secrets. Like that he builds bombs for a terrorist group? He does have an engineering degree.”

  The news about Zeb and his drug debt to a gang had kicked me in the gut. I should have been on top of that. My blasé attitude and superficial sleuthing might have cost Mike Hawkins his life.

  “Davy’s exactly what he appears to be. A talented young man. My gut tells me he’s not part of this.” Tinkie pushed me out the door and into the car.

  At Hilltop, Tinkie accomplished a quick toilette and settled the pets in an interior bedroom upstairs. No one was going to drive by Hilltop and shoot our critters. We were ready for action.

  I’d retrieved my pistol from the Roadster. I generally kept it in the trunk of the car, but I put it in my purse. I’d had enough. Settling things with a gun had never been my first choice, but if it was forced on me, to protect those I cared about, I would do whatever was necessary. Tinkie, too, retrieved her gun.

  Oscar was sound asleep, and Tinkie kissed his cheek and left him, safe in an upstairs bedroom. I was impressed that he trusted her enough not to fret and worry when he knew she was working a case. Somehow, after a rocky patch in their marriage, they had become the power couple.

  Tinkie hadn’t really wanted to marry Oscar. Her marriage had, essentially, been arranged—the melding of two families with great wealth. Tinkie was a princess and Oscar a prince, and the marriage brought her more money and security and him a wife who was a social asset, which translated into more wealth and security. I’d thought the whole idea of such a marriage abhorrent—until I saw them together. Call it fate or luck or kismet, but they had grown to truly love each other.

  We stepped into the darkness with extra care. A long, curved drive led to the Richmond home, and from the front door we had a fair view of the terrain around us. No strange cars lurked near Hilltop. In fact, the roads were empty as we drove to the hospital. The solitude evaporated as we turned in to Sunflower County Hospital. The place was a zoo. About twenty blues fans had heard about the shooting and were in the waiting room, weeping and wailing. Emo women! Coleman and Mike’s wife, Danni, waited with Scott to hear the doctor’s verdict.

  Tinkie assessed the situation and took charge. “Ladies, you have to leave this area.”

  They reacted as if she’d turned into an ogre.

  “We’re here for Mike,” a plump young lady said. “You can’t force us to leave. We’re holding a vigil for him. We love him.”

  Tinkie bit her lip. “If you want to help him, pack it up and take it home.”

  “You can’t make us.”

  Now the plump woman was joined by another tall, thin young fan.

  “Oh, I think I can.” Tinkie leaned forward so she could whisper. “Scott Hampton told me if you ladies would go home, he’d arrange a dinner for you all with Mike and the whole band when he recovers. We need to clear this room right now.”

  They whispered for a minute and the first woman nodded. “Okay.”

  Tinkie pulled a pad from her purse. “Sign your names and as soon as Mike is well enough, we’ll have a friendly dinner and you can tell him how you all stood vigil at the hospital, praying for his recovery.”

  Tinkie was a damn genius.

  As soon as the ladies cleared the room a nurse, who worked the sign-in desk, brought us coffee. “Thank you. I was about to commit bodily harm on those weeping Wandas.”

  “How is Mike?” Tinkie asked.

  “We can’t share medical information. It’s against the law. But I can tell you he’s in surgery. And he’s in good hands. Doc Sawyer stabilized him and Mr. Bellow flew in a thoracic surgeon from Memphis. They’re working on him now.”

  “Yancy Bellow flew a doctor here?” He was a rich man, but this really went over the top.

  “Yes. On his private plane.”

  We thanked the nurse and took a seat beside Danni, Mike’s slender young wife. Her hazel eyes were red from crying. After expressing our condolences, I asked about the black truck.

  Still torn up by witnessing her husband being gunned down, Danni gathered herself. “Mike called me to say he was headed home, and the night had been a huge success. I was so worried. I’d just gotten a phone call saying someone would be hurt—”

  “What phone call?”

  “Mike forgot his cell phone. He must have dropped it beside the bed. I heard it ringing and answered. This man said Scott and the band had been warned and now someone would suff
er the consequences.”

  Tinkie and I exchanged glances. This was nuts. Why was a man calling Mike’s cell phone and a woman calling the club?

  “Are you sure it was a man?” Tinkie asked.

  “No doubt about it,” Danni said. “He was very clear. I was so worried about Mike. Then he called to say everything was okay. I didn’t tell him about the threat. I wanted to wait until he was home. If I’d told him, he might have been more alert. He might—”

  “Don’t do that to yourself,” Tinkie said. “The person to blame is the person who pulled the trigger. Not you.”

  “Why didn’t you come to the opening?” I asked.

  “I’m pregnant and I’m at the stage where everything makes me queasy. I wanted Mike to play and not constantly be worried about me. So I stayed home with our little girl, Kiley.” She inhaled and fought to steady her voice. “I heard Mike pull up, so I went to the front door to welcome him. I was standing there as he crossed the lawn. I heard the truck—it was loud, like a diesel. But I didn’t think anything about it. To me, the club had shut down for the night and the danger was over. I convinced myself the caller was pulling a prank.”

  “We should have sent security to every band member’s house,” Scott said.

  “No.” Danni put a hand on Scott’s arm. “It isn’t your fault. How could you know what a maniac will do? There’s no way to predict crazy.”

  I hadn’t had a chance to really talk with Danni before, but I liked her. A lot. “Can you remember any more details?” I asked.

  “The truck roared up to the house and then slowed. There was a very bright cue-beam aimed out the passenger window, like illegal night hunters use. It came on, highlighting Mike. He yelled at me to get inside and he dove to the right. The truck jerked, like the driver lost control for a minute. Otherwise Mike would have taken the shot directly in the chest.”

  “And what happened next?” I asked.

  “The truck drove off. I went to Mike. He was hurt so bad. I called 911. They must have called the sheriff’s department.”

  “Can you describe the truck?” Tinkie asked.

  “Black, extended cab, late model. I think it’s a diesel. I couldn’t really see anything else. It didn’t have any lights on. It came out of the dark and then lit up Mike with the cue-beam and shot him. It drove away fast.”

  If other details became available, Coleman would share. Now it was best not to grill the poor woman further. Her husband’s life hung in the balance and she was pregnant with their second child. Talk about a world of hurt.

  Tinkie engaged Danni and Scott in casual conversation, and Coleman spoke with the nurse at the desk. When he finished, he tilted his head toward the hallway. I joined him there.

  “Do you have any insight into why would Yancy Bellow fly a specialist in from Memphis for a musician he doesn’t even know?” Coleman asked.

  “He offered to buy into the club, to give Scott some operating cash.”

  “So he views the band members as an investment.” Coleman digested that information.

  “Yancy thinks Playin’ the Bones can be a big asset to the community. Especially the tourism business. I got the impression the blues club is a means to an end for him. He bought The Gardens and he’s looking to acquire more property that could be turned into B&Bs. The club will bring in tourists.”

  Coleman caught Scott’s attention and indicated he should join us. He walked over and Coleman put the same question to him.

  Scott rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted. “This is an amazing community. Folks step up to help each other. I don’t know what this specialist costs, but I can only promise to try to repay Mr. Bellow. That is, if I can keep the club open. If not … touring in Europe builds a reputation but it isn’t exactly a ticket to wealth. I want to stay here, in Zinnia.”

  “Few businessmen are motivated by compassion,” Coleman said. “Yancy may be the exception, but I wouldn’t bet the farm on it.”

  “He stands to make a lot of money if the music takes off,” I said.

  “I need to head to the crime scene,” Coleman said. “DeWayne is there, but he’s been hampered by the darkness. Dawn is breaking and we need to get to work. If there’s evidence, we have to retrieve it.”

  “We’ll stay here with Scott and Danni,” Tinkie said. “We’ll call as soon as we hear anything about Mike.”

  After Coleman’s departure, we simply sat in silence. My brain sent jumbles of incoherent images chasing each other. We were all exhausted but unable to rest. The minutes ticked by. I got fresh coffee for us, and we sat more.

  At last, Doc came into the waiting room. He wore fresh scrubs, but his face told me how seriously Mike was hurt. We jumped to our feet, as if taking the news upright would be easier.

  “How is he?” Danni asked, doing her best not to weep. Tinkie put a protective arm around her.

  “The shotgun blast did some damage. Dr. Lee was able to repair his lungs. Thank goodness he arrived here so quickly. I’m a fair surgeon, but he’s amazing.” He found a worn smile. “Now there’s nothing to do but wait and see.”

  “What are the odds?” Tinkie asked.

  “Mr. Hawkins was lucky. The blast hit his lungs but spared his heart. If he doesn’t throw a clot, his chances are pretty good. He’s young and healthy.” Doc took Danni’s hand and patted it kindly. “He’s a strong man. I’d put my money on him.”

  Pretty good didn’t sound like the odds I’d want. I favored exceptionally good. Damn near a hundred percent was what I wanted to hear, but I kept that to myself. Instead, I maneuvered Doc away from the others.

  “Was he shot in the back?” I asked.

  Doc shook his head. “No, he was facing the person who shot him.”

  If he lived, he might remember something more than Danni did.

  Doc patted his cloud of wild white hair. “I’ll see Dr. Lee off. There’s a private plane waiting for him and he has patients to see in Memphis.”

  “I’d like to thank him,” Scott said.

  “Sure.” Doc motioned for Scott and Danni to follow him into the medical staff area. He gave Tinkie and me a thumbs-up. “Keep good thoughts. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  We sat down. Again. I couldn’t tell if I was relieved or simply dead beat. Numbness reached from my butt to my brain. “Dr. Lee saved Mike’s life.”

  “Yancy Bellow is a peculiar man,” Tinkie said. “I asked Oscar what he knew about him. Not much more than we know. It’s strange, because Oscar knows everyone with money in Sunflower County. Well, actually in the Delta. Yancy travels under the radar. Old family, lots of land, but he’s never been active in local events. His holdings are international and mostly handled in New York, where he spends the greatest part of the year, though he throws some business to Oscar.”

  “Is that unusual?” Having no money to invest, I wasn’t up to speed on how the upper crust managed money.

  “No. The Delta has a fair number of extremely wealthy people. They bank out of Memphis and other big cities. Money goes to money. The law of attraction. Yancy’s interests are far-flung. But I refuse to look a gift horse in the mouth. I’m confident Mike would have died without this specialist. Thank God he took action.”

  “Yeah. Yancy has been a good friend to the club.” I didn’t say it, but maybe he would still invest and help Scott keep the club alive, if it came to that.

  “I can say one negative thing about Yancy.” Tinkie’s voice was glum.

  “What?”

  “He could exercise better taste in women. A lot better.”

  “Bijou!” I’d actually forgotten she existed. “Why would he spend his valuable time with her?”

  “She’s pretty, wealthy, probably a shark in the sack,” Tinkie counted off her attributes on her fingers. “And he’s a man. He couldn’t care less about her moral or ethical character. He’s not going to marry her.”

  “She’s not interested in marriage.” Bijou seemed to be a new breed of Delta woman. She didn’t need a man for
her identity. Wealth had passed to her directly, through no accomplishment of her own I might point out. She didn’t need a husband to provide endless security or luxuries. She could afford to indulge every whim. With her personality, she wouldn’t yield to the pressures of society to wed. In a way, I could actually admire her. If she wasn’t such a total and complete bitch.

  “I like his new girlfriend, Chantal. Classy,” Tinkie said. “Maybe he’s done with Bijou.”

  “Maybe.” The question to ask would be was Bijou done with him.

  Doc returned alone and sat wearily beside us. He had to be in his late sixties or early seventies and he put in longer hours than anyone I knew except maybe Millie. Doc and Millie came from hardy stock—people who worked steadily without complaint.

  “What did Sarah Booth do to Bijou?” Tinkie asked him right off the bat.

  “Nothing I know of.” Doc focused on the floor. He couldn’t risk a glance at me or he might rat me out or burst into laughter.

  “Doc Sawyer!” Tinkie’s curiosity demanded an answer. “Sarah Booth won’t tell me. She said you’d know.”

  “Correction!” Tinkie was slick, but I couldn’t let her buffalo Doc into thinking I wanted him to tell my secret. “I said for you to ask Doc what was wrong with Bijou. I never said I had a thing to do with it.”

  Doc’s eyes crackled with amusement. “Let’s just say when she came out of the bathroom, I was surprised there was anything left of her.”

  The conversation stopped when Scott and Danni returned. He looked worse than before, if that was possible. “Dr. Lee did a remarkable job. And you, too, Doc Sawyer. They aren’t letting anyone sit with Mike. There’s nothing we can do until he comes out of recovery. They said four or five hours. I think we should go home and try to rest.”

  “I’m staying here,” Danni insisted. “Tatiana helped me find a sitter. She’s a sweet and helpful girl, and she was so upset about Mike. More even than Koby.” She pushed her hair from her face. “I can’t leave Mike alone. I want to be here, in case … I promise I’ll call with any news at all.”

  “You do what you feel is best,” Tinkie told her. “Just call if you need us.”