Bone to Be Wild Page 5

  I parked beneath a leafless pecan tree across the road and pushed through the door into a wall of sound. Scott had brought the whole county out, and people were laughing and visiting, excited by the prospect of having one of the hottest blues bands working as our very own.

  Scott was at the bar, surrounded by a bevy of squealing young women. He was friendly with each of them, but kept his distance. Cece and Jaytee were huddled in a corner and could have been plotting the takeover of the government or a menu for the evening. Whatever they were doing, Cece was radiant.

  Coleman slipped up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m good.” Chin up, smile in place.

  “It’ll get better,” he said.

  “Did you learn anything about Scott’s former partner?”

  “Nothing good. The guy has a reputation for shooting off his mouth, threatening people, trashing people’s lives when he can get away with it. The thing is, he’s been in Copenhagen for the past six months. There’s no indication at all he even knows about this club.”

  “Aside from threats to the band, do you have anything interesting on your plate?” I’d lost touch with the cases Coleman was working. Graf’s shooting, his recovery, his daughter—I’d been so wrapped up in my life with Graf that I’d neglected my friends.

  “Mostly run-of-the-mill stuff, except for Ned Gaston’s fire. Fire marshal confirmed it was arson, but there isn’t a lot of evidence to track the person who set the fire. DeWayne and I won’t give up, though.”

  “Is Ned running the boot shop?”

  “He is.”

  “He’s a good man. He made a pair of boots my mother cherished. I still have them.” They were beautiful pale leather with stitched designs in hues of turquoise, jade, and coral. She’d worn them everywhere and said they were her favorite dancing shoes.

  Coleman reached to touch my lips but stopped. “A good memory because you’re smiling.”

  “Yes.” I stepped back slightly. “Any luck tracing the threatening calls made to Scott and the band?”

  “They came from different burner phones and pinged off different towers. Whoever did this is very sophisticated, at least with telecommunications.”

  My frown spoke of my concerns. “Then this may not be a joke.”

  He nodded. “Someone went to a lot of trouble not to be traced. But why even call and warn Scott? That’s the confusing part. If the person is serious about the threat, why warn the band?”

  “What if it’s all about the club? Maybe they thought he would cancel the opening.”

  “I wish he had. I did talk to him, but he was adamant. He wouldn’t be bulldozed into canceling.”

  I understood. To give in to blackmail—what would the next demand be? To sell the club? Or only open certain days and times? Blackmail, once yielded to, would only grow in scope and demand. “What can I do to help tonight?”

  “Watch the kitchen. I’m a little worried about Curtis back there. I don’t want him hurt.”

  “Got it.” I doubted the threatening caller intended to harm the best barbecue chef in six counties, but if that’s what Coleman needed me to do, it was as good as done.

  “DeWayne is on the front door. And I’ll be working the room, trying to keep tabs on anyone who might be contemplating stirring up trouble. You note who goes in and out of the kitchen.”

  At last I realized what Coleman feared. “You don’t think … poison?” The idea was horrifying.

  “No.” Coleman chucked me under the chin. “You are pulling out the worst-case scenarios, aren’t you?”

  “Life has taught me to be cynical.”

  “Then save me a dance and I’ll teach you how to feel something else.” He buried his worry beneath flirtation and his clear eyes held a dare.

  “In that case, I might even save you two.” I met him tit-for-tat because I refused to be the poor thing abandoned almost at the altar.

  “I’m sorry for the pain, Sarah Booth. But I’d be lying if I said I was sorry you’re single. I’m holding off until Christmas to give you a chance to get your sea legs under you. Fair warning, though. I’m claiming you for the holidays.”

  It was too soon for me to feel anything for another person. “We’ll see about Christmas,” I said, unwilling to even hint at my future emotions.

  The band took the stage and I positioned myself where I had a clear view of the kitchen door and the band.

  The opening song, “Bad to the Bone,” had the packed club on its feet and dancing. If the first ten minutes was any indication, Playin’ the Bones was going to be a rockin’ joint. Scott was electrifying as he finessed pure sex out of his guitar.

  “Wow!” Tinkie came up beside me. “They were great at the Black and Orange Ball, but this club is the perfect venue for them. The band is sizzling.”

  “They are.” I scanned the room. Most of the tables had been served their food. Liquor flowed from the bar. Yancy and the two tables of his friends followed every move of the band. Scott had won him over, if I was reading Yancy’s body language correctly. “I hear Scott has hired several buses and drivers to take folks home. That was smart.”

  “He wants to be part of the community. An asset, not a liability.”

  And yet someone meant to cause him worry, at the very least. Possibly something more deadly.

  The kitchen door swung open and two waiters brought trays of barbecue out. Curtis was in the background, his apron stained with his secret sauce. He had a staff of four people helping him, all trusted employees. No one had made any attempt to get into the kitchen, and Curtis knew his food sources. So far, so good.

  Despite the fact that Tinkie and I were on guard duty, I found myself being pulled into the music. Mike Hawkins on keyboard and Zeb Kohl on drums each had young ladies putting on a show near the stage. Bass player Davy Joiner, the youngest member of the band, teased the ladies by dancing to the edge of the stage and showing off his Elvis moves.

  After the first set finished, I needed some fresh air. And maybe a cigarette. The band had certainly gotten my blood flowing. Koby Shavers had a Jack on the rocks waiting on the bar and slid it to me like an old western barkeep. “It’s good the boss is having some fun. I didn’t mean to come on so strong earlier. I like to flirt, but I don’t want any hard feelings.”

  “Not a problem. I like to flirt, too.” It was impossible not to like Koby. Beneath his Lothario ways was a man with a good heart.

  Customers at the other end of the bar waved for Koby’s attention, and I picked up my drink and slipped out the front door. On the side of the club beneath a pecan tree was a small picnic table. I sat down on the weathered bench and lit up a Marlboro. The club, the blues, the joy of the band performing and the audience listening, the friendship offered by so many—all combined to remind me life held so many wonderful gifts.

  The back door of the club slammed, and I looked up as Koby Shaver came out the back door. He rolled his shoulders and reached into his pocket for a cigarette. I stood up to walk over as he lit his smoke. A vehicle spun gravel beside the club. I’d only gone about ten steps when the black pickup—running without lights—careened around the corner of the club.

  Koby stood perfectly framed in the light from the open back door. I tossed the cigarette and started to run. The shotgun blast rang out into the cold night. The truck skidded past me, a gun barrel hanging out the passenger-side window. I dropped and rolled as a second spray of pellets struck the tree I’d been standing in front of. The truck sped away, a black shadow in a dark night.

  I ran toward the back of the club, praying Koby hadn’t been hit, but deep in my heart I knew better. We’d been warned. All of us.

  I made it to Koby as the kitchen door banged against the wall. Light fell across the bartender’s fallen body. The blast of the shotgun had opened his chest. I felt for a pulse, but he was gone.

  5

  Coleman firmly maneuvered me away from the body. Within seconds, the security team swarmed the
back of the club. The useless security team. Harold and Oscar kept the patrons inside. I couldn’t believe everything happened so quickly. I needed a rewind. If I could only go back fifteen minutes and delay Koby at the bar.

  “Where the hell were the security men?” I asked Coleman.

  “They were checking vehicles at the entrance, and two men were inside.”

  “Did they see who was driving the black truck? Were they doing their jobs or not?” Fear, anger, and sorrow are a potent mixture.

  “DeWayne is questioning the ones on the gate now.”

  “Sarah Booth, are you okay?” Scott, visibly shaken, vaulted down the steps and came over to us.

  “I wasn’t hit. I came out for a cigarette.” I indicated the picnic table twenty yards away under the tree. “This black truck whipped around the club really fast. I didn’t think anything about it, except the lights were off. I thought it was someone who’d had too much to drink.” I couldn’t stop the rush of words. “I heard the gunshot. They cut Koby down and fired at me. When the truck sped away, a gun barrel was sticking out the passenger-side window.”

  “Bring her inside,” Scott suggested to Coleman. “She’s freezing.”

  Indeed, my teeth were chattering, but I wasn’t really cold. I was in shock. Doc Sawyer, the family physician who’d cared for me since birth, would probably give me ammonia to sniff if he were on the scene.

  Coleman helped me through the kitchen door of the club and into the interior where he sat me at a table. Tinkie and Cece were immediately beside me, each chafing one of my cold hands.

  “Oh, Sarah Booth, thank goodness you weren’t shot,” Tinkie said. She brushed a tear off her cheek. “What were you doing outside anyway? It’s cold.” She rubbed my fingers harder.

  “I went for a smoke.” In the light and warmth of the club, my wits were coming back to me. “I went out the front door and was sitting at the picnic table. I don’t think the people in the truck saw me at first.”

  “Doc Sawyer is on the way to examine…” Coleman didn’t finish the sentence. “DeWayne is photographing the scene. We’ll try for tire tracks, but a lot of vehicles have driven through there in the last few hours. Tinkie, would you make a list of every customer here. Get contact information and tell them to come by the courthouse tomorrow to give a statement.”

  “Sure thing.” She set to work.

  Cece came out of the kitchen with a steaming mug of coffee and handed it to me. She stroked my hair, which was almost my undoing. That tiny maternal gesture cracked my rigid control.

  “Did you get a look at the truck?” Coleman asked me.

  I focused. “It was black, extended cab, long wheel base. Like a F-150 or 1500. I couldn’t tell the make or model.” I thought hard. “The gun barrel extended out the passenger-side window. I thought it was two people, but it could have just been the driver, using the window frame to rest the gun on. The truck slowed before the shot. When he saw me, he fired again, but the angle was bad.”

  DeWayne came into the room and signaled for Coleman to follow him outside. My girlfriends immediately swooped in closer. “We should be outside, looking for evidence.” I tried to get up, but Cece pushed me back into my chair.

  “Not on your life, Nancy Drew. You’re staying right here. A man was gunned down in front of you. Coleman will share information. Let him and DeWayne do their jobs. And Doc. You’ll have everything you need in the morning.”

  She was right, but it felt wrong to sit. A man had died—for no reason. The threats whose seriousness I’d questioned had proven deadly. Whoever was after Scott and the band, they meant business, and I feared this was just the beginning.

  The other band members put away the equipment and helped Curtis Hebert clean up the kitchen. No one wanted to leave, but there seemed no reason to stay. One by one, the band members and club help left as Coleman talked to them and dismissed them. At last, it was just my friends and me.

  “Sarah Booth, let me and Tinkie drive you home,” Oscar suggested. “We’ll get you in the house and in bed with a toddy. Maybe Doc can give you something to sleep.”

  It wasn’t a bad idea, but I knew I wouldn’t sleep. No point worrying my friends. “I’m really good. I’m getting my balance back.” I waved everyone away. “Go home. I’ll do the same after I talk with Coleman one more time.”

  Jaytee and Cece were at the bar, talking quietly, waiting to lock the building. I hated to go outside, but I couldn’t delay any longer. By now, Doc had probably taken the body to the hospital for the official autopsy.

  Tinkie came over with Oscar to check on me one last time before they left. I shooed them home with promises I would go straight to bed. Tinkie leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Take Coleman or Scott with you. You don’t need to be alone.”

  At least she made me smile. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  She gave me a tight hug before she exited. When I stepped into the night, I saw Coleman talking with DeWayne and Scott.

  “Sarah Booth, I’ll drop you home,” Coleman said. “I’ll need a statement tomorrow, but for right now, you need some rest.”

  “I can take her,” Scott offered.

  “I can take myself.” I wasn’t some helpless damsel who needed a big strong man.

  Coleman put a hand on my shoulder. “Go with Scott. I have work to do.”

  “I’m perfectly fine—”

  “Gertrude Strom made bail about three hours ago.”

  He could have walloped me in the face with a two-by-four and it would have had less impact. “She what?”

  “I don’t know how she came up with the money, but she did. So I want Scott to take you home and make sure the house is secure. I trust Sweetie Pie and Pluto would alert you to any intruders, but it’s best to check and be safe.”

  “I can stay the night to make sure no one bothers her,” Scott said.

  It was clear the two men had decided my fate.

  “Fine.” I said, because I was too angry to say anything else. The woman who had shot my fiancé was out of jail, psychiatric evaluations that proved she was dangerous be damned. She was free to torment me, and she had made it plain, more than once, she meant to harm me.

  A thought struck me. “You don’t think Gertrude shot Koby, do you?”

  Coleman looked as angry as I felt. “It doesn’t make sense, but what Gertrude did to you and Graf wasn’t exactly the scheme of a balanced person. It’s a possibility I have to consider. So yes, it’s possible, which is why it would be best if Scott stayed with you. I’d do it myself, but DeWayne and I have some business we can’t delay.”

  “What business?”

  “Sarah Booth, go home and stay there. Scott, I’m counting on you to make that happen.”

  There was no arguing with Coleman when he’d made an executive decision. If I didn’t leave, he might arrest me.

  * * *

  Scott had driven me home, and I sat on the steps while he went inside to mix cocktails. I loved the view from the front porch. Looking out over the land, I felt caught in the stream of place and time.

  A pale silvery glow extended from the fields of Dahlia House to the far horizon. Moonlight touched the cotton bolls with magic. Far away, I heard the chant of workers in the field.

  A clear baritone rang out, “Hy-po-crite and the con-cu-bine, livin’ away among the swine.”

  A chorus of male and female voices answered, “Aunty, did you hear when Jesus rose?”

  The baritone returned, “They run to God with their lips and tongue and leave the heart behind.”

  And the chorus repeated the same line.

  The chop of the hoes in the field, the rustle of the cotton plants—I heard it all as the workers moved inch-by-inch down the rows.

  Of course it was a fancy. Mechanical pickers now harvested the cotton, and it was the dead of night, the bright moon not discounted. The silvered fields were empty.

  The front door creaked open and Sweetie Pie bounded over to where I sat on the front s
teps and licked my cheek. She flopped beside me and put her head in my lap.

  A rattle of ice in a glass signaled Scott’s quiet approach. “I should be making drinks for you,” I told him as I took the proffered glass. “I’m so sorry about Koby.” The reality still hadn’t settled in, but I knew Scott had lost a friend.

  “It’s hard to believe.” He sat next to me on the steps and Sweetie gave him a low, mournful groan. Pluto sat a dozen paces back. He missed Graf. He’d lost weight, though he was still a stout kitty, and seemed sluggish and unmotivated.

  “What if it was Gertrude? She hates me. If I have brought this tragedy to your door—“

  “Stop it.” He put a gentle hand on my arm. “Don’t do that, Sarah Booth. I was receiving the threatening calls long before that Strom woman got out of jail or the psychiatric ward or wherever she’s been.”

  That was true, but Gertrude had wreaked such damage in my life, I didn’t doubt her ability to spread the pain to everyone I cared about. “If she’s behind this, I’ll kill her.”

  “You’re fierce when you need to be.” He sipped his drink. “The best lead Coleman has is your description of the truck.”

  “Which is freaking generic, at best.”

  “Maybe DeWayne can get some tire prints.”

  “Maybe.” I held little hope. There’d been over a hundred cars in and out of the parking lot. “That security team was worthless. They didn’t see the truck. They said it had to come onto the property from one of the field roads. Weren’t they paid to be on top of this?”

  “Coleman has some questions for them.” Scott rattled the ice in his drink. “I’m going to temporarily close the club.”

  That made me sit up. “Scott, you can’t.”

  “I won’t have any more bloodshed. Until we figure out who’s behind this, I won’t risk anyone else getting hurt.”

  “And the person doing this will have won.”

  “It’s not about winning and losing. It’s about protecting people.”

  “I know you put a lot of money into buying the club and bringing the band here. You gave up a successful European tour. How long can you go without income?” I didn’t have Tinkie’s mind for finance, but I wasn’t a total goober. Scott had to be in a tight financial place. Successful blues tours in Europe didn’t equate to multi-million-dollar payouts.