Bone to Be Wild

by Carolyn Haines

  “Can we have a hint?” I asked.

  Jaytee put an arm around Cece’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “If we told, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

  “We’ll be right here. We don’t need to be surprised.” Tinkie couldn’t stand being in the dark. It was one reason she was such a good PI.

  “You’ll have to wait it out with the rest of the crowd,” Scott said. “I promise, you’ll be glad you didn’t know.”

  “Now I’m simply dying to figure this out,” Tinkie huffed. “Talk about a tease.”

  I was about to excuse myself and call the circuit court clerk to check on Gertrude Strom’s hearing when Joel Buckhalter, who was with the local radio station, interrupted. He was working a live spot from the club and needed crowd participation. The band jumped onstage to perform a preview for his radio show. The energy of everyone in the club lifted me up, and I was standing and clapping with Tinkie, Cece, and the bar staff when the number finished.

  “Play ‘When a Man Loves a Woman,’” Cece suggested. She moved closer to the stage, a moth to the flames.

  “I’d better get a hose,” Tinkie said under her breath. “When Jaytee starts to play the harp on that song, Cece is going to burst into flames.”

  I tried to strangle the laughter, but to no avail. Jaytee was sexy, and when he leaned into the harmonica and really began to blow, it sent a chill down me. But as much as Jaytee commanded the spotlight, I couldn’t stop watching Scott. He was purely professional as he sang the ballad Percy Sledge made the number one dance song for all juke joint lovers. When his gaze strayed to me, I felt as if my soul had been touched.

  “He is one fine-looking man,” Tinkie said. She hadn’t just fallen off a turnip truck. She could feel the electricity.

  “He is,” I agreed. “And I’m glad he’s back in Sunflower County.”

  “He couldn’t have come at a better time.” Tinkie slipped her arm through mine. “I know you’re not ready to move on with your life, but it sure never hurts to have a compelling man for company.”

  She was right about that.

  The band finished the number, and Joel continued with his broadcast. When he’d closed out the spot and turned off the microphone, Scott signaled everyone to the bar for a celebratory drink. “To the blues,” he said when everyone had a glass.

  I downed the drink and headed toward the back door, phone in hand. I never made it outside. The front door opened and the silhouette of a tall, slender man entered. “Can I reserve two tables for tonight?” Yancy Bellow asked. “I want to bring some friends from Memphis.”

  Scott walked forward and extended his hand. “Scott Hampton. I’m sure we can help you out. Where would you like to sit?”

  “Right here.” Yancy pointed to the two tables closest to the stage. “My friends are in the music business and I thought they might be interested in hearing the new band.”

  “We’ll hold them for you.”

  “Miss Delaney,” Yancy said as he walked over to me. “And Mrs. Bellcase. What brings you two to a blues club in the middle of a Monday afternoon? I thought you’d be out tracking felons.”

  “We’re helping a friend,” Tinkie said. “Scott and I go way back. Have you been a blues aficionado for a long time?”

  “I’m an investor. Think what this club could do for the economy. Sunflower County could become a star on the Blues Trail, bringing thousands of tourists to Zinnia. The whole area.” He waved his arm indicating the entire Delta. “Mr. Hampton and his band have such a following in the European market that Zinnia could become the home to a very big international music scene.”

  I had to hand it to Yancy, he’d done his homework on Bad to the Bone. The band was super-hot in Europe. If they could bring their mojo to Zinnia, it would be a major economic boon to everyone from Millie’s Café to the town’s growing B&B business. In only the past year, three homes the size of Dahlia House had been converted from private residences to B&Bs. Such repurposing was one way for a home owner to keep his house and property in a down economy. And it would give me immense pleasure to see competition for Gertrude Strom, who ran the premier B&B in the region.

  “You dream big, Mr. Bellow.” Tinkie batted her long eyelashes at him. On another woman, the move would be cartoonish, but Tinkie could pull it off. Like Scarlett O’Hara, she could stamp her foot, fashion a dress from drapes, and out-business the most successful businessman, all while keeping the man ignorant of her abilities.

  “What’s the point of small dreams, Tinkie, and please, call me Yancy.”

  Tinkie had teased me about dating Yancy Bellow, but it looked like she was more up his alley, even though he was aware she was married to Oscar. Or perhaps it was a bit of friendly repartee with a hint of sex thrown in just to spice it up.

  “In fact, if Mr. Hampton is looking for financial support, I’m here to make an offer.” Yancy arched his eyebrows at Scott.

  “I certainly appreciate your interest, Mr. Bellow, but we have sufficient investors. All we have to do is open the doors and put some musicians on the stage. If the folks like us, we’ll do fine. If they don’t, then all the investors in the world won’t help.”

  “A true philosophy,” Yancy said. “From the talk in town, everyone has great expectations.”

  Cece put a program in his hand. “The barbecue plates go on sale at six o’clock. The music starts at eight. Now if you’ll excuse us, we need to put the finishing touches on the place.”

  “A gracious lady with an agenda.” Yancy gave a stiff, courtly little bow to all of us. “I’ll move along so you can finish your work.”

  “You do have the most elegant manners,” Tinkie said, preening.

  “To match a lady with grace,” Yancy said.

  I thought for a minute he would kiss her hand, but he took his leave.

  As Yancy exited the club, Jaytee signaled Scott over. They consulted for a moment over Jaytee’s phone and then Scott waved me toward them. “It’s another threat,” he said. “Tell her, Jaytee.”

  “It was a guy. Strange way of talking, but he was clear about what he said—that someone would pay if the club opened tonight.”

  “Pay how?” I asked.

  “He wasn’t specific. ‘Wrath will rain down on the sinners if the club opens.’ Those were the exact words.” Jaytee looked miserable. “Maybe we should postpone, Scott. Get some serious security.”

  “I’ll hire private security,” Scott said, “but we’re opening. We can’t let an anonymous call, which may be nothing more than a prank, keep us from opening.”

  I agreed with him. “Call Coleman, just to be sure all bases are covered. And if you hurry, you can get a security team from Memphis down here.”

  “I’m on it.” Scott went to the office and I touched Jaytee’s shoulder. “They called your personal cell phone?”

  Jaytee handed the phone to me. “The number didn’t come up and there’s no way to call it back.”

  I could call the phone company but I knew only a warrant could motivate them to give up such information—if they had any information. Even in Zinnia people knew about burner phones. But Coleman had the power to obtain phone records, and I had no doubt he’d use it. I had a few questions.

  “How would someone have your personal cell number?” There were a lot of possibilities, but I wanted to hear what Jaytee would say.

  “The number isn’t a big secret. I’ve given it out all over the place. It’s on the club business cards.” He motioned me to the bar. From behind the napkins he found a stack of business cards that showed the club phone number and his cell phone. “I told Scott I wouldn’t mind fielding some calls.” He looked sheepish. “It’s a good way to meet girls, you know.”

  Oh, boy, did I. My hackles rose instantly. He couldn’t treat Cece like an old shoe.

  My face must have given me away. He held up both hands. “I’ve been single a long time, and I’ve enjoyed playing the field. But now that I’ve met Cece, I was going to ask Scott to get me a new phone. You
know, trade. He could keep my old number for the club and get me a new one. I’m not interested in other girls. Cece and I are getting to know each other, but I have to tell you, I think my looking days are over. She’s the one.”

  “Is Scott replacing your phone?”

  “I haven’t asked him yet. I just met Cece Saturday. Give a man a chance.”

  He had a point. The spark between Jaytee and Cece was only a few days old, and it took time to unwind lifestyles.

  The bartender, a big, handsome mountain of a man, came up behind the bar. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Sarah Booth Delaney, Koby Shaver, the best bartender in the Southeast. You name it, he can mix it.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Delaney. Let me guess. Bourbon. Something with a little bite. You drink Jack.”

  “I do. How did you know?”

  “I know my liquor and I know the ladies. I also know you’re one lady I’d like to know better. What are you doing after the club closes?”

  “Sarah Booth is Scott’s friend.” Jaytee’s voice was low, but clear.

  “Message received.” He grinned at me. “Scott has excellent taste, but I withdraw my invite.”

  It was impossible to be offended. He was like a big, frisky puppy.

  “How are we on ice and drink garnishes?” Jaytee asked.

  “Full up on everything.” Koby waved at the chilled containers of lemon and lime wedges, cherries, olives—all the fixings for drinks.

  “I need to check the lights,” Jaytee said. “Koby, make Sarah Booth a drink she won’t forget.”

  I laughed but shook my head. “Later. It’s too early to have another drink. I need a clear head tonight. Have you been in Sunflower County long?” I asked Koby.

  “I met the band in Austin, Texas, and they invited me to be part of the club here. I like it a lot so far. Small towns are the way to go for me. Love the city for the excitement. Love the country for the living.”

  Tinkie hustled to my side. “Scott hired Nightshade Security out of Memphis. They’re sending a team to work the opening.”

  I nodded. “A security force might seem a bit like overkill, but better safe than sorry.” I almost slapped my own forehead. I was spouting adages just like my dead aunt Loulane.

  Tinkie nudged my side and tipped her head toward Cece and Jaytee, who were huddled together like co-conspirators in a high-stakes game show. Cece was far too polished to giggle, but she did laugh at something Jaytee said. He put his arm around her and hugged her.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” Tinkie demanded. “You look upset.”

  “You know me, I worry. I don’t want Cece to ever be hurt again. She’s had enough.”

  “I know what you mean,” Tinkie said. “Suffice it to say, if he’s messing with her, we’ll repay him tenfold and in a way he’ll never forget.”

  Tinkie kept her word when it came to protecting her friends. “Yep,” I agreed. “We’ll really hurt him.”

  “Sarah Booth!” Coleman’s voice boomed across the bar and I faced him with a smile. The bomber jacket he wore suited his rugged build, and his cheeks were red from the cold and wind outside. He had something to share.

  Before he could start, I blurted out my own question. “Gertrude?”

  His hesitation told me everything.

  “She’s out?”

  “Not yet, but she will be. The judge lowered her bail. He said she wasn’t a flight risk.”

  “Hell no, she won’t flee. She’s too crazy to run. She’ll hurt someone else. Likely me or Tinkie.”

  Coleman was calm, but he wasn’t happy. “Keep your fingers crossed she won’t be able to come up with the cash. Let’s not borrow trouble.”

  “She hates me.”

  “I know that and I’m taking this seriously. I promise.” His blue gaze held me long and steady. “I won’t let her hurt you.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I told him.

  “That’s not my style and you know it.”

  In fact, I did.

  4

  I returned to Dahlia House late in the afternoon to change clothes and get ready for the grand opening of the club. I’d managed to work through most of the day without thinking about Graf, but walking across the front porch of Dahlia House, the emptiness struck me. Graf and I had enjoyed sitting in the rockers this time of day, sipping a Jack and water, or sometimes Graf would whip up a froufrou drink, just to make me laugh.

  A gust of dead sycamore leaves skittered across the porch and hung in the runners of the white wicker rockers, scratching to get away as if they were alive. Nothing said abandoned and alone quite like brown and crinkled leaves blowing on a cold November day.

  I entered the front door and stopped cold. The tinkling sound of a piano came from the music room, but no one was home. Stupid as it was, my heart leaped to the thought that Graf had returned. Even though I knew he didn’t play the piano. Even though I knew it wasn’t time. Even though I knew the only person it could be was … Jitty. My heart cracked a little more.

  I went in search of my musical haint. The song was both sad and sexy, and I followed the sound until I locked in on Jitty in the middle of the music room. Sweetie Pie snoozed on the rug and Pluto sat on the piano bench where no one played but the keys moved of their own volition. Neat trick.

  Jitty wore a floor-length white sequined gown and a hat that defied description. Something from the flapper era. She swung around to face me and sang, “Baby, won’t you please come home.”

  I recognized the song and her persona, Bessie Smith, the tragic Mississippi singer who bled to death after a car accident not so far from Zinnia. The legend went that the local hospital refused to treat a black person.

  “Stop it, Jitty! I get it. I have the blues.” I tried to sound stern, but it was hard to do when the song spoke to my feelings.

  She continued with the classic, which only made me sadder. I finally gave up and listened to the clarity of her voice. When she assumed the persona of someone, she gave it her all, and Jitty had a feel for the song. I closed my eyes and listened to the woman who, in the 1920s, was known as the Empress of the Blues. At a time when many black people weren’t allowed to vote and segregation was the rule of the nation, Bessie had owned her own railroad car and traveled with Ma Rainey, selling merchandise and performing to crowds that made her a wealthy woman.

  When the song was over Bessie morphed back into the haint I recognized and loved. And sometimes wanted to throttle. “What’s the truth about Bessie’s death?” I asked Jitty.

  She turned sideways. “She was hurt bad. Her arm was almost severed. She died. I don’t think anything would have changed that.”

  It wasn’t an answer to the question that blues lovers had asked for seventy years, but it was all I was going to get out of Jitty right now. Instead of begging for answers, I decided to share a little music history with my haint. “Did you know Janis Joplin had a headstone made for Bessie and placed at her grave?”

  “Lots of the early rockers recognized the black talent that inspired them. Doesn’t surprise me a bit Janis would do the honors for a woman she admired.” Jitty hated it when I knew something she didn’t.

  “Well, did you know that vehicular and plane accidents and murder are leading causes of death for famous musicians?”

  “Aren’t you little Miss Sunshine and Good Cheer. I thought workin’ at the club would liven you up, but that was a vain hope.” She leaned in closer and a slow smile crept over her face. “Sometimes a blues singer knows just the right chords to strum, if you get my meaning. If you’d give that cute Scott Hampton half a chance, I’ll bet he could have you singing with pleasure.”

  Oh, I got her meaning. And I ignored it. “You’re accusing me of being Debbie Downer? Hell, if I were chewing happy pills, that song would bring me down.” I flopped on the piano bench beside Pluto. He was a fat kitty with an attitude. Most of the time he could be mistaken for a stuffed pillow, but when he geared up for action, he was fierce. He
and Sweetie Pie were blues lovers and the perfect mystery-solving companions.

  “Pain and joy are inseparable. Without love, there wouldn’t be the blues.” Jitty sank into a club chair beside me. “Sarah Booth, you’ve had a setback, but there’s a long road ahead of you. And you got options. Scott, Coleman, Harold,” she ticked them off on her fingers. “Those men know you and they still wanna chance to love you. Plenty of time to love again.”

  “Great use of sarcasm. And just so you know, I’m not interested in falling for a man. Love should come with a guarantee. I’m not interested in doing this again.”

  She laughed, and the sound was rich and sultry and delicious, and it made me smile. I had the most sensual ghost on the planet. Even when she was tormenting me, she could be sexy. “Girl, you’re all curled up in the fetal position tryin’ to protect that big heart, but you can’t. Even if you hide out right here in Dahlia House and never love another man, you still get a servin’ of pain. You love these animals, and that’s loss around the bend.”

  She was right, so I couldn’t argue. And I didn’t want to. I wanted to forget, and the best way I knew to do that was to stay in constant motion. “What should I wear to the club tonight?”

  “Something slinky, so when you dance, the dress knows it.”

  I had the perfect outfit in mind. “Thanks, Jitty. Now that was helpful.”

  Sweetie gave an approving yodel of love, and I left the music room feeling more lighthearted than when I’d arrived. Jitty and the blues—who knew such things could improve a broken heart.

  * * *

  The club winked hot blue, purple, and pink neon in the soft Delta sky, and I was thrilled to see the parking lot overflowing with vehicles. Trucks with mud flaps and monster tires, high-end luxury sedans and SUVs, even one electric car everyone knew belonged to Pattie Tierce, one of Zinnia’s new lawyers.