Bone to Be Wild

by Carolyn Haines

  I didn’t doubt it for an instant.

  We shared a few more pleasantries before Tammy broached the subject I knew she’d come to talk about. Something was off-kilter.

  “I’m worried about you two,” she said, putting her empty mug on the desk. She folded her hands in her lap, and I couldn’t help but admire the long, elegant fingers and the calluses. Tammy’s life had been hard. We’d both been marked by early tragedy, but I’d had the cushion of family money. She’d had determination and her ability to see things others didn’t. For a long time she’d worked as a maid as she built up her clientele. Now she read tarot cards, listened to her intuition when people asked questions, and interpreted her dreams and the dreams of others. In the past she’d been a big help on several cases.

  “Do you have something to tell us?” Tinkie asked. She was more direct when dealing with the unknown. I hadn’t realized how much I dreaded what Tammy might say until Tinkie popped the question.

  “There’ll be trouble at the club.” Tammy wasn’t happy with her job as bearer of bad news, either. “I’m sorry. I hate having a dream like this, but it’s been the same dream for the past three nights. I had no choice but to tell you.”

  “It isn’t your fault, Tammy. Just give us the details.” Tinkie would yank out a troublesome tooth. She faced things head-on. I preferred to hide under the bed and hope things got better. Now I had to push back my fear and listen to my friend. Tammy’s dreams occasionally offered a solution, if I could only open myself to different options.

  Tammy’s left hand tapped nervously on her thigh. “Last night I dreamed about the club opening. It was raining outside, and the neon lights reflected in puddles in the parking lot. Music swelled out into the darkness, along with laughter. Folks were having a good time. I was eager to get inside and party with y’all, but as I opened the door, I smelled something.”

  I could only hope it involved the spicy jambalaya Curtis was cooking. “What?”

  “I smelled Death.”

  “Oh, no.” Death had stalked me since I was a child. Tonight all of my closest friends would be gathered in Playin’ the Bones, and if Tammy’s dream was precognitive, this wasn’t good. “Are you sure?”

  “I am. I don’t often get an olfactory warning that Death is riding his black horse into town, but it was strong this time. Blood and fear mingled together in this sharp, coppery odor.” She inhaled and let it out. “I don’t like saying this, but something bad is coming down at that club tonight.”

  “Tell us the dream,” Tinkie said. “If we’re prepared, maybe we can stop it.”

  Tammy focused inward, remembering. “Keep in mind I see what can happen in my dreams. It doesn’t mean it has to happen. External factors change things. Maybe this can be prevented. I don’t know. Nothing is carved into the book of life until it happens. Even Death changes directions sometimes.”

  I felt slightly better. “Tammy, no one blames you for what you see,” I said. “We appreciate your talents and your willingness to share. This may help us save a life.”

  She nodded. “In the dream, I walked into the club and it was like a tide of good sound, delicious smells, laughter, and joy. Folks were having a fine time. The dance floor was crowded, the music was hot.” She paused to gather herself. “Then a black shadow passed over the club. It doesn’t make any sense, because I was inside and couldn’t see outside, but I felt it. I knew right then Death had brushed my soul. All the bright colors were drained from the room, and faces went from joy to horror, like they were all witnessing a terrible event. The smell changed. Rot was close by.”

  I didn’t want to hear this. My first impulse was to excuse myself to brew more coffee, but Tinkie’s face told me to sit my butt still and not break Tammy’s concentration. “Maybe it was Koby’s murder you’re sensing. A death already past.”

  “Maybe,” Tammy said, but I knew from her expression she didn’t believe my interpretation.

  “Go on,” Tinkie urged her. “Tell us the rest.”

  “The shadow passed over the club and everyone looked up. A gunshot came close and very loud, then a scream, a woman I think. When I turned to the stage, all the band members wore blank masks and stood together, but one was missing. There was an empty spot.”

  “Which man?” It couldn’t be Scott.

  “I don’t know, Sarah Booth. They were lined up on the stage—all alike, but I couldn’t say who wasn’t there. When I walked up to the stage, blood pooled in a big circle. Outside the club, an eagle shrieked, and a small creature squealed in fright. Another loud scream came from inside the club, then silence, and I woke up.”

  “What a terrible dream,” Tinkie said. She stood and went to Tammy, pulling her into a hug. “I’m so sorry you had to relive it, but thank you for telling us. Are you okay?”

  Leave it to Tinkie to do the kind, compassionate thing. I was so busy worrying about Scott and the band, I hadn’t considered what a toll this would take on Tammy. I picked up her cold hands and chafed them to bring back the circulation. “Ditto what Tinkie said, and thank you for warning us.”

  “I don’t always know what the dreams mean, and this one is confusing. There’s danger at the club, but also danger outside the club.”

  “We’ll be very careful,” Tinkie promised. “And we’ll warn everyone else. Nightshade Security has roadblocks set up at the front entrance and another team at the farm road near the back. I don’t think anyone will be able to get close to the club with a gun. They’re checking every person and car that tries to enter. Anyone with weapons or a crappy attitude will be sent packing.”

  Tammy didn’t seem comforted. “Mean folks can always find a way. Coleman’s hands are tied. He can’t stop folks from carrying guns. Or from using them.”

  “No, but Scott can stop them from coming onto the club property. You’d think people would have enough sense not to bring loaded weapons to a place that serves liquor, but folks don’t think. They assume everyone will behave. They don’t consider individuals with anger issues or a hothead who’s just looking for an excuse to light his fuse.” Tinkie was getting agitated herself.

  “Now hush that fretting,” Tammy said. “We’re putting on a brave face and hanging hard to the belief that this will be a stellar event.” Tammy couldn’t hide her worry, though she was doing her all to be supportive.

  I considered calling Scott and urging him not to open, but the threat wouldn’t go away. Not next week or next month. If a person was determined to prevent the club from opening, he could wait us out. Scott would lose his investment if the doors didn’t open soon.

  “Let’s put away the doom talk. We’re all aware now. We’ll be on the lookout. What are you wearing?” Tammy asked me. “Something sexy, I hope. Now that you’re a free filly, you have to get out there and shake your moneymaker.”

  I pretended insult. “Moneymaker?”

  “Don’t play coy,” Tinkie threw in. “You know you’ve got a handful of men waiting for a chance to make change.”

  Tammy yelped with delight, and I took an outraged tone. “As if I’d sell myself to a man just for security.”

  “I would!” Tammy threw both hands in the air.

  “Sarah Booth would, too,” Tinkie said. “It’s just got to be the right man. But as my mama used to say—and I’m sure Aunt Loulane would agree—you can love a rich man just as easily as a poor man.”

  I’d heard such wisdom from Aunt Loulane more than once. “I’m not in the market to be loving any man,” I said, arms akimbo. “I was bitten by the python of love and I’m not going back to play with more snakes.”

  “Oh, my lord,” Tinkie gasped. “Python of love? Where did that come from?”

  “I think I’m off sex for the rest of my life.” Tammy pretended to swoon.

  “Just remember, when you start to tease me, I have the power to destroy your love life with a simple turn of phrase.” I leaned toward them. “One-eyed wonder muscle!”

  “I submit.” Tammy rose and put her arm
around my shoulders. “No more love advice from me. Just promise me, you’ll stay inside the club tonight. No going outside to smoke cigarettes.”

  I wasn’t aware Tammy knew I smoked, but why should I be surprised? Everyone in Zinnia knew everyone else’s vices. “I’ll stay inside. You have my word.”

  “You, too.” Tammy drilled Tinkie with a glare. “We’ll stick together and enjoy the music and hope my dream was anxiety tapping at my subconscious.”

  I nodded, but the chances of Tammy having a mere anxiety attack were slim. Her dreams were precognitive.

  With grit I could only admire, Tammy turned the conversation. Her tone was girlish and excited. “I’m wearing this wonderful blouse I got in Memphis while I was visiting little Dahlia. It’s red-and-black striped and sparkly. And I’m bringing a date, so you two don’t embarrass me.”

  “Who?” Tinkie asked. She looked at me and I shrugged. I wasn’t aware Tammy was dating. She meddled in my love life, like all the rest of my friends, but she’d never hinted she was interested in a particular man.

  “Parker French.”

  “The Parker French?” Tinkie and I said in unison.

  “None other.” Tammy tried hard not to preen, but she was totally unsuccessful.

  I swept a bow to her. “My, oh, my!” Parker French was a highly regarded music critic for Rolling Stone. “How the heck did you arrange to get Mr. French down here?”

  Tammy posed with a coy look over her shoulder. “I just batted my eyelashes and—”

  “Give it a rest,” Tinkie said. “Tell us the truth.”

  “Parker is a friend of the Mount Sinai Methodist minister. I was telling Reverend John Hillet about the troubles Scott was having at the club, so John called Parker and asked him to come. They went to seminary together. Parker studied to be a minister until he realized writing about music was his calling. Anyway, I said I’d be Parker’s chauffeur. I brought him back from the Memphis airport on my way home.”

  “And you’ve kept it a secret all this time!” Tinkie shook a finger at Tammy. “You are a sly one, aren’t you?”

  “This is amazing.” Scott would be over the moon when he heard. A big-city music critic coming to Podunk, Mississippi, was big news for Cece too. I had to let her know ASAP.

  “I left a message for Cece.” Tammy gave me a crooked grin, letting me know she could read my mind as well as predict my future. “We’re arriving at the club a little early so Cece can talk to Parker. And Reverend Hillet has asked the entire congregation of the church to come, too. We’re showing strong support for Scott. The blues have nothing to do with Satan, and we’re sick of hearing it.”

  “You are an amazing friend, Tammy.” I kissed her cheek. “Amazing!”

  “This club is important to me and my friends. We don’t practice voodoo or worship Satan and the blues are no more sexual or suggestive than country or rock and roll. I’m a little tired of hearing cheap talk from ignorant mouths.”

  “What have you heard about the club and the devil?”

  “Whoever is working against Scott is organized and has financial backing. There were flyers all over downtown Zinnia. Millie and her waitresses were hustling up and down the street, pulling them down. She said she got every one she saw, but who knows where they were distributed.”

  So Mason had actually put up his hateful flyers. No wonder Tammy was having bad dreams about the club. Who would have thought we’d end up waging a PR campaign about a form of music born in the cotton fields right outside my door. The blues were part of the Delta. A few legends about Robert Johnson trading his soul to the devil at the crossroads and people went nuts. I had a deep and ugly suspicion this attack on the blues had a lot more to do with race than any devil’s bargain.

  “This makes me mad as a hornet,” Tinkie said. “There’s nothing satanic about this music. The blues grew from the old field hollers where one person or group sang a line and another group answered. The blues are about drinking and loving and dancing and temptation and revenge and jealousy and joy and every other human emotion—just like any other music.”

  “My church group is already handing out our flyers,” Tammy said. “We’ll have a good turnout. I promise. We won’t let Scott down. We have to get dressed to the nines and put on the dog. That’s what we can do. We can be there and take photos and put it all up on social media. We’ll make this opening the biggest thing to ever hit Sunflower County.”

  Tammy was right. “I’ve got to pull together a hot outfit.” Tammy had her clothes planned and Tinkie never looked less than perfect. I had work to do. “I can’t be the ugly duckling while all of you are strutting your stuff.”

  “That’s the ticket,” Tammy said. “See you both tonight!”

  * * *

  For three hours, Tinkie and I labored over the suspect list. No matter how we approached it, we simply didn’t have the evidence necessary for an arrest. We ate lunch and worked until the clock struck four.

  Coleman’s call gave us a chance to take a break. “I talked with Gertrude, who claims she was alone and had stopped on the road to let a bee out of her car.”

  “A bee?”

  “She’s up to something, Sarah Booth. Watch out. I can’t arrest her, and we have security men at Dahlia House, but you’re going to have to be vigilant. I’m worried.”

  “I’ll use extra precautions,” I promised. “See you tonight.”

  Tinkie stretched and yawned. “I’m going home and taking a nap. I don’t know if our brains aren’t working or if we’re simply exhausted. But it’s pointless to go through the facts again.”

  I wanted to disagree, but I couldn’t. Tomorrow, after the club opening, we’d take another run at Foundation Rock. Our plan was to slip in and try to speak with one of the females. It wasn’t a brilliant strategy, but at least we had a plan of action.

  As Tinkie drove away, Chablis’s little red bow bobbed in the breeze from the open window. Pluto at last rubbed my legs. I was forgiven. Together the cat, Sweetie Pie, and I tumbled into bed for a snooze.

  12

  Based on the enthusiasm of the crowd and the fact that Scott had to open the doors and let the music pour out into the parking lot where the overflow crowd tailgated and camped in lawn chairs brought from home, I judged the club a smashing success. Curtis Hebert’s jambalaya ran out by nine o’clock—just as the band cranked up to full-tilt boogie. I’d never seen a bigger collection of sparkle, dazzle, and dance moves. While the dress was casual, it didn’t prevent the women from wearing a fancy blouse over jeans and styling shoes. A few men even wore suits. And everyone danced!

  Cece sang a few numbers, wowing everyone in the audience. She was the belle of the ball, and enjoyed every moment. Yancy Bellow was in the front row with another bit of arm candy, an elegant blonde who spoke with a Dutch accent. The surprising thing about her was not her looks but her encyclopedic knowledge of the blues. I wondered if Yancy’s interest in the music came first or if Chantal Noordeloos inspired his willingness to invest in Playin’ the Bones. She was certainly beautiful and interesting to talk to. And Yancy had the money to indulge her passions. I hoped Scott wouldn’t have to take an investor, but the fact Yancy and Chantal were there boded well if that turned out to be the case.

  At ten o’clock, Scott took the microphone and settled the crowd. “While this is a celebration tonight, Koby Shaver is very much on our minds here at Playin’ the Bones. Koby had only been a part of the club for a short time, but we’d all grown to care about him. His death is a loss—a cruel and unnecessary loss.”

  I watched the crowd, searching for a wrong expression. The people in the club had been vetted by the security team out front and I knew many of them. No one showed a suspicious reaction to Scott’s words. My gaze strayed to Tatiana, who wiped at her cheeks with a bar napkin. For a gal who looked so tough, she teared up easily.

  Scott scanned the room as if seeking someone. “Now I want to acknowledge a local man who has made an extraordinary donation. Mr. Bellow
, would you stand?”

  Yancy tried to deflect the attention, but Scott waited him out. The businessman finally stood.

  “Mr. Bellow has given ten thousand dollars as a reward for information leading to the arrest of the person who shot Koby.”

  The crowd rose to its feet, clapping and whistling. Yancy blushed, waved at everyone, and quickly sat down. Chantal leaned over and kissed his cheek.

  “Would you care to say anything, Mr. Bellow?” Scott asked.

  Yancy stood and cleared his throat. “I hope this reward money will bring forth new leads,” he said. “There are many rumors about why Mr. Shavers was killed. Only the person who pulled the trigger can know for certain why such an act was committed. Our heritage is under attack. If I can contribute to justice in some small way, I’m happy to do so.”

  He sat down and Scott took pity on his discomfort and pulled the crowd’s attention back to the stage. “Now, I want you to dance and enjoy the evening, but don’t forget Koby and the injustice done to him and those who loved him.”

  The band picked up an old tune, and the party atmosphere returned.

  After five dances in a row, I went to the bar to get another Jack and water and evaluate how Tatiana was holding up. If necessary, I could take her place. She looked like she’d be more at home in a grunge bar than a juke, but she knew her stuff when it came to mixing drinks. She was a virtuoso, pouring several liquors at once, plopping lime wedges and lemon slices as garnishes, chatting up the patrons.

  When she saw me approaching, she took a deep breath, as if she’d been working hard to hide her sadness and could now relax. “Sarah Booth, it’s been a day, hasn’t it?”

  “Indeed. Do you need a break? I can take over. I’m not as quick or flashy as you are, but I can mix a drink.”

  “Working keeps my mind occupied. Part of me wants to crawl to Koby’s house and hide, but I’m doing this for him. He would’ve wanted me to help open the club.” She nodded toward the packed room. “I think Scott has a hit on his hands. I thought the murder would scare off the customers.”