Crossroads of Bones (A Katie Bishop Novel Book 1)

by Luanne Bennett

  “I guess I need to, don’t I?” I really didn’t care for surprises. I’d had my share of them, and there was a fifty-fifty chance of a bad outcome every time. I ripped open the envelope flap and pulled out an ivory linen card with gold embossed writing on the front. “It’s an invitation.”

  “To what?” He snatched the card from my hand.

  The Crossroads Society of Savannah, Georgia

  requests the company of Miss Katie Bishop

  at the 2017 Crossroads Ball

  Saturday, July 29, 2017, 8:00 PM

  Black Tie

  “Well, ain’t that hoity-toity,” he said, handing it back. “I’ll probably die before ever getting an invite to that kind of party.”

  I scanned the invitation. “There’s no address listed.”

  “You’re not seriously thinking about going, are you?”

  “It’s this weekend. Kind of short notice. It’s not like I have a ball gown just hanging in my closet. And if you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly the ‘ball’ type.” It suddenly occurred to me that Finley Cooper knew where I lived. That meant he was either spying on me or had someone else do it for him. “How the hell does he know where I live?”

  “Uh, sunshine, you and I need to have that little talk now about Finley Cooper.”

  We took our coffee and went out to the patio to discuss what Cooper had told me about Victor Tuse. Since I’d already come out of the closet to Sea Bass and he’d obviously seen a lot of crazy shit in his day, Finley Cooper’s story would probably read like non-fiction.

  “According to Cooper,” I began, “Victor Tuse is a host for some spirit the Crossroads Society had been guarding for a while. Like a couple of centuries,” I smirked. The story was absurd, but Cooper was convincing. Why would he lie? “Apparently, I facilitated its escape from prison when I put that tattoo on Tuse’s back.”

  I’d expected the synopsis to make him laugh and tell me how gullible I was, but instead he blanched and stood up abruptly. “You are not going to that ball, Katie.”

  “And I’m sure you’re going to tell me why. Not that I’ve even decided yet.”

  “Oh, I’m not even gonna try,” he said with a straight face. “My granny is.”

  Two-for-one day or not, the look on Sea Bass’ face convinced me that he wasn’t just being an alarmist. Finley Cooper’s words had genuinely spooked him, and I knew enough about auguries and omens to know that the look on his face was a sign of something that needed immediate attention. My first scheduled appointment wasn’t until noon, and Sea Bass rescheduled his morning client. Mouse would have to deal with the walk-ins for an hour or two while we went to see Granny McCabe.

  I balked when he headed for his motorcycle. “I’m not getting on that thing. No offense, but I’ve seen you drive it. That thing’s dangerous.” He rode a vintage Triumph Bonneville that had seen better days. From the way he talked about it, a six-month project had turned into six years, and it was still barely legal to be driven on the road. “We’re taking my car.”

  “Damn, Katie, you gonna make me show up at my granny’s house in that?”

  My ancient Honda Accord was no classic, but it passed inspection and ran just fine. “I can meet you there, if you’d prefer?” He relented and followed me to my car.

  We drove across town and pulled into Davina McCabe’s tiny driveway. She lived in an old green bungalow near Daffin Park with a postage stamp-sized front yard and a short wrought-iron gate wrapped around the front of the house.

  Sea Bass knocked his knuckles against the pink door as he pushed it open. Granny was expecting us.

  “Sebastian. Get over here, boy.” She pushed herself up from the sofa and wrapped her frail arms around his shoulders as he bent down to accommodate her petite frame. Granny couldn’t have been a day less than eighty, but she moved like a woman ten years younger.

  After the reception of her grandson, she turned to me and grinned on one side of her face. I wasn’t sure if it was from paralysis or slyness. She stood still as a stone for a minute, taking me in as if I she were reading my aura. “So, this is the young lady you were telling me about.”

  “Katie’s my boss, Grams.”

  Davina raised her brow and smiled with an even grin this time. “Well, she’s a lot more than that.” Before I could open my mouth to question the comment, she turned and headed for the archway. “I’ll go fix up a tray.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Mrs. McCabe,” I said, fearing the hospitality might tax the older woman.

  “Of course, I do,” she replied without turning around. “And please, call me Davina.”

  “Grams likes to entertain,” he said. “I swear that woman ain’t never gonna slow down.”

  “Grams?” I repeated with a quiet chuckle. “That’s sweet.” I never knew my birth grandparents, and the parents of my adopted mother and father both died before I came along.

  On the way over Sea Bass had given me a primer on his grandmother’s history. Davina McCabe came from mountain folks. The Ozarks, to be more specific. When she was fifteen, she married a man working for the Civilian Conservation Corps who was twelve years her senior from Charlotte, North Carolina. By the time she was seventeen she was pregnant and living in Savannah.

  Glancing around the room, I could tell she was a woman who appreciated the history of objects. The shelves were filled with old things from the past like Staffordshire figurines and old books. The house was small but the large windows let in a lot of light, making the room feel bright and airy. It had a lot of charm: arched doorways, old pine floors that looked original to the house, architectural details that people spent an arm and a leg trying to replicate. Sea Bass’ mother grew up in this house, and he himself had spent a good chunk of his childhood under this roof.

  “Now I feel like a proper hostess.” Davina came back into the room carrying a large tray. Sea Bass shot up to take it from her hands and placed it in the center of the coffee table. “Why didn’t you call me, Grams? One of these days you’re gonna fall and break a hip. Then what are you gonna do?”

  “Boy thinks I’m old,” she said. “Well, I guess I am, but don’t tell anyone.” The tray contained a pitcher of sweet tea, a few glasses, a plate of shortbread biscuits, and a pile of napkins to catch the butter from those biscuits. She bent down and poured some tea into a glass and handed it to me.

  “Sea—Sebastian said you’re originally from the Ozark Mountains?” I asked, noting her lack of the stereotypical dialect you’d expect from mountain folks. “I mean no offense, Davina, but you sound more like a native Southerner than someone who was raised in the Ozarks.”

  “Well, I’ve been a Southerner about five times longer. I was only fifteen when I climbed down from the mountain.” She laughed quietly. “You should hear me when I get a couple glasses of wine in me. That mountain starts to spill out of my mouth like water.”

  Even with the easy conversation and the polite tray of Southern hospitality, her eyes kept tracking mine. She was watching me like a hawk. The talk in the room went quiet, and all I could hear was Sea Bass chewing on his biscuit and chasing it with a swig of tea.

  “Such a pretty thing,” she continued. “What is your heritage, Katie?”

  “Well,” I took a deep breath to ready myself for the foray into my complicated pedigree.

  “Katie’s adopted,” Sea Bass blurted out, somehow thinking I needed assistance.

  I deadpanned him. “It’s true. I was adopted when I was a baby. My mother was—possibly still is—from Slovenia.”

  “And your father?”

  “I—I don’t actually know anything about him,” I lied.

  She swallowed a sip of tea and paused. “Sebastian tells me you’ve been invited to the Crossroads Society’s annual ball.” She glanced at her grandson who was helping himself to a fourth biscuit. “He didn’t bother to mention that you’re a shifter.”

  I stopped breathing, partly because I had no idea how to respond, and partly because I’d just thou
ght of myself as a shifter for the first time two days earlier. Sea Bass shook his head when I glared at him, confirming that he hadn’t opened his mouth and divulged my secret.

  “You’re wondering how I know that.” I detected a twinkle in her eyes and a deeper wrinkling of the paper-thin skin underneath them as she scrutinized my face. “You have the black hair of a raven, and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Unnaturally blue.” She leaned closer, and I realized she was trying to get a better view of them. “But I can also see the green stirring in them. I bet the beast is just itching to come out right now, isn’t it? I bet it’s just dying to sniff the intruder in the room.”

  I jerked back into my chair and accidently spilled some of my tea on the floor. “I’m sorry!” I automatically set the glass down and reached for the stack of napkins on the tray as if the old woman hadn’t just blown my secret right out of the water.

  She grabbed my wrist without taking her eyes off mine. “Let it be, girl. We have more important things to tend to.”

  Sea Bass looked like a shell-shocked soldier wounded in a muddy trench. He snapped out of it and gawked at Davina’s wrinkled hand wrapped tightly around my arm. “Grams! What the heck are you doing?”

  She ignored her grandson and gazed deeper into my burning eyes, daring my dragon to show itself. I tried to pull my arm away but her hand felt like a metal vise, pinning me to the table. The chair was shaking beneath me, but I realize it was me doing all that vibrating and shuddering with a thousand pounds of adrenaline racing through my veins. She was right—my dragon was fighting to emerge.

  “Stop!” I roared before it was too late.

  Davina grinned widely and let go of my hand, settling back into the sofa as she sipped her glass of tea. “Well, that was a disappointment, Miss Bishop. We’re going to have to do something about that.”

  I was speechless. Literally lost for words. I kept glancing at Sea Bass for some sort of explanation as to why he’d brought me here. Was this all planned? How was it even possible that she knew?

  He just shook his head and continued to gawk, tongue-tied and incredulous as he looked back and forth between us. He was afraid of his elderly grandmother and I could see why. “I love you, Grams,” he eventually managed to get out, “but right now you’re scaring the hell out of me.”

  “I apologize for my lack of discretion,” she said, glancing at her grandson. With a reassuring smile she patted his knee. “Sweetheart, if this is all too much to handle, you can wait in the other room while Katie and I talk.”

  “He stays,” I insisted, uneasy about being left alone in the room with his granny.

  Like a child being directed by a parent, he sat on the sofa and said nothing while the two of us decided his next move.

  She nodded. “Fair enough.” Then she replenished my spilled glass of tea and handed it to me, squaring her shoulders as she inhaled deeply. “Shall we start over?” she asked brightly. “I always find awkward situations much easier to tolerate with a fresh start. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  I said nothing as she proceeded to reintroduce herself.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bishop,” She extended her deceptively frail-looking hand, and I took it. “My name is Davina McCabe and I’d like to welcome you to the Crossroads Society.”

  5

  Davina McCabe said little more than Finley Cooper about the history and mission of the Crossroads Society. She just smiled sympathetically and handed me the card for a boutique where I could find the perfect dress for Saturday night, assuring me that the bill for the gown was on them. Sure, I’d take a free party dress. God knows I didn’t have the money to pay for one.

  Poor Sea Bass. That boy just didn’t know what to make of his sweet little granny transforming into a badass before his very eyes. Savannah was no more mundane than Manhattan when it came to the underworld society living right alongside the everyday Dick and Janes, and I imagined he’d been living his whole life under the same roof with one of its grande dames. I guess I’d find out Saturday night who was in that exclusive club and what side they were on—good or bad. Then I’d decide if the Crossroads Society was worth affiliating with.

  “Jesus, Katie.” He shook his head and got out of my car, looking apologetic as we headed for the back door of the shop. “I didn’t know about any of that back there.” It was the first conversation we’d had since leaving Davina’s house. He’d gotten into the car and sat for the next twenty minutes in complete silence while we drove back. “I mean, I knew Grams was a little eccentric and I’ve seen her do some strange things, but I ain’t never seen her act like that. And I had no idea she was a member of the society. I need to have a conversation with Mom.” His foot caught on some imaginary obstacle, and I could tell by the pallor of his face that the thought had just occurred to him that his mother might turn out to be something of a stranger, too. “Shit, Katie. What if my mother—”

  “Take a breath, Sea Bass. Want me to get you a paper bag?” I teased. “You told me she was different.”

  “Yeah, but I ain’t never seen her manhandle one of my friends like that.”

  I tried to recall what it felt like when I found out what my father was, but this wasn’t the same situation, because of what I was. I’d always felt different. Oddly, the truth was a relief, because it validated what I’d been feeling all my life and confirmed that I wasn’t crazy. Poor Sea Bass had been blindsided—or was he? “Are you being completely up front with me?” I asked.

  He looked incredulous. “About what?”

  “Seriously? It never occurred to you that all the odd people and strange things your granny exposed you to was unusual?” I had to remember he was a guy. No offense to men, but women are a hell of a lot more intuitive about matters that can’t be seen with their own two eyes. A sixth sense about certain things. A cheating man only stays hidden because his wife pretends not to see, chooses self-inflicted ignorance over the uncomfortable truth.

  After pondering the question, he shook his head. “You’re right, Katie. I guess it ain’t normal to have a granny who entertains crows and sparrows—in the living room, or sells little bags of . . . whatever from the back door of her kitchen. I used to see strangers sitting at the dining room table, but when I turned back around there was nothing but a bunch of squirrels sitting in them chairs.”

  My brow cocked. “Now that is unusual.”

  I upset his carefully molded hair with my fingers, shaking the top of his head roughly like he was a little boy. “Jesus, Sea Bass,” I said, pulling my hand away. “How much gel you got in there?”

  “Cut it out, Katie.” He smoothed his disturbed hair back into a neatly coifed mound. “Maggie’s meeting me for lunch.”

  “Lunch?” I said. “We just got here.”

  We walked into the shop, and sure enough Maggie was sitting in one of the recliners with her left leg stretched out and Abel hunched over it. “Tell me you are not doing what I think you are,” I said. He turned and looked up, giving me a clear view of a wolf baring its teeth. To my recollection, he didn’t have his license yet. “Abel! You trying to get me shut down?”

  “Relax, Katie,” Maggie said. “Mouse did it. Abel’s just getting ready to wrap me up.”

  Abel looked wounded. “I’m a former officer of the law. Do you think I’m that stupid?”

  Maggie stood up, revealing her tall frame in all its inked glory. Her legs were fairly conservative, with only a few tattoos on one thigh and one on the ankle of her other leg. It was her right side that impressed the most, with a full sleeve running from just under her ear all the way down over her shoulder and arm, ending in a dainty black filigree on the back of her hand. Her fiery red hair curled over her shoulder and landed midway down her torso, complimenting her vivid green eyes. Maggie was a walking statement that wouldn’t be ignored.

  “Hey baby.” Sea Bass walked over to examine her new tattoo. “That’s a real nice one.”

  “Damn right it is,” Mouse proudly proclaimed.


  I headed for the front desk and started looking through the phone numbers in the customer database. I considered myself a pretty edgy woman, perfectly capable of pulling off a look, but balls and galas were outside my wheelhouse. My visit to—I looked at the card Davina had given me—L’Elite would require a little backup.

  Maggie chomped down on the piece of gum in her mouth and grinned at Sea Bass. “How’s Grams? I hear you and Katie paid her a visit this morning.”

  His smile went south, the bright expression he always got the minute Maggie stepped before his eyes dimming at the thought of what had happened an hour earlier.

  “Why don’t you two get out of here and get some lunch,” I suggested, knowing he wouldn’t press his luck after my comment a few minutes earlier.

  Abel finished wrapping Maggie’s leg before they left, and I found the phone number I was looking for. Then I called L’Elite and made an appointment for the next morning. The woman on the other end of the line practically snickered when I told her I needed something by Saturday. This isn’t Macy’s, she’d snipped. But then her attitude adjusted when I gave her my name. Yes, Miss Bishop, nine a.m. will be fine.

  I ended the call, feeling both snide and a little uneasy with all the special treatment I was getting. Something in my gut told me I’d eventually pay for it. But right now all I wanted to do was get a damn dress and get this ball over with. If attending wasn’t such a strategic move on my part, I would have tossed the invitation in the trash. But I was curious about Fin Cooper’s story, and Davina McCabe had just cemented my decision to go.

  L’Elite was located in a part of town you’d expect for a shop with a name like that. I waited on a bench a few doors down for my shopping date to show up. At five minutes till nine, Sugar came flouncing down the sidewalk wearing an orange and pink paisley dress with a skirt that barely made it halfway down her long thighs, and sleeves that flared from her elbows down to her wrists. The dress was coordinated with a pair of mid-calf stiletto boots in a shade of orange that matched the dress perfectly.