Crossed Bones

by Carolyn Haines

  That was a neat summary of Nandy. “Do you believe Scott Hampton is innocent?”

  “Madame, I don't care. The man is a public bane to me. I'd hoped he might get free and decide to leave these parts.”

  “You'd put up bond money for a possible murderer?”

  His smile was chilling. “Why should that surprise you? It's crossed my mind that I'm married to one.”

  McBruce wasn't a kind man. He enjoyed cutting people off at the knees. And either he was brutally honest or he hated Nandy enough to deliberately point the finger of accusation at her. I wondered if he hated her enough to set her up. “Do you think Nandy killed Ivory Keys?” I asked.

  He swirled the ice in his glass and looked at me. “Murder is often an act of expediency. Nandy, in pursuit of a goal, lets nothing stand in her way.”

  “How would Ivory Keys stand in her way?”

  “My understanding is that Keys and Hampton were friends.” His grin was cruel. “Nandy doesn't like her obsessions to have friends. It gets in the way of their total focus on her.”

  He was describing a ruthless, self-centered, insecure person—Stuart Ann Shanahan to a T. But was she that ruthless? I had a visual of her trying to injure my horse to get back at me. Yes, she was.

  “Why are you still married to Nandy?” I asked.

  “That's none of your business,” he said with that strong burr in his voice, “but I'll tell you anyway. Inheritance. Mr. Shanahan understands the old ways, where the inheritance passes to the wife's husband for proper management. Nandy isn't the queen of Scotland, but she's going to be an heiress in her own right.”

  “Is it worth it?” That question just slipped out.

  “I thought so.”

  His answer implied a change of heart, yet he was still in Zinnia and Nandy was still out of control. “Have you talked with the sheriff about your . . . suspicions?”

  He laughed out loud. “I have no intention of talking to the law.”

  “Did you see Nandy the night Ivory was killed?”

  He motioned Bernard for a refill and didn't answer until he had it. “I didn't see my wife that night. I heard her come home about four in the morning, which wasn't unusual. She hung about that club like a bitch in heat.”

  “So you were home—”

  “All night.” He read my mind. “Alone. Without an alibi. I finished a book by Robert Davies, but I doubt that will stand in my defense in this godforsaken, illiterate state. But while I don't have an alibi, I also don't have a motive. Now, if it were my wife lying dead on the floor, that would be another matter.” He polished off his drink.

  “Did you ever meet Ivory Keys?” I asked.

  “Never. I have no interest in aging musicians with a mission and a soapbox. I find them ludicrous and boring.”

  I found McBruce vindictive and calculating. “What about the murder? If it wasn't Nandy, do you have any ideas who might have killed Ivory?”

  McBruce looked at me as if I were insane. “That's nothing to me. The man is dead. Whoever killed Ivory Keys doesn't matter to me, not even if it was Nandy. I merely want my wife to stop behaving like a public tramp. A tramp she is, but let her keep it off the courthouse lawn!” He stood up and walked out of the room.

  It took me a moment to realize he'd stiffed me for the drinks.

  21

  The night had passed without incident. My call to Bridge regarding my lost earring had gone unreturned. If he'd gone out to Playin' the Bones to scope out the club, he must have stayed late negotiating with either Ida Mae or Emanuel. If the club was to be sold, I certainly hoped Bridge would get it and keep it open.

  Though I'd halfway expected a late call from him when he got in, I refused to let my mind wander to the possibility that he had another date. Instead of thinking about that, I'd gone to bed with an author. Elizabeth George, to be exact. I'd left Zinnia behind for the world of DCI Lynley and New Scotland Yard. If I had troubles, Lynley was in dutch worse than me. He wanted to marry Lady Helen, but he'd had an affair with Deborah, who was now married to his best friend, Saint Simon, whom Lynley had crippled in a drunken automobile accident. Of course, Lady Helen and Deborah were best friends. The only thing that made it more palatable than my life was that Lynley and Lady Helen were titled and most of the screwing took place in family estates and historical sites, which somehow lent a little respectability to it.

  When at last I'd fallen into a troubled sleep, it was Tinkie who saved me. I was dreaming of ghostly figures darting among the sycamore trees of my driveway when she called with urgent news.

  “Margene tracked me down to tell me there's a meeting tonight at Rideout Funeral Home in The Grove. Margene says Emanuel's going to challenge the men to go out to Scott's house and teach him a lesson.”

  “Shit!” I threw back the covers and leaped from the bed.

  “It gets worse,” Tinkie said. “Trina Jacks was abducted last night by men in black masks. She was taken down by the Tallahatchie and given a mock trial. She was found guilty of consorting with white folks and told if she was seen with a white boy again, she'd be punished.”

  “Who is Trina seeing?” I asked.

  “She dates Marshall Harrison's boy, Zeke. He's the lifeguard at The Club pool and a decent kid. I heard this was tearing Marshall up, which is probably why he was such a fool at The Club the other night.”

  I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing. I'd just been talking to Bernard about Trina and her prospects for the Junior Miss competition. “Is Trina okay?”

  “Gordon Walters got a tip from someone and he found her wandering down the highway, hysterical with fear. She couldn't identify anyone, but Margene said she hadn't been hurt, just frightened.”

  Sometimes frightened was worse than hurt. “Between Emanuel and those two bikers, this town is going to explode.” At least Margene hadn't quit working for Tinkie.

  “I thought maybe we should go talk to Tammy.”

  Tinkie's suggestion was brilliant. “I'll meet you there.”

  “I'm going to run by Bernard and Mollie's house and make sure they're okay. I've got us an appointment with Tammy at nine.”

  I dressed in a rush, fed Reveler and Sweetie, and drove to The Grove. As soon as I pulled into Madame Tomeeka's driveway, I saw my partner. Tinkie was on the front porch in the most divine pale yellow skimmer. It simply reeked designer. As soon as Tinkie saw me, she darted down the steps and ran across the lawn. My gaze was fixed on her tiny little feet in five-inch stilettos. She seemed to glide over the carpet of acorns that littered the ground—until the last step. She hit an acorn that rolled and she slammed into me.

  “Sarah Booth!” she said, flinging her arms around me. “I'm glad to be home. I didn't want to go at all, but Oscar needed me.”

  And I was glad to see her, though it had been only a few hours. “Are Bernard and Mollie okay?” I asked.

  “They're fine, and Trina, too. She was drinking coffee and she said she was going to talk to Coleman again today to try and identify some of her kidnappers.”

  “Good.”

  “I sure am glad to be home,” Tinkie said. “It seemed like I was gone forever. I just knew if I left town you'd get into some kind of trouble.” She stepped in front of me so that I had to stop and look at her. I fell into the trap for a split second before my gaze darted away.

  Her mouth opened to a little O, which she quickly covered with her hand. “You did get into trouble, didn't you?”

  “Don't be silly.” But my denial had no heart. Tinkie knew me too well.

  “You didn't sleep with Bridge, did you?” she asked, catching up with me as I walked toward Tammy Odom's house.

  “No.” I said that with conviction.

  She caught my arm, tugging me to face her again. “You slept with Scott.”

  It wasn't a question, so I didn't bother to deny it.

  “Sarah Booth!” She gave a little squeal. “When you fall off the wagon, you land right in the ditch. No halfway measures for you. You're the
only woman I know who can go months on end without even kissing a man, and then you do the mattress tango with a murderer-slash-musician.”

  “Accused murderer,” I insisted. Her words were little needles of guilt, piercing and stinging. “Stop it, Tinkie. You're making way too much of this.”

  “Like this isn't a big deal. Like you just sleep with every client.” She paused and a frown pulled her eyebrows together. “You didn't sleep with Bud Lynch, did you?”

  “No.”

  She sighed. “At least you aren't a complete client slut.”

  “Bud wasn't my client. Lee was.”

  “Right,” Tinkie said, undeterred. “But Bud was part of the case.”

  “Okay, okay. So I didn't sleep with him anyway.” I knocked on Tammy's door. We were right on time, and I needed a cup of coffee, though I'd drunk a pot the night before while I worked on the computer researching the McBruce family. I hadn't found anything worth reporting.

  Tammy opened the door at Tinkie's rat-a-tat-tat knock. “I've got some cheese grits on and biscuits in the oven,” Tammy said. “Either of you interested?”

  Tinkie was petite and precariously balanced on her heels, but that didn't stop her from taking the lead in the rush to the kitchen. By the time Tammy and I got there, Tinkie already had the lid off the grits and her nose sniffing the pot.

  “Mmmmmm,” she sighed. “Large bowl, please.”

  There was also fresh ham sliced on the counter for the biscuits. Tammy had prepared for our visit.

  “What can I do for you?” Tammy asked, after we each had a bowl, saucer, and mug of coffee in front of us.

  “You tell her, Sarah Booth. I just want to eat,” Tinkie said, digging into her grits with a spoon.

  “Ray-Ban and Spider are back in town.” It was the best place to begin. “I'm afraid they're going to stir up trouble tonight at the meeting.”

  “If they're breathing, they're going to make trouble for someone.” Tammy didn't bother to hide her contempt.

  “Scott got out of prison Sunday morning. He's home now. He'll be a sitting duck for anyone with a grudge.” I took a breath. “Tammy, I'm afraid Emanuel is going to rouse the black community and they're going to try to lynch Scott. They already put a noose in the magnolia tree.”

  “Someone put that noose in the tree,” Tammy said softly, pointing out that Coleman had never determined who the culprit was. Tammy put her spoon back in her bowl of still-steaming grits. “Everyone in town knows Scott's out of jail and living in that cottage on Bilbo Lane. He could have stayed in jail, Sarah Booth. He didn't have to get out and put his ass on the line. If he's so dead set on being free, maybe he should go back to Detroit where he belongs.”

  I sat very still until she finally looked at me. “He can't leave town, Tammy. You know that. And just consider that he may be innocent,” I said softly.

  “She slept with him.” Tinkie had perfect enunciation even though she had a four-ounce slab of ham and half a biscuit in her mouth.

  “You what?” Where Tinkie had been understanding and maybe slightly envious, Tammy was incredulous. Then she was angry. “You are a fool, Sarah Booth.”

  “I didn't plan it,” I said.

  “You're getting old enough to plan that kind of thing.” Tammy's mouth was a thin line. She glanced from me to Tinkie. “That man is in bad trouble here. There are folks who want to hurt him. Hurt him bad. And if you're not careful, Sarah Booth, you'll be right in the middle of it.”

  My own temper sparked. “If all these people are so certain he's guilty, why don't they just wait for the trial?”

  “There's not a long history of justice for the black man in this judicial system.” Tammy had calmed down so that her words were not accusatory, just fact.

  “Things aren't like that anymore.” Things had not always been fair in Sunflower County. They still weren't always fair, but it was primarily money that mattered now, not color. I took a breath. “My father was never like that.”

  “Judge Delaney was not,” Tammy said. “But he could only preside at a trial. The jury made the decisions, Sarah Booth. If you doubt my interpretation of history, go check the records.”

  I didn't have to. She was correct. There had been injustice, but it cut both ways. Black and white had suffered. In cooler moments, Tammy knew that as well as I did. At the moment, though, the past wasn't really my problem; the future was. “Tammy, have you heard anything?”

  She got up from the table and refilled our coffee cups. “Nothing specific. Lots of ugly talk. Lots of threats. But thank goodness, most of those are just big talk.”

  “Will you promise to call me if you hear anything that alarms you?” Even if Tammy believed Scott was guilty, she'd still do the right thing.

  “I promise.”

  I could see the relief on Tinkie's face. She took the last bite of her biscuit and sat back in her chair. “What we came to ask, Tammy, was if you'd speak up for Scott at the meeting tonight.”

  “I'm not sure I can do that,” she said, gazing from one of us to the other. “I don't believe Scott Hampton is a good man.”

  I had an idea. “If I arranged for you to talk to Scott, would you do it?”

  “Me?” Tammy was surprised. “Why me?”

  “Then you could honestly give your personal opinion of Scott.” I knew I was taking a risk. Scott could be a total jerk. But I was counting on the fact that he wanted to live, and maybe even pick up an innocent verdict on the way.

  “I don't have a thing to say—”

  Tinkie set her cup on the table, hard. “You want fairness. You said so yourself. How fair is it not to even give him a chance?”

  Tinkie was a master. I couldn't have done it better.

  “Okay, I'll talk with him. But he can't come here.” She looked around. “I'll meet him. Out at Dahlia House.”

  “Good,” I said. “How about lunch?”

  She nodded. “But you keep it quiet, Sarah Booth. Wasn't bad enough we had to worry about the Ku Klux Klan. Now there's the Dominoes.”

  “Tell me about them.” I'd researched the name on the Internet, but had no success finding anything except a few bland mentions—an exclusive club for black businessmen who wanted to play an active role in promoting black interests, blah, blah, blah. I'd begun to wonder if the organization was merely a local group of wannabe blacks with a yen for exclusivity and secrecy.

  “The group is very elite. There's a scholastic requirement. MBA from a major university. There's religious elements—no Catholics and no Jews. And there's gender. Absolutely no women allowed.”

  “Great. Another group of bigots,” I pointed out.

  “And these bigots are fueled with a dream,” Tammy said. “They want to separate the races so there's no contact at all. And they're willing to go to extremes to accomplish this.”

  “What kind of extremes?” I asked the question with great trepidation.

  “Bullying, intimidation, economic punishment.” Tammy paused. “And more, I've heard.”

  “Do they ride around in sheets?” I asked, making my point.

  She didn't smile. “Not sheets and hoods, but about the same. They wear masks. The traditional black domino. That's where the name comes from.”

  I didn't believe this. After the bane of the KKK, how could a group that had once been victims of such tactics even consider using them?

  “They don't target whites,” Tammy continued. “At least not normally, but I get the impression they might make an exception for you, Sarah Booth. As a rule, they focus on other blacks. You know, keeping them in line and out of the Uncle Tom and Oreo molds. One particular target of their intimidation is young black girls. They don't want them fraternizing or dating white boys. The price can be steep if they're caught.”

  “Trina Jacks!” Tinkie and I said in unison.

  “What?” Tammy asked.

  Tinkie relayed what had happened to Trina, and I could see the anger building in Tammy. “That bastard Emanuel. He's behind this. He points th
e finger at those two bikers, and he's worse than they are.”

  I didn't want to say it, but Emanuel was looking more and more like the primary suspect for his father's murder.

  Tammy poured us more coffee. “Trina got off lucky. I've heard that some girls have been abducted and held for days. During that time, they're verbally assaulted and harassed until they agree to date only their own race.”

  I knew Tammy wasn't making this up. By her tone, I also knew she found it as reprehensible as I did. “This organization is active in Sunflower County?” I'd never heard of it, and judging from the look of shock on Tinkie's face, neither had she.

  “That's why Emanuel came home, as best I can tell. To organize a cell of the Dominoes. That's why he and Ivory fought so much. Ivory was bitterly opposed to the Dominoes and all they stand for.”

  “As any sane person would be,” I pointed out. My heart was heavy for Ivory and Ida Mae. It would be a difficult thing to see your own flesh and blood become something you despised. “Does Coleman know about this?”

  “I'm sure he does, but until someone files a complaint or until the group is caught in the act of doing something illegal, Coleman can't do a thing about them. He isn't the thought police.”

  “What does Emanuel hope to gain?” I asked.

  “He has a dream, Sarah Booth. You and I both happen to buy into Ivory's dream of mutual respect and caring, regardless of race or religion. Just because we find Emanuel's dream to be repugnant doesn't mean others will. He's come home to start the foundation of a social battle, and let me put it to you plain. Scott Hampton, as the accused murderer of his father, is the perfect poster boy for racial justice.”

  Tammy's delicious grits had turned into a gelatinous lump in the pit of my stomach. I slowly rose from the table. “I don't want to put you at odds with Emanuel.” The only decent thing to do was withdraw my request for Tammy's help. She had a daughter and a grandchild who counted on her emotionally as well as financially.

  “I'm not telling you this so I can back down. I have my own dream, Sarah Booth. I dream of a community where there's a group of women, black and white, and they're friends who can count on one another. But you see, I'm one of the lucky ones, because my dream has already come true.” She reached across the table and took Tinkie's hand and mine. “I'll meet Scott, and I'll speak out on his behalf, if I believe he's innocent.”