Only the first verse of the song had played when the phones lit up—all three lines. Doctor Lucky didn't bother answering it. He sat mesmerized, watching that old black record spin on the slightly warped turntable.
When it was over, he slapped on another song without even announcing it. "What are you gonna do with that record?" he asked in a voice that might have been used to refer to a religious icon.
"Catch me a killer," I said, snapping the lid shut on the phonograph. I walked out and got in the car.
My car radio was tuned to WBLK as I drove away. Doctor Lucky was fielding questions and comments as fast as he could. And every few seconds he mentioned that the record had been brought to the radio station compliments of Sarah Booth Delaney.
It was the perfect setup.
31
I was riding high satisfied with my day’s work, when the cell phone rang. I hated the dang thing, but I carried it, when I remembered, because I'd promised Tinkie.
"Sarah Booth!" Cece was breathless. "I just got a call from one of my sources. Where did you get that record?"
"It's a long story," I said. This was going to be another one of those cases where my conscience was going to bother me for years to come, yet I had no choice. "Did you like it?"
"I can't believe you didn't tell me, dahling. It makes one feel left out."
Her voice was laced with genuine hurt that I hadn't confided in her. "I just got my hands on the record this afternoon," I reassured her. "I haven't told anyone, except Doctor Lucky, who insisted that I bring it right over."
"I've got to interview you, dahling," she said. "Do you have any idea what that record is?"
"I think it may be valuable."
Cece gasped. "Valuable? I think you'd better call Harold and tell him to get ready to enlarge the vault at the bank. Honey, that record is worth a fortune."
"There's not just one record. I have twenty-one more."
The fact that Cece was speechless said more than anything else could have.
"You know, Bridge told me about these records, but I didn't believe they existed," I said, talking as casually as I could. "Won't he be shocked?"
"He'll be very excited. He's mentioned them to me several times. Sarah Booth, where are those records?" Cece's voice had gone from enthusiastic to concerned.
"They're in my trunk. I'm taking them out to Scott's tonight. Technically, they belong to him."
"I don't believe you! Tinkie told me how cruel Scott was to you. Mildly interesting. Dahling, I'd put his dick in a splint. Talk like that could ruin your social life."
"Scott was awful." There wasn't any point lying about it. Tinkie would have told Millie, too. Not to gossip, but to prepare my friends to be ready to support me. "He was mean, but the records are his."
"I'm sorry, Sarah Booth. He may be one sexy man, but he's a skunk when it comes to women. And speaking of women, have you heard the latest on Nandy Shanahan? She's been put in an institution by her family."
"What, they thought she was trying to commit suicide with a self-inflicted brow mutilation? Are they going to let her wear her tiara?" I couldn't resist. "Hey, maybe she can marry a nutcase Napoleon and rule all of Europe instead of just Scotland."
"Sarah Booth!" Cece said, delighting in my wickedness.
"Do you know where her husband is?" I wanted to be sure McBruce wasn't around to spoil my plan. I didn't need any interruptions.
"I happen to know for a fact that Robert Pennington McBruce closed up his rental house and moved to Glascow the very day that Nandy attacked herself. Dahling, he may talk like he has a mouth full of cockleburs, but he isn't a glutton for punishment. Not even the prospect of inheriting Nandy's family estate could convince him to linger. My sources tell me that he didn't bother to pack his things. He drove to Memphis and left his brand-new car in the lot. He called the bank from the airplane and told them to pick it up for repossession."
Cece's source could only be Oscar, via Tinkie. I had to hand it to my partner. Although Tinkie had never been at the top of the class in math, she'd demonstrated astute skills at cause-and-effect equations. She'd learned quickly that if she tugged one part of Oscar's anatomy, his mouth flew open. All kinds of interesting tidbits were liable to fall out.
"You're positive Nandy is in loony town?" What I wanted was a fix on the human boil. I didn't want her launching a sneak attack, and I had a slight misgiving that her family had put her in an institution. Only the enemy would imprison the queen.
"Honey, she's gone. The whole town is buzzing about her. McBruce went on a rampage at The Club just before he left and gave everyone who would listen a blow by blow of Nandy's eccentricities." Cece purred. "She has an entire closet of human-sized Barbie outfits. Dr. Barbie, Barbie goes shopping, Barbie goes to the beach. She'll only have sex when she's wearing her Barbie goes to bed pink peignoir. I'm sure she's gone, Sarah Booth. She can't show her face around Zinnia. She may not be in an institution, but she's not in Zinnia, I'm sure of that."
"Thank goodness." At least Nandy was one thing I could check off my list of toxic worries.
"You're not still worried about her and Scott?" Cece's voice held disapproval. In her view, Scott had trampled all over my tender heart and my reputation as a sex partner. To cling to any hope of having him was just plain dumb. Perhaps because she'd been one, she understood that reform was hard-won in most members of the male species. A man got one chance with Cece.
"After tonight, Nandy can have Scott." I meant it, too. My lesson wasn't from the Daddy's Girl Book of Conduct. It came from the Delaney handbook—wounded pride is the best preventative for continued romantic stupidity. For a few short days, Scott had held up an image of a sensitive man who cared about me. Last night the glass had shattered, and I saw once again the arrogant, selfish man I'd first met in the jail cell.
"What's going on tonight?" Cece asked.
"I have to take those records to Scott. Then I'm dropping the case. Scott has made it very plain he doesn't want my help."
"Bravo," Cece said. After a second's hesitation, she asked, "Are you still interested in Bridge? I know Tinkie tried to match the two of you up."
"I'm not romantically interested in Bridge," I said, wishing more than anything I could warn her that Bridge was now my number-one suspect in the murder of Ivory Keys. But I needed her to remain ignorant of my plan, to help me prove Bridge's guilt or innocence. My consolation was that Cece was in no danger. She didn't have the records that Bridge wanted so badly. I did.
"Thanks, girlfriend."
"Don't thank me," I said after I hung up. There was only one other loose end I needed to tie up.
Millie put the bowl of turnip greens in front of me with a wary eye. "Are you sick?"
"No," I assured her as I picked up my fork.
"The fried chicken is hot."
"No, thanks."
"What about a hamburger steak smothered in onion gravy? Mashed potatoes?"
I shook my head.
"Sarah Booth, you must be sick. There's not enough grease in those greens to count for anything. You always eat grease. And catsup."
I took a long swallow of my iced tea. "I'm just not in the mood for anything fried."
"Are you in the mood for anything . . . Elvis!" She stacked plates piled high with mashed potatoes and chicken all along one arm. "I heard about your record on the blues station. You are something else, Sarah Booth. I'll bet your mama had that record, didn't she? Did you know about it all along? Be right back!" She wheeled across the restaurant, delivering meals to hungry patrons. She was back in less than a minute.
"The record's existence was a big surprise to me," I said. "So have you seen Spider and Ray-Ban?"
She made sure all of her customers were happy and then took a seat on the stool beside me. "I haven't. In fact, no one has seen them since Wednesday." At my concerned expression she asked, "That's good, isn't it? Scott will stand a better chance if they aren't running around pissing everyone off, right?" Her eyes widened. "Not tha
t we want Scott to get off after what he did to you. He deserves to be locked up." She restrained herself from repeating the mildly interesting in bed remark.
I decided to let the whole Scott thing drop. To be honest, I was a little tired of being viewed as a victim of blighted romance. "I'd rather know where those two troublemakers are."
She nodded. "Have you asked Coleman? He may have run them out of town."
I dug into my turnips and didn't answer. I hadn't talked to Coleman since he fired Bo-Peep. But I was going to have to, and sooner rather than later. "If you saw them Wednesday morning, they were in town Tuesday night, which was the night someone threw a Molotov cocktail at me."
"I suppose. But I was calculating it on the story in The Meteor about Julia Roberts being abducted by aliens and possibly impregnated by Elvis. I bought that paper when I went to get some eggs so I could open the cafe Wednesday morning."
"I see," I said, hoping that Millie would never have to testify to the time element.
"Don't act so snooty. Everyone in town reads those magazines in the grocery check-out line. I'm just honest enough to pay for mine."
She was right about that. "Sorry," I said.
"Anyway, I was reading that story when the two of them came in. I remember clearly, because they were laughing about the cover with the Siamese twins cloned from one egg." She shook her head. "It was an awful sad story, those two little babies sharing one set of lungs, and those two fools were laughing about it."
I didn't have to point out that they were creeps. Millie knew it as well as I did. "Did they say anything that might be important to the case?"
"They said they were leaving town. The one with the sunglasses, he said that Scott had asked them to leave. He was pretty indignant about it, too. He said that Scott had broken the bond of brotherhood or some such foolishness. I pointed out right away that if they were really Scott's brothers, they would have left last week instead of stirring up hard feelings against Scott. Everyone in town knows they're the ones who set fire to Goody's Grocery. Coleman will get the evidence he needs to arrest them."
Millie didn't mince words, one of her better traits when it wasn't aimed at me. "Did either of them say where they were going?"
"They said they were going to the Gulf Coast." Her face brightened. "In fact, they said a specific place. The Golden Wheel bar in Biloxi. The reason I remember is because they said they were friends with the man who owned it, Jimmy John Franklin. You remember him. He did some time in Angola for a hit." Her brow furrowed with concentration. "He had some highway official killed when his construction company didn't get a contract for a stretch of Interstate 10. Remember?"
While Millie enjoyed the tabloids, she was also an avid reader of regular newspapers. "I have a vague memory," I said, not wanting to admit that it was so vague it couldn't really be labeled a memory at all. I would never pass a test on current events.
"Jimmy John Franklin just got out of Angola last year. It was a big stink in the papers when the state gave him a liquor license for his club, what with his criminal record and all. Maybe his wife applied for it." She shook her head. "I don't remember the particulars."
"Thanks, Millie." I finished the last of my turnips, paid, and walked out into the night. It wouldn't be long now.
32
Information gave me the number for the Golden Wheel in Biloxi, and I placed the call, adopting what I hoped was a sexy tone with notes of frightened dismay. Jimmy John Franklin came on the phone without a decrease in the sound of the honky-tonk jukebox.
"What?" he asked.
"That bastard has gone off and left me." I forced a desperate sob. "He promised me we were gonna get married."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Jimmy John obviously didn't like complications.
"I'm talking about Ray-Ban. I need to talk to him. Is he there?"
"Where'd you get my name?" Jimmy John was suddenly alert. "Who are you?"
"Lana," I said, hoping his knowledge of older stars wouldn't kick in. "Lana Taylor. Ray-Ban said you were a man who knew the score. He said you were solid. I need to talk to him. Ray-Ban's left me in a bad way, if you know what I mean."
"A likely story." His suspicions were somewhat alleviated. "I'll give him the message."
"Is he there? I'd like to speak with him."
"He's busy."
"I really need to talk to him. Would you please put him on the phone?"
"Honey, I said he was busy. I'll give him the message and if he wants to, he'll get back with you. But it looks to me like you need to focus on fixing your problem. I don't suspect ol' Ray-Ban's figuring on being a daddy."
I faked a sob. "Please. Just put him on the phone. Once he understands, I'm sure he'll do the right thing."
Jimmy John laughed. "You're not only pregnant, you're stupid. Ray-Ban ain't aiming to marry anybody. He's got his hands full with all he's got going on."
The phone clicked down.
Perhaps my years in New York City hadn't been a total waste. I'd never wowed a Broadway audience, but I'd just pulled the wool over the eyes of one Mississippi hoodlum. I'd ascertained the information I needed—Ray-Ban was in Biloxi. That meant Spider was there, too. The road was clear to set my trap—except for Tinkie. I had to make sure she didn't wander into the middle of the fray.
As I dialed her number, I made myself a stiff Jack on the rocks as a reward for my exceptional performance. I called Tinkie at home, and when there was no answer, I resorted to her cell phone. She loved the gizmo. Hers was a fancy flip version with a face that could be popped off at every whim and replaced with a coordinating color. Needless to say, she had more colors than Crayola Crayon.
Her cell rang several times, and I was about to hang up when she answered in a breathless rush.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"You've been all over town and haven't bothered to give me a call." She wasn't angry, but her feelings were hurt. "Coleman's arrested three men for abducting Trina Jacks. They're all members of the Dominoes."
"Did they incriminate Emanuel?" I wasn't surprised to find the Dominoes responsible.
She shook her head. "Not yet."
"Excellent work, Tinkie," I said breezily. It might work to my advantage if Tinkie was a little put out with me.
"Right. You can save that manure for somebody else. All I did was talk to Coleman."
"And I need you to talk to him again. To persuade Coleman into helping you dig up some information."
"What kind of information?" Her interest was piqued.
"Background on Bridge Ladnier and the Skull and Bones organization."
There was a silence. "Do you honestly think Bridge is capable of killing Ivory Keys?"
"My gut tells me it isn't true, but all the pieces fit." The evidence stacked against Bridge was high. He had as much means, motive, and opportunity as Scott.
"I don't think Bridge would kill for money. Is there another motive?"
Tinkie was becoming a proficient P.I. She was going to put me through my paces, and I didn't blame her. "There are twenty-two records of Ivory and Elvis playing together. I spoke with Krystal. She estimated the value in the millions, and that was before she knew that the records included a lot of banter among the musicians."
"And Bridge knew about these records?"
"He told me about them on a date. He offered to buy Playin' the Bones. I believe he thought the records were hidden somewhere in the club. Cash was stolen out of the register, but the place was also ransacked. Someone must have been hunting for something else of value."
"Bridge doesn't need the money," she pointed out again.
I took a deep breath. "He's a collector. I don't think it's the monetary value. Bridge wants the recordings."
There was a pause as she thought. "How would Bridge get a prison shank?"
"Even I could make one, and you know I'm not allowed to use sharp tools." Talking through a case with Tinkie helped me clarify my own thoughts. "But I think Bridge had some help."<
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"Ray-Ban and Spider," she said with conviction. "I knew they were trouble. They had to be the ones who hit Sweetie Pie and ran off. Bridge wouldn't do that."
"I hope it wasn't Bridge. The way I figure it is that Ray-Ban and Spider did the dirty work, including shooting at Reveler, and trying to make it look like Emanuel did it by setting up those animal bones. I know that wasn't Bridge because he was with Cece that night."
"What about the paint on your parents' tombstone? That had to be them, too."
"They were on the loose at the time. It makes sense that they did it. They like to intimidate. I'm willing to bet my fee that they did it."
"Me, too." There was a bit of hesitation. "Have you verified that Bridge was in Zinnia on the night of Ivory's murder?"
"That's what I need you to do." In her zest, Tinkie had created her own job. I could only be thankful.
"How can Coleman help me with that?"
"Go back through Bridge's statement about the theft of his car. There's something strange. Bridge reports his car stolen and then walks over to Cece's house, where he stays until morning. When he returns, viola, his car has been brought home. Cece is a very convenient alibi. My guess is that he hired Ray-Ban and Spider to throw the bomb and solidified his alibi by reporting his car stolen. I'm sure they burned Goody's, but I just wonder if that was a little freelance action because they enjoy torching things."
Tinkie sighed softly. "Bridge and Oscar have known each other for many years."
"I'm sorry, Tinkie, but all the evidence points to Bridge."
"And when you took the case, all the evidence pointed to Scott. What happened to that evidence?"
Tinkie had tremendous lawyer potential. She was argumentative and she had her facts lined up. "Convince me," I said. "Get with Coleman and go through all the facts and prove to me that Bridge couldn't have killed Ivory and he didn't hit my dog with his car."
"Okay," Tinkie said. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to return those records to Scott."
"Sarah Booth, have you no pride? I heard the way that man talked to you."
I didn't like the fact that all of my friends so quickly jumped to the conclusion that I would go back to Scott. "I'm only returning the records," I lied. "Then I'm going out to Ida Mae's. She's worried sick about Emanuel, though he isn't worth it. I'll work on proving that Emanuel didn't throw that Molotov cocktail at Scott's house, then I'm done with the whole thing. Just let me remind you, though, that Bridge didn't go to Cece's until after someone tried to blow me and Scott up."
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