Sarah Booth Delaney

by Sarah Booth Delaney 01-06 (lit)

  "I'll be out in a few years, and you'd better watch out," he said to me, his voice a low whisper. But not so low that Coleman didn't hear.

  Coleman leaned down. "You tortured and killed an old man who only wanted peace and music. You burned a historical building that served a community as a grocery store. Now you're trying to scare a woman with threats of revenge. You won't be much of a threat with one leg," he said. "The bone is shattered. Amputation is your only chance."

  Spider looked sick as the paramedics wheeled him away. I felt a little nauseous. "Is he really crippled?"

  "Who knows," Coleman said. "I just thought he needed something to think about, other than you."

  We walked out of the house together and watched as Nandy hurried to her car. I had no doubt she'd follow Bridge and Scott to the hospital. She wasn't the kind of woman who gave up easily.

  Coleman and I stood on the porch alone. There were a million things I wanted to say to him. I looked up and put my hand on his cheek, feeling the stubble of a long day. We stood like that, letting our eyes do the talking. His head bent down to kiss me.

  "Coleman." The voice came out of the dark, but I recognized Connie. "It's time to come home."

  We were frozen together, Coleman's lips just above mine. I felt him ease back from me. Whatever pain I might have caused Scott, I felt it tenfold.

  "I've booked us a cruise," Connie said. She was talking very carefully. "I want to try to save this marriage. I know how you feel about Sarah Booth, and I know that it's partly my fault. I didn't love you when I should have. But maybe I can make you feel what you used to feel about me. I want to try." She was crying. "Please. Coleman, I'm pregnant."

  I stepped away from Coleman and walked down the steps. I got in my car and backed up, my headlights catching Connie and then Coleman. He was still standing on the porch. He hadn't moved an inch, but the light around him glowed in a shimmering halo. Or at least it looked that way to me, because I was crying.

  35

  I swirled the ice cubes in the glass of straight Jack and watched as Tinkie's headlights swung down the driveway. Coleman had returned my cell phone, and I'd called her as I drove home. She was in a high state of miff. As she made the curve by the house, gravel slung and peppered the porch.

  "Hold the bullets," I said, striving for a light note.

  "Sarah Booth, I'm very angry with you." She got out of the car and marched toward me on five-inch leopard-print heels. She was in such a state that she allowed Chablis to jump to the ground and walk by herself. "I'm your partner and you didn't even give me a chance to help catch those two."

  I patted the step beside me. "I could have used your help." That was true. Tinkie had her own way of handling things. If she'd been there, perhaps no one would have gotten hurt.

  My admission mollified her somewhat, and she took a seat beside me. She leaned over and sniffed my glass. "That's not a very ladylike drink."

  "I'm not a very ladylike lady." The bourbon was warm as it slipped down my throat. It was a very comforting sensation.

  "Are you hurt?"

  "Physically, I couldn't be better."

  "And how's your heart?"

  "Well, let's just say that it's taken something of a beating tonight, but it was not alone in the fray." I told her the whole thing, including Connie's unexpected appearance and her more than unexpected pregnancy.

  "I'm sorry, Sarah Booth." Tinkie put her tiny hand on my back and rubbed it gently. "You're the only girl I know who could lose three beaus in one night without using a gun, automobile, or poison. That may be a Sunflower County record. Maybe even Mississippi."

  "That makes me feel so much better." I took a long swallow of my drink.

  She got up and went to her car. When she returned, she had a brown bag of fried pork rinds. "Margene's cousin made these," she said, holding the bag out. "Her name's Rachelle and she's thinking of starting her own business. Rachelle's Rinds and Renderings. It has a certain ring to it." She gave me a crooked smile. "Despite the name, the product is excellent. I'm going to talk to Oscar and see if he'll invest."

  She rattled the bag until I took one.

  She held a rind between her fingers as if she were studying it. "After Tammy talked to the community Monday night, Margene decided she didn't have to quit. We owe Tammy a lot. She stood up for Scott."

  I crunched the rind. It was crispy, light, and perfectly seasoned. "We do. On the other hand, she could have told me that Connie was going to get pregnant."

  Tinkie put her arm around me. "I'm sorry about Coleman, Sarah Booth. Bridge isn't a man to play second fiddle, especially when you made it pretty clear you suspected him of murder. What about Scott, though?"

  I shook my head. "I screwed that up, too. I couldn't imagine that he would ever love me, but I think he really did. Tonight, he saw clearly that he wasn't my first choice." I'd solved the case, in a manner of speaking, but the cost had been high.

  "What are you going to do now?" she asked.

  "Look for my next case. No more sitting around and waiting for something to drop in my lap. Bridge was right about that. If I'm going to be successful, then I'm going to have to pursue my options." I nudged her. "We're going to have to pursue our options."

  "We don't have to worry about finding cases, Sarah Booth. Every time you turn around, you're in the middle of something. I was asking what you're going to do about the men."

  I wanted to ask her what my options were, but I already knew. "I guess I'm just going to keep on dreaming, and one day the right man will walk through my door. Jit— A good friend told me once that I had to find a dream and stick with it. I guess I've just got to find that dream."

  Tinkie sighed. "You try so hard to be tough, Sarah Booth, but you're really a romantic at heart."

  "Desperate is the more accurate description." I stood up. I was bone weary. "I think I'm going to bed. Maybe my dream will visit and I'll know what to hope for."

  Tinkie advanced an extra step so she was closer to my height. From that vantage, she put her arms around me and gave me a hug. "At least this time you aren't wounded."

  "Only internal injuries." But I was smiling as I hugged her back. There's something to be said for a friend who can always find a silver lining.

  My room was filled with sunshine and my bedside clock showed nine a.m. when I finally realized the horrible ringing was coming from the telephone and not my head. Ringing wasn't necessary, my head was satisfied with severe pounding.

  "This better be good," I said into the receiver, squinching my eyes against the pain of speaking.

  "Sarah Booth, how much did you drink? I knew I should never have left you alone."

  Leave it to Tinkie to assume the burden of guilt. "You couldn't have stopped me," I told her, and it was the truth. I was just that stupid. I'd consumed a considerable amount of my good friend Jack before I'd fallen unconscious into the bed.

  "Guess what?" She must have realized I wasn't in the mood for games because she immediately answered her own question. "Emanuel is selling Playin' the Bones to Bridge. They're up at the bank right now."

  "That's great." I was finding it very hard to believe. Emanuel wasn't the kind of man to do something sentimental and nice.

  "He's also selling Bridge the recordings."

  I opened my eyes and stared at the sun streaming in the bedroom window. It was a white light, pure and summery. "Are you teasing me?"

  "He told Bridge he wanted the world to share the music. He said that while he was sitting in that jail cell he had some time to think. He said he heard that you'd played a record on WBLK and he listened to the way people were talking about his father and the music, and he realized Ivory was right."

  This was almost more than I could grasp. "Emanuel had a conversion?"

  "You could say that." Tinkie giggled. "I think the ten million dollars Bridge offered had a little something to do with it. He's going to split it with Ida Mae. You should see the two of them together, Sarah Booth. It just does my heart g
ood. After all this hurt and pain, she finally has found her son."

  Emanuel was still in trouble with the law. "What about Trina Jacks?"

  "Emanuel wasn't with the three men who abducted her, but he accepted responsibility for instigating it. He's left the Dominoes and, for his mother's sake at least, he'll keep quiet."

  Even though my face hurt, I grinned. "Sounds great."

  "Ida Mae was up at the courthouse, and she gave the remainder of the fee to me." She paused. "I've saved the best for last. Ida Mae's going to work with Bridge in the club."

  "What about Scott?" Even saying his name hurt.

  "I don't know. He hasn't been around the courthouse or the bank." There was evasion in her voice.

  "What are you doing for breakfast? I think I promised you French toast." If she came here, face-to-face, she'd tell me the truth about Scott, and there was no one I'd rather hear it from.

  "No, thanks. I went to Millie's this morning with Oscar. I knew you wouldn't be in any shape to cook."

  It was true. My stomach almost revolted at the idea of food, but I didn't want to be alone. My case was over and I had nothing to distract me from the fact that I had no one in my life.

  "Sarah Booth, are you okay?"

  "I'm fine," I said, rolling out of bed and standing up. After the first wave of dizziness, I was okay.

  "I've got to go to Memphis with Oscar this morning, but I'll be back tonight. Would you like to have dinner with us? Margene's cooking shrimp and pasta."

  "Sounds wonderful, what time?"

  "Seven. Try to rest up."

  "I'll be there. Tinkie, did you see Coleman this morning?"

  She paused. "No. He's out of town." There was a long silence. "He and Connie went on a cruise."

  The idea of morning sickness and seasickness came to me with a dollop of malice, but I managed to keep my mouth shut. "I'll see you tonight," I finally said before I hung up the phone.

  I wanted to roll up and crawl back in the bed. I was about to do that when there was a banging on my front door. It wasn't Tinkie—not her style, and she was at her house.

  "Damn." I got up and started down the stairs in my underwear, when I thought better of it. I didn't feel like dressing and I didn't have to answer the door. I was hungover and I was grown-up. I could simply ignore the pounding and go back to bed. I was almost in the bed when I heard Scott's voice.

  "Sarah Booth!"

  I owed him the opportunity to tell me what a fool I was. "Scott, wait. Please." I dragged on some jeans and a T-shirt.

  Still barefoot, I rushed downstairs, feeling the need to hold my head with each step. He was standing on the porch. When I opened the door, he turned around. His right eye was black and his jaw was mightily swollen.

  "Man," I said, wincing. "How bad is it?"

  "Broken molar and a broken jaw. It's not so bad if I don't laugh." His eyebrows arched as he looked at me. "Wow, you look like you're in pain."

  "Self-inflicted." He had no reason to feel sorry for me, but I wanted to cry just at the sight of him.

  He shrugged, the gesture reminding me that he had some of the sexiest moves I'd ever seen on a human. "I knew you'd get hurt if you hung out with me. Everyone does."

  "Would you like to come in? I was about to make some coffee."

  He shook his head. "I'm leaving."

  It wasn't unexpected, yet I still felt a terrible pain. "Where are you going?"

  "I have a gig in Chicago, then Detroit. BAMA Records has offered me a real nice contract for two albums. Don't tell Nandy, please. She's still bird-dogging me." His grin was rueful. "Anyway, Emanuel has released me from my contract with Playin' the Bones. He was really decent about it."

  "Congratulations." I tried to put some enthusiasm in it. "I always knew Zinnia was too small for you."

  "There was a time I didn't think so." He wasn't going to let me off the hook so easily.

  "You have a lot of talent. In more than music."

  "Thanks." He reached out and touched my cheek. "If Spider, Ray-Ban, and the sheriff hadn't gotten between us, we might have made something of this."

  "We might have." I was finding it hard to speak around the lump in the back of my throat.

  He kissed me gently on the top of the head, turned around and walked away. I saw he was driving Bridge's Jaguar. Well, it was a fine car for the man whose family had made an empire of selling Dodges.

  As Scott drove away, I knew something special had just left my life. Why hadn't I been able to love Scott completely? Was it because Coleman was in the way? Or was it because I could only love a man I couldn't have? Loving the unattainable was safe. That love could never be tested by day-to-day reality.

  As I passed through the parlor, I saw Jitty's fractured reflection in the cut-glass decanter.

  "Three men in one night, Sarah Booth. Tinkie was right. That must surely be a record." She was wearing jeans rolled up at the ankles, white canvas shoes, a cotton shirt, and a bandana on her hair.

  "Looks like you're having a picnic," I said as I pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen.

  "Looks like you're having a hangover."

  "Nothing like pointing out the obvious, right?"

  "It's obvious to me that you're a fool. Pick up the telephone. Call him. He'll come back."

  I shook my head again. "Scott deserves a woman who can love him without reservation. I'm not that woman."

  "And Bridge?"

  I shook my head. "I'm glad he wasn't behind Ivory's death, but I don't love him."

  "Pass some more time with him. A man like him has to grow on you."

  "He's not a mold," I said, preparing the coffeepot.

  "No, he's a rich man who's going to be spending a lot of time in Zinnia, what with his new blues club and all."

  "He may be your dream, Jitty, but he isn't mine."

  "Dreams are peculiar things, Sarah Booth. I don't think this is Ivory's exact dream, not the way he imagined it, but I think this may be the best outcome he could have hoped for. Emanuel saw the truth. Ivory would be proud of him."

  I plugged in the percolator and turned to face Jitty. "Ivory would be proud. Of Emanuel and Scott both." It was something good from all of the bad things. "I wish he were alive to see it."

  "Oh, he sees it, Sarah Booth. Don't you worry about that. He knows."

  She spoke with authority, and who was I to question the wisdom of a ghost? I poured a cup of black coffee and started the long exercise of pulling my life back together.

  "I'm sorry Scott is leavin' town. Now that he's gone and you aren't gonna run off with him, I can see he had the potential for makin' a mighty fine baby."

  Babies were the last thing I wanted to think about. "Connie managed to snare a sperm."

  "That's a mighty big assumption," Jitty pointed out.

  I looked at her long and hard. It was a big assumption, and if nothing else, I'd learned my lesson about assumptions the night before.

  "Sarah Booth, you didn't get the man you wanted, but you still have the dream. You got to remember that's the important thing. Just hang on to the dream."

  I wanted to believe in dreams. Ivory had believed, and in the end, he had achieved nothing short of a miracle. His music would be heard by the world, his club would survive, and his son had been humanized by his love.

  "Feel it, Sarah Booth. It's there. Your dream is still there. Where there's life, there's hope. It's a cliche because it's true."

  Although my head was still pounding, I did feel better. I finished my cup of coffee and put the cup in the sink. Looking out the kitchen window, I saw my family cemetery. The tombstones were nearly white in the August sunlight.

  "What're you gonna do?" Jitty asked.

  I suddenly knew. I was going to put on my boots, saddle my horse, and ride. I would let Reveler gallop over the cotton fields, with Sweetie Pie by my side, and in doing so, I'd start the process of healing my heart. Whatever I'd lost, I still had Dahlia House and the land.

  "I'm taki
ng Reveler for a ride."

  Jitty's smile took on a wicked glint. "Keep those thighs tight, girl, you never know when the right man's gonna walk into your life. When he does, you clamp those legs around him and make him scream for the Jaws of Life to cut him free."

  "You're a bad influence, Jitty," I told her.

  "Maybe so, but I'm the one who knows you best. And I know you don't need a man, you just want one."

  She was right. I didn't really need a man. I might want one, but I could live without one. That would be small comfort when I climbed into my bed at night, but for the moment, with the hip-high cotton fluttering in a gentle breeze, it was enough.

  "Come on, Sweetie," I said, picking up my boots from the back porch. "Let's ride."

  1

  When the brisk winds of October skim over the drying bolls of cotton, I find myself caught in the web of time. In the rus­tle of the cotton leaves, in the clear light of autumn, and the grape smell of blooming kudzu, the past lurks like a siren, promising the pleasure of memory and delivering the pain of regret.

  Sitting on the front porch at Dahlia House, sipping a third cup of coffee, I watch the sycamore leaves drift into the driveway. Dahlia House needs a coat of paint. I need so much more than that.

  The leaves of the calendar seem to be shedding faster than the sycamores, and I'm caught in limbo. I went to bed last night thinking about Sheriff Coleman Peters and his pregnant wife, and I awoke this morning remembering the feel of Scott Hampton be­side me. I sat up in bed, knowing that I let Scott walk away without a single word that might have encouraged him to stay. One word. Please. It might have been enough.

  That I couldn't ask him to stay while I sorted through the secrets of my heart doesn't make it any easier to wake up alone, remembering a man's touch. October arouses terrible longings. The Delaney womb is sending a series of demanding and not-so-subtle messages.

  "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were havin' a case of the low-down and dirties." The familiar voice came from behind me. "The blues, unless you're singin' 'em, are a total waste of time, Sarah Booth Delaney."

  I sniffed the air, catching the tantalizing scent of a cigarette. I hadn't smoked in three years, but the craving was on me in a flash. Glancing over my shoulder, I was amazed to see Jitty, a circa 1850's ghost, reclining in a rocking chair, with one leg draped over the arm. A lazy drift of smoke curled from a cigarette holder in her right hand.