Bone to Be Wild (14 page)

“You are lying.” Not in my wildest imagination could I put Reverend Farley and the Delta's most notorious prostitute on the same planet, much less the same room—or even more unbelievable, the same bed.

Tinkie recovered from the shock first. “Coleman Peters, I don't like Farley, but that is slander. You can't say such things about a woman like Jewel. She's a sexual predator. Farley would stick in her craw.”

Coleman was out and out laughing at our shock. “You two are a pair. You're old enough to know folks and their sexual proclivities are never predictable.”

“Oh, my,” Tinkie covered her eyes. “The idea of it has made me ill. Jewel and Farley coupling—unspeakable.”

When he tired of mocking us, Coleman had more to tell. “Before Farley took up the Bible, he was well-known around Greenwood as something of a … woman pleaser.”

Tinkie covered her ears. “Stop now before I sue for punitive damages.”

Now I was laughing. The two of them were awful. “Farley was a stud?”

“He was. He had quite the reputation.”

“Who knew?” I found the whole thing amazing. Distasteful, but amazing. Farley and Jewel, who ran a brothel just across the Arkansas line, would be like pairing a spider and a shark.

“How do you know all this?” I asked Coleman. The dark suspicion he'd been friendly with Jewel crossed my mind. She was a beautiful woman and her talents were highly touted by the men who'd made her acquaintance.

“I have an in at the church.”

“Who?” Tinkie and I asked together.

“DeWayne's cousin, Amanda Tyree, attends services there. Her husband is a true follower of Farley. Amanda is young and foolish and thinks she can change Clemont Tyree. Amanda goes along with the dictates Farley puts out every day, and she's a good source of information while she's there. She's bought into the whole business of the Rapture Farley is selling and until she wakes up, DeWayne can't influence her. But she still talks to him. Clemont tries to stop her for seeing DeWayne, but Amanda has some will left in her.”

“If she were my cousin, I'd drag her out by the hair of her head.”

“Folks have to come to life decisions on their own, Sarah Booth. Otherwise I'd be able to make more headway with you.”

“Bada bing!” Tinkie said, high-fiving Coleman.

“You and DeWayne know Farley's nothing more than a poser and a hypocrite. You should get the girl away from him before irreparable damage is done.” They could make fun of my hardheadedness if they wished, but the stakes were high for Amanda.

Coleman was finally serious. “DeWayne can't make Amanda see the light. She truly believes Farley speaks to God and that he's the way to the Rapture.”

“And he's been in the sack with a madam,” Tinkie said. She sighed. “The whole thing is just nuts. But nonetheless, I agree with what Sarah Booth said. The club is the perfect target for Farley's crusade. He whips his followers into a frenzy. One of them could easily have taken matters into his own hands and decided to kill sinners.”

Tinkie was dead-on. “Frisco Evans wanted to buy the club, but killing Koby wouldn't bring him closer to his goal,” I said.

“Unless he hopes to cripple Scott's business. How many people want to go to a club where folks get shot?” Coleman said.

“Good point. And the same could be said about Angela Bowers. She just wanted somewhere to ballroom dance. Running off Scott's business could work to her advantage. And it's possible the shooting was a scare tactic gone wrong.”

“There's a real problem with this case,” Coleman said. “We have plenty of suspects but no real evidence to prove who did it. So far we've run down nine new black extended cab pickups. Every single owner was somewhere other than Zinnia the evening Koby was shot.”

“Tinkie and I will call Wilton Frasbaum tomorrow.” The day had slipped away and darkness had fallen.

Coleman stood. “Walk me to the car, Sarah Booth.”

Tinkie gave me a knowing look as I followed the lean, tall lawman out of the house, more aware than I should have been of the play of muscles beneath his tan patrol shirt. As Aunt Loulane would say, I was wounded but I wasn't dead. When he turned to face me, he wore his stern expression. “What in the hell were you doing riding horses at Gertrude's?”

For a moment I couldn't think of anything to say. Finally, I blurted, “The old bitch tattled on us when she said she wouldn't.”

“She may press charges. If she does, that's going to put you on the defensive when you testify at the trial. Alton James will make you out to be a psycho stalker or the equivalent. I would have given you credit for more sense than to poke that snake.”

He was right. I couldn't even muster a thin defense. “I was hunting for the black truck.”

Coleman sighed. “This is hard for you. Gertrude's running around loose and may have shot Koby and been snooping in front of your property. I understand. But you can't break the law where she's concerned. Not now. You're too important to the case against her.”

“I'm sorry.” I felt like I was ten.

“Did you find the truck?”

“It could be hidden in the woods, but it wasn't parked at her cottage.”

“I'll check the parking lots around the B&B, but don't you go back there, Sarah Booth. I want your word.”

“You have it.” I had learned my lesson. I'd risked a great deal. “I found a connection between Gertrude and Bijou. And Yancy Bellow paid more for The Gardens than it was appraised for. That's strange, since he's supposed to be such an astute businessman.”

“When were you going to share this with me?”

“After I'd checked it more thoroughly, because you'd ask how I got the information and I'd have to tell you.”

Coleman's hands gripped my shoulders. For a long moment he studied me, then stepped back when my cell phone rang. He resettled his hat. “Better answer that.” With a nod of his head, he got into his patrol car.

I checked the ID. Harold was calling. I answered, and he launched into a frantic story of Roscoe disappearing and how he suspected Bijou was at the bottom of it. I wanted to ask how Bijou had gotten hold of Roscoe, but Harold never paused. At last he took a breath and I jumped in. “Come get me. I'll help you find Roscoe.”

“I'm already on the way.”

Coleman watched me with the strangest expression.

I felt the need to explain. “Roscoe is missing. Harold's coming to fetch me to help hunt for the dog. Nothing dangerous.”

“Good for Harold. He'll keep you busy. I'm sending a couple of Scott's security men over here to watch over the place tonight. I agree with Scott that you should move to Hilltop, but I understand about the horses. We'll work it this way for tonight. Once Harold brings you home, stay inside. Promise me.”

I held up my three-finger salute like the good Girl Scout I'd once been. “On my honor, I will stay in the house.”

“I'll hold you to it.” Coleman drove away before I could even respond. I was left with my witty retort hanging unsaid and my partner hanging out the parlor window spying on us.

 

8

Harold's emergency call came as no surprise. Roscoe, the demonic little terrier I'd given him, merged the personalities of Richard Pryor and Charles Manson. Short, wiry and with a goatee, Roscoe peed on people's feet. He stole items from neighbors' yards and even their bedrooms. Generally personal items he had no business grabbing. Had Harold wanted to work as a blackmailer, Roscoe was the perfect partner. He zeroed in on a person's secrets and dragged them into the daylight. I adored him, of course.

Knowing that Harold would arrive to serve as my keeper, Tinkie left to check on Oscar. She seldom cooked, because she had staff who loved doing it. While she might not prepare the meals, she made it a point to be at the table to share her day with her husband and to take an interest in what happened with him.

Since I was alone, I anticipated a visit from Jitty. I was positive she'd comment on my lack of action with Coleman. And comment. And comment. I was both disappointed and relieved when she didn't show up. But Sweetie Pie and Pluto filled the gap. The cat rubbed my legs and headbutted my knees, then bit me. Hard. He wasn't shy about making his feelings known. Sweetie, as always, flopped on her side and let out a low moan. She was full of chicken and dumplings and happy after a long run with the horses. Her pleasure with life was audible in her deep sighs.

I hated to do it, but I put my critters in the house—Bijou's place wasn't safe for them. Sweetie voiced no complaint, merely went to a corner and faced away from me. Pluto, though, would have his pound of flesh. He'd been left alone far too much in the past two days, but Bijou hated animals, and Sweetie and Pluto would instantly pick up on it and go into mayhem mode. They were safer at home.

Harold's new matador-red Lexus convertible whipped down the driveway. I waited on the porch. I couldn't take the condemnation in Pluto's glare.

“Let's hit it,” I said as Harold pulled to a halt. “So where is Roscoe? You said something about Bijou's.” Harold had been circumspect on the phone. “Do you think she abducted him?”

“Not exactly.”

“Harold.” He was being deliberately evasive.

“It's a long story.”

“You'd better tell me or I'm not going anywhere.”

“Bijou stopped by the house this morning before I left for work. Roscoe hates her. While she was in the house, he got in the window of her car and peed all over the driver's seat. She was completely furious and she promised he'd pay.”

“She should be careful. Roscoe is no one to mess with.” A hundred images flashed in my brain, all of them wonderfully amusing. If Roscoe had it in for Bijou, I wanted to be there to film it. YouTube would never be the same.

“She's a mean woman.”

“Did she hurt Roscoe?”

Harold considered his answer as he took a curve really fast. The car handled like a dream. “No, he's fine, but someone shot him with a pellet gun. They hit his rump, and it stung him, but no permanent damage.”

Oh, I would be happy to kick her ass. “In all fairness, Roscoe goes a lot of places he shouldn't.” The dog seemed able to either teleport or hitchhike. He covered an amazing amount of territory in Sunflower County. He'd be sniffing the mayor's garbage and twenty minutes later stealing jockstraps from the high school football team.

“I found a pellet gun in Bijou's car. I can't prove it, but I can put two and two together. I think she parked down the street and shot him.”

“Let's find her and beat her senseless.”

“I'm concerned Roscoe has taken it on himself to exact revenge. I've searched everywhere and no one has seen hide nor hair of him for the past six hours. I'm afraid if Bijou trapped him, she'll kill him and pretend to know nothing about it.”

I almost told Harold to drive faster so I could whip her butt sooner. “You know she's been running around with Yancy Bellow. And Gertrude had her business card.”

“Yancy and Bijou are starting a business. B&Bs to capitalize on the new music emphasis.”

I filled him in on the financial statements I'd seen on Gertrude's desk. They were on my phone, but he couldn't look and drive.

“Yancy isn't tight, but he also isn't a fool. He wouldn't overpay for The Gardens out of a generous soul. That's suspicious. You're right about that. I'll examine the documents after we save Roscoe.”

I couldn't read Harold's expression in the dark. “Are you interested in Bijou?”

He shook his head. “No. She was fun the first few dates, and don't say it. I knew she was a predator. What I didn't expect was how possessive she became. It was like she owned me. I'm a status symbol. Someone she caught. I don't like that. I know how you women feel when a man is only out to notch his belt.”

“Of all the men I know, you're the one who didn't need to learn that lesson.”

We were ten minutes from Bijou's estate and the night sky was breathtaking. Stars spread across the wide-open horizon. Night or day, the Delta offered a vista that never grew old.

“I've never understood Bijou,” I said. “Money abounds. She's beautiful. Why is she such a witch? And if she would hurt a dog because she's jealous—she has some deep psychological problems.”

“You're not telling me anything I don't already know.”

“So what's the game plan?”

“We'll pay a call on Bijou and determine if she's captured Roscoe. Which means I'll divert her while you search the premises for my boy. Once Roscoe sniffs your scent, he'll let you know if he's imprisoned there.”

Rushing around the LaRoche plantation in the cold and dark wasn't my idea of a great time, but I'd do anything for Harold and Roscoe. “You're going to owe me a fine dinner with a lot of expensive wine,” I told him.

“Find my dog and help me drive a stake through Bijou's heart and I'll fly you to Venice for dinner.”

Harold would do it too. He was that kind of guy. “Are you telling her I'm with you?”

“Sure. We'll go in and have a drink. Then you step outside to smoke.”

“Show time,” I said as we pulled up in front of the Taraesque plantation house where the LaRoches had homesteaded since before the Civil War. This operation would take some time because there were stables, barns, and the slave quarters to search. At most plantations, the small houses where slaves had once lived had been destroyed or moved. Bijou had more than a dozen of the shotgun houses intact. Bijou undoubtedly planned to turn those into rental cottages as part of the B&B movement. Dollar signs flipped in my brain. She was a vampire of romance, but she was a smart businesswoman.

Before I could get out of the car, a big man approached my side. “What's your business?” he asked. Harold joined me, standing slightly in front.