Rock-a-Bye Bones (27 page)

Curtis served Pluto with a tiny bow. I gave him a hug of thanks.

“Thank you, Scott.” He was one of the most thoughtful men I knew. “And thank you, Curtis. You're going to give my cat an attitude.”

“Too late to stop that, but I'm happy to do it,” Curtis said. “I love that mutt. I've never been partial to cats, but Pluto is an exceptional puss.” He stroked the cat's sleek black fur and was rewarded with a head butt from Pluto, the highest sign of his affection.

Scott went behind the bar and mixed a Jack and water for me and then came to sit beside me on a high stool. Even though it was hours before the music started, the club was doing a great business. The tables were filled with folks who were eating, laughing, and drinking. Many would stay until the band shut it down for the night, which might not be till two a.m. Zinnia had needed this club and didn't even know it.

Scott's fingers danced on my arm as if he were playing chords on a guitar, and I thought of the low-down and gritty sound he could bring forth from Lay Down Sally, his guitar. “I'll stay over with you tonight, as soon as the band finishes,” he said. “I know it'll be late, but I want to.”

“I hate this.” Whining was unbecoming, but I couldn't stop. “I'm not helpless and I despise everyone having to disrupt their lives to look out for me.”

“I know you do. It's only temporary. Besides, I'm glad for the opportunity to be with you. We seem to be running at cross-purposes these last weeks. I want to see you.”

I hadn't spent the time with Scott that I would have liked. When he wasn't busy with the club, it seemed I was working a case. When I was free, he was on the stage bringing the blues to a packed crowd. In a few weeks, the reputation of Playin' the Bones as the premier club for music and food had spread across the South. International blues aficionados traveled to Zinnia and practically lived in the club.

“Are you avoiding me, Sarah Booth?”

“No.” I answered honestly. “I'm not. But I'm also not seeking you out. I'm still in emotional limbo. I don't trust what I feel about anything except work and Dahlia House. I know it's crazy, but feeling numb or asleep, that's good for me right now.”

“I'd like a chance to wake you up.”

And he could do it, I had no doubt. “Not going to happen.” I held up a hand like Diana Ross. “Stop in the name of love! I can't be pressured.”

He laughed, but his eyes watched me closely. “No promises on that one. But I will respect your feelings.”

To change the subject, I told him that Junior Wells had hired a famous bounty hunter to track Gertrude. Scott had the same reaction I'd had.

“Now that's brilliant. That crew can get 'er done.”

I didn't feel all that jolly, but I had to laugh. “Do you really think they'll be able to apprehend her?”

“The law of averages. More people are looking, more people are aware, yeah, it's only a matter of time.”

But the havoc she could wreak in that time was what worried me.

No doubt taking in my mid-range anxiety level, Scott took the initiative and shifted the conversation. “Tell me about Pleasant. What have you discovered?” He kindly took my thoughts off Gertrude as I filled him in on Owen DeLong, my trip to DSU, and the discovery that Lucinda Musgrove had indeed accepted the scholarship that would in all likelihood have gone to Pleasant. We talked and Scott's gentle teasing lifted my mood as night fell over the Delta.

Scott excused himself to take care of club business, and I sipped my third drink, put in front of me by the new bartender before I even asked. Curtis served me a sandwich with a tart dill pickle and chips, and I did my best not to show how antsy I was. I spied Jaytee coming out from behind the stage and zeroed in on him. I waved him over to the bar. He obliged with his slow, loose-hinged gait.

“Did you learn anything about Bijou?” I asked.

“She has lots of free time and lots of money.”

“Meaning?”

“She likes to shop. She spent half the day in Zinnia going from shop to shop. I think she made it to every store in town before she was done.”

“Did she go to the Stitch Witchery?”

“Yep.” Jaytee yawned. He'd given up his rest to help me, and tonight he'd pay the piper with exhaustion.

“About what time?”

“Just before she went to Millie's for lunch. And thank god for that, I was starving.”

I couldn't prove a thing, but I had a suspect for Tally McNair's bail benefactor. But why? Why would Bijou be involved in a case involving a missing teenager? It didn't make sense.

“Did she meet anyone?”

Jaytee perched one hip on a barstool. “I didn't follow her into all the shops. It would have been pretty obvious I was following her if I ducked into Betty's Boudoir.”

I laughed out loud at the image of Jaytee traipsing behind Bijou into a high-end lingerie shop. If she caught him there, she might snare him with some fishnet hose and eat him alive. Bijou had a reputation for being something of a female spider—someone who cannibalized her mate.

“I don't blame you. Moth too close to the flame and all of that.”

“I only have eyes for Cece. But I didn't want Bijou to know she was being tailed, so I was extra careful. If she met anyone, it had to be in that shop.”

“Thanks, Jaytee. I know you're desperate for some sleep.”

“No worries, Sarah Booth. I'll catch up on my shut-eye after our gig tonight. Cece promised to pamper me when we get home. She's very accomplished at pampering!”

I had no doubt about that. Once Cece set her mind to it, it was a done deal.

*   *   *

I finished my drink and was popping my knuckles to keep from drumming my fingers on the bar. I wanted to go home. As much as I loved the club and enjoyed the atmosphere, I had calls to make about Pleasant. And Tinkie. My partner had disappeared into baby-zombie land. I had no idea what she'd done with her afternoon—because she hadn't bothered to call and check on me or our case—and I was beginning to get worried.

I stepped outside the back door in the quiet of the evening and called my partner, who should long ago have checked in. She answered after half a dozen rings, and I could tell she'd been crying.

“Is everything okay, Tink?”

“Sure.”

“Then why are you crying?”

A few seconds of silence gave way to a sigh. “I love this baby, Sarah Booth, and she isn't mine.”

The reality of the future had touched the dream Tinkie had built in her mind. It didn't matter that the dream had never been sustainable. Dreams weren't founded on hard truth and reality. They were spun in the air of sunshine and hope. I'd had a few myself, and the loss of a dream was equal to a death in the family.

“Hold on, Tinkie. Don't get ahead of yourself.” I cast about in my mind for something useful. What would Jitty say? Sometimes she offered wise counsel. I suddenly had it. “Whatever happens with Libby, she'll always be in your life. You and Oscar have bonded with that child, and when Pleasant is found, she'll view the two of you like fairy godparents.”

She gulped down a lungful of oxygen. “Do you really think so?”

“I do.” I wasn't lying. I believed it with all my heart. “Charity appreciates everything you're doing for Libby. She knows you're good people. She'll want you to share in that baby's life, and so will Pleasant.”

“I don't think I can let her go.” Tinkie whispered the words.

I walked a fine line. I could never condone the idea that Tinkie would be allowed to keep Libby. I didn't see that as a possibility. Charity or Frankie, if he proved to be the father, would exert their claims, and that was as it should be. Both, I believed, would be overjoyed to share Libby with the Richmonds. Share, not give.

“If she goes home with her grandmother, I'll bet you'll see her all the time.”

“She has her own room here. Oscar and I have been looking at schools.”

Oh, this was bad. Really bad. “You have to stop that, Tinkie. I thought Oscar had more sense than to indulge in things that are only going to hurt you both.”

“We couldn't love her more if she were our blood.”

“But she isn't.” I had to make her understand what was coming down the road at her like a tank. “She is Charity's grandchild and Pleasant's baby. You are a temporary caregiver.” I almost cried at the harshness of my words, but I viewed it like pulling the bandage off a sore with one quick jerk. She had to understand the limitations of her role.

“I have to go.” Tinkie was wounded by my remarks and tone.

“I'm sorry, Tink. I am. I'm trying to keep you from getting your heart torn out.”

“Too late.”

That was like a blow to my own chest. I'd given her the baby to hold, to take home, because I thought it would be good for her and Oscar. I'd meddled in her life and set her up for devastation.

“Bring Libby to Dahlia House, please. Coleman won't let me stay there alone because of Gertrude. I need to do some work, and you can help. Maybe we can put up some decorations for Thanksgiving.” It wasn't what I should do, but it was something to do with Tinkie that might take her mind off the inevitable loss of Libby. “Bring Oscar, too.” He was an excellent shot, and so was Tinkie. Might not hurt to have some firepower. “And bring some guns.”

“Okay,” she said with only a hint of reluctance. “I'll do that. Give me an hour. I need to clean up and pack some things for Libby.”

I had a vision of an eighteen-wheeler pulling up to the front door of Dahlia House to unload Libby's “necessities.” That child would lack for nothing if the Smiths allowed Oscar and Tinkie to provide for her. “See you in an hour. I'll cook something.”

“I'll stop at Millie's. No offense, but I've had some of your cooking.”

Now that sounded like my partner—a dollop of sass. “Bring me some turnip greens and cornbread, please.” I hung up feeling a bit more hopeful.

When I sat back down at the bar, Travis Johnson, the newly hired barkeep, plopped another drink in front of me. Scott signaled “drink up!” from the stage where he was doing a sound check. “Be with you in a minute,” he called out. And he was. A minute later, he strode over and accepted the Jack on the rocks Travis made for him.

“Things okay?”

“Tinkie and the baby.” I closed my eyes. “Train wreck coming hard.”

“You need to get away from your life and all the responsibilities, even if just for a few moments. You carry a lot of weight on those slender shoulders, Sarah Booth.” He went to the jukebox and the song that defined so much of my love of the blues blasted out of the speakers. Percy Sledge sang, “When a Man Loves a Woman.” Scott took my hand and pulled me up and against him.

“Scott, I—”

“No talking. Just dance. For three minutes forget everything but this song.” He leaned closer and whispered in my ear. “Forget everything except the way you felt when we were together.”

Those were potent memories, and with Scott's body pressed against mine, moving to the beat of the music, it was impossible not to remember the passion Scott had stirred—and still did—in me. It was also impossible not to yearn for a time when the emotions generated by this song were the most important thing in my world. Once upon a time, finding love had been number one on my priority list. Now I had to worry about lost mothers, partners on the edge of emotional destruction, and a crazy woman trying to kill me. How had life become so complicated?

As Scott had intended, the music caught me in a current of emotion. When I'd come home to Zinnia from New York, I'd only wanted to save Dahlia House and the memories living within the walls, and to find true love. I'd done both, though the true love part proved temporary. I'd also started a career I'd never foreseen. When Scott happened into my life, I'd fallen in lust and in bed, in short order. I might have fallen in love had he stuck around. He'd gone to Europe to secure his title as number one blues guitarist, and I'd moved on emotionally. Sort of. I couldn't deny that I still had feelings for him.

Scott spun me around the floor, and my bones limbered and my body molded to his. Scott had all the moves of a dirty dancer. His body reacted instinctively to the music. As Jitty had said, he was sex on a stick. The thoughts I tried to hold on to fell away, and there was nothing left but the music, the lyrical passion of the song performed so well by Percy Sledge. And Scott, pressed against me.

When the song ended, Cece and Jaytee, along with the rest of the band, applauded. “Get some cold water to throw on those two,” Cece called out, bringing on another round of applause.

“Get a grip, Cece,” Scott said as he seated me at the bar. His lips brushed my ear and traveled down my neck. If my body had been asleep earlier, now it was alive with electricity. Scott played it cool. “Calm down, Cece. It was only a dance to take Sarah Booth's mind off her troubles.”

“Oh, yeah, I clearly saw that as a charity dance.” Cece was incorrigible. “Don't tell me you're not affected.” She arched an eyebrow, daring him to play innocent.

“We'll finish this later. You're making Sarah Booth uncomfortable.”

“Right. It's Sarah Booth who's uncomfortable.”

“Come have a drink,” I said to her, partly to shut her up and partly because I had some questions. Cece sometimes turned up more information than anyone else. She had sources in every socioeconomic group and every social organization.

She took a seat beside me, leaving Jaytee and Scott to do a sound check and get ready for the stage. “Dirty vodka martini, on the rocks.” She winked at the handsome bartender. We still missed Bo Shavers, the former bartender who'd been gunned down, but Scott had to have someone reliable and personable behind the bar. Travis was a good candidate. Judging from his physique, he could also double as a bouncer if needed.