When Bobbie Sang the Blues (16 page)

Beth stood beside Bobbie, her arm around her sister’s waist.
Christy thought her mothers face looked as though she had used chalk for foundation, and her eyes held the sheen of tears. In contrast, Bobbie looked devoid of emotion, as though she had gone into shock.

Seth whirled on Deputy Arnold. “What proof—”

“Calm down, little brother,” Deputy Arnold warned. “You’ll only make things worse.”

“Detective Johanson,” Grant said, “I believe we have the right to know the cause of Mr. Bodine’s death.”

“The medical examiner and the toxicologist have determined that the blow to Mr. Bodine’s head was not severe enough to cause his death. The main cause of death was the mixture of certain poisons in his system.” Detective Johanson delivered this speech coldly, then gripped Bobbie’s arm and led her toward the SUV, her hands cuffed behind her back.

Bobbie looked over her shoulder at Beth. “I didn’t do it. I swear I didn’t.”

“We’ll be down to get you out as soon as bail is set,” Beth called after her. “And Bobbie, we’re going to get the best lawyer around.”

As the car pulled away from the curb, Bobbie was still staring at Beth from the back window, looking small and frail. The car disappeared around the corner.

For a moment, no one spoke. Christy was the first to break the silence as she glanced at her watch. It was five minutes past three. “Why don’t we go inside and have some tea or coffee while we put our heads together?”

“I gotta go home and feed Atticus,” Seth mumbled, his head lowered.

Christy could see how upset he was by what had just taken place. Seth being Seth, he would bottle up his feelings, if permitted.

“First, come in the kitchen and grab a bottle of water or juice,” she said, stalling him. She unlocked the door, and everyone entered.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Beth said, slumping down in a dining room chair.

“Seth, before you go, join us at the table,” Grant said. “We need to say a prayer for Bobbie.”

Seth pulled back a chair and sat down. The old habit felt natural as everyone clasped hands and Grant spoke a prayer. Christy thought he always found the right words, whatever the circumstance.

“God, we don’t know what has happened or what to do, so we ask for your guidance. We trust you to lead the police to the person who killed Mr. Bodine. Most of all, we pray that you will surround Bobbie with your love and healing so that she will be strong enough to face what is ahead. And we thank you for answering our prayer.”

After the prayer, Christy’s mother turned to face her. “Christy, please forgive me. I’ve been pompous and judgmental. I’ve never thought of myself as perfect.” She looked from Christy to Seth. “Maybe if I hadn’t been so shy growing up, I would have done some of the things Bobbie did. And I know if Grant had not come into my life, well…” She shrugged. “I could be a very different woman.”

Grant spoke up. “Beth, nobody gets the easy, perfect life. It’s the choices we make that shape our lives.” His eyes moved to Seth. “Son, we want you to have the freedom to make your own choices, but we need to be a family again.”

Seth stood up. “It’s not that easy, Dad, when I know the conditions you’re attaching. My faith is as strong as ever, but you have to understand that I may choose to go a different direction.”

Christy reached for his hand. “Seth, let’s not get into that now. We have to think about Bobbie.”

“I don’t expect you to come hear me preach every Sunday,” Grant said. “I’d be happy just knowing you’re worshiping someplace in your own way.”

Seth’s eyes, hard with defiance moments before, held a brightness that usually preceded tears. He turned quickly. “I’m just not ready yet, Dad,” he said, walking out the back door.

“Seth, I have your favorite chocolate cake in the freezer whenever you want to stop by,” Beth called after him.

He didn’t look back but merely nodded. Christy knew there were tears on his face, and when she glanced at the anguished faces of her parents, she realized they knew it too. They were desperate to mend the break in their relationship, but it wasn’t going to be easy or quick.

Beth and Grant both stared at the back door, listening to the sound of Seth’s engine as he drove away. Then Beth turned to her husband.

“Did you get someone to replace you in the pulpit tomorrow?” Grant nodded. He seemed stunned by Seth’s reaction.

Christy took a deep breath and tried to think. “Want to go downtown in one car?”

Her parents seemed to return from a long journey as their gazes shifted to her.

Grant sighed. “Why don’t you ride with us?”

“Fine.”

I
t was a long afternoon and evening for everyone, but by midnight, Bobbie had been released on bail to the Reverend Grant Castleman. Christy knew the “reverend” part, in addition to the huge sum of money her father had put up, accounted for Bobbies release.

Harry Stephens, a top defensive lawyer from Tallahassee, drove down to Panama City as soon as Grant called him. Harry was a tall, striking man with silver hair and vivid hazel eyes behind small, wire-rimmed glasses. He looked imposing and distinguished in an expertly tailored, dark suit. Christy could see her reflection in the shine of his dark shoes. His voice matched his appearanc—smooth and authoritative—and the news he delivered added to the Castleman family’s distress even more, something Christy hadn’t thought possible.

At the jail, they were given a small room with a table and several chairs for a meeting. Harry sat at the end of the table, looking from Beth and Grant to Christy. Then his gaze settled on Bobbie, who huddled in a chair beside Beth. Her skin had turned gray, and her golden hair had lost its sheen and lay flat against her face.

“The medical examiner has determined that Mr. Bodine died between one and two o’clock Tuesday morning,” Mr. Stephens said. “The toxicologist found nitroglycerin, Viagra, and alcohol in his system.”

He paused, noting their confused faces. “Apparently, Mr. Bodine had a healthy heart, so he wouldn’t be taking nitroglycerin. My understanding is that it’s dangerous to give this heart medication to someone who doesn’t need it. Add Viagra and alcohol, and the combination is lethal,” he explained.

“Now the case against Mrs. Bodine is based on her known use of nitroglycerin for her heart and the fact that the body was found in her locked unit. They’re saying the motive was the money. Bodine claimed he came here to collect money Bobbie stole, and they’ll argue she refused to give it back.” Stephens paused and looked at Bobbie. “Do you wish to say anything to me privately, Mrs. Bodine?”

Bobbie swallowed. “No. This is my family.” She looked from Beth to Grant to Christy. “I have nothing to hide. I don’t know who gave him the pills or how he got in my storage unit. I did not steal money from him. And Beth and Grant know I was home by eleven thirty.”

Christy glanced at her parents, who said nothing.

Stephens said, “Although the approximate time of death is between one and two o’clock, with this type of poisoning, death may not be immediate. On the other hand, the blow to the head would expedite the death.”

Bobbie seemed too exhausted to say any more, and no one else seemed to have an answer. Then Christy remembered something.

“Bobbie, you spilled those pills at the club. People were helping you pick them up…” Her voice trailed off as she thought of Jack and Dan. “The pills could have rolled under other tables.”

Stephens nodded. “So we can argue that several people in the club could have picked up the pills.” He turned to Bobbie. “I need you to count the pills left in your bottle and try to figure how many you’ve taken and how many are missing.”

Bobbie came alive for a moment. “The bottle was almost full. I refilled the prescription right before I left Memphis.”

“Count the number you have now,” Stephens said, “and write down each time and occasion you took one. We’ll need verification from the pharmacist as to the number of pills in the bottle.”

“Mr. Stephens,” Christy said, “the janitor at the Blues Club, Wiley Smith, swept up that night. He admitted to Dan Brockman and me that he had a longstanding grudge against Bodine. Bodine cost him a job he loved.”

Stephens scribbled on his pad. “We’ll go into more detail on this in the morning.”

She thought of something else. “Mr. Bodine’s girlfriend claims he had incurred a huge gambling debt and feared someone was after him. Monday night at the Blues Club, when he made a scene, two strangers were observed at a back table, watching Bobbie and Eddie. A witness saw them leave in a black Mercedes with Tennessee plates. They’re staying at Summer Place Condos, and yesterday my Aunt
Dianna and I had lunch there. When I passed their table, I heard one of them say, ‘Bodine knew better than…”’ She ignored the strange expression on her parents’ faces.

“You heard them say that?” Bobbie asked.

“I did.”

Stephens nodded. “That’s good news.” He scribbled on his pad again. “I’ll look into that. Obviously everyone is exhausted, so let’s get some rest. I’ll be staying at my cottage in Seaside. Bobbie, I’d like to meet with you in the morning.”

“You can come to our house,” Beth offered. She glanced at Bobbie. “She’ll be staying with us.”

“Is ten o’clock too early?” he asked.

Bobbie shook her head. “No, that’s fine with me.”

“Then I’ll see you at ten. And Mrs. Bodine, try to get some rest. Remember—the burden of proof is on the prosecution.”

She nodded, and they all walked down the hall and out the back door to the parking lot. When they reached Grant and Beth’s car, Christy climbed into the backseat with Bobbie. She grasped her aunt’s cold hand. “Try not to worry,” she said.

Bobbie’s voice sounded weak and tired as she spoke. “I have money because I sold my shop in Memphis. I’m drawing on the bank account from that sale. I haven’t taken anything from Eddie.” Her voice grew stronger in her defense.

“We believe you, Bobbie,” Grant said as they drove back to Summer Breeze. “Try to let your attorney handle this. I’m confident he’ll do a great job.”

“I owe you all so much,” Bobbie said, her voice trembling. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Beth turned in the passenger seat and looked at her sister. “We want to help. That’s what families do. And,” she added, “we love you, Bobbie.”

When her parents dropped her off, Christy retrieved Bobbie’s overnight bag from the bathroom and took it out to the car. Since Bobbie had been released to Grant and Beth’s custody, there was no question where she would be staying.

Christy said good night and went inside to lock up. As she headed back to her bedroom to put on her pajamas, her body ached from long hours of sitting in a straight chair, waiting for Bobbie’s release. She knew her parents and Bobbie, older and tiring more easily than she, must ache from head to toe.

Before she collapsed in bed, Christy grabbed her Bible and turned on the lamp on the nightstand. The Bible fell open to the verses Bobbie had said didn’t work for her. She might be more willing to listen now.

“Do not fear; I will help you.”

The verse blurred as tears filled Christy’s eyes, and she closed the Bible and placed it on the nightstand. She sniffed, turned out the light, and began to pray.

Sunday

R
oseann Cole decided she’d had all she could take of Summer Breeze. She packed her bags and paid the desk clerk the balance of her bill for the room. Today she was going home! Like the country song said, she was ready to see this town in her rearview mirror.

Two deputies had delivered Eddie’s truck to her, waking her from a deep sleep. Quickly she showered and dressed, eager to leave. She climbed into the truck and slammed the door, then picked up her cell phone and punched in her mother’s number. While the phone rang on the other end, she pulled down the visor and opened the mirror, plumping up her mass of curls.

“Momma, I’m leaving Summer Breeze,” she said as soon as her mother answered. “It’s a long drive back, so I’m staying over in Birmingham tonight. Got a friend there. I’ll be home tomorrow. I’ll give you the details when I get home, so don’t start asking questions. I’m a little upset right now.”

Loud chatter filled her ears for the next few seconds.

“Yeah, well, don’t believe everything you read in that rag of a paper. Eddie was hanging around the wrong people. I just didn’t know it. I guess they caught up with him. Now don’t you worry about me. I always have a plan. And you take care of Millie. I want my doll in the middle of my bed when I come home. She always makes me feel better.”

She paused, listening again. “Maybe you’re reading those tarot cards right, about a woman killing him. I’ll call you later. Now I gotta hang up.”

Roseann took a deep breath and released it slowly. Nobody got to her like Momma.

As soon as she hung up, the phone rang. Maybe it had something to do with Eddie.

“Yes?” she said, not bothering to conceal her irritation. “Oh really, Deputy Arnold?” Her tone changed completely. “You’re sure Eddie’s body has been taken to the funeral home already? Well, thank you, sir. I appreciate all you’ve done for me.”

Christy tossed and turned throughout the night, getting only a few hours of deep sleep. Her head rolled on the pillow, and sleepy eyes focused on the clock on the nightstand. It was two minutes before eight.

With great effort, she pulled herself out of bed and peeled off
her pajamas, heading for her bathroom. She opened the shower door, turned the faucet on hot, and adjusted the spray to hit her shoulders and neck, which felt twisted in knots.

She stood under the shower spray, letting the water pelt down on her neck and shoulders. She luxuriated in the smell of the shampoo as her fingers pressed all the tense points on her scalp. She rinsed, then stepped out of the shower. Thickly toweled, head and body, she walked into her bedroom and opened the closet door to gaze at her choices. What do you wear on the morning you meet with an attorney hired by your father to save a lovable aunt from prison? She decided on tan slacks and a matching tan shirt with wedge sandals. She wandered over to the closed drapes and lifted a tiny corner. A gray, thoroughly depressing day greeted her, promising rain. She dropped the curtain and hurried to the kitchen.

As she made coffee, her mind replayed the events of the past few days, looking for a solution. Could someone have paid off Hornsby to get into Bobbie’s storage unit? Who and why? What about the mysterious Panada, whose unit backed up to Bobbies? She had overheard Hornsby on the phone, his voice urgent, as he related how he had stalled the police on getting into a unit because of the special dial lock. She had sensed he couldn’t stall much longer. And what was the point of stalling anyway?

Christy reached for her coffee mug, and her mind wandered to the night at the Blues Club. A thought struck her like a bolt of lightning, and she almost dropped her mug. She’d had to open that pill bottle twice for Bobbie. Why had it been so easy to open that
night at the club? Had someone been in the pill bottle and stolen pills? Then, being in a rush, carelessly replaced the top?

Who? Jack and Dan would never try to frame Bobbie.

Who else had access to the pill bottle? Roseann had been at the table. She’d check with Dan to see if Roseann had had a chance to go through Bobbie’s purse.

Christy poured her coffee, then called her parents’ home. Her mother answered on the first ring. “Hi, Mom. How are you?”

“We’re okay. We’re having coffee. Your father is glad he asked someone to fill in for him today, since Mr. Stephens will be here at ten.

“Did you get any sleep?” Christy asked with concern. She had seen a different side to her mother yesterday, and now she regretted their argument.

“Enough. What about you?”

“Enough. And Bobbie?”

“She says she slept okay, but of course she was exhausted when she went to bed. I’m trying to coax some oatmeal into her now. I keep telling her she has to keep up her strength.”

Christy nodded. “You’re right. Tell her hello for me.”

“By the way, last night when we passed the Starlight Motel, we saw Eddie’s white truck parked there. Is Roseann Cole still in town?” her mother asked.

“She was waiting for the release of the body after the autopsy. And she came with Eddie, so I guess she had to wait until they released the truck to her.”

“She must be in awful shape to drive. Maybe we could get someone in the congregation—”

“Mom, you’ve got your hands full,” Christy said. She had seen Beth work herself into exhaustion trying to help someone, and then Beth would wonder why she was so susceptible to bronchitis or a cold.

“You’re right,” Beth agreed, sighing.

“I’ll be over there at ten.” Christy said. “I promise to stay in the background, but I want to hear what the attorney has to say.”

“We’ll be glad to have you here. Seth just called to check on everyone.”

“Late-sleeper Seth has already called?” Christy teased. “He probably didn’t sleep well either.”

They said their good-byes and hung up. Christy noticed she had several messages. She checked the caller ID on all of them, and to her irritation, Roy Thornberry’s number showed up. Angrily, she deleted it. If Roy was calling her, he wanted the scoop on Bobbie for his newspaper. How dare he think she would give him any information after their last squabble, which ended in her resignation? She’d be writing no more weekly columns for him.

Now he had the audacity to call. She was certain he intended to quiz her about her aunt. He was ruthless when it came to a hot news story. During the murder investigation last year, he had driven everyone nuts with his obsessive snooping and endless questions. She couldn’t begin to imagine what he might do to scoop this story: “Man Found Dead in Pickle Barrel in Locked Storage Unit of Ex-Wife. Thoroughly Pickled.”

She winced. No, even Roy wouldn’t add that sarcastic remark.

Christy remembered how Bobbie had bet her line-dancing boots that Hornsby was the nosy type. If she thought Hornsby was nosy, she should meet Roy. She sensed that Hornsby had a few secrets, and she knew he wasn’t above taking bribes, but he had not come off to Christy as being anything more than curious.

Christy refilled her mug. With her mind miles away, she took a big gulp of hot coffee, burning her mouth. She set the mug down and ran water over a dishtowel to press to her lips. Now she was awake.

Thoughts zipped back and forth through her brain like paper airplanes. Roseann Cole—what was going on with her? Had she meant what she said when she vowed to wait for Eddie’s body and the truck?

Christy stared at the phone, wondering how to shape the words she wanted to ask. She walked over and dialed Roseann’s cell phone.

The voice that answered was cool and formal.

“Hi, Roseann. It’s Christy Castleman. I understand you got the truck, and…I guess the funeral home is working with you on…” She couldn’t seem to finish a sentence. She gripped the phone tightly and squeezed her eyes shut, wishing for words.

When Roseann spoke up, she bit off each word. “I hear your aunt’s been charged with Eddie’s murder. I don’t want to talk with you or anyone in your family! I’m on my way back to Memphis!”

“Wait!” Christy pleaded, knowing Roseann was about to hang up. “There’s something else.” What else? She had no idea what to
say, but she couldn’t let Roseann leave without getting her address in Memphis. She still wasn’t sure if Roseann knew more than she was telling. “Listen, something might turn up here that you’d want to know about. Can you give me your address?”

There was a pause. “I don’t think you’ll need it.”

“Roseann, Bobbie has been framed. She didn’t kill him.”

“Oh really?”

She longed to rally back in Bobbie’s defense, but her gut feeling was to be nice and keep communication open with Roseann. She gritted her teeth and kept quiet.

Roseann spoke up again. “Then you tell me how the nitroglycerin got in his system. Eddie just had a checkup last week. His heart was fine. He had no reason to take nitroglycerin, so don’t give me your excuses.”

“Those pills were spilled on the floor of the club, remember?” Christy said. “Other people were picking them up.”

“Yeah, like the boyfriend, Jack. Honey, you better face the facts. Your aunt did it, and she may have had some help. I’m done talking to you.”

The phone line clicked. Roseann had said all she intended to say.

For several minutes after she hung up the phone, Christy stared out the window. It looked as though someone had hung sheet metal over the yard. She walked into the living room and sat on the couch, picking up the remote. She turned on the Weather Channel, wondering how long the rain would last. According to the ridiculously cheerful announcer, the rain would pass through by noon. She turned him off and walked back to the kitchen, looking through the
window again. The palm branches swayed beneath a mounting breeze. The birds were smart enough to avoid her bird feeder, and her favorite little redbird, which usually perched on her windowsill, was nowhere in sight.

The day seemed to match the gloom that had overtaken their world. How she wished all this was a nightmare. She turned from the sink, trying to calm her muddled thoughts. She had to keep a clear head.

Eddies truck had been held for three days. Had Eddie hidden drugs there, or had they found fingerprints not belonging to the occupants? Fingerprints that implicated her aunt?

Christy glanced at the clock and dialed Dan’s number.

“Hi,” she said, feeling better at the sound of his hello.

“Christy, I came to your house yesterday, but your neighbor told me you’d left with your parents. He also told me about Bobbie’s arrest. I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.” Christy swallowed hard, trying not to get emotional. “Bobbie was released on bail to my parents late last night. Dad found a good attorney for her, Harry Stephens from Tallahassee. We’re meeting with him at ten.”

“That’s good. I’ve seen Harry Stephens interviewed on television. He’s one of the best attorneys in the state. And remember, it’s up to the prosecution to prove anything.”

“Yeah, but Dan, I think the prosecution feels they have plenty of proof. Apparently, the blow to Eddie’s head knocked him out, but he might have come to and staggered out of the unit or called for help. The cause of death is a mixture of poisons in his system,
one of them being nitroglycerin. Eddie Bodine has a healthy heart, so there was no reason for him to take nitroglycerin.”

Dan was silent for several seconds, absorbing this information. After a moment, he said, “Christy, can I come over later? We’ll drive over to Shipwreck Island. I know that place always relaxes you.”

Christy smiled, grateful for a good memory now. “Sounds great. Thanks for being available for me.”

“I want to help however I can.”

His kindness reached deep into her heart, and she looked forward to spending some time with him. “I’m going by my parents’ house at ten to hear what the attorney has to say and to see if there’s anything I need to tell him. After that, I’m free.”

“I’ll grab a picnic lunch. I know it’s raining, but we’ve sat in the car with lunch and watched it rain before.”

She smiled into the mouthpiece, as though he could see her. “That’s nice of you. How about one o’clock? And I don’t care if it’s raining.”

“Neither do I.”