When Bobbie Sang the Blues (17 page)

After she hung up, she felt as though someone had removed a twenty-pound backpack from her shoulders. She hadn’t realized what a burden she’d been carrying for her aunt and her mom and all the family. Dan had lifted that burden by listening and by offering to take her away from prying eyes and telephone calls.

She took a deep breath, feeling a new surge of strength. Glancing at the clock, she saw she had half an hour before she had to leave for her parents’ house.

She turned on her computer and pulled up her e-mail. She carefully worded a letter to her editor, requesting an extension on her deadline. She explained that she had a family emergency. She’d never been late with a manuscript, and since this one had plenty of leeway before the publication date, she felt justified in asking and felt confident her editor would agree.

Before she shut down the computer, she reached for the database program. The Web portal contained on the disk wasn’t widely available to the public, but had become invaluable to Christy when she used it the year before as a tool for catching a killer.

The program powered up for her, and she was ready to do a search. Who could be a suspect that she hadn’t checked on?

As Christy drove to her parents’ home, the wind picked up, and a fine mist began to fall on her windshield. Not a day for picnics, but Dan knew she loved them. Once, they had driven to a park and sat in his car, feasting on fried chicken, watching the raindrops cascade down the windshield. It had been a different kind of outing, but as she had pointed out, there was more than one way to enjoy a picnic.

She turned in the driveway of her parents’ home and saw a gray Lexus with Tallahassee license plates parked in the driveway.

She slipped quietly in the back door and saw everyone seated around the cherry dining table. A huge pot of coffee sat on the counter next to an assortment of pastries on a tray. Christy grabbed a danish from the tray, placed it on a small, white plate, and headed
into the dining room where her parents and Bobbie faced Harry Stephens, who sat at the end of the table.

Everyone turned to Christy and smiled as she slipped into a chair. Then all eyes returned to Bobbie, who was describing her medications and explaining why she took nitroglycerin.

“Excuse me,” Christy said, “but her pill bottle was difficult to open. Bobbie, if you remember, I had to open it twice for you. But that night, the top came right off, didn’t it?”

Bobbie nodded, looking at Stephens, who had dressed more casually today. Every silver hair was in place, and his hazel eyes looked bright and alert behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

“The bottle was new,” Bobbie said. “It has one of those childproof caps. Every time I get a refill, the cap is hard for me to pry off.”

Stephens nodded. “That’ll work to our advantage in creating suspicion. And you’ve counted and made notes, and you believe four pills are missing.” He frowned.

Christy wondered how many pills it took to mix with Viagra and alcohol for a lethal dose.

“When I opened the bottle at the Blues Club, “Bobbie went on,” the pills exploded all over the place. I think someone had already been in that bottle,” Christy said.

Stephens leaned forward, a bloodhound treeing new quarry. “Think hard. You didn’t have to twist and turn as you normally did?”

Bobbie hesitated. “I was so nervous, maybe I was twisting harder.”

Christy pressed her point. “No, she hadn’t pushed that hard. I’m sure Jack and Dan would agree with me that the cap came off as though it had already been loosened, or opened and not recapped tightly.”

Stephens began to write. “This is important.” He looked at Bobbie. “Where did you keep the pills from the last time you opened them until that night at the club?”

“I always keep them in the zipped compartment on the right side of my purse. My doctor in Memphis—”

“What’s his name?’ Stephens interrupted.

“Goldman. Dr. Jonathan Goldman.”

Christy appraised Bobbie as she sat at the table, carefully answering each question. She had obviously shampooed her hair, for it held its usual golden sheen again, and her navy suit and white linen blouse added a new touch of class. The conservative clothes looked out of character for Bobbie, who normally dressed with a colorful flair. Christy thought the clothes looked more like something her mother would wear.

Christy glanced at Beth, whose attention was focused on the attorney. She wore a tense, serious expression. Her father looked equally serious. It was as though everyone had been wearing a pleasant mask but had lifted it to catch a breath.

Beth got out of her chair. “Why don’t I bring in more coffee? Mr. Stephens, how about another danish?”

“No, thank you. Folks, I have my work cut out for me,” he said. “We all do. I need the exact time Bobbie returned home.”

Grant frowned. “We were asleep. I don’t know. You’ll have to
ask Beth. She’s a light sleeper, and I think she may have heard Bobbie come in.”

Stephens studied his notes. “Bobbie and Jack both claim she got home at eleven fifteen.”

Beth entered the dining room with a silver tray, coffeepot, and condiments. “I heard Jack’s SUV in the driveway around eleven fifteen, but after that, I’m not sure. I went back to sleep. I know she passed our bedroom door sometime later, but I couldn’t say for sure what time it was.” She set the tray down on the table and looked around. “Anyone want their coffee freshened?”

Christy stared at her mother. Was she really unsure what time Bobbie had passed their bedroom? When Christy overheard the argument between her mother and Bobbie, she was certain Beth had said,
“Almost one o’clock.
”

“I’m sorry,” Grant said, studying his wife carefully. “I thought you told me after midnight, closer to one.”

“Well, I think I heard something later on, around one, but Bobbie could have gotten up and gone to the bathroom. I don’t know.” Beth shrugged and poured coffee for everyone.

After a moment, Bobbie said, “So we know some of my pills are missing. As for the Viagra, Eddie took it the last two years I was married to him.”

Everyone stared at her. Her statement proved Eddie could have unknowingly aided in his demise, but it also proved she knew he took Viagra.

Stephens grimaced. “Bobbie, don’t volunteer that information to anyone else. You’ll be asked by the prosecution, of course. So
you know he took Viagra when you were married to him, but you don’t know about now, do you?”

Bobbie shook her head. “No. By the way, the doctor Eddie saw in Memphis was named William Sommers, I believe. He’s an internist.”

Stephens wrote down the name.

“What do you think about Roseann Cole, Mr. Stephens?” Christy asked.

He paused, tapping his silver pen. “If the girlfriend is telling the truth, that he left the motel again, then it’s crucial to know whom he saw or where he went.” He checked his notes. “The truck was found on the street that runs south behind the Blues Club. It’s possible he parked there and waited for someone to come out of the club.”

Christy thought of Jack and Dan, and her heart sank. She realized Stephens was looking at her.

“I understand that both Jack Watson and Dan Brockman are friends of yours, Christy,” he said, “but to be frank, both men made threats, and this Jack threatened to kill him. In addition to his statement, witnesses said he looked mad enough to carry out his threat. I’ll have to argue that he may have been furious enough to find Eddie later and obliterate him from Bobbie’s life.”

Bobbie gasped. “No, don’t incriminate Jack. Please.”

“If you want to theorize that Jack harmed him, why would he put him in Bobbie’s unit to make it look like she did it?” Christy asked.

Stephens’ mouth tightened. “The unit may have only been a
temporary holding place. The assailant no doubt planned to move the body when the time was right. The fact that Hornsby’s office is next door to the unit makes him more likely to notice the smell than the assailant might realize.”

Christy’s mind went into overdrive, focusing on Tony Panada. “Mr. Stephens, do you happen to know anything about the man who rents the unit that backs up to Bobbie’s unit?”

He consulted his notes. “As a matter of fact, I do. His name is Tony Panada, and he owns a printing business in town. He uses the unit to store extra product. I don’t think we can look in his direction for a suspect.”

She nodded. Panada had been reluctant to have his unit searched. That wouldn’t sound unusual to anyone. It was just her instinct about the whole thing that bothered her, and Mr. Stephens wouldn’t be too interested in hearing about her instinct.

“Where was Hornsby that night?” Bobbie asked curiously.

“According to Deputy Arnold, Hornsby claims to have been at home with his girlfriend.”

“That man has a girlfriend?” Bobbie blurted and then bit her lip. “Sorry.”

“Look,” Stephens said as he rose from the table and glanced at his watch, “two hours is enough for all of us. We’re just getting started with this.” He looked down at Bobbie. “I know you won’t be leaving town, but avoid discussing the case with anyone. That goes for all of you. Go on with your lives as best you can, and leave the work to me.” He placed his legal pad and pen back in his monogrammed briefcase.

“What life?” Bobbie said. “How can I open a shop with Summer Breeze thinking I’m a murderer?”

“You’re not,” Christy said. “And maybe for now I’m the one who’s opening I Saw It First. Everyone is very excited about your shop.” Christy took a deep breath, forgetting the novel she was writing. “Yep, I think we’ll be pretty busy getting that shop open.”

Her gaze moved to her parents, who smiled. Her dad stood and walked around the table, collecting empty plates. As he reached for hers, he leaned down and whispered, “I didn’t realize you were so much like your mother.”

W
hen Christy opened her back door to Dan, he held an umbrella over his head and smiled. Looking past him, she saw the rain had stopped.

“You’re joking,” she laughed.

He closed the umbrella and placed it beside her door. “Well, you know what they say—take an umbrella and it won’t rain; forget your umbrella, you’re sure to get a downpour.”

“Do they really say that?” she asked, as he closed the door behind him and took her in his arms.

“It sounded good,” he said, leaning down to kiss her.

And what a kiss. He was a delicious blend of an autumn morning rain and a subtle shaving lotion. As she melted into his kiss, she knew it would be so easy to let herself go completely. But from the back of her mind, her conscience rushed forth, reminding her that this was a new beginning and she had to keep her head.

She broke the embrace and stepped back from him. “Wow, how you turn a girl’s head.”

“Not to mention what you do to mine.” He rubbed his hands together and looked at the coffeepot. “Is that coffee still warm?”

“No, but I can make some fresh.”

“Nah, just let me fill a mug and stick it in the microwave.”

“Help yourself. I need to shut down the computer.”

When she returned to the kitchen, Dan sat at the eating bar, sipping his warmed-over coffee and reading the morning newspaper. When she entered, he quit reading, folded the paper in half, and stuffed it in his back pocket.

“Is it that bad?” she asked, suspecting he was trying to hide the front-page story from her.

“Not worth reading,” he said, standing up. “Ready to go?”

She nodded. “Roy Thornberry’s number showed up on my caller ID. I’m so glad I don’t write a column for him anymore.”

“So am I. Everywhere we went, he just happened to pop up in the parking lot. He always reminded me of someone who had an itch he couldn’t scratch.”

Christy laughed. “You’re stealing my line. Remember, I told you that when you first met him. You said it was the most accurate description of a person you’d ever heard.”

“Yeah, it was.”

They walked out to his car, and when he opened the door for her, the smell of lemon-roasted chicken wafted from the picnic basket in the backseat.

“Ah, what delights await us in that basket?” Christy asked.

“Not gonna tell,” Dan said, backing out of the driveway. “On second thought, maybe I will boast a bit. My mom used to have oatmeal raisin cookies waiting for my brother and me when we got home from school. We were living in Germany then. Dad had
been transferred to an army base there. I guess Mom wanted to give us a sense of permanence, so she tried to stick to a routine. Well, I’m off track with my story. I got hooked on oatmeal raisin, and this morning…” He paused, glancing at her.

She studied his face, liking that he wasn’t picture-perfect handsome, but handsome in a rugged way. When she looked at him from the side, his nose was slightly crooked, and one eye was just a fraction larger than the other. But she suspected no one but she would notice, and it pleased her that he wasn’t perfect.

“This morning you called her and asked her to make oatmeal raisin cookies?” she guessed.

“Nope.” At the stoplight, he reached into the backseat, fumbled around in the basket, and brought forth an odd-shaped cookie that smelled warm and inviting. “I got the recipe and made the cookies myself.”

“You’re kidding! You can’t cook.” Christy grabbed the cookie, tasted it, and gave a murmur of appreciation. “You can bake cookies,” she said, winking at him.

“You don’t care if they’re lopsided, do you?”

She started to reply but spit crumbs, giggled at her blunder, then almost choked.

Dan patted her on the back and handed her a bottle of water. “You okay?”

She nodded, took a sip, and waited until her throat was clear enough to speak. “These are fabulous, and they’re even better knowing you went to the trouble.”

He shrugged. “I enjoyed it. Ate half the dough. It brought back
a lot of good memories.” He reached for her hand. “I just want you to relax and forget your problems today.”

As they drove toward Shipwreck Island, she turned to face him. “Let me share something with you. This morning I went on the Internet using a special search engine, just like last year when I found evidence that led to a killer. I’m going to run down the names of everyone connected to Eddie. I started with Roseann Cole, and nothing showed up. But guess what?”

“What?” He steered the car across the bridge to the island.

“There was a Juanita Cole in West Memphis, age sixty-two, who had an interesting background. It seems her line of work is telling fortunes. Over the years, she’s been arrested for theft, forging checks, and bilking money out of her clients.”

Dan glanced from her to the road and back. “Really?”

“Yeah, though she never spent time in jail. But there was an interesting account of a woman who took Juanita to court, claiming she stole two hundred dollars out of her handbag when the woman closed her eyes to envision her late husband so that Juanita could connect them.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m quoting the report. The woman lost the case because there wasn’t enough evidence to support her story.”

“Well, it makes you wonder if Roseann has inherited some of her mother’s traits when it comes to acquiring money,” Dan replied, pulling into the shell-and-gravel parking area above the beach.

“I realize she can’t help what her mother did,” Christy said,
“but I found the report very interesting.” She looked around. “I’m glad we came here.”

She studied the woods in the distance. This area had given her much inspiration and lore, providing the subject for books that had earned praise and monetary rewards. To the east, Lost Lagoon encircled the high ground. To the west, a hundred-acre marsh provided a wetland refuge for seabirds. In some ways, this was a typical Gulf Coast swamp, and yet Shipwreck Island, due to its fabled history, was like no other place in Florida.

“I chose it because you like it here, and so do I. But if you remember, right over there,” he said, pointing to a deserted strip of beach, “is where we first met.”

She nodded, recalling the day she had come here, worried about the disappearance of Marty McAllister, the local Realtor.

Dan cut the engine and looked at her. “You were very cautious about me when I first walked down from the ship house,” he said.

“Yes, I was.” Her eyes drifted to the unusual two-story house on the hill. Because of railings and portholes designed by a ship captain, it had been dubbed the ship house. It had recently been sold to a family. Christy could see a kids’ swing set in the backyard. “I didn’t know you had come here to study the house for your architecture class. In fact, I had no idea what you were doing here.”

“I know. You looked like a frightened little creature of the woods, ready to bolt. And I didn’t miss the fact that you had your cell phone open as though you might need to call for help.”

She laughed. “You’re right, I did.”

She looked at an indention in the shoreline. “That’s where I found the bottle.” In her mind’s eye, she could see the green bottle with the note tucked inside, a desperate plea for help. She looked around and saw the sea gulls and a few sandpipers, but not the special little sandpiper that had led her to the bottle. She had always believed she’d recognize it again, even though most of them look alike.

She looked back at Dan. “The day I met you, I was looking for a killer. Then you appeared—a tall, handsome stranger who looked out of place in my world.” She sighed and looked into his eyes. “And yet you fit into my world just fine.”

He cupped her cheek in his hand and leaned in to touch his lips to hers in a soft kiss. Then he pulled back and smiled into her eyes. “And you fit into mine just fine.” Their eyes locked for a moment, and then he turned and glanced into the backseat. “Well, good food waits. Are you hungry?”

“As a matter of fact, I am.” The sun had found its way through the clouds, its heat absorbing the dampness of the sand. “Want to walk over to the picnic table?” she asked.

“Sure.”

A picnic area had been installed over the summer on government property. The rest of the area had once belonged to Buster Greenwood’s family, but it had been sold off as home sites. Buster had kept his acreage and an old house, though. “His digs,” he called it. Everyone knew it would take dynamite to uproot him.

They got out of the car and walked toward the picnic table,
the basket swinging from Dan’s broad hand. A light breeze rustled through the tall oaks in the woods, but the day was neither too cold nor too hot.

When they reached the table, Christy leaned down and felt the damp wood of the bench.

“Oh, I forgot,” he said. “There’s a tarp in the backseat we can sit on.”

“I’ll get it while you lay out the goodies.” She jogged back to the car and reached into the backseat for the plastic. Something on the floor caught her eye.

A woman’s brown compact. Not hers.

Christy took a deep breath, trying not to let this ruin the day. Still, it nagged like a July fly buzzing around a picnic table. Lowering her eyes to the ground as she walked back to the table, plastic in hand, she vowed to keep her jealousy shoved in a corner.
Forget the compact
, she told herself.

She smiled at Dan, hoping her expression revealed nothing. She spread the tarp across the bench, and he sat beside her. With obvious pride, he lifted containers from the picnic basket, placing them on the table. He had brought silverware, china plates, and linen napkins—a surprise. Finally, he pulled out a container of roasted chicken. “Straight from the market,” he admitted, “along with the potato salad and fruit salad.”

“Perfect,” she said.

He completed the meal by pulling out a loaf of french bread and two small bottles of sweet tea. As a final gesture, he reached deep in the basket and then laid a single rose in front of her plate.

She picked up the rose and inhaled its sweet aroma. “You’ve thought of everything,” she said. Then she closed her eyes, offered grace, and added a silent prayer that she wouldn’t behave in a jealous or possessive way. She needed to forget about the compact.

Dan sliced a chunk of chicken breast. “Let’s partake,” he said, carefully moving the neat slice to her plate.

They dug in and enjoyed the food. Neither spoke until they had eaten everything on their plates. The island was quiet, blessing them with gentle breezes and the exotic swish of water on sand.

“Ready for cookies?” Dan asked.

“As special as they are, we should wait until our tummies have had a rest.”

He laughed. “I agree. Want to talk about the meeting with the attorney? A shadow has slipped over your face, and I’m guessing that’s what it is.”

Was she that transparent? At least he had given her an excuse.

She nodded. “I’d like your opinion on some of the things that came to light recently.”

“Such as?”

“Bobbie says Eddie could have picked the lock on her unit and gone in, thinking she had stored the vacuum cleaner there.”

Dan frowned. “The only thing wrong with that theory is that she wouldn’t have left the money in a vacuum cleaner in a storage unit, either here or in Memphis. At least, that’s what I think.”

“What better place to keep it safe?” Christy pointed out. “But she swears she didn’t take it.”

“I guess the strength of her argument will depend on the vacuum
cleaner bag, which I’m sure they’re thoroughly dusting for fingerprints in Memphis.”

“But her fingerprints would be on there from before.”

“Unless the bag was changed,” he said.

“From what Bobbie says, Eddie was no housekeeper. If Roseann stayed with him, she might want things neat and in place. Maybe she got industrious, decided to vacuum, found a filthy bag, and opened it up to change it. Maybe she found the money and took it.”

Dan shook his head. “Christy, I don’t think Roseann’s smart enough to pull off a caper like that, and she’s too smart to cross Eddie.”

Christy sighed, feeling that theory collapse. “True. Eddie wouldn’t have trusted her that much. Bobbie was married to him for years, and he never told her where he kept his winnings. If Roseann wanted his money, she could have cleaned out his billfold and credit cards while he slept.”

“Yeah, it sounds like she’s been led to believe he owned a big trucking company and had money coming in all the time. Otherwise, I don’t know what she saw in him. He was a lot older than she is.”

Christy nodded. “You know what she told me when I gave her a ride the other day? She said her mother had a vision of Roseann meeting someone shorter than her and older, who owned his own company and would make her rich. She said when Eddie walked into the restaurant where she waited tables, he kept staring at her. When she went to his table to take his order, he asked her out.
According to Roseann, they fell in love right away.” She realized her words sounded mocking of anyone who claimed to fall in love right away. And yet that’s what had happened to her when she met Dan.

He sat close to her, listening to everything she said. He stared thoughtfully at the beach. “Her mother predicted that? Or do you think Roseann embellished the story a bit?”