When Bobbie Sang the Blues (20 page)

Opening her cell phone, she put her finger on the 9, ready to hit 11. Looking right and left, she hurried to her car, checking the backseat before she got in. Nothing but a towel from jogging.

Her usual escape was Granny’s farm, near Chipley. There she could soak up some fresh country air among wonderful people and, best of all, enjoy her Granny’s good cooking and tender-loving care. But Granny had gone on a church trip to Alabama to work on a Habitat for Humanity project.

Her parents had a spacious home. Even with Bobbie installed in the guest bedroom, the room that once belonged to Christy was unoccupied. She drove slowly down the street, looking right to left. It was late afternoon, and down the street two children played in their front yard. Everything looked normal.

What if her imagination was playing tricks on her? But if she felt this anxious in daylight, how would she feel at midnight? She decided it’d be smarter to stay with her parents tonight than lie awake, jumping at every sound.

When she arrived at her parents’ home, Christy used a plumbing problem as an excuse to stay overnight. She did have a minor problem she’d been procrastinating about, but the grain of truth served her purpose. Her parents were delighted to have her stay. Her dad had settled into his recliner in the den, but Beth and Bobbie were working in the kitchen. A pot of soup simmered on the stove, and Beth pulled a tossed salad out of the refrigerator. The comfort and security of her parents’ home enveloped Christy with loving arms.

“Let’s have a glass of iced tea,” her mother suggested as Christy and Bobbie sat at the table.

“Christy,” Bobbie said, reaching for her hand, “I’ve been talking to Beth about something, and now I’d like to share it with you.”

Christy glanced at her mother and noticed that the end of her nose was red, although her eyes were clear. Unlike J.T., whose nose turned red when his blood pressure climbed, Beth’s nose turned red when she cried.

Christy looked back at Bobbie. “I’m glad you feel free to share it with me,” she said. She welcomed conversation to ease her nerves. She wouldn’t worry her mother and Bobbie about how she felt, but she might speak to her dad when she had the opportunity.

Bobbie was still holding her hand, but she hesitated as though trying to find the right words. “I began drinking when I married Joe Henry and we hung out at the country club. I guess I thought it would make me look sophisticated and important. If I could have seen myself, I’m sure I just looked like the country bumpkin I was. Anyway, the drinking continued over the years. After the second divorce, I lost confidence in myself and felt ugly and unworthy. I had suffered two miscarriages and been told I probably would never have children.”

Beth placed the tea before them and patted Bobbie’s arm.

“After my second divorce, I met a woman who was into antiques. I became fascinated with old things, or rather seeing and bringing back the beauty in old things. I traveled with her, watching how she bought and sold. She liked her evening cocktails, so of course I joined in.

“On weekends I started going to garage sales and flea markets. For a few bucks, I’d come home with the backseat and trunk of my car loaded down. I spent every spare minute refinishing and touching up my finds. I’d finally discovered a passion, and I didn’t care if it made money or not. My neighbor was watching me one Saturday and walked over to buy a couple of things. She suggested I get a booth down at the craft fair.

“I saved my money and made a down payment on a little
building. I worked my fingers to the bone refinishing wood floors, applying varnish, and standing on ladders to paint till I thought I’d drop with exhaustion. A couple of nights I was too tired to drive home, so I slept on a mat in the shop. But I turned that plain building into an adorable shop.

“Then—,” she pushed a half-eaten cookie aside. “Then I met Eddie.” The sparkle in her blue eyes disappeared as quickly as turning off a light. “I’ve wished so many times that we’d never met, but I believe people come into our lives for a reason. We should look for the lesson and move on.

“I was never madly in love with Eddie, but he made me laugh and he seemed important. He played the big shot. Then I got pregnant. With my other two pregnancies, I lost the baby in the first six weeks. But I had carried this one for three months, and my obstetrician told me she thought I would go full term. It was the happiest moment of my life. I thought I could love Eddie since he’d given me the baby I always wanted.

“Eddie and I got married and moved into a small house he’d bought the year before. I got busy making the place into a real home. When I painted the walls, I thought of the baby. Soft blues and pinks and pure white. I quit drinking, even though Eddie went out with the guys and came in reeking of liquor. I didn’t care. I would lie in the darkness, listening to his heavy snore, and rub my stomach and love the baby inside of me.

“Then,” she continued, sighing, “at my next appointment, the doctor couldn’t hear the baby’s heartbeat. They admitted me to the
hospital for tests. I felt certain the baby would be a girl—I’d already named her Angel. But my little angel didn’t survive.

“Afterward, I felt as though everything inside me had turned to stone. I went into a depression—couldn’t even get out of bed. I felt like I’d died with my baby. Eddie told me I’d better get over it, but I couldn’t. I felt like my heart was breaking into a million pieces, and I didn’t care.”

“That’s when you should have called us,” Beth said. “No, you should have called us long before that. But then, I didn’t call you either.” She shook her head and looked sad.

“It’s okay,” Bobbie said. “At that point, I’m not sure it would have mattered. Eddie started gambling, and I overheard him tell his buddy that he won five hundred bucks on a boxing match. I knew he’d been hiding money in a pair of boots in the closet. I saw him, but I never touched his money. After a real bad day, though, I went over, reached in his rubber boot, and took the money.”

She sighed. “I’ll spare you the details, but I drove to a bar and got arrested late that night for drunk driving. When Eddie came to bail me out, he was furious because I’d taken his gambling money. I didn’t want to go back to the way I had been, so when a friend told me about AA, I started going to meetings, got a sponsor, and worked hard to start a new life. That was almost five years ago, and I’ve been sober ever since.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Christy squeezed her aunt’s hand. “I know it wasn’t easy for you to tell me this, but I’m grateful you did.”

Bobbie suddenly looked ashamed and lowered her eyes. “You probably think less of me now.”

“No, I don’t,” Christy said firmly. “I think you are one of the bravest people I’ve ever met. You should tell Seth this story. Neither of us has a problem with alcohol, but we may be able to help someone we meet or one of our friends.”

“I’m planning on starting church after things settle down,” Bobbie said, studying her hands. “In the meantime, Beth gave me some verses.” She looked at Christy. “And unlike my attitude with you, this time I’m grateful.”

Christy got out of her chair and went around to hug Bobbie. “I’m so glad to hear that.”

Later, Christy went to her old bedroom and crawled into the bed she had slept in for so many years. With unsettled thoughts rolling around in her head, she didn’t expect to sleep. But as she snuggled down under one of Granny’s quilts and closed her eyes, she slept like a child watched over by loving parents.

Tuesday

C
hristy sat at the kitchen table, facing her father. The coffee mug that warmed her palms failed to offset the chill crawling over her as she told him everything that had happened the day before.

After hearing the story, her father said nothing for several seconds, a deep frown rumpling his forehead. “Christy, I think you should stay with us for a while.”

“I’ll consider it,” she said, knowing she would go back to her house.

“And while I don’t approve of your lies and the act you pulled, for your own safety, I have a suggestion. Make that phone call to Panada’s office manager. I’m sure you can carry off your act again.” He shook his head, anger flaring in his eyes.

“I know what to do, Dad. I’ll give the name I used yesterday and a false address. I’ll say I’m coming in to look at invitation samples, then find an excuse not to go.”

Her father sighed. “In the meantime, I’ll call Harry Stephens.
I’ll relate all the information you’ve given me about Panada and ask him to look into it. He’s coming down here tomorrow. Maybe he can stop by the printing company on some excuse concerning Bobbie and her unit. That way he can get a close look at Panada.”

“Oh, Dad, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Christy said, reaching for his hand.

“I’ll do this for you on one condition: you don’t ever again in your life take such a foolish chance. You’ve got to quit snooping around and let the police do their job.”

Christy sat back and crossed her arms. “Well, they’ve done a poor job. I don’t think they ever took seriously the information about the guys in the black Mercedes.”

Grant was quiet for several seconds. “I’m afraid that lethal combination of poisons really incriminated Bobbie. And yet I believe the police have something else. They seem so confident.”

Christy’s heartbeat accelerated. “The detectives seemed awfully eager to get into Panada’s unit.”

He nodded. “That’s one of the things that concerns me. If Harry learns that Panada’s a witness for the prosecution, it means Panada happened to be in his unit—maybe unloading stuff from his shop—and heard noises or saw something. If so, Harry can use Panada’s past against them—if this is the same guy.”

As Christy listened, she studied her father. His brown eyes looked worried, and dark stubble shadowed the lower part of his face. He had missed his morning shave. Guilt stabbed her for worrying him, but she had to share this information with him.

She pushed her coffee aside. “Dad, I promise to be a good girl.
But what about those party invitations? I can’t go down there and go through with my dumb act.”

He sighed. “It might be worth the investment to convince him you’re whoever you said you were. And you might consider it a lesson to never again take the chance you took yesterday.”

“But Dad, what if Panada turns out to be Searcy Jance? Wouldn’t you agree I’ve done the world a favor?”

A reluctant grin relaxed the tension on his face. “I would agree, but we haven’t yet crossed that bridge. As soon as Deputy Arnold gets back in town, I’ll go down and meet with him privately.”

Christy nodded. “He has a lot of respect for Pastor Grant Castleman.” She smiled. “As for his daughter, I’m like a pesky little fly he’d love to swat.”

Christy slipped quietly out of the house before her mother and Bobbie got up. After all, the plumber was coming early.

As she drove home, most of Summer Breeze was still asleep. Very little traffic stirred along the main road, but soon the little town would come to life.

She decided to take the long way home, driving past the beach. The emerald water lay smooth as glass, lightly teased by gentle waves silver-tipped under the sun. The little sand creatures were free to roam their world undisturbed, and on the horizon a boat bobbed lazily. Christy felt an intense longing to be on that boat going nowhere in particular. Just enjoying nature.

An older woman walked along the beach in a wide-brimmed
hat and a sheer white shirt billowing over her cotton sundress. She strolled barefoot, delighted by the little sandpiper running ahead of her. The world belonged to her this morning, from the sparkling white sand to the blue horizon.

Christy slowed down, easing past so as not to interrupt her thoughts. She watched the woman bend down, lift a large shell and study it carefully, then place it back in the sand. The white beach stretched for a mile, touched only by her footprints.

Christy wondered if she would be like this woman someday, enjoying the autumn of her life here in Summer Breeze. Would she stroll the beach alone as the woman did now? Would she have grown children, or would she say good-bye to Dan and remain single? Maybe it was her destiny, the divine plan for her, to live life on her own. She preferred the words “on her own” to “alone.” She would treasure her world, write her books, and be kind to others. It seemed like a good, simple life. Why complicate it?

She thought of Seth, wishing he could mend the break with her parents. Maybe she’d invite him over to spend the night. It would be good to have him there the first night back in her house, and her father wouldn’t worry so much.

She guided her car onto a narrow paved road, where flowering shrubs and strewn seashells led away from the beach, and drove toward her neighborhood. The smell of bacon wafted through an open window, as front doors slammed and garage doors rolled up. Another world unfolded, reminding her she had left behind the serenity of the seascape and the otherworld feel she cherished.

Here was reality. Women herding children with schoolbooks
and lunchboxes into cars. A frantic-looking man dropping his briefcase in his race to the car. Newspapers at the curb.

Newspapers that told of the murder, the arrest, the prime suspect living here—right here—in Summer Breeze, where barbecues and ice cream socials dominated the town talk. People enjoyed their front porches, their picnics at the beach, and the backyard get-togethers with neighbors they knew and trusted, and they resented anyone who intruded on their peaceful existence. After all, many were transplants from cities full of crime and traffic. Didn’t they bring their children here to protect them from all the atrocities “out there”? And now the silky fabric of their new existence had been torn, the tear threatening to rip apart all they had worked so hard to create, all they wanted to believe could exist for them here.

She sighed. She could relate to their feelings. The tear in their silk sheet of contentment had interrupted her life as well. The work facing her now was not her passion—writing her novel. It was the work of picking apart each fact in this gruesome murder, just as she would pick apart the flaws in the stories she wrote.

Bobbie. Guilty or innocent? One thing nagged at Christy, and she knew she’d have to ask about it before long. There was a gap in the time sequence. If Jack went to the Last Chance Bar at eleven thirty, he had already left Bobbie. Her mother had originally thought Bobbie went to her room around one o’clock. That left ninety minutes unaccounted for. Not a big thing, but in a trial, the prosecution might pounce on it.

Her mother claimed she couldn’t say for sure, that she may have heard Bobbie up in the bathroom at one. And of course Bobbie
would say, “Oh honey, that’s right. I got up to use the bathroom, and I looked at the clock and it was one, but then I went right back to sleep.”

Christy thought of Dan’s question:
“How well do you really know her
?”

She was learning more about her aunt all the time. The fact that Bobbie had admitted she was a recovering alcoholic and then told the sordid story of her past made Christy respect her honesty. Did that honesty reach to all areas of Bobbie’s world?

If Bobbie was innocent, someone had better prove it in a hurry.

Christy parked the car, then got out and scanned her yard. A light rain during the night had softened the ground around her shrubs enough to reveal any footprints in the yard or tracks on the porch, but she saw none. Everything seemed in order. Nevertheless, she reached for her cell phone and called her dad as she unlocked her door. He stayed on the line while she inspected every room and closet in her house.

“Everything’s fine,” she said, “but I think I’ll call Seth to come over and spend a couple of nights.”

Her father agreed, and she said good-bye. She locked the door behind her, picked up the phone, and called Seth, getting his voice mail. “Hey, brother. Call me when you get this message. I’d like you to come over tonight.” He was probably still asleep after a late night.

She hung up and hit the button on her message machine. Jack’s gravelly voice vibrated through the first message: “Hey, little gal. Give me a call. I’d like us to talk.”

“Okay, Jack. We’ll talk,” she said, reaching into the fruit bowl for a banana.

The other message was from Dan, left at six thirty last night. “Hi, Christy. Sorry I missed you. Could you call me when you get in? We need to talk.”

Since she hadn’t come in, she hadn’t called. She wondered what he thought of that. She wasn’t ready to talk with him yet. She needed to work through her feelings so she would be okay if they broke up for good.

She sank down at the kitchen bar and reached for the phone to dial Jack’s number. As she did, she opened the drawer and pulled out her journal. She studied the first page where she had written down favorite proverbs, favorite lines of poetry, books she wanted to read again. She read a favorite poem while the phone rang, and she felt the lovely words replenishing her soul.

“Hey there,” she said when Jack answered.

“I don’t eat hay. Where were you last night?”

“At my parents’ home, drinking tea and eating cookies with your favorite girl.”

“You’re my favorite girl.”

She finished the banana and aimed the peel at the open trash can. Missed. “I don’t think I’m your favorite girl anymore, and I have to tell you, I’m a teeny bit jealous.”

Jack’s hearty chuckle filled the wires, lifting her spirits. “Is that what’s got your nose out of joint? You’ve been acting like I forgot to brush my teeth or use my deodorant.”

She laughed. “No, I still love you, Jack. I just got upset about…”

“My white lie.”

“That was a black one.”

Jack made a disgruntled noise. “You asked if I ran into Bodine or talked to him. I didn’t do either. Just watched him. And I didn’t want Cora Lee beating up on J.T. I just wanted to be sure Bobbie was safe, Christy. How would it have sounded if I’d said, ‘Yeah, sure, I followed that little punk to the bar. Then I sat there figuring out the best way to kill him. Being a reasonable kind of guy, naturally I kicked him in the head and stuffed him in my girlfriend’s storage unit.’ Does that make sense to you?”

“The part about you trying to protect J.T. and Bobbie makes perfect sense. The rest is a joke, and we’re past joking here, which you already know.”

“I know. But the wise guys downtown have already been out here to hammer me. They said, ‘Mr. Watson,’—with a lot of sarcastic emphasis on the
Mr
.—‘you must have forgotten to tell us you happened to stop off at the same bar as the guy you threatened.’ I snapped my fingers and said, ‘You’re right. That did slip my mind.’”

“Jack, I hope you didn’t play with them on this.” She frowned, afraid he had.

“Nah, they wouldn’t appreciate my jokes. I told them the truth, and I want you to know that. Also, I guess you’re still praying for me. I didn’t remember seeing Goober Fields, my neighbor down the road, but he was coming back from his barn, having suffered through labor pains with his prize mare. He saw me drive by at ten minutes past twelve. Says he’ll swear I passed his house then because he looked at the kitchen clock.”

Christy digested that information, her hopes rising. “How did he happen to tell the police about this?” Christy asked.

“Two detectives came to his door, asking questions about me. He told them what a charming, lovable guy I am.”

“Sure, he did. I don’t even know Goober Fields.” She laughed at the name in spite of herself.

“You wouldn’t. He and his wife bought the farm next to mine this summer. He had a peanut farm up in Alabama but got sick of peanuts. Came down here to fool with horses. I never see him much, because we don’t exactly live the same lifestyle.”

As she listened, she reached into the fridge for juice, the cordless phone propped between her head and shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“He’s a real nice guy. In fact, he and his wife, Ann, are the money behind the building project on that little church down the road.”

She smiled at that. “Good. Maybe one Sunday he’ll drag you down there.” She thought back to the other things he had told her. “So the detectives established he was a reliable witness and believed that you were home when he said. That way your time is pretty much accounted for from the time you left the Blues Club.”

“Yeah, and I told them if they’d witnessed the kind of scene Bodine made, they wouldn’t go straight home without being sure he went home too. I mean, if they cared about their woman.”

She wanted to reach out and give Jack a hug. Maybe she’d bake up a batch of his favorite brownies. “So…you aren’t in trouble for lying to them?”