Bone to Be Wild (34 page)

“Boy, didn't I learn that the hard way.” I scrubbed at Roscoe a little more. The mud had bonded with his coat.

Jitty's bracelets chinked on her wrist as she sat down beside me on the steps. Roscoe growled, but it was more at the fact he was immersed in hot water than at Jitty. I wanted to ask my ghostly comrade why she was singing a funeral dirge, but I knew it was pointless. She never told me what the future held, if she knew herself. I was just glad for her company. I finished rubbing the mud off Harold's dog.

“Things are always darkest before the dawn, Sarah Booth.”

“You're hanging out with Aunt Loulane.”

Jitty laughed. “I take good company where I can find it.”

“Riddle me this, Jitty. What is the point of falling in love, because it always, always ends in hurt. Cece is the prime example. She's been so careful. She's worked so hard to be who she is, and she's held her trust in check. It's so hard for her to allow intimacy. She risked so much with Jaytee, and I am afraid she'll suffer now.”

“Caring for others is risky, whether it's romantic or the love of a mother for a child. You know all this. So does Cece. The stakes are high, but the rewards…” Jitty chuckled. “It's been over a hundred and fifty years, and I can still remember sitting with Coker on the front porch of our house on a night just like this. The moonlight on the curve of his cheek, the flash of his eyes, his long fingers laced with mine. Those memories are worth a lot of pain, Sarah Booth. Time takes away a lot of the sting and leaves most of the pleasure. Think how terrible to end up an old woman without those memories to sustain you.”

She was right. Even with all the pain Graf had caused me, he'd also given me wonderful memories. And the knowledge I could love so deeply. Whatever happened with Jaytee, Cece would have the same.

“Gotta go,” Jitty said, standing abruptly. She'd returned to her regular appearance. Janis had faded away.

“Stay while I wash Sweetie Pie.” It was time to finish the doggy baths.

“Be alert. Stay strong. Keep your heart open.”

She was gone that fast.

The back door of the club opened and Scott was silhouetted in the light. My nerves were so on edge I almost yelled at him to get out of the doorway. He was perfectly framed for someone to shoot. I held my peace, and he closed the door and came down the steps into the darkness.

“Need help?” he asked.

“Sure.”

He grabbed one of the empty buckets and went inside, returning in a few moments with more warm water. He slowly poured it over the grumbling Roscoe as I rinsed out the soap. Squeaky clean, Roscoe took off running and shaking and giving little yips of pleasure or discontent, it was impossible to tell.

“What really happened at Bijou's?” Scott asked.

“Pretty much what we said.”

“Okay, then tell me the part you left out, because your face tells a different story.”

Sweetie responded to my whistle, and I set to work on her. “How much do you really know about Jaytee?” I asked.

“He's a fine harmonica player.”

I couldn't argue that point, but it wasn't what I was after and Scott knew it. “Just tell me.”

“He had some trouble when he was younger. I know about it. Why are you asking about Jaytee?”

While I wouldn't tell Cece—yet—I did tell Scott what I'd seen. We finished bathing Sweetie Pie in silence. In the light falling from the kitchen window, I couldn't clearly see his face so I couldn't judge his reaction. Rinsed and freed from my grip on her collar, Sweetie shook water over both of us and then hauled boogie after Roscoe. A little more filth didn't faze me at all.

“Tell me about Jaytee's trouble.”

“He asked me to keep it to myself, but Jaytee worked as an investment broker on Wall Street for a year. He got in over his head with bad investments.”

“I checked into his background. I didn't find a mention of a career in finance, much less inappropriate behavior.” Was I that terrible of an investigator? “Not a word.”

“Jaytee ended up testifying for the feds. He's in witness protection. Changed his name, gave him a new identity.”

“You have got to be kidding me. The whole background, with the brother, Beegee, Teepee, whatever—”

“It's all a fake.”

Well no damn wonder I wasn't getting any callbacks from Beegee Johnson. “How can he be in witness protection and be part of a blues band?”

“It's not like we're the Rolling Stones, Sarah Booth. And he's changed, physically. He lost sixty pounds of desk flab once he started playing music, and when he accidentally broke his nose in a bar fight in a Paris club, he had plastic surgery. Changed his appearance completely.”

I didn't say anything because I felt gut-punched. At last, I managed, “You should have told me.”

“The whole point of witness protection is to build a new identity. He didn't intend to tell me. I stumbled on some passport issues he was having and he finally told me. I chose to protect his identity because I thought I knew him.”

Thought
being the operative word. “Scott, I'm worried the attacks on the club are all much bigger than just a religious cult having a hate on for music or liquor or sin. Or Frisco Evans being mad because you one-upped him and bought the club, or even Gertrude being out to hurt anyone I care about because she thinks my mother betrayed a secret. Somehow this blues club is sitting in the middle of something else.”

“What do you think it is?” Scott asked.

“I don't know. But I have to find out before another innocent person is hurt.”

Harold arrived, and we all went inside the club together, including the dogs. Tired and happy for a warm place to rest, they curled on the floor near the kitchen door. Pluto paced the bar. The health department would be on Scott's ass if they saw the cat, but in the long list of worries we faced, a health code violation was barely a blip.

I desperately needed to tell Coleman what I'd learned about Jaytee's new identity, but I knew better than to call him. He'd find me when he was finished at Hemlock Manor. Until then, I had no choice but to cool my jets and support my friends.

Scott had news from the hospital. Mike had shown improvement during the day. The doctor was talking about letting him go home in a day or two if he continued to heal. The extreme emotions of the day had taken a toll on all of us, and we lined up along the bar for a drink. Cece played the role of bartender. She was so happy that Jaytee wasn't hurt she almost sparkled. I plastered a smile on my face and kept it there—after Tinkie had taken me to the ladies' room to wash the blood off my face. My scratches were only superficial, but I felt better with a clean face.

Tinkie was still angry with me, but it was wearing off. She sat beside me at the bar. I was busting to tell her about Jaytee's financial background, but I'd promised Scott. Things were so complicated between friends and the secrets we shared. Scott hadn't revealed Jaytee's real name, and if he panned out to be a good guy, I wasn't interested in knowing anything else.

The bar's back door cracked open and Sweetie and Roscoe went nuts. Tatiana stuck her head inside. “Everything okay?”

I felt guilty I hadn't contacted her. Someone should have called and asked her to join us. Scott stepped forward and brought her into the bar with his arm around her shoulders. “A lot's been going on, Tatiana. We were catching up.”

“Tell me,” she said. She took her place behind the bar. “What happened to your face, Sarah Booth?”

“I tripped and fell.” I didn't want to go into detail.

“That's too bad.” She looked around. “Where's Jaytee?”

“He had some business to take care of.” It was Cece who offered the explanation.

“Are you going to open the bar this weekend?” Tatiana asked Scott. “I need to stay busy. When I'm at the apartment, all I think about is Koby.”

“My plans are to open Saturday night,” Scott said.

The news cheered all of us. “Who'll play keyboard?” Zeb asked.

“There are a couple of local guys who came by and offered to fill in until Mike was back at it. The community has been really supportive.”

“Except for the jackass who keeps shooting people,” Zeb said.

“I somehow don't think the people behind the shootings are local,” Scott said, taking everyone by surprise.

“Do you have a lead?” Tatiana asked. “When I find the people behind killing Koby … bad things are in store for them.”

“We all feel the same way,” Cece said. “When Coleman finds the shooter, and he will, the criminals will go to prison for a long time.”

“I hope they burn in hell,” Tatiana said.

“Tatiana, this has been horrible for you. I worry because you don't have people here.” Tinkie spoke gently. “Maybe it would be easier on you if you went back to Austin. We love having you here, but this must be hard.”

“I come to the bar late at night when I can't sleep. I feel closer to Koby here. When he called to talk to me, he was so excited about what the club could be and how he was proud to be a part of it. He said he'd found a home for us, and a place where we both could fit together in a bigger picture.”

Tatiana wasn't a crier, but Tinkie teared up. I picked up a bar napkin and passed it to my partner.

“How did you and Koby meet?” Cece asked. “It may help to talk. We didn't know Koby that well, but we liked what we knew.”

I didn't think I was ready for a therapy session, but there seemed no way to avoid it. Besides, I was behind the curve on checking into the bartender's background. If the manager at the Austin bar had returned my call, I'd missed it while I was tied up on Mason's floor. Better to get the info from the source, anyway.

“Oh, we met in a bar. Didn't Koby tell you?”

“No,” Scott said. “He didn't. But we didn't really have a lot of time to talk. We were all so busy preparing to open, and we were in New Orleans to play for the Black and Orange Ball. I left Koby to handle the details of the club. A lot of the personal information got pushed to the back row.”

“We'd like to hear it now, though,” Cece said.

Not me. I didn't want to hear a sob story. I had struggled to bury my own feelings, and I feared listening to Tatiana's grief would ignite my own. I couldn't get up and walk outside. Not right now. In a moment I would escape, using a cigarette for an excuse. Now I would simply endure.

“Koby and I met at this biker bar,” Tatiana began. The story of their courtship unfolded, two people with the same occupation who liked the same music. There was nothing remarkable in the story, except they'd found deeper feelings.

Tatiana poured another round of drinks for everyone and Cece snapped photos with her phone. “I'll make an album for the bar,” she said.

“Good idea,” Harold said. “I have a camera in the car. Let me take a few, too.”

“Now that I've refreshed all of your drinks, I think I'll head home.” Tatiana came out from behind the bar. “You've made me feel better. I want to go home and rest. The bar is reopening tomorrow. It's a big event. I'll be available, Scott, to help with any last minute details.”

He gave her a hug. “Thanks. You know you're part of the bar family.”

“I appreciate it.” She was at the door when Harold snapped a photo of her. The flash made her flinch, and he apologized.

“Not a problem,” she said. “See you guys Saturday evening.”

 

20

By the time Harold finished with the photos, we'd downed our drinks and stood to leave. My cell phone rang, and I checked the number. It was local, but I didn't recognize it.

“Ms. Delaney?” A female voice asked.

“Yes?”

“This is Nandy. You have to help me. Someone beat up Curtis. He's hurt pretty bad but he won't let us call an ambulance or go to the hospital.”

“We'll be right there.” I hung up and signaled Tinkie. “We have to go.”

“What's up?” Harold asked.

“Someone attacked Curtis Hebert. Nandy called. We need to get over there.”

“We can all go,” Scott offered.

“No. Tinkie and I will check it out. I don't think we should show up en masse. I don't know how badly Curtis is hurt, or how he wants to handle it. Just be careful. Everyone.”

“Take my camera,” Harold said. “Be sure and document his injuries. The prosecution will be able to use the photos.”

“Excellent idea.” I took the camera. Mine was still at Bijou's place. Hopefully, Coleman would retrieve it. Speaking of Coleman, I checked my watch. Like it or not I meant to call him while I was driving. He should have finished at Hemlock Manor by now.

Harold agreed to take Sweetie and Pluto to his house until I could retrieve them, and Tinkie and I set off. I was dirty, tired, and had a bump on my head. I didn't have a lot of reserve to deal with another person who'd been hurt because of Farley and his miscreants.

Coleman didn't answer his phone when I called. Tinkie even tried, thinking perhaps he was still annoyed with me. Both calls went straight to voice mail, which led me to believe he was occupied.

“We'll handle this,” Tinkie said. “But we'll call DeWayne, too. No more running into danger without someone knowing where we are.”

The Heberts lived on the outskirts of Zinnia in a modest brick home that showed a lot of love and attention to detail. The yard, filled with mums and fruit trees, won Lawn of the Month from the local garden club at least four times a year.

I pulled to a stop, and Nandy came flying out of the front door to meet us. “Curtis won't go to the hospital. I tried to convince him, but he won't.”

We followed her inside. Curtis sat at the kitchen table, an ice pack on his right eye and blood on his shirt from cuts on his face. Someone had worked him over.