Bone to Be Wild (35 page)

“Did you see who attacked you?” Tinkie asked as Patricia Ann made coffee for us.

“He came from behind. He put a cloth sack over my head and then whaled away on me. I never got a look at him.”

“Where did it happen?” I asked.

“I was taking the garbage can out to the street. I guess he was hiding in the bushes.”

Curtis was hurt, but not seriously. Nandy was my bigger concern. She was about to come apart at the seams.

“This is all my fault,” she said. “I never should have let Curtis and Patricia Ann help me. I dragged them into my mess.”

Patricia Ann put her arms around the girl and held her. “None of this is your fault. You can't be responsible for the meanness of others.”

“We'll check around and see if we can find anything outside,” I offered. “Would you mind if we took pictures of your injuries?”

“Go ahead.” Curtis lowered the ice pack while I snapped photos from every angle. “I'm not hurt that bad. I'm just ready to knock some heads. I would have gotten some good licks in if I hadn't been blindsided.”

Tinkie put the camera on the table. “I wish you'd let us take you to the hospital. Doc Sawyer should check you over, just to be on the safe side.”

Curtis shook his head. “I'm not hurt. But next time I'll be prepared.”

Nandy picked up the camera. “Mind if I look through the pictures?”

Tinkie waved approval. “Have at it.”

She blinked against the tears as she scanned backward. When her face paled, I was staring right at her.

“What?”

“That's Wanda Tatum. She and Fred Doleman are Farley's right-hand helpers. How did you get a picture of her?”

I rushed to look and Tinkie was right beside me. Tatiana stood in the doorway of the bar as she prepared to leave. “
That's
Wanda Tatum?” Tinkie asked.

“She looks different, but that's her. She has on makeup and shaved her head.”

“The tattoos?” I asked.

“Yeah, she was a biker babe before she came to Zinnia and met Reverend Farley. He uses her as an example in his sermons about how anyone can turn her life around.”

Moments from the past few days cascaded in my brain. Where I ended was a mental image of Tatiana standing behind the bar asking Scott if he intended to open. I put the heel of my hand on my forehead. It was all right there. Tatiana showing up when no one knew about her, Koby's flirtatiousness with me when he allegedly had a girlfriend on the way to live with him, Tatiana's lack of tears or emotion. I'd racked it up to her being stoic or hard. Hell, no, she'd never met Koby and didn't give a fig about him. We'd been infiltrated and not a single one of us had ever suspected. The asp had been clasped to our bosom. And maybe it wasn't Jaytee.

“You were at the bar opening,” I said. “You didn't recognize Wanda then?”

Curtis answered. “Nandy was only in the kitchen for five minutes. She brought more cornmeal. She's underage. I was out of line to ask her to run off that creep wearing sunglasses and blocking the kitchen door, and Nandy refused. She never had an opportunity to see the bartender.”

“We have to get back to Playin' the Bones,” I told Tinkie.

“Tatiana is up to no good.” The same thoughts had obviously been coursing through her mind.

“She's planning something terrible! Call DeWayne while I drive. Tell him Coleman has to come. And call the fire department. Send them out there now. If it isn't on fire, it will be.” I wasn't a psychic, but it didn't take a fortune-teller to add up the clues and come to the conclusion that the blues club would be the perfect target to torch. Mason had said something about fire when he was holding me captive on Bijou's property, and I'd thought it was Dahlia House he meant to burn, but now it seemed more likely he'd meant the club. If the club was gone, Scott couldn't open. If he couldn't open, he'd lose his investment and never be able to recoup it. The property at the crossroads so valued by blues aficionados would soon be on the market again.

Curtis Hebert's beating might have been just a diversion, a way to assure Tatiana and her co-creeps that we'd leave the club so they could do their dirty work. The shocking part was that they didn't just lock us in the club and burn it to the ground with us in it. They'd killed one person and tried to kill another. What were a few more bodies?

“Be careful,” Nandy whispered to us as we hurried out the door.

“I promise,” I told her with as much assurance as I could muster.

*   *   *

The first sign of trouble was the empty security post. The paid guards, who were supposed to man the barricade 24/7, had vanished. Nightshade Security had come highly recommended to Scott. And yet they'd allowed someone to drive onto the premises with a shotgun and kill Koby Shaver. Now they were gone. Another example of how easily we were wooed into a sense of safety that never existed.

“We should wait for Coleman,” Tinkie said. She had her gun in her lap. Mine was still somewhere at Bijou's. It struck me that it would be a bitter moment if my gun was used to harm someone I loved.

I pulled off the road. The dark outline of the club was about a hundred yards in the distance. “We have the element of surprise,” I reminded Tinkie.

“And we don't have the dogs or cat to help us,” she pointed out to me.

“We do have the gun and Harold's camera.”

She snorted. “What's your plan? To snap bad photos and humiliate them on social media?”

“At least you still have a sense of humor.”

“It's required to put up with you.”

And with that statement, I knew our friendship was back on track. “Let's sneak down to the club and spy.”

“If we get caught, they could very well put us in the building and roast us like suckling piglets.”

I thumped Tinkie's arm. “What an awful image.”

“What? You'd rather be a Boston butt? Maybe a shoulder roast.”

“Stop it.” It felt good to giggle, but we had to keep our concentration to avoid being caught. “Ready?”

She checked the gun. “Yeah. I'm as ready as I'll ever be.”

The stars gave us enough light to navigate the rutted road without injury, and we reached the bar in silence. The stench of gasoline hit me like a fist. I saw movement and managed to pick out a black-clad figure hauling a heavy jug of what could only be gasoline around the side of the club.

Playin' the Bones was a new building created out of weathered and worn lumber to look old. It would go up like a haystack, especially with accelerant poured all around it. Beside me, Tinkie raised the pistol she carried and pointed at the figure. I put a hand on her wrist. “Don't.”

“I thought we came to stop them from burning the club.”

“In the movies, if you shoot someone who is holding gasoline, the spark sets off an explosion. We could blow the club up.”

“My memory of science class tells me that isn't right, but I'm not willing to risk it,” Tinkie said, lowering the gun.

“Let's get closer. If that's Tatiana and she's working alone, the two of us can take her. At least until Coleman gets here.”

“It would be a lot easier to shoot her in the leg.”

“Then let me lure her away from the club. I don't care if you blow her up, just not the building.”

“Details, details.”

The black-clad figure had disappeared, and I signaled Tinkie to go right. I went left. If Tatiana spotted one of us, the other could attack from behind her. Having a partner was one of the best things in the world. I crept to the edge of the building and got down on my hands and knees to peek around from a low vantage point. I saw her soaking the wood with the gasoline. It almost pushed me into rushing her, but I controlled myself.

It was only when I saw movement behind Tatiana and knew Tinkie was in position that I gathered myself to tackle the little arsonist. I launched myself like a sprinter coming off the block at the Olympics just as Tatiana reached into her pocket for a cigarette lighter and struck the flint.

I hit her low and hard, knocking her so hard the plastic gas tank flew up in the air and spilled over both of us. Gasoline rained on us and the Zippo's flame caught the fumes. I wasn't certain what happened because the concussion of the explosion sent me flying. I heard Tinkie scream, and I felt heat on my arms and back.

I was on fire!

*   *   *

I hit the dirt and rolled, trying to smother the flames in the cold Delta soil. Someone else was screaming, a woman, and an awful smell surrounded me. When the wave of soapy water splashed over me, it was almost more of a shock than the explosion.

“Get up, Sarah Booth!
She's
on fire!” Tinkie said. “
You're
just smoldering. Help me put her out!”

I scrambled upright. Pulling off my water-soaked coat, I ran at Tatiana and used the coat to suffocate the flames.

“Here comes the fire truck.” Tinkie pointed toward the club's driveway as we rolled Tatiana in the dirt. The flames had been extinguished, but she'd suffered burns on her hands and face. Her clothes had protected the majority of her body. The stench of burning feathers from her down jacket made me want to puke.

“You put me out with dirty dog water?” I asked Tinkie.

“You're lucky you left the water out here.”

I turned to the club, relieved to see that the fire hadn't caught there. The building would have gone up like fat lighter. When the gas container exploded, it had pushed us away from the club instead of toward it. The cloud of flames had missed the fuel-soaked wood.

Tinkie's lips moved, but my hearing was fading in and out. A ringing sound roared in my eardrums. Gee. How in the hell did I go from being abducted and abused to blown up? The day had not improved.

The firemen arrived and quickly took over care of Tatiana. Tinkie hustled me toward one of the young men who examined me and pronounced me okay. I had miraculously escaped serious injury. My heavy coat and gloves had taken the punishment.

“I'm not hurt,” I assured Tinkie, speaking really loud because my hearing was still impaired.

“I wouldn't go that far,” Tinkie said. “Wait until you see your hair.”

I ripped off my gloves and patted my head. She wasn't lying. My hair was mostly gone. Singed off. In a panic, I felt my ears. Both were intact. Hair would regrow, though I'd look pretty pitiful for the next few months.

“Sarah Booth, you saved the club.”

The ringing had begun to diminish. “It was a team effort.”

“You figured out that Tatiana would burn the club and you stopped her.” She took a blanket from one of the firemen and covered me in it. She leaned down to whisper, “Coleman is going to be so pissed at you. You almost blew yourself up.”

“I know. I get to have all the fun.” If anyone dared to fuss at me about anything, I would throw a hissy fit on the spot. “Why was Tatiana burning the club?”

“I don't know. I've been a little busy, watching my best friend blow up, but I'll get on it right away.”

“Ha, ha!” This was going to be a joke that grew old quickly.

“You should have seen yourself flying through the air.”

I held up one hand, palm facing her. “Stop it, before I have to hurt you.”

“You're sort of cute in a Sinead O'Connor way. If only you could sing.”

“Stop it!” My ribs were sore and it hurt to laugh.

“You are so bald if a mosquito tried to land on your head it would skid and break its neck.”

“Tinkie!”

We both laughed, a welcome release, the insane joy at being alive. The story could have had a much different ending.

“I love you,” Tinkie said, hugging me hard. “There are days I want to kill you, but I love you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“Doc Sawyer will be relieved that we made it through a case without one of us ending up at the hospital.”

She was right, up to a point. “This case isn't complete. A lot of things aren't clear. Let's see what Tatiana … Wanda can tell us.”

Wanda sat on a cot in the back of the EMT van as a paramedic worked on her burns. Two stout firemen blocked any attempt at escape. I motioned for Tinkie to follow me to the van. The firemen stepped back when I requested some privacy. I had some questions for the pretend fianc
é
e.

“You almost blew me up,” she said angrily.

“Right. I was the one holding a plastic gas tank with fuel still in it and flicking a Bic.”

“It was a Zippo.” She had to be hurting but I gave her credit for not crying. One cheek had blistered, and her hands looked scalded. She was in for a painful recovery.

“Oh, yeah, the technicalities make it so different,” Tinkie said.

“What's going on with Farley? He may hate the blues and Scott's band, but there's more to this.”

“Sinners have to be punished.” She refused to look at either of us.

“Don't be a fool,” Tinkie said softly. “You're going to take the blame for a lot of serious crimes and Farley and the men of the church are going to walk away scot-free.”

“Leave me alone.” The slightest quaver in her voice gave me hope.

“You don't have to talk, but I think you will,” I said. “Let me put it to you plain. You're a female, and Reverend Farley and his associates will be more than glad to let you take the blame for all of this. Think about it. You're here, caught red-handed. You think they'll voluntarily step up and cop to their part? If you believe that, you're delusional. In the end, this will be all
your
idea, your plan, you acting alone.”

“They wouldn't do that.” Worry darkened her eyes.

“Have you seen the way the rest of the women are treated? Do you really think they view you differently? They let you think you're one of the men, but get real. They used you. They used you worse than any other female in the church. They got you to hurt people who would have been your friends.”