Bone to Be Wild (7 page)

“Did they see who was driving the black truck? Were they doing their jobs or not?” Fear, anger, and sorrow are a potent mixture.

“DeWayne is questioning the ones on the gate now.”

“Sarah Booth, are you okay?” Scott, visibly shaken, vaulted down the steps and came over to us.

“I wasn't hit. I came out for a cigarette.” I indicated the picnic table twenty yards away under the tree. “This black truck whipped around the club really fast. I didn't think anything about it, except the lights were off. I thought it was someone who'd had too much to drink.” I couldn't stop the rush of words. “I heard the gunshot. They cut Koby down and fired at me. When the truck sped away, a gun barrel was sticking out the passenger-side window.”

“Bring her inside,” Scott suggested to Coleman. “She's freezing.”

Indeed, my teeth were chattering, but I wasn't really cold. I was in shock. Doc Sawyer, the family physician who'd cared for me since birth, would probably give me ammonia to sniff if he were on the scene.

Coleman helped me through the kitchen door of the club and into the interior where he sat me at a table. Tinkie and Cece were immediately beside me, each chafing one of my cold hands.

“Oh, Sarah Booth, thank goodness you weren't shot,” Tinkie said. She brushed a tear off her cheek. “What were you doing outside anyway? It's cold.” She rubbed my fingers harder.

“I went for a smoke.” In the light and warmth of the club, my wits were coming back to me. “I went out the front door and was sitting at the picnic table. I don't think the people in the truck saw me at first.”

“Doc Sawyer is on the way to examine…” Coleman didn't finish the sentence. “DeWayne is photographing the scene. We'll try for tire tracks, but a lot of vehicles have driven through there in the last few hours. Tinkie, would you make a list of every customer here. Get contact information and tell them to come by the courthouse tomorrow to give a statement.”

“Sure thing.” She set to work.

Cece came out of the kitchen with a steaming mug of coffee and handed it to me. She stroked my hair, which was almost my undoing. That tiny maternal gesture cracked my rigid control.

“Did you get a look at the truck?” Coleman asked me.

I focused. “It was black, extended cab, long wheel base. Like a F-150 or 1500. I couldn't tell the make or model.” I thought hard. “The gun barrel extended out the passenger-side window. I thought it was two people, but it could have just been the driver, using the window frame to rest the gun on. The truck slowed before the shot. When he saw me, he fired again, but the angle was bad.”

DeWayne came into the room and signaled for Coleman to follow him outside. My girlfriends immediately swooped in closer. “We should be outside, looking for evidence.” I tried to get up, but Cece pushed me back into my chair.

“Not on your life, Nancy Drew. You're staying right here. A man was gunned down in front of you. Coleman will share information. Let him and DeWayne do their jobs. And Doc. You'll have everything you need in the morning.”

She was right, but it felt wrong to sit. A man had died—for no reason. The threats whose seriousness I'd questioned had proven deadly. Whoever was after Scott and the band, they meant business, and I feared this was just the beginning.

The other band members put away the equipment and helped Curtis Hebert clean up the kitchen. No one wanted to leave, but there seemed no reason to stay. One by one, the band members and club help left as Coleman talked to them and dismissed them. At last, it was just my friends and me.

“Sarah Booth, let me and Tinkie drive you home,” Oscar suggested. “We'll get you in the house and in bed with a toddy. Maybe Doc can give you something to sleep.”

It wasn't a bad idea, but I knew I wouldn't sleep. No point worrying my friends. “I'm really good. I'm getting my balance back.” I waved everyone away. “Go home. I'll do the same after I talk with Coleman one more time.”

Jaytee and Cece were at the bar, talking quietly, waiting to lock the building. I hated to go outside, but I couldn't delay any longer. By now, Doc had probably taken the body to the hospital for the official autopsy.

Tinkie came over with Oscar to check on me one last time before they left. I shooed them home with promises I would go straight to bed. Tinkie leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Take Coleman or Scott with you. You don't need to be alone.”

At least she made me smile. “I'll take that under advisement.”

She gave me a tight hug before she exited. When I stepped into the night, I saw Coleman talking with DeWayne and Scott.

“Sarah Booth, I'll drop you home,” Coleman said. “I'll need a statement tomorrow, but for right now, you need some rest.”

“I can take her,” Scott offered.

“I can take myself.” I wasn't some helpless damsel who needed a big strong man.

Coleman put a hand on my shoulder. “Go with Scott. I have work to do.”

“I'm perfectly fine—”

“Gertrude Strom made bail about three hours ago.”

He could have walloped me in the face with a two-by-four and it would have had less impact. “She what?”

“I don't know how she came up with the money, but she did. So I want Scott to take you home and make sure the house is secure. I trust Sweetie Pie and Pluto would alert you to any intruders, but it's best to check and be safe.”

“I can stay the night to make sure no one bothers her,” Scott said.

It was clear the two men had decided my fate.

“Fine.” I said, because I was too angry to say anything else. The woman who had shot my fianc
é
was out of jail, psychiatric evaluations that proved she was dangerous be damned. She was free to torment me, and she had made it plain, more than once, she meant to harm me.

A thought struck me. “You don't think Gertrude shot Koby, do you?”

Coleman looked as angry as I felt. “It doesn't make sense, but what Gertrude did to you and Graf wasn't exactly the scheme of a balanced person. It's a possibility I have to consider. So yes, it's possible, which is why it would be best if Scott stayed with you. I'd do it myself, but DeWayne and I have some business we can't delay.”

“What business?”

“Sarah Booth, go home and stay there. Scott, I'm counting on you to make that happen.”

There was no arguing with Coleman when he'd made an executive decision. If I didn't leave, he might arrest me.

*   *   *

Scott had driven me home, and I sat on the steps while he went inside to mix cocktails. I loved the view from the front porch. Looking out over the land, I felt caught in the stream of place and time.

A pale silvery glow extended from the fields of Dahlia House to the far horizon. Moonlight touched the cotton bolls with magic. Far away, I heard the chant of workers in the field.

A clear baritone rang out, “Hy-po-crite and the con-cu-bine, livin' away among the swine.”

A chorus of male and female voices answered, “Aunty, did you hear when Jesus rose?”

The baritone returned, “They run to God with their lips and tongue and leave the heart behind.”

And the chorus repeated the same line.

The chop of the hoes in the field, the rustle of the cotton plants—I heard it all as the workers moved inch-by-inch down the rows.

Of course it was a fancy. Mechanical pickers now harvested the cotton, and it was the dead of night, the bright moon not discounted. The silvered fields were empty.

The front door creaked open and Sweetie Pie bounded over to where I sat on the front steps and licked my cheek. She flopped beside me and put her head in my lap.

A rattle of ice in a glass signaled Scott's quiet approach. “I should be making drinks for you,” I told him as I took the proffered glass. “I'm so sorry about Koby.” The reality still hadn't settled in, but I knew Scott had lost a friend.

“It's hard to believe.” He sat next to me on the steps and Sweetie gave him a low, mournful groan. Pluto sat a dozen paces back. He missed Graf. He'd lost weight, though he was still a stout kitty, and seemed sluggish and unmotivated.

“What if it was Gertrude? She hates me. If I have brought this tragedy to your door—“

“Stop it.” He put a gentle hand on my arm. “Don't do that, Sarah Booth. I was receiving the threatening calls long before that Strom woman got out of jail or the psychiatric ward or wherever she's been.”

That was true, but Gertrude had wreaked such damage in my life, I didn't doubt her ability to spread the pain to everyone I cared about. “If she's behind this, I'll kill her.”

“You're fierce when you need to be.” He sipped his drink. “The best lead Coleman has is your description of the truck.”

“Which is freaking generic, at best.”

“Maybe DeWayne can get some tire prints.”

“Maybe.” I held little hope. There'd been over a hundred cars in and out of the parking lot. “That security team was worthless. They didn't see the truck. They said it had to come onto the property from one of the field roads. Weren't they paid to be on top of this?”

“Coleman has some questions for them.” Scott rattled the ice in his drink. “I'm going to temporarily close the club.”

That made me sit up. “Scott, you can't.”

“I won't have any more bloodshed. Until we figure out who's behind this, I won't risk anyone else getting hurt.”

“And the person doing this will have won.”

“It's not about winning and losing. It's about protecting people.”

“I know you put a lot of money into buying the club and bringing the band here. You gave up a successful European tour. How long can you go without income?” I didn't have Tinkie's mind for finance, but I wasn't a total goober. Scott had to be in a tight financial place. Successful blues tours in Europe didn't equate to multi-million-dollar payouts.

“I've had offers from investors, but I haven't wanted to go that route. Now I may have to.”

I sipped my drink. “How bad would that be?”

He shrugged. “Depends on the investor. A silent partner wouldn't be awful, but if it were someone who wanted to control the club, it would be hard to swallow. That's the problem I ran into with Wilton Frasbaum, the former band manager. Things were great at first. He booked us into the clubs I wanted to play. He made sure the word got out. He did a great job.”

“And then?”

“And then he started trying to shape the band into something else. He wanted us to blend free improvisational jazz into the playlist. You can push the line a little, but we aren't jazz. We're a blues band. Wilton had a nasty temper and a tendency to want to punish anyone who went against him. It ended really badly. He made threats. I never took them seriously, until now.”

“I did a bit of checking into his background. I'll push it harder.”

“It could have been so much worse if Wilton had had a financial stake in the band. He would have destroyed us. That's why I'm hesitant to take an investor.”

I remembered Yancy Bellow's investment offer. “Do you have
anyone
you'd consider?”

“Not off hand. I turned down some Chicago interest. I may have to revisit them.”

“What about Yancy?”

“I don't know enough about him to say one way or the other. I have to assume the offer grew from his love of the blues.” He rubbed an eyebrow. “The best solution will be to figure out who killed Koby and put the bastard in jail. Then the club can open, and I won't have to concede to any investor demands. I know what the club can be. It will be a success as long as I can hang on to my dream.”

“Coleman is on the case, and Tinkie and I will do our best. Give us a few days to turn something up.”

“Sarah Booth, maybe it would be best if you let the law handle this.”

I didn't have the heart to be affronted. Scott didn't doubt my abilities. He knew I'd suffered great consequences from my last case. Everyone in Sunflower County knew it. No point pretending I was tough and invincible. I was wounded, and Scott was acting as a friend. “I can't hide away in Dahlia House for fear someone is going to injure me or someone I care about.”

“Everything you planned has turned upside down. I don't want to be the person responsible for more upheaval.”

I leaned against him. “If Graf had not been shot, we would still have confronted the issue of his daughter. That was unavoidable.”

“And had Graf not been shot, it may have unfolded in a completely different way.”

“Maybe. But maybe not. That's something we won't ever know.”

A hoot owl cried from near the barn. In the side pasture, Reveler snorted and Miss Scrapiron answered. Hooves pounded as the horses took off in a game of chase. The crisp November weather infected them with spirit, and they needed to be ridden. I stood up. “Let's go for a moonlight ride. Really. I'm on the case. You're hurting from the loss of a friend. I'm trying to put my life back in order. There are so many things wrong right now, but a ride through the cotton fields would be good for both of us and for Sweetie Pie.”

“You're a persuasive woman.” Scott stood. “I'm not the most polished horseman.”

“Doesn't matter a lick. Just sitting on Lucifer is going to change your attitude. I promise.”

We had the horses groomed and tacked up in a matter of minutes, and we set out down the driveway with Sweetie Pie following at our heels. Reveler was eager for a run, but he contained himself as we turned down the road. I'd decided to ride on the Brewer property because the corn and soybeans had already been harvested. Riding the edges of a field didn't bother the crop, but I wanted the cleared field, not the waist-high cotton where someone with a gun could hide. My nerves were edgy and an army could lie in wait in the cotton and never be seen.