Crossed Bones (17 page)

"What kind of symbol?" My heart rate had jumped.

He got up and went over to his file cabinet and pulled out a folder. "I remember when you were a child, Sarah Booth. Your daddy would have shot me for showing you something like this."

I didn't say anything as I took the photographs he offered.

Ivory Keys was lying on his stomach on the floor of the nightclub. His shirt had been ripped down the back and flung to either side. The symbol of crossed bones had been cut into the flesh between his shoulder blades.

"He was dead when this happened, wasn't he?" I worked hard to keep my voice level. In my past cases I'd seen death, but not this kind of gruesome disfigurement.

"Yes, the cuts were made postmortem."

I looked at the dozen photographs, which showed the body from different angles. The design was crude, but there was no way the symbol could be mistaken. It looked a lot like part of the tattoo that was on the arms of Scott Hampton and his "brothers." When I handed the photographs back, I couldn't meet Doc's gaze.

"Your father would be very angry with me."

I looked up at him. "No, he wouldn't, Doc. He would know that he couldn't protect me forever. Whoever did that to Mr. Keys deserves to be punished."

"Are you going to take Ida Mae's money?"

If Ivory had written his killer's name with his own blood, it probably couldn't have been clearer. But I had to wonder if the evidence wasn't just a little too convenient. "I won't take her money unless I believe Scott Hampton is innocent."

He walked around the desk and put his hand on my shoulder. "You've got a good heart, Sarah Booth. Don't let it, or the rest of you, go to waste."

"Thanks, Doc." I threw my trash in the garbage. I had one more question to ask. "Based on your experience, what does the way Ivory was murdered tell you?" I held his gaze with mine, willing him to answer. It wasn't a scientific question; I was asking him to move into the realm of opinion and he was resisting. "Just tell me what you think."

"You've already said it, Sarah Booth. The man who did this was cruel. Sadistic. Ivory was severely beaten. Then he was killed and brutalized."

"You're certain it was a man?"

Doc's mouth lifted at one corner, acknowledging my tactics. "It took a strong person to thrust a knife that deep. Three times." He demonstrated the motion, using a lot of shoulder. "Whoever did this was very angry."

"Angry at Ivory?" This was, at least, a lead--if I could find someone other than Scott who was known to argue with Ivory. Emanuel popped to the front of my mind.

"Maybe not angry at Ivory personally."

I knew then that Doc recognized the significance of the crossed bones. "Angry at Ivory for what he represented."

He nodded. "A strong woman could have done it, but I'll wager you that the killer is a man. A strong man." He paused. "A young man."

Those last three words hung between us. I'd asked for his opinion. I nodded. "Thanks, Doc."

Leaving the air-conditioned hospital, I stepped into the August afternoon. I might as well have booked time in a sauna. Sweat popped up on my forehead, and my auburn hair frizzed. As I walked across the parking lot to my car, I could feel the heat of the asphalt through the soles of my shoes.

Damn. It was summertime. And the cotton was high. But the living wasn't easy. Not by a long shot.

Coleman was the
man I needed to see next, but I knew better than to go looking. The last I saw of him, he was snuggled in the bosom of domesticity. Well, that was a good place to hide, but I'd find him eventually. I was furious with him for withholding the fact that Ivory's body had been used as a canvas. It was a vital piece of evidence. Against Scott.

Or maybe not. Both Spider and Ray-Ban wore the same insignia.

I considered driving back out to
Bilbo Lane
to ask Spider and Ray-Ban a few questions, but my safety and the fact that it would be a wasted effort convinced me not to go.

Saturday night loomed ahead of me. Another dateless evening. Sunday through Thursday, being a dateless wonder wasn't so bad, but come Friday and Saturday, it was another story.

Instead of moping around Dahlia House and listening to Jitty point out my faults, I decided to drive out to Kudzu and talk to Ida Mae. I was sure she knew about the symbol cut into her husband--and if she didn't know, she needed to--yet she continued to support Scott. I needed to know why.

Driving through the cotton fields that surrounded Kudzu, I felt the past crowding around me. It was in those fields that so much wrong had occurred. Yet the land was innocent. It nurtured any seed pushed deep into its loamy fecundity. The thigh-high cotton plants were testimony of that.

The rows and rows of green plants flashed past the car window, creating an optical illusion. The land and the cotton were the same, only the humans had changed. This harvest, there would be no bowed backs and bleeding hands pulling the tough boles. Combines would harvest the cotton. The huge mechanical tractors would crawl over the land, doing the work of thousands of laborers.

The plain steeple of Blessed Zion Independent Church rose out of the cotton. I was nearly at the intersection. Playin' the Bones was on my right. The navy BMW parked in front of the club gave me pause, and I swung into the parking lot.

The sound of my tires crunching the gravel brought Emanuel Keys to the door, and the expression on his face let me know I was trespassing. I killed the motor and got out of the roadster.

"Mr. Keys, I'm Sarah Booth--"

"I know who you are. You're the one taking my mother's money for a lost cause."

Emanuel was a handsome man who took pride in his appearance. His trousers were sharply creased, his white shirt immaculate, French cuffs fastened by onyx-and-gold cuff links, designer sunglasses in his hand. Looking at him, though, I saw nothing of either his mother or his father. Though he had his father's high cheekbones and his mother's nose and lips, his expression denied any kinship with his parents.

"I give you my word that I won't take Ida Mae's money unless I can do what she wants me to do." I didn't feel that I had to defend myself, but I wanted to make it clear to this man that I was not the parasite he wanted to believe me to be.

"Why waste your time, then? Scott Hampton killed my father. The sooner he's tried and convicted, the sooner my mother can begin to put this behind her."

"Is your concern for Ida Mae or yourself?" He'd set the tone for this conversation.

"Get off this property," he said.

"Is the club yours now?" I held my body relaxed. "Are you the one who benefits from Ivory's death?"

I'd often heard the expression that eyes could shoot sparks. Emanuel brought that phrase to life.

"Mother hasn't allowed anyone to read my father's will, yet. I can promise you, though, that this club will be razed."

His hatred of everything his father stood for was palpable. It was also like sticking my finger in an electric socket. I was fried. "Don't you have any respect for what your father accomplished?"

"Respect? For this?" He waved his hand at the club. "My father was a dreamer. He believed the races could get along. He was just an Uncle Tom with a club. He thought seeing the whites in his place was a sign that things had changed. He was too stupid to realize they were using him still."

"Your mother loves this club."

"My mother loved my father. She loved him enough to even love his foolish dream. But she'll see the truth. Once Scott Hampton is convicted of killing him, she'll see that my father was tricked by another white man."

Doc's words came back to me--Ivory had been killed by someone who was very angry. Someone who viewed Ivory as a symbol. I found that my mouth was dry. Fear had slipped up on me. My body had understood the danger before my brain had put it together. Unfortunately, my tongue wasn't as frightened as the rest of me.

"Your mother still loves your father. She loves his memory
and
his dream. And you're the only one left who can hurt her more than she's already hurting."

"What would you know about pain?" he asked, moving suddenly up to me. He grabbed my arm. Not hard enough to bruise, but with enough force for me to feel his fury.

"You aren't the only person who ever lost a parent," I told him.

"I never had one to lose. I never had a father. I had a blues musician and a woman who loved him. I can still see them sitting out on the porch, Daddy laughing with his friends when they'd stop over to visit. It wouldn't be long before they'd be inside, him at that damn piano, playing while sweat rolled down his face and the women laughed and danced. Then I didn't even have that. I had a jailbird for a daddy. But I had a lot of privileges. I got a good education, and I learned that I could take care of myself. So don't try to tell me about who I can hurt and how much I can hurt them." He dropped my arm and walked back into the club.

I got in my car and drove away.

15

Ida Mae's yard was a kaleidoscope of colors, reminding
me of lollipops and a game I'd played as a child. Candyland. A veil of hummingbird vines covered part of the front porch--and Ida Mae. She was sitting in a rocker watching the dozens of butterflies that darted around the delicate coral flowers of the vine. A slight breeze stirred the bottle tree, setting the glass to tinkling.

Ida Mae's voice came from behind the vines. "Butterflies. Look at them. They're just the color of fresh-churned butter, aren't they?"

There was sadness in her voice. I walked up the steps and took a seat in the rocker she indicated. "I haven't had fresh butter since Aunt LouLane passed away. She had a friend--"

"Ronald McRae." Ida Mae chuckled. "I knew him well. And I knew your auntie. She had her hands full with you."

I was surprised, but I shouldn't have been. Everyone in
Sunflower
County
knew everyone else. Aunt LouLane would have been older than Ida Mae. But not by much. Ida Mae just didn't show her age.

"I knew your mama, too." Ida Mae reached over and laid her hand on mine, giving it a gentle squeeze before she withdrew it. "She was a woman ahead of her time. We didn't go to school together. Back then, blacks and whites had separate schools. But we knew each other. You and Emanuel were born the same year. He came in April, and you were right after that in May. Doc Swain delivered both of you. Of course, Emanuel was born here at home."

Now I was stunned. How was it that I'd never known a boy my age? The
Sunflower
County
public schools were integrated in 1967. "He didn't go to school with me."

Ida Mae spoke so softly I leaned toward her. "No, he didn't. It was about the time Emanuel was
to
start school that Ivory got sent to prison up in
Michigan
." She cut her eyes at me.

"I know the story," I said, hoping she wouldn't ask me
where
I'd heard it. Now that I knew Emanuel's intent to destroy the club, I hoped Ida Mae would consider Bridge's offer.

"You know he was defending a woman against her husband's brutality, then."

I nodded.

"Ivory didn't deserve to be in prison. He didn't. But he went, and the talk was all over
Sunflower
County
about him killing a woman's husband because he was running around with her. I didn't want Emanuel to hear that kind of talk about his daddy, so I sent him up to my sister's in Tunica. He went to grade school there, and he was so smart, he got accepted into a private school in
Nashville
.
Brentwood
Academy
. He got a full scholarship."

Not all the money in the world could buy admittance into that caliber of private school. Emanuel was undoubtedly a genius. "You must be proud of him." This wasn't exactly where I wanted to go regarding Emanuel, but I decided to ease in that direction.

"Proud of him?" Ida Mae gave me a long look. "No. I'm not proud of my son. That's a sin I was guilty of years back. But I've given a lot of study to who Emanuel is and how he came to be that person, and that fancy grade school may have been where I made my first mistake."

"How could that be a mistake, to give your son the best education possible?"

"Maybe he didn't see it that way. Children don't think, they just feel. Maybe that school wasn't an opportunity to Emanuel, but a punishment."

"Surely he can understand you were trying to do the best for him that you could."

She rocked slowly back and forth. "No, I don't think he understands that, and I think deep down inside, he's still that six-year-old boy being sent away from home to live with strangers because of his daddy."

As much as I hated to admit it, what she said made sense. "And you think that's why Emanuel hates Ivory so much?"

She rocked a bit before she spoke. "Feelings aren't rational. Emanuel can intellectually grasp that his father went to prison for defending a helpless woman, but somehow it's all tied up in his head with music. I think he feels that Ivory always put music ahead of him. Just think for a minute, Sarah Booth, what it would have felt like to you if your daddy loved the law more than you."