Crossed Bones (25 page)

"Right," Spider said sarcastically. "How's my man Scott?" Ray-Ban continued to grin, his gaze wandering up and down me in more than a suggestive manner.

"I thought you boys had left town," I said, ignoring his question. "Millie, I'd like a diet Dr Pepper, please. Large. Lots of ice." I didn't meet her gaze.

"We realized Scott needed us, so we came back."

"Where are you staying?" I addressed the question to Spider, since he seemed to do all the talking for both of them.

"Oh, around." They looked at each other and laughed. "Scott didn't like our housekeeping. He can be a real pussy about stuff like that."

"Yeah, I can't imagine a man who would insist on hygiene and cleanliness." I laid the sarcasm on heavy, deciding to take a page from the Daddy's Girl handbook and ignore their vulgarity.

"Baby, if we got cleaned up, would you come over to visit us?" Ray-Ban had finally found his vocal cords.

"I wouldn't visit you for any reason."

Millie put the drink on the counter in front of me. "I'm closing up." She pointed to the clock on the wall. "It's already after five. Finish up, pay up, and move on."

I put my money on the counter, hoping they'd follow suit. What I really wanted to ask them was how they knew I'd been over at Scott's. Millie, I could tell, wanted to ask me a few questions about that same issue.

"Tell us about that rich man who made Scott's bond?" Spider said, and there was a hungry light in his eyes.

"Nothing to tell." I shrugged. "He loves the blues. He's a big fan of Scott's. Now you tell me where you were the night Ivory Keys was murdered."

Spider laughed and Ray-Ban joined in. "She wants to know where we were," Spider said, winking at Ray-Ban. "She's interested in us, even if she don't want to admit it."

"I suspect the sheriff might be even more interested," I said.

"Too bad. We were in
Greenwood
. Big Daddy's. You know the place?"

I did. It was a redneck honky-tonk just off the two-lane that had the reputation of a knife fight every fifteen minutes. Perfect for the two of them. If they were really there.

"Now, you tell us why that rich man made Scott's bail. He wouldn't be interested in buying that old club, would he?" Spider pulled two dirty fives from his jeans pocket and plopped them on the counter. "You think he might need some muscle? You know, to keep things orderly. Keep those hot women from trying to crawl up on the stage after Scott." He winked at me. "You wouldn't like that, would you, baby?"

"Yeah, we could take them out back and settle them down some," Ray-Ban threw in, licking his lips.

"You can talk to Mr. Ladnier. I don't know what his needs might be in the way of muscle."

Millie put their change on the counter. "It's been fun, guys, but I have to go."

They rose from their stools. Ray-Ban picked up his iced tea and drained it, slamming the glass down on the counter so hard I thought it would break.

"We'll catch you later, Sarah Booth," Spider said. "We have a deal with Scott. When he gets tired of a woman, he passes her on to us."

My ready retort was blocked by a lump of disgust the size of
Kansas
in my throat. "Keep dreaming," I managed.

They punched each other on the arm and walked out laughing. Millie waited until the bell quit jangling before she hurried around the counter and locked the front door. "What was that all about?" she asked, headed back toward me.

"I was over at Scott's house this morning." I fiddled with my straw in the glass. I didn't want to lie to Millie, but I also didn't want to tell her the truth. "I rode Reveler around the county and happened up on Scott. He was outside chopping wood."

"Sarah Booth, you're not involved with that man, are you?"

I met her gaze and saw more concern than curiosity. "Now, that's hard to tell."

She shook her head. "He's one of the sexiest men I've ever seen, but I don't think he's a serious candidate for any kind of relationship."

"I think you're right about that." How could something that seemed so good six hours before turn into such an awful mistake?

Millie took pity on me and decided not to press the issue. "How did he get out of jail?"

I told her about Bridge, and about Nandy's husband. She was suitably impressed and sworn to secrecy. When I had her solemn oath, I stood up. "I've got to go. I'm meeting McBruce for drinks at The Club." I had a sudden, horrible thought. What if Nandy showed up, too?

"Good luck," Millie said. "And keep me informed." She brushed my hair back from my face and a frown touched her lips. "Where's your other earring, Sarah Booth? Those were your mother's, weren't they?"

My hands flew to my ears and I felt panic. I never lost jewelry. I seldom wore any, except earrings. No matter how hard I squeezed my lobes, my left one was bare.

"I combed my hair at Bridge's," I said. "It might be there. Or it could be in the car."

Millie got a broom and swept around the counter to be sure the earring hadn't fallen there.

"It's probably at Bridge's," Millie said, her smile relieved. "It's just like in the
National Enquirer,
when Barbra Streisand was led to James Brolin by a kind spirit. I read all about it. One of your spirit guides has fixed it so you can see Mr. Ladnier again. And just let me say that he's a far more suitable match than Scott."

Boy, was she ever right.

The bar at
The Club was dark, glittering with leaded crystal hanging from an overhead rack. I noted that the bowl of the martini glasses seemed to shoot more sparks than the others.

Bernard--he had a last name but no one ever used it-- ran the bar seven evenings a week, and as far as I knew, had never missed a day. He was a fixture from the forties, like the bank and the music and the dancing.

"Miss Sarah Booth," he said when I sat down, elbows on the polished mahogany. "I haven't seen you in a long time."

"Bernard." I leaned across the bar and gave him a quick hug. "How are you?"

"Just fine," he said. "No point bein' any other way."

There was some truth in that. "How's Mollie?" His wife had been my baby-sitter on the rare occasions when my parents were gone and Aunt LouLane was unavailable. Mollie made cinnamon toast and hot chocolate for me whenever I asked. One day I asked five times.

"She's gettin' the arthritis in her hands. It's hard because she loves her sewin'. You know Trina, our grandbaby, is in the Junior Miss pageant and Mollie's been workin' on the prettiest dress for her. She's determined for Trina to have an original, even if it hurts her."

I was sorry to hear that. Mollie could take scraps of material and create masterpieces. Once, when she'd had some imported lace from
Ireland
, she'd designed a wedding dress for Jo Dee Bethea, a belle who'd fallen out of a cushy lifestyle and onto hard-luck row. Jo Dee was a sweet girl, and when she agreed to marry a local farmer from Blue Eve, she asked Mollie to make her gown. The dress was so exquisite that it even fooled Cece. Our local maven of society had pronounced the dress a Lucy Lu original and caused a scandal as to how Jo Dee had managed to pay for it. Mollie had come forth only when it looked as if Jo Dee were going to jail for theft.

The memory of Mollie's talent and generosity had me smiling. "I'd like to stop by and visit her."

Bernard's smile was brighter than the chandelier. "She'd like that, Miss Sarah Booth. She sure misses your mama. They were close."

"I miss Mama, too," I said. No matter how many years passed, the loss was always there.

"Your mama, Mollie, Ida Mae Keys, and Dub Renfroe used to go to Little Talika Creek fishin' for bream down in the hard part of the summer like it is now. They said they let Dub go to bait the hooks and pull the bream off once they were caught." Bernard laughed. "Mollie would bring those fish home and fry them up, and the others would show up with cole slaw and the likes. Those were some good times. Nothin' like a fish fry on a hot August evenin'. I can almost taste those tender little fish right now."

Me, too. My mouth was watering. For the fish and for the safe, loving memory he'd given me. In my mind I saw the three women and Dub, an older man who used to always give me nickels, walking out the backyard of Dahlia House toward the deep fishing hole on the creek that ran through the back of the property.

The women were wearing straw hats--Mollie's bright with a long, kerchief tail--and carrying cane poles. Dub carried the can of worms and the stringer for the fish as they were caught. I'd forgotten all about it until Bernard reminded me.

"What can I get you, Miss Sarah Booth?" Bernard asked, picking up a cloth and polishing a glass. Someone had come into the room. I knew it by the change in Bernard's attitude. I glanced behind me and saw a big, sandy redhead. His shoulders were wide and his body lean and muscled. I slid from my barstool.

"Mr. McBruce?" I held out my hand.

"Miss Delaney," he said, glancing around the bar. When he saw it was empty, he relaxed. "I've been wondering all afternoon why you wanted to talk to me." He glanced at Bernard. "I'd like Dewars on the rocks." He lifted his eyebrows at me. It was an interesting way to ask what I wanted to drink.

"Vodka martini." The sparkling glasses had lured me to abandon my regular Jack and water. Without waiting for me or further acknowledging Bernard, McBruce walked to a table in the corner and sat down. I had no option but to follow. I was beginning to get a hint of why Nandy had suddenly turned into a blues-guitarist groupie. In just glancing over an audience, Scott gave each fan personal attention; McBruce gave none.

"What is it you need to talk to me about?" McBruce said as soon as he was seated, his back to the wall.

"You attempted to pay Scott Hampton's bond. Why?"

His gaze was level and long. "You know my wife." It was a statement made in that strange rhythmic brogue. "You've seen her, up there at the courthouse. I thought if
Hampton
were free, Nandy could take her act to a more private location."

He had every right to be embarrassed. Nandy didn't care that her actions made her husband a fool and a public cuckold. She looked like a wealthy punk, and she acted like she was thirteen with a massive overload of hormones. Still, he'd offered to put up a tremendous amount of cash to benefit the man his wife was pursuing. "Why didn't you just get Nandy to stay away from the courthouse?"

The look he gave me was pure contempt. "I thought you knew her. She's Stuart Ann Shanahan, distant heir to the throne of
Scotland
,
France
, and
England
. Didn't you know? All other humans live to do her bidding."

That was a neat summary of Nandy. "Do you believe Scott Hampton is innocent?"

"Madame, I don't care. The man is a public bane to me. I'd hoped he might get free and decide to leave these parts."

"You'd put up bond money for a possible murderer?"

His smile was chilling. "Why should that surprise you? It's crossed my mind that I'm married to one."

McBruce wasn't a kind man. He enjoyed cutting people off at the knees. And either he was brutally honest or he hated Nandy enough to deliberately point the finger of accusation at her. I wondered if he hated her enough to set her up. "Do you think Nandy killed Ivory Keys?" I asked.

He swirled the ice in his glass and looked at me. "Murder is often an act of expediency. Nandy, in pursuit of a goal, lets nothing stand in her way."

"How would Ivory Keys stand in her way?"

"My understanding is that Keys and
Hampton
were friends." His grin was cruel. "Nandy doesn't like her obsessions to have friends. It gets in the way of their total focus on her."

He was describing a ruthless, self-centered, insecure person--Stuart Ann Shanahan to a T. But was she that ruthless? I had a visual of her trying to injure my horse to get back at me. Yes, she was.

"Why are you still married to Nandy?" I asked.

"That's none of your business," he said with that strong burr in his voice, "but I'll tell you anyway. Inheritance. Mr. Shanahan understands the old ways, where the inheritance passes to the wife's husband for proper management. Nandy isn't the queen of
Scotland
, but she's going to be an heiress in her own right."

"Is it worth it?" That question just slipped out.

"I thought so."

His answer implied a change of heart, yet he was still in Zinnia and Nandy was still out of control. "Have you talked with the sheriff about your .. . suspicions?"

He laughed out loud. "I have no intention of talking to the law."

"Did you see Nandy the night Ivory was killed?"

He motioned Bernard for a refill and didn't answer until he had it. "I didn't see my wife that night. I heard her come home about four in the morning, which wasn't unusual. She hung about that club like a bitch in heat."

"So you were home--"

"All night." He read my mind. "Alone. Without an alibi. I finished a book by Robert Davies, but I doubt that will stand in my defense in this godforsaken, illiterate state. But while I don't have an alibi, I also don't have a motive. Now, if it were my wife lying dead on the floor, that would be another matter." He polished off his drink.