Crossed Bones (28 page)

Tammy arrived first, and I was left wondering if Scott would actually show. If Tammy noticed my anxiety, she was kind enough not to mention it.

We took a seat in the parlor, and Tammy sipped the iced tea I offered her. To my extreme relief, the doorbell rang again and Scott Hampton stood on my steps, clutching an armful of coral gladioli. My heart sang.

"They're beautiful," I managed, getting him and the flowers into the house without damaging either.

"Surprised, aren't you?" he asked, unable to hide his grin. "You thought I was going to be a jerk."

I was so relieved I didn't even try to hide it. "The thought crossed my mind."

He leaned close enough to my ear so he could whisper. "I was raised with good manners. I just use them when I choose to. And I choose to with you." Then his lips caught the lobe of my ear and gave a tiny little nibble.

I thought my knees would buckle. His hand caught my elbow as he chuckled softly. I realized then that I'd lost any chance of pretending he didn't affect me. I'd given him the upper hand in the relationship.

We walked into the parlor, and Tammy took her time assessing the two of us together before she stood up as I made the introductions.

"The flowers are lovely," she said, going to the sideboard to get a crystal vase since I had obviously lost all powers of movement. She took them from me and deftly arranged them.

"I love flowers," Scott said. "I always wanted a garden." He shrugged, laughing at himself. "Ridiculous, right? A blues singer who putters around in the impatiens."

Tammy was looking at Scott, but she handed me the vase, her eyes hot with emotion. "Water." She leaned down to my ear. "I need to speak to him alone."

"Right," I said. "Scott, how about some tea?"

"Perfect." He waited until Tammy took her seat before he found one himself. He had been trained.

I stayed in the kitchen, eavesdropping on their conversation. At first Tammy was cool, asking sharp questions about Scott, his past, his relationship with Ivory. I almost dropped the platter when I caught her next question.

"What do you know about past lives, Scott?"

"I've heard the concept."

"But you don't believe?"

"I don't disbelieve. My focus has been pretty much on this lifetime." There was humor in his voice. "But I have some curiosity. Sarah Booth mentioned that you have powers."

Tammy didn't deny it. "You have a strong presence. In this life and in others. I think the power of the past is part of your charisma now. You've been many things."

Tammy was tempting him, teasing him into her world. I wondered if he would follow.

"What do you see?" Scott asked, with the same interest as if he were asking for a doctor's diagnosis.

"Let me see your hands."

I peeked through the door, fascinated. Scott stood up and went to Tammy, his hands held out, palms up. She took one, holding it as her fingers stroked his palm.

"Calluses," she noted.

"I play the guitar. If I didn't have calluses, I wouldn't be a very good player."

"You don't play the guitar with your palms," she pointed out.

He bent lower, examining his hands, too. "They've always been that way. Or at least as long as I can remember. But you're right. My palms don't touch the strings."

"What would callus your hands?" she asked.

His face opened and I was reminded of a schoolboy with the correct answer. I was charmed anew.

"I've been chopping wood. It must be the axe."

"Or chopping cane."

He looked stumped. "Sugarcane? There isn't anything here except cotton."

"I see you, standing in the field in the heat, skin darkened even more by the sun. You're an angry man, Scott Hampton, though you go by another name. You look up toward the plantation house, and you think of violence. And around you the sugarcane shakes like a fierce wind, bowing as the other slaves slash it with machetes."

Scott's hands had begun to tighten on hers. "Where is this?" he asked.

She shook her head lightly. "Not here. Not this life. Another life." She held his hands. "Think about it, Scott. How many people have asked you how you could play the blues like--"

"Like a black man," he finished for her.

She nodded. "Can you even imagine it?"

I held my breath. Tammy didn't expect everyone to buy into her belief system, but I knew this was important. She might view a rejection of reincarnation as a rejection of a possible black incarnation.

"It makes sense," Scott said. "It might explain why I hate the taste of sugarcane. Once I was in
Louisiana
when they were burning the cane stubble in the fields after harvesting. I got violently sick. Ivory had to take me to an emergency room, but as soon as we got into the city, away from the smell, I was fine."

"Perhaps it was just the smell. It's a little overpowering."

Scott now held her hands. "No. It was something more than that. It went so deep, way down to a place that was twisted with anger."

I had a question, but I wasn't invited to the little private seance that was taking place on my grandmother's horsehair sofa. I'd heard that a person could shift genders as they progressed through their lives, but races? I'd never considered it. But that would mean that white folks might once have been slaves, and, of course, the reverse. And Jews might have once been Nazis. And ... it was endless. And wonderful. If people would buy into this concept, it would be impossible for any one race or religion or creed to claim the role of victim. It would mean we had to give up the grievances of the past and live only in the present, with a nod of hope to the future. It was mind-boggling. And as I peeped through the doorway, I saw that Scott and Tammy had caught onto the power that had just been unleashed.

Tammy slowly released Scott's hands, and he touched the palms together, considering. "I'll have to think about all of this." He knelt down in front of her on one knee. "Whether you know it or not, you've given me the first hope of absolution."

"I've never had the power to absolve anyone," Tammy said.

"No, but you allowed me to consider forgiving myself."

The moment was so intensely personal, I shut the door and turned to check the table settings in the dining room again.

When I finally took Scott his tea, Tammy was actually smiling.

"Ivory was a great man," she said. "You know my granny got arrested with his band when she was a young woman."

This was a story I hadn't heard, and I'd known Tammy's grandmother. "Were they trying to sing in an all-white club?" I asked.

Tammy laughed rich and full. "Heavens, no. Granny was dating that harmonica player they called Hotlips, and they were all in
Memphis
for a gig. Well, they drank all night and the next morning they were arrested in a park, drunk as Cooter Brown." Tammy was still laughing. "My grandmother wasn't really a drinker, so it was a big adventure for her. No harm came of it, and she had a story to tell for the rest of her life. They were just young and adventurous."

"Ivory was a great man and a great musician," Scott agreed. "Did you know he played with Elvis?"

Tammy shook her head. "I never heard that."

Scott smiled at the skepticism in her tone. "He really did. Back at the first. He put the left-hand boogie in some of Elvis's first appearances. A few of the sessions were recorded, but, to my knowledge, none of them were ever released to the public."

"That's too bad," Tammy said. "I would have liked to hear that."

"Ivory told me once that he and Elvis shared the same views on music and race. Both of them thought music was the key to bringing whites and blacks together."

I laughed. "All Elvis managed to do was alienate the old folks." I swiveled my hips.

"That's not completely true," Scott said. "Elvis managed to bring black elements of music into the mainstream. He actually made that first step that's always the hardest, and I believe Ivory was part of that. Some folks said Elvis was part black, and they weren't talking about a past life."

"Mahalia Jackson played a role in Elvis's life, as did Ivory," Tammy pointed out.

Scott gave her an appreciative look. "You know your stuff," he said. "Lots of folks forget about Mahalia."

"Mahalia and the Lord," Tammy said.

"Lunch is served," I said. They'd found common ground, and now I wanted to move the meal along. Tammy would help Scott. She was that kind of person.

23

Tammy did not linger after the meal. She declined
coffee but agreed to speak up on Scott's behalf. When she turned at the door, Scott took her hand and squeezed it.

"I did my best to run Sarah Booth off," he told her. "I didn't want help from her or anyone else. It seems like everyone who ever cared about me ends up hurt, or else hurting me. I'd decided never to let anyone close enough to hurt me again. In the days in jail, I think I came to some conclusions about the kind of man I'd become. Ivory was part of that. Despite all my vows, I grew close to him. Then he was killed, and the community thinks I did it. Accepting help isn't easy for me, but I need it, and I thank you for taking my part."

Tammy let him hold her hand. "You're very different than I thought," she said. "Why did you write those first songs? Those racist, ugly songs?"

My breath caught right below the hollow of my throat, and I made a wheezing sound, but neither of them heard me.

"I was raised with a lot of opportunities for an education, but tolerance wasn't in the curriculum. I'm not blaming my family. They're elitist, but they aren't racists.

At least not like I became." A frown touched his forehead. "When it became obvious that nothing I cared about was important to them, and nothing I accomplished would ever satisfy them, I lashed out. Like most children of privilege, I couldn't rebel against the hand that fed me, it had to be something outside my world. So I targeted race. It was an area unimportant to my family. I could posture without striking too close to home."

"You never believed what you wrote?" Tammy was puzzled. I knew exactly what she was thinking. Then why? Why stir up such dark emotions? Tammy watched him intently as he talked.

"This is the worst condemnation of myself that I can confess. It was convenient to believe those lyrics. I found a certain acceptance that I'd never known in my own family."

"That's very sad."

"And inexcusable. If I could retract them, I would. Once something like that gets out of the box, though, there's no getting it back." He shook his head. "It would be fantastic to hear how Ivory influenced Elvis, yet those recording sessions are lost. My early songs linger."

It was his sincerity that finally softened the tightness of Tammy's mouth. "You were young, Scott. You were in your teens."

"And so are millions of other young people who don't do what I did." He put his free hand on my shoulder. "There's no excuse for it. After I met Ivory, I suffered so much shame. The only way I could accept his kindness was to make certain he knew the truth about me. I sat with Ivory while he listened to all of those . . . songs. I made him hear them before I came to
Sunflower
County
."

"And Ida Mae?" Tammy asked.

"I don't know for certain. Ivory may have played them for her, but I doubt it. Not because he wanted to protect me, but because he wouldn't want that stain to touch his wife."

Tammy finally withdrew her hand. "Who did kill Ivory?" she asked. "My gift hasn't given me any answers to this question. It's my heart that tells me you're innocent."

"I don't know who killed Ivory," Scott said. "I've thought and thought about it, and I just don't know."

There was a long pause as Tammy looked at the two of us standing side by side in the doorway of my home.

"Thanks for lunch, Sarah Booth," Tammy said before she turned and walked across the porch and down the steps. "I'll let you know how it goes."

Scott's arm shifted around my shoulders as we watched Tammy depart. For a split second I allowed myself the luxury of believing the moment--Scott and I together seeing our friend off after lunch. But it was only an illusion. Scott was not the host at Dahlia House. He was my guest.

"Thank you, Sarah Booth," he said. "I've heard a lot of rumors. Folks are angry and upset, and a lot of it is directed at me. I know that meeting tonight is important. I think Tammy can inject a note of reason into some of the hot emotion."

"Maybe you should go up to the courthouse and stay in the sheriff's office." I didn't want to exaggerate the danger, but I didn't want to minimize my concerns.

"No, I won't run. Once they smell fear on me, they'll never stop. If I'm going to stay in
Sunflower
County
, I can't afford to let them think I'm afraid."

I motioned him back inside. "Coffee?"

He shook his head, stepping closer and putting his hands on my shoulders. "I'd like a kiss."