Crossed Bones (42 page)

"There are some boxes of records in the trunk. Please bring them in." I steeled my heart and my voice. Though his words were daggers, I kept going forward.

"Get off my property, Sarah Booth."

"Get the records and quit acting like a prick. I'm not here to seduce you. I'm here to catch Ivory's killer. Now I need your help." I brushed past him and walked inside to survey the room. He had a portable phone and I picked it up, punched the number of my cell phone in the speed dial memory, turned the volume up to loud, and hid the phone in the pillows of the sofa. I put my tape recorder right beside it.

I was only slightly amazed when Scott walked in with one box of heavy records. "Get the suitcase, too." When he shot me a look, I glared back. "I'm not moving in. It's a phonograph. Bridge is going to demand to hear at least one of the records if he's going to pay for them."

Light dawned in Scott's eyes. It was perhaps the only satisfaction I would ever get from him again, so I drank it in. "You found the records," he said with some degree of respect.

"Emanuel had them hidden. I'm using them as bait to lure Bridge out. He's been after the records all along. When he gets here, you act as if the records are yours. I want you to slap me hard enough to knock me onto the sofa." I pointed to the place I'd hidden the phone. "I'll pretend to be out. Then it's up to you to get him to tell you how he killed Ivory."

"Me?" Scott was ready to balk. "How can I get him to confess?"

"You convinced me that you cared about me. Charm him, Scott. Lie. Do what comes naturally. I know you can." My bitter words found a target. He stepped back from me before he got his expression under control.

"You've got it," he said, all ice once again. "Of course, since Bridge is a man, he may be a little harder to manipulate."

My first impulse was to slap him. Hard. Instead, I pointed to the door. "Get the rest of the records."

He walked out and I had a moment to compose myself. He was such a bastard. Had it not been for Ida Mae, I would have walked out right then. Ida Mae and the memory of Ivory Keys. I'd never known Ivory, but in working the case, I'd come to admire him and his dream.

After Scott brought the remaining records and the phonograph in, I showed him where to set it up. When I handed him the album, he held it as if it were the most valuable thing he'd ever seen.

"I was never really certain Ivory had the records. I suspected he had a line on them. I begged Ivory to sell them. He and Ida Mae could have lived their golden years in great comfort." When he looked at me, the hardness was gone from his eyes. I saw again how much he'd loved Ivory.

"Did he ever hint to you he gave them to Emanuel?"

He shook his head. "All he'd ever say was that music was a powerful weapon. He said one day the person who had the records might listen to them and realize that music didn't see color. He said that when that happened, a true miracle would be performed." Scott's gaze dropped. "I didn't believe him."

"Emanuel intended to destroy them in some sort of public testimonial to prove his hatred was stronger than money."

"Ivory believed there was good in everyone. That was actually what got him killed." His face darkened. "And you really believe this rich man killed him?"

I hesitated. The evidence led me to believe Bridge was the culprit. The night would give me an answer. "Killed him or paid someone to do it."

Awareness dawned in his eyes. For all of his years in prison, Scott had never considered that Ivory was killed by a hired gun. "No," he said, shaking his head. "Not Spider and Ray-Ban." He said it emphatically. "They're just easy targets, like me. They wouldn't do this. Not because of Ivory, but because of me."

"You're as naive as Ivory ever dared to be." It was the pot calling the kettle black. I was among the sinners on that list, for once upon a time, I'd believed in a future with Scott. I ran down the list of reasons I believed they were implicated. He was still doubtful.

"They're involved in this, Scott. They were in town before Ivory was killed, weren't they?"

"They could have been," he said slowly. "I make you this promise: If they hurt Ivory in any way, I'll make them regret the day they were born."

I had no doubt about that.

"They're in
Biloxi
at Jimmy John's," he said. "He called them to come take care of something for him. I didn't ask questions. I was relieved to see them go."

Something niggled in my memory. Spider and Ray-Ban had told Millie that Scott had
asked
them to leave. So they were liars about everything, using their banishment in an effort to win Millie's sympathy. Not much luck there. "Coleman will get them, but first we have
to
get Bridge to confess. I believe your old prison buddies killed Ivory when he wouldn't tell them where the records were."

Learning the true nature of Spider and Ray-Ban was going to be costly for Scott. Though the two bikers would be caught and punished, Scott would never forgive himself. He'd given succor to the enemy.

"If that rich bastard doesn't confess, I'll beat it out of him." Scott's fists were clenched. He was ready to inflict pain on someone, because he was hurting himself.

I didn't bother to argue. That wasn't in my game plan for the night.

Further talk was stopped as headlights came down Scott's driveway. Halfway, when there had been enough time to see my car in the beams, the headlights stopped. A door slammed. In a few moments the boards of the steps creaked.

"
Hampton
?" Bridge's voice called out.

Even though I'd anticipated this, had planned for it, my heart sank a little. Though I believed Bridge to be guilty, a part of me had hoped for a different outcome.

"Who is it?" Scott's voice held anger. He was playing his part to the hilt.

"Bridge Ladnier. Is Miss Delaney there?"

"What's it to you?"

"I've come to negotiate with the two of you. I believe you have something I very much want."

"I'm not interested in selling the records. Beat it."

The porch creaked as Bridge came to the open door. He held a stack of hundred-dollar bills in one hand. "I want those records. I'm a collector." He tossed the money to Scott, who caught it with one hand. "Keep that just for talking with me."

Scott threw the money down on the table and grinned. "I like the way you do business. Come on in."

"Bridge, don't trust him." I stepped into the fray. "He's going to try and cheat you."

"Shut up!" Scott yelled at me.

"Sarah Booth," Bridge said smoothly, "I enjoy a challenging negotiation. It's the art of entrepreneurship. The win is no fun unless there's risk."

"Don't trust him, Bridge. He killed Ivory to get these records. I came here to get him to confess. I thought I could--"

"I'm not telling you again." Scott grabbed my arm so tightly that I almost dropped to my knees. His grip was the only thing that kept me standing.

"Hey!" Bridge started toward us.

"Stay out of this." His voice was threat enough to stop Bridge in his tracks. "This bitch has to learn who's running this show." He pushed me slightly as he released me. I stumbled against the coffee table but caught my balance. Scott was damn good at this. Almost too good.

"May I hear the merchandise?" Bridge asked.

Scott got the record I'd shown him from one of the boxes and put it on the old phonograph. There was some chatter among the musicians.

"Lord, we're gonna show the world that
Mississippi
is a place where music rules." Ivory Keys was talking.

"Put your hands on those keys and start us off." I would have recognized Elvis's voice anywhere. Even if I hadn't, the look of rapture on Bridge's face would have clued me in.

The music was red-hot and blue. Elvis's voice wasn't the slick Vegas drawl he'd perfected later. It was raw and moaning. Without a doubt it was some of his best work.

"What do you want for all of them?" Bridge waved at the records.

"Ten million." Scott didn't blink an eye. "And something else."

"What?"

"Don't listen to him. Bridge, I was wrong about him. He killed Ivory. He can't be trusted. He'll take your money and kill you." I stepped forward so Scott had a clear shot at me. He swung and came at my head. As his palm connected with my cheek, I felt almost nothing, but there was the sound of fist meeting flesh and I knew Scott had somewhere learned the art of wrestling. He'd slapped his chest while pretending to strike me. I let him push me back onto the sofa, and collapsed as if I were unconscious. I fell with my face and one hand right in the crack of the pillows where I'd secreted Scott's phone and my tape recorder. I could work both devices with minimal movement.

"Sarah Booth!" Bridge's voice was indignant.

"She's not hurt." Scott was matter-of-fact, as if he punched me out every day. "She's just quiet for a while. Now that she's not chattering on, let's do business."

As they talked, my fingers found the necessary buttons. I hit the speed dial button on Scott's phone and listened to the tinny ring buzzing in my ear. I'd left my cell phone in the boxes of records in Coleman's office closet. I counted five rings, and panic was setting in when Coleman picked up the phone and said hello. I didn't answer. I just inched the telephone so he could hear the conversation in the room, and I clicked on my tape recorder.

"I'll give you the ten million for the records," Bridge said. "Cash. Right now."

"That's a fair price, but I want something else."

"What?" Bridge was antsy.

"A confession."

"To what?"

"Don't play dumb with me. Sarah Booth thinks I killed Ivory, but I didn't. She came here offering those records she found, hoping to trick me into confessing. I told her what she wanted to hear, because I don't expect to hang around here for the trial. But I want to know who did kill him."

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because I think you killed him trying to get these records." Scott laughed. "It's a good thing you realize you can just buy them from me or I might be in danger myself." He laughed again. I had to hand it to the man, he had a flair for the dramatic.

"I would have bought the records from Ivory, no doubt about that. But he wouldn't admit to me that he had them." Bridge wasn't biting.

"Right. That old man was tough. It took me a long time to get him to trust me. I knew he had those records all along. That's what kept me hanging around."

Scott sounded so believable. And Bridge sounded so genuinely confused. I risked opening one eye. Their expressions matched their words.

"I didn't have a thing to do with Ivory's death. As a collector, I wanted these records. But I wanted to buy them. I admit, after he was dead, I tried to buy the club because that was the logical place he would have hidden them." Bridge shrugged. "But even that didn't work. And someone had already searched the place. It was trashed when I took a contractor over there in the hope of finding something. Whoever killed him knew a thing or two about tossing a place."

I opened my other eye. This wasn't going as planned. Not at all.

Scott walked over to the record player and picked up the record. He held it delicately. "Tell me you killed Ivory or I'm going to smash this record."

Bridge's face paled. "I didn't kill him. Please don't destroy that. It's invaluable to someone like me. I'll give you twelve million."

I started to sit up when there was the sound of a gunshot. A bullet splattered into the wall beside Scott's head. I ducked back into the pillows, but kept one eye open on the door. Spider and Ray-Ban walked into the room, and both of them held guns.

34

"I'll take that." Spider said as he stepped forward
and took the album from Scott's hands. "We went to a lot of trouble trying to find those records. Where're the others?"

It was all I could do to force my body to remain limp on the sofa. Where in the hell had Spider and Ray-Ban come from? They were in
Biloxi
. Jimmy John had said they were there, but then I realized he hadn't. I'd simply assumed they were there. I had committed what might prove to be a fatal mistake.

"You killed Ivory." Scott's voice was without inflection, and I realized that not until that moment had he really believed his friends were guilty.

Spider gave Scott a contemptuous look. "That crazy old negro talked way too much. Everyone in prison knew he'd played with Elvis on some records. After you got out and came down here, we decided that we'd travel south and find what he had stashed away." He pointed to the three boxes of black records. "You being here and so tight with the old fool made it a whole lot easier on us." Spider's grin was wide. "When we showed up at the nightclub, he remembered us and wasn't all that welcoming. Then we reminded him we were friends of yours and took such good care of you in the joint. He loosened up, let us right in, and set up a round of drinks for us, talking about how everybody deserves a second chance." Spider leaned down and grinned. "Thanks,
brother."

Scott lunged at Spider, but it was an act of fury and not a planned attack. Ray-Ban deftly stuck out a foot and tripped him. Spider drew back the butt of his pistol and brought it down on Scott's cheekbone as Scott was falling. I heard the bone crack. Scott crumpled and fell on the floor moaning.