Crossed Bones (7 page)

I saw his features clearly in the light of the porch. He had the look of a British aristocrat: deep-set brown eyes, a face toughened by the outdoors and touched with a hint of interesting lines, posture so perfect that it came across as casual. He rang the bell, adjusting his designer Picasso tie as he waited for me.

"Mr. Ladnier," I said as I opened the door. "Please come in."

He followed me into the parlor and took a seat on the horsehair sofa.

"Would you care for a drink?" I hovered by the bar, my Aunt LouLane's schooling in the caste of Daddy's Girl taking over before I could stop myself.

"Scotch and soda," he said, his gaze finding the old turntable where Marva Wright's powerful voice went deep and dirty. My mother had an extensive blues collection. "I saw Marva in
New Orleans
five times. She can bring a house down," he said as he accepted his drink.

Surprised, I poured Jack over ice for me. "You like the blues?"

"'hike
may be an understatement," he said with a slow smile. "I love them."

"We share that in common," I said. "I like a lot of music, but the blues are my favorite."

"Is that why you're defending Scott Hampton?" he asked.

The question caught me off guard. Somehow I hadn't expected Bridge to be interested in local happenings. "No, it isn't about the blues." I hesitated. "Mrs. Keys asked me to help
Hampton
."

"You seem a little hesitant. Can he be helped?"

I avoided a personal opinion. "The evidence is strongly against him, but many innocent men have appeared guilty."

"And if he is guilty, then he's done a terrible thing." He watched me closely. "You haven't become a hired gun yet, have you?" His smile was warm. "I somehow don't think you will. That says a lot about your character."

Bridge Ladnier obviously had heard a lot of details about Ivory's murder. "This is a case where it's hard to know the right thing to do," I conceded.

"Yes, our justice system is built on the ideal that every man deserves a fair trial," Bridge said, swirling his drink so that the ice clinked in the glass. "It's a case that's going to get a lot of publicity. Might be good for you, in the long run." One eyebrow lifted. "Now that's strictly a bottomline assessment."

I started to laugh. "I never considered whether this case would be good for
me
or not."

"Then you should, if you want a successful business, Sarah Booth. In fact, that should be one of your primary concerns for all future cases. 'What can I gain from it?' and 'How will it impact my reputation?'"

I could see where he was a good businessman. "I have a hard enough time trying to decide what's right and what's wrong in cases this convolved. Future impact of publicity may be too complicated for me."

He gave a wry smile. "I lived up North too long, I suppose. I forgot that Southern belles don't worry their pretty little heads about business."

His remark caught me off guard, and then I caught the twinkle in his eye. "You're right," I said. "That was a ridiculous thing to say. I have to think about the business side of this, whether I want to or not." I finished my drink and rose. He did the same.

"You're beautiful and smart, Sarah Booth. Never ridiculous. Business is not something a person knows intuitively. It has to be learned, and if you ever need any help, I'm available." He took my arm and leaned to whisper in my ear. "Gossip down at the bank is that your business will be a whopping success. They say you have a knack for solving cases."

I was still flushing with pleasure when we headed out into the night. While the Jaguar hummed over the long, straight roads that cut through the whispering rows of cotton, Bridge spoke of his reasons for returning to the South. He had family in
Memphis
, but it was a longing for the culture that had pulled him back to
Mississippi
.

"That, and I have this crazy notion that I might be of use."

"Of use?" Bridge didn't strike me as the kind of man who would relish being used in any way.

"I know it sounds like I'm some seventeen-year-old still wet behind the ears and filled with dreamy ideals, but
Mississippi
has made great strides to overcome the past. I want to see it move forward even more. We've got good people, bright and talented people. I can convince my associates to invest down here, bring in some good jobs. I'm not talking about chemical plants or textile mills where folks work for minimum wage and the environment pays the ultimate price."

I watched Bridge's profile in the pale glow of the Jaguar's dash. He was passionate about what he was saying. I felt something inside me stir, the brush of an old memory, and I realized that I'd heard the same powerful emotion from my mother as she talked about
Mississippi
and her love for it.

"Just because you have ideals doesn't make you naive," I said. "I like people who dream."

Bridge chuckled with a hint of self-consciousness. "That's enough serious talk." He pulled into the parking lot, got out, and handed me out of the car. As I tucked my hand through his arm, he pressed my fingers, teasing the back of my hand as he let go. "Tonight we dine, drink, and dance. We'll save the serious discussions for daylight.

It would be a pity to waste that moon," he said, pointing to the sky, where a pale moon hung on the horizon, gilding the surrounding cotton fields with silvery leaves.

He led me into The Club and proved that his word was good. Oscar, wearing a white dinner jacket, rose and waved us to a table. Before I could even sit, my napkin was in my lap and my champagne flute filled.

Tinkie was especially lovely in a pale orange swing dress and matching heels. She and Oscar hit the dance floor for a rumba, and I watched with amazement as Oscar's hips swiveled and his face was alight with fun. In his official capacity at the bank, he was a stoic and reserved man. Tinkie was the fuse that lit him, and I felt an unreasonable swelling in my heart for the two of them.

"No marriage is perfect, but those two do get on," Bridge said, giving voice to my thoughts.

"I'm really beginning to respect Oscar," I admitted. "But don't tell him, he'll get the big--"

I didn't get to finish. A shadow fell over my plate and I turned to find Marshall Harrison standing over me, a glower on his face.
Marshall
was a decade older than I and I knew him only because he owned the local fast-food franchise.

"You shame all of us,"
Marshall
said, his words slurred with too much alcohol.

"I think you should walk away from the table," Bridge said levelly. He didn't rise, but his body was poised for action.

"I'm talking to Miss Delaney,"
Marshall
said, putting a sweaty hand on my shoulder. "Your mother was a troublemaker and now you've taken up the flag. Decent folks around here don't like it and we won't put up with it."

Bridge had intervened once, as is a gentleman's right, but I was no lady. "Take your hand off my shoulder now," I said, turning in my chair so I could look at him.

Instead of removing his hand, he squeezed. "
Hampton
is white trash. He's going to get what he deserves."

I had a sudden thought that Emanuel Keys may not have hung the noose at the courthouse. There were factions, both black and white, that wanted violence. I drew back my elbow, prepared to land a blow where it would do the most good.

To my surprise,
Marshall
's knees buckled and he almost dropped to the floor. Oscar had stepped up behind
Marshall
and held his other arm in a viselike grip, levering it up behind his back.

"Take your hands off the lady," Oscar said.

Marshall
's hand instantly fell away. "Excuse us," Oscar said calmly as he steered
Marshall
toward the exit. Bridge excused himself and followed. I started to go outside, but Tinkie caught my hands as she sat down at the table.

"Let the men handle it," she said.

"It's about me and I should see it through," I insisted.

"This is only the beginning," she said sadly, holding my hands in her lap so I wouldn't get up.

"Why?" I asked, still a little stunned. "What's this case to Marshall Harrison? I doubt he ever went to Playin' the Bones or even knew who Ivory Keys was, much less Scott Hampton. What does my mother have to do with this?"

Tinkie released one of my hands long enough to drain the rest of her champagne. "It doesn't matter, Sarah Booth. That's what I tried to tell you. The scabs are coming off the past now. The guilty and the innocent will be swept up in this. There won't be a winner, no matter what the outcome."

"There never is a winner when someone is dead," I said bitterly.

Bridge and Oscar returned, neither with a hair out of place. Oscar ordered another bottle of champagne, and Bridge leaned over to whisper in my ear. "It's important that we act as if nothing happened. And it didn't. The man was drunk and stupid."

When the waiter brought the champagne, we ordered dinner, and through the wit and manners of the men, Tinkie and I were able to put the evening back on track.

We laughed and danced, and in the quiet moments, I found myself surrounded by the ghost of memories of my youth, when I'd sat with my parents and watched an older generation of belles dancing with their handsome dinner dates.

Bridge offered me a bedazzling view of what my future might have been, had I not wanted to become an actor. Had my parents not been killed when I was a teenager. Had my mother not been a socialist and indoctrinated me into the ways of the independent female during my formative years.

Before the evening was over, I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps I'd made a serious mistake by chucking out the baby with the bathwater.

As we rode back through the soft night to Dahlia House, I kicked off my shoes and tucked my throbbing feet under me. I had paid the price of wicked shoes without a whimper.

"You're quite a dancer." It was an understatement. Bridge, for all of his upright posture, could move. In his life of privilege, he'd somewhere learned to salsa with just enough hip action to make a girl think of other activities.

"Thanks. You're a good partner." He glanced over at me. It was the most intimate action he'd committed all night. Bridge Ladnier was a very careful man.

"Will you be in Zinnia long?"

"I'd planned to leave Sunday. Although I'll be doing a bit of work here in Zinnia, my base is in
Memphis
. But I think I'm going to change my plans." This time his glance lingered on me. "Will you have some free time in the next few days?"

Bridge had mastered the art of making his intentions clear without applying pressure. It was a surefire lure to an independent woman. "I'll have some free time in the evenings."

He reached across and touched my hand, gathering it into his. When we were dancing, I'd noticed how long his fingers were. He had the hands of a musician. Rather like Scott Hampton's.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

He was acutely sensitive, too. "No. I was just thinking about tomorrow."

We pulled up in front of Dahlia House. He got out, opened my door, and walked me to the front porch.

"Tinkie was right about you."

"Really?" I forced a smile. There was absolutely no telling what Tinkie had said about me.

"She said you were smart and talented and entertaining. 'A rare speciman of Southern womanhood' is the way she phrased it."

Relief swept over me. "It could have been a lot worse. Tinkie knows too many of my secrets."

"She adores you, Sarah Booth. And I see why."

Bridge was smooth. Another compliment, no pressure.

He stepped closer to me and put his hands on my shoulders. "It was a lovely evening. I'd like to take you to dinner Friday night."

My dance card was woefully empty, but I didn't want Bridge to know that. Coleman Peters tried to pop into my brain, but I firmly shut him out. "I'd like that."

"Good. I'll pick you up at seven. I'll make it a surprise evening, but dress comfortably. Wear something that makes you feel like reclining on soft cushions in the glow of a dozen candles." He leaned down and brushed a kiss across my lips.

I'd wondered for the past thirty minutes what it would feel like to kiss him. Pleasant. When I didn't pull back, he kissed me again, this time with more intimacy.

His arms circled me, holding me firmly yet without pressure. I closed my eyes and gave myself to the wonderful sensation of being held in a man's arms, of kisses that hinted at passion but didn't demand.

Lifting his lips from mine, he stepped slightly away from me, holding me long enough to make certain I'd regained my balance.

"I think I'm going to owe Tinkie a lot," Bridge said as he brushed his fingertips along my jaw, lingering just a second on my chin. "Good night, Sarah Booth. And don't give up on Scott Hampton. He could be your ticket to a lot of publicity and that's how you'll get bigger, better cases in the future. I don't think you'll have any more trouble from the likes of Marshall Harrison."