Rock-a-Bye Bones (26 page)

“I know.” Coleman's tone gave nothing away. “Bijou gave me permission to check every building on her property. Any time of the day or night. She said she hasn't seen Gertrude and won't associate with her because to do so would land her back in prison. She's right about that, too. She escaped a prison sentence by the skin of her teeth. If she's hanging out with wanted felons, she'll go straight to jail.”

“I don't believe her.” Stubborn. That described me.

Coleman's chuckle was soft and sexy. “That's a point we agree on. I don't trust her either. She was way too cooperative. She's hiding something. I just don't know what. Yet.” I heard a commotion in the sheriff's office. “I have to go, Sarah Booth. Go straight to Playin' the Bones. Scott is expecting you. Take the dog and cat.”

“What about the horses?” I wasn't leaving Reveler, Miss Scrapiron, and Lucifer for Gertrude to harm.

“Lee picked them up about an hour ago. They're safe with her.”

“That's mighty presumptuous.” If he were standing in front of me I'd be torn between kissing him or kicking him.

“I know. It's what I do when I care a great deal about someone. Now do as you're told.”

My hackles went straight up. “Coleman Peters, don't you dare treat me like a child or a piece of property.”

His laughter came through the phone, deep and satisfied. “Now that you're riled up, maybe some blood will flow to your brain and you'll see the wisdom of staying at the club with Scott and the band. You can't be alone, Sarah Booth. Not at night. It's dangerous enough during the daylight hours.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Serve a search warrant on Carrie Ann Musgrove. DeWayne and I will tear her place apart.”

“What about Owen DeLong?”

“I'll get Kincaid on that.”

“Coleman—” I knew he couldn't step across the county line and conduct the search, but my confidence in Kincaid wasn't high.

“He's a competent lawman. Let him do his job. He's got a vested interest in this. Rudy Uxall was a resident of Bolivar County, and Mrs. Uxall is riding Hoss hard to find some answers.”

“Good.” This wasn't the time to argue with Coleman. He was bending over backward to protect me and help me find Pleasant. The least I could do was work with him instead of against him. “What about Tally McNair?”

“The judge set bail and someone paid it for her.”

Now that was a lead to follow. “Thanks.”

“Go to the blues club.” Coleman's determination was clear. “It's that or spend the night in jail. You can't be running all over the place. Gertrude means to hurt you.”

“And she's doing a damn fine job of it, too. I can't go home alone. My life is in upheaval, which is exactly what she wants to accomplish.” I wasn't mad at Coleman, I was furious with the situation.

“I know that. We all know it. Until we grab her, the only course of action open to me is to try to keep you in a protected place. Besides, you love the blues club. You'd be happy to be there any other night. You just don't like being ordered around.”

“True.” He sounded exhausted. “I'm sorry. I'm grateful for what you're doing. I'll go to the club, but first I'm going to talk to Junior Wells.”

“Okay. I can look out the window and see his place. I'll be watching. You'll get more out of Junior than I ever will. See if you can find out who paid Tally's ten-thousand-dollar bail.”

“Will do, chief.” I hung up before he could change his mind.

 

20

When I pushed open the door of Wells Bonding Agency, the smell of old wood, dust, and desperation enveloped me. The cement floor, once painted a green and gold pattern, was scuffed beyond recognition. Junior Wells's clientele wasn't all that interested in décor. Junior sat behind a giant, military-gray metal desk that was bolted to the floor. Because, I assumed, some of his “visitors” were angry and rowdy. I had no doubt he had a weapon at the ready. A bail bondsman was the ticket to freedom for someone who needed a bond signed. To someone who'd skipped out on his bond, Junior Wells would be worse than the devil himself.

He was a tall, thin man who often wore a large hat, giving him the look of a character from another time period. He'd run his bail bond business when my parents were alive and I would ride my bicycle around the courthouse square. A time or two he'd treated me to an ice cream cone from the little shop on Main Street. He was an acquaintance of my parents, and my father said he was an integral part of the judicial system, getting people out of prison so they could prepare their defenses.

“Mr. Wells,” I said as I closed the door behind me.

“Sarah Booth Delaney, what brings you to my door?”

“I need your help.” Junior had helped me in the past. He was a discreet man who ran his business by means fair and foul. Woe to the person who jumped bail, such as Gertrude Strom. I had difficulty believing he'd actually bonded her out, but he had. That was an emotional hurdle I had to jump if I expected his help with Tally McNair. Junior didn't see guilt or innocence. He saw money. Bonding Gertrude out wasn't an act of support for her, it was a business decision.

“Tread carefully. If you're here about Gertrude, it's a sore point.” He tilted his chin at Sweetie Pie and Pluto, who'd followed me into the office. “There's no partner more loyal than a dog. Not so sure about the cat, though.”

“Tally McNair is why I'm here.”

“Perky little thing, isn't she?” His lean face was composed of wrinkles upon wrinkles, and I had no clue if he was provoking me or just making conversation.

“Perky and a thief. Who paid her bail?”

“Excuse me,” he said.

I walked to stand directly in front of his desk. “I know you don't have to tell me anything. Let's skip all of that and jump to the important issue. A pregnant girl named Pleasant Smith was abducted over a month ago. Her baby was left on my front porch several nights ago, and the man who put the infant there is dead. Tally McNair is involved in Pleasant's disappearance. I realize this doesn't directly impact your world, but I know my daddy thought a lot of you. The service you provide is a vital one, because people are innocent until proven guilty. But sometimes, Junior, you put bad people back on the street.”

“You think I need a lecture about that?” He sat up tall and his eyebrows shot together like a unibrow. “I'm going to lose my home and land unless I find Gertrude Strom. Do I regret bonding her out, you betcha. Can I undo it? No. Tally McNair is a schoolteacher. She ain't going far, I can promise you that.”

Junior was as sore as an ingrown toenail. “I can't change your decision about Gertrude either, though she was at my farm the other night trying to shoot me. I guess we both have to live with your decision to set her loose.”

He pushed back in his chair. The protest of the springs sounded like a catfight. “I'm sorry, okay. I made a mistake. I never figured Ms. Strom for a runner, much less a killer. She gave me a sob story about how she'd been framed and all she wanted to do was return to her B&B and keep it from going under. She made a fool out of me, okay? I admit it.”

His explanation only served to make me madder, but I swallowed my anger. It didn't help me at the moment. Another day, when this was settled, I'd have a real sit-down with Junior and hash out the things Gertrude had done to me and others—things he should have researched before he cut her free. Right now, though, Tally and her benefactor were my immediate interest. To keep pounding Gertrude wouldn't help find Pleasant.

“Can you help me with Tally?” I asked.

“No.”

I thought about begging him, but it wouldn't do any good. Junior's reputation for crustiness was legend. I pivoted on my heel. I had better things to do with my time. I couldn't compel him to talk, and he wasn't going to volunteer.

“Sarah Booth, I would help you if I could.”

I spun to meet his gaze. “Then do it.”

“I can't. The money was left anonymously. I came back from lunch and the cash was in a paper bag shoved through the mail slot.”

“How did you know it was for Tally's bail? Surely there are plenty of other folks needing bail money.”

“There was a note in the sack.” He reached into his desk draw and handed me a slip of paper.

“Bail money for Tally McNair.” To my bitter disappointment, it was typed, not handwritten.

“Did any of your neighbor's see—”

“You can ask. I never look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Ask is exactly what I would do, though I had promised Coleman I would go straight to Playin' the Bones. Still, I would be only a hundred feet or so from my original destination.

“Thanks, Junior.”

“You say Gertrude was at your place the other night?”

I gave him the details, watching his expression shift from distaste to sharp interest. “She's still in the area. That's hopeful. I've hired two bounty hunters, and they'll be here any hour to find her. I hope their fame doesn't get in the way of capturing Gertrude.”

“What are they famous for?” Bounty hunters could earn headlines for good or bad, depending on how they handled their clients. In some states, bounty hunters had more leeway than an officer of the law. They could force entry, apprehend, and transport without worrying about warrants or the legal technicalities that sometimes hampered lawmen.

“They're pretty well known.” His wrinkled cheeks lifted as what passed for merriment glinted in his eyes. “Duane Chapman and his crew.”

“You hired those guys from television?”
Dog, the Bounty Hunter
had been a popular reality show as the public followed along behind Dog and his family as they brought bail skips to justice.

“Should be here today. Gertrude will be caught and put back in the pokey where she belongs.”

My hard feelings toward Junior softened. “Thank you.”

“Gertrude outfoxed me. I'm not proud of it. She made me believe it was a case of mistaken identity. I looked at her and saw a grandmother, a small business owner who'd lived in Zinnia most of her life. She snowed me. She's a cunning woman.”

“That she is. Listen, I'm really glad to hear this.” I wanted to clap and sing. “From what I've seen, those bounty hunters will have her rounded up in no time. Thanks for the lead on Tally's bond money. I'll check at the businesses next door.” My step was considerably lighter as I left his office.

Stitch Witchery, the fabric store on the south side of Junior's business, had been closed for lunch when the money drop was made. At the newly opened vape shop to the north, employees had been stocking shelves. They hadn't noticed anyone coming or going at the bail bondsman's place. My frustration built as I checked three more stores, all with the same results. No one had noticed anything. The little stretch of businesses across from the courthouse was happily oblivious to the comings and goings of Junior's clientele.

When I'd asked everyone I could find and still came up empty-handed, I did as I promised Coleman and left Zinnia behind. I drove the short distance to the blues club. I would hang with my musical friends until someone could go home with me. I hadn't felt this helpless since I was in cotton panties with eyelet lace and ugly Mary Janes.

The minute I walked in the door, Scott Hampton swept me into a bear hug. “I've been worried about you.” He rumpled my short, short hair then held me at arm's length. A lopsided grin lifted the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I remember mornings when we were lying in bed and your hair would be spread across the pillows. The way the light played in it—gold, chestnut, a hint of red. You have beautiful hair.”

“Had,” I corrected him, more self-conscious than I wanted to be. The new hairstyle disconcerted me. When I passed a mirror or window and caught an unexpected glimpse of my reflection, I wasn't sure who was looking back.

“The buzz cut is growing on me.”

“I wish it would simply grow.” I tried to rein in my vanity most of the time, but Scott made me keenly aware of my appearance. Not so long ago, as he recalled so vividly, he'd toyed with my tresses. The memory of his fingers trailing through the thick curls shook me to my toes. Scott's sensual nature, the deliberateness of his touch, worked on me from our first enounter. He evoked those memories with a few words and the brush of his hand across my skin.

I cleared my throat. “You've cultivated a nice head of hair yourself, Mr. Blues Blizzard.” Scott's white-blond hair, long and sexy, was part of his trademark as one of the best blues players around. I ran my palm over my fuzz. “I feel like Woodstock.”

“You're far from Woodstock.” He kissed the top of my head. “In two months, you'll have a pixie. In six, you'll have a wedge. After that—”

“Hold on, Vidal Sassoon, where did you learn so much about women's hair styles?”

“I read,” Scott said, but he fidgeted.

“Scott?” I gave him the stink eye.

“Okay, I was eavesdropping on Cece last night and that's what she said about your hair.”

I punched him lightly in the arm. “You eavesdropped on Cece and Jaytee? You'd better be careful. Those two might teach you things you don't want to know.”

He put his arm around me and walked me to the bar. “Let me fix you a Jack. And I put some pillows down in the office for Sweetie and Pluto. I worry that the bar will be too loud for them.”

“Thanks. I'll take them home before the band cranks up.” Sweetie loved the blues, but her hearing was six times more sensitive than mine, and it would be damaging to her ears to keep her in the club when the volume was cranked up and folks were boogying down. Pluto hated loud noise, so it was imperative I returned him safely to Dahlia House before the band took the stage.

Aside from the bedding, Scott had thought far ahead on other fronts. Curtis Hebert was cooking and he'd made a pulled pork sandwich, without sauce, for Sweetie. Pluto also had a plain serving of pork and half dozen lightly sautéed shrimp—more food than he could consume. Cats were like that. They wanted abundance, even if they couldn't eat it.