Splintered Bones (21 page)

Carol Beth stepped out onto the dance floor, blocking us. ""And Madame said you'd never be able to dance. It just goes to show you
can
make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.
With enough effort."
Bud had walked up holding two beers. She looked at him. "Sarah Booth can't afford you, honey."

"Neither can you," Bud said easily. "Though you tried your damnedest."

"What are you doing here, Carol Beth?" I asked. "I thought for sure you'd be signing checks for the prosecution, in the hopes you might be able to play carpetbagger and just step in and steal Lee's entire farm."

Harold captured Carol Beth's hands. "They're playing a waltz," he said, steering her onto the dance floor. Over his shoulder, he gave me a long look that I couldn't decipher in the dim light.

I took the beer Bud offered. "I can see why Kip hates Carol Beth. What I don't understand is why you were spending time with her."

"Would you believe me if I said it was a long story?" His grin was wry.

"Where did you and Carol Beth hold your little rendezvous the night Kemper was killed?" It was too loud in the bar for subtlety.

"You're back to checking my alibi."

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm checking Carol Beth's." I held his gaze. "Who else has been hanging out at Swift Level?"

"Kemper did a lot of business in the barn. He owed money, and that's where he met his creditors. I never hung around to hear the conversations, but I got the idea that some of them were men who wanted money and were determined to get it."

"Could you identify any of them, in a lineup?" It was stretching, but Boyd Harkey had said his plan was to inundate the jury with potential suspects.

He nodded. "One or two of them." He hesitated. "I got a call out at the farm this morning. It isn't good news."

"What?"

"Coleman's been turning the office inside out looking for something. I finally figured out what--insurance policies. I had a little visit from the insurance agent yesterday. What a strange man he is. Kemper took out additional life insurance about two weeks before he died. Seems like he thought an awful lot of himself."

"I know," I said. "Why would he take out a policy on himself? It would seem more likely he'd take one out on Lee and try to kill her." I was thinking aloud.

"That would be more in character," Bud said.

"Were there any other changes in policies?" I asked.

"He wouldn't say, but someone else has been looking for something. Things have been moved, little things. I haven't been able to catch them at it. Yet."

Bud Lynch was a capable man. It would take some fox to sneak into his henhouse and get out alive. "Any clues?"

"Papers in the office have been moved around. Someone had a key to get in the office, and the combination to the safe. No way for me to tell who's doing it."

"Was anything missing?"

"Lee would know better than me. It appears all of the important papers are still there." He shrugged. "Lee's the business manager. I'm just the trainer."

"What about Lee? Does she have any idea?"

Bud frowned. "I had a talk with her this morning and she says no, and I believe her. She said she and Kemper had the only keys, other than mine. All three of those keys are accounted for."

A woman who'd been eyeing Bud from the bar sauntered over to us and planted a kiss on Bud's cheek.

"It's been too long, honey. Where you been keepin' yourself?" she purred. She attached herself to his side and gave me a purely feline glare.

"I'll see what I can find out," I said, slipping away for my meeting with Krystal. It had been more than ten years since I'd talked with her.

The backstage area was tiny, but she had her own private space. There was even a vinyl star with her name plastered on the door. I tapped and waited.

"It had better be important."

The voice still held traces of a Delta Daddy's Girl, but it was overlaid with
Nashville
twang and a polyurethane coating of hardness. As I recalled, Simpson, as I had known her, had been good at French and Spanish, too.

"It's Sarah Booth."

"Oh, Sarah Booth, come in." The door opened and a smiling Krystal Brook greeted me.

Red hair flamed out from beneath a white Stetson hat, and her makeup was flawlessly, though heavily, applied. She was wearing a hot pink silk blouse with white fringe that outlined her enhanced bosom. A white-and-silver belt with a big buckle circled her tiny waist, and tight pink pants swelled over her hips and down her long legs. She even made the white cowgirl boots look good.

"Simpson! You look . . . terrific." And she did. She just didn't look like Simpson. She was, indeed, Krystal Brook.

"I know. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I think, who is that woman looking back at me?"

Her voice was musical, filled with implied heartbreak and treacherous secrets. She'd always been a very private girl. Of all the Daddy's Girls, I knew least about her. I couldn't remember even once being invited to her home.

"Krystal, baby." I turned to the door as her husband strode in.

"Sarah Booth, this is my husband, Mike Rich." Krystal's introduction was flawless, but something changed the moment her husband got near. I realized it was her eyes. They were suddenly Barbie's-- beautiful but without life.

"Yes, we've met."

"Sarah Booth, I hear you're going to put my wife in your book." Mike shook my hand in a pump that was guaranteed to bring water in less than thirty seconds. I would have gushed if I could have.

This was going to be tricky. The old line "Never con a con" came to mind. "That's my goal. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever finish this darn book." Artful Dodging, lesson number thirty-two in the DG training manual, was coming in handy.

"You should try singing," he said. He perched on the edge of Krystal's vanity table. "My wife goes out there every night and takes the temperature of the mob. She can sing her heart out and get nothing. She can put every inch of her soul out there for them to stomp on. A writer has it easy, compared to that. And you can't imagine the money that's tied up in launching a singing career. Krystal better pay off soon, or I'll have to get a new model."

Gritting my teeth, I smiled. "You seem to know everything about everything."

Krystal went to her husband and put her arm around him, giving a big squeeze. "Sarah Booth wants to ask me some questions."

Actually, I wanted to ask him what he was doing picking up a teenager from my home in the wee hours of the morning, but now wasn't the time.

"Sure, go ahead." He inched his butt further up on the vanity, knocking over a bottle of perfume. He ignored it.

"I'd like to talk to her alone," I said sweetly.

"Sorry. As her manager, I don't think that's a wise idea."

I nodded. "I see your point, and I certainly understand. Thanks." I started toward the open door.

"Mike, baby, Sarah Booth and I are old friends." Krystal tilted her head up at him. "We've got some old gossip to dig up, and we don't want you hearin' it."

"I think we need to control the things that are printed about you," Mike said as he watched my reaction. "The wrong kind of publicity can do tremendous damage."

"Sarah Booth wouldn't write a harmful word about me," Krystal said, putting her hands on her hips. "Now go on and let us talk for a few minutes."

"I don't understand why I shouldn't listen to the interview," he said, standing up.

"I'm afraid my interviews are conducted one on one. That's the premise of my book," I ad-libbed. "I appreciate your viewpoint, though. A star has to protect her privacy. No hard feelings; I'll just find another singer to interview."

"You won't put her in the book if you don't talk to her alone?" He was incredulous.

"Structure, you know. It's everything in a book. I'm sorry, but I have to follow the structure I've established."

His eyes narrowed, and he looked at Krystal. She shrugged and made her expression helpless.

"What kind of questions?"

"Oh, just about her recording career, where she started, that kind of thing. Fans want to know the basic details of a celebrity's life. It makes the star more real, more human."

Mike studied me. "Nothing personal. You're not going to ask why she doesn't have kids or that kind of thing that's nobody's business but mine?"

I shook my head. I didn't have to ask that question. He'd just given me the answer. "Strictly professional questions."

He pursed his lips. "Okay. But I'll be outside the door. Krystal, you know the rules."

"Yes, Mike." She gave him a smile that should have set his clothes on fire. Krystal had added a full measure of sexual heat to the talents of a Daddy's Girl.

He stepped out of the room, and I walked over and closed the door. When I looked at Krystal she was about to laugh out loud.

"Mike's got his good points, but Lord, he can be a trial. He thinks if he doesn't have his finger in every pie, none of them will bake."

"Thanks for doing this for Lee," I said. "She's in a real mess."

"What is it you want to ask me?" She sat down at the vanity and began to check her makeup.

"What can you tell me about Bud Lynch?"

She darkened an eyebrow, her hand never faltering. "We can't talk about that here."

"Then where?"

There was a knock on the door. "Five minutes, Miss Brook. Mike wants you to do a sound check on all the equipment."

Mike had left the room, but he'd made sure there was no time for real questions. I watched Krystal closely. Her back straightened, her shoulders drew back, and she tipped the cowboy hat on her head.

"Honey, this will have to wait. We'll talk later. Right now, though, it's show time." She grasped my shoulders and leaned over to kiss my cheek. "Sarah Booth, it was sure good seeing you."

16

Mike was standing outside the dressing room, hands in
pockets and silk tie loosened. His compulsion had not allowed him to go further than the closed door. "How'd it go?" he asked.

"Fine. I can't wait to see Krystal's performance." I thought of the star/manager marriages I'd read about in magazines. Mike fit the stereotype to a T. His claim to fame was controlling the talent. Living as the-man-behind-the-woman had to be tough on his fragile ego.

"Got all your questions answered?" he pressed. Sweat glistened on his forehead.

"All except one." I shifted so that I could look him directly in the eye. "What were you doing, picking Kip up at two in the morning?"

He was startled, but only for a second. "The kid called me and asked me some questions. I knew she was having a hard time, so I talked to her a little and one thing led to another." He shrugged.

"She just called you up, out of the blue?" It wasn't hard to generate disbelief in my voice.

Mike's face darkened. "I was suffering from a guilty conscience. Krystal's just getting into the horse thing, but we're figuring it won't do her career any harm if she learns some rodeo stuff. That Lynch is teaching her. Sometimes I go watch her take lessons, and I overheard some things I shouldn't have repeated."

I raised my eyebrows. I wondered if he knew exactly what Bud was teaching his wife.

"I let it slip that Carol Beth had bought that mare of hers. Kemper never should have done that to the kid."

"Kemper was a total bastard," I agreed. "But Kip is in my care. Didn't it occur to you that I would be upset if she left in the middle of the night?"

"Hell, she said she told you that she was going out with a friend." He frowned. "I guess it's different with boys. We used to take off at all hours."

"And you didn't have a clue she was going to vandalize Carol Beth's truck?"

He was surprised. "I didn't know. She just said she wanted to talk to Carol Beth about the horse. Make sure it was doing okay. She said Carol Beth was expecting her, so I let her out at the motel and left. That's all I had to do with it. Honest." His grin was all charm. "Sorry if it worried you. I won't do it again. This time I promise."

The girls I'd grown up with had made interesting choices in spouses. By comparison, I didn't mind being single.

"How'd you get into the music business?" I asked, pulling out a notepad that I'd brought as a cover. There was something in Krystal and Mike's relationship that niggled at me. He didn't have the finesse required for the truly big league, and I was vaguely curious as to why Krystal kept him around. Maybe he had her tied up in a contract.

"I started out in real estate, some car dealerships, insurance, HMO groups, services for the homebound, those kinds of things. I still dabble a little, but now I'm a record producer and manager of Krystal's career. She's going to be the toast of
Nashville
by this time next year. She has the talent, and I have the money to make it happen."

So, he was the capital investor. "She's certainly reinvented herself," I agreed.

"Do you think there's something wrong with that?" he asked with more than a hint of aggression.