When Bobbie Sang the Blues (12 page)

Christy winced, thinking Eddies upbringing may have had something to do with the way he turned out.

“So I’ll call his brother, Mitford,” Roseann continued, sounding weary. “I’ve already made arrangements with a funeral home to take him back to Memphis. I’m just waitin’ on Eddies truck. They’re hanging on to it longer than I would have thought.”

“Have you considered a rental car?”

“I’ll wait on the truck. Everything that belonged to Eddie needs to go back to Memphis when he does.”

“I understand,” Christy said. “Dale, the owner of the funeral
home, is a nice guy. I’m sure he’ll work with you on the expenses of getting Eddie to Memphis.” She held her breath, hoping Roseann would take the bait.

Roseann’s gaze swept Christy before she responded. “Well, I don’t have much money, but Eddie gave me a credit card. I think there’s enough credit left to get him home.”

“And once you’re there,” Christy pressed, “I’m sure he has a life insurance policy that will cover the rest of the expense.”

Silence followed, one that Roseann did not bother to fill. She stared at her notes. “I don’t know,” she said at last.

Christy suppressed a sigh. She had hoped Roseann would volunteer information regarding a life insurance policy, if it existed, and its beneficiary. She knew it wasn’t Bobbie. But getting information from Roseann proved to be tougher than she had expected. After all, Roseann wasn’t sure that Bobbie, and maybe Jack, hadn’t killed her boyfriend, and Christy was Bobbie’s niece.

“Roseann, I’m sorry for what’s happened,” Christy said gently. “But you understand I’m not responsible for other people’s actions. If I can help you, I will.”

“Why would you want to help me?” Roseann’s eyes narrowed behind the heavy black mascara.

“You don’t know anyone here.”

“Thanks,” Roseann replied halfheartedly. Christy doubted that Roseann would accept her offer of help. But then, she couldn’t really blame her.

“Well, I’d better run.” She didn’t know what else to say, and apparently Roseann didn’t either. Her wary gaze lingered on
Christy. “Good luck,” Christy added lamely, then turned back to her car. Roseann’s door slammed behind her.

Christy glanced at her watch. Ten thirty.

Recalling her conversation with Miz B, she decided to drive out to the storage facility. If Hornsby was there today, maybe he’d talk to her.

Hornsby’s storage units still hosted a beehive of activity. The yellow crime-scene tape seemed iridescent in the morning sunlight, calling attention to the fated unit. The gate was open, however, and no deputy was stationed to stop people from entering. Cars and trucks were parked in front of units as people checked to make sure they hadn’t been robbed during the Monday night tragedy.

Christy circled the facility and spotted a deputy with one of the detectives she had seen in Panama City. They stood in front of the unit that backed up to Bobbie’s. Why were they looking at that unit? Who owned it?

She found a parking space away from the activity and hurried to the office.

Hornsby’s desk looked as though someone had aimed a fan at it and blown papers in all directions. That same fan had tousled Hornsby’s hair into a black tumbleweed. She could tell from the way he kept shoving a hand through his hair that he had been the fan. He had his mouth pressed against the phone, but his voice reached her.

“I’ve stalled about not having a combination to that fancy dial lock on your unit, but they’ve got search warrants to go through every unit. They’ve worked their way down to yours—” He looked up at Christy standing in the doorway and jerked back in his chair. “Someone’s here. Gotta go. Yeah, you better hurry back and check on things.” He hung up and looked at Christy. “What do you want?”

She pretended to be shocked. “That’s not a very friendly greeting, Hornsby. My aunt just wanted to know when to tell the moving van to bring the rest of her stuff.”

Hornsby shook his head. “She won’t be able to put anything in that unit for weeks. And I don’t have another unit. She’d better check elsewhere.”

“If you don’t have another unit, then I believe she’s due a refund. I saw her pay you three months in advance, and it hasn’t been a week.”

“Well, it ain’t my fault her ex-husband ended up in there or that she’s the number-one suspect. It’ll probably cost me what she already paid to get the place deodorized. And I’ve got to have a load of gravel hauled in to replace all that’s been scattered from vans and police cars coming in and out.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

His protruding brown eyes were streaked with red, as though he hadn’t slept much. Dark circles underlined his eyes. “That unit was locked. Nobody else had a key. And I didn’t use mine,” he emphasized, “until that foul smell came through the walls. Then it was my duty to see what was wrong.”

Christy nodded, pretending sympathy “I know this has been awful for you. I imagine the police and the press are hounding you to death.”

His shoulders slumped, and he let go of the heavy sigh he had been holding. “Phones ringing off the hook. I’ve been tempted to lock up and go home, but I can’t with them detectives—” He broke off, busying himself with his papers.

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

His head jerked back up, his eyes glittering with suspicion. “So what’s going on with your aunt?”

“She’s upset, naturally.” Christy remembered what her aunt had said as they drove away after renting the unit.
“I’ll bet you my line-dancing boots that Hornsby’s the biggest gossip in town. Never met a man like him who wasn’t nosy…”
Christy searched her mind for the best way to manipulate him. Manipulation was not a good thing, she knew, but she had to protect her aunt.

“The thing that bothers us most is the black Mercedes,” she said.

Hornsby’s dark eyes bulged. “What black Mercedes?”

“The one from Tennessee that everybody’s been seeing around town. I’m sure you must have noticed it circling the units. In fact”—she studied him closely—“someone thought they saw it parked in front of your office, like maybe they were looking for a storage unit.”

His gaze shot out to the parking lot, then back to her. “I ain’t seen a black Mercedes from Tennessee. I’d have remembered it. And nobody’s asked for a unit since your aunt rented that one.” He
wagged his head to indicate the scene of the crime. “Deputy didn’t mention it.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” she said, shrugging. “They can’t talk about the investigation to anyone.” She decided to get bold. “Those guys who were after Eddie Bodine were bookies. Word is, they followed him here.”

She could practically see his heart pumping beneath his thin white shirt. “I haven’t heard anything about that,” he said, coming to his feet. He peered out the window. “But I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Thanks, Hornsby. I’d better run. Oh, one more thing. The guy who owns that unit that backs up to Bobbie?”

Anxiety leapt onto Hornsby’s face and pulled at his features. “What about him?” he asked hoarsely. She heard the fear in his voice.

“He’s kind of strange, isn’t he?”

“What do you mean, strange?”

“Who is he? I mean, he looks a little suspicious to me.”

“Suspicious? I wouldn’t have suspicious people renting units,” he said, obviously angry. “Or rather, I didn’t until your aunt—” “Be careful, Hornsby.”

“You know I’m not allowed to give the identity of my tenants. But I don’t like you implying Tony Panada is suspicious. For your information, he’s a respectable businessman. He owns a printing company downtown.”

She nodded. “Then I guess I was mistaken. See you later.”

As she started her car, Christy reached under her seat for the extra phone directory she kept with her. She placed it on the seat
beside her until she reached the service station farther down. She steered into the parking area and cut the engine. Flipping through the phone book, she found Tony Panada’s name with a Panama City home address. TP Printing Company was located there as well. She dialed the number.

A professional-sounding receptionist answered.

“I’d like to get some information, please,” Christy said. “Exactly what type of printing do you do?”

“We do a variety of things. Brochures for businesses, invitations for parties, business cards…What did you need?”

“I’m interested in party fliers,” Christy replied.

“Oh, that’s one of our specialties. I suggest you come down and look at some of our samples, or you can make up one of your own.”

Christy thanked her and hung up. She was definitely on the wrong trail with this one. Tony Panada probably kept the storage unit for extra paper and supplies. She replaced the phone book under her seat and shoved her cell in her pocket.

Then something occurred to her. Why would Panada choose a small storage facility more than twenty miles from his home and business? There were several storage units closer. She doubted Hornsby’s prices justified the drive.

Everyone had a reason for what they did. What was Tony Panada’s reason for going so far out of his way to keep a unit? The only answer that made sense to Christy was that he had something to hide.

As she drove back into Summer Breeze, she decided to go by Miz B’s to chat with her. She always lifted Christy’s spirits. She’d probably find Bobbie and Jack there as well.

But first, she needed some fuel. She turned into the town’s most popular service station and pulled up to a pump. Just in front of her, she saw J. T. Elmore gassing up his old truck.

“Hey, J.T.,” she called. She set the pump on automatic, then walked up to him.

“I can’t afford to do that,” he said, nodding toward the fuel pump in her car. “I have to buy ten dollars at a time, with the price of gas and all.”

“Well, I have a tendency to run out before I know it,” she said, looking him over. He seemed out of sorts and had reverted back to wearing his old jeans and frayed shirt. Something wasn’t quite right.

“Are you okay?” she asked, placing a hand on his bony shoulder. “You look a little pale.”

J.T. kicked at a pebble with his worn tennis shoes. “Aw, I didn’t sleep last night. I went over to Cora Lee’s house, and we had a fight and busted up.”

“What happened?”

He shoved the hose back into its stand and capped his tank. He straightened and looked at her. “I just messed up, that’s all.”

“Now, J.T.,” she said, looking affectionately at him, “if you just messed up, I’m sure there’s a way to straighten it out. From what I’ve heard of Cora Lee, she’s a pretty forgiving person.”

“Till it comes to me going to a bar. She don’t rare up too much
about me socializing with the boys out at Jack’s place, but she’s a real religious woman, hates that Last Chance Bar down the street.” He wagged his head, almost toppling his stained baseball cap.

“But you don’t go there, so why should she be upset?”

The end of his nose turned red, a signal that his blood pressure was rising. His gaze shot away from her, focusing on a dent on his truck. “Ah, never mind. It’s just a misunderstanding.”

She placed a hand on his arm as he reached forward to open his door. “Did Jack get you in trouble?”

He nodded. “But I knew better.”

“What did he do, J.T.? You can tell me.”

He turned, his eyes watering. “Never thought I’d care that much about a woman again. I hate to lose her.”

“J.T., you aren’t going to lose her over going to that bar with Jack,” Christy soothed. “I can talk with her. I’ll tell her Jack insisted. That you would never have gone if he hadn’t needed a favor.”

“The only reason I went was to keep him out of trouble,” he shot back. “But Cora Lee had got wind of it by the time I got to her house last night. I gotta go, Christy.”

“Wait, J.T.” She decided to bluff. If she was wrong, he would straighten her out. “I know Jack was upset Monday night and threatened Eddie Bodine. If you hadn’t been with him, he might have done something he would have regretted.”

J.T. whirled, looking around the station to see who had heard her. “All we did was watch Bodine and that woman,” he said. “We didn’t do nothing wrong. And Jack never talked to him. Then Cora
Lee’s cousin Hank—wild as a buck—came in to buy cigarettes and saw me. He told his wife, and she told Cora Lee while they were at a quilting bee yesterday. As soon as Hank went out the door, I followed him to the truck, tried to explain I never went to bars anymore. Didn’t do any good,” he said, heaving a sigh. “Cora Lee still got the word.

“Anyway, I went back inside and told Jack I was leaving. I knew I was in trouble with Cora Lee, and I wanted to go back home. The only reason I was there is Jack saw me coming back from Cora Lees house and waved me over. Told me he wanted me to go with him to that bar.”

He seemed to have run out of words, so he just stood by his truck, miserably shaking his head.

Christy tried not to show the disappointment she felt. She forced her tone to remain cheerful, although it was difficult. “Did Jack leave when you did?”

“Naw, but he said he was leaving in a minute.”

She nodded. “Well, J.T., I’m going to talk to Cora Lee. Maybe I can help you out.” She winked at him.

“Miss Christy, if you said something to her, it’d go a long way toward her forgiving me.” New hope glowed on his face. “I think she does her grocery shopping around ten o’clock on Saturdays.”