When Bobbie Sang the Blues (24 page)

Then something else occurred to her. Harry Stephens had indicated that he had not yet been through what lawyers call discovery, when the prosecution would have to reveal their witness list. Her hopes sank. Maybe Tony Panada was their secret witness.

She turned and hurried out of the unit, waving good-bye to Hornsby as she walked to her car. All the way home, the idea of Panada as a witness for the prosecution worried her. Harry Stephens had to find out.

By the time she arrived home and walked into the kitchen, a loud growl from her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten. Pancakes sounded good, so she washed her hands and began to prepare a late breakfast.

She was flipping the second pancake in her iron skillet when a horn blasted from the driveway. A deep, big-boy horn. Frowning,
she turned off the burner and laid the spatula on a plate. Then she unlocked the front door and stepped onto the porch.

A moving van had tried to pull into her driveway, driving over in the grass on each side of the concrete drive.

An older man with a sweaty face thrust his round, mostly bald head out the window. “This street is pretty narrow. I don’t have enough space to back the truck in.”

Christy walked out to the moving van and the two guys perched high within. “You’re at the wrong address. Are you looking for Bobbie Bodine?”

“Yes ma’am, and this is the address we was given.” He waved a rumpled sheet of paper at her.

“She did live here, but now she’s at my parents’ home.”

“So where do they live?”

Christy shook her head. “The furniture goes to her shop and then her storage unit. But first let me call her.”

It had become a habit to stick her cell phone in her pocket—after all, a cell phone in her jeans pocket had once saved her life. She pulled it out and dialed her aunt’s number.

“Hello!” Bobbie sounded as excited as a debutante at her first dance. No one could possibly imagine, hearing this happy voice, that she had been arrested for murder and released on bail.

“Bobbie, a moving van is parked in my driveway ready to unload,” Christy said, trying to control her irritation.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. They were supposed to call me and meet me at the shop. I’ll send them out to the storage units once they’re finished at the shop, which should take two or three hours.
Maybe Beth can go out to the storage unit. I don’t know if I should be seen out there.”

“Mom has to be at the shop today,” Christy said. “She’s expecting some ladies from Tupelo.”

“Oh…well, could I impose on you one more time?”

Christy sighed. “You want me to go out to the unit with those guys and tell them where to put things. Okay. I think I have an extra padlock in my dresser drawer.”

“Great. I’ll have them stepping fast because I’m paying by the hour. I’d love for you to come by and give me some opinions, but if you’re busy, I’ll call you when they leave the shop.”

“I’ll be down later.” Christy said good-bye and hung up.

“Well?” The driver looked tired and out of sorts.

“Guys, go back into Summer Breeze—just follow that street north.” She pointed to the street that paralleled hers. “Stay on it through town till you reach the corner of Breezeway and Palm. It’s the shop on the corner. You’ll have plenty of room to turn around since it’s on the corner.”

He huffed a big sigh and pulled his head back into the cab.

The little guy on the other side, who’d been so quiet she thought he was dozing, leaned forward and stared at her. “Is this the town where Eddie Bodine bought it?”

Christy flinched, drawing herself up to her full five feet three, barefoot. “He died in this area, yes.”

“I used to see him down at the gym, working out. Nobody liked him,” the little guy said.

Was that supposed to make her feel better? Christy wondered.

The driver leaned back out his window. “Did Bobbie really do him in?”

Christy stepped back from the truck, frowning at both men. “No, she did not. The bookies got him.” She watched two sets of jaws drop.

“No…” The little guy mumbled something Christy couldn’t hear and probably didn’t want to hear.

“She’s waiting,” she snapped, then turned and marched back up to the house.

As she went inside and locked the door, irritation tugged at her like a puppy yanking on a pant leg. She never seemed to have time to do the things she needed to do for herself. Like eating pancakes for breakfast. Well, today she would.

As she took the pancakes to the eating bar, she realized that her life, and that of her parents, had been consumed with taking care of Bobbie lately. Maybe things would change when Bobbie was settled and Harry Stephens proved she was innocent.

The warm, syrupy pancakes almost made up for Christy’s hectic morning. As she finished the last bite and drained her milk, she felt fortified to deal with the rest of the day. She rinsed her dishes and put them in the dishwasher, then turned down the hall to her bedroom.

She slowed at the door to her office and cast a longing glance toward her computer. Ten chapters of her new manuscript lay stacked neatly in a drawer. She sighed. When was she going to get back to work? She needed to have boundaries in her life, for herself and others. People seemed to forget that writing was her job,
her income. Her mother hadn’t closed her shop, and her father certainly hadn’t abandoned his job. While this was a personal investigation involving her aunt, Bobbie had come to expect Christy to be at her beck and call.

Christy walked on, determined to be more assertive. She must start using the word
no
, which had been missing from her conversations with Bobbie.

As she faced her reflection in the dresser mirror, whisking her hair back in a ponytail, she thought she recognized the exasperation in her eyes. She had seen it in her mother’s eyes when Christy was growing up. Winding the rubber band around her hair, she began to get a clearer picture of her mother’s childhood. She wondered how many little favors Bobbie had asked of sweet Beth. How many times had Beth watched her sister make choices and then find ways to avoid the consequences?

The word
choices
filled the screen of Christy’s mind, like huge white letters on a blackboard.

Her bedside phone rang again, and she steeled herself for one more request from her aunt.

“Christy,” the voice on the other end said, “it’s Roseann Cole. Eddie lied about leaving his insurance money to me. Guess who gets it? Your innocent little aunt. Apparently, he never got around to changing the beneficiary, as much as he claimed to hate her.”

“Oh no,” Christy said, thinking this was one more strike against Bobbie.

“Oh yes. And those guys in the black Mercedes have been following me for two days. They even parked down the street from
my house. Momma and I got away from them and left Memphis yesterday.”

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

“You don’t call the police when those guys are on your tail. You run. Eddie was right. They’re dangerous.”

“So where are you now?”

“I’m in Summer Breeze, but I’m not staying at the Starlight this time. I’m down the road at the Breezeway Motel, me and Momma. I don’t have much money. Your aunt’s got a lot of money. She needs to be a little more generous. All this is her fault anyway.”

Christy bridled. “No, it isn’t. I’m sorry for what’s happened to you, but I don’t think my aunt needs to give you money.”

“If she doesn’t, I may be killed,” Roseann snapped. “None of this would have happened if Eddie hadn’t come here looking for that missing ten grand.”

Christy sighed. “Okay, you’ve made your point. Do you think those guys followed you here?”

“No, I’m traveling in a car they don’t recognize. They’re still looking for Eddie’s truck.”

“Why are they after you, Roseann? Do they think you have the money?”

“Yeah, and they think I’ve got Eddie’s little black book with the numbers of all the bookies and who knows what else in it. But I don’t have it, and I don’t know what he did with it.”

Christy bit her lip. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do. What room are you in?”

Roseann hesitated.

“I’m trying to help,” Christy said. “Room 118.”

“Okay. Be careful.”

Christy heard a noise in the background, and Roseann told someone to turn on the television. The phone clicked in her ear.

Christy jumped up and began to pace the floor. As much as she hated to face it, Bobbie looked guiltier every minute. Did she know Eddie’s life insurance policy was in her name? Did she take his money and run, bringing down the Mafia and who knew what else on Summer Breeze? On her family?

Christy ran out the door and jumped in her car, watching every vehicle, every side street, for the black Mercedes. No strange cars yet.

She whirled down the street to the shop and double-parked beside Jack’s SUV. Grabbing her purse, she ran into the shop, where Bobbie was happily instructing the sweaty movers where to place a huge gilded mirror.

“And be careful,” Bobbie warned. “You know the old saying—break a mirror and get seven years of bad luck. With one that size, I’d say twenty-one years!” A laugh rolled from her lips, but the movers did not look amused.

Bobbie noticed Christy and hurried over. “Here, honey.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew a key. “I had an extra made for you in case you need to get in the other unit.” For a moment her expression saddened as she placed the key in Christy’s hand.

Bobbie took a deep breath and glanced at the object nearby. “Look at this,” she said, obviously wanting to change the subject.
Christy stared blankly at a teacart Bobbie had loaded with china cups of all sizes and shapes and an assortment of teapots.

“I converted that cart from a rusted, thrown-away baby carriage,” Bobbie said proudly.

If Christy had felt more supportive, she might have marveled at Bobbie’s talent. In her present state of mind, however, she was in no mood to appreciate talent or humor. She glanced toward the back room, where Jack was putting up shelves to hold cans of paint.

“The people who own the ice cream shop walked down to welcome me. Isn’t that nice?” Bobbie asked.

“Very nice,” Christy said, wondering how many others she’d have to bribe.

“They were really impressed with my treasures,” she said. Then her big blue eyes searched Christy’s face. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“For starters, Roseann Cole and her momma are in town. The guys in the black Mercedes are after
her
now. They think she has the money along with some information Eddie might have given her.”

Bobbie frowned. “But what are we supposed to do?” Christy sighed. “She needs money. Do you think we should help her out?”

The warmth in Bobbie’s blue eyes faded. “I can’t believe you’re asking me such a question. I don’t owe that woman one thing.”

Christy glared at her. “Maybe you do. She’s been through hell because of Eddie Bodine, and the only reason my parents and I are entangled in this is because he followed you here.”

Bobbie stepped back from her, a look of shock and then defiance crossing her features. She walked over to her purse and withdrew several twenty dollar bills. “Give this to her,” she said. “Then you needn’t bother me with any more suggestions of charity for Roseann Cole.”

“I have a question you’ve never answered,” Christy said, Bobbie’s cash clenched in her fist.

Bobbie headed for the back room but then stopped. She turned her head and looked over her shoulder at Christy. “What’s the question?”

“Where were you from eleven thirty until one o’clock on Monday night?”

B
obbie whirled to face Christy, her blue eyes widened in shock. Without a reply, she picked up her bulging purse. She reached inside, and Christy stood motionless for a second, wondering what secret nestled in that purse, a secret that would account for the lapse of an hour and a half.

Bobbie pulled out a small slip of paper folded in a neat square and handed it to Christy. She opened the paper and read
Mary Dixon
, a name she didn’t recognize, along with a phone number with a local prefix.

“Ask
her,”
Bobbie said. She turned on her heel and walked away

Christy stared after her. What if this woman admitted she’d picked Bobbie up and driven her someplace to meet Eddie? Was her aunt that confident Christy wouldn’t go to the authorities if Mary Dixon incriminated Bobbie?

Christy had to get out of the shop; she had to breathe fresh air. She folded the paper and shoved it in her pocket, then turned to the movers heading back to the truck for more “treasures.”

“How long before you’re ready to head out to the storage unit?” she asked.

The big guy looked around the crowded shop. “Thirty minutes.”

She nodded. “I’ll meet you there. It’ll be the first unit on the backside.” Bobbie hadn’t said thank you or good-bye, and Christy stomped out of the shop, fighting tears. She stuffed Bobbie’s money in her purse, then reached in her billfold and added more money to Roseann’s pile.

Something began to jell in her mind, something she didn’t want to believe. The list of suspects had narrowed, and Bobbie had moved to the top.

Christy sped to the Breezeway Motel, looking in the side- and rearview mirrors of her car for a black Mercedes with a Tennessee tag. She glanced around her little town of colorful shop awnings and hanging baskets of flowers on lampposts. At the park, children played and dogs dozed in the sun. Everything seemed normal in Summer Breeze, but the knowledge Christy carried in her brain and in her pocket burned like a white-hot fire in her stomach.

Five minutes later, she turned into the parking lot of the motel. She didn’t recognize any of the cars in the parking lot, so she tried to clear her head and summon a bit of logic. Roseann had said room 118.

She found the room at the far end. She knocked softly on the door, and a woman’s harsh voice called out. “Who is it?”

“Christy Castleman. I’m a friend of Roseann’s.”

The door jerked open, and she faced a dumpy-looking woman with an older, fatigued face and a pile of auburn hair drifting loose from the knot on top of her head. So this was the woman who read tarot cards and warned of danger.

“May I speak to Roseann?” Christy asked politely.

“I’m Juanita, her mother. She’s gone for takeout at that hamburger joint down the road. Come on in.”

Christy stepped inside the room and closed the door. Purses and overnight bags were piled haphazardly about the room. The long dresser held a carton of Cokes, unopened, and several packs of peanut butter crackers. One bed was turned back, and Juanita sank onto it.

“I’m not feeling well,” she said. “We’ve been driving for hours, and I’m stressed and have a heart condition.”

“Oh?” Christy took a step toward her, concerned. On the nightstand beside the bed, a glass of water sat next to a bottle of pills.

“Nitroglycerin is supposed to help certain heart conditions,” Christy said on a hunch, squinting to read the prescription bottle.

Juanita turned on her side, her arm crooked around the end of the pillow. “That’s what I take. They cost a fortune.”

“My aunt misplaces hers all the time.”

“Yeah, so do I.”

She looked at the other bed. A porcelain doll with red hair and round blue eyes perched against the pillow. Her yellow dress fanned out on the floral bedspread. Black Mary Janes covered her feet. Christy stared at the doll, curious about the world Roseann
inhabited. In the center of the bed, the September issue of a popular fashion magazine had been left open.

Christy looked at Juanita, whose eyes were closed as though she were about to doze off, and then at the pill bottle. Was it possible?

She looked at her watch. Thirty minutes had zipped by, and she had to go. Juanita didn’t look like she would miss her, and Christy didn’t know how long Roseann would be gone. She walked to the door. “I have to meet a moving van out at the storage unit, but will you please tell Roseann I’ll come by later?”

Juanita nodded, her eyes still closed. “Are you moving?”

“No, just storing some furniture.”

“Mmm.”

Christy decided not to leave the cash. Juanita didn’t look as though she would remember to tell Roseann. “I hope you feel better,” Christy said. She walked out and gently closed the door.

She gave the parking lot one last glance but saw no suspicious cars. Nor did she see Roseann. She got in her car and drove out to the storage units, her mind in a daze.

Roseann had access to nitroglycerin. And last Monday night she believed she was the beneficiary of Eddie’s life insurance money. Did she kill him? Christy frowned. Maybe the nitroglycerin was just a coincidence. But then, she reminded herself, she didn’t believe in coincidences.

When she pulled into the parking lot, she saw that Hornsby’s truck was gone. She parked and got out, spotting the note on his door. “Back in twenty minutes.” She smiled, thinking that was a good way to goof off because he didn’t say what time he’d left.

She heard the groan of the moving van and got in her car, motioning them to follow her around to the back. She parked three units down so there would be plenty of room for the van to unload, then grabbed the padlock and key she had brought from home.

The movers studied the empty unit, sizing up the space. “We better get busy,” the big man said to the little guy lagging behind.

“Listen, you guys,” Christy said, walking up to them. “Was there a vacuum cleaner on this van?”

They exchanged glances. The big guy heaved a huge sigh. “It got taken off the van by a couple of Memphis cops. Or so I heard.”

She nodded, looking from one man to the other. They both looked exhausted. “How about if I run down to the service station and pick up some Powerade for you guys? That always gives me energy.”

“That’d be great, ma’am.”

“Want some candy bars or cheese crackers?”

“No ma’am. We’ll get a square meal once we’re finished here.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” Christy hesitated. “Could you guys leave that little peephole in the back wall uncovered?” When they agreed, she walked back to her car and got in, thinking about the vacuum cleaner.

So it had been dusted for fingerprints, thoroughly searched, and kept. Was it more incriminating evidence against her aunt? Did a new vacuum cleaner bag bear her fingerprints?

Christy’s eyes narrowed as she turned onto the highway. When she finished at the storage units, she would call a meeting at her parents’ home.

The slip of paper with the name lay in her pocket, the missing piece to an important puzzle. She wasn’t looking forward to checking out the name and number. Maybe she didn’t want to know. The change she had seen in Bobbie this morning reminded her of a question Dan had asked:
“How well do you really know Bobbie
?”

The memory of Dan and their sunset cruise brought a momentary escape from the tension surrounding her like smoke from a forest fire—a fire closing in on her. Whatever happened with Bobbie, Christy intended to have a life again, hopefully with Dan.

She arrived at the service station and rushed inside, gathered up several Powerades, and paid the attendant. When she returned to the storage facility, the office was still locked, and on this Wednesday afternoon, there was little activity around the units. She drove to the back and parked, then carried an armload of energy drinks toward the moving van.

The guys were grateful for the Powerade, and when she saw what they had accomplished, she knew her quick dash for drinks had paid off. They had fitted armoires, tables, a sofa, and chairs into the unit better than she could have advised them.

While they worked, Christy grabbed a bottle of the energy drink for herself and sauntered around to the front of the building. There was no one in sight, so she reached in her pocket for the extra key Bobbie had given her and inserted it into the padlock.

She thought Hornsby had told her the police still didn’t want anyone in or out, but glancing about, she decided to take a chance. She unlocked the door and slowly rolled it up. The smell of
deodorizers was even stronger here. She stepped inside and, as an afterthought, pulled down the door.

She could see traces of a thorough investigation. Dark spots showed where the area had been dusted for fingerprints. Reluctantly, her eyes moved toward the spot where the sixty-gallon barrel had stood. Where Eddie had died.

At that moment, Christy knew she had to do the right thing, whatever it cost her family emotionally or financially. She tried to live by the commandments instilled in her by her father, and one in particular filled her mind now. You did not take another’s life.

Resigned to the task, she pulled out the slip of paper, unfolded it, and punched the number into her cell phone.