Rock-a-Bye Bones (23 page)

“Thanks, Laney.” It was time for our meeting with the music agent.

“I hope you find her and she's okay.” Laney was caught in the middle of Pleasant's disappearance, like the rest of us.

*   *   *

The Landbridge Building was one of the premium office spaces in Music City. Rick walked us up to Benny Hester's office, then took off to work another case. While we waited for Hester to finish a meeting down the hall, we took in the mahogany paneling, the impressive number of framed gold and platinum albums hanging on the walls, and the waterfall that comprised one entire wall of his office. Lighting twinkled behind the water, which soothed my nerves even though I was eager to take the meeting and get back to Sunflower County and my search for Pleasant.

We were on the twentieth floor, and when I looked out the window I could see the area of Nashville where some of the great singers and songwriters had met fame. Music Row, the Ryman Auditorium, home of the Grand Ole Opry, and one of my favorite Nashville bars, Tootsie's Orchid Lounge, were all clearly visible.

I'd always enjoyed Nashville, and I knew the basics of the town's history—at least where country music was involved. The blues were my first love, but some country singer-songwriters had also captured my allegiance.

The Ryman had originally been built as a church and was known as the “Mother Church of Country Music.” Stars such as Dolly Parton, Loretta Lynn, George Jones, and Porter Wagner had graced the stage with talent and glamour.

Behind the Ryman was Tootsie's famous watering hole, a place where “new” musicians were often discovered by music executives having a drink after taking in an Opry performance. Willie Nelson, among many, had gotten his first music break while playing for tips at the bar known as “the place where music begins.” The music legends who grew from Tootsie's and the Ryman were staggering.

“This town could get in your blood,” I said to Tinkie, who clearly wanted to be on the way home. She checked her watch every five seconds.

“I used to love to come here with Oscar when we were first dating. A lot of couples drove up to catch shows or meander through the bars, listening to new talent, singers like Laney Best. That girl is going places.”

“She has the heart and the right material.”

“I'm more and more positive Pleasant is alive but can't come forward. Someone is holding her prisoner.”

“To what purpose?” I asked. “The scholarship thing is over and done.”

“And Pleasant doesn't have a pot to pee in, as your aunt Loulane would say. It can't be a kidnapping for money. And they've stolen her songs.”

“Jealous of her talent?” It worked as a motive. “Clearly Tally wanted the songs Pleasant had written. And those girls just hated her because they are eaten alive with envy. And they're all four stupid as a dead slug. They got her out of the way, but what now? Are they holding her hostage and forcing her to write new songs?”

“Maybe, but they can't keep her the rest of her life.” Tinkie's eyes widened. “When they release her, what will they have gained? Pleasant can reclaim the rights to her songs. I'm sure she can prove they're hers.”

The obvious answer was one I didn't want to say. They had no intention of releasing her. Ever. Tinkie had the same thought—it showed clearly in her expression.

My enthusiasm for the Nashville view had waned as Pleasant's terrible plight filled my imagination. I didn't know the teenager, and sometimes it grew too easy to think of her in the abstract. She was a missing young woman, one who had given birth and might not have received any medical attention. One who might be suffering from an infection, if the young man trying to get help from Betty McGowin was any indication.

Subdued by our thoughts, we took seats in club chairs beside the empty desk and waited. The rippling waterfall mesmerized me, and I tried not to think or check my watch.

Tinkie stepped on my toes. “We'll find her. Don't look so glum.”

There was no time to answer. The door opened and a sharp-looking man in his fifties stepped into the room. “What can I do for you ladies?” Benny Hester asked. He checked his watch to let us know he had a busy schedule and that he'd made time for us.

“We're here about some songs,” Tinkie told him.

“Yes, the McNair problem. The songs I'm representing are ‘Too Blue' and ‘Baby Love.'” Hester went through some files on his desk. He handed one to Tinkie. “Standard agent agreement signed by Tally McNair. She presented herself as the creator of the songs. I had no reason to believe they were stolen.”

Our PI friend, Rick, had done a lot of the legwork for us and I was glad. “We're not blaming you,” I said quickly. “When did Ms. McNair sign the contract?”

“October 15.” Tinkie pointed to a page in the file. “Right here.”

“Pleasant had been gone two days,” I said aloud. “Tally didn't wait to see if she'd show up again because she knew she wouldn't. I don't care what that band director says, she knows plenty about Pleasant's abduction. She can pretend she only overheard those girls plotting, but she capitalized on the situation and she knows more than she's saying.” I couldn't wait to call Coleman. He had Tally in a jail cell—unless she'd made bond.

“Rick Ralston filled me in on the situation. So the young woman who wrote the songs has vanished?” Hester asked. “Do you believe she's still alive?”

“Yes.” Tinkie and I were in sync, as always.

“When you find her, I'd like to sign her. She's talented. She's got a great career ahead of her. Now I realize this isn't your problem, but I have a music video I've paid for that I can't release until the rights are clear on this song. I need to speak with Ms. Smith as soon as you find her. There's a bonus in this for you if you turn her up before Thanksgiving. Say twenty grand?”

When we found her. If we found her. There was a lot more at stake here than a music video or even Pleasant's career. Libby needed her mother. Tinkie was great. Amazing, even. If the baby was adopted by the Richmonds, she would have a privileged, secure, and loved life. But she would not have her natural mother.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Hester. The date on the contract is very helpful. We'll be in touch as soon as we have any information.”

We left his office and took the elevator to the lobby. I'd learned three bits of valuable information. Tally McNair had sold Pleasant's songs almost as soon as she disappeared; the high school trio was in this up to their ears; and Pleasant was the real deal. She was
the
one in a million who might break big in country music. It spoke to motive for her kidnapping, and not in a good way. Pleasant's talent translated into money, and people did many regrettable things for money.

“Let's zip back to the plane,” Tinkie said. She was itching to get home.

I pushed open the glass door and stepped on the street. And froze. Gertrude Strom was standing across Fifth Street glaring right at me. Incredibly she wore a khaki skirt and a red cardigan. She looked like someone's grandmother. Except for the malice that contorted her features.

Tinkie saw her, too. “I have had enough.” She started to push past me, but the light changed and the road flooded with speeding vehicles. There was no way to cross. Gertrude made a crude gesture and walked into the crowd. By the time the traffic stopped, there wasn't a sign of her.

 

18

On the brief plane ride home, I called Coleman and told him about Gertrude. His anger warmed the cockles of my heart. He was furious.

“How is she moving so freely and so fast?” he asked. “It's a five-hour drive to Nashville. She must have left at dawn this morning, and how did she know you had a meeting with Benny Hester?”

“She could have driven up here after she left Dahlia House last night. But how did she even know I'd be in Nashville, much less the music agent's name. She knows what I'm doing before I figure it out.” I took a breath and dove back in. “Flying around in Mr. Bellow's private plane has given me some new perspective. I'm working on the suspicion that someone wealthy is helping her.”

“Good point. Any idea who that might be?”

It hit me. “Bijou LaRoche.” In the not so distant past, Bijou had involved herself with some pretty skanky characters. She was a wealthy plantation owner and well-known succubus, who'd gone to the dark side and managed to escape real punishment for a number of crimes by cooperating with the feds.

“She was my first thought,” Coleman agreed. “She doesn't much care for you, Sarah Booth. You have that effect on people.”

His teasing note made me feel worlds better. The situation wasn't so bad that we couldn't laugh. “Thanks. So what are you going to do?”

“Sheriff Kincaid has agreed to put a deputy on watch near Carrie Ann's place. I'll ask Jaytee if he can bird-dog Bijou. She has a thing for good-looking men.”

“He has to sleep sometime. He's at Playin' the Bones all night.” I loved that my friends wanted to help, but the man couldn't play music all night and gumshoe all day.

“Scott and the rest of the band volunteered to share shifts. They adore you, Sarah Booth.”

“If Bijou is harboring Gertrude, it could be dangerous work, and they're musicians. They aren't trained.”

“They've promised to watch and report. No heroics.”

I was still uncomfortable, but I didn't have a better solution. Coleman was woefully understaffed, and that wasn't going to change.

“We should be touching down in an hour,” I said. “I know Carrie Ann let you into her house, but could you really search? Maybe there's evidence that Gertrude or Pleasant were there?”

“Waiting on the judge to sign a search warrant for her house. If there's any trace that either was there, I'll find it.”

“What about the three men who were murdered in the farm shed?”

“Mississippi Bureau of Investigation and the Memphis Drug Task Force want to take over the investigation. I'm going to let them. This is bigger than Sunflower County. They have more technology, more men, more surveillance equipment.” He chuckled softly. “They have drones, Sarah Booth. The really expensive kind.”

“Dammit. I want a drone.” I would be hell on wheels if I had aerial surveillance of Bijou's property. I'd find Gertrude Strom, hog-tie her, and deliver her to the county lockup.

“So do I. Not happening anytime soon; we barely have a budget for gasoline. When you land, be on alert. There are roadblocks up on every road leading from the Nashville area into Mississippi, but there are so many farm roads, and Gertrude knows this area well.”

“Any luck identifying the young man Betty McGowin helped DeWayne with the sketch of?”

“We have a lead. I'll tell you when you get here. This might tie in to the stabbing of Rudy Uxall.”

*   *   *

After we landed, I took Tinkie straight to Madame Tomeeka's, where Libby had Tammy's clients charmed. I swear, the baby recognized Tinkie when she walked in the door. Everyone said Libby couldn't really see, but Libby seemed to perk up at the sound of Tinkie's voice. They went to each other as if directed by some magnetic pull.

“This baby has a special mojo,” Tammy said as she gave the baby over. “She hasn't cried at all. She's a happy and secure spirit. This little girl will bring great joy to the world.”

“Great joy to me?” Tinkie asked.

“Doesn't she already?” Tammy sidestepped the question easily. I wondered if she knew that pain loomed in the future for Tinkie. Through dreams and tarot cards and visitations from the dead, Tammy sometimes had a line on the future, but she practiced caution dispensing her intuitions.

“Ladies,” I had things to discuss with Tinkie. “I'm going to the sheriff's office. Want to come along?”

I hoped Tinkie might offer to come with me, but no dice. She held the baby and crooned softly to her. God save me from the brain mush of motherhood. If it happened to Tinkie, it could certainly happen to me.

Since there were no takers on my offer, I left Tammy and Tinkie oohing and aahing and I went to work.

Coleman was executing the search warrant at Carrie Ann Musgrove's house when I got to the SO. DeWayne hunkered over his desk writing reports. He threw the pen aside, eager to tell me the news on the composite he'd created with the midwife's help. The man who'd been asking for cramp medication had been identified as Luther Potter.

“Luther Potter!” I was surprised. “He was over at Charity's place asking about where Pleasant might be only a couple of days ago. He was also in a bar fight with Rudy Uxall about Pleasant.”

“I've done a lot of background research. Potter's a bad dude, no way around it. The thing is, there's no evidence to connect him to Pleasant or her abduction. I'm not saying he's innocent, but folks are jumping to a conclusion here,” DeWayne said, clearly worried.

I snapped a photo of the composite and also took a physical copy of the flyer DeWayne had created. Yancy Bellow was offering five thousand dollars for information leading to Luther Potter, who had a criminal record on the east side of the state in West Point and Starkville. Potter had flunked out of Mississippi State University some ten years earlier. He'd been in the agriculture program, and reading his criminal past, I thought I understood what his academic interest had been. Judging from the classes he took, if Mississippi ever legalized the growing of marijuana, he would be well prepared.

During his tenure at MSU, he'd been a highly celebrated tight end on the football team. He'd also been charged with rape by a coed, but she'd dropped the charges after she'd been badly beaten. The accusation had derailed his football career, and he'd ultimately dropped out of school.

Things just went from bad to worse. Potter had been convicted of armed robbery eight years earlier in West Point, and he'd done a stint in Mississippi State Penitentiary at Parchman. He'd been released six months earlier. He was not a good guy.