When Bobbie Sang the Blues (9 page)

Bobbie was looking at her, eyes wide. “I just thought of something! Even if I didn’t forget to lock the unit, Eddie could have picked the lock. He worked for a locksmith as a second job when we first married. He used to brag about how he could get into any place he needed to.”

Those words brought Christy’s first ray of hope. “Then he could have taken whoever was after him to your storage unit, thinking the money was there. When there was no vacuum cleaner, they got fed up with his stalling.”

Bobbie didn’t share her enthusiasm. “But why bother framing me? I thought bookies made an example out of guys who didn’t pay their debts. Blood and gore is more their style.”

Christy frowned.
She’s right
, she thought. It had begun to make sense, like pieces fitting together in a puzzle, but Bobbie had just pointed out something that rescrambled the puzzle.

She tried to hide her discouragement as they walked into the house. “Come on, Bobbie. Let’s get something to eat.”

Bobbie shook her head. “I just want to lie down.”

“Good idea. I’ll turn off the phones so you won’t be disturbed. And while you’re resting, I have a couple of errands.”

Bobbie didn’t seem to hear what Christy was saying as she dragged herself into the guest room and sank onto the bed.

Would she be able to sleep? Christy wondered, watching Bobbie snuggle into the pillow. Or would she, like Christy, be tormented by fear and worry?

And the horrid image of Eddie’s body in the pickle barrel.

T
he errands Christy had mentioned to Bobbie consisted of two things: going out to the storage unit, then trying to find Jack to warn him to get ready to be questioned.

Christy cut across the side streets and hit the back highway leading to Hornsby’s units. At the gates, she found a parking spot amid the jumble of parked cars. She recognized Joy McCall’s green Jeep Wrangler, and as she approached, she could see Joy behind the wheel, Valerie in the passenger seat, and Aunt Dianna in the back.

Joy thrust her head out the window. “Christy, we have some things to tell you.”

“What?”

Valerie leaned forward. “The dead guys girlfriend—I don’t remember her name—came in my salon yesterday to see if I had time to trim her hair. I was booked, but I told her to come back. She said she was looking for her boyfriend and went into the story of how he left the motel room and all. I had Jane in the chair doing a color, and she happened to be at the Blues Club that night. She noticed two strange guys sitting at the table next to her. After Eddie and his girlfriend left, the two guys put their heads
together whispering, and then they left. Jane and her friend were ready to leave too, so they paid their tab, and just as they were getting in their car, they spotted those strange guys getting into a black Mercedes.”

Joy grabbed Christy’s sleeve. “I nearly got hit by a black Mercedes as I was pulling out of Carrie’s Crafts. It came around the corner so fast it went over the curb. It had tinted windows, so I couldn’t see how many people were in it. I tried to get the numbers on the plate, but all I got was Tennessee before it whirled around the next corner. I almost called Deputy Arnold. I wish now that I had.”

“Well, it’s not too late,” Dianna spoke up from the backseat. “I heard this guy Eddie is a gambler. There’s no telling who else may have had reason to kill him. How is Bobbie?”

Christy shook her head. “Not good. She’s resting now.”

“They won’t let anyone inside the gate up there,” Joy said.

Christy gazed at the deputy from Panama City who stood guard at the closed gate. Her eyes moved slowly to Bobbie’s unit and the yellow crime-scene tape stretched across it. One didn’t often see that in Summer Breeze, and the sight cast a mood of horrid fascination.

A man in a truck with a Joe’s Plumbing sign on the door pulled up and leaned out his window. “I need to get to my unit,” he yelled.

The deputy shook his head. “No one is allowed in,” he said, loud and clear.

“Do you think he’s still there?” someone in the crowd asked. “Who?” asked another voice.

“You know. The…guy in the pickle barrel.”

“All right folks,” the deputy shouted to the crowd. “There’s nothing to see. The white van has come and gone and ‘he’ is no longer inside the unit.”

Sick at heart, Christy turned and walked back to her car. As she drove off, a tear slid down her cheek. The day that began with fun and happiness had turned into a nightmare—a nightmare, she feared, that had just begun.

The most important thing on her mind, at the moment, was talking to Jack. His involvement in the investigation would be crucial. She had to talk with him privately before Deputy Arnold and the detectives got to him.

At the service station, she turned onto the narrow sand road that led out to Rainbow Bay and Jack’s place. As always, her gaze wandered to the ten acres of towering live oaks Jack had given Chad to build their dream home. Dan had bought those ten acres from Jack, but his plans for building there had stalled.

Jack’s gray bungalow came into view, and Christy slowed down, spotting two other vehicles parked in the driveway. Neither belonged to Deputy Arnold. Pulling to a stop a few yards back from a truck she didn’t recognize, she noticed J. T. Elmore’s old beat-up truck farther ahead.

Bobbie
. The awful day rolled over Christy like a tropical wind, tugging at the roots of her beliefs. Remembering Jack’s threat, Christy feared he scored high on the suspect list. She cut the engine and hopped out.

Around back, she spotted Jack and J.T. indulging in their
favorite beverage while Jack grilled three king-size hamburgers. In a deck chair nearby sat Buster Greenwood, who usually holed up in his digs at Shipwreck Island in the hermit lifestyle he preferred. Jack and J.T. occasionally provided him with a social life. Buster was overweight with a round head the size of a dinner plate, partially covered by a stained baseball cap. He overhung Jack’s narrow deck chair and almost tipped it when he looked over his shoulder to see who had arrived.

Jack laid down the burger flipper, and placed a hand on his heart. “Ah, at last an angel has come to save us.”

J.T.’s arthritic knees prevented swift movement, but he hobbled toward her with a wide smile, showing off a missing tooth. “And this angel’s real.”

Christy noticed his clothes were clean and freshly pressed, and he wore a new baseball cap.

“J.T., you’re looking fit,” she said, giving him a quick hug.

Jack smirked. “Aw, he’s sweet on Cora Lee Wilson, Busters cousin.”

Buster chuckled, looking pleased with the idea.

J.T.’s knobby little face turned red as a snapper. He whirled on Jack. “You got a right to talk. You haven’t shut up all day ‘bout Christy’s aunt.”

“Speaking of Bobbie,” Christy said, looking grimly at Jack, “I’ve got to talk to you right away.” She grabbed his arm and led him around the house to the driveway. “They found Eddie Bodine dead in Bobbie’s pickle barrel this morning. In her locked storage unit. What do you know about it?”

He jerked his arm free. “Me? I haven’t talked to that drunken bum since Dan bounced his butt across the Blues Club parking lot. And it’s a good thing I haven’t.”

“That’s exactly the kind of thing you mustn’t say,” she snapped. “This man is dead. Half a dozen people in the parking lot heard you threaten to kill him.”

“Aw, come on, Christy—”

The sound of tires spitting gravel interrupted his words as Deputy Arnold’s SUV swerved into the drive, skidding to a halt mere inches from Christy’s bumper. Detective Johanson sat in the passenger seat.

Both rolled out of the car. Johanson glared at Christy while Deputy Arnold shook his silver head and frowned his disapproval. “Christy, you have to stay out of this investigation. We need to talk to Jack privately.”

“How can I leave with you blocking the drive?” Christy asked, pointing.

“Just go around him in the side yard,” Jack said under his breath.

Buster and J.T. strolled around the side of the house, then froze, staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at the scene before them. J.T. shoved a half-empty bottle deeper in his pocket while Buster whirled and slid, catching himself against the corner of the house, before disappearing into the backyard.

“You boys go back to your mischief,” Deputy Arnold called. “We’re not here to talk to you. Jack, Detective Johanson has some questions.”

Jack sighed. “All right. I got nothing to hide.”

Christy searched his eyes. He met her gaze briefly, then looked away. She kissed him on the cheek, then headed back to her car. A peek in her visor mirror showed wild blue eyes and flushed cheeks.

As she drove home, she glanced across at the service station on the corner. She spotted a woman deep in conversation, unaware that gas was flowing out of her tank.

That’s how I feel
, she thought,
like fear is rolling up and spilling over
. Fear pumped by frustration and worry. She knew Jack well—well, in fact, that it would have been out of character for him to leave Bobbie that night, his emotions churning, and drive straight home and go to bed. Either he would have wanted to talk about his big evening with J.T., who might have been at Cora Lees house, or he would have stopped off at some late-night gathering place to have a relaxer and ponder his evening.

What if he had seen Eddie either coming out of the motel or going into it? He might have wanted to hurt him, but the last thing he would do is kill him and leave him in Bobbies storage unit. What if they hadn’t planned to leave him there? What if he was merely stashed there until he could be moved to a better place?

Christy massaged her forehead. Why was she thinking such crazy thoughts? She couldn’t believe that her brain was actually concocting such a theory. She felt ashamed of herself, as though she had betrayed both her aunt and the man she loved like a father.

And speaking of fathers…she was approaching the community church, its tall bell steeple inviting all who were weary or heavy laden to come for rest. A lighthouse had once dominated the narrow strip
of land that jutted into the Gulf, but several years ago a tornado had swept through, destroying most of the lighthouse. The remnants were then torn down, and the stretch of land cleaned up. The community decided they needed a church and worked together to build one. A simple white clapboard church now offered a beacon of hope to replace the lighthouse.

She turned on her left blinker and swung into the driveway. She spotted her dad’s car, along with Martha Ann’s gray compact. Martha Ann had to be the most dependable church secretary on the face of the earth. She never missed work, although she suffered from allergies and arthritis. Her devotion to Pastor Grant Castleman lined up directly behind her husband of thirty-six years.

“Hi,” Christy said as she breezed past Martha Ann. “Is anyone with him?”

“No. Mr. Hayward just left. You know his wife…” Martha Ann’s voice faded, her eyes sadly conveying the condition of Mrs. Hayward.

Christy nodded and hurried on.

Grant Castleman hung up the phone just as she entered, and he turned worried eyes to her. “Where have you been? Your mother has called your house, your cell phone, Bobbie’s cell phone—” He picked up his phone and punched an extension. “Martha Ann, hold my calls, please.”

Before Christy could answer, he continued. “Earlier, I got a phone call from Ed Bailey—you know Ed, one of our deacons. He has a unit out at Hornsby’s and was unloading a chest when the police arrived. He heard that Bobbie’s ex—Eddie Bodine—was
found in Bobbies unit.” His forehead rumpled in a worried frown. “I assume that’s why you’re here.”

“One of the reasons.” She sank into the chair opposite his desk. “Bobbie was giving a demonstration at the Red Hat meeting when Deputy Arnold interrupted and called us outside. He took her down to headquarters for questioning in the death of Eddie Bodine. I followed them downtown and then brought her back to my house. She’s lying down now.”

A lump that felt as big as a fist clogged her throat. She fought tears. “She didn’t do it, Dad. We just don’t know why someone is trying to frame her. But we have a theory.” She told him about Eddie’s missing money, the vacuum cleaner, and the bookies.

Her dad listened carefully, his brow furrowed, his dark eyes intent. When Christy finished, he nodded. “That’s a strong theory. You could be right. Can your mother and I visit Bobbie this evening? We want to help.”

Relief seeped through Christy’s body. She’d been carrying a heavy burden all day, and she needed help. “Please do. She needs you and Mom. We both do,” she added. “You want to come over after work? I’ll order pizza.”

“Sure.” He smiled at her, his eyes filled with concern. “Cheer up, honey. I think the authorities will find out who did this horrible thing.”

Christy studied her hands for a minute, thinking about the other reason she had stopped by his office. “Dad, I don’t know if Mom told you, but she and Bobbie had a terrible fight.”

He nodded and lowered his gaze to a legal pad of notes resting
beside his commentary. “I heard something about it,” he replied, tactful as always.

She looked back at him, appraising him thoughtfully for a moment. Even though he was her father, she had always thought him handsome, with dark hair and eyes and a trim, lanky build. If she had to name one trait about him that always came to mind, it was “fair.” He always tried to be fair with his children and his congregation and anyone who came to him with a problem. Grant Castleman believed in the benefit of the doubt. He also believed that all people should be treated with respect, and in his agreeable manner, he did that.

She smiled at him.

“For such a serious day, why the smile?” he asked.

“I’m just thinking how blessed I am to have you as my dad.”

This clearly took him by surprise. He leaned back in his chair and smiled back at her. “Well, I have no idea what prompted that compliment, but I’ll take it.”

Christy’s smiled faded. “Did Mom tell you that in addition to her squabble with her sister, she felt I sided against her?”

“Something like that. Let’s hear your version.”

“My version. Well, I stopped by the house and heard them from the back porch. Mom was laying into Bobbie about creating a scene, which she didn’t. It was Eddie who created the scene. Then she flipped when she heard Bobbie had been singing—and by the way, that club is a nice place. Nice people, no smoking.”

“It doesn’t sound like everyone was nice or that the evening ended up so nicely, as you put it.”

“I get your point. Bobbies heart races and flutters. Apparently, she didn’t take her daily pill, because she got upset with Eddie and tried to open her bottle and spilled the pills. Mom as much as called her a druggie, saying she heard how she dumped pills all over the place.” Christy leaned forward in her chair. “That wasn’t fair, Dad, and you know it.”