Crossed Bones by Carolyn Haines
Authors: Carolyn Haines
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Detective and Mystery Stories, Mystery Fiction, Women Private Investigators, Crimes against, Mississippi, Delaney; Sarah Booth (Fictitious Character), Women Private Investigators - Mississippi, Women Plantation Owners, African American Musicians, African American Musicians - Crimes Against
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stairs and opened the closet. I wasn't a clotheshorse, but I loved a good bargain. During my tenure in
New York
as a failed stage actress, I'd happened upon a number of terrific secondhand stores. My wardrobe boasted big names at cut-rate prices.
I pulled out the green halter dress. It had a distinct 1940s look, with three big black buttons on the bodice, a pointed collar, and a completely bare back. The skirt was full and swingy, perfect for an evening of dancing to a big band, which was what The Club always offered. In fact, it was the same band from the 1940s. Wearing the same burgundy blazers with the gold lettering of The Club embroidered on the right lapel. Even the bubbles that churned from the hidden machine smelled vaguely of mothballs.
"Perfect," Jitty said. "That pale green matches your eyes. Wear those gold earrings Cece brought you from
New Orleans
. And those wicked black heels with the three sexy little straps."
Though she was an aggravation, Jitty had terrific taste in clothes. I couldn't help but wonder what she was doing, looking like a forgotten girl groupie, but I knew better than to ask. I had a date to prepare for, and at my age, it was going to take at least a full five hours to wash and condition my hair, put on a mud mask to shrink my pores, do my nails and toenails, pumice my calluses, lubricate my skin, pluck my eyebrows, shave my legs, and the host of other beautifying acts that every woman knew was a prerequisite to a Big Date. I would be exhausted before Bridge Ladnier showed up.
"If you went out more than twice a year, you'd be more caught up on personal maintenance," Jitty said. "What about that bikini line?"
"You make me sound like a car," I pointed out, choosing not to go into the fact that Bridge Ladnier wouldn't know if my bikini line was waxed or not.
"Well, you ain't no classic, so you'd better buff yourself up as much as possible. And remember to use that wax."
I sighed. There was no point in arguing with Jitty when she was on a tear.
I sipped a Jack on the rocks and watched the Jaguar pull up to the front of the house. The man who got out of the car was a perfect match for the clean, elegant lines of the auto he drove. Bridge Ladnier had arrived in style.
I saw his features clearly in the light of the porch. He had the look of a British aristocrat: deep-set brown eyes, a face toughened by the outdoors and touched with a hint of interesting lines, posture so perfect that it came across as casual. He rang the bell, adjusting his designer Picasso tie as he waited for me.
"Mr. Ladnier," I said as I opened the door. "Please come in."
He followed me into the parlor and took a seat on the horsehair sofa.
"Would you care for a drink?" I hovered by the bar, my Aunt LouLane's schooling in the caste of Daddy's Girl taking over before I could stop myself.
"Scotch and soda," he said, his gaze finding the old turntable where Marva Wright's powerful voice went deep and dirty. My mother had an extensive blues collection. "I saw Marva in
New Orleans
five times. She can bring a house down," he said as he accepted his drink.
Surprised, I poured Jack over ice for me. "You like the blues?"
"'hike may be an understatement," he said with a slow smile. "I love them."
"We share that in common," I said. "I like a lot of music, but the blues are my favorite."
"Is that why you're defending Scott Hampton?" he asked.
The question caught me off guard. Somehow I hadn't expected Bridge to be interested in local happenings. "No, it isn't about the blues." I hesitated. "Mrs. Keys asked me to help
Hampton
."
"You seem a little hesitant. Can he be helped?"
I avoided a personal opinion. "The evidence is strongly against him, but many innocent men have appeared guilty."
"And if he is guilty, then he's done a terrible thing." He watched me closely. "You haven't become a hired gun yet, have you?" His smile was warm. "I somehow don't think you will. That says a lot about your character."
Bridge Ladnier
New York
as a failed stage actress, I'd happened upon a number of terrific secondhand stores. My wardrobe boasted big names at cut-rate prices.
I pulled out the green halter dress. It had a distinct 1940s look, with three big black buttons on the bodice, a pointed collar, and a completely bare back. The skirt was full and swingy, perfect for an evening of dancing to a big band, which was what The Club always offered. In fact, it was the same band from the 1940s. Wearing the same burgundy blazers with the gold lettering of The Club embroidered on the right lapel. Even the bubbles that churned from the hidden machine smelled vaguely of mothballs.
"Perfect," Jitty said. "That pale green matches your eyes. Wear those gold earrings Cece brought you from
New Orleans
. And those wicked black heels with the three sexy little straps."
Though she was an aggravation, Jitty had terrific taste in clothes. I couldn't help but wonder what she was doing, looking like a forgotten girl groupie, but I knew better than to ask. I had a date to prepare for, and at my age, it was going to take at least a full five hours to wash and condition my hair, put on a mud mask to shrink my pores, do my nails and toenails, pumice my calluses, lubricate my skin, pluck my eyebrows, shave my legs, and the host of other beautifying acts that every woman knew was a prerequisite to a Big Date. I would be exhausted before Bridge Ladnier showed up.
"If you went out more than twice a year, you'd be more caught up on personal maintenance," Jitty said. "What about that bikini line?"
"You make me sound like a car," I pointed out, choosing not to go into the fact that Bridge Ladnier wouldn't know if my bikini line was waxed or not.
"Well, you ain't no classic, so you'd better buff yourself up as much as possible. And remember to use that wax."
I sighed. There was no point in arguing with Jitty when she was on a tear.
I sipped a Jack on the rocks and watched the Jaguar pull up to the front of the house. The man who got out of the car was a perfect match for the clean, elegant lines of the auto he drove. Bridge Ladnier had arrived in style.
I saw his features clearly in the light of the porch. He had the look of a British aristocrat: deep-set brown eyes, a face toughened by the outdoors and touched with a hint of interesting lines, posture so perfect that it came across as casual. He rang the bell, adjusting his designer Picasso tie as he waited for me.
"Mr. Ladnier," I said as I opened the door. "Please come in."
He followed me into the parlor and took a seat on the horsehair sofa.
"Would you care for a drink?" I hovered by the bar, my Aunt LouLane's schooling in the caste of Daddy's Girl taking over before I could stop myself.
"Scotch and soda," he said, his gaze finding the old turntable where Marva Wright's powerful voice went deep and dirty. My mother had an extensive blues collection. "I saw Marva in
New Orleans
five times. She can bring a house down," he said as he accepted his drink.
Surprised, I poured Jack over ice for me. "You like the blues?"
"'hike may be an understatement," he said with a slow smile. "I love them."
"We share that in common," I said. "I like a lot of music, but the blues are my favorite."
"Is that why you're defending Scott Hampton?" he asked.
The question caught me off guard. Somehow I hadn't expected Bridge to be interested in local happenings. "No, it isn't about the blues." I hesitated. "Mrs. Keys asked me to help
Hampton
."
"You seem a little hesitant. Can he be helped?"
I avoided a personal opinion. "The evidence is strongly against him, but many innocent men have appeared guilty."
"And if he is guilty, then he's done a terrible thing." He watched me closely. "You haven't become a hired gun yet, have you?" His smile was warm. "I somehow don't think you will. That says a lot about your character."
Bridge Ladnier
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