Crossed Bones by Carolyn Haines Page A

obviously had heard a lot of details about Ivory's murder. "This is a case where it's hard to know the right thing to do," I conceded.
    "Yes, our justice system is built on the ideal that every man deserves a fair trial," Bridge said, swirling his drink so that the ice clinked in the glass. "It's a case that's going to get a lot of publicity. Might be good for you, in the long run." One eyebrow lifted. "Now that's strictly a bottomline assessment."
    I started to laugh. "I never considered whether this case would be good for me or not."
    "Then you should, if you want a successful business, Sarah Booth. In fact, that should be one of your primary concerns for all future cases. 'What can I gain from it?' and 'How will it impact my reputation?'"
    I could see where he was a good businessman. "I have a hard enough time trying to decide what's right and what's wrong in cases this convolved. Future impact of publicity may be too complicated for me."
    He gave a wry smile. "I lived up North too long, I suppose. I forgot that Southern belles don't worry their pretty little heads about business."
    His remark caught me off guard, and then I caught the twinkle in his eye. "You're right," I said. "That was a ridiculous thing to say. I have to think about the business side of this, whether I want to or not." I finished my drink and rose. He did the same.
    "You're beautiful and smart, Sarah Booth. Never ridiculous. Business is not something a person knows intuitively. It has to be learned, and if you ever need any help, I'm available." He took my arm and leaned to whisper in my ear. "Gossip down at the bank is that your business will be a whopping success. They say you have a knack for solving cases."
    I was still flushing with pleasure when we headed out into the night. While the Jaguar hummed over the long, straight roads that cut through the whispering rows of cotton, Bridge spoke of his reasons for returning to the South. He had family in
Memphis
, but it was a longing for the culture that had pulled him back to
Mississippi
.
    "That, and I have this crazy notion that I might be of use."
    "Of use?" Bridge didn't strike me as the kind of man who would relish being used in any way.
    "I know it sounds like I'm some seventeen-year-old still wet behind the ears and filled with dreamy ideals, but
Mississippi
has made great strides to overcome the past. I want to see it move forward even more. We've got good people, bright and talented people. I can convince my associates to invest down here, bring in some good jobs. I'm not talking about chemical plants or textile mills where folks work for minimum wage and the environment pays the ultimate price."
    I watched Bridge's profile in the pale glow of the Jaguar's dash. He was passionate about what he was saying. I felt something inside me stir, the brush of an old memory, and I realized that I'd heard the same powerful emotion from my mother as she talked about
Mississippi
and her love for it.
    "Just because you have ideals doesn't make you naive," I said. "I like people who dream."
    Bridge chuckled with a hint of self-consciousness. "That's enough serious talk." He pulled into the parking lot, got out, and handed me out of the car. As I tucked my hand through his arm, he pressed my fingers, teasing the back of my hand as he let go. "Tonight we dine, drink, and dance. We'll save the serious discussions for daylight.
    It would be a pity to waste that moon," he said, pointing to the sky, where a pale moon hung on the horizon, gilding the surrounding cotton fields with silvery leaves.
    He led me into The Club and proved that his word was good. Oscar, wearing a white dinner jacket, rose and waved us to a table. Before I could even sit, my napkin was in my lap and my champagne flute filled.
    Tinkie was especially lovely in a pale orange swing dress and matching heels. She and Oscar hit the dance floor for a rumba, and I watched with amazement as Oscar's hips swiveled and his face was alight with fun.