Bones of a Feather - Carolyn Haines [41]
“Sarah Booth, is Barclay sleeping with that singer?” Cece thumped my leg with her foot.
“My best guess would be yes.” As much as I wanted to spare Cece any hurt, I had to be honest. If Barclay and Kissie were working together, they were a dangerous duo—in more ways than one.
“I don’t believe it.” Cece’s chin lifted, a sure sign a good case of the stubborns had set in.
“You don’t have to believe it, until I find proof. Just use caution around Barclay. If he’s in this with Kissie, he’s smart.” I remembered what Coleman Peters, the sheriff of Sunflower County and a former beau, had once said about the low intellect of most common criminals. They were caught because they weren’t very bright and couldn’t keep their mouths shut about their crimes. Many, many criminals were turned in by jilted lovers or betrayed spouses.
The flip side of Coleman’s observations was that smart criminals were difficult to catch. They seldom talked, trusting no one with their secrets.
“How will you find proof?” Cece had come to help me, but I’d have to drag her kicking and screaming to the conclusion of Barclay’s guilt.
“I’ll ask Marty Diamond.” If Barclay had seduced Kissie into helping him rip off the Leverts, Marty might have plenty to say about the would-be dark lord of Briarcliff.
“I want to hear this,” Cece said.
Why not? She was a journalist with great interview skills and a knack for asking tough questions. “Let’s waylay him after this set.”
“Your wish is my command.”
For the moment she was diverted from Barclay, and that could only be a good thing.
We ate our dinner and listened to the performance. Kissie had some great songs, and Marty Diamond had the voice and stage presence to render them effective. Kissie’s voice was good, but Marty brought magic to the music. He could sell a song. With a couple of stanzas and a few smiles and winks, he won the audience.
“Why isn’t he in Nashville?” Cece asked.
Something told me the answer had everything to do with Kissie McClain.
The first set went without incident. The musicians took a fifteen-minute break and came back to conclude to a packed house. As they took their last bows, Cece and I paid up and went outside to wait. After twenty minutes, I left Cece guarding the parking lot while I went back inside to look for Marty.
The waitress pointed me upstairs where I’d visited the bedroom with the warm spots on the bed. To be honest, it was slightly creepy upstairs, and I braced for Jitty to pop out just for a laugh. I didn’t hear anything until I got to the top of the steps.
A man and a woman raged at each other in an emotional argument. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, so I did the only logical thing—moved closer to the shut door.
“You’re being played for a fool.” I would bet a small fortune the speaker was Marty Diamond.
“That’s a damn lie,” a female said. “I know what I’m doing. This is for us. We can go to Nashville with a cushion.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it. You have a felony conviction. If this goes south, no judge or jury will believe a word you say.”
Heavy footsteps approached the door and I jumped back. Marty pulled the door open and halted, staring at me. “What do you want?” His face was flushed with anger.
“I need to speak with you.”
“People in hell need ice water.” He pushed me aside and clattered down the stairs.
Kissie came to the doorway, fright and desperation still on her face. “I saw you in the audience.”
“I have questions for you—”
Her expression betrayed nothing. “Leave me alone.” She picked up her guitar and brushed past me. “I don’t have time for this.”
* * *
The night was balmy for summer, and Cece wasn’t ready for bed. Though it wasn’t yet midnight, Natchez had basically shut down. The nightspots Under-the-Hill were still in full swing, but a drowsy quiet had settled over the rest of the town. Cece went to the Eola bar for a final nightcap, but I was done in. I went straight to my room and called Graf. It wasn’t late in Tinseltown, and I needed to hear his voice.
“How are