What an evening under the stars! I must say, the bard himself would be delighted with the Zinnia, Mississippi production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I’m quite taken with the theatrical elements of a day-long festival of flowers set out in the middle of a vast cotton field. On the stage before me, beautiful young women wearing floral wreaths hold the hems of their flowing white dresses with one hand as they execute a graceful folk dance. It concludes and Sarah Booth Delaney leads them in a graceful bow. She may have given up her Broadway career, but let me say Sarah Booth is fabulous as the fairy queen in this wonderful show. All part of what else? Midsummer’s Eve, the holiday that marks the middle of the growing season. I purr in satisfaction at the knowledge that this fab event is a successful fundraiser for the local Sunflower County animal shelter.
My gaze seeks Tammy Lynn, my bibliophile humanoid. I find her seated with the various Zinnia residents. She raises a toast to Sarah Booth Delaney, actress turned PI, and the other denizens of this fine town. What I see, watching their happy faces, is that friends are the family of choice. All applaud Sarah Booth as well as the young actors who brought the fairy magic to the stage. Of special interest to me is Leah Lassfolk, promoter extraordinaire. This is her family’s farm and the celebration of Midsummer is a fine Swedish tradition. Leah served as the play’s director, and the crowd is now applauding her efforts. It would seem every resident of Zinnia is here, picnicking under a stand of fine sycamore trees and a night beginning to sizzle. Don McLean, starry, starry night indeed. The only one missing is Pluto, the black cat I became friends with during another case. Not to worry. The night is young and this very hot bluegrass band is just cranking up. More bands will follow, including the house band from Playin’ the Bones.
Cats, as you may or may not know, are far too reserved to dance. Kittens do it. Dogs do it with slobbery glee. Humans do it—even when they shouldn’t. But cats never contort their bodies to the beat. We do have our dignity. Yet I enjoy watching the humans. They feel that bassline very strongly. Some would say in almost a primal way. Very interesting, and a tidbit to file away in my Sherlockian observations.
Oh, dear goodness, Scott Hampton, with his white blond hair, has taken the stage—which the band is scorching. Jaytee on the harmonica is kindling a fire. The music is like an electric touch on my spine. Heaven help me, I feel my front paws beginning to tap to the beat. Sarah Booth and her man, Sheriff Coleman Peters, are getting down with some good belly-rubbing moves. Now the whole crowd is moving like they’re on Dancing with the Stars.
Wait, what’s going on with Leah Lassfolk? I watch as she steps behind the stage to engage in a terse conversation with some man. He steps forward, looming over her, invading her space. Hmmm, the pushy type. This will not do. I shall intervene, whether it is my place or not.
I move stealthily to the area where Leah and the man exchange urgent whispers.
“You convince Devon to fulfill his commitments or there will be trouble,” the man says.
“Devon is missing,” Leah tries to explain. “I’ve searched everywhere for him. He’s gone and so is the guitar, but he would never attempt to steal it. He isn’t that kind of man.”
“If he doesn’t show, that’s on him. And on you.”
The man stalks away into the night and Leah is left looking like a deflated balloon. She turns to leave but Madame Tomeeka, the resident psychic of Sunflower County steps into her path.
“Where’s Devon?” Madame Tomeeka asks.
“I don’t know.” Leah is all but wringing her hands. “Bobby Oliver is looking for him, and nothing good can come from that. Devon is going to be in trouble if he doesn’t show up with that guitar. Bobby works for the man who owns it.”
“I had a dream. Not a good one.” I know enough about the denizens of Sunflower County to realize that Madame Tomeeka is about to reveal one of her famous, prophetic dreams. “Devon is in danger. He’s gonna break my Claire’s heart.”
“We have to find him and that guitar. I’ll do my best. He’s Claire’s intended, but he’s my good friend.”
“Devon’s a good man, but he’s at a crossroads. A dark crossroads, and there’s more on the line than a guitar. In my dream he was standing in the fog, trying to decide which way to go. He’s got a choice. If he picks wrong, no one can save him.”
Madame Tomeeka turns abruptly and goes back into the thick of the crowd.
A cry rises up from the attendees as they light torches to ignite the bonfires. I’d planned to watch the ceremony from a safe distance, but now I realize it’s time to turn away from celebrating the middle of summer and put on my black cat sleuthing suit. Ah, a new case! Exactly what a feline detective needs!
Leah Lassfolk started toward the dance floor to tap Sarah Booth Delaney on the shoulder but something stopped her. She needed help finding Devon, but she didn’t know what Devon had done. Devon was Claire Odom’s fiancé, the father of her little girl Dahlia, and the two were about to embark on a grand future together. Claire was Leah’s best friend since first grade. Devon was supposed to make the engagement official tonight, on Midsummer’s Eve.
Now he was missing!
Leah looked down when something brushed her shins. A sleek black cat was rubbing against her bare legs. Handsome devil. She bent down to stroke his smooth fur. The small diversion gave her just enough time to rein in her anxiety. Where in the hell was Devon, and what had he gotten himself into?
Devon Ray was incredibly gifted as a guitarist and songwriter, but his common sense, more often than not, was left somewhere in a corner of his room. The man could make some truly dumb mistakes, and if he’d attempted to steal B.B. King’s famous guitar, Lucille, from Alton Granger, collector, there was going to be big trouble.
Leah watched Madame Tomeeka disappear into the crowd of dancers. She was left without a plan of action but with a burning need to find Devon Ray and save him from himself.
Blake LaDieu watched Leah heading out through the cotton fields to the site of the bonfire. Every June the Lassfolk family honored the Swedish tradition of celebrating Midsummer’s Eve in folk tradition fashion. The event was a high point for most of the local girls, who vied to be presented as the Maid of Summer with her crown of flowers. Five years ago, Leah had been the Maid, and Blake had been her escort.
Now it was time to light the two bonfires and for Madame Tomeeka to tell stories of local ghosts and hauntings. The dead were certain to put in an appearance, according to local legends. Blake wasn’t a big believer in ghosts, but he did love the chills that Madame Tomeeka could pull out of him—and every other person who listened to her spooky tales.
Blake had come to the festival with a plan—to catch Leah in the cotton fields when the fires were burning brightly and the stars winked overhead. He wanted to renew their high school friendship, and press for more. The problem was that Leah seemed distracted. He’d seen her talking to a strange man, and his gut had told him the conversation wasn’t pleasant. He just wasn’t certain Leah would appreciate him butting in. Since she’d come back to Zinnia after graduating college, she’d been distant and always busy setting up her own advertising/promotional agency. Once they’d been the three musketeers—Leah, Claire, and him. Blake had thought he’d forget those days while he worked toward his degree, but the long absence had only intensified the feelings he had for Leah.
Still undecided about what to do, he set out after Leah. Timing was everything, and he felt his was off this evening, but something made him follow the willowy brunette. When she stopped near the bonfire—but far enough away not to feel the heat too intensely—he walked up to her.
“I’ve been trying to talk to you, Leah. What’s going on?” He thought she might bolt. She had that panicked look.
“Sorry, Blake. Lot on my mind.” Her brow was furrowed with worry.
“Something I can help with?”
She shook her head. “The less people who know about this, the better. At least right now.”
“That’s pretty cryptic.” He played it light.
“Trust me, not because I want to be secretive. It’s—” She was on the verge of telling him, but she’d stopped herself.
“I do trust you,” he said. “Maybe you should trust me. I want to help. Whatever it is.”
Leah drew in a deep breath. “I think Devon may have stolen the black Gibson guitar B.B. King used. If Devon doesn’t return it, fast, he’s going to be in real trouble.”
“Mr. King played a number of guitars. They were all named Lucille,” Blake said.
“This one is valued at over $10,000. Devon was so excited because the owner said he could use it for this weekend to try it out. He was hoping to work out a payment schedule.”
“Devon isn’t a thief, but he doesn’t have ten grand to blow on a guitar.”
Leah looked as if she might cry. “If he’s in trouble, we have to help him.”
“Of course we do.”
Leah leaned her forehead against his chest. “Thank you for saying that. I know he isn’t a thief, but there’s a man who’s only too willing to believe the worst of Devon. Bobby Oliver believes the worst of everyone, it seems.”
“So where is Devon?” Blake hadn’t seen him at the celebration. “Isn’t he supposed to take the stage as the concluding band?”
“That’s right. He went to pick up the engagement ring he had made for Claire. He’s supposed to make the proposal official tonight. Big rock and all.”
“What kind of ring?” Devon had all the talent in the world—except when it came to hanging on to money. Whatever amount landed in his pocket, he spent it before the ink could dry on the currency. He’d been known to dig himself a financial hole.
“A diamond. Big. He was so proud of it. It was all he could talk about. It’s to be a surprise tonight. For Claire.”
Blake didn’t say it but the purchase of a big diamond ring and the disappearance of a $10,000 guitar fit way too nicely together. But he knew Devon, and he’d never have pegged the musician as a thief. “If he’s picking the ring up now, he must be buying it from someone other than the jewelry store on Main Street.”
“It’s someone who made the ring especially for him. Marty Miles. He’s a jeweler on the way to Greenwood.”
“I’ve heard the name.” Blake did know Marty. He was very talented and a bit of a heavy drinker. The man could make some beautiful jewelry, though. With a price tag to match. This didn’t look great for Devon. Movement near the bonfire caught his attention and he pointed at Zinnia’s successful P.I. “Look, Sarah Booth Delaney is right over there with her partner. She’s good at solving mysteries. We should talk to her.”
“The sheriff is sitting right beside her,” Leah pointed out. “We can’t risk it. Whatever Devon has done, I know in his heart he never meant to do wrong. We have to find him and prove that. This could really derail his life. A musician accused of stealing a valuable, legendary guitar. It will kill Claire, too.”
“You’re right.” Blake rubbed his chin. “What are we going to do?”
Leah checked her watch. “He’s due to propose at midnight. We have four hours. We’re going to find him and that guitar and make things right.”
“Meow!” The strange black cat seemed to approve Leah’s declaration.
“Whose cat?” Blake asked.
“I don’t know, but he’s friendly.”
A tall red-headed woman walked up to them and picked up the cat. “Hi, I’m Tammy Lynn and this is Trouble. I see he’s taken a liking to you.” The cat bumped her chin with his head. “He’s persnickety about people, so you should be honored.”
“He’s a beautiful animal,” Leah said.
“He’s also a very good detective. Trained by his father, a famous black cat detective, and Sherlock Holmes.”
“Really?” Leah winked at Blake. “Could we borrow him for a few hours? We have to track down a friend.”
The redhead put the cat on the ground. “I’m visiting the Long family for this celebration. You’re welcome to borrow Trouble, but please bring him to me by noon tomorrow. I have to head home.”
“You’re not serious about the cat being a detective?” Blake couldn’t help himself.
“Doubt me at your own peril,” Tammy said with a big grin. “See if he can help you find your friend. He loves a good case.”
The gods did smile upon me when they gave me Tammy Lynn for my very own humanoid. She gets me. She even catches my slight British accent, and when she wants to make amends about something, she makes me fish and chips. Just a nod at my love of all things Sherlock and the misty isle of Britain. Tell me she isn’t a special bird.
Now that my bases are covered, I can devote myself to this imbroglio of a missing person’s case. Or maybe it’s a missing guitar case. Certainly, if I find one, I’ll find the other. Tally ho!
Leah wasn’t certain she’d made the right choice to include Blake on her mission to find Devon, but she was even less certain about the cat. He stood on the backseat, his front paws on the console of her red Nissan Juke. Blake was obviously a pushover; he was stroking the cat and scratching under his chin. Lucky cat. She’d forgotten how handsome Blake was. Or how big the crush she’d had on him in high school. This was the first time she’d been in his company for over a year. Now he was in her passenger seat, talking about the many Lucille guitars B.B. King had played during his long and wonderful career.
“B.B. had a number of guitars, but it was said the black Gibson was his favorite. I guess that’s why the collector had it priced high.”
“Do all musicians name their guitars?” she asked him.
“Some do, but I don’t know the statistics.”
She’d forgotten Blake had a real talent for math—never her strong suit. “I’m going to start at Devon’s cottage.”
“Before we get there, who is this Oliver person?” Blake asked. “Why did he come to you instead of Claire?”
Leah sighed. “It’s a long story. Bobby Oliver is a finder, meaning he finds art or celebrity paraphernalia or popular culture items that collectors want to buy. The man who owns Lucille, Mr. Granger, wanted to sell the guitar. I talked him into allowing Devon to try the guitar. I didn’t realize how expensive it was. I took Devon on as a client to promote, and I had an idea for a photo shoot and video of Devon playing Lucille. Even if he couldn’t afford it, we were going to shoot the video tonight, at the bonfire, to promote the album he’s cutting.”
“In a way, you’re on the hook too. I mean Mr. Granger let Devon have the guitar on your say-so.”
“I am in the middle of this mess. I should have known better. I should have thought it through. I just…wanted Devon to have a chance to do a show with B.B. King’s guitar. I thought it would go viral on social media. I have someone coming to the bonfire to videotape. Devon is so talented I know it would go viral if I put it on the Internet.” She rubbed the heel of her hand on her forehead. “My brain was not engaged, obviously.”
“It was a terrific idea and it’s still going to work. We’ll find Devon and the guitar and you can videotape him using it and it will go viral. Nothing bad has happened.”
“Not yet.” The look in Bobby Oliver’s eyes told her he liked his work—the rough part of it. He’d hurt Devon if he found him. And if he couldn’t find Devon, he’d settle for hurting her.
She felt the black cat’s paw on her shoulder and glanced to find him watching her intently, almost as if he knew how frightened she really was. In a crazy way, the cat made her feel better. Safer.
He reached up and licked the side of her cheek, causing her to flinch and laugh. The dang cat was psychic—at least that’s the story she was going to stick with.
Devon’s house was dark—and unlocked. The three of them entered, and when Leah flipped on the light, she gasped. Someone had tossed Devon’s place. Furniture was upended, clothes pulled from closets, even cleaning supplies from the utility room were scattered about.
“They were looking for something big,” Blake said. “None of the drawers have been dumped. I’d say they’re looking for that guitar, or at least something of that size.”
Leah recognized the truth in his words. The fact that Bobby Oliver—or some of his henchmen—were already this far ahead of her made her queasy. She wanted the guitar returned, but more than that she wanted to know Devon was safe.
The black cat walked to the center of the room and turned in a circle, then carefully walked around each room.
“What’s he doing?” Blake asked.
“Looking for a clue.” Leah hadn’t believed it twenty minutes ago. Now she was convinced the cat was actually trying to help them.
Trouble went over the interior of the small cottage and then cried at the back door to be let outside. When he was out, he did a similar tour of the grounds, finally stopping under a big cedar tree. He waited for them to approach him and then darted into some thick underbrush. When he cried loudly, they followed him again.
“He’s leading us somewhere,” Blake said.
“Probably into malaria. The mosquitos around here are as big as mockingbirds,” Leah jested. But she followed the cat without complaint.
Twenty minutes later, she was ready to pick up the cat and go back the way they’d come. The only thing she’d found were brambles that tore at her ankles and insects that bit with a vengeance.
They crossed a small creek, the cat jumping artfully from tree root to tree root. He didn’t get a black hair wet. Leah’s left shoe now squelched because she’d stepped into the water. The good thing, though, was that Blake had come to her rescue and pulled her to the other side—and into his arms. It wasn’t her imagination that he’d held her just a split second longer than he had to.
The woods began to thin up ahead, and Leah was glad the full moon shone so brightly. It was the Strawberry Moon, or that’s what her mom called it. Metta Lassfolk had brought her love of nature, especially the summer, from Sweden to her Mississippi home. Hence the annual celebration of Midsummer. It was a little taste of their native country to share with neighbors.
As Leah and Blake cleared the trees, he grasped her wrist and held her lightly, shushing her when she started to protest. He put his arms around her as he pointed through the trees toward a small wooden cabin. Two people, a male and female, sat outside near a firepit. They spoke in low tones.
“Is that Devon?” she asked.
The black cat dashed forward, heading directly at the two people. Leah realized she’d never stop him, so the only thing to do was follow.
The cat jumped directly into Devon’s lap, causing him to stand up abruptly. “Where’d you come from?” he asked, looking around. When he saw Leah and Blake walking toward him, his shoulders slumped.
The other person at the fire was an older black woman. She hummed softly, but didn’t attempt to stand. “Well, well, the lost boy is found,” she said. “I told him to go face the music, but he wanted some time to think of a plan. Nothing good ever comes of procrastinatin’. That’s what I told young Devon. Only the Devil loves a dawdler. You done somethin’ wrong, you face the music like a man. Don’t be foot-dragging up to the seat of judgement.”
“Blake, Leah, this is my friend, Blind Hattie,” Devon said. Though he was dejected, he hadn’t forgotten his manners.
Leah felt a smile creeping over her features. Blind Hattie was full of spunk. She was getting righteous with Devon. “Madame Tomeeka is worried about you, and by now, Claire is probably sick with concern.”
“I know.” Devon all but stuffed his hands in his pockets and scuffed his shoes in the dirt. “I just didn’t know what to say or do. I was hoping I could find the guitar before you knew it was missing.”
“Where is the guitar?” Leah got right to the point.
Blind Hattie harrumphed. “If the young man knew that, he wouldn’t be sitting here with an old blind woman. Hand me that black cat.”
“How did you know the cat was black, if you’re blind?” Blake bit his lip the minute the words were out of his mouth.
The woman only laughed. “I’m Blind Hattie. I see things most folks never see ‘cause I pay attention. That cat gives off a vibration. Only a black cat feels like this. See, I got a special thing for black cats.”
Trouble jumped into her lap and purred loudly.
“And they got a thing for me,” she said. “Now what y’all gone do to find that guitar?”
“Do you have any idea where it is?” Leah asked Devon.
“Where it should be is at my house. That’s where I left it, but it’s not there now. When I got home from meeting the jeweler and running some errands, my place was ransacked. I’d left the guitar under the sofa and locked the house. I thought it was safe. I don’t have anything of any value. Nothing worth stealing. Except that guitar. Now it’s gone. I’m in really big trouble.”
The cat meowed loudly. He went from Blind Hattie to each one, crying and using a paw to hook their clothes.
“What’s with the cat?” Devon asked. “Is he sick?”
“He’s talkin’ to you,” Blind Hattie said. “You young-uns with all your electronic gear and gizmos, you’ve forgotten how to listen to the natural world. You don’t hear what the wind or the trees or this black cat right here is tellin’ you.”
“Can you help us hear?” Leah asked.
“I can. But it’ll take time. You can come by when this guitar is found and Devon is cleared and we’ll have some lessons in reconnecting with Mother Earth and her fabulous creatures.”
“I’d like that,” Leah said. She was surprised when Blake and Devon chimed in, asking to learn also.
“You’re all welcome. Now that cat is tryin’ to tell you that the person who knew Devon had the guitar is the person who went to his place and took it. It’s not so much that I speak cat as it is this particular cat knows how to talk to me.”
“And that’s why his name is Trouble,” Leah said before she turned to Devon. “Who knew you had the guitar? Other than me and I have an alibi.” She said the last to lighten the intense mood.
“I hadn’t told anyone. I was going to surprise Claire tonight by playing it and asking her to marry me at the end of the set.”
“That guitar was goin’ to help his romantic mojo,” Hattie said. “At least the young fool believed that it would.”
Leah could have told Devon he didn’t need a mojo to woo Claire. She was all in with him. When he walked into a room her whole face lit up. Little Dahlia too. They adored Devon. “If you didn’t tell anyone, who knew you had it?”
“That Bobby Oliver guy,” Blake said. “Obviously he knew. And the collector who allowed you to use it.”
“Meow!” Trouble jumped to the ground and went to rub Blake’s legs.
“That cat’s talkin’ again. I suggest you listen,” Blind Hattie said.
“I think Mr. Granger is setting you up, Devon.” Leah felt her temper rising. “He gave you the guitar, then sent someone to steal it back so you’d have to pay him for it. He gets the money and he gets to keep the guitar.”
“How can we prove that?” Blake asked.
“By posing as another buyer,” Leah said. “That’s exactly what we’ll do.” She looked at Blake. “Or should I say exactly what Blake can do. Granger knows me and Devon. It has to be Blake.”
“I’m not much of an actor.” Blake had a lot of misgivings about this plan. Leah couldn’t risk talking to the collector, Floyd Granger, because he could easily recognize her as Devon’s friend. Leah couldn’t pretend to be the buyer. It had to be him, and it had to be quick. There wasn’t a lot of time to finesse the operation.
Leah was going over the plan, again. “All you have to do is say you saw the guitar advertised on the Internet. You’re in town right now. You want to buy the guitar. When he tells you he has it, you say you want to see it now. Once you see the guitar, maybe get a photo with your phone, Devon is off the hook. You can leave on the pretext of getting the money, and we can call the police.”
“Either that or Bobby Oliver can work me over,” Blake said. “I saw the way he was leaning into you, Leah. He’s aggressive. And he’s mean. I’ve heard other stories about some of the mishaps people around him have.”
“I know.”
“Do we have another option?” Blake asked.
“Not at my fingertips.”
Blake sighed. “Okay, then let’s play it to the hilt.”
“Here’s Mr. Granger’s phone number.” Leah showed him her phone screen.
Blake tilted back his head and looked up into the stars, but he tapped in the number. In a moment he’d dialed. “Hello, Mr. Granger, this is Luke Smith. I’m interested in a guitar you have up for sale on the Internet.”
Blake kept his gaze on Leah. She nodded encouragement and put her hand on his arm to help him stay calm. “You’re doing great,” she whispered.
Blake listened to the collector on the phone, aware that the man was lying. “No, no, it’s the black Gibson that belonged to B.B. King that I want. I have a client who would give his eyeteeth for that guitar. But if it’s sold, then it’s sold. Ten grand may be a little high, too. I was hoping for a negotiation. Thank you for your time.” He watched Leah’s face fall, but he had to play hardball with Granger.
The collector said something else and Blake nodded. “Okay, that would work. If the other buyer backs out, then I can have the guitar? That’s great. Really great. Would it be possible for me to see the instrument? Maybe leave a down payment?” He listened a moment. “Now would be a great time. I was just in town to scout for some local talent but I have to leave early in the morning. Tell me where to meet you.” He realized that Devon, Leah, the cat, and even Blind Hattie were hanging on his words. “I’m on my way. And thank you, Mr. Granger.” When he hung up the phone, he inhaled deeply. “He wants to meet at the crossroads at Cry Baby Creek and Pine Top road.”
Blind Hattie gave a low laugh. “That’s the place to meet up with the devil. Folks around here say so.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Leah said. “I’d hoped we could do this in Zinnia. This is out in the middle of nowhere. I don’t really like this.”
“Nor do I,” Blake said. “But I don’t see another choice. Devon will be with you, and you’ll both stay out of sight. If things go wrong, you can call for help. I’ll certainly be on high alert.”
“What if that Bobby Oliver is there?” Leah asked. “He may try to beat you up and take the money he thinks you’re going to have.”
“I can take that Bobby,” Devon said as he stood up tall and squared his shoulders. “I don’t like to fight, but I can.”
Blake saw the concern in Leah’s face. She wasn’t worried about a fistfight. What if Bobby or Granger were armed.
“Meow!” Trouble stood on his back feet and patted Blake’s blue jeans, as if offering encouragement.
“And Trouble will be with us,” Blake said, even though he felt a little silly.
“Me-ow!” Trouble agreed.
“Should we take money?” Leah asked. “I can hit an ATM and get partial payment.”
“Some hard cash can smooth over a tough spot,” Blind Hattie said. “I happen to have a little stash. I’ll loan it to you. It’s half what he’s asking for the guitar.”
“You would do that?” Devon asked.
“I would. I know your spirit, young man. You’re not a thief. And the cat tells me to trust you.”
“Thank goodness for the cat,” Leah said. “Now let’s get going. It’s a bit of a ride over to the meeting place.”
Trouble jumped up and tapped the phone from Blake’s hand. When it hit the ground, the cat keyed in 9-1-1, but he didn’t hit call.
“He thinks we should call the sheriff,” Leah said.
“Not a bad idea, but let’s do it once we already at the meeting place. You and Devon can call while I’m waiting for Granger to show up. That’ll give us enough time to make sure the guitar is there. If the guitar doesn’t show, Devon can take off and we’ll think of something to tell the sheriff. The good news is that, should something go awry, we know Sheriff Peters is on the way.” Blake picked up his phone and the cat. “Let’s do it.”
Methinks the bipeds’ intentions are good, but this is not a plan. This is a major cock-up waiting to happen. The lovely Leah believes this Granger collector may not be on the up and up. Bobby Oliver sounds like a thug sent to chase down Mr. Granger’s desires. I agree with Leah, these two men may have played Devon. They gave him the guitar so they could steal it from him and corner him into paying for it. I cannot allow this to happen. Not on my watch.
I’m riding shotgun in Blake’s lap as we head into the dark Delta night. I must admit, were I inclined toward the study of astronomy, this is the place to explore the stars. There are millions visible, and that lovely big moon. I’ve never seen such a black velvet night. It rivals the beauty of my coat.
I don’t know how this is going down, but at least Leah is smart enough to call the sheriff when we get to the rendezvous point. That eases my mind a bit. I just hope these guitar thugs don’t carry guns. Devon and Blake are fit and I’m sure can handle themselves in a fight, should it come to that. But gun play is a different matter.
Now to focus on my surroundings and scout the terrain. Every good detective knows the lay of the land plays a big role in any crime—or would-be crime. This situation can be resolved if we find the guitar and Mr. Granger concedes that neither Devon nor Leah are responsible for its disappearance. It’s sad how greed can totally corrupt the human heart.
Leah drove fast. She wanted to get to the meet site before Granger got there and had time to boobytrap the area. It didn’t make sense that the collector would want to meet in a desolate crossroads, but she and her friends hadn’t had the leverage necessary to insist on a different location. And she was very worried about the outcome. As she drove, she told Devon and Blake about the dream Madame Tomeeka had shared with her.
“You were at a crossroads, Devon. And you had a good choice and a bad one. Madame was worried you’d pick wrong.”
“Madame doesn’t fool around,” Devon said. “Maybe we should just call the police and let them handle this. That talk of the crossroads and the devil just makes me want to run in the opposite direction.”
“We should have asked Blind Hattie more about the crossroads.” Blake glanced in the side mirror and Leah was relieved when he added, “The road behind us is completely empty. We haven’t passed a single car. I don’t think we’ll be interrupted at the meet up with Granger.”
“It’s nearly eleven,” Leah said. “Most folks are home in bed.”
“Except for Claire. She’s waiting for me to perform and wondering where I am,” Devon said.
“Call her,” Leah urged him. “At least let her know you’re okay. I’m sure she’s really worried by now.” She checked the time on the car’s dash. “It won’t be long before you’re scheduled to play at the festival,” she said.
“I don’t think I’ll make it.” Devon blew out a breath. “This is all my fault. I should never have taken that guitar when I couldn’t afford it. I was foolish. Now I don’t even have the engagement ring or the money to get one. I was only going to give Miles a small down payment so the bulk of my money was at the house. When those people tossed my house, they took everything of value I had.”
Leah felt terrible for her friend. He’d used bad judgment but the price he was paying was far greater than his poor decision warranted. “We’ll have to call the sheriff anyway, Devon. You were robbed. Not only of the guitar but of your money. This has to be reported.”
“Do you think Sheriff Peters will really believe me?” Devon said. “Granger has a fancy house and lots of money. Most people will believe him.”
“Coleman Peters isn’t most people,” Leah said. “He’s been good to my family, and he’s a fair man. Let’s just see if we can recover that guitar.”
“The intersection isn’t far,” Blake said.
“I hate to ask, but could you stop at the next house?” Devon asked.
“We need to get to the crossroads before Granger,” Blake said cautiously. “Whose house is it?”
“That’s Marty Miles’s place. The man doesn’t have a phone and I need to let him know I won’t be paying for that engagement ring. I swear, it won’t take but a minute. I promised him I’d be here tonight with some of the cash, and now I don’t have anything to pay him.”
Leah squeezed Blake’s arm lightly. “Sure. We can do that. And we’ll find that guitar and your money,” she said as Blake pulled into the barren yard.
“I won’t be two minutes. It doesn’t take long to tell someone you’re flat busted.” Devon hopped out of the car, and Trouble shot out after him.
“That cat,” Leah said, shaking her head. “It’s like he understands what we’re saying. I’d swear he’s going to protect Devon.”
“I have exactly the same feeling,” Blake said. He caught her hand and squeezed. When she didn’t pull away, he held onto it, his thumb caressing the top. “I’m so glad we’re finally having a chance to talk,” he said.
“Me too. I’m sorry I didn’t contact you earlier this summer. I was confused about what I felt. What I wanted. I assumed I’d get my college degree and move to a city. Then I started my promotion and advertising business here. And then I saw you, and a lot of old feelings came flooding back. Are you in the Zinnia area for a while?”
“I’m here for as long as I need to be,” he said.
“Need to be?” Leah asked.
“As long as it takes to win you,” he said. “And longer than that if you want to settle here.”
Leah couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. “That sounds like enough time to sort through this.”
“Good. Then let the sorting begin.”
Leah was just leaning over for a kiss when Devon appeared at the window. “You have to come quick. Someone tore up Marty’s place and there’s blood all around.”
“Oh, no!” Leah was out of the car and ran with Devon to the house. Blake was at their side in an instant.
When they rushed up on the porch of the old wooden house, Trouble was already inside. He led them directly to the blood on the kitchen floor. The table had been overturned and a bloody knife lay on the linoleum. Leah froze in the doorway. “No one go in there. It’s a crime scene. We have to call the sheriff.”
“No! We have to get out of here,” Devon said. “Now.”
Trouble went to Devon and put both front claws in his jeans’ leg and slowly began to drag him toward the door.
“See, even Trouble agrees,” Devon said. “Let’s get out of here. We can call the sheriff when we’re on the road. If we miss this opportunity to meet with Granger, he’ll sell that guitar quick and I’ll never be able to prove he set me up.”
Leah reluctantly followed Devon out of the house. “Should we look to make sure Mr. Miles is okay? I mean there was blood.”
Before anyone could stop him, Trouble darted across the front lawn and disappeared into the rows of cotton that were waist high.
“He wants us to follow him,” Leah said. “This is what he was doing when we found you at Blind Hattie’s,” she told Devon.
“I think we should get out of here,” Devon was shaking his head. “Call the law and let them handle this. What if the person who attacked Marty Miles is still around here?”
It was a possibility that chilled Leah, and she hesitated.
“If I’m going to make the meeting at the crossroads, we have to leave,” Blake said. “It’s either go or call the whole thing off.”
“Let’s go. I’ll call Sheriff Peters.” Trouble peeked out of the cotton and she reached for him, but the black cat darted away into the cotton rows.
“We can’t leave him,” Leah told the men. “He wants us to follow.”
Ah, sweet reason comes on the wings of a beautiful angel. Leah is paying attention. She interprets my wants and needs and forces the male bipeds to follow my orders. She is a fine lef-tenant. Of course, I know the word is spelled lieutenant, but the dastardly American pronunciation is annoying. Watching Benedict Cumberbatch on the telly I learned much about how the savage colonists created American English.
Lucky that I can communicate in the Southern vernacular—and that Leah and Blind Hattie are willing to listen. What I must get my fellow sleuths to do is follow me into this field. Even with a full moon, the night is too dark for them to see the dribbles of blood on the cotton plants. My keen sight and sensitive olfactory system give me great advantage. Whoever left the house, the injured went this way, through the cotton. Which I find more than a little strange. If I were bleeding to death, I’d go to the highway and attempt to flag down help. But this person headed into a field, which leads me to believe that perhaps he, or she, knows a shortcut to some place where help can be obtained.
The only way to find this out is to follow the trail.
As I dart through the cotton, I make sure that Leah is able to see me and follow me. The moon is bright, and they have those infernal little flashlight apps on their phones, which helps supplement their inferior sight.
Ah, and here is pay dirt. It looks as if our wounded person stopped here long enough for blood to collect in the soil. I’ll just call attention to this, and once Leah photographs the spot, which I know she’ll do, we can continue on.
Leah and the men see the blood and do exactly the right thing. Document but do not touch. Time to move on. Let me encourage them to continue north.
Blake examined the small pool of blood with growing concern. “Devon, do you think that jewelry maker is the one who’s bleeding?”
“I don’t know.” Devon rubbed the place between his eyebrows with a forefinger. “I mean Marty Miles was a little on the strange side. Kind of reclusive and all of that. But he seemed to mostly stay to himself and sell his work on-line. Who would hurt a jewelry maker?”
“A robber,” Blake said. “Did Miles keep a lot of valuable stones or gold around his house?”
“I never asked to see where he worked,” Devon said. “I heard about him from someone in a club in Starkville when I was playing, and since he was right near Zinnia, I called him and told him I was interested in a unique engagement ring. He sent me some photos of some of his work and I fell in love with a pear-cut diamond. It was perfect for Leah. The setting was kind of art deco. Just wonderful.” He sighed. “Now I’ll never be able to afford it.”
“Both Mr. Granger and Marty Miles were selling things on-line,” Leah pointed out. “That could be a connection. Otherwise the only thing they seem to have in common is Devon.”
“If someone is hurt, we should be looking for them,” Blake said. “I think it’s time to call the sheriff right now. We’ll never be able to cover this whole cotton field. Someone could die if we procrastinate.”
Devon nodded. “You’re right. As much as I want to prove I didn’t steal a guitar, it’s not worth a person’s life. Better call Sheriff Peters now.”
Blake had his phone out when a bullet zinged through the air not far from him. “Get down!” he urged Devon as he folded Leah beneath him to protect her. “Someone is shooting at us.”
“We have to get out of here as quietly and quickly as we can,” Leah said.
Blake nodded. He waved at Devon, who’d also hit the dirt with the black cat in his arms. They all began to crawl on their hands and knees through the cotton rows and back toward the car.
Another shot was fired, and Blake heard someone running through the crop rows. Again a weapon was discharged.
Devon crawled up beside him and Leah. “What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know,” Blake admitted. “We just have to get out of here without getting hurt.”
They all nodded and began to crawl again. When they came to the edge of the cotton, they waited. Even Trouble was agreeable. When Blake gave the signal, they gained their feet and ran toward Leah’s car. They all piled in and Blake put the car in motion without turning on the lights.
When they’d reached the road, Leah sighed loudly. “Whatever was going on, I’m just glad we’re out of it. I’m calling the sheriff right now.”
Blake pulled to a stop when they were only a quarter mile from the crossroads. Leah had given Sheriff Peters all the details of the break in at Marty Miles’ house, the blood on the kitchen floor and in the cotton field, and the shots fired into the cotton field. She’d also given her name before she hung up. It was done, and the law would only be a short distance away from the crossroads if things went south.
“You and Devon get out here. I’ll attend the meeting by myself. You can come through the cotton field and watch. That way you’ll have the element of surprise if something goes wrong.”
“I don’t like the idea of you going to that crossroads by yourself,” Leah said. “Maybe we should just wait for the sheriff.”
“If I can, I’ll get a photo of the guitar with my phone.” Blake rolled to a stop. “We just have to prove Granger, not Devon, has the guitar. This shouldn’t be an insurmountable task.”
“Don’t do anything to make them angry. Remember, the sheriff is only a few minutes away.”
“Hop out,” Blake said. “I worry that Granger is planning something. You two are the only backup I have.”
Leah and Devon got out of the car. She leaned in the driver’s window. “Please be careful.” Before he could answer, she kissed him. When she broke the kiss, she quickly wiped at a tear on her cheek. “We’ll be watching to help you.”
Devon stood several feet away. “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this. Both of you. I really didn’t have any bad intentions. I don’t know how this got so out of control.”
“This isn’t on you, Devon,” Blake said. “These are bad men and they’re trying to take advantage of you. If Granger has the guitar, I’ll tell him I have to get the money, that I wasn’t comfortable coming out here to the backside of nowhere with all that cash.”
“If Granger thinks he’s being played, he could get really pissed.” Leah clung to the car’s window.
“Yeah, he could. But this is what we have to do. Now let me go get started.”
Leah stepped away from the car and Blake drove to the crossroads. The old Blues legend of Robert Johnson selling his soul to the devil for musical talent at a crossroads was heavy on his mind as he parked and got out of the car. It appeared he was alone with just the bright moon, the stars, and a field of corn that seemed to whisper and rustle in the breeze.
Leah, with Devon and Trouble at her side, moved carefully through the field. The corn was taller than the cotton—tall enough to give them complete cover. She was gravely worried that they’d made a mistake with this plan, but Devon was right. If they didn’t prove that he hadn’t stolen the guitar, he could easily be charged with theft. And it didn’t help that another internet seller Devon was associated with—the jeweler—had also apparently been robbed.
As they neared the crossroads, she caught sight of her car and Blake standing beside it. He was an easy target, right in the open, if anyone cared to take advantage of it.
“Let’s move a little to the west,” she said to Devon. She’d just started to shift her position when the cat bolted through the corn. She grabbed for him but missed. Trouble disappeared. She started after him, taking care not to give her position away. When she heard him cry out, she stopped.
In the moonlight, metal glinted. A car had been driven into the corn. It was almost completely obscured by the tall, tasseled stalks. “What the heck?” She motioned Devon to stay close to her. Trouble was on the hood of the car when she got close enough.
And someone was sitting in the passenger seat. Unmoving.
She inched closer and felt her heart drop. Marty Miles was slumped in the passenger seat. She couldn’t tell what was wrong with him, but a suspicious dark stain covered his shirt.
Devon grasped her shoulder. “Is he dead?” he whispered.
“I have to check.” Leah reached in the open window and touched Miles’ neck. He moaned softly, but he wouldn’t fully awaken. “He’s not dead, but he’s bleeding. Devon, go get Blake. Tell him to call this off. Something is going on that we don’t understand. Why is Marty Miles here, at this crossroads, at the exact time of the meeting?”
“I’ll get Blake.” Devon threw caution to the wind and sprinted through the corn.
Leah pulled out her phone and dialed the sheriff again. When Coleman answered, she didn’t hold back, though she kept her voice low. She walked deeper into the cornfield so no one could hear her. “Sheriff, we’re at the crossroads just up from Marty Miles’ house. I’ve found Marty. He’s in a car driven into a cornfield. He’s injured. Seriously. Blake is meeting with someone about a stolen guitar. I should have told you all this when I called a little while ago. Can you get here, fast?”
“I’m on the way,” Coleman said. “Leah, I called your parents. They were worried sick about you.”
“Yeah, I kind of disappeared and got caught up helping a friend. Blake could be in some serious trouble, Sheriff. You have to help him.”
“I’m on the way.”
She was putting her phone away when she felt hands circle her throat. “You couldn’t mind your own business, could you?” Marty Miles had slipped out of the car.
The man was bleeding, but he was still strong.
“Let me go!” She kicked at his shins, but he tightened his grip on her throat.
Leah tried to scream, but Miles’s fingers choked off her air supply. She fought as hard as she could, but she was losing the battle. She pried at the hands at her throat and suddenly saw Miles’s face contort. He let her loose and she stumbled backward against the car.
Miles began whirling in the corn, stumbling over his own feet and crying out. At last Leah realized that Trouble was on top of his head, digging into his face and neck and eyes with razor sharp claws. Miles was doing his best to dislodge the cat, who clung like a burr.
Scrambling while Trouble had Miles distracted, Leah found a large utility flashlight on the back seat. She grabbed it. When she had a clear shot at Miles’s head, she took it. He went down with a groan and Trouble jumped free just as Devon and Blake returned.
“What the hell?” Blake asked as he walked around the moaning jeweler.
Devon called out from the car. “Hey, he has the guitar. It’s in the backseat.”
A van pulled up to the crossroads and through the corn, Leah could see Granger get out. He was alone and he didn’t have a guitar. His role in what was playing out was yet to be determined.
In the distance, she could see the flashing blue lights of the sheriff coming. Though she expected Granger to try to run, he didn’t. When Devon came out of the corn, Granger looked at him.
“You’ve got some explaining to do, and as luck would have it, the law is coming. I didn’t want to believe you were a thief, Devon, but when that jeweler guy, Marty Miles, called me and said you’d traded my guitar for an engagement ring, I was disappointed. Miles should be here any minute with the guitar. I’m taking my property and you can settle up with the jeweler for the ring you stole.”
“I didn’t steal anything. I swear it. And Marty Miles is here,” Devon said. “He tried to kill my friends and he’s injured, which is why we called the law. The guitar is in the backseat of his car. He stole it from my place.”
The expression on Granger’s face said he wasn’t buying Devon’s story.
Leah and Blake stepped clear of the cornstalks with the guitar and Trouble. Her throat was painful, but she could breathe and talk. “Devon didn’t do anything wrong, Mr. Granger. And I’m the one who set up this meeting. When someone broke into Devon’s house and trashed his place, they stole your guitar and all of the money he’d saved to buy an engagement ring. He’s the victim here, not the criminal.”
Granger took the guitar and looked it over carefully. Then he looked around and a wry grin touched his face. “This isn’t the first guitar that had a moment at a crossroads in this Delta. I’m just glad none of you were hurt.” He hesitated. “Sorry, Devon. I didn’t know what to think.”
“Thanks for being so understanding, Mr. Granger.” Leah heard someone rustling in the corn and she turned around just in time to see Trouble dart out of the shadows like a rocket. He threw himself in front of Blake, tangling in his feet. Blake stumbled right into Leah’s arms, and she caught him with a laugh. “Thanks, Trouble,” she said.
She could have sworn the cat winked at her.
Blake put his arm around Leah, and she snuggled against his side. It just felt right. Really right. To her surprise, the black cat jumped in her arms.
Blake gave Leah a little squeeze. “I didn’t believe it when Blind Hattie said this cat was able to communicate, but he’s the one who led us to the car in the corn. Marty Miles was waiting for you to arrive, Mr. Granger. He was likely going to harm you and keep the guitar and whatever money you might have on you. He knew about the value of the guitar from Devon.”
Devon nodded. “I’m afraid that’s true. I was so excited to buy the engagement ring that I blurted all of my business out to Marty. I went on and on how this video of my playing B.B. King’s most famous instrument would go viral and boost my career. I wasn’t smart.”
“There shouldn’t be punishment for being excited by life,” Granger said. “That’s one of the few benefits of being young. You feel all of life’s potential.” He offered the guitar to Devon. “Take this and use it. With one condition.”
“Oh, I’ve learned my lesson about using things I can’t afford to pay for,” Devon said, holding up his hands instead of taking the guitar. “Thank you, but no thank you.”
“I’m giving it to you. With that one condition. When you become famous, you have to promise to change guitars every two years and let me have the old one to sell.”
Devon’s face cracked into a wide smile. “Are you serious?”
“I am,” Granger said. “And you, Ms. Lassfolk, I want to hire you to do some on-line promotion for my musical instrument business. Perhaps we can feature Devon in some of the videos. I think we’ll make an excellent team.”
The patrol car pulled up and Sheriff Peters, followed by Sarah Booth Delaney and Tammy Lynn, came to the gathering in the middle of the empty road.
“Marty Miles is in the cornfield, unconscious,” Blake said. “Just to be on the safe side I did tie his hands. He’s involved in a lot of robberies.”
“And murder. We found Bobby Oliver’s body in the cotton fields behind Miles’s house,” Coleman Peters said. “He’d been shot, and it looks like there was a shoot out between the two. My educated guess is that Oliver caught on to what Miles was up to and confronted him.” He shook his head. “Oliver made it out of the house and into the field before he collapsed.”
“Miles must have been looking for him,” Leah mused. “When he couldn’t find him, he cut through the field to the crossroads.”
“Who knocked him out?” the sheriff asked.
“I did.” Leah held up her hand and then put it down. “It was self-defense. He was trying to choke me.”
The black cat gave a raucous meow.
“And Trouble saved me,” Leah said before she started laughing. “Trouble is demanding credit for his role in this.”
“He does like to be acknowledged,” Tammy said as she picked the feline up and gave him a kiss on the top of the head. “He’s building quite a reputation solving cases.”
“And saving damsels in distress,” Blake said.
“I’ll pick up Miles and have a word with Mr. Granger here,” Coleman said. “You three had better get back to the Midsummer festival. I think there’s a young woman there waiting for you, Devon. And there’s also an empty stage and a band wondering where their lead guitar and vocalist might be.”
“Holy cow!” Devon checked his watch. “Let’s roll. I can make it just in time to perform.”
A second patrol car pulled up and two more deputies got out. Coleman drew Sarah Booth to his side and gave her a quick kiss. “Why don’t you and Tammy take Trouble back to the party? I’ll finish up here.”
Coleman reached down to give the cat a pat on the head. “I’d deputize you but you don’t have anywhere to pin the badge.”
Everyone laughed, and Sarah Booth gave Coleman a quick kiss before they loaded into Leah’s car. It was a tight fit, but the mood was jolly.
Another case bites the dust. The villain is apprehended, and true love is in the air. The bounty of Midsummer’s Eve has just begun. Ah, Devon, with that fine black guitar named Lucille, is taking the stage with his band. He calls Claire up on the stage. She doesn’t suspect a thing!
One thing the bipeds understand better than felines is a fine romantic gesture. Devon drops to one knee and asks for Claire’s hand in marriage. My goodness, he has a ring—and one I recognize from the hand of Madame Tomeeka. She’s given Devon her own ring to give her daughter as a token of his love. This is what family is all about. Claire accepts the proposal and the ring and Sarah Booth and Coleman pop a champagne cork and take the bottle and glasses up to the stage. It’s a toast to the future of a fine couple. Leah is getting it all recorded—and this I guarantee will go viral. Devon is on his way to stardom.
Now for some hot blues and some more of the grilled halibut our hosts made for me. I’ve worked up something of an appetite!