Chapter 9

Savannah, Georgia: 25 years ago.

“I gotta get this run done.” Cool Bones sauntered down Gleason Street. Tilting his fedora at an angle, he strolled past the brick apartment buildings. It wasn’t the best area of town, but it wasn’t the worst either.

One could say Gleason Street was on the fringes. Single story homes with single car garages clustered together…until you crossed over to the 2000 block. The tidy homes were fewer and farther between, replaced by rectangular brick apartments.

Cool Bones had one more transaction to handle before he was officially out of the bookie business. He’d been jumped too many times. Robbed at knifepoint, his life threatened in back alleys and abandoned buildings. It wasn’t worth it for the measly amount of money he was making.

Besides, he and his band, the Jazz Boys, were finally getting some gigs. And not just bars throwing a few bucks and a few beers their way on the weekends. They were signing on for honest-to-goodness paid performances.

This weekend was his last bookie run. As luck would have it, there was a little spot of trouble he needed to handle first. Rudy McCoy. Minor league baseball player, an up-and-coming bookie who was trying to muscle in on Cool Bones’ best better. He needed this last “vig” or vigorish to put gas in the van and pay for the hotel for him and the band members.

Rudy was causing problems. Major problems, threatening to swoop in and steal the “vig.” Cool Bones needed to make sure it didn’t happen. He knew Rudy’s routine. He was home, working on his next bet, working on his next cut.

He jogged left, reaching the three-story brownstone apartment. With a quick glance around, Cool Bones rang the bell.

“Who is it?” Rudy’s rude snarl echoed through the cheap metal speaker.

“It’s CB. Cool Bones.”

“What do you want?”

“To chat?”

“About what?”

“Business.”

“You got a deal for me?” Rudy asked.

“I have a business proposition,” Cool Bones replied.

“C’mon up.” Rudy buzzed him in.

Cool Bones entered the dark hallway.

Bang. A door at the end of the hall echoed.

Mrs. Culpepper, the landlady and building owner who kept a close eye on anyone who came by the building, appeared. Of course, Rudy couldn’t stand her. He constantly complained she was always up in his business.

But then, who could blame the woman? A bookie was a less than reputable career choice. No doubt, McCoy had all kinds of unsavory characters showing up day and night.

Cool Bones climbed the stairs. Rudy’s door flew open. He motioned his visitor inside. “Hurry up before Culpepper sees you.”

“She already knows I’m here.”

“The nosy bat is spying on me. Her eyesight is crap and yet she always seems to be around,” Rudy griped.

“I’m sure she has her reasons,” CB said.

“You got a new contact for me?”

“No.” CB’s eyes started to burn. “What’s that smell?”

“I think I got a gas leak. The nosy witch refuses to do anything about it.”

“Can we step outside and chat?”

Rudy grumbled under his breath. He grabbed his baseball bat, reluctantly following Cool Bones out of the hall, down the stairs and into the backyard.

“What’s up with the bat?” Cool Bones gave him a side eye.

“Been getting some threats recently. I don’t leave the apartment without it.”

“Threats?”

“I think I might’ve stepped on a toe or two. Bookies are a paranoid bunch.” Rudy leaned on the bat and changed the subject. “What do you have?”

“Stepped on whose toes?”

“Cray. You ever met him?”

“No, and I don’t plan on it.” Cool Bones shifted his feet. “Look. I’m getting out of the bookie business. My band and I have a sweet deal set up. I need this last vig to pay for gas and the hotel. My client said you offered him a better cut.”

“Who was it?”

“Kent.”

“Yeah. Kent’s a good guy. You’re charging him too much,” Rudy said. “Business is business.”

“I need this vig.” Cool Bones, fists clenched, took a menacing step toward him.

“So do I.” Rudy nervously licked his lips, tightening his grip on the bat. “You’re the one who has been threatening me. I knew it.”

“It wasn’t me, but you’re going to need to back down and stop contacting my customer.”

“He’s not your customer. Kent can work with whoever he wants.”

Cool Bones could feel his blood pressure spike. “Not this time. I already told you. I need the cash.”

Without warning, Rudy swung the bat at Cool Bones.

Anticipating the move, he easily sidestepped the man, grabbed hold of the bat, and wrestled it from him. “You’re crazy, dude. I thought you were my friend.”

“Bookies don’t have friends,” Rudy said breathlessly. “Let go of my bat.”

Cool Bones, a good foot taller than McCoy, shoved the bat, knocking him to the ground. Disgusted, he tossed it next to him. “Man, I'm finished with you and this bettin' business.”

He stalked off, furious at himself for letting McCoy get under his skin.

“You better never come back here!” Rudy yelled after him. “You’ll be sorry. You hear me?”

*****

Cool Bones switched the telephone receiver to his other ear. “It was the last time I saw Rudy McCoy alive,” he said.

Carlita crossed her arms. “Mrs. Culpepper must’ve seen Rudy swing at you when you were arguing in the backyard.”

“You said Rudy mentioned a name. Cray,” Mercedes prompted. “Did you ever find out who he was?”

“Nope. I told the cops during the initial investigation and when they picked me up last night. I don’t think they believe me.” Cool Bones rubbed his forehead. “I even offered to let the investigators have my old bookie journal. They weren’t interested in it back then and they’re not interested now because they already believe they have the killer—me.”

Carlita blinked rapidly. “You kept a copy of the bets?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m not sure why. I wish I could get my hands on it. It might jog my memory.”

“What if Mercedes and I brought it to you?” Carlita snapped her fingers. “Let me ask the guard a quick question.” She ran over to the door, had a word with the guard on duty, and returned. “You’re allowed paper products, which means you can have it while you’re in here.”

Cool Bones’ eyes lit. “Would you? Duke would go get it for me, but I hate to bother him.”

“Absolutely.”

“This will work out even better, since you have a key to my apartment.”

“Why don’t we plan on dropping it off at the front desk? Once you’ve had a chance to take a look at it, we can come back and figure out if there’s anything worth following up on.”

With a plan in place and Cool Bones in much better spirits, mother and daughter headed home to get ready to cover their shifts at Ravello’s.

Pete was long gone. He and Gunner were at the Flying Gunner, repairing some minor damage from a recent group outing on board the pirate ship.

Carlita swapped out her summer clothes for her work uniform and headed back to Walton Square. She arrived to find Mercedes was already there, waiting tables.

With a quick stop in the kitchen, Carlita took her place at the hostess stand. The hours flew by. Tables filled. Hungry patrons arrived. Happy diners departed. All the while, she thought about Cool Bones being locked up and how discouraged he’d been.

Paisley, Steve Winters’ girlfriend and new restaurant employee, arrived. Not only a new employee, but one of Ravello’s best. Customers loved her. Employees loved her. To sum it up, she fit right in.

In fact, she and Mercedes were becoming close friends. Steve and Paisley, who had gotten behind on their bills at the tattoo shop, were working hard to dig out of their financial hole. Paisley often volunteered to cover extra shifts to help chip away at their debt.

Finally, Carlita’s shift ended. She hung around to work on her purchase order.

Mercedes breezed into the kitchen. “I was hoping you hadn’t left yet.”

“I was trying to catch up on the books. We got slammed for a Monday.”

“It felt like a Friday.” Mercedes untied her apron and hung it on the hook. “Paisley offered to cover for me tomorrow.”

“I almost forgot about your dash for trash.” Carlita turned the computer off and reached for her purse. “I have the final list of dishes and games for the baby shower. Can you take a quick look at it to make sure I haven’t missed anything?”

“Sure.” Mercedes perused the list. “Looks good. I have the decorations ready to go. As long as I’m done with my community service by five, I should be all set.”

“I was thinking I could come by around six to start decorating.”

“Sounds good. If I’m not home, let yourself in.” Mercedes handed the list back to her mother. “Did you want to swing by Cool Bones’ place to look for the bookie journal?”

“That’s an excellent idea.” Reaching the apartment, Carlita waited in the hall for Mercedes to drop her things off at home. Using her main key, she let them into the apartment.

Cool Bones’ saxophone sat in the corner, waiting to be picked up and played. The apartment was quiet…too quiet.

“I’m gonna check his plants to make sure they don’t need water.” Mercedes watered the plants while Carlita began searching the hall closet, the place where Cool Bones thought the journal might be located.

Starting at the top, she dug through the bins filled with music notes, photo albums, odds and ends accumulated over the years.

Near the bottom, Carlita found what she was looking for—the black bookie journal. “I found it.”

She carried it to the kitchen counter and began flipping through the pages. “I forgot to ask Cool Bones for the date he and Rudy argued.”

“I can find out.” Mercedes slid her cell phone from her back pocket and searched for Rudy McCoy. “He was murdered on October 10, 2000.”

“Thanks.” Carlita rifled through the pages, stopping when she reached early October. She slipped her reading glasses on and worked her way down the page of entries. “Cool Bones’ meeting with Rudy was one of his very last entries.”

Mercedes leaned over her shoulder. “I have to say, he kept meticulous records. Maybe he’ll see something we’re missing.”

Carlita snapped photos of the pages during the date in question. She started to close the book when something caught her eye.

“Hang on.” She tapped the page. “Check it out. Do you see what I see?”