Andy walked a few steps ahead of me. He obviously hadn't noticed what I saw, but he stepped back and touched my arm when he realized I'd stopped.

  "What is it?"

  "Over there." I pointed. A white stripe lay almost hidden in a pile of broken branches. "Is that Jane's cane?"

  Bone hurried to the pile, kicked the debris aside, and lifted a white metal stick with a red tip, a mobility cane for the blind. He waved it in the air and then used it to scatter the heap in all directions until the sand was bare. I breathed a sigh of relief. No corpse. The cane was probably Jane's, and finding it here meant she almost certainly wasn't happily drinking Dr Pepper with a new friend, but until we found evidence otherwise, I chose to believe she was okay and would be found.

  I reached out for the cane, and Bone handed it to me. Just holding it made me feel Jane was close. Andy, Bone, and I scoured the beach along the northern end of the island. We examined every clump of trash and every piece of driftwood. Like Jane could be hidden by a slender watersmoothed stick. Arriving at the bridge, we saw that the sheriff still had a roadblock. Actually two roadblocks, one on each end of the bridge.

  "Should we explore the rest of the island?" I asked. "The undeveloped part?"

  "Let's go to the food area first and see if the others are back," Andy suggested. "Maybe one of them has found Jane."

  Chapter Thirteen

  The first real book I ever read that wasn't about

  Curious George or some other critter was written by Mark Twain about a boy whose name was worse than Calamine--Huckleberry Finn. Huck's not so popular anymore because he says the n word, but I always skip over it.

  The opening sentence in Huckleberry Finn is "You don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer." What's good enough for Mark Twain is good enough for me.

  Without you have read a book called A Tisket, a Tasket, a Fancy Stolen Casket, you don't know how I feel about the number thirteen. I've been in buildings with elevators that go from the twelfth floor to the fourteenth. Buh-leeve me, if those rich folks who build fancy buildings think thirteen is unlucky, so do I.

  Not only is thirteen unlucky, but I just don't like that number. I was thirteen when my brothers started calling me "Itty Bitty . . ." (a word I don't say). They laughed because my friends were wearing bras and Daddy refused to buy me one until I had something besides Kleenex to put in it.

  For the above reasons, I, Calamine L. Parrish, refuse to write a chapter 13.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "

  Yo han' sutt'nly lazy 'en good-fuh-nutt'n. De stawm

  bruk uh stan' an' uh long cheer, en oonuh jabbuh same lukkuh monkrey. Jis gwi!"

  The female voice echoed across the lot. Andy looked at me in total confusion.

  Bone laughed and called out, "Rizzie!"

  Where the missing Gastric Gullah plywood shack had been blown away from between Bob's Barbecue and Marie's Grill, a six-foot-long folding table stood.

  My daddy is the crudest redneck anyone would want to meet. Well, actually, many folks would just as soon not meet him. At times, my brothers are as rude, crude, and socially unacceptable as our patriarch, and none of them hesitate to voice their preferences. Mike calls himself a "boob man"; Frank, a "butt man"; and Bill, a "leg man," who adds, "I like long-legged women with legs stretching from the ground to heaven."

  The tall, dark-skinned woman arranging a gas cooker and ice chests on the table would have been perfect for all of them. Even in traditional Gullah garb, she obviously had everything I longed for. Not longed for as in another woman, 'cause I've never gone that way. Teased by Daddy that the good Lord gave Parrish men brains and Parrish women big boobs, but He gave Calamine (that's me) some of each but not a whole lot of either, I'd improved my bosom situation with a blow-up bra from Victoria's Secret. But at five foot four, I don't have long legs, and until I bought my new panties, the junk in my trunk was as flat as my bosom is without my bra.

  A bright scarf wrapped around the woman's head and knotted in front hid her hair, but if it was like the rest of her, it was glorious. Her chest filled out her white, scoopnecked tee and J Lo had nothing on the shelf beneath her floor-length, make that ground-length, wraparound skirt. Legs? A split up the skirt showed the longest legs I've ever seen on a woman. Her skin was dark, very dark, but not ashy. A beautiful deep brown like Godiva dark chocolate accentuated her white, white teeth and her jet black eyes, which looked up at us when Bone called her name.

  "Bone!" she exclaimed. "Gree bunce hab uh, fuh true. De stawm done tek all us stan' en Tyrone ack lukkah . . ." She waved her arm toward the short, thin African American youth who was unloading ice chests from the trunk of a battered, rusty old Chevy truck.

  "What's she talking?" Andy said.

  "Gullah," I answered. "She told the boy that he's lazy, his hands aren't good for anything, and that even though the storm destroyed their stand and blew away their lawn chairs, he's just jabbering like a monkey instead of helping her. Then she told Bone that she has grief about the storm and that Tyrone, the boy, isn't helping. 'Jis gwi!' means 'just go.' She's running the boy off because he's lazy."

  "How do you understand all that?"

  "I grew up in St. Mary. A lot of the Gullah folk who used to live on islands moved into nearby towns. I have Gullah friends, though most of them don't talk real Gullah as well as she does anymore."

  Bone turned toward us and said, "Rizzie Prophet, meet Callie and Andy." He laughed. "And they're not tourists, so you can drop the Gullah."

  Rizzie smiled all over her face. Wide toothy grin and bright, twinkling eyes.

  "Never can tell," she said. "They might've wanted to buy some baskets." Turning toward the boy, she scolded, "You gotta learn to work harder. Take the truck back to the house and load it up again."

  The boy hopped behind the wheel and gunned the engine as he headed away.

  "How old is he?" Andy asked.

  "Twelve," Rizzie answered.

  "Is he old enough to drive?" I said.

  "Been driving since he was old enough to see over the steering wheel when sitting on a pillow, since he was about nine." Rizzie grinned. "That's one reason the old ones are against this campground coming to Surcie. Afraid we'll wind up like Fripp, Hilton Head, and the other islands. Over-developed and over-lawed. Maum says even Daufuskie's changed since that man wrote the book about it years ago."

  Dean, Van, and Arnie arrived as she spoke. They shook their heads back and forth. No news about Jane.

  "I made an official report of Jane's disappearance," Dean said, "but the sheriff said an adult isn't considered missing for at least forty-eight hours. What kind of country bumpkin holds to that when two people have already been murdered here?" He frowned. "Said it wouldn't be surprising if Jane met some dude and crawled into his bunk with him. I felt like socking him. Bad-mouthing her like that." He coughed, then added, "I hope I haven't upset her in any way."

  I interrupted. "Dean, Jane's no angel. She was kinda wild in her teenaged years, and Sheriff Harmon doesn't think much of her job. But I agree he's wrong. My instincts are bad about her being missing, real bad." I didn't add that she had been very upset about whatever happened between the two of them, about his turning down her offer of . . . whatever she'd offered him. She'd been upset, but I knew in my heart that Jane had not left the band bus of her own will.

  "What is Jane's job?" Dean asked.

  "What ya'll talking about anyway?" Rizzie quizzed.

  Buh-leeve me. I'd rather answer Rizzie's question than Dean's, so I ignored him and turned to her. "My friend Jane went back to the band bus before the storm, but when we got there, she was gone."

  "I can't see where that's much of a problem. She's grown, right?"

  "Yes, but she's blind, and I don't think she would have tried to maneuver this campground by herself. Arnie and Van were checking with campers and performers while Dean here talked to the sheriff." I motioned to each man as I spoke his name.

  "What were you doing?"

  "Andy, Bone, and I walked around the beach on the campground end of the island. We found her cane on the beach."

  I lifted the white stick into the air. I didn't want to let go of it. It was the only part of Jane I had at the moment. Her clothes and other belongings were in the Winnebago, but the cane was part of Jane, and I needed to be close to some of Jane.

  Dean grimaced at the red tip of the cane. "I didn't know that," he said. "I need to go back and tell the sheriff she doesn't have her cane. Danged fool's got the island roadblocked, but he's not interested in a possible kidnapping. Not going to let anyone else onto the island or off the island. Happy Jack will lose his behind on this festival. There are only about forty or so grassers here, and two of the bands didn't get in last night, so they won't be playing. Jack wants the acts that are here to fill in and hopes he won't have to refund all the tickets."

  "I'll go with you," Bone said. "I want to talk to Harmon and Happy Jack myself." They walked away, headed back toward the bridge.

  Rizzie wrinkled her mouth into a scowl that spoke disappointment as well as anger. "Only forty people and the sheriff 's not letting anyone else in? Happy Jack promised me there'd be hundreds of folks here or I wouldn't have put all that money and time into building my stand. I'd hoped this would be a big success and earn me enough cash to start my food business. Now the stand's gone and I've thawed all this food from my freezer locker in Beaufort." She motioned toward the ice chests beneath the table. "Can't refreeze fish. I'll be back to selling baskets all summer."

  "Selling baskets?" Andy asked. "Like chicken and hamburger baskets?"

  Rizzie shot him the most exaggerated eye roll I've ever seen, and buh-leeve me, I've seen plenty.

  "Sweetgrass baskets," I said. "Hundreds of years ago, West Africans on the sea islands along the South Carolina coast made baskets out of the sweetgrass that grows in the marshes. Nowadays, they sell for big money to tourists."

  "Like Easter baskets?" Andy said.

  "Beautiful, intricate decorative baskets. They're usable, but most people treat them like art, and they smell like sweetgrass for years," I answered.

  "More like forever," Rizzie interrupted. "The baskets sell better if people know they're handmade by real Gullah people. That's why I speak and dress Gullah when I sell baskets and had planned to look and act all Gullah at my food stand." She glanced at her ice chests. "Not much use in setting this thing up. Forty fans plus musicians to feed between three venues won't make anybody any money." She sighed. "I might as well go get Tyrone to bring the truck back and pack up."

  Yowza! The idea hit me like a bolt of lightning. I could picture the lightbulb shining bright over my head. "You live here on Surcie?" I asked.

  "Yep, other end of the island."

  "We walked along the beach, but I'd feel better if we did it again with someone who's more familiar with the island. Reckon you could help us?" I waited, but she said nothing. Ex-cuuze me. I should've known not much is free in life, so I added, "I'll pay you for your time."

  "Okay." Rizzie grinned at me.

  "What's the first thing you think we should do?"

  Rizzie looked up, pointed toward some southern clouds, and drawled, "Tree buds en hebben cawls us ober dere."

  "Gullah?" Andy asked.

  "Yep," I answered as my heart raced around in my chest then dropped into the pit of my stomach. "She said, 'Three birds in the sky are calling us.' I should have noticed them myself."

  "Why?"

  "They're buzzards. When they circle like that, they're looking for something dead on the ground." Death is my business, but the thought of what they might find made me break down and sob. Andy put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into a hug. Like he could read my mind. The thought of a body didn't bring tears, but the vision of Jane as a corpse opened my floodgates.

  Either Andy's comfort hug or my emotional outburst must have embarrassed Van and Arnie because they took off toward the camping area.

  "Come on." Rizzie stepped around the table and motioned Andy and me to follow.

  I had a hard time keeping up with their long legs. Rizzie stood only a few inches shorter than Andy's six feet, six inches, and I felt the more than twelve-inch difference between them and me at every step we took. I had to jog to keep up along the new scraped roads out of the camping area. Not easy for someone whose primary exercise is stretching the truth.

  "Wait up," I called to Rizzie and Andy when I spotted Bone talking to Sheriff Harmon near the bridge.

  "Any news?" I asked.

  "Nope," Bone said.

  "No real leads for either murder," the sheriff added.

  "I meant any news about Jane," I snapped.

  "Nope, it's like I told your tall friend . . ." Harmon paused

  a moment and stared at Rizzie and Andy. "Callie, are you shrinking or making taller friends these days?" He chuckled.

  "I'm not shrinking, and that's not funny. I'm worried about Jane."

  "Like I was saying, Jane could be shacked up anywhere on the island. She's too old for an Amber Alert. Guess you want me to issue a Jane Alert. Missing: blind female, goodlooking, not always law-abiding."

  "Wayne Harmon, I can't believe you said that." I glared at him. "Jane's slowed down a lot, and you sowed a few wild oats yourself in your early years."

  "I've got two murders on an island with travelers who will leave the area as soon as I reopen this bridge. Show me some evidence that Jane didn't leave that bus of her own accord, and I'll get more interested. For now, I figure she's probably out having a good time."

  "Her iPod was still on the couch in the band bus, and what about her mobility cane? Did Bone tell you we found it on the beach?" I held it up toward him. "Without this, Jane's not able to negotiate unfamiliar territory. She'd never leave the iPod or the cane on purpose."

  Harmon smiled at me. Condescending. Like I was six years old. "Yes, Bone told me about that. I see you have it." He reached toward it, but I moved the cane behind my back. "Are there any identifying marks? Are you positive it's Jane's?"

  "How many blind people have you seen on this island?" Most sarcastic tone I could rev up.

  "Be patient, Callie," Harmon said. "If Jane doesn't show up soon, I'll assign someone to check into where she is. Let me have the cane."

  I tried. I promise I tried to remain composed and give Wayne Harmon the respect he's due as sheriff of Jade County, but I'd grown up with him in the house with my brothers all the time, and I reacted as though he were one of them. I, Calamine L. Parrish, who no longer even thinks profanity worse than kindergarten cussing, flipped him a bird that wasn't circling over the other end of the island. The "bad" finger. The moment I did it, I regretted my action, especially because Rizzie, Andy, and Wayne, too, laughed at me. With Jane missing, I was in no mood for humor, especially directed at me.

  "You can have the cane when you accept Jane as a serious case. In the meantime, I'll find my friend myself," I retorted, tossed my hair out of my eyes, and headed toward the southern end of the island. Still holding the only part of Jane I had at the moment--the white cane.

  "Look at her," I heard Wayne say to the others. "You can tell by the way she's walking. She's mad as the ninth piglet on an eight-nippled sow. Ever since she was a kid, she's pranced when she's furious."

  "What can you expect?" Andy asked. "She's afraid the killer running loose on this island may have Jane."

  Wayne lowered his voice, but I heard him anyway. "I've thought about that, and I do have deputies looking for Jane even though I think this is just another one of Jane's stunts. Watch Callie, will you? She doesn't always act wisely when she's prancing. I'll get the cane from her later."

  Rizzie and Andy caught up with me just as I reached the end of the scraped road where it turned into a rutted path barely wide enough for a pickup. Plant life thickened immediately. Tall and short palmetto trees surrounded us. Below them, shrub-size, sharp-spined saw palmettos.

  Rizzie stopped beside me. "You and the sheriff must be old friends."

  "I've known him all my life, but I apologize for what I did back there. I just can't understand why he won't acknowledge that Jane could be the next victim." I trembled at the thought.

  Andy put his arm around my shoulder again and said, "With the roadblock on the bridge, no one can leave. He should be able to identify the--"

  Rizzie's laughter cut off Andy's words. "City boy, you really think this island is shut off by that lawman blocking the road? How do you think we got back and forth to the mainland before they built the bridge?"

  "Hadn't really given it much thought." Andy withdrew his arm from around me and swatted at a mosquito.

 

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