Crossed Bones by Carolyn Haines

been brought up in a household devoted to a headless queen would be bound to have some emotional scars. One of the rumors from high school was that Mr. Shanahan had taken every photograph of everyone in his household and had them digitally altered to reflect the Stuart nose. Holyrood--the real one in Edinburgh, not the fake one in Zinnia--boasted a gallery of portraits with that very same nose. The portraitists had been ordered to paint the Stuart nose on everyone, to physically reflect their claim to royal blood.
    Nandy lifted the bullhorn and turned sideways. I caught a profile, curious to see if she'd done anything with a scalpel to her own schnozzola. Though she'd poked holes in numerous body parts, she'd left her stubby little nose alone.
    She was pacing the steps with her bullhorn, exhorting the crowd of six white farmers to take action to save Scott. The only action she got was when one of the men leaned over to spit tobacco on the grass.
    "Okay, now all together. Free Scott! Free Scott! Free Scott!" She worked the megaphone. None of the farmers responded. They simply stared at her like they might a two-headed chicken. As she lowered the bullhorn and glared at the men, I recognized the sign of an impending emotional storm. She shot laser beams with her eyes at them and they passively stared back at her.
    "I told you to chant with me." She put her hands on her hips and shook back her two-toned hair. "I know you cretins can't read, but surely you can talk."
    "We can talk," the one wearing a long-sleeved shirt and overalls said. "The trouble is, you talk too much. Ivory Keys was a good man. He was murdered and robbed, and the person who did it is going to pay. Right now, that guitar man you seem so intent on savin' looks like the murderer to me." He grinned, but it wasn't humorous. "I'd leave that boy in jail if I were you. Bad things might happen if he was out and roamin' around."
    The men all laughed and turned away, walking toward
Main Street
where they'd gather for lunch at Millie's or the competing diner, Arlene's.
    "Redneck creeps," Nandy said. She pulled a tube of expensive skin lotion from her pocket and began to rub it into her hands. "Assholes." There was a five-second pause. "Cow fuckers!" she yelled at their backs.
    They turned around in unison to stare at her. These were men who were slow to anger, but Nandy was beginning to wear on them.
    One of them stepped forward. "Ma'am, that's no way to talk. You sound cheap."
    "You wouldn't know cheap--"
    I'd seen the black Mustang round the corner. It was a model from the eighties, and it showed its age. A slender black arm came out of the passenger side and lobbed a rotten tomato that landed at Nandy's feet, the red pulp spattering on both her and the farmer.
    "Come on, you white assholes," one of the blacks in the car taunted. "Come on!"
    Another tomato sailed through the air, landing a foot from the farmer, the pulp flying up from the hot sidewalk.
    The farmer turned slowly and stared at the car. "There's only so much of that a man will take," he called out. "You boys go on home before things get out of hand."
    "Boys! We aren't boys!" the youth jeered back.
    "No, you're total asswipes," Nandy screamed out. "Get out of that car and come fight like men." She laughed at them. "Cowards!"
    The door of the courthouse swung open and Dewayne and Gordon came spilling out. The black Mustang peeled rubber as it drove away.
    "You okay, Sam?" Gordon asked the farmer.
    "Sure enough, but if someone doesn't get a handle on this, there's going to be trouble. Tomato washes out. Blood is a little harder."
    "I'll have those young men rounded up and brought in," Gordon promised him. "I know who they are."
    The deputies and farmers parted, going their own way. I was left alone with the source of trouble.
    "Nandy." I tapped her shoulder and stepped back when she whirled around so rapidly I thought she might slam into me.
    "What the hell do you want?" she snapped.
    "They set bond at five