She was about halfway through the song when an arc of electricity moved from the microphone she held to the speakers. There was a loud pop, the lights went out, and Tulla went into a spasm and dropped to the floor like she’d been hit with an ax. Clearly she’d been electrocuted.
Coleman, Harold, and Oscar were on the stage in seconds as they set to work doing CPR. Tinkie called an ambulance, and Cece, ever the reporter, was taking photographs. Pandemonium broke out in the restaurant as the owners and servers rushed over to help. People everywhere were talking, and in the background, I heard a woman say, “Exactly what that ho deserves.” When I turned around to try to identify the speaker, I couldn’t pinpoint anyone.
“Sounds like someone has a grudge against Ms. Tarbutton,” Tinkie said, easing up beside me.
Before I could respond, silence fell over the place. When Tulla Tarbutton shakily sat up—with assistance from Coleman and the men—a cheer broke out and everyone went back to their tables to finish eating.
Coleman helped the woman onto a stretcher when the paramedics arrived. It was then I realized Jaytee was examining the karaoke equipment. He wore a frown, and he was whispering with Cece.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“This equipment was tampered with,” Jaytee said. “It was deliberately shorted, or so it appears.”
“Why would anyone do that?” I asked.
“Well, you were up next to sing and she jumped your spot. Maybe they’ve heard you sing before?” Jaytee softened his teasing with a squeeze of my shoulder. “Really, I can’t say. But I know this was done deliberately.”
“Would someone be able to control who was shocked?” I asked.
“Maybe,” Jaytee said. “I’d have to really study this and I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“Why—” Before I could finish my question, the owner of the Green Parrot took the stage and quickly began unplugging the equipment. A crew of several employees loaded everything up and started hauling it away.
“Hey!” I said.
He looked at me. “This equipment is going to a repair shop. No one touches it again until I make sure it’s safe.”
I couldn’t blame him, but I wondered if we should tell the cops about the short in the microphone.
“Let it go,” Jaytee said. “It could have been an accident. I just don’t think so. But the police officer there is examining the equipment. I’m sure he’ll see exactly what I saw. Remember, Sarah Booth, we’re on vacation.”
What Jaytee said was true, but I approached the police officer and mentioned what Jaytee had found, just to be sure he was aware.
“You know that was tampering with a crime scene?” the officer asked. “I could arrest you both for that.”
I noted his name was Jerry Goode. “We only wanted to be sure no one else was shocked.”
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, shaking our hands. “I do appreciate the help. It’s just that Ms. Tarbutton could have been killed. I can’t risk anyone else messing with faulty equipment that might shock them. What brings y’all to Columbus?”
“We’re vacationing here. A holiday treat.”
He picked up the karaoke planning book—the one the DJ used to cue the next song up. Instead of my name, I noticed that Tulla Tarbutton had been added in just above me. So at least the DJ, an employee of the bar, had known that Tulla was up next.
I pointed that out to the officer. “Look, see, she was on the list, so the shock could have easily been meant for her.”
He tapped the logbook. “Thanks for the help. As soon as the doc says it’s okay, I’ll have a chat with Ms. Tarbutton. If someone means to hurt her, the Columbus police want to be on top of it.”
I returned to our table. I’d discuss it with Coleman when we were alone. If he wanted to take Jaytee’s information to Officer Goode, he could. It would carry more weight coming from another lawman.
“Well, no karaoke for me and Cece,” Jaytee said with a pretend pout. “We might just have to find a stage tonight at a local club and belt out some blues.”
“That would be worth watching,” I agreed. Cece could really sing. She had the blues in her bones. And Jaytee’s harmonica made women swoon.
“No more karaoke, so let’s shop!” Tinkie was ready to get on with Christmas. Since she hadn’t partaken of any alcohol, she was perky and ready to hit the stores. I, on the other hand, longed for a nap. I knew just the perfect human pillow I wanted to snuggle with. But Tinkie had put her heart into organizing this trip, and if shopping was what she wanted, I was going to shop.
The men split off from us, claiming they needed secrecy to find the perfect gifts. I suspected they were heading to a warm and cozy bar for some darts or pool, but it was good to have my girl posse. It wasn’t often that Millie could join us, and she and Cece recounted hysterical stories about celebrity gossip they’d dug up for their new Sunday newspaper column, “The Truth Is Out There,” which was a hit. The column had almost doubled the Zinnia Dispatch’s readership, and Ed Oakes, Cece’s editor, was more than pleased. Cece, the hard-facts journalist, and Millie, who was a devotee of celebrity tabloid news, cooked up just enough scandal and outrageousness to appeal to everyone.
“Speaking of Ed,” Cece said, “he was telling me about Friendship Cemetery here in town, where the tradition of Memorial Day began. The women of Columbus selected a day, originally called Decoration Day, to honor the fallen Confederate dead, but when they got to the cemetery, they decided to honor all of the soldiers’ graves, even those of the Union soldiers. It became a national holiday to honor
