Cover Your Eyes (11 page)

Rachel shut off the tape. “Annie didn’t write those letters to him.”

Colleen folded her arms. “I agree.”

Out of the file, Rachel tugged a picture of Jeb taken thirty years ago. He possessed a rugged handsomeness but there was no missing the rough edges. “She was pretty. New baby. I see him loving her but not the other way around.”

Rachel leaned back letting her gaze travel between the decades-old images of the two. “So if her lover wasn’t Jeb or her husband, who was it?”

“That’s the million-dollar question.”

“Jealousy is a great motivator.”

Rachel reached for her glasses. “The letters bother me.”

“Why?”

“Read them and tell me what you think.”

A smile tweaked the edges of Colleen’s lips. “What am I looking for?”

“Read them with a clear, unbiased eye and let me know what you think.”

The interest glittering in her gaze suggested she’d be late getting to her own work today. “Now you’ve peaked my curiosity.”

Rachel folded her arms over her chest. “Good.”

 

 

The woman’s scream shattered the silence, startling the smug smile on the well-lined face. “You did what?”

Baby hated that tone of voice. What should have been a simple announcement had soured into trouble. “I gave the letters to Rachel Wainwright. She is the perfect person to use them. Since that Margaret woman hit her on television everyone knows Rachel. She wants to reopen the case, so she is the perfect person to deliver the letters to the police.”

“Assuming she does.”

“She will. They will help her client. And when the cops announce they have the letters, he will get worried.”

“I don’t want him to worry.” The woman cursed and pounded deeply lined fists. “Why would you betray me?”

Baby sighed, already weary of this discussion. “I haven’t betrayed you. I’m on your side. I always will be.”

“You took my letters.”

“They tell the world that Annie had a lover. They might not ever be able to prove who the lover was but it will make
him
nervous. It will make him squirm.”

“I don’t want him to suffer.”

“Of course you do. He’s not been a faithful servant. I’ve heard you cry over him too many nights.”

“That doesn’t mean I want him punished.” Silence made the air thick. “I want Jeb Jones to die in prison with the world believing he killed Annie.”

“And likely that will happen. Jeb is running out of time. But in the interim, our faithless friend can suffer and wonder.” Baby had lost patience with him when Dixie Simmons had wagged her pert ass through Nashville as if she were proud of the affair. Was there no depth to how low he’d stoop?

“I hate this.” Wrinkled hands curled into fists. “I want my letters back.”

This conversation was pointless. “You are not mentioned in the letters. I don’t see the problem.”

“No, of course not!”

“Then why are you worried?”

A weary face. “Stop talking so much. I don’t want to hear any more of your chatter. Get the letters back.”

Baby pouted, feeling as if the tribute laid at the feet of the master had been rejected. “If you really feel that way.”

“I do! Get the letters back.”

Baby’s hackles rose. “It won’t be easy getting them back.”

“I don’t care if you have to kill that attorney. Get those letters back, you stupid twit!”

Anger roiled. “Don’t call me stupid.”

“I call it like it is. You think taking care of Dixie makes you in charge, but don’t forget I’ve been at this a lot longer than you.”

Anger oozed in Baby like liquid iron.

“Now get those letters back.”

 

 

 

With Bill Dawson still avoiding her calls, Rachel shifted focus to Annie’s former roommates, Joanne Stevens and Beth Drexler. If anyone might have known about a secret lover, the roommates would know.

The two women had attended Vanderbilt University. Beth had been in the biology department while Joanne majored in music. Both women had graduated in the spring after Annie’s death.

Rachel wasn’t able to track Beth but was able to locate Joanne Stevens, who was now married to a doctor and living in Franklin, a small affluent town west of Nashville.

Rachel climbed in her ten-year-old Toyota and drove out I-40 to Franklin. Thirty minutes later she found the three-story brick house located at the end of a tree-lined cul-de-sac. Manicured lawns, flower beds full of blossoms, even a picket fence. The house had all the trappings of the ideal life. She’d dreamed of a house like this when she’d been a kid. She’d wondered what it would be like to have an address for more than six months, to have a yard, a bike, and lasting friends.

Rachel parked in front of the house, climbed out of her car and straightened her skirt. She ran fingers through her hair and wished she’d taken time to touch up her makeup as she glanced up at the brick house.

Feeling a bit intimidated and irritated that she was nervous, she walked to the large wooden front door, her heels clicking on the brick sidewalk.

She rang the bell, tightening her grip on her briefcase. Beyond the door there was silence and then the sound of steady, unhurried footsteps.

The door opened to a tall, slim woman in her early fifties. She wore simple dark pants and a silk blouse, which likely would have set Rachel back three months’ pay. Dark hair swept over straight shoulders, a strand of pearls encircled a slim white neck, and a gold watch winked from her wrist. Understated money.

A quick sweep of the woman’s assessing gaze had Rachel feeling as if she came up short. “Ms. Wainwright?”

“Mrs. Stevens. Thank you for seeing me.” She extended a hand more aware of her callouses as she shook Mrs. Stevens’s smooth manicured hand.

Keen eyes searched her face. “I saw you on the news the other night.”

“I made a splash.”

A slight smile tweaked the edges of her mouth. “A bit of drama always has a way of catching the media’s eye. Why don’t you come in?”

Rachel stepped into the marbled hallway, daring a glance up at a crystal chandelier that reflected a thousand points of light. Mrs. Stevens moved from the foyer into a room on the right decorated with whites and grays. Rachel wiped her feet before stepping onto the carpet and taking the seat that Mrs. Stevens indicated.

Rachel sunk into a plush couch as Mrs. Stevens took a seat at her diagonal. A large portrait hanging over the fireplace featured Mrs. Stevens wearing a lush full wedding dress. Time had been kind to Joanne Stevens who still looked remarkably as she had on her wedding day.

“I was surprised you called,” she said as she crossed her legs at her ankles.

“I’m trying to learn as much about Annie Rivers Dawson as I can and you were one of her closest friends.”

She shifted as she folded her hands and placed them in her lap. “We were roommates. I’m not sure if I’d say we were friends.”

“How did you two meet?”

“Annie was singing at a party on campus. She really was wonderful and made the evening a hit. I came up to her after the show to tell her how much I loved her work and we got to talking. My friend Beth and I were looking for a third roommate and she needed a place to live. Seemed romantic to have an aspiring singer live with us. Within a couple of days, we’d signed an agreement and she moved into the house. Initially, it was great. She was always singing and the friends that came to see her were different. I felt a bit like a rebel, living with someone in show business.” A slight grin hinted to the girl she’d been. “My dad was not thrilled, which made living with Annie all the more appealing.”

Rachel had worked her way through college and had never had the luxury of rebelling because she’d been busy working. “Did she date anyone while she was living with you?”

“Men loved Annie. She had an energy and a vitality to go with those stunning blond looks. When she walked into the room men couldn’t think. I was dating my husband at the time and I resisted bringing him by our house when I knew Annie would be there. I didn’t want him falling under her spell until he knew me better.”

“And did he meet Annie?”

“He did. In fact, I warned him that he’d fall for her the minute he saw her and he laughed. He said I was the girl for him. And then he met her. She was coming out of the house, her blond hair flowing and her skirt skimming her signature red cowboy boots. His mouth dropped open as if he’d been hit in the back of the head with a two-by-four. He saw me watching and recovered but he’d been caught in her net. She also had the same effect on our other roommate’s boyfriend.”

Rachel glanced at her notes. “Beth Drexler.”

“Right. Beth’s boyfriend was really taken by Annie and made a pass at Annie while Beth was in the shower. He claimed to be religious.” She shook her head. “I happened to see it. Annie said no in such a way that didn’t make him mad. Later she asked me not to tell Beth because she didn’t want a fight.”

“Did you tell Beth?”

“No. She had a temper and a jealous streak and I didn’t want to stir that pot.”

“And you are sure Annie and Beth’s boyfriend didn’t have a relationship?”

“No. I think he was terrified of Beth.”

“I haven’t been able to find Beth.”

“She married that boyfriend but she was killed in a car accident about ten years ago. I saw the notice in the alumnae magazine that her younger sister had written.”

“So Annie wasn’t dating anyone?”

“She was private about her personal life. And though she never talked about it, I had the sense she was dating someone. I could hear her in her room late at night talking on the phone. She kept her voice low so I never made out what she was saying.”

“This guy never came by the house? You never met him?”

“Never. Not once.”

“But she got pregnant and then married.” Rachel flipped through her notes. “She married Bill Dawson.”

“That caught both Beth and me by surprise. We had never met the guy.”

“But you said that you never met the guy she was dating.” Joanne hesitated and then leaned forward, a conspirator’s glint in her eyes. “I never thought he was the guy who fathered her baby.”

“Why would you say that?”

“I saw them together at their wedding. One day she’s single and the next we are invited to a small wedding at the New Community Church. Beth and I were both blown away but we went. We saw Bill for the first time. He was tall, good-looking, the kind of guy you’d expect Annie to marry. And he was like all men. He had fallen under her spell.”

Rachel was adept at reading between the lines. “But.” Joanne shook her head. “It was clear he loved her a whole lot more than she loved him. And she sounded stiff and formal around him whereas when she’d spoken to whomever on the phone at night it was clear she was excited and happy.”

“She was unhappy at her wedding?”

“So much so that I asked her about it. She said she wasn’t feeling well. That’s when she told me about the baby. Not the first stressed-out shotgun marriage, I suppose.” She shrugged. “She came by the house days later, paid the balance on her rent and moved out. That was the last I saw her.”

“How did you hear about her death?”

“On the news. I was getting ready for my own wedding and was half listening to the television when the newscaster said she’d been murdered. I didn’t know she’d had her baby.” She shoved out a breath. “Beth and I did take time to go to the funeral. So sad. I think most of the music community in Nashville was there.”

“Do you remember seeing her husband at the funeral?”

“I do. He was stoic and showed little or no emotion. Everyone, even the pastor overseeing the funeral was sad, but Bill looked resolute.”

“What about her baby?”

“She wasn’t there from what I could tell.”

“What happened to the baby?”

“I honestly don’t know. I didn’t know Bill and it never occurred to me to check in with him after the funeral. My life was hectic then.” Regret threaded through the words.

“What do you remember about Jeb Jones?”

Ice sharpened her gaze. “I saw him when he came by the house for maintenance. I didn’t like him and told the landlord so. Very creepy man.”

“What did he do to upset you?”

“He lingered a little too long. Asked too many personal questions. Always smelled of booze. He was particularly interested in Annie.”

“You testified at his trial.”

She sat a little straighter. “I did. I wanted the jury to know about the man who killed Annie.”

“And you are certain he killed her?”

“He was the one that lurked around. A couple of times I caught him parked outside our house watching. I called the police on him.”

Rachel glanced at her notes. “He wasn’t arrested for loitering according to his record.”

She fingered the pearls around her neck. “He should have been. And maybe if he had she’d still be alive.”

“Did he ever threaten her, you, or Beth?”

She moistened her lips. “No. Never in words. But his presence was threat enough.” She crossed her legs. “Why on earth would you defend someone like that?”

“He has maintained his innocence for thirty years and has been asking for DNA for five years. He deserves to have his DNA tested.”

“As far as I’m concerned he doesn’t deserve a second of anyone’s time. He got what was coming to him and he’s trying to worm his way out of jail.” Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t strike me as naïve, Ms. Wainwright. Why would you fall for a sob story like the one Jeb’s spinning?”

How many people said that about me!
Luke’s anguished retort rattled in her head. “What if he’s telling the truth?”

“He’s not telling the truth. He’s looking for an out. Men like him know how to play the system.”

Rachel’s irritation grated under her skin. “I’ll leave it up to the DNA test.”

“So what happens if the DNA test comes back and proves the blood on the murder weapon is not his?”

“Then he has grounds for a new trial.”

She traced her fingertips over her collarbone as if breathing grew more difficult. “I’ll have to testify again?”

“Perhaps.”

Her fingers curled into a fist. “I won’t change my story.” “No one is expecting you to. Tell the truth.”

“The truth can be manipulated.”

“Yes, it can.”

Eyes narrowed. “What do you hope to gain from all this? Is this about getting publicity?”

“No. I was hired to do a job and that’s what I’m going to do.”

“But you are trying to set a convicted murderer free.”

Rachel hesitated, sensing the tension in the room growing. “Have you considered that the real killer may still be out there? What if the person that really killed Annie is still walking the streets?”

That idea robbed a bit of color from Joanne’s face. “Out there now?”

“If Jeb is proven innocent then there’s a killer to find.”

She glanced toward the window as if she expected to see someone out there lurking, waiting and watching.

Rachel closed her notebook. “You don’t have to worry, Mrs. Stevens.”

Her gaze shifted back to Rachel. Gone was the calm. “How can you be sure about that? What if you’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest and innocent people like me get hurt?”

“Why would you be hurt?”

“Because I testified in the first case.”

“But you testified for the prosecution.”

“And if by some miracle you get Jeb off the hook what’s to stop him from coming after me?” Worry and anger looped around the last words.

“Mr. Jones is ill. He has no desire to stir up trouble. He wants to reconnect with his son and live the remainder of his life in peace.”

She brushed imaginary lint from her pant leg. “And you believe him?”

“Yes.”

“Even if he was innocent, he’s been in jail for thirty years. That changes a man. He could be angry with anyone who helped put him there.”

“I assure you . . .”

Mrs. Stevens rose, raising her hand for silence. “I’m not interested in what you think. You strike me as an honest well-meaning woman, but I don’t think you are as worldly as you might like to believe. In fact, I dare say you are naive.”

Rachel rose, her back stiff with annoyance. “I’m not naive.”

“You are too young to know that you aren’t. You still believe that good wins over evil.”

“I know that it doesn’t.”

She stretched out her hand toward the main entrance. “No, you are a dreamer. And as much as I admire dreamers they are a danger. Now, I really have to be getting on with my day.”

The window that had briefly opened to the past slammed in her face. “Thank you for your time.”

Joanne Stevens escorted her to the door, said a polite good-bye and closed the massive door behind her. As Rachel moved toward her car she acknowledged that time was her enemy. Thirty years had dulled memories and those involved in the original case were now entrenched in lives they guarded closely. A win on the DNA front would be the first of many battles.