Cover Your Eyes (12 page)

She got into her car and for a moment sat in the silence. Colleen had warned she was overdoing it. Joanne called her naïve. Morgan thought she was a fool.

“Luke, there’re so many uphill battles in the world.” Weariness draped each word.

Whiner.
Her brother’s voice whispered out from the quietest part of her mind.
Whiner.

Irritated, she opened her eyes and started the car. “F-you, bro.”

“Ass.” Energized, she drove. She dialed Bill Dawson’s number and her call went straight to voice mail. “Mr. Dawson. This is Rachel Wainwright. I’ve left you messages before. Please call me.”

She set the phone on her lap and at the interstate, opted to head west versus east. If she couldn’t grab Bill Dawson today, she had another person on her interview list.

 

 

As Joanne watched Rachel drive off in her beat-up old car, she reached inside a ceramic box and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. Standing at the screen door that opened off her kitchen into the backyard, she flicked the lighter and held the flame to the tip of her cigarette until she could inhale deeply. She waved the smoke’s scent away from the kitchen.

She’d called Rachel Wainwright naïve but the truth was she was the fool. If she’d been wise, she’d never have agreed to speak to the attorney.

But she’d been lulled by a need for excitement to break up the boredom of a daily life revolving around grown children and a busy husband.

She wondered if she’d somehow opened a can of worms.

Those days in the house with Annie and Beth had been great fun. Thanks to Annie the house had been full of odd and exciting characters.

Out on the deck she flicked the ash into a potted plant. She’d remembered how annoyed her father had been. Be careful with whom you associate. Lay down with dogs and you’ll get fleas. She’d laughed. Called him stuffy.

When she’d been called to testify in Jeb’s case her father had hired an attorney. He’d been worried about the family reputation. But in the end her “walk” on the wild side had been chalked up to youthful foolishness. She’d earned her way back in to his good graces with a stunning marriage and by producing three strapping grandsons.

Daddy would not be pleased if he heard about Rachel Wainwright’s visit. At ninety-seven he still ruled the family and had a way of making her feel like a child.

She reached for her cell and dialed a number she’d not used in a couple of years. At the third ring, she received a curt, “Hello.”

“This is Joanne Stevens.”

“Joanne. It’s been a while. Why the call?”

“I had an interesting visitor today. Rachel Wainwright.”

“I saw her on the news.”

“She’s digging into the Jeb Jones case.”

“So I gathered.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ve nothing to worry about.”

“You were at his trial.”

“A lot of people were at his trial. Ms. Wainwright will be a busy woman if she plans to talk to all the people that testified against Jeb Jones.”

“So you aren’t worried?” She took a long drag on her cigarette and exhaled it slowly.

“No. I’m not worried.”

“Why are you so calm?”

“Because Jeb is guilty. And no amount of grandstanding by an upstart attorney is going to change that. Let Miss Wainwright have her little circus. It won’t make a difference.”

She inhaled and exhaled. “I don’t see how you can be calm.”

“You always were a nervous sort, Joanne.”

She stared at the glowing tip of her cigarette. “Do you ever think about Annie?”

A long silence snaked over the lines. “Sure. From time to time.”

“I dreamed about her last night.”

“Really?”

“She was laughing and singing. Everyone in the room was happy to see her.”

“Annie had a lot of talent. She could be amazing. But you and I both know she was not perfect. She had her faults.”

“You never liked her.”

“I saw her for what she was.”

She flicked a long ash into the pot. “What are you going to do if Rachel Wainwright comes to see you?”

“I’m not worried. I’ll deal with her. But then I don’t have as much to lose as you do.”

 

 

Rachel’s next visit was one that she’d been avoiding. Kirk Jones, Jeb’s son, was now thirty-nine and owned a garage thirty minutes outside Nashville. Jeb had spoken of his son many times and his desire to reunite, but Kirk had had no contact with his father since Jeb had been sentenced.

She parked in front of the custom auto repair shop. The low one-story building with three large garages was located to the east across the Cumberland River. The area was up and coming and had a mix of residential and small industry.

Out of her car, she tightened her hold on her purse strap and moved toward the large glass doors leading to an office. Inside she found an old man sitting behind a desk piled high with pink order slips, auto catalogues, and several empty coffee cups.

The gray-haired man sported half-glasses and a blue shirt with the name
Ronnie
over the right breast. He glanced up at her.

“My name is Rachel Wainwright.”

He raised his hand and she noticed the phone receiver cradled under his chin.

She nodded and turned away, walking around the room to inspect the collection of automotive posters featuring trucks and bikini-clad women. There was a small table set up with a new coffeemaker and as tempted as she was to make herself a cup, she resisted.

A click of the receiver in the cradle had her turning as the older man rose. “I’m looking for Kirk Jones.”

“Is he working on your car?”

“No, sir. I know his father.”

The old man’s eyes widened with shock. “His daddy’s been in prison for more years than I can count.”

The
whir-whir
sound of a pneumatic drill echoed out from the garage. “Yes, I know.”

“They don’t speak.”

“I know. Is he here?”

A narrowing gaze sized her up. “Sure, I’ll get him.”

The man vanished into the bay and seconds later the drill silenced and a tall broad-shouldered man appeared in the office. He wore the same blue shirt as the old man but his was covered in grease, dirt, and sweat. Blond hair was cut short and he sported a goatee. Several tattoos covered well-muscled arms. Jeb had said his wife and son had really struggled after he’d left for prison. For the first year his wife, Dell, had visited him with the boy in tow but after the one-year anniversary of his incarceration she’d stopped visiting or answering his mail.

Kirk Jones reached for the rag tucked in his back pocket and slowly wiped his hands clean as he studied her. “You know my father?”

“That’s right.”

“You don’t look like my father’s type. From what I heard he liked the blondes.”

“I’m his attorney.”

He studied her a beat. “The one decked on the news?”

“I think everyone in Nashville saw that clip.”

“Attention is what you wanted, right?”

She worked her jaw, still stiff after three days. “Your father is hoping the DNA tests will clear his name.”

“He’s been selling the same story for as long as I can remember.”

“He’s been writing you. Have you read any of his letters?”

“Sure, I read them. But my dad was always good at telling stories. There were times when I think he really believed them. He’s been telling the innocent story for so long, he believes it.”

“You don’t believe him?”

“I did when I was nine. I wanted to believe it was a mistake. I also wanted to believe that he’d sober up and treat my mom right. But he never did either.”

“You know he’s sick.”

“That’s what he said in his last letter.”

“He wants to see you.”

Kirk shoved out a breath as he dropped his gaze to the grime under his fingernails. “I don’t want to see him.”

“I know your life wasn’t easy after he left.”

“You make it sound like he went on a business trip.” Resentment dripped from the words.

“He feels terrible.”

“Well, then that’s all that matters. Look, if you want to chase a pipe dream and try to prove his innocence, have at it. But don’t pull me into your world. I don’t want none of it.”

“I’m not here to mend fences or to fix your relationship with your father. I’m getting background information on Jeb and Annie.”

Kirk shook his head. “Dad liked Annie. He said it often enough. And it upset my mother. They argued about it all the time toward the end.”

“Do you remember any details that might help me figure out what happened?”

“My dad wanted Annie for himself and when she wouldn’t run off with him he killed her.”

“He told you that?”

“My mother told me that. And she still believes that.”

“Where is your mother?”

“Old folks home. Her mind is all but gone. On a good day she remembers my name but there aren’t many good days anymore.”

“She was at the trial. She supported your father. And when the police first spoke to her she gave him an alibi.”

“My mother loved my father and she’d have sacrificed her life for him no matter what he did to her. It took years before she realized he was no good.”

“Did she ever speak about Annie?”

“The mention of Annie made her cry.” He planted his hands on his hips and hesitated before saying, “I went to see Annie once. I took two buses so that I could get to the bar where she sang. I snuck in the back and hid long enough to see her on stage and to hear her sing. She was good. Great. She had all the looks and talent that my mother didn’t.”

“If your father loved her why would he kill her?”

“He hated the idea that she’d married. Hated it. I know he was biding time until the baby was born.”

“What was he looking for?”

“He wanted her to run away with him.” The man shook his head, a bitter smile twisting the edge of his lips. “He wasn’t smart enough to realize that women like her didn’t settle for men like him. And when he did figure it out, he killed her.”

“He has a right to the DNA test.”

“Sure, test all you want. But he’ll disappoint you in the long run like he disappointed everyone in his life.”

She half hoped to hear more words of encouragement from her brother. Tell me I’m right. Remind me why I fight. But he remained mutinously silent. In this, she was alone.

She dug an envelope from her purse. “He asked me to give this to you.”

He eyed the envelope in her outstretched hand. “What is it?”

“A letter from your father. He wanted you to read it.”

Kirk hesitated, took the envelope and shoved it in his back pocket. “That it?”

“You aren’t going to read it?”

“No doubt it reads like all the other letters he’s sent to me. I’m not interested in his sob story.”

“He’s not perfect, but he’s not evil.”

Dark eyes flashed. “Why are you doing this?” “Delivering the letter?”

“Defending him.”

She considered avoiding the subject but opted for a rare option for her: candid honesty. “My brother was convicted of murder. I thought he was innocent, and I did my best to get him out of jail. He died in prison before I could free him.”

Kirk’s head tilted and she sensed he was reassessing her. “So you think you can save men like your brother?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t know your brother, but I knew my father. He’s not a man worth saving.”

“I don’t agree.”

“Then you are in a battle all by yourself.”

Her gaze landed on a two-year-old calendar featuring a bikini-clad woman on a motorcycle. The woman looked fresh-faced and happy. What did that kind of happy feel like? “Tell me what I don’t know.”

 

 

KC took his regular seat at the bar and a sigh eased from his body as he scooped a handful of nuts. For thirty-two years he’d been coming here, enjoying a beer or two and sorting his thoughts about the job before going home. Rudy’s allowed him to transition from the job to home.

Hard to believe that soon he’d not need the transition. The job would be gone and there would only be home. Jesus. As much as he’d bitched about the job over the years he really didn’t know what the hell he’d do without it.

A cold beer settled in front of him and KC glanced up at Rudy. “Thanks.”

“Countdown is coming. Two days or three.”

“Two. Fast and furious.”

Rudy had listened to KC a lot over the last three and a half decades. He listened when KC had a case that would not let him go. He listened when he was hyped about an arrest. And lately he’d listened as KC hinted at the worries nagging him about the future.

“So are they giving you a party?”

KC took a healthy gulp of beer. “I told them I didn’t want one and then my gal Brenda said I had to go out in style. That’s part of the reason I’m here.”

“How’s that?”

“She thought it might be fun to hold the party here.”

Rudy wiped his hands on a white rag. “Why here?”

“It’s not the office and it’s not home. The bridge in between.” KC took a gulp of beer. “Rudy’s has been my home away from home over the years and it’s a fitting place to end a career and start a new life.”

Rudy sniffed. “Yeah sure, if you want to have a party here, go ahead. A weeknight is best. Not so crazed.”

“That will work. How about Monday?”

“Sure.”

KC sipped more beer and glanced up at the television playing behind Rudy. It was on mute but when the picture of Annie Rivers Dawson flashed he didn’t need sound to know what was being said. He tipped his beer toward the screen. “Been following that story?”