Cover Your Eyes (22 page)

“Why is that?”

He flashed a devil’s seductive smile. “You don’t strike me as the type who has a lot of fun. All work, no play kind.”

No matter how charming he was, he was not her friend, nor would he ever be. “Nice seeing you, Mr. McMillian. But I’ve a friend to meet.”

He reached out and touched her arm. She froze.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’d still be in jail if it wasn’t for you. If I hadn’t gotten out and had a chance to talk to my boss, I’d have lost my job. And my apartment. You literally saved my life.”

Carefully, she pulled her arm free. “We’ve a long way to go, Mr. McMillian.”

“Oscar. Please call me Oscar.”

She shook her head. “No. We’ll keep it formal.”

“Sure. Sure. Whatever you want. I want you to know how much I appreciate you.”

“Sure.” A small smile teased the edges of her lips. “Have a good night, Mr. McMillian.”

He said his good nights and as she turned toward the bar she caught Deke’s gaze. He was frowning. Very unhappy. She faced the bar and raised her hand toward the bartender. He came her way. “Beer.”

“Sure.”

He pulled a long neck from the cooler and handed it to her as Georgia started to sing. The bartender raised his gaze and stared past Rachel toward the stage. Craggy features softened with a bewildering wistfulness.

“Wow,” Rachel said. “She’s a real talent.”

The man jerked his gaze from Georgia as if embarrassed by the unguarded moment. “All kinds come through the door and think they can sing. Most aren’t as good as they think they are, but she’s a rare one.”

“You been here long?”

“Forty years. I’m Rudy. I own the place.”

“Forty years ago this area of town was pretty rough from what I hear.”

“We didn’t get the tourists and nice folks then. It was drug dealers, bikers, and working girls. Never knew when there’d be a fight in the back alley and someone would get themselves killed.”

“Why’d you stay?”

He regarded the packed house of cops, tourists, and locals. “This is my home. And I’m a tough bird. No one takes what’s mine.”

Rachel had said similar words to Deke the other night when he’d questioned leaving her home the night of the attack. She raised her drink. “I hear ya.”

Rudy served several more customers as Georgia’s voice washed over a crowd now rapt in each note and melody. When he returned she said, “I don’t suppose you remember Annie Rivers Dawson? She’d have sung here thirty years ago.”

Rudy picked up a glass and wiped it with a clean towel. “Folks have asked about her.”

Since her appearance on the news. “You remember her?”

“Sure. I remember Annie. She was a big hit here. And she was nice. Beautiful. The whole package.”

“I’ve gotten real curious about her. I guess dying young immortalizes her like Marilyn Monroe or James Dean.”

“I suppose.”

“What kind of songs did she like to sing?”

“The classics with a rock edge. She was ahead of her time.” He listened as Georgia sang the last notes of her song. “I pulled tapes of her the other night and was watching them.”

Keen curiosity grabbed hold of Rachel. “You have tapes of Annie?”

“Have several, as a matter of fact.”

“Could I see them?”

He studied her, curious. “Why would you care?”

A lie would smooth out so much, but she heard herself saying, “I’m the attorney that’s representing Jeb Jones.”

His eyes narrowed. “The man convicted of killing her?”

“Yes.”

Old eyes studied her. “You’re the attorney that was punched. You look different.”

“The suit makes me look more respectable.”

He leaned forward. “Thirty years ago everyone in Nashville thought that guy deserved hard time. Black-and-white to me.”

“Might have looked that way then.”

“Time has a way of making us all second guess old decisions.” He picked up a rag and wiped the counter as if trying to rub out a spot. “Do you really think that Jones guy is innocent?”

She sensed genuine curiosity, not anger. “There’re a lot of unanswered questions. And I like to have all my questions answered.”

“A lot of people don’t agree with you.”

The hate emails were her first clue. “I know.”

As Georgia’s voice eased into her last song, Rudy studied her. “Come on in the back.”

No hint of welcome or asking in his voice. An order. “Why?”

“You’ll be glad.” He motioned for another bartender to cover his spot and then gestured for her to follow. When he vanished behind a swinging door without looking back she glanced around hoping someone had seen their exchange. Finding no one, she shoved out a breath, took a swig of her beer, and followed. Behind the door stretched a hallway leading to a light streaming from a single door. The music from the bar faded as she walked down the hallway. She was wondering if she’d lost her mind. Rubbing damp palms on her jeans, she peered inside the door and found a cubbyhole-sized office.

Rudy hovered over a small desk buried in papers. Boxes of liquor stacked high against a wall covered in dozens of black-and-white photos of singers over the decades. The windowless room smelled of cigarettes and age.

From the desk drawer Rudy pulled out an unwieldy VHS videotape. “I was watching it this morning.”

In here, he looked larger, more imposing. “I haven’t seen one of those in years.”

He turned the tape over in his hand as if realizing it was a relic. “My video machine is upstairs so I can’t show it to you.”

“It’s a tape of Annie?”

“A recording of her last performance here.”
Annie
was scrawled in dark black ink along the white-labeled spine. There was no date.

She accepted the bulky cassette. “When was this taped?”

“I never was good at dating items. But I’d say about eight months before she died.”

Annie’s letters came to mind.
February 5, I’m not feeling so well.
“I have a friend that can convert it if you’ll let me borrow it.”

His gaze lingered on the tape. “Sure. Take it.”

The cartridge rested heavy in her hand. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why?” He shrugged. “Maybe I’ve questions about who killed Annie. Not all the pieces added up for me. And I don’t like it when facts don’t add up.”

A musty scent clung to the tape. “You dug this out because you saw me on the television?”

As if she’d not spoken, he nodded toward the door. “In part for you. In part for Dixie. I liked her.”

“What do the two women have in common?”

“Talent. Beauty. A bad death. And maybe nothing.”

“Could the same person have killed both women?”

“Not likely, I suppose.” He shifted and nodded toward the door. “I’ve got to get back.”

“Sure.” She tucked the tape into her satchel. “I’ll bring it back.”

He waved away her offer. “Keep it. I don’t need it back.”

“Are you sure?”

Sadness lingered around him. “No amount of watching a tape is gonna bring her back. She’s dead and gone.”

“You miss her?”

He was silent for a moment. “Yeah. I miss her.”

Tenderness crept into his voice. Rudy, like so many men, had fallen under Annie’s spell. “Ever hear of a guy named Sugar?”

“Who?”

“Sugar. A friend of Annie’s.”

His face registered blank. “No. How’d you come up with that name?”

“Research.”

“What kind of research?”

“This and that.”

He frowned but sensed he’d not get any more from her. “No. Ain’t heard of Sugar.”

She patted her purse. “Okay. Thanks for the tape.” Without another word, he brushed past her knocking her sore shoulder. She cringed, hesitated as the pain rolled over her. She drew in a deep breath. Anxious to watch the tape, she sent a text to Colleen telling her she was leaving and headed out the front door to catch a cab.

“Looking for a ride?” Oscar McMillian stood feet away jangling his keys.

“No, thanks.”

The keys clinked as he tossed them up and caught them. “So this formal relationship we have means that I can’t give you a ride?”

“I’m afraid it does.” She gripped the handle of her satchel tighter.

He offered a smile designed to charm and influence. “I’m not a bad guy, Ms. Wainwright. I’m offering a ride.”

“Thanks. But, no. I’ll call you as soon as I have details of your case.”

“You’re being sensitive. Fussy. Like an old lady.”

Rachel glanced toward a yellow cab parked across the street, raised her hand and held it up. “Why are you pushing this?”

The slow shake of his head added to his amused look. “I’m not. You are a prude.”

“Don’t pretend to know me, Mr. McMillian.”

The smile faded. “You ashamed to be seen with me?”

The shift in his tone had her wishing they weren’t alone. “Good night, Mr. McMillian.”

McMillian advanced a step and then stopped.

Deke Morgan stepped out of the shadows. “There a problem?”

The cab stopped short of her by a block, nabbed by a pretty girl with auburn hair and a short skirt. Rachel cursed. “No. I was catching a cab.”

McMillian eyed Morgan. “I offered her a ride.”

“Which I’ve refused,” Rachel added quickly. “I’m fine as soon as I can get a cab.”

Deke whistled to a cab on the other corner, held up his badge and motioned him forward. The cab did a U-turn and in seconds was parked in front of her. “There you go.”

McMillian grinned and saluted. “Problem solved. See you in court, Ms. Wainwright.” He grinned at Deke. “Detective.”

Deke remained silent as McMillian strolled around a corner. “That guy is trouble.”

Whispered warnings agreed. “He’s a client. We shouldn’t be talking about him.”

“Don’t be fooled by his smile.”

Oddly shaken, she hid behind legal reasoning. “It takes more than a fake smile to convict a man of murder.”

“There’s plenty of evidence. And when you dig through his files you’ll see.”

“I will dig through the files and then find a way to discount it all. That’s my job.”

His smile was feral. “I’ve no doubt. Lawyers have a talent for twisting facts. You have a knack for it.”

Anger jabbed. The cab driver honked his horn. She opened the door. “Nice shot, Detective. We’ll see who manipulated the facts.”

When she reached for the door handle, he brushed her hand aside and took hold of the door. He hesitated, his body inches from hers. “Why did you go in the back room with Rudy?”

The question threw her off balance. She didn’t think anyone had noticed. “You were watching me?”

“Happened to glance over.”

He didn’t
happen
to do anything. “I didn’t realize I was accountable to you.”

He worked his jaw. “So you won’t answer me?”

“Nope.”

“Do you lie or hold back the truth with everyone?”

Bitter laughter rumbled in her chest. “The truth does not set you free, Detective. I learned that lesson the hard way.”

He leaned toward her. “We all have to trust someone.”

She remained steady, resisting the urge to plaster her back to the cab. “Do we? I’m not so sure.”

He pressed his finger against the hollow of her throat. “You are on a lonely path.”

Her heart rattled. “Is that experience talking? That the reason for the two divorces?”

A slight narrowing of his eyelids sharpened icy eyes, warning she’d hit a nerve. “Have a nice night, Rachel.”

The emphasis on her name roughened it in ways she didn’t like. “Thanks for the cab.”

“Any time. Be safe.”

She slid into the cab and he slammed the door closed. As the cab pulled away she felt his gaze on her. Her cheeks flushed. “Take me across town.” She gave her address.

She pulled the tape from her purse, wondering what Deke would have said if he’d known she had the tape of Annie.

At her house, she scrounged twenty bucks from her purse and paid the cab driver. She considered returning to work but the videotape weighed heavily in her purse. She fished her keys from a side pocket and got into her car. Thirty minutes later she’d bought a dozen glazed chocolate donuts, driven across the Cumberland River and stood in front of a small one-story house. The windows were barred and the front door well lit by a halogen and monitored with a camera. She dialed a number on her cell.

It rang once. “Better be good.”

“Chocolate glazed donuts.” She held the box up toward a security camera.

“How many?”

“A dozen.”

“You may enter.”

The door lock clicked open and she entered the dark house. Sid Danvers was in his early twenties and though he’d never graduated from any school he was brilliant with all electronics. She and Sid had met a year ago when she’d helped with a legal matter regarding an alleged hacking incident. She’d gotten him acquitted and he’d promised his future help in exchange for donuts.

Out of the shadows stepped a tall, thin man with long hair tied at the nape of his neck. He wore grungy jeans and a shirt embossed with Bogart’s image. He studied her. “Attorney Wainwright.”

She nodded. “Sid. Keeping your nose out of other people’s operating systems?”

“Of course.”

She knew enough not to push. She held up the box, “I need a favor.”

He took the donuts. “I did promise you one favor in exchange for donuts.”

She reached in her satchel and pulled out the VHS tape. “I want to watch this tape but don’t have the equipment.”

“That’s it?”

“Not much of a challenge, I will agree.”

“No. I’d have figured you wanted me to hack into Nashville PD computers and see what they are saying about your case. Or that reporter’s computer. That would no doubt be amusing.”