“Refresh my memory. What did you say to her last week?”
She planted a hand on her hip, defiance sparking in her posture. “I told her I’d rip out that bleached blond weave of hers if she didn’t keep away from my boyfriend. Bad enough to watch her take my spot on center stage, but it’s another to see her wagging her butt in front of my boyfriend.”
Her honesty nearly made him smile. “She flirted with your boyfriend?”
“If you can call it that. She all but stripped in front of him. She does that all the time. Any time she sees a man she starts wagging her butt in front of him.”
Tawny used the present tense not past when she spoke about Dixie. “Dixie was murdered last night.”
Tawny arched a brow. “Am I supposed to be upset about that? Am I supposed to cry or wring my hands?”
Deke tapped his index finger against the worn black leather of his holster. “Someone beat her up pretty bad.”
She shoved out a breath. “Look, I get that it’s tragic that someone young died. And murder is bad. I get that. But it’s kinda hard for me to summon up tears for Dixie. She was a taker and she clearly took once too often from the wrong person.”
“Where were you last night?”
She flicked a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. “Doing a show in Pigeon Forge. Stage manager will tell you I got off stage about midnight. It took four hours to get back because we hit fog. We arrived home about six a.m.”
“Anyone ride with you?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. Two other girls. We all sing in the midweek show at Dollywood and then drive back to Nashville for day jobs.”
“Rough schedule.”
“Entertainment is a rough business. You want to get noticed you have to hustle.”
Deke took the names of the stage manager and the girls sharing the ride. “Know anyone who would want to hurt Dixie?”
She arched a brow but swallowed a smart retort when she met Deke’s gaze. “I don’t have specific names.”
“What did she do when she wasn’t working?”
Tawny twirled an auburn strand around her finger. “Sometimes she went to church. Said a sinner like her needed saving.”
“Which church?” KC asked.
“I don’t know the name. But Pastor Gary runs it. She talked about him.”
KC scribbled a note in his tattered notebook. “The big church north of town. New Community. Been there myself.”
“I guess that’s the one. Dixie had gone there and said she’d given confession. Maybe she shared information that would help.”
“Thanks.”
As they turned to leave, she asked, “So how did she die?”
Deke pulled out his phone, scrolled to the ME’s picture of Dixie and held it out to Tawny. “Like I said. Beaten to death with a blunt metal object.”
She stiffened, shook her head and closed her dressing room door.
“Doesn’t look like Dixie had a lot of friends,” KC said.
Deke replaced the phone. “No, it does not.”
A knock at the door had Rachel rising from her desk and glancing around her office one last time to make sure it was reasonably clean. Susan Martinez at Channel Five had texted ten minutes ago announcing her arrival.
Rachel smoothed hands over black pants and checked her V-neck sweater to make sure it was straight. Boots clicked across the wood floor as she moved, not too quickly, to answer the door. Don’t look so damn nervous!
Muttering, “Shut up,” she opened the door. “Susan.”
Red lips spread into a wide grin that deepened the feathery wrinkles around wide expressive eyes. “Ms. Wainwright. Thank you for seeing me.”
“I’m happy to help. Please come in.”
Susan glanced around the space. “I remember when this place used to be a restaurant. Some of the best barbecue in town. I could never understand why it went out of business.”
“Owner wasn’t good with finances.” It had been on the tip of her tongue to explain he’d also had a gambling problem and there’d been an issue with drugs. But that fell under the category of TMI, too much information.
“That’s a shame.”
She’d not mustered much sympathy for the guy, who’d violated health code laws to cut expenses. It was a wonder no one got sick. But again, less information was more. “Can I get you a coffee?”
“No, I’m fine.” They sat in the twin chairs angled in front of Rachel’s desk. “As you can imagine we’ve had more hits on our station’s website after your piece aired.”
Rachel swallowed a quip about taking it on the chin. “I can imagine.”
“I’ve had a chance to refresh my memory since yesterday. Jeb Jones had a troubled life before his conviction.”
“We’ve never denied that. But that doesn’t make him a killer.”
“Why Jeb?”
Rachel crossed her legs and relaxed back against the hard chair. “Innocence Project sent me his case. They saw merit in his DNA request and so do I.”
“I remember the Dawson murder case. I was in college and working as an intern at the station. It was horrendous. We did lots of stories on Annie. Tried to do a story on her husband and baby but Bill Dawson wouldn’t speak to us. Her sister Margaret was a different matter. She was hard to get away from once she got talking. Talked several times to reporters in the months before Annie’s body was found. I’d forgotten about the churches’ candlelight vigils and the hundreds and hundreds of people who searched. Annie’s death touched a lot of people.”
Rachel was amazed by the emotion in Susan’s voice. “Did you ever see Annie perform?”
“As a matter of fact I did. She was good. Had that star power. Gave you the sense she was going places.”
Annie had been beloved whereas Jeb had been despised. Hers was an uphill battle. “What questions can I answer for you?”
Susan flipped through a spiral notebook. “So far the police have not commented on the case.”
The police. Deke Morgan. Master of silence. “They are waiting on the DNA, no doubt.”
“If you are right about Jeb Jones, this would be a huge upset. Biggest manhunt in Nashville history ends up arresting and convicting the most hated man in Tennessee who also happens to be the wrong guy. This request couldn’t have won you a lot of friends in law enforcement.”
“I’m after the truth. Not friends.”
Martinez tapped her finger against her pad. “Good, because you are not a popular woman right now. Most of the emails that came into the station expressed joy that Margaret Miller hit y
ou. I’ve not read so many insulting descriptions in years.”
Rachel’s pulse quickened. “I’m not afraid of being on the outside. That’s basically been my life.”
“Be careful. A lot of people do not like you now.”
“Understood.” Rachel didn’t want to sound desperate. “So are you going to do a follow-up?”
“I talked to Margaret earlier and she’s basically repeating what she said at the vigil.”
Rachel swallowed a quip and let the silence between them linger.
“For now, I’m holding off for more stories. If the DNA goes your way call me and I’ll cover every facet of your case. Until then, you aren’t going to win any ratings for me.” She rose.
Rachel stood. “If the DNA goes in my favor I might not need a reporter.”
“Don’t be so sure about that. DNA is the first step in a long road for you and your client.”
Disappointment tempted her to beg for another interview. “Looks like we are all in a holding pattern.”
Heels clicked as Susan walked toward the door. “Here’s hoping we both end up with a story.”
“Won’t covering me make you unpopular?”
“Evidence will be on my side and I’ll get a lot of attention. Negative attention gets ratings faster than positive and in the end it’s all about ratings.”
“Not justice?”
She arched a brow as if waiting for a punch line. When none came she said, “Sure. Justice is important, especially when it gets me noticed.”
“You are popular enough.”
“I’m fifty-two and I don’t have a fresh face to dazzle my viewers. It’s going to take a great story to get my airtime.”
Song notes. Flashes of light. Smiling faces. The pictures flashed like lightning skittering and shattering across the night sky.
Soft blue velvet. Red lipstick. A wordless melody.
None of the sights and sounds made sense but the headache worsened and throbbed behind tired unfamiliar eyes staring back from the mirror. Frustration welled as understanding remained at arm’s length.
“I want to understand. I want to know.”
Song notes. Flashes of light. Smiling faces.