“There was a cop here on Thursday. Deke Morgan.”
“My partner.”
“Looks a hell of a lot like his old man.”
“Buddy could’ve spit him right out. But don’t tell Deke unless you want to piss him off.”
“He was asking about Dixie.”
KC shook his head. “Hell of a murder.”
Rudy filled a glass with water and took a long swallow. “Nice kid. Had her issues. But then who doesn’t?”
“Kinda reminded me of Annie.”
“Maybe.”
KC gulped the beer and set the mug carefully on the bar. “Hey, I need another favor?”
Dark eyes grew darker. “What’s that?”
“There’s a gal in the office. She sings. I’d like her to sing at my party.”
Rudy shook his head. “Hey man, I got a reputation to uphold. Only the best here.”
“I know. But Georgia is top notch. Really. You won’t be sorry. Even Brenda thinks she’s great.”
Rudy hesitated as if he’d never offered a fast yes in his entire life. “One song.”
“Three.”
A smile quipped the edges of his lips. “Two.”
Rudy shrugged. “Deal. This Monday?”
“Sure.”
“So what the hell are you gonna do with yourself after the Force.”
As tempted as KC was to have another beer and cling onto his old life, he rose from the bar, refusing to second guess today. “Hell, if I know.”
Deke parked in front of Rick’s small one-level house and grabbed the cold six-pack of beer. He crossed the cracked sidewalk and up to the well-lit front stoop. He rang the bell. The baritone bark of the wolf dog reverberated through the house and the bay window’s thick curtain flickered.
After the scrape of two dislodging chains, the door opened to Rick wearing a battered Vanderbilt T-shirt, jeans, and no shoes. His hair stuck up on end as if he dug his fingers through it a thousand times.
The dog appeared, big, black, and menacing as he stayed close to Rick’s side. Rick gently rubbed the dog between the ears. “It’s big brother, Tracker. We’re safe for now.”
Deke held up the six-pack. “You texted. Said you were digging through the case files.”
Rick pushed open the door. “Come on in.”
Deke held out his hand. Tracker sniffed until he was satisfied he posed no threat and then retreated to a large dog bed. Beside it, an electric space heater blew out warm air onto his thick fur. Tracker closed his eyes but his body clung to a tension signaling he remained on duty.
Deke glanced toward the old dining room table that had come from his family’s house. When Buddy had died, Deke had offered any furnishings to his siblings. Rick had put dibs on the table that had hosted so many gatherings. Alex had taken a guest bedroom set and Georgia had taken all the family pictures. “Looks like you jumped right to it. How long have you been at this?”
“Since I got home.”
“Nonstop.”
He shrugged. “Love a puzzle.”
Deke twisted off a beer top and handed it to Rick. “I always thought all the puzzle pieces had been put into place.”
Rick grinned as he raised the bottle to his lips. “No such thing in life.”
“True.” Deke set the six-pack next to an open file box and grabbed himself a beer. A twist and the top opened. “So what pieces are bothering you?”
“I’ve only scanned the records at this point. Buddy was as meticulous then as he was the day he died.” He reached in a box. “Found a picture of Buddy and KC. Amazing how much you look like our old man.”
Deke took the thirty-year-old image of Buddy and KC standing by the 1971 gold Cutlass that had belonged to Jeb Jones. Buddy stared stone-faced directly into the camera while a mustached KC grinned. The caption read, Annie Dawson’s Body Found.
“Annie Dawson’s bones were found in the woods by a hunter who called it in.”
“Scattered bones were found. Along with the necklace and blood remnants of soaked clothes identified as Annie’s. The bones found were badly mauled by animals.”
“Dental records?”
“No head found. Only arms and torso. Severed with a hacksaw.”
Deke set the article aside and let his thumb click over the dusty, faded file tabs. “Any evidence found on the remains?”
“None. Not after months in unseasonably warm weather. And given what science they had available, they couldn’t have done much with it.”
Today if those bones had been found they’d have extracted DNA from the marrow and been able to positively identify her. “Anything else jump out at you?”
“You do know that Jeb recanted his confession.”
“Ms. Wainwright pointed that out to me in one of her many phone messages. That doesn’t mean much.”
“No. But I’ll keep digging.”
Deke tipped the lip of the bottle to his mouth and took a liberal sip.
“Think that attorney is digging into the case?”
Deke imagined Rachel Wainwright tracking all the people connected with the case. If he’d been in her shoes, he’d have done the same. “I would not be surprised. Not at all.”
“So what is her gig?”
“What do you mean?”
“What drives her? Most crusaders have some incident that set them on the path.” Rick studied Deke. “And if I know you, you’ve asked around about her.”
He’d asked when she’d first crossed his path. He knew about the family’s endless moves, her brother’s substance abuse and her devotion to family. “Maybe.”
Rick laughed. “So?”
“Her brother was convicted of murder. She went to law school because of his conviction. Her hope was to get him a retrial. He was killed in prison.”
Rick arched a brow. “That will do it.”
Deke scraped his fingernail against the beer label. “Luke Wainwright had been partying with the victim. Both were using. Next morning, he’s passed out at his mother’s home and the victim is found strangled in a ditch. Long story short the victim was well-connected and Luke had a bad attorney. The DA went for second-degree murder. That shouldn’t have held up in court but his attorney caved.”
“So Rachel was right about her brother?”
“At least partly. I’m not convinced he killed the woman but he was a train wreck waiting to happen.”
“She could be right about Jeb.”
Tension slithered up his spine but he kept it from his voice. “We’ll know soon.”
Rick took a sip of beer. “Wainwright’s hot.”
Deke glanced up, his gaze sharp.
Rick laughed. “So you’ve noticed, too?”
“I noticed.”
“After this is all over, maybe you two could hook up.”
Deke shook his head. “I’m two for two as far as marriage and divorce go. No thanks.”
His gaze danced with laughter. “Why not? You don’t have to be alone forever. Maybe third time’s the charm.”
“Shit. I’ve more than proven I’m a lousy partner in romance.”
“Doesn’t have to be a forever.”
“Rachel Wainwright takes life seriously. Relationships would be no different. And I don’t do serious anymore.”
November 10
Sugar—
You are so cute when you are mad! I love the way your lip curls up and the lines crease your forehead. So sexy. So hot! Like I said last night, you don’t have to worry about those men hanging around. You are my number one.
A.
Chapter Seven
Saturday, October 15, 9 PM
The passage of thirty years made the task of authenticating the Annie letters difficult but not impossible for Lexis. To accomplish the job, she needed a sample of handwriting that was undeniably Annie’s. She knew Annie had attended a small high school north of Nashville, but likely her records wouldn’t contain a sample. Annie had worked an odd collection of jobs after graduating high school but the chances of an employment application still existing were nil. A signature on the lease she’d shared with Joanne and Beth or the marriage license wouldn’t be enough.
Bill Dawson would be a hard case so she figured her best bet was Margaret Miller, Annie’s devoted sister who must have saved letters or the handwritten songs Annie was rumored to have written.
Lexis parked in front of the little, one-story clapboard house. As a female private investigator, she had an advantage. Women could blend better. A maid’s uniform allowed her to go unnoticed in a hotel. A white collar shirt, jeans, and a clipboard enabled her to pass as a meter reader, cable employee, and a car rental agent. Lexis had learned an outfit could sell her story better than words.
Out of the car, she hiked up the waistband of her designer jeans. She wore a Nashville Rocks T-Shirt and her best cowboy boots. The shirt was too small and the jeans too tight, a reminder she needed to cut back on the bagels and sodas. Still, despite the tight fit, she’d achieved the look she was after.
She moved up the cracked sidewalk to the front door adorned with a fall wreath decked with a yellow bow embossed with the words Happy Birthday. From what she’d learned, Margaret Miller had kept a yellow ribbon on her lawn for the last thirty years. Yellow had been Annie’s favorite color and Margaret had dedicated her life to the memory of her sister.
Moistening lips heavy with lip gloss, she knocked on the door. Inside she could hear the television and then steady footsteps. The door on the other side of the screen opened to Margaret and the smell of fried chicken. She wore her white waitress outfit complete with name tag and hamburger and ketchup stains.