Margaret studied Lexis through the screened door. “What can I do for you?”
“Ms. Margaret Miller?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m with Lane Producers. Sorry for the late night visit but my flight just arrived from LA.”
Margaret folded her arms. “Why are you here?”
“We do documentaries on country music stars of the past. Your sister Annie Rivers Dawson’s short-lived career came to our attention the other night when my boss was watching the news.”
Margaret’s gaze narrowed. “Everyone saw that. I’ve been hearing about it day and night since.”
“I saw the show of you and Ms. Wainwright.”
Margaret frowned. “It wasn’t a show for me. I was damned mad at her.”
Lexis had guessed Margaret would be sensitive on the subject and knew she had to handle this with extra-soft kid gloves. “I could see you were upset. Must be painful.”
Margaret twisted a brass button on her sweater. “You’ve no idea.”
“Maybe I do. I lost my sister.” Bits of the truth enhanced credibility as the right outfit did. “It’s been fifteen years, but there’re days when it feels like yesterday.”
Margaret’s chin raised a fraction. “Yeah. It hurts. Especially when all you had were bones to bury. But no one cares about that.”
“I care. In fact, I did a little digging on your sister’s short-lived career and I must say I was impressed. She was a star on the rise.”
The hard lines burrowing into Margaret’s forehead softened a fraction. “That she was. Ask anyone and they’d tell you she was an angel.”
“No doubt.”
“Why are you here?”
“We, the other producers and I, were talking about Annie over coffee last night. We were all thinking she could be the subject of a documentary. She was talented, beautiful and now she’s gone.”
Her eyes widened with delight. “You want to make a movie about Annie?”
“This is all preliminary, but I thought it would be worth it to talk to you.”
“What do you want to know about Annie?”
“I want to know about her as a woman. Her hopes and dreams. What she loved about music and singing. You knew her better than anyone.”
“That’s true.” Margaret frowned. “This ain’t gonna be one of those tell-alls, is it? I don’t want you bashing Annie.”
“I’d never dream of bashing her. I want to tell her story.”
Margaret hesitated and then pushed open the screened door. “Come on in. I got mementos I can show you.” Inside, the sweet scents of a baking cake greeted her. “Can I get you a lemonade? I was about to have one.”
“I’d love one.”
The hallway sported dozens of framed pictures featuring two young girls and their parents. Beyond the living room furnishings were older, threadbare on the arms, and looked as if they’d been purchased in the seventies. The carpet was gold shag and the chair rail trim on the walls an avocado green.
Margaret appeared with two glasses of glistening lemonade. “I’d offer you cake but it isn’t cool yet. Today’s my momma’s birthday and I always bake her a cake.”
“How old is your mom?”
“She’d have been eighty-two. She passed this time last year. She left me her house. I’ve lived here my whole life.”
Lexis sat with Margaret on the couch, accepted the lemonade, sipped, and smiled when the cold bitter wetness hit her tongue. “Are those pictures of you and Annie?”
Margaret beamed. “They are. That one is of Annie and me. She was nine and I was three.”
Lexis studied the picture of two little girls dressed in matching sailor suits. Annie’s blond hair shimmered in contrast to Margaret’s dull brown hair and whereas Annie’s smile was radiant, Margaret’s was goofy and awkward. Annie’s arm was wrapped around Margaret’s shoulders but it wasn’t a casual easy touch. Annie looked a bit stiff and strained as if she wasn’t crazy about her little sister.
“She was good to me,” Margaret said. “So sweet. She was always thinking about me.”
“You two grew up in this house?”
“Yes. We had the same momma but different daddies. That’s why we look different.”
Lexis didn’t miss the threads of apology and shame. “I think you look a great deal alike. Especially around the eyes.”
“Really? You think so?”
“I do.” Lexis shifted her gaze to another picture. Again two girls. Annie had bloomed into a stunning young woman whereas Margaret still sported that goofy grin as well as thick glasses. “Must have been hard when she moved out to live on her own.”
“I cried for days. But she kept promising that she’d come back and see me and I could come see her. We were less than thirty miles apart but it felt like a million miles.”
“I heard she did well in Nashville.”
“She did. She started singing in a local church but quickly found work in the honky-tonks. She sang and looked like an angel.”
“I also heard she was a songwriter.”
Pride had Margaret standing straighter. “She was. I kept all her songs in a scrapbook.”
“Could I see them?”
“Sure!” She set down her lemonade and hurried to the back of the house. Seconds later she emerged with a large and well-stuffed yellow scrapbook. Margaret indicated they sit on a couch of shabby crushed velvet.
Margaret laid her hands on top of the book, drawing in a deep breath as if she were touching a Ouija board and summoning Annie’s spirit. “I can imagine her sitting right here when I read her songs.”
Lexis peered over Margaret’s arm as she opened the book. The pages were jammed with publicity shots, handbills for gig nights, and bits of ribbon and flattened flowers. Margaret had a story about every picture as she turned each page. In Margaret’s stories, Annie played the role of angel and heroine. However, the letters sent to Rachel painted a woman who wasn’t afraid to get involved with an unavailable man.
In the center was a stack of handwritten songs written on napkins, scraps of paper, and a diner menu.
Lexis studied the samples and knew if she had one she could authenticate the letters.
“When did she start dating Bill Dawson?”
Margaret frowned. “They didn’t date long. Fact, Momma and I were surprised when she called saying she’d gotten married. Right out of the blue. We were stunned. But he was a nice enough fellow and Momma wanted her to have security. Being a singer is a tough life, even if you got talent.”
“A pretty woman like Annie would have dated more than one man.”
Margaret giggled. “The boys loved Annie. Loved her.”
“She never confided in you?”
“Not about boys she dated. I asked, of course, but she said I was too young. When I pushed she did say she had a special Sugar she liked.”
“Sugar?” Lexis slowly turned a scrapbook page as if the name had no meaning.
“She blushed when she spoke about him but she never did tell me his name. Even wrote a song about him. She said one day I would meet him.”
“That must have been Bill Dawson,” Lexis suggested.
“Must have been.” She frowned. “But I never could picture the two of them together. He was stiff. But she said she loved him. Momma and I didn’t get invited to the wedding. Of course, when Momma and I finally saw her after the wedding, Momma guessed right off about the baby.”
“Was Annie excited about the baby?”
Margaret’s face glowed with appreciation. “She was. Said she’d find a way to be a big star and a great momma.”
“What was Bill Dawson like? You said he was stiff.”