Lost in Tennessee

by DeVito, Anita

  “Their musician.” Butch offered a hand to the stern faced CEO.

  Chuck shook the hand. “Ah, yes. I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. McCormick.”

  “Butch,” he corrected. “Finch. Good to see you found your way.”

  Landon Finch took Butch’s hand and clapped his back. Kate nearly choked on her tongue. Butch brought his shark for her.

  “Chuck and I were just getting acquainted. This must be Kate Riley.” Finch extended his hand. “Talented architect, shrewd contractor. You have quite a reputation.”

  Kate accepted the hand and smiled in acceptance of the compliment. “Taking a page from the legendary Mae West, ‘When I’m good, I’m very good. But when I’m bad, I’m better.’”

  Tom offered his hand. “I know the voice, nice to see the face. Tom Riley.”

  “You have a reputation all your own, don’t you? Ah, that’s a subject for another day.” Finch motioned the players into position. “Let’s play ball. How to move forward with the headquarters given the current situation?”

  Chuck surveyed the outfield before stepping into the box. He didn’t ease into the game but swung at the first pitch. “The entire situation with Ms. Jordan is deplorable.”

  Chuck nipped the top of the ball, Finch maneuvered into position to field the weakly hit grounder. “Absolutely, not least of all for Butch and for Fawn.” Finch tossed it to Butch.

  “Fawn and I had been apart for over a year, but there was no animosity, at least on my part. Our careers took us in separate directions. Fawn was a good person, she just wasn’t the woman I married. I’m sure she thought the same of me.”

  Chuck raised his eyebrows and nodded. Kate had done her research before starting work for Cicada. Chuck Allen was on this third wife, one nearly half his age. He was quoted in a magazine as saying all of his wives loved his money but were shocked he actually worked long, hard hours for it.

  “My condolences.” With a quick flick of his wrist, he popped one alone the baseline. “But I can’t dismiss the fact that she was killed on Cicada property.”

  Finch sprinted to the left to get under the ball. “Absolutely. The sheriff, Butch’s brother, believes the suspect dumped her body there because of the project. Specifically to implicate Kate in the death. As brutal as it was, it was also poorly planned and sloppily executed. Kate had been hours away at a trade show in Kentucky at the time poor Fawn was killed. The facts will come out, in due time.”

  Chuck stepped out of the box and adjusted his gloves. With a tug on his hat, he stepped in, ready for the next pitch, determination carved in the lines of his face. “This isn’t the kind of publicity I want for Cicada.”

  Finch dove to the right, snatching the line drive from the air. “There’s a saying in show business—there’s no such thing as bad publicity. Look at this.” Finch pulled a manila folder from his case and slid it to Allen.

  Chuck opened the folder and picked up a glossy spread featuring iconic images of Maya Angelo, Ruby Dee, Amelia Earhart, and Fawn Jordan. Gone but not forgotten. Other images painted Cicada as a champion for women, challenging the status quo, investing in young and disadvantaged women.

  Chuck raised a brow. “You think this will work?”

  “I know this will work. Branding is all about telling your story, selling the image you want the public to see. You say nothing, pull the project, and hide, and you sell the image of a guilty coward. You stand behind the project, behind Fawn, and you stand for the American ideals of hard work and fair play.”

  “We’ll build a memorial,” Kate said. “One of the pillars in the gallery will be steel and glass. Simple, elegant, beautiful.”

  “Like Fawn.” Finch smiled and patted Kate’s hand. “That is a wonderful thought. The morbid fact is people are intrigued by the death of a celebrity, especially if it is layered in mystery. I’ll bet there are dozens of people outside your site now, scrambling to get a look inside. Canceling the project won’t make the curious and the fanatical disappear, but going forward with it creates the opportunity for you to elevate Cicada’s visibility on a national and international stage. Think about it, Chuck. We don’t get to choose our fifteen minutes of fame, just what we do with it.”

  Chuck stepped out of the box and ran his handkerchief across a sweaty brow. Down to his last out. He stepped back in the box, brought the bat to his shoulder and pulled it short at the last moment, working the bunt. “I can’t handle that kind of exposure.”

  Finch leaned in, snagged the ball, and beat Chuck to first base. “I can. First, a press conference. We need you front and center. The man in charge. I’ll make the calls. You need a black suit.”

  While Chuck and Finch coordinated the details, Kate excused herself and found a narrow spot in a crowded cubicle where she could breathe. She realized she hadn’t been able to function since she talked to Chuck the night before. She hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept, and hadn’t thought a coherent thought for over fourteen hours. All at once, clarity burned away the fog. Adrenaline beat at her weary body, pooling tears of relief in her eyes. Her hands shook when she lifted them, and her heart pounded.

  Hands slid around her waist. She inhaled the scent of her own personal hero. Her hands clasped around those that held her.

  Butch pressed against her back. “Are you okay? You looked a little pale when you left.”

  She let her head fall back onto his shoulder, angling her face toward his. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I wish I could do it a thousand times. Thank you.” Kate turned in his arms, rose on her toes and wrapped her arms around his head. She pressed her lips to his, pouring in emotions she didn’t have the words to express. Then, she found that she did. “I love you.”

  Butch crushed her against him. “Thank God. I’ve wanted to tell you for weeks. I love you with everything I am.”

  Finch poked his head around the corner. “You two want to get back in here and finish the job?”

  “We’re coming, Finch.” When they were alone again, Butch pressed a kiss to Kate’s temple. “I planned on our first ‘I love you’ being romantic, maybe with candlelight and wine. Not in a cramped corner stacked with boxes.”

  “This is perfect.” Kate pressed a kiss to his chest. “This is just perfect.”

  Kate paced off sixty feet, dropped a spot of neon pink spray paint, turned left, paced another sixty feet, and dropped a spot of paint.

  John kicked the stones with his goatskin boots. “So this is the big plan?”

  Kate smiled at John and goose walked to connect the dots with the bright paint. “Well, it’s an idea. We were looking at different wings but wanted something that went with the farmhouse. This would be the courtyard here. That wing,” she said pointing west, “would be Butch’s wing. No morning sun to disturb his beauty sleep. Then the east wing would be for Jeb. The first floor will be shared space with bedrooms upstairs. I thought we could use breezeways to connect the wings, do them like covered bridges.”

  “Are you really going to build this? For Butch?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’m just doing this to keep my mind busy. It’s Monday. Jeb let Tom open most of the site back up but wants me to stay away until things settle down. I can only do so much paperwork before I get antsy.”

  “Are those people still outside the fence?”

  “Yep.” Kate rolled her eyes. “I guess it’s down to less than a dozen people. A few photographers, mostly fans with nothing better to do with their lives. Honestly, tell me who has time to stand outside a construction site and wave a lighter in the middle of the day. Don’t these people work?”

  “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Have you heard from Butch?”

  “He’s called ten times since he left on Friday.” Kate giggled as she drew lines on the grass. “I know I shouldn’t laugh, but your son is in over his head. It’s a good thing Trudy went with him. She’ll get that house in shape lickety-split. It sounds like they will be bringing a ton of crap back. He’ll need a bigger house one way or an
other.”

  “Build the house,” John said.

  Kate stopped mid-spray. “The cost—”

  “I want my boys to stay,” John interrupted. “They were gone for too long. Jeb joined the Marines. He never would tell me what he did for them but three years ago, he went on a mission. For six months, we didn’t know if he was dead or alive. Emily prayed and cried and prayed some more. Year and a half ago, he came home, nearly a stranger. He doesn’t laugh anymore.”

  “He laughs. I’ve seen him. He and Butch tease.”

  John nodded. “He’s better around Butch. While Jeb was off saving the world, Butch was out there, seeing the country, making his mark, falling for the wrong women. He came back a lost man. It’s only been these last few weeks that he’s acted like his old self.”

  Her face hot, did John know she was the next wrong woman? Kate studied the ground and kicked a rock. “He loves me.” After a moment she added, “And I love him.”

  John took her hand and squeezed it. “Build the house. I have some money saved. Bring my boys home.”

  Kate flashed him a mischievous grin. “It’s going to be amazing. Listen to what Tom came up with.” Kate moved across the back of the house painting a picture of a country villa, her hands moving across the scene to draw the picture for John. “It’s going to be a dichotomy. Old and new. Traditional and modern. Large and intimate.”

  Jeb came out the kitchen door as Kate painted her picture, and she quickly enveloped him into the tale. “Jeb’s wing will have four bedrooms, a sitting room, and the crowned prince of bathrooms, just like in the Hermitage, right, Jeb?”

  The first prick of trouble came when he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Jeb stood in the future courtyard, his hands hanging stiffly at his sides, looking at the worn patch of dirt.

  “What’s the matter, Jeb?” Kate invaded his space, panic injected a flutter in her voice. “Did something happen to Butch?”

  “No, Katie. Butch is fine.”

  Kate let out the breath she held. “Oh, you scared me. With all of the bad luck going around, I was afraid something happened.”

  Jeb lifted his eyes to her. “Something did happen, Katie.” His calm voice lacked expression. “The County Prosecutor is getting a lot of pressure on Fawn’s case. Those people outside the site, her agent, the press are demanding he do something.”

  The can of spray paint fell from Kate’s hand. “Oh, God. You’re arresting me.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “How could you think I did that to her?” Kate’s throat tightened, choking her voice. “I was in Kentucky.”

  “I’m not arresting you.”

  Kate stumbled back, hearing the implied “yet.”

  “But I have to take you in for questioning.”

  “W-why?”

  Jeb swallowed hard, spoke quietly. “The gloves retrieved from your truck were stained with Fawn’s blood. There were splatters on the seat. Fawn’s rental car was found abandoned near the construction site. We collected red hairs from the driver’s seat. The call came from your cell and you were placed at the scene—”

  “It wasn’t me, Jeb. It wasn’t me.” Kate’s voice rose to a squeak.

  “And with the witness statement…” He shook his head. “I’ll have you back here before dinner.”

  Kate trembled. She truly hadn’t thought she would be considered a suspect. Everything about going with Jeb terrified her. She had no experience with the law. What if they didn’t believe her? Would they put her in a cell? Would they take her fingerprints and mug shot? What would happen to her career? To her business? No one would hire an architect with a record. Petrified, she couldn’t move.

  John’s supporting arm came across her shoulders. She leaned into him as tears rolled unchecked from her eyes.

  “Don’t be afraid, I won’t let anything happen to you. Trust me, Kate. I know what I’m asking, but trust me to get to the bottom of this.”

  Think. Think. Think.

  She couldn’t. She felt like the gum on the bottom of society’s shoe. People she passed either wouldn’t look at her or looked with a repulsive sneer on their faces. She wasn’t sure which was worse. Humiliated, degraded, she followed where they led, into a small room with a stark, steel table and heavy duty chairs. There she sat. And sat. And sat.

  She wanted to go home.

  Now she wasn’t alone anymore, which scared her more.

  “Where were you on Tuesday between ten a.m. and eight p.m.?”

  Kate looked at the investigator with the crooked tie.

  Jeb had contacted Garrison Leeds, an attorney friend of his, and requested he help Kate.

  Leeds spoke. “As Ms. Riley’s statement says, she was in Louisville, Kentucky.”

  “Can she prove it? Who saw her? Who could vouch for her?” The investigator looked at Kate. “Did you meet with anyone?”

  Think. Think. Think.

  “I…I was stood up. Supposed to meet a guy, but he stood me up. I ate at a bar. Alone.”

  A hand rested on her forearm. “Did you pay with a credit card?”

  Kate looked at the hand, wishing it was Butch’s. She closed her eyes and wished for him.

  Leeds squeezed her arm. “Kate, did you pay with a credit card?”

  Think. Think. Think.

  She cleared her throat. “I used my company card.” Tears flowed unabated. “I also bought lunch earlier and then gas, too. Before I left Louisville, I filled up. And they should have record of where I signed in that morning and got my guest pass.”

  The small plane landed, and the door opened as the stairs locked in place. Butch ran down the steps faster than was smart and strode across the pavement, his hands fisted and his jaw set.

  Jeb stepped out of the terminal, his hat in his hand. “Clyde, I’m glad your—”

  Butch lunged at his brother, taking him down to the pavement. The two men rolled, cursing at each other. Trapped on the small plane for hours, Butch thought only of kicking the living hell out of his brother. With his training, Jeb got the upper hand and quickly pinned Butch to the tarmac.

  “Goddamn it, calm down,” Jeb shouted.

  Trudy flounced down the stairs in a floor-length fur, sunglasses, a wide-brimmed, pink hat, and matching three-inch heels. She danced over to the men in small, fluttering steps that made the coat swirl around her ankles. “Boys, you’re embarrassing me.” With the admonishment, she turned up her nose and walked into the terminal.

  Jeb tasted the blood in the corner of his mouth and glared down into his brother’s face. “You done?”

  Butch struggled uselessly against Jeb’s grip, shouted in frustration, then counted to ten. “For now. Let me up.”

  Jeb rose nimbly to his feet and held his hand out to his brother. “Don’t hit me again. You got a freebie. You hit me again, I’m hitting back.”

  Butch nodded curtly. “How is she?”

  Jeb pulled Butch to his feet. “Not good. She hasn’t said a word since I brought her home. The lawyers were good…and fast. Butch, I swear to you, I’ll figure this out.”

  Butch put his hand on Jeb’s shoulder. “I know you will. Sorry about your mouth.”

  Jeb shrugged. “I’d have done the same.”

  As Butch and Jeb pulled up the driveway, Tom came out the door, moving like a boxer with quick, agitated motions and his face set in agony as though he were slowly being tortured.

  “Butch, you need to take care of her. Now. She won’t talk to me. She won’t even look at me.”

  “Where is she?”

  “In the barn.” Tom looked up the drive as though he’d made that walk several times and considered doing it again. He shook his head and turned back to Butch. “You have to help her.”

  Butch rubbed his sweaty hands on his jeans as he went around the house to the barn. The door gaped wide, but light didn’t shine from it. In early evening, Butch squinted under the brilliant spring sun, but the barn would be dark. It always was.

  Kate sat cross-legged on the floor with
a rusty sheet of metal stretched across her lap. She brushed the steel wool in her hand absently across the pitted blade, her stroke devoid of energy. She didn’t look at her work but stared at an infinite spot on the old tractor. Her usually sparkling blue eyes were flat, and her mouth hung slightly open as if it took too much strength to close her lips.

  She didn’t move when Butch walked in. Her eyes didn’t flash, she didn’t turn her head, she didn’t acknowledge him in any way. She just continued to run the steel wool listlessly over the hunk of steel.

  “Katie? Katie, honey?” Butch took slow, quiet steps to her side, not sure whether she knew he was with her. He touched her shoulder with his fingertips, needing the contact. She jumped at his touch, drawing the flat of her hand along the sharpest edge of the blade.

  Kate lifted her hand and watched as the rich blood welled in the cut and ran down her arm.

  Butch cursed and tore the shirt from his back to wrap around her hand. “Come on, Katie. We need to get this cleaned up before you get an infection.”

  Kate sat on the ground, looking past him. “I need to think.”

  Butch swore again. He kicked the blade from her lap, pulled her up from the ground and into his arms. Halfway out of the barn, her arms locked around his neck. He cradled her head against his shoulder and held her close as he strode into the kitchen.

  “I have you, Katie. That’s right, just hold on to me. I love you and won’t let you go,” Butch whispered gently into her ear when she had buried her face in his neck.

  She seemed so small in his arms, so dramatically different than the larger-than-life woman who stomped and cursed her way into his world. He set her on the counter and unwrapped the blood-stained shirt from her hand.

  “What the hell happened?” Tom walked into the kitchen, shouting as he saw Kate.

  “She cut herself on a rusty piece of metal. It isn’t deep for all the blood.” Butch rigorously cleaned the cut with soap and water. Kate’s shoulders flinched now and then, but she didn’t make a sound, she didn’t try to pull away. “There’s a first aid kit in the upstairs bathroom. Can you get it for me?”