by Mary Burton
“She was ambitious. She had talent and she had drive. I admired both. I see talent. I see drive. I don’t always see both together.”
“So your relationship was strictly professional?”
“Absolutely.”
KC arched his shoulders as if he’d awoken from a long slumber. “You weren’t sleeping with her? Because I can tell you, if she made an offer to me, I’d be hard-pressed to say no.”
Color rose up in Rehnquist’s face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
KC laughed as if chatting at the hunting lodge with an old friend. “You were sleeping with her. I hear it in your high and defensive voice.” He looked at Deke. “But I’ll give him credit; that hint of outrage and shock was a nice touch.”
Deke folded his arms and studied Rehnquist. “Never sells me on a lie.”
“Really?” KC shook his head. “There was a time I’d have fallen for it but not anymore.”
Deke met the man’s gaze. “You lying about sleeping with Dixie Simmons?”
“Maybe I better call my lawyer.” Rehnquist moved toward his desk and reached for the sleek black phone. “I don’t have any more to say.”
“Shit,” KC said. “I hate it when I ask a simple question and I get attitude. Hell, it’s a simple yes or no question.”
Rehnquist tapped an agitated finger on his desk. “You two are trying to trap me.”
“So you didn’t sleep with her or you didn’t kill her?” Deke asked.
“Neither!”
Every bit of Deke demanded he haul the guy to jail, but he’d play one more round. “Frankly, I don’t care who you sleep with, Mr. Rehnquist. I don’t. I’ve no interest in telling your wife or your girlfriend or whomever that you and Dixie were sleeping together.” That wasn’t totally true. He’d do both if it meant solving the case. “But I need to have the basics of Dixie’s life so I can find her killer.”
“If you are hiding an affair, what else are you hiding?” KC asked.
Beads of sweat plastered wisps of blond hair to his tanned forehead. “I never said I was hiding an affair.”
KC hooked his thumbs behind his thick brown belt. “One lie always makes me wonder what else they are hiding. I suppose now we’ll be getting a search warrant for his office, house, and even his car.”
Deke’s gaze bore into Rehnquist. “Imagine what we will find when we search his residence.”
Rehnquist fisted his fingers as his face flushed. “Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise,” Deke said. “I’m willing to work with you on keeping your secrets as long as you work with me. But if you keep pushing, we’ll take this all up to the next level. Won’t be pretty or easy, and I’d just as soon not have to fuss. But I’ll do it.”
Rehnquist drummed his fingers on the phone’s receiver and then curled them into a tight fist before drawing back. “I’d been sleeping with Dixie for about two months. We had no formal arrangement but we met for sex often. She was one of those gals who was fun to hook up with initially but she had a lot of emotional stuff that was tiring. She craved attention. It’s what made her good on stage. She all but fed off the energy of the crowd and when she was jazzed she was hot in bed. But after a while her neediness had me avoiding her calls.”
“Then in the last ten days?”
“I finally took her call a couple of days ago because she threatened to show up at the office and strip off all her clothes.”
KC arched a brow as if the image flickered across his mind.
“I can’t have that kind of bad publicity. We are like a lot of businesses these days. We’re struggling and can’t afford any trouble. I took her call and talked to her and told her what she wanted to hear.”
“What did she want to hear?”
He sighed. “The usual. She was pretty. She was smart and I was hot for her. The same kind of crap chicks eat up.”
KC scribbled notes. “When is the last time you saw her?”
“Two weeks ago. And that is the truth. We did talk on the phone but I haven’t seen her since September.”
Deke held up the mangled image of Dixie. “Who would do this to her?”
Rehnquist’s gaze skirted away as if running to hide. “Holy shit. Don’t show that to me again. I don’t know who would do that to her. Shit!”
Torn flesh and blood quickly grew grotesque when the heart stopped pumping blood and life. “The person who did this was angry.”
“Detective Morgan is right.” KC pulled gum from his pocket and slowly unwrapped it. “Dixie’s killer wasn’t satisfied with killing her. He went out of his way to strip away all her beauty and humanity.”
Rehnquist moistened his lips as if struggling to keep his stomach from upending. “I could never have done that to her.”
He’d seen killers get sick at the sight of their work. In the heat of murder, the brain’s morality values clicked off and urges turned primal and animalistic. After the fact, when the adrenaline cleared and conscious thought returned, regret and disgust reappeared. “You sure about that?”
Rehnquist’s eyes widened as he shook his head. “I’m no saint, Detective. No saint at all, but I never would have done that to Dixie. For Christ’s sake we were lovers.”
And lovers killed lovers all the time. “Are you married?”
His spine stiffened. “Yes.”
“Did your wife know about Dixie?” KC asked.
“No! I’m careful to leave the office behind me.”
“Whoever killed Dixie was angry. Very angry. Could have been the work of a jealous woman.”
“Judi is a gentle soft soul. She’d never hurt anyone.” He hesitated. “Once she did find evidence of my playtime. She confronted me, but she was rational and calm.”
“Maybe she ran out of calm,” Deke said. “We all have violence in us, it’s just a matter of dialing up the right combination.”
“Not Judi. Not like that.”
“You’d be surprised what people can do,” KC said. “Saw a lil’ bit of a woman kill her six-foot-seven husband with a baseball bat. Later folks kept saying over and over how nice she was. Even the nice ones snap.”
“Judi wouldn’t have the strength right now.” Color rose in his face. “She’s nine months pregnant and due any day. She can barely get out of a chair, let alone do that.”
Deke suppressed an oath. “What do you know about Dixie?”
“Not much. I wasn’t looking for love, just sex.”
“You promise her a record deal?”
“I made no promises.”
“You hint?” KC asked.
“Look, I’m no angel. We’ve established that. But I did not kill her.”
“Where were you Thursday night?”
“New York. In meetings with attorneys and a singer until two in the morning. And I can give you names.” He scrawled several names and numbers on a monogrammed sheet of linen paper. “I flew into Nashville early this morning.”
Deke studied the list and then folded it in half with a crisp line. “Stay in touch until I’ve made these calls.”
“Sure.”
Outside Spinners Records, Deke slid behind the wheel of his car as KC climbed into the passenger side. For a moment the two sat, each soaking up the silence.
“My money says he’s not the guy. Dixie talked with someone who was smart enough to use a burner phone. And clearly this guy had Dixie call his direct personal line.”
Deke rubbed the back of his neck. “No, I don’t think he’s the one. But hell, I’ve been fooled before.”
“So we head to Dixie’s apartment.” KC flipped through notes. “She has a roommate named Tawny.”
“Rudy Creed mentioned Tawny. She’s also a singer. Not as good as Dixie.”
KC nodded. “Jealousy comes in all kinds of forms.”
He fired up the engine. “So it does. Let’s go find Tawny.”
Fifteen minutes later they pulled up in front of the Wild Horse Saloon. The place was large, crammed full of tables hugging
the edges of a stage that stretched across the width of the room.
Deke flashed his badge to the greeter. “Tawny here?”
The girl glanced wide-eyed at the badge. “She’s on stage leading the line dance now. Should be finished in a minute or two.”
Up front the young girl wore a mike and a rhinestone outfit. The dancers looked as if they were having fun though most missed steps or spun in the wrong direction. Tawny had long reddish brown hair and a full figure complete with round hips, a narrow waist, and a large bust. Her demeanor was relaxed and carefree as she joked with the guests, sang notes here and there and flirted with the oldest men.
Ten minutes later the audience was clapping and heading back to their seats as Tawny wished everyone a great day and promised to return at the seven o’clock show.
Deke and KC made their way across the restaurant. They showed their badges to a beefy man wearing a security shirt and moved down a long dark hallway toward the dressing rooms.
Deke knocked, waited. “Ms. Richards?”
The door snapped open. This close her makeup, which had looked natural from afar, appeared heavy and overdone. Large black eyelashes batted over brown eyes. “What can I do for you?”
Deke showed his badge. “We’re with the Nashville Police Department. I have questions for you about Dixie Simmons.”
Eyes narrowed. “What does she want? Is she complaining about what I said to her last week?”
“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.