Cover Your Eyes

by Mary Burton

  “I made a splash.”

  A slight smile tweaked the edges of her mouth. “A bit of drama always has a way of catching the media’s eye. Why don’t you come in?”

  Rachel stepped into the marbled hallway, daring a glance up at a crystal chandelier that reflected a thousand points of light. Mrs. Stevens moved from the foyer into a room on the right decorated with whites and grays. Rachel wiped her feet before stepping onto the carpet and taking the seat that Mrs. Stevens indicated.

  Rachel sunk into a plush couch as Mrs. Stevens took a seat at her diagonal. A large portrait hanging over the fireplace featured Mrs. Stevens wearing a lush full wedding dress. Time had been kind to Joanne Stevens who still looked remarkably as she had on her wedding day.

  “I was surprised you called,” she said as she crossed her legs at her ankles.

  “I’m trying to learn as much about Annie Rivers Dawson as I can and you were one of her closest friends.”

  She shifted as she folded her hands and placed them in her lap. “We were roommates. I’m not sure if I’d say we were friends.”

  “How did you two meet?”

  “Annie was singing at a party on campus. She really was wonderful and made the evening a hit. I came up to her after the show to tell her how much I loved her work and we got to talking. My friend Beth and I were looking for a third roommate and she needed a place to live. Seemed romantic to have an aspiring singer live with us. Within a couple of days, we’d signed an agreement and she moved into the house. Initially, it was great. She was always singing and the friends that came to see her were different. I felt a bit like a rebel, living with someone in show business.” A slight grin hinted to the girl she’d been. “My dad was not thrilled, which made living with Annie all the more appealing.”

  Rachel had worked her way through college and had never had the luxury of rebelling because she’d been busy working. “Did she date anyone while she was living with you?”

  “Men loved Annie. She had an energy and a vitality to go with those stunning blond looks. When she walked into the room men couldn’t think. I was dating my husband at the time and I resisted bringing him by our house when I knew Annie would be there. I didn’t want him falling under her spell until he knew me better.”

  “And did he meet Annie?”

  “He did. In fact, I warned him that he’d fall for her the minute he saw her and he laughed. He said I was the girl for him. And then he met her. She was coming out of the house, her blond hair flowing and her skirt skimming her signature red cowboy boots. His mouth dropped open as if he’d been hit in the back of the head with a two-by-four. He saw me watching and recovered but he’d been caught in her net. She also had the same effect on our other roommate’s boyfriend.”

  Rachel glanced at her notes. “Beth Drexler.”

  “Right. Beth’s boyfriend was really taken by Annie and made a pass at Annie while Beth was in the shower. He claimed to be religious.” She shook her head. “I happened to see it. Annie said no in such a way that didn’t make him mad. Later she asked me not to tell Beth because she didn’t want a fight.”

  “Did you tell Beth?”

  “No. She had a temper and a jealous streak and I didn’t want to stir that pot.”

  “And you are sure Annie and Beth’s boyfriend didn’t have a relationship?”

  “No. I think he was terrified of Beth.”

  “I haven’t been able to find Beth.”

  “She married that boyfriend but she was killed in a car accident about ten years ago. I saw the notice in the alumnae magazine that her younger sister had written.”

  “So Annie wasn’t dating anyone?”

  “She was private about her personal life. And though she never talked about it, I had the sense she was dating someone. I could hear her in her room late at night talking on the phone. She kept her voice low so I never made out what she was saying.”

  “This guy never came by the house? You never met him?”

  “Never. Not once.”

  “But she got pregnant and then married.” Rachel flipped through her notes. “She married Bill Dawson.”

  “That caught both Beth and me by surprise. We had never met the guy.”

  “But you said that you never met the guy she was dating.” Joanne hesitated and then leaned forward, a conspirator’s glint in her eyes. “I never thought he was the guy who fathered her baby.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “I saw them together at their wedding. One day she’s single and the next we are invited to a small wedding at the New Community Church. Beth and I were both blown away but we went. We saw Bill for the first time. He was tall, good-looking, the kind of guy you’d expect Annie to marry. And he was like all men. He had fallen under her spell.”

  Rachel was adept at reading between the lines. “But.” Joanne shook her head. “It was clear he loved her a whole lot more than she loved him. And she sounded stiff and formal around him whereas when she’d spoken to whomever on the phone at night it was clear she was excited and happy.”

  “She was unhappy at her wedding?”

  “So much so that I asked her about it. She said she wasn’t feeling well. That’s when she told me about the baby. Not the first stressed-out shotgun marriage, I suppose.” She shrugged. “She came by the house days later, paid the balance on her rent and moved out. That was the last I saw her.”

  “How did you hear about her death?”

  “On the news. I was getting ready for my own wedding and was half listening to the television when the newscaster said she’d been murdered. I didn’t know she’d had her baby.” She shoved out a breath. “Beth and I did take time to go to the funeral. So sad. I think most of the music community in Nashville was there.”

  “Do you remember seeing her husband at the funeral?”

  “I do. He was stoic and showed little or no emotion. Everyone, even the pastor overseeing the funeral was sad, but Bill looked resolute.”

  “What about her baby?”

  “She wasn’t there from what I could tell.”

  “What happened to the baby?”

  “I honestly don’t know. I didn’t know Bill and it never occurred to me to check in with him after the funeral. My life was hectic then.” Regret threaded through the words.

  “What do you remember about Jeb Jones?”

  Ice sharpened her gaze. “I saw him when he came by the house for maintenance. I didn’t like him and told the landlord so. Very creepy man.”

  “What did he do to upset you?”

  “He lingered a little too long. Asked too many personal questions. Always smelled of booze. He was particularly interested in Annie.”

  “You testified at his trial.”

  She sat a little straighter. “I did. I wanted the jury to know about the man who killed Annie.”

  “And you are certain he killed her?”

  “He was the one that lurked around. A couple of times I caught him parked outside our house watching. I called the police on him.”

  Rachel glanced at her notes. “He wasn’t arrested for loitering according to his record.”

  She fingered the pearls around her neck. “He should have been. And maybe if he had she’d still be alive.”

  “Did he ever threaten her, you, or Beth?”

  She moistened her lips. “No. Never in words. But his presence was threat enough.” She crossed her legs. “Why on earth would you defend someone like that?”

  “He has maintained his innocence for thirty years and has been asking for DNA for five years. He deserves to have his DNA tested.”

  “As far as I’m concerned he doesn’t deserve a second of anyone’s time. He got what was coming to him and he’s trying to worm his way out of jail.” Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t strike me as naïve, Ms. Wainwright. Why would you fall for a sob story like the one Jeb’s spinning?”

  How many people said that about me! Luke’s anguished retort rattled in her head. “What if he’s telling the
truth?”

  “He’s not telling the truth. He’s looking for an out. Men like him know how to play the system.”

  Rachel’s irritation grated under her skin. “I’ll leave it up to the DNA test.”

  “So what happens if the DNA test comes back and proves the blood on the murder weapon is not his?”

  “Then he has grounds for a new trial.”

  She traced her fingertips over her collarbone as if breathing grew more difficult. “I’ll have to testify again?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Her fingers curled into a fist. “I won’t change my story.” “No one is expecting you to. Tell the truth.”

  “The truth can be manipulated.”

  “Yes, it can.”

  Eyes narrowed. “What do you hope to gain from all this? Is this about getting publicity?”

  “No. I was hired to do a job and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “But you are trying to set a convicted murderer free.”

  Rachel hesitated, sensing the tension in the room growing. “Have you considered that the real killer may still be out there? What if the person that really killed Annie is still walking the streets?”

  That idea robbed a bit of color from Joanne’s face. “Out there now?”

  “If Jeb is proven innocent then there’s a killer to find.”

  She glanced toward the window as if she expected to see someone out there lurking, waiting and watching.

  Rachel closed her notebook. “You don’t have to worry, Mrs. Stevens.”

  Her gaze shifted back to Rachel. Gone was the calm. “How can you be sure about that? What if you’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest and innocent people like me get hurt?”

  “Why would you be hurt?”

  “Because I testified in the first case.”

  “But you testified for the prosecution.”

  “And if by some miracle you get Jeb off the hook what’s to stop him from coming after me?” Worry and anger looped around the last words.

  “Mr. Jones is ill. He has no desire to stir up trouble. He wants to reconnect with his son and live the remainder of his life in peace.”

  She brushed imaginary lint from her pant leg. “And you believe him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even if he was innocent, he’s been in jail for thirty years. That changes a man. He could be angry with anyone who helped put him there.”

  “I assure you . . .”

  Mrs. Stevens rose, raising her hand for silence. “I’m not interested in what you think. You strike me as an honest well-meaning woman, but I don’t think you are as worldly as you might like to believe. In fact, I dare say you are naive.”

  Rachel rose, her back stiff with annoyance. “I’m not naive.”

  “You are too young to know that you aren’t. You still believe that good wins over evil.”

  “I know that it doesn’t.”

  She stretched out her hand toward the main entrance. “No, you are a dreamer. And as much as I admire dreamers they are a danger. Now, I really have to be getting on with my day.”

  The window that had briefly opened to the past slammed in her face. “Thank you for your time.”

  Joanne Stevens escorted her to the door, said a polite good-bye and closed the massive door behind her. As Rachel moved toward her car she acknowledged that time was her enemy. Thirty years had dulled memories and those involved in the original case were now entrenched in lives they guarded closely. A win on the DNA front would be the first of many battles.

  She got into her car and for a moment sat in the silence. Colleen had warned she was overdoing it. Joanne called her naïve. Morgan thought she was a fool.

  “Luke, there’re so many uphill battles in the world.” Weariness draped each word.

  Whiner. Her brother’s voice whispered out from the quietest part of her mind. Whiner.

  Irritated, she opened her eyes and started the car. “F-you, bro.”

  Get moving.

  “Ass.” Energized, she drove. She dialed Bill Dawson’s number and her call went straight to voice mail. “Mr. Dawson. This is Rachel Wainwright. I’ve left you messages before. Please call me.”

  She set the phone on her lap and at the interstate, opted to head west versus east. If she couldn’t grab Bill Dawson today, she had another person on her interview list.

  As Joanne watched Rachel drive off in her beat-up old car, she reached inside a ceramic box and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. Standing at the screen door that opened off her kitchen into the backyard, she flicked the lighter and held the flame to the tip of her cigarette until she could inhale deeply. She waved the smoke’s scent away from the kitchen.

  She’d called Rachel Wainwright naïve but the truth was she was the fool. If she’d been wise, she’d never have agreed to speak to the attorney.

  But she’d been lulled by a need for excitement to break up the boredom of a daily life revolving around grown children and a busy husband.

  She wondered if she’d somehow opened a can of worms.

  Those days in the house with Annie and Beth had been great fun. Thanks to Annie the house had been full of odd and exciting characters.

  Out on the deck she flicked the ash into a potted plant. She’d remembered how annoyed her father had been. Be careful with whom you associate. Lay down with dogs and you’ll get fleas. She’d laughed. Called him stuffy.

  When she’d been called to testify in Jeb’s case her father had hired an attorney. He’d been worried about the family reputation. But in the end her “walk” on the wild side had been chalked up to youthful foolishness. She’d earned her way back in to his good graces with a stunning marriage and by producing three strapping grandsons.

  Daddy would not be pleased if he heard about Rachel Wainwright’s visit. At ninety-seven he still ruled the family and had a way of making her feel like a child.

  She reached for her cell and dialed a number she’d not used in a couple of years. At the third ring, she received a curt, “Hello.”

  “This is Joanne Stevens.”

  “Joanne. It’s been a while. Why the call?”

  “I had an interesting visitor today. Rachel Wainwright.”

  “I saw her on the news.”

  “She’s digging into the Jeb Jones case.”

  “So I gathered.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ve nothing to worry about.”

  “You were at his trial.”

  “A lot of people were at his trial. Ms. Wainwright will be a busy woman if she plans to talk to all the people that testified against Jeb Jones.”

  “So you aren’t worried?” She took a long drag on her cigarette and exhaled it slowly.

  “No. I’m not worried.”

  “Why are you so calm?”

  “Because Jeb is guilty. And no amount of grandstanding by an upstart attorney is going to change that. Let Miss Wainwright have her little circus. It won’t make a difference.”

  She inhaled and exhaled. “I don’t see how you can be calm.”

  “You always were a nervous sort, Joanne.”

  She stared at the glowing tip of her cigarette. “Do you ever think about Annie?”

  A long silence snaked over the lines. “Sure. From time to time.”

  “I dreamed about her last night.”

  “Really?”

  “She was laughing and singing. Everyone in the room was happy to see her.”

  “Annie had a lot of talent. She could be amazing. But you and I both know she was not perfect. She had her faults.”

  “You never liked her.”

  “I saw her for what she was.”

  She flicked a long ash into the pot. “What are you going to do if Rachel Wainwright comes to see you?”

  “I’m not worried. I’ll deal with her. But then I don’t have as much to lose as you do.”

  Rachel’s next visit was one that she’d been avoiding. Kirk Jones, Jeb’s son, was now thirty-nine and owned a garage
thirty minutes outside Nashville. Jeb had spoken of his son many times and his desire to reunite, but Kirk had had no contact with his father since Jeb had been sentenced.

  She parked in front of the custom auto repair shop. The low one-story building with three large garages was located to the east across the Cumberland River. The area was up and coming and had a mix of residential and small industry.

  Out of her car, she tightened her hold on her purse strap and moved toward the large glass doors leading to an office. Inside she found an old man sitting behind a desk piled high with pink order slips, auto catalogues, and several empty coffee cups.

  The gray-haired man sported half-glasses and a blue shirt with the name Ronnie over the right breast. He glanced up at her.

  “My name is Rachel Wainwright.”

  He raised his hand and she noticed the phone receiver cradled under his chin.

  She nodded and turned away, walking around the room to inspect the collection of automotive posters featuring trucks and bikini-clad women. There was a small table set up with a new coffeemaker and as tempted as she was to make herself a cup, she resisted.

  A click of the receiver in the cradle had her turning as the older man rose. “I’m looking for Kirk Jones.”

  “Is he working on your car?”

  “No, sir. I know his father.”

  The old man’s eyes widened with shock. “His daddy’s been in prison for more years than I can count.”

  The whir-whir sound of a pneumatic drill echoed out from the garage. “Yes, I know.”

  “They don’t speak.”

  “I know. Is he here?”

  A narrowing gaze sized her up. “Sure, I’ll get him.”

  The man vanished into the bay and seconds later the drill silenced and a tall broad-shouldered man appeared in the office. He wore the same blue shirt as the old man but his was covered in grease, dirt, and sweat. Blond hair was cut short and he sported a goatee. Several tattoos covered well-muscled arms. Jeb had said his wife and son had really struggled after he’d left for prison. For the first year his wife, Dell, had visited him with the boy in tow but after the one-year anniversary of his incarceration she’d stopped visiting or answering his mail.