Cover Your Eyes

by Mary Burton

  “How?” How did you know about prison? The question couldn’t push past the brain sludge.

  Teeth flashed. “I know a lot.” Baby grabbed his hand and with surprising strength pulled a staggering Max to his feet.

  Out of the car the scents of the Cumberland River greeted. In the distance, the river lapped against the shore.

  “That job I need for you to do is steps away.”

  “Job?”

  “That’s right, the job. Remember, you’ll earn your thousand dollars and that bottle of bourbon?”

  One step. Two. Steps. Each foot moved as if it weighed a couple of hundred pounds. The bottle slipped from Max’s embrace and fell to the ground hitting a rock and shattering. He paused and stared at the glass shards glittering among rocks in the moonlight.

  “My bottle.”

  “I’ll get you another.” Strong hands pushed him forward three more stumbling steps.

  With the next step his foot sloshed in water. “Where am I?”

  “At the job site.”

  He raised his gaze to the cool waters of the river that caught the moonlight in its watery reflection. “What the hell?”

  The firm hand in the small of his back shoved him forward hard. He stumbled and fell face-first into the cold waters. Immediately, he fought to lift his face and breathe. But those same hands that had shoved him threaded through his hair and held his face in the water.

  Panicking, he jerked his face out of the water, but a knee in his back forced it back. His arms flailed, but the weight pressing against him coupled with the heaviness of the booze was too much to fight. Soon his oxygen-starved body forced him to inhale. And when he did, water flooded his mouth, nose, and his lungs.

  Above the water Max heard, “Say good-bye to the last link.”

  He fought harder but strong hands held him down. Finally, his mind drifted, and drifted away from the panic and then in a blink went black.

  “Yeah, I’m watching her right now,” Oscar McMillian said as he cradled the cup of coffee in his hand. He stared up at the dark window. “She is my type.”

  “Be careful. Be subtle. You don’t want trouble from the cops.”

  Annoyance flared. “I can control myself.”

  A heavy silence crackled through the line. “I know you can.” The line went dead.

  He closed his phone and sipped his coffee. He’d been sitting out here for a couple of hours watching Rachel Wainwright’s building. Though his back ached and he longed to stretch out, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. What if he took a break and missed something important? He didn’t know what important meant, but when he saw it he’d know it.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about Rachel Wainwright. If he were smart he’d stay far, far away from her. That cop had spotted him at the honky-tonk and had chased him away. He could have really enjoyed himself because given time he’d have gotten Rachel to lighten up. But the cop had interfered.

  But there was no cop in sight tonight. Just him, the night, and Rachel alone in her house.

  She was like a drug to him. From the moment he’d first seen her, she’d infected his blood. And like an addict, he couldn’t give her up. He sat in his car staring up at her warehouse apartment. Learning every little detail he could about her.

  The lights in her office remained on. She’d had Chinese food delivered at seven. She’d risen from her desk at nine to stretch and make more coffee. She worked long hours. Slept little.

  He’d dozed in his car at one point and dreamed of peeling her clothes off as she moaned pleasure. Of her screaming his name as he drove into her.

  Rachel had infected his blood as Ellen had all those months ago. He’d gotten carried away with Ellen. He’d acted too quickly. Foolish. Reckless. And now he was in a hell of a mess.

  But he’d figure his way out of this mess, as he had gotten out of the trouble in Kansas City and years ago in Portland. Rachel would see him clear of his troubles. All he had to do was play the game. Be the man she needed him to be so she could believe in him.

  And then when he was a free man, he’d find Rachel and turn some of those dreams of his into realities.

  February 19

  I dreamed about you last night. You were sleeping like a baby, like you did in my arms so many times. I leaned over to kiss you as you opened your eyes. A smile teased the edges of your lips. You raised up your head to kiss me. I smiled. And moments before our lips touched, I jabbed my carving knife between your ribs. Funny. Why would I dream that?

  A.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wednesday, October 19, 11 AM

  Rachel double-checked the address on the sticky note clutched in her hand and glanced again at the black mailbox. 2317. “Finally,” she muttered as she parked in front of the white rancher.

  She’d been up last night watching Annie’s taped performance. The woman had been vibrant, alive, and not like the woman in the last letters to Sugar. She’d dug through her notes and reread her interviews. She’d spotted the name Kate Tilden, whose sister, Beth, had been Annie’s roommate. Joanne had said Beth had died ten years ago in a car accident but her sister Kate had been a frequent visitor to the house.

  Rachel had called Kate this morning but had gotten her voice mail. She’d left a message and then, taking a chance, had driven to her house.

  Now she wondered how well she’d be welcomed. Stirring up the past had earned her a good bit of resentment and anger and she braced for Kate’s reaction.

  Out of her car, she hurried up the front sidewalk neatly lined with winter pansies in a well-mulched bed. She rang the bell and waited.

  Seconds later footsteps sounded behind the door and it opened in a quick rush. Standing on the other side of the screened door stood a tall woman with dark hair and striking brown eyes. Her face was wide, her jaw lantern. “Can I help you?”

  “Brenda?”

  She grinned. “Rachel Wainwright. What brings you here?” “I left a message earlier today for Kate Robertson Tilden.” Brenda nodded. “My mom mentioned a call. Did she get back to you?”

  “No.”

  “Sorry. Our pastor visited Momma this morning and she was real tired after he left.”

  Rachel resisted asking the impatient questions firing in her head and took time to build rapport. “KC is officially retired then?”

  “He is. He’s driving east to see his son. He should be back soon.”

  “Thanks again for your help at the hospital and for seeing me now.”

  “How’s the shoulder?”

  Rachel tightened her grip on her purse strap. “Sore but better.” The unexpected connection was a nice bonus. “Do you think your mother would be open to talking to me about Annie Rivers Dawson? I’m trying to talk to everyone who knew her.”

  “Momma is in the sunroom now. And she’s rested up. I don’t see why it would hurt to visit. She doesn’t get many visitors.” Brenda pushed open the screened door. As Rachel stepped inside, Brenda glanced past her and frowned. “Did you notice that car parked a half block behind yours?”

  Rachel followed her gaze to a dark sedan parked across the street. She recognized the driver instantly. Oscar McMillian.

  “You know that man?” Brenda asked.

  “I do. He’s a client. But he shouldn’t be here.” Tension rippled through her body.

  “Should I call the police?”

  The police translated into Deke. His words of warning about Oscar rambled in her head and she pictured him staring at her as if she were a child. Oscar was more of a problem than she’d realized, but to admit that to Deke . . . well, she’d rather eat dirt. “No. Thanks. I’ll deal with him later.”

  Brenda stared past Rachel to Oscar. “I don’t like the looks of him. He can’t be up to any good.”

  “If he bothers me I’ll call the cops.”

  Brenda glared at the man. “Trouble.”

  Tension slipped up her spine. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this to be about me.”

  Brenda’s s
mile warmed. Clearly conflict didn’t rattle her. “I’ve worked in the prison ministry for years. I’ve seen my fair share of scary men and I can handle myself. Don’t worry. Come on in then and you can have a talk with Momma.”

  Rachel followed Brenda through the house, walls cluttered with dozens of pictures of children, old folks, and wedding couples. Rachel imagined the entire family history had been mapped out on this wall. She thought about her own home and her lone family picture. It had been taken at her high school graduation. She’d been dressed in her white cap and gown. To her left stood her mother and to her right her brother. Her father had passed by then but it had been one of the happiest days she could remember. For mere moments there’d been no conflict, no arguments and life had been good and filled with promises of art school.

  Even then she’d realized happiness could be fragile, but then she’d still believed that destiny was in her control. If only she’d realized happy endings weren’t really possible.

  Brenda showed her into a brightly lit sunroom filled with green plants. Soft music played in the background. Sitting in the corner was a woman nestled in a wingback chair. Her body had been ravaged by disease and though she couldn’t have been more than sixty, she looked eighty.

  Eyes closed, the woman tilted her face back, savoring the heat of the sun on her face. When her mother had been ill, it had been the simplest pleasures she’d enjoyed most toward the end. The sun’s heat. A child’s laugh. A trip to the market. A kind word.

  Brenda moved toward the woman and with a loving hand touched her cheek. “Momma, you’ve a visitor.”

  The woman opened her eyes and looked at her daughter and then at Rachel. Blue eyes possessed a keen, alert edge that defied the illness decimating her body.

  “I saw you on television the other night.”

  Unable to begrudge this woman a laugh at her expense, Rachel smiled. “I made a real impression.”

  A grin softened the woman’s hollow lines. “You can take a hit, that’s for sure. Didn’t cry or bellyache. Got up and stood your ground. That’s good for something.”

  Rachel’s tension melted. “Thanks.”

  “I guess you know I’m Kate Tilden.”

  “Yes.”

  Brenda said, “Momma, Ms. Wainwright is here to talk to you about Annie Rivers Dawson.”

  She shifted in her chair and winced as if the slightest movement triggered pain. “I didn’t think she’d come to talk about the weather.”

  Rachel and Brenda’s gazes met and for a moment she saw in Brenda’s strained smile the apologetic look of a daughter not sure how to handle her dying mother’s candor. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  “Not at all. I’d enjoy the conversation. Sit.”

  Rachel perched on the edge of a cushioned chair.

  Kate looked at Brenda. “Would you get us some tea? Might be nice to make an occasion of a rare visitor.”

  Brenda hesitated, as if she didn’t want to leave her mother alone, and then smiled. “Sure, Momma. I’ve also made cookies.”

  Kate waved her veined thin hand. “That’s a good girl.”

  Rachel shifted on the chair wanting to sit back but feeling as if she didn’t have the right to be informal.

  “Go on, sit back and make yourself comfortable. I might be sick with the cancer but I don’t bite.”

  “I’m not afraid of the cancer. I lived with it daily when my mother was ill.”

  “She died.”

  “Three years ago.” Rachel understood the disease; it sapped energy fast and she didn’t want to give the impression she’d stay past her welcome. She settled back in her seat. “Let me know if you get tired or you need for me to leave.”

  “I’m always tired and I’m always alone. If you can manage a yawn or two then I’d like to have your company.”

  “Deal.”

  “So what do you want to know about Annie? I’m not surprised you found me. I don’t think there’re many people left that knew her personally.”

  “Your sister roomed with her.”

  “That’s right. I met Annie when I stopped by the apartment to drop off papers for Beth.”

  “What were your impressions of her?”

  “Bright, bubbly, ambitious. Could sing like an angel. She worked hard and wasn’t afraid to ask for what she wanted.”

  “She also sang at your church.”

  Watery eyes brightened with admiration. “You’ve done your homework.”

  “I try.”

  “Yes, Beth introduced Annie to our pastor. She sang “Amazing Grace” on Easter Sunday and there was not a dry eye in the house.”

  “She sang there often?”

  “Pretty regular for several months. That’s where she met her husband, Bill Dawson. You talked to him yet?”

  “He’s a hard man to catch. He won’t return my calls and I can’t get past his receptionist.”

  “He wasn’t the easiest man from what I remember. But he sure did love Annie.” She winked. “I hear he likes to run early in the morning about seven. Centennial Park.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I was church secretary for thirty years. I heard it all.”

  Rachel thought about Annie’s letters. If Bill had been her great love, why not mention him by name? She’d noticed Annie had been careful to include no identifying information on her lover. “Was she seeing anyone else?”

  “Like that Jeb Jones fellow, the one that murdered her?”

  “Him or anyone else.”

  “She flirted with every man she saw. Beth’s boyfriend had a real thing for her. Turned to mush every time she came in the room and it made Beth powerful mad. The ladies at church loved to listen to her sing but didn’t like it when she lingered after service at the socials and talked to the married men.”

  “I keep hearing that.” She hesitated. “Did she show an interest in any man?”

  “If she did, I didn’t notice.” Her gaze warmed with a memory from the past. Gently she touched the headscarf that covered her thinning hair. “I used to try and style my hair like hers. I wanted it to be long and blond. Once I went to the drugstore and bought a bottle of blond hair dye. My husband found it. He made me pray with him for hours.”

  Rachel’s heart reached out for the young girl.

  Kate curled thin, deeply veined fingers into fists. “That story makes my husband sound like a bad man. He wasn’t. He wanted the best for me, and the idea of me copying a barroom singer was terrifying. He saw the troubles behind Annie’s smile.”

  “What did he see?”

  Kate hesitated a moment. “I never like to speak ill of the dead. And I never spoke against Annie.”

  Rachel heard the hesitation in her voice. She didn’t have to say a word because Kate had the look of a woman ready to talk.

  “She was real sweet and nice when I first met her at the church. But over time, when I’d see her at the house she was moody and angry. She got into a heck of a fight with Beth one night. Beth was sure Annie was sleeping with her boyfriend.”

  “Was she?”

  “It wouldn’t have taken more than a wink to encourage him. He all but drooled over Annie.”

  “So no?”

  “I don’t know. Annie was messing around with someone.” A sigh lifted and released fragile shoulders. “Since I saw you on the TV I’ve done a lot of thinking. Not much else I can do these days. I don’t have a future, only a past. Behind Annie’s bright smile and sweet voice were lots of dark secrets.”

  “Her sister Margaret says that she was perfect.”

  “I remember Margaret. She was about sixteen when Annie died. And she adored her sister. But she was sixteen and Annie was one person for her baby sister and another when she went out at night.”

  “What about Jeb?”

  “Another admirer. Another man who fell under her spell.” A hint of bitterness coated the words and then a quick smile to soften it. “That sounded judgmental. I’m sorry.”

  “
How old was Brenda?”

  “Twelve years old. I was married to the assistant pastor of the church. When Ray died, Pastor Gary gave me a job in the church office and I’ve been there ever since.”

  Brenda gave off the vibe of an energetic woman. She couldn’t see this woman dating KC. “You have any idea who Annie might have been seeing?”

  Rattling teacups signaled the return of Brenda who carried in a large serving tray with a teapot, china cups, and a plate of cookies. She smiled as she set the tray in front of Rachel.

  “It’s nice to have the company,” Brenda said. “These days it’s me and Momma. We don’t get many visitors from the church these days.”

  Kate frowned. “That’s not true, Brenda. Pastor Gary was just here.”

  Brenda smiled at Rachel as she poured her tea. “We understand he’s a busy man and has a lot of duties with the new church expansion and all. He’s a good man.”

  “He was like a second father to Brenda after Ray died. We’d not have made it without him.”

  Rachel accepted the cup, declining the sugar and milk. “I hear it is one of the biggest churches in the region.”

  Kate sat a bit straighter, her pride clear. “He built it from near nothing to a real palace for the Lord.” She waved away a cup heavy with milk and sugar. “We were meeting in a community center when we first started that church. There must not have been more than one hundred people attending in those days. But he had a fire in his belly and God in his soul. It didn’t take long before the congregation outgrew the community center. We had our own building in two years. Not fancy like today but it was big and we were all proud to call it our church home.”

  Her love and respect for the man energized her. “Would he remember Annie?”

  Kate reached for a cookie and broke off a piece. “I’m sure that he would. He loved her singing and he was the one that married Bill and her. She was such a pretty bride.”

  “You were there?”

  “I played the organ.”

  “I understand many local churches helped search for her when she went missing.”