by Vicki Vass
“What about your retainer?” CC asked.
“It’s been taken care of.” Simon looked over at Bradley who nodded.
Anne and CC left the attorney’s office and exited the front door of the office building. They stopped at the coffee shop across from the building for a mid-afternoon snack.
“We have to find Lily and tell her about John Lloyd, the producer,” CC said, pulling the producer’s card out of her wallet.
“CC, we have to prove your innocence,” Anne said.
“I don’t have to prove I’m innocent. They have to prove I’m guilty. And we both know I’m not guilty.”
“Who would try to make you look guilty?” Anne said, biting into her pecan pie with its chocolate syrup drizzle.
“It all leads back to the blue note, starting with Dave Southwell.” CC sat back in the booth. “Jenkins was a lighting engineer. Dave Southwell was killed by a spotlight. His roadie had a blue note tattoo like Jenkins, like Walters. The security guard at Dog Ear, Jeffrey, said that Colonel Anderson started Blue Note. I think the next step is we have to talk to the Colonel. First, let’s help Lily.”
Chapter Forty-two
It was lunchtime and the Listening Room was packed.Anne looked for a table while CC scanned the crowd for the manager. The hallway was filled with flyers advertising upcoming shows and calendar dates, including one for Lily Riddle. They must have really liked her audition. The flyer showed her booked for the next three days. “Excuse me,” CC yelled over the chatter. The young red-haired manager walked over. “I’m trying to find Lily Riddle. I’m a friend.”
“We haven’t seen her. She was supposed to play last night and was a no-show. Right now, I’m trying to find someone to fill in for her tonight in case she doesn’t show again,” she said.
“Do you have a phone number or address?” CC asked.
“I’ve tried her phone. There’s no answer.”
“Thanks,” CC said.
Anne waved CC over to a small table. She had ordered fried mac ‘n’ cheese bites. “Any luck finding Lily?” Anne asked.
CC sat down. “No, she didn’t show up last night, and they can’t reach her.”
Anne took a bite of the mac ‘n’ cheese. Her mouth burned from the hot, melting cheddar cheese. “Mmm, this is really good. Try some.” She pushed the plate toward CC.
CC shook her head.
“What about Brent? Do you want to try him to see if he could find her?” Anne asked.
CC took her iPhone out and dialed Brent. She covered the mouthpiece to be heard over the crowd. And, then hung up. “Brent hasn’t seen her.”
“I can’t believe she would miss this opportunity. She worked so hard to get this chance. She seemed really excited. She’s so good.”
“Something’s not right,” CC said.
“Where do we go from here?” Anne asked.
“Everything leads back to Colonel Anderson. We need to talk to him.”
“How do we find him?”
“We’ll ask Mr. Robertson. He knows the Colonel,” CC said, reaching for her phone.
Chapter Forty-three
The crushed stone driveway crackled underneath the VW tires. The rain had started again. It was pitch black in the rural backwoods, thirty miles outside of Nashville. A sign by the Cumberland Bridge read “Caution during heavy rains.” They crossed over it carefully. The river was rising. They arrived at the log cabin. They could see the glow of the fire.
Mr. Robertson had told them that the Colonel rarely left his hunting cabin. The lightning flashed, illuminating the driveway. CC pulled the VW over. They got out of the car and ran quickly to the covered porch. The cabin looked like something out of every scary movie they had ever seen.
CC turned the door handle slowly as they slipped inside. The entryway was knotty pine paneling. With flashes of lightning bursting through the windows, they could see the animal heads hanging on the wall, their mouths exposed, baring ferocious teeth. It was a frightening sight. Anne stayed close to CC’s back. “What are we doing?” she whispered.
CC didn’t answer. She followed the orange, red glow of the only light in the cabin. From the glow of the fire, she could see the back of the Colonel’s head as he faced the warmth, a red plaid blanket on his lap. His long white hair flowed over the back of the tall leather wingback chair. She could see his one hand resting on the side table, holding a glass with a drink. Waterford, Anne thought. As he lifted the glass, his hand shook.
Some of Anne’s anxiety subsided as she trod softly closer to the chair. “I know you’re there. Come sit by the fire. It’s a nasty night,” the Colonel said.
Anne and CC walked up and sat side by side on the couch facing the Colonel and across from the fireplace. He was wearing thick glasses, his long white beard had not been trimmed in a long time. His face was ashy gray, the skin was paper thin and creviced.
This was not a man long for this world, CC thought.
“You’re here about Blue Note, aren’t you?”
“Yes, we are,” CC said.
“I loved Blue Note like a son.”
“What happened to him?”
The Colonel tried to raise his glass again and they could see the wrinkled blue note tattoo on his wrist. His hand shook. Anne got up, held his hand and helped him take a sip. She sat back down. “I never meant for any of this to happen,” the Colonel said.
“What happened?” CC asked.
“We were drinking. We all were drinking. It was an accident.”
“What was an accident?”
“The bridge. The bridge was an accident.”
“What happened at the bridge?”
“They killed my grandfather,” said a voice from behind the couch, startling both Anne and CC. Lily walked out of the darkness into the light of the fire. “Walters, the Colonel, Jenkins––they were all there. That night. They killed my grandfather. He wanted to be on stage. He wanted to sing his songs. Instead, they stole his songs.”
“She’s right. Clarence wrote all the hits. Everybody made money. Everybody shared the wealth. Clarence just cared about the music,” the Colonel said. “You have to understand, all the songs he wrote were worth millions of dollars and we were a young company signing all these artists. Gold records, top of the charts, we had it all. It was all because of Clarence.”
“Is that why you named the studio after him?” CC asked.
“After he died, we named it Blue Note to honor him,” the Colonel said.
“Is that why you all got the blue note tattoo?”
The colonel was quiet. Lily laughed. “It wasn’t to honor my grandfather. It was an oath, a pledge. Everyone that was there that night killed my grandfather,” she said.
“She’s right. We didn’t try to stop him,” the colonel said. “He was drunk and we kept feeding him drinks. He fell off the Cumberland Bridge and we didn’t try to save him. The tattoo.” A shaky finger pointed to his wrist and the tattoo. “Everyone that was there that night was guilty. If anyone told what happened, we would all be ruined. No one can give up the other. We all wear the truth on our skin.”
“Lily, how’d you find out?” CC asked.
“I called my grandfather after you told me about Clarence. He told me that when he returned from Vietnam looking for his brother, that the Colonel was the only one who helped him. That the Colonel gave him money to start a new life in California. If I ever needed help, I could go to the Colonel.”
“Why now?”
Lily sat on the edge of the couch. “After I played the Listening Room, I headed to my apartment. It was late. I’d had a couple drinks. When I went to put the key in my door, someone grabbed me from behind and pulled me down the stairs. I tried to scream. He had his arm around my throat. I couldn’t breath. He dragged me along the sidewalk, my boots scraping along the cement. I pulled my boot knife out and stuck him in the leg. He let go of me and I ran. I never went back.”
From under his blanket, the Colonel pulled out a gun. CC recognize
d it as her nine-millimeter Luger. His hand shook. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” He put the gun down on the side table. “Clarence was a good man. Dave was a good man,” the Colonel said.
“Dave Southwell?” CC asked.
“Dave found out that his songs––the ones we gave him––were all stolen from Clarence. Dave didn’t want any part of that. We couldn’t have him talk. We couldn’t take the chance.” The Colonel pointed to his blue note tattoo. “We had to keep the secret. We’re a family.” He reached into his pocket. With a shaky hand, he pulled the cassette tape out from under the blanket. He looked at it, the tape fell out of his hand. “I didn’t want this to happen,” he repeated, lifting up his glass of Scotch. The glass dropped and broke. It shattered into pieces on the floor. He gasped for air and coughed. Then, he slumped over. Anne shook him and grabbed his wrist. She put her fingers up to his neck. She looked at CC and shook her head confirming that the Colonel was gone.
Chapter Forty-four
The next morning, Anne and CC sat in the control room at Dog Ear Records listening to Lily sing her grandfather’s song. She had written the lyrics for the song she now called, “Cumberland Bridge.” The melody and the words were haunting. Brent was playing electric guitar behind her. Anne leaned in toward CC. “You know, he looks like a young Brad Pitt; you know, like in Thelma and Louise.”
“Quiet, just quiet.” CC said.
“If he’s a young Brad Pitt, that would make you Thelma,” she giggled.
Lily finished the song and came out to the control room.
“You sounded great, Lily,” CC said. “I spoke to my attorney. His firm is going to represent you. Your grandfather got cheated out of a lot of money. The royalties for all his hit songs should go to you.”
“Thank you so much,” Lily said.
Brent followed Anne and CC outside to where the VW bus was waiting. Anne got in the car. CC leaned her back against the bus. Brent pulled in close to her and took her in his arms. “I guess you’re heading back to Chicago,” he said.
CC nodded.
Brent kissed her. CC kissed him back. She jumped in the VW. Anne mumbled, “Thelma.”
“What? What did you say?” CC asked.
“Nothing.”
Anne and CC left the studio and headed back to the Hermitage. Anne headed up to the room to finish packing. CC wandered around the hotel. She stopped in the fitness room. She realized she had not worked out once since leaving Chicago. It was a nice room with four treadmills, free weights, and a universal weight machine. On a bench press in the corner, she saw Bradley wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that read Army. During her whole stay at the Hermitage, she had never seen Bradley in anything other than his uniform. She counted the weights on the barbell over his head and was amazed to see him bench pressing three hundred pounds.
The hotel manager walked by, stopping to speak to CC. “Ms. Muller, I have your bill ready for you at the front desk.”
CC followed him to the front desk. She took a look around, did a 360 to soak in the elegant lobby one last time. She had not appreciated it as much as Anne had but she was sorry now that they had to leave. Until she looked at the bill.
At her surprised look, the manager said, “We did give you the media rate.”
“Oh, no; I’m sure it’s right, and we’ve had a wonderful stay here,” CC said. “I can’t say enough wonderful things about Bradley. He’s really amazing.”
“We’re very lucky to have Bradley. He’s been with us for forty years,” the manager said. “He joined us after he left the army. He started as a bellboy.”
“I saw him bench pressing 300 pounds. He’s got to be what about 70?”
The manager nudged her closer. CC stretched over the marble counter. “Bradley was a Green Beret. Part of the fifth Special Forces. The most decorated Special Forces group in U.S. history. He never speaks of it, but my father worked here when Bradley started. They were bellboys together. Bradley’s team was responsible for recon missions in Cambodia. Bradley received the medal of honor.”
CC pulled back, nodded and stood upright. “It all makes sense now.”
Anne walked up behind her, followed by several bellboys pushing rolling luggage racks. “Where’s Bradley? No one’s seen Bradley. I have to say goodbye,” Anne said.
CC settled the bill. The bellboys loaded up the VW bus. Anne waited on the steps, staring up at the beautiful exterior. It was painful to say goodbye. The door swung open and Bradley appeared in his uniform, holding a basket. “Miss Hillstrom, one last lunch. I’ve packed you something special for the ride home,” he said.
“Oh, Bradley,” Anne said with a quivering voice. Her eyes started watering. “Bradley, I wish we could stay forever.” He held the car door open for her. “I’m going to miss you.” She paused and gave him a hug.
Bradley tapped her lightly on the back, looking embarrassed.
“Oh, Bradley.” Anne hugged him again. “I really don’t want to leave.”
CC rolled her eyes.
Chapter Forty-five
Anne adjusted her pink-flowered Adrianna Papell silk suit bought at a bargain price on eBay as she followed CC off the elevator into the Signature Room on the 95th floor in Chicago’s John Hancock Building. Betsy had reserved the entire restaurant for her engagement party, and Anne wanted to do the setting justice. She looked marvelous if she thought so herself. She paused to admire her reflection in the mirror across from the elevator.
CC stood next to her adjusting her perfect little black dress. Combined with her pearls, it made a perfect statement.
They walked into the entryway of the restaurant and lounge. The floor to ceiling windows showcased the Chicago skyline and lakefront. The lights from the buildings glowed an incandescent yellow. From this height, the buildings looked like a city made of Legos. Anne pressed her nose against the window. The headlights of the cars driving up and down Michigan Avenue appeared to be one continuous line of light. Anne thought about the stores along the Magnificent Mile. At this time, they would be closed. That was okay; they had spent the day shopping and the car was overflowing with her purchases.
Anne thought, God Forbid, there was an earthquake! All the beautiful people of Chicago are in one room tonight. How would the city survive? She laughed to herself.
Wearing a stunning silver sequined Aidan Mattox long gown with a train, Betsy swirled up to them. Neiman Marcus, Anne thought, way beyond her price range. Definitely this season, if not next. Betsy had spared no expense for this party. “Anne! CC!” Betsy hugged them both at the same time, holding her champagne glass way out. “So glad you could make it!” She brushed her cheek against Anne and then CC at a safe distance from possibly smearing her lipstick. First name basis, we must have done good, Anne thought.
“The coach house is magnificent. I love every piece that you found and Steven loves it, too. He wants to thank you himself. He’s running late,” Betsy said, glancing around the room.
The party continued with music, champagne and appetizers. CC mingled with a group from the Art Institute, giving a lecture on French Impressionism to the curator responsible for the Monet exhibit on loan from the Louvre. She accented her points in her schoolgirl French. The Paris-born curator smiled politely, not wanting to correct her.
Anne perused the buffet. She had given herself one last night off from her diets. She piled a plate high with the remaining crab legs. It was getting late, and the party was slowing down. Anne looked out the window at the stars over the city. It was beautiful. Michigan Avenue was deserted. It looked peaceful from 95 stories up. Anne thought about Bradley and the Hermitage.
“The Art Institute curator invited me to the exclusive premier,” CC said, walking up behind Anne.
Betsy came up to them. “I’m glad you’re still here. Steven just showed up. His flight was delayed.” She called, “Steven!” and waved him over to them.
“Ladies, good to see you.” He walked up to them and put his arm around Betsy’s waist.
“Congratulations,” CC said.
“Thanks for inviting us,” Anne said, grabbing a shrimp puff from the waiter as he walked by. As he tried to continue his walk, she pulled him back and grabbed the last one.
Steven walked away to say goodbye to the last guests. It was after 3 a.m., and the staff was getting anxious to leave too. “I’m glad he made it back in time,” Betsy said. “With the funeral arrangements.”
“What funeral arrangements?” CC asked.
“Steven’s grandfather passed away.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” CC said.
“I never met him. I know he was very old and in poor health so it wasn’t a shock. He gave Steven his start in the business.” Betsy’s voice dropped to a theatrical whisper. “Steven doesn’t talk much about it. He wants people to think he’s self-made, but his grandfather mentored him. He also funded his first business. He owes everything to the Colonel.”
“The Colonel?” Anne and CC asked in unison.
“Steven’s grandfather was Colonel Anderson. He was Steven’s maternal grandfather,” Betsy continued. “After Steven’s father died, he went to live with the Colonel. The Colonel raised him. They even have matching tattoos.”
“Tattoo?” CC asked.
“What about my grandfather?” Steven said, walking up behind them.
“I was telling them about your grandfather.” Betsy put a manicured hand on Steven’s sleeve.
Steven stared quietly at Anne and CC. “The ladies met my grandfather when they were in Nashville.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Betsy said. “Oh, the manager is waving to me. Excuse me.” She sashayed off.
CC grabbed Anne’s arm. “We have to go.”
“I just got here. You can’t leave now. We have to catch up,” Steven said.
“We’re not feeling well,” Anne replied.