“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.”