“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.
Kirk Jones reached for the rag tucked in his back pocket and slowly wiped his hands clean as he studied her. “You know my father?”
“That’s right.”
“You don’t look like my father’s type. From what I heard he liked the blondes.”
“I’m his attorney.”
He studied her a beat. “The one decked on the news?”
“I think everyone in Nashville saw that clip.”
“Attention is what you wanted, right?”
She worked her jaw, still stiff after three days. “Your father is hoping the DNA tests will clear his name.”
“He’s been selling the same story for as long as I can remember.”
“He’s been writing you. Have you read any of his letters?”
“Sure, I read them. But my dad was always good at telling stories. There were times when I think he really believed them. He’s been telling the innocent story for so long, he believes it.”
“You don’t believe him?”
“I did when I was nine. I wanted to believe it was a mistake. I also wanted to believe that he’d sober up and treat my mom right. But he never did either.”
“You know he’s sick.”
“That’s what he said in his last letter.”
“He wants to see you.”
Kirk shoved out a breath as he dropped his gaze to the grime under his fingernails. “I don’t want to see him.”
“I know your life wasn’t easy after he left.”
“You make it sound like he went on a business trip.” Resentment dripped from the words.
“He feels terrible.”
“Well, then that’s all that matters. Look, if you want to chase a pipe dream and try to prove his innocence, have at it. But don’t pull me into your world. I don’t want none of it.”
“I’m not here to mend fences or to fix your relationship with your father. I’m getting background information on Jeb and Annie.”
Kirk shook his head. “Dad liked Annie. He said it often enough. And it upset my mother. They argued about it all the time toward the end.”
“Do you remember any details that might help me figure out what happened?”
“My dad wanted Annie for himself and when she wouldn’t run off with him he killed her.”
“He told you that?”
“My mother told me that. And she still believes that.”
“Where is your mother?”
“Old folks home. Her mind is all but gone. On a good day she remembers my name but there aren’t many good days anymore.”
“She was at the trial. She supported your father. And when the police first spoke to her she gave him an alibi.”
“My mother loved my father and she’d have sacrificed her life for him no matter what he did to her. It took years before she realized he was no good.”
“Did she ever speak about Annie?”
“The mention of Annie made her cry.” He planted his hands on his hips and hesitated before saying, “I went to see Annie once. I took two buses so that I could get to the bar where she sang. I snuck in the back and hid long enough to see her on stage and to hear her sing. She was good. Great. She had all the looks and talent that my mother didn’t.”
“If your father loved her why would he kill her?”
“He hated the idea that she’d married. Hated it. I know he was biding time until the baby was born.”
“What was he looking for?”
“He wanted her to run away with him.” The man shook his head, a bitter smile twisting the edge of his lips. “He wasn’t smart enough to realize that women like her didn’t settle for men like him. And when he did figure it out, he killed her.”
“He has a right to the DNA test.”
“Sure, test all you want. But he’ll disappoint you in the long run like he disappointed everyone in his life.”
She half hoped to hear more words of encouragement from her brother. Tell me I’m right. Remind me why I fight. But he remained mutinously silent. In this, she was alone.
She dug an envelope from her purse. “He asked me to give this to you.”
He eyed the envelope in her outstretched hand. “What is it?”
“A letter from your father. He wanted you to read it.”
Kirk hesitated, took the envelope and shoved it in his back pocket. “That it?”
“You aren’t going to read it?”