No hint of welcome or asking in his voice. An order. “Why?”
“You’ll be glad.” He motioned for another bartender to cover his spot and then gestured for her to follow. When he vanished behind a swinging door without looking back she glanced around hoping someone had seen their exchange. Finding no one, she shoved out a breath, took a swig of her beer, and followed. Behind the door stretched a hallway leading to a light streaming from a single door. The music from the bar faded as she walked down the hallway. She was wondering if she’d lost her mind. Rubbing damp palms on her jeans, she peered inside the door and found a cubbyhole-sized office.
Rudy hovered over a small desk buried in papers. Boxes of liquor stacked high against a wall covered in dozens of black-and-white photos of singers over the decades. The windowless room smelled of cigarettes and age.
From the desk drawer Rudy pulled out an unwieldy VHS videotape. “I was watching it this morning.”
In here, he looked larger, more imposing. “I haven’t seen one of those in years.”
He turned the tape over in his hand as if realizing it was a relic. “My video machine is upstairs so I can’t show it to you.”
“It’s a tape of Annie?”
“A recording of her last performance here.” Annie was scrawled in dark black ink along the white-labeled spine. There was no date.
She accepted the bulky cassette. “When was this taped?”
“I never was good at dating items. But I’d say about eight months before she died.”
Annie’s letters came to mind. February 5, I’m not feeling so well. “I have a friend that can convert it if you’ll let me borrow it.”
His gaze lingered on the tape. “Sure. Take it.”
The cartridge rested heavy in her hand. “Why are you doing this?”
“Why?” He shrugged. “Maybe I’ve questions about who killed Annie. Not all the pieces added up for me. And I don’t like it when facts don’t add up.”
A musty scent clung to the tape. “You dug this out because you saw me on the television?”
As if she’d not spoken, he nodded toward the door. “In part for you. In part for Dixie. I liked her.”
“What do the two women have in common?”
“Talent. Beauty. A bad death. And maybe nothing.”
“Could the same person have killed both women?”
“Not likely, I suppose.” He shifted and nodded toward the door. “I’ve got to get back.”
“Sure.” She tucked the tape into her satchel. “I’ll bring it back.”
He waved away her offer. “Keep it. I don’t need it back.”
“Are you sure?”
Sadness lingered around him. “No amount of watching a tape is gonna bring her back. She’s dead and gone.”
“You miss her?”
He was silent for a moment. “Yeah. I miss her.”
Tenderness crept into his voice. Rudy, like so many men, had fallen under Annie’s spell. “Ever hear of a guy named Sugar?”
“Who?”
“Sugar. A friend of Annie’s.”
His face registered blank. “No. How’d you come up with that name?”
“Research.”
“What kind of research?”
“This and that.”
He frowned but sensed he’d not get any more from her. “No. Ain’t heard of Sugar.”
She patted her purse. “Okay. Thanks for the tape.” Without another word, he brushed past her knocking her sore shoulder. She cringed, hesitated as the pain rolled over her. She drew in a deep breath. Anxious to watch the tape, she sent a text to Colleen telling her she was leaving and headed out the front door to catch a cab.
“Looking for a ride?” Oscar McMillian stood feet away jangling his keys.
“No, thanks.”
The keys clinked as he tossed them up and caught them. “So this formal relationship we have means that I can’t give you a ride?”
“I’m afraid it does.” She gripped the handle of her satchel tighter.
He offered a smile designed to charm and influence. “I’m not a bad guy, Ms. Wainwright. I’m offering a ride.”
“Thanks. But, no. I’ll call you as soon as I have details of your case.”
“You’re being sensitive. Fussy. Like an old lady.”
Rachel glanced toward a yellow cab parked across the street, raised her hand and held it up. “Why are you pushing this?”
The slow shake of his head added to his amused look. “I’m not. You are a prude.”
“Don’t pretend to know me, Mr. McMillian.”
The smile faded. “You ashamed to be seen with me?”
The shift in his tone had her wishing they weren’t alone. “Good night, Mr. McMillian.”
McMillian advanced a step and then stopped.
Deke Morgan stepped out of the shadows. “There a problem?”
The cab stopped short of her by a block, nabbed by a pretty girl with auburn hair and a short skirt. Rachel cursed. “No. I was catching a cab.”
McMillian eyed Morgan. “I offered her a ride.”
“Which I’ve refused,” Rachel added quickly. “I’m fine as soon as I can get a cab.”
Deke whistled to a cab on the other corner, held up his badge and motioned him forward. The cab did a U-turn and in seconds was parked in front of her. “There you go.”
McMillian grinned and saluted. “Problem solved. See you in court, Ms. Wainwright.” He grinned at Deke. “Detective.”
Deke remained silent as McMillian strolled around a corner. “That guy is trouble.”
Whispered warnings agreed. “He’s a client. We shouldn’t be talking about him.”
“Don’t be fooled by his smile.”
Oddly shaken, she hid behind legal reasoning. “It takes more than a fake smile to convict a man of murder.”
“There’s plenty of evidence. And when you dig through his files you’ll see.”
“I will dig through the files and then find a way to discount it all. That’s my job.”
His smile was feral. “I’ve no doubt. Lawyers have a talent for twisting facts. You have a knack for it.”
Anger jabbed. The cab driver honked his horn. She opened the door. “Nice shot, Detective. We’ll see who manipulated the facts.”
When she reached for the door handle, he brushed her hand aside and took hold of the door. He hesitated, his body inches from hers. “Why did you go in the back room with Rudy?”
The question threw her off balance. She didn’t think anyone had noticed. “You were watching me?”
“Happened to glance over.”
He didn’t happen to do anything. “I didn’t realize I was accountable to you.”
He worked his jaw. “So you won’t answer me?”
“Nope.”
“Do you lie or hold back the truth with everyone?”
Bitter laughter rumbled in her chest. “The truth does not set you free, Detective. I learned that lesson the hard way.”
He leaned toward her. “We all have to trust someone.”
She remained steady, resisting the urge to plaster her back to the cab. “Do we? I’m not so sure.”
He pressed his finger against the hollow of her throat. “You are on a lonely path.”
Her heart rattled. “Is that experience talking? That the reason for the two divorces?”