by Bill Noel
Barb paused, glanced at the ocean, and turned to me. “Not necessarily that it had anything to do with Edwina or the murder. I hate to say this since I know you’re close, but Edwina’s not the only wannabe from here who’s in Nashville.”
“I know. Heather had the same motives as Edwina.”
“Motive, no alibi, and it was her gun. Do you even know if Edwina was in Tennessee when Starr was killed?”
“Good question.”
Our food arrived and we ate in silence as I thought about the facts Barb had so lawyerly pointed out. She, of course, was right, yet I still couldn’t picture Heather killing anyone. Sure, she had changed since moving to Nashville. Had it been enough to lead her to murder? Were my views clouded, as Barb had said, by me knowing Heather and her relationship with Charles? Could be. The police had a circumstantial case, a strong one, but circumstantial none the less.
Barb broke the silence. “I don’t know Heather, and little about Charles, other than he has read most every book written since Gutenberg. I couldn’t speculate on what may have happened, but if I were the cops, I’d feel pretty good about my case.”
“She—”
Barb waved her fork in front of my face. “If I was her attorney, I would keep pounding the jury with the fact the police have no proof. I would parade all the other singers who felt ripped off in front of the jury, and I would call his wife to the stand and keep hitting her about how angry she must have been about him lying to her about where he had been, and imply it happened all the time, not only when he was in South Carolina. I would plant in the jury’s head that the wife could’ve killed him, any of the many aspiring singers could have pulled the trigger, the people with the recording studio had a reason to kill him, and he was a stealing liar with people lined up around the block to have a figurative and literal shot at him.”
“Would it get her off?”
She shook her head. “Fifty, fifty. The gun’s the problem.”
“I know.”
Barb looked at her fingertips. “Were Heather’s prints on the gun when the police found it?”
“No.”
“That’s something else a good defense attorney would pounce on. If she was going to get rid of the gun, it would make sense to wipe it clean. Why would she do that if she was leaving it in her car?”
“The car’s lock was broken so anyone could have taken it.”
“Yes. Who knew she had it, where it was, and that the lock was broken?”
“I don’t know.”
She grinned. “You’re going to find out, aren’t you?”
I sat up straight and nearly strangled my fork. “My best friend’s girlfriend is sitting in jail in Nashville. My good friend Cal is downtown in the hospital. Charles is devastated. And the police are convinced the case is solved. You bet I am.”
She set her fork on her empty plate and stared at me. “How?”
Our server returned and asked if we wanted dessert before I could tell Barb I was clueless about how. We said no, and I asked Barb if she wanted to get another drink at the outside bar. She said no, smiled, and said we could have one on her patio.
It was comfortable with a steady breeze coming off the ocean. Barb poured each of us a glass of white wine and said for me to go on the patio while she changed into cooler clothes. Ten minutes later, she’d substituted white shorts for her slacks, and had put on a red T-shirt. I noticed red polish on her toes. Red was beginning to grow on me.
Barb lowered herself in the chair and looked at the Folly Pier. “It’s a beautiful sight.”
I nodded.
Evenly-spaced lights illuminated the pier and I could see the silhouettes of people strolling to the end and back of the thousand-foot-long structure. The sound of waves slapping the shore provided a soothing background melody, broken occasionally by the engine of a vehicle on the street behind us.
“What’s next? How are you going to do what the police can’t?”
I told her Charles and I were going to hear Edwina perform tomorrow night. She asked what we planned to learn, and I told her I didn’t know. I was going to play it by ear, and hoped Edwina would say something that would help.
“Sounds like a feeble plan.”
“I agree.”
“Want me to go?”
I was surprised. “Thanks. It may be best if just Charles and I were there. I don’t want her to think we were ganging up on her.”
She looked out at the waves illuminated by lights from the pier breaking on shore and turned to me. “Here’s a thought. It would appear more natural if you had a woman with you. Tell her I was your date. That might put her at ease.”
It made sense. “You’ve got a date.”
She smiled. “Have you asked Chief LaMond to check into Edwina? You and Cindy are good friends and she has access to more databases than you have. Edwina might have a record, and all the information you can gather the better.”
I said I’d call Cindy tomorrow and tonight was a good time to simply enjoy the view and the company. After enjoying both for another half-hour, I took Barb’s yawns as a hint, thanked her for a nice evening, and said I’d better be going.
She grinned. “If you must.”
I didn’t know about must. I told her it was late and she needed her sleep. She said something about a rain check, walked me to the door, gave me a hug, followed by a lingering kiss.
26
I caught the chief on her way to the office.
“You want me to do what?” Cindy shouted. “I just spent an un-fun filled breakfast with Councilmember Houston listening to him bitch and moan about what he called ‘middle-of-the-freakin’-night hoodlums’ disturbing the sleep of his dear sister who happens to live fifty yards from one of our fine imbibing establishments and thinks retired librarians should be patrolling the streets in front of her house to shhh everyone walking home.”
“Life of a police chief. Ain’t it grand?”
Cindy ignored me and continued to rant. “I suggested to our illustrious member of the city council I could post some of my officers in his sister’s front yard so they could shoot everyone who passed by who made noises louder than a giraffe. I was teasing, by the way.”
“Of course.”
“And you know what the knucklehead said?”
“Tell me.”
“He said the gunshots would make too much noise for his stupid to buy a house by a bar sister.”
I stifled a laugh, and chuckled. “Wow, Chief, my simple request for you to run Edwina Robinson through your databases will be a snap compared to Houston’s sister’s horrific situation.”
Cindy exhaled. “Chris, if you weren’t such an endearing creature, and not such a good friend of my hubby, and I suppose a friend of mine, I’d have one of my guys save one of his bullets after shooting the noisemakers, and put it in your troublemaking brain.”
“So, when will you get back to me with the information?”
“And I thought Charles was the biggest pest I knew. If I don’t have to deal with any real police business when I get to the office, I’ll let my fingers do the walking on my keyboard. I’ll call you.”
“You’re an angel.”
“Tell that to Councilmember Houston.”
I hadn’t heard from Cindy when I picked up Barb at her condo and Charles at his apartment. Barb, to no surprise, had on a short-sleeve red blouse, but had switched from white linen slacks to tan chinos. Charles, also no surprise, had on a long-sleeve black T-shirt with Belmont Bruins in red on the front. Charles said since Belmont University was in Nashville it would get Edwina talking about her visits to Music City.
He leaned back in the back seat and confidently said, “It’ll make Edwina cough up a big-ass clue.”
Barb glanced at me from the passenger seat and raised her eyebrows.
“Yes,” I said. “He’s always like this.”
She whispered, “Wow.”
Charles said, “What?”
And I thought regardless how strang
e, and desperate the situation was, I truly missed him being here and, well, being Charles.
Rubino’s was a block off King Street near the College of Charleston. The Italian restaurant with its nondescript front, was known by the college community as well as young professionals in search of reasonably-priced pizzas and eclectic music. Because of its popularity and small size, we were told we’d have a thirty-minute wait. That was fine since the postage-stamp sized, raised stage was occupied by an empty bar-stool. Edwina hadn’t arrived.
There was one vacant stool at the bar and Charles nudged a boisterous twenty-something year old man wearing a College of Charleston T-shirt aside and motioned for Barb to be seated. A harried bartender, with sweat running down his cheeks, was quick to Barb who ordered Chianti and pointed to me. I asked for a glass of pinot grigio, and Charles bypassed the Italian drink options, and said birra.
The server looked at Charles like he was a termite. “Huh?”
“Beer, birra.”
The server rolled his eyes. I didn’t blame him, though I was impressed with Charles’s Italian.
We were halfway through our drinks when Edwina pushed the door open with her shoulder and lugged a black box the size of a carry-on suitcase around the crowded tables to the stage. She was dressed in black. If she had worn a straw hat and yellow blouse, she would pass for a younger version of Heather. She set the box on the stage and headed back outside.
A few minutes later, she returned carrying a guitar case with Edwina written in script on the side and a three-foot long narrow container, and a portable mic stand. A male student standing near the door took two of the cases out of her hand and helped get them to the stage. She rewarded him with a grin and started assembling the contents of the cases.
Ten minutes later, the portable Bose sound system was operational, Edwina was tuning her Martin guitar, and my phone rang. The screen said Cindy. I answered and asked her to hold a second while I walked outside where I could hear without having to strain my ears over the loud din inside the restaurant.
“Where are you, at a circus?”
I gave her a brief explanation of where we were and asked what she’d found on Edwina.
“Your gal must have some bucks. She lives in a ritzy condo overlooking the Market, not far from where you are now. She ain’t a serial killer or terrorist, but she ain’t Mother Teresa’s good twin. Three years ago, she took a knife to a food fight, and not to butter the croissants or whatever you do to those flaky things. She was living with a guy who owned a hole-in-the-wall hamburger joint and learned he was Frenching more than fries with one of his cook-chicks. Sweet, two-timed Edwina took a hankering to slice-and-dice the cook-chick. Thirty-five stitches and a successful workers-comp claim later, the cook-chick was in court pointing her bandaged finger at Edwina, who was assigned to the local jail for a day short of a year. The prosecutor tried to get more temper-tantrum crimes admitted as evidence but the wise old judge said they were too far in the past to reflect on current events, or some such judgy proclamation.”
“That it?”
“Isn’t that enough? Oh yeah, there’s one more thing you might find interesting.”
The restaurant’s door opened and three coeds came out, all talking at the same time, two of them on phones and the third either talking to herself or to someone through an earpiece. Edwina’s powerful voice singing a Martina McBride hit echoed onto the sidewalk, and I couldn’t hear Cindy.
“Say it again. It’s loud here.”
“Your old ears are giving out. Okay, remember the day you said the cops first interviewed Heather?”
“Hard to forget.”
“Miss Edwina Robinson was pulled over on I-40 near Crossville by the serve-and-protect Tennessee State Police. Seems she was tooling along just shy of the speed of sound.”
“Heading toward or from Nashville?”
“Excellent question. Miss Edwina had her Mercedes SLK 350 pointed toward London, England, with an intermediary stop in South Carolina.”
“She could have been in Nashville when Starr was killed.”
“Yeah, but she could’ve been coming from anywhere west of where she was stopped.”
“I’d put my money on Nashville.”
“Me too. I don’t have anything to prove it.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” said Cindy. “She charmed the cop into giving her a ticket rather than giving her a lift to the pokey. Listen, Chris, and I know this is going to fall on deaf ears, leave it alone. If Edwina had anything to do with Starr’s death, she’s trouble. And she knows her way around a gun and a knife. I’ll do more digging. Remember: Me, cop. You, retired geezer.”
I thanked her for the information and for reminding me of my status in the universe. What I didn’t say was that I’d leave it alone.
I rejoined Charles and Barb who had been seated at a table in the middle of the room. Edwina was sitting on the tall bar stool on the stage, playing guitar and singing “Tennessee Waltz.”
Barb said “Welcome back,” and Charles grabbed my arm and said, “What’d she say?” He nodded toward the stage, “Did she kill Starr?”
Edwina picked up the tempo and dove into Jeannie C. Riley’s “Harper Valley PTA.” I pulled Barb and Charles closer and shared what Cindy had learned.
“See,” Charles said. “She did it.”
Barb leaned even closer. “Allow me to put on my attorney’s hat. I didn’t hear anything that would convince a jury to convict her. Sorry, Charles.”
“Her quick temper,” Charles said. “Willing to poke a knife in someone. Coming from Nashville. Represented by Starr. And…and, Heather didn’t do it, damn it.”
I sympathized with him, but agreed with Barb. I was also pleased Charles was more optimistic about Heather’s innocence.
Edwina had finished Mary Chapin Carpenter’s “Passionate Kisses,” and was telling the few people in the room who were listening she was taking a break. We, for reasons Edwina would not approve of, were among those who were paying attention.
Charles said, “Let’s grab her.”
Barb put her hand on Charles’s shoulder and watched Edwina put her guitar in its case. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll see if I can get her over. It’ll look more spontaneous.”
Charles started to protest, sighed, and nodded at Barb. His approach would have been to go to the stage and drag her to the table, while slathering words of praise along the way.
Barb met Edwina by the stage. She shook her hand and leaned close and said something. Barb pointed to our table and said something else to Edwina, who looked at us and gave a weak smile.
Barb retuned and Edwina headed to the restroom.
“What’d you say?” Charles asked. “Where’s she going? Is she skipping out on us?”
Barb looked at Charles and at the restroom. “Unless she’s going to climb out the bathroom window, she’ll be here. I told her my date remembered her from Cal’s and was too shy to ask her over. I asked if we could buy her a beer. She looked over here and said she sort of remembered Chris, and asked who the straggly, street person was.”
“The what?” Charles said.
Barb grinned. “Kidding.”
My admiration for Barb soared.
“Hmm,” Charles said. “So, she’s coming over?”
Barb nodded, although she didn’t have to since Edwina was standing behind her and pointing at the empty chair. Barb told her to have a seat.
She did and pointed at Charles. “I remember you now. You’re Cal’s bartender.”
“I was only filling—”
Edwina interrupted and nodded to me.
I said, “You talked to me outside Cal’s, and when I called yesterday.”
“That’s us,” Charles said. “We really enjoyed your singing and wanted to hear you again.”
Edwina squinted and said with little enthusiasm, “It’s kind of you.”
Our act was clearly not being bought when Barb said, “Chris has been telling
me how good you are and he may have seen you in Nashville at the Bluebird. I hear it’s the place to be. Congratulations.”
She smiled. “Thanks. I love playing there. We get over every opportunity.”
Edwina’s ego was greater than her skepticism, and confirmed she had played there. It was a fact she danced around when I’d asked her the same question at Cal’s.
“My fiancé plays there on open-mic night,” Charles said. “You probably know her. Name’s Heather Lee.”
Edwina looked toward the stage, and the server returned with her beer. I thought she was going to jump up and run. She surprised me when she said, “Yeah, I like her. Terrible that they arrested her, terrible. I knew her from the Bluebird, and we had coffee a couple of times at a place downtown near her apartment.”
I wondered if she remembered telling me outside Cal’s she wasn’t sure if she knew Heather and she might recognize her if she saw her. Not only does she know her, but knows Heather is accused of killing Starr, and she and Heather had coffee together.
“Did you know—what’s his name, Chris? The guy who was killed?” Barb asked.
“Kevin Starr.”
“That’s it,” Barb said. “Did you know him?”
“He was my agent and a nice guy. Such a tragedy.”
The server returned to the table carrying a large pizza Charles and Barb had ordered while I was talking to Cindy.
Edwina said, “Smells good.”
Barb slid the pizza toward Edwina. “Have a slice.”
“How long had he been your agent?” Charles asked. No way he was going to let Edwina get off topic.
She grabbed one of the plates and slid a slice of pizza on it. “Less than a year. Why?”
Charles took a slice of pizza. “Just wondering. He’d been Heather’s agent for four months.”
“Heather met him at Cal’s,” I said. “Did you meet him in Nashville?”
“No,” Edwina said between bites. “He caught my set in Charleston. Said he was in the area meeting with music bigwigs.”
Sounds familiar, I thought. “That’s great. Did he get you any jobs?”
