Lost in Tennessee (41 page)

Butch dropped his head down, looking at his fingers and threatening retribution if they didn’t get in the game.

Paper rustled from the couch where Jeb sat, reading the Sunday edition. “Was it Elvis?”

“No, Mr. Smartypants. It was that Kate Riley. I hoped we’d seen the last of her troublemaking ways.” Her clinking heels faded into the kitchen.

Butch turned slowly, looking at his brother. His heart pumped in double time. “Did you know she was back?”

“I knew Tom was going to ask her to come back.” Jeb dropped the paper on his lap.

God, the house felt empty. Could he live alone again? “How about you? Are you staying or going back to the apartment?”

“I’m staying. I’ve gotten used to seeing your face.”

Butch released the breath he held. “Likewise. I’m going to go out for a while.”

Jeb stood. “It’s not too late, Butch. You can get her back.”

Butch couldn’t look Jeb in the eye. He thought to explain how he couldn’t live with the thought of Kate in a casket, his hands closing the lid. He couldn’t live with what it would do to Tom, to lose his sister the way Randy had. Butch would have to be a selfish bastard to keep Kate, knowing what stalked him. He couldn’t do it to her, he wouldn’t do it to her. But in the end, he just walked past his brother.

Trudy stepped out of the kitchen in a sunshine yellow dress and a white apron. “How do pork chops sound for dinner, Butchy?”

This was not his life. “I’m not hungry.”

She stomped an indignant foot. “That’s all you have to say? After I went grocery shopping for you?”

Butch took out his wallet, pulled a few bills and shoved them at Trudy. “From now on, don’t.” He took his hat from the hook, snagged his keys from the table, and looked at Jeb. “Don’t wait up for me.”

Walking out had been the easy part. Where to now? It didn’t matter. One place was as good as the next. Butch drove without purpose or destination. He drove to escape the stone cold prison he lived in. After two hours, he stopped for a drink. Hat low on his head, he sat at a bar and nursed a beer, staring at a television showing an infomercial for a hair remover.

The bartender didn’t pay much attention when he served Butch. He set the bottle and retreated to the end where his buddy lingered. The early-week night didn’t pull the crowds in, so the bartender passed the time talking. The pair stared at Butch, then the bartender slowly worked his way closer. “Need another beer?”

Butch shook his head.

“Anyone ever told you, you look a lot like Butch McCormick?”

What the hell, Butch thought. If he couldn’t be happy, maybe he could make someone else’s night. It would be his good deed of the fucking day. Maybe if he did enough good deeds, he’d get out of hell.

Butch pushed his hat back with his thumb and smiled. “My mama says I look like my daddy. Pleased to meet you.”

“Good to meet you, Mr. McCormick.”

“Butch.”

“Butch. This is Larry…and Mary Ann. Y’all come meet Butch McCormick.”

The locals of this bar weren’t so different from his own. Good people who didn’t need to know about his bullshit. With them, he could forget about the bullshit.

“I saw you in concert two years ago,” Mary Ann said. “You put on the best show. Would you sign something? For my mother?”

Butch took a cocktail napkin and borrowed a pen. “Who do I make it out to?”

Then came the pictures and the selfies and the spots burned into his eyes from the flashes.

The women gathered around him, near enough to touch. Competing perfume collided with latent beer and invaded his head. Eyes. Everywhere eyes looked at him. The room spun. Too many hands. Too many smiles. And still more eyes measured him up like he was a trophy. A trophy-man slut.

Butch needed some space. At the far end, an empty stage sat in the dark. “Does that piano work?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How about a quick tune?” The entire bar—bartender and all—followed Butch to the corner. He ran his fingers up the keys. “A bit out of tune, but I’m betting we do just fine.”

Butch played three songs from the concert lineup. He picked two he could do in his sleep and the one that had been giving him trouble. In front of a crowd, with the thrill of the performance in his veins, it played just fine. He’d given these good people a little something tonight, and they’d given him something back.

Butch pushed to his feet. “Y’all have a real nice place here. I appreciate your hospitality.” Butch handed five times the cost of the beer to the bartender. “I have to be getting back.”

“Are you sure? Butch?” The offer wore a white blouse and no bra.

Trophy-man slut.

“I am.”

B
utch dragged his body into his house an hour after Jeb left for work. In his bedroom, the closet door sat open. Her clothes were gone. The drawers she used sat starkly empty. The scent of strawberries he cursed each night had faded.

Left alone with himself, he couldn’t stand it.

Butch ran to his studio and packed up his guitars. He’d go to Nashville. He’d go to Steel Strings or…or to the practice studio. Somebody always hung around with extra time on their hands.

Ten hours later hadn’t changed the story…except Butch was too tired to care about the empty house.

“Where have you been?” Trudy stood in the kitchen doorway, hands on her hips. She was June Cleaver reincarnated, down to the flip of her hair.

“Working. What are you doing here, Trudy?” Butch was past dealing with other people’s needs. Tonight, he just wanted to sleep, alone, without the dreams and regrets.

“Making you dinner. I made a nice meatloaf—”

“You have to stop this, Trudy.” Butch’s head pounded. The few hours of sleep in his truck had long worn off, his patience gone, too. “We are not playing house.”

Trudy’s demeanor stilled. She clasped her hands demurely in front and spoke softly. “This is because of Kate Riley, isn’t it?”

He missed Kate. He loved her and wanted her back here, right in this house, because not having her here was eating him alive.

But.

But.

“I see.” Trudy took the white apron off. “Well, the nice meatloaf is on the stove. Do yourself a favor and eat a vegetable with it.”

“Trudy.” Butch grabbed her hand when she walked past. “I’m sorry. It’s not you, it’s me. I just need to sleep. Forgive me?”

Trudy cupped Butch’s face. “Always. Now, I’m going to go take care of a few things. You do the same.”

“B
itch! Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch.” Kate kicked a folding chair, thunder raging inside the trailer.

“Are you sure it’s a woman?” Waters leaned over Tom’s shoulder toward the grainy image. A figure in black used a baseball bat on the call-button stand outside the new gate. The figure tried to strangle the box and then kick in the post. When the gate didn’t open, a bottle with a tail was lit and lobbed over the fence.

“She throws like a girl.” Kate sneered at the screen as the figure threw two more.

The trailer door opened, and Jeb stepped in.

Kate wondered how she would feel seeing Jeb again. Here he stood, and all she felt was pissed that someone threw three homemade, cheap-ass fire bombs into her yard. “Look at that, Jeb! Right there. Vandalism and destruction of private property and…and…trespassing.”

“Let me see what we’ve got.” Jeb took Tom’s seat and watched the video. “She couldn’t have walked. Are there any cars on the footage?”

“Ha! So you think it’s a woman, too.”

“Moves like a woman,” Jeb said. “No man I know throws like that.”

Tom held a mug of coffee out to Jeb. “Except maybe you, Clyde.”

Jeb accepted the cup. “Even in diapers, I threw better than that. Now, I didn’t see any damage.”

Tom took a chair at the table, the rest followed suit. “They landed in the middle of the parking area. There’s nothing there to burn.”

Jeb set his notebook on the table and sketched the scene quickly. “Did you call my friend about those dogs?”

Kate held up her palm. “I need to rethink the dogs. I liked the idea when it was graffiti. I’m not sure I want some psycho burning dogs alive.”

“Any other ideas?” Jeb asked.

Kate and Tom rattled off a few.

“We could hire a sniper.”

“We could electrify the fence.”

“We could stay here, sleep here.”

“More cameras.”

“An alarm.”

“Armed guards.”

“A moat, with alligators.”

Jeb looked between the pair. “Alligators?”

“Nobody messes with alligators,” Tom said reasonably.

“Call Landon Finch. He handles all of Butch’s security on tour. He’ll have the kind of contacts you need for property security. I’ll do what I can to have my guys drive by, but I don’t have a lot of resources.” Jeb scribbled the name and number on a sheet in his notebook, ripped it out, and slid it to the center of the table. “You two settle in to Hatter’s place?”

Kate leaned back in her chair. “We appreciate your help. It’s a good place. Just needed a little dusting. Mr. Hatter stopped by to check on us. I don’t think he believed we were cousins.”

Tom reached for the paper Jeb left. “Dinner’s at the usual time, if you’re interested.”

“Well…I…”

“No awkward moments,” Kate said. “We’d all become friends over the weeks. I’m not asking either of you to take sides. There are no sides. What happened, happened. I’m moving on. Jeb, you’re welcome at this house any time. Dinner included. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to inspect the fencing and find a spot for the alligators.”

“Kate?” Jeb crossed the room and hugged her awkwardly. “Don’t do anything stupid. Okay?”

“D
id Mom make this?” Jeb levered a thick slab of meatloaf out of the pan and onto his plate. “Did she make mashed potatoes, too?”

“Mom didn’t make it. Trudy did.” Butch sat opposite his brother, glad for another heartbeat in the house. “I took a bite out of her yesterday, one she didn’t deserve.”

Jeb paused a moment. “What happened?”

Butch told the story, explaining how he’d been going on little sleep. Jeb glossed over his sins focusing on one point.

“Did Trudy seem upset when she left?”

“No. She accepted my apology and moved on. She’s good like that, Jeb. I can’t ever remember having a fight with Trudy.”

Jeb pushed the plate away. “Somebody vandalized the Riley site last night. A woman went at the gate box something fierce and tossed three Molotov cocktails over the fence.”

Butch shook his head like a bobble doll. “That can’t be right.” He’d done the right thing and walked away. He paid for Kate’s safety with his misery. She was out of this. “Was anyone hurt?”

“Property damage. Call box is busted, but the cocktails burned harmlessly.” Jeb scratched his chin. “She was there when I went to investigate. Kate. She looks as bad as you do. I don’t know what happened out in California, but there isn’t much in life that can’t be undone.”

Butch rubbed his eyes. “I don’t want her in this, Jeb.”

Jeb chewed slowly, his gaze on Butch’s face. “That’s why you broke it off? You’re scared?”

Butch looked at his hands, picked at callous tips. “I can live alone, knowing she’s alive. I can’t live knowing she died because of me.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Butch. Don’t you see that? We aren’t in control here. Until we figure out who the suspect is, all we can do is play defense. The best way to do that is stick together. Call that woman up.” Jeb ticked the items off on his fingers. “Tell her you were a dumbass. Tell her you love her, and beg her to forgive you.”

“It’s not that simple, Jeb. I wish it were.” Butch looked out the window, and the night reflected his ghostly image. Since when had his cheekbones stuck out like that? His eyes sunken in? “Four more weeks. I’ll leave for my tour, and she’ll be safe.” He couldn’t talk about this anymore. “There’s a game on tonight. Any interest in watching?”

Jeb sighed. “I could catch a few innings.”

“Good. Eat up. I’ll be in the studio.” Butch climbed the creaky stairs to the large room. He picked up an acoustic that had been his go-to in his twenties. “You and I have come a long way, haven’t we? You have any stories left for me?”

His fingers slid down the fret board, settling in around number seven. They moved like Irish dancers, quick strokes forward and back, up and down. With the first blast of energy burned off, he swung into a tune that sounded like something made thirty years ago. The twang touched him deep inside, soothing what hurt.

“Son of a bitch!” Jeb shouted.

Chapter Twenty-One

B
utch set the guitar on the floor and ran, because Jeb rarely shouted. “What’s the matter?”

Jeb buttoned his shirt over a bullet proof vest. “Those two boneheads are sitting in a tree with rifles.”

Butch knew Jeb’s job could be dangerous, but seeing him with a vest, going out into the night, scared the crap out of him. “What boneheads? You can’t go alone.”

“Kate and Tom are the boneheads, and hell, yeah, I’m going alone. That way there’ll be no witnesses when I beat them to a pulp.”

“I’m going with you.” Butch fought to pull on a pair of boots while hopping across the floor, knowing if he wasn’t fast, Jeb would leave him. “I can help you talk Tom down, and then Kate will come, too.”

With his lights and sirens going, Jeb made the drive in nearly half the time. He drove around the site, his spotlight combing the fence line.

“Who called it in?” Butch peered into the trees, seeing nothing human.

“One of the local boys they hired. He’s trying to keep the bosses out of trouble.”

“Do you really think it’s them? Maybe your killer is setting them up. Did you call Tom?” Butch woke his cell and called Tom’s number on speakerphone. It rolled to voicemail.

“Let me try.” Jeb did the same, but his call was answered.

“Hello?” Tom spoke in a deep whisper.

Jeb snapped the words. “Where are you?”

“Uh…”

Jeb threw the vehicle into park and stormed out. “Don’t bullshit me. Where are you and Kate?”

“Kate? What makes you think she’s with me?”

A shot came from behind the car. Butch followed Jeb along the fence line. They rounded a corner, walking across a grassy field. The thick foliage blotted out the lights from Jeb’s truck. The only light came from the moon.