Cover Your Eyes (Morgans of Nashville 1)

He’d worked this area several times when he’d been undercover. In those days his hair had been long, his beard thick, his T-shirt and jeans dirty, and his leather jacket beat up.

At Rudy’s he looked through a large glass window past the CLOSED sign toward the bar where he saw an older man polishing glasses. Standing over six feet, the man sported a gray beard that reached a barreled chest and salt-and-pepper hair slicked back into a ponytail. Rudy Creed.

Forty years owning a honky-tonk, Rudy had seen the area go from near slums filled with drug dealers and drunks to a bustling tourism center that brought a lot of money into the city. Rudy’s was a legend in this town, known among the elite of country music for putting the best on fortune’s road to fame.

Deke rapped on the window with his knuckle and held up his badge.

The old man raised his head, gray eyes narrowing. Slowly he set the glass down and moved from behind the bar. Rudy wore a blue western style shirt, and jeans and red cowboy boots.

He moved with the unhurried gait of a man who’d seen more than his share of cops. This wasn’t the first time the police had visited his place and likely not the last. He unlatched the dead bolt and pushed open the door. He smelled faintly of soap and whiskey.

The morning light cast a harsh glare on the bar’s scarred tables and scuffed floors. Pictures of singers covered every square inch of the wall. He recognized some images. Small cocktail tables clustered in front of the stage.

A chandelier hung from the center of the room, its crystal teardrops catching the morning light. An anomaly in the rough country interior, the fixture had been a gift from a country music star who’d promised Rudy a chandelier if she’d made it big.

“Mind if I come in? Got questions for you about one of your singers.”

A frown deepened the lines around his eyes and mouth as if he’d bitten into a bitter apple. “Who did what to whom?”

Deke held up the victim’s motor vehicle picture. “Dixie Simmons. What can you tell me about her?”

He shoved out a sigh, closed and locked the front door. “She sang last night until about two. She’s good. Got a Patsy Cline sound that the folks like. She get herself into trouble?”

“Why would you say that?”

The question sparked amusement in his gray eyes. “Officer, you would not be here if there wasn’t trouble.”

“Dixie Simmons was murdered last night shortly after she left here.”

Tension darkened his expression as he rubbed the back of his neck with a large calloused hand. “What happened?”

“We’re still trying to figure it all out.”

Rudy moved to the bar and reached for a bottle filled with a honey-gold liquid. He poured a glass, offered it to Deke and when he declined drank it in one shot. He winced slightly as it burned his throat. “Any ideas who did it?”

“No, sir. That’s why I’m here. When’s the last time you saw her?”

“Last night. Two thirty a.m. I always open and close the place. Fact I walked her out and locked the door behind her. There was another bartender, Jim, but he left an hour earlier. Jim’s been with me a couple of years. I closed the joint right after she left.”

“She have any issues with anyone last night?”

“No. I mean she had some of the boys riled up with her dancing and flirting on stage, but that’s Dixie. Knows how to work a crowd.”

“No one in the crowd gave you cause to worry?”

“Not last night. A lot of out-of-towners.”

“I found a napkin in her purse and there’s a number scrawled on it.”

“You call it?”

“A couple of times on the drive over. No answer.”

“Not the first wrong number given out here.” He studied the bottom of his empty glass before carefully setting it on the bar. “Dixie wasn’t the brightest girl in the world but she could sing and she was willing to work hard. And the crowds loved her. Don’t see talent and drive in one package too often. But she had a weakness for men.”

“What can you tell me about Dixie’s personal life?”

“As long as my singers show up on time, give me their best and leave their issues at home, I don’t ask questions.”

“I’m willing to bet not much gets past you.”

A half smile tipped the edge of Rudy’s lips as if he agreed with Deke’s assessment. “No, not much gets past me. Bad for business to let too much slip.” He stood straighter, recapturing the energy Deke’s news had stolen. “Dixie liked the men. Liked them a lot. Rarely did she go home alone. Last night was one of the rare exceptions.”

“Why was that?”

“She said she had a man waiting for her. Said they’d been seeing each other on and off for months and she liked him.”

“He have a name?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Deke cocked a brow. “No matter what your rules about not bringing the personal to work, words and conversations get overheard.”

He peered back into the empty shot glass. “We had two other singers here last night. Chic Jones and Rennie Forest. You can ask those gals about Dixie. If she did any talking they’d have heard it.”

“Contact numbers would be appreciated.” Rudy reached under the bar and removed a black Rolodex stuffed full with cards. “If she was into this guy, why’d she take the number of another guy?”

Calloused fingers flipped through worn cards. “Hedging her bets, I reckon. Always good to have options.” He plucked a card from the Rolodex and then fished for the second.

“Names of recent hookups?”

“Like I said, I don’t ask a lot of questions as long as it don’t spill into my place. Ask Rennie and Chic.”

Deke scrawled the two women’s names and their contact information in his notebook. “Dixie have any confrontations that you remember recently?”

“No. Not a one. I had to give it to Dixie, when it came to work she was all business. She wanted stardom so bad she could taste it. Wanted to be on the top ten charts and land in the country music Hall of Fame. And she’d have done whatever it took.”

“How’d she get along with the other singers?”

“From what I saw polite but not overly friendly. By her way of thinking they were her competition and after the recording contract she wanted.”

“She get a contract?”

“Not yet. But it would have been a matter of time. Word was getting around about her. That’s why I let her sing last night even though she wasn’t on the lineup.”

“What happened?”

“Said she received a text telling her to sing at midnight. She arrived early, dolled up and ready to work. I’ve had other singers pull that trick before but never Dixie. I cut the scheduled singer short and let her sing.”

“Who lost stage time?”

“Dude by the name of Harrison Franklin. He wasn’t happy but it’s my way or the highway.”

Deke asked for and received Harrison’s contact information.

Rudy carefully replaced the cards on his Rolodex as he shook his head, his frown deepening with each moment. “Dixie was good with the customers. Could whip them up and bring them to their feet or have them crying in their drinks. She soaked up the attention like booze.”

“She craved attention?”

“Just about.”

A bucket rattled in the back of the bar. An older stoop-shouldered woman gripped a mop, a curtain of long gray hair covering her face.

“Cleaning lady,” Rudy said. “Rattles around here in the daytime.”

The woman vanished into the back. “Did she know Dixie?”

“No. She’s day crew. They stop work at four in the afternoon, about the time the night crew comes in.”

“And you work both shifts.”