Читать книгу Without You - Mary Baxter Lynn - Страница 7

Jackson Cole started his day off with a five-mile run. He’d need the stamina the run provided to get him through the grueling hours that lay ahead. More than anything, he enjoyed his morning ritual.

Fall in Memphis was glorious, and he made every effort to take advantage of it. Mother Nature usually chose the last few weeks of October to start painting the leaves their brilliant colors. This year was no exception.

He jogged in a park near his home, where the trees had exploded into fiery colors; his favorites were the huge red oaks. A cool front had blown in last night, and his shoes slapped the fallen leaves. He guessed he could run all day. Only because his desk at the club had been piled high with work did he quit.

Now, hours later, as he stood at the window in his plush office and stared out on to Beale Street, he felt the afternoon sunshine on his body. It radiated through the glass with warmth and light. He moved his tense shoulders up and down, feeling the heat relax him. As predicted, his day had been a mother.

He loved Elan, his upscale restaurant and bar on Beale Street, with a passion. But lately, things had not been going his way, and the timing couldn’t be worse. He’d been well on the way to scaling back on his work, trying to get a life outside the club, when the trouble had started.

The problem was, he didn’t know what to do about it. So far, he’d kept his mouth shut and tried to deal with things on his own. How long that ploy would work was anyone’s guess. But he knew he was taking a chance by playing such a dangerous game.

A sigh filtered through Jackson as he moved his shoulders again, keeping his muscles loose. He turned and stared at his desk, relieved to see that some of the paperwork had been dealt with even though he’d been mentally distracted.

The only item on the day’s agenda left hanging was searching for a new band. The dance floor at Elan was one of the largest and best maintained, which allowed the club to attract top-notch entertainers. Without them, the floor would be empty, thus greatly reducing his clientele. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

However, his assistant and friend Terrance Mayfield, could take care of finding the perfect group. All Jackson had to do was give the final okay.

“You got a minute?”

Jackson swung around and faced his assistant as Terrance sauntered into the room. He motioned for him to take a seat. “Your timing’s on the money.”

“How so?” Terrance asked, plopping down in one of the fine leather chairs adjacent to Jackson’s desk. “Looks to me like you’ve tackled the pile of papers like you were fighting a war.” He paused with a grin. “A war you’ve obviously won.”

For a minute, Jackson didn’t speak, thinking how lucky he was to have Terrance. His body was toned but solid, bearing testimony to his long hours in a gym. His groomed mustache and beard surprisingly didn’t detract from or hide his charming smile. When it came to fraternizing with the customers, he was a smooth operator.

Although Jackson paid him out the kazoo, money didn’t necessarily buy loyalty. And loyalty was Terrance’s trademark. When he left Terrance in charge, Jackson never worried about the day-to-day operations.

“I didn’t quite cover everything,” Jackson finally said.

“Anything I can handle?”

“Yeah, finding us a new band ASAP.”

Terrance’s dark eyebrows rose in a question. “Aw, hell, don’t tell me The Jammers quit?”

“They did. Apparently they had a squabble that couldn’t be resolved.”

“Damn, what a crock. They were the best we’ve had in a long time.”

“I agree, but we have no choice but to move onward and hopefully upward.”

“I’ll get on it pronto.”

“When you’ve narrowed the choice to two, let me know.”

“Will do.” Terrance rose and walked out the door, only to return a minute later, his features scrunched in a frown.

Jackson was already back at his desk, going through the ledger. Looking up, he asked, “What?”

Terrance cleared the threshold, then eased the door shut behind him. “You have a visitor.”

“Who?”

“A Detective Gomez.”

A matching frown marred Jackson’s features. “What does he want?”

“Wouldn’t tell me. Said he needed to see you.”

Jackson shrugged. “Then, send him in.”

“Want me to hang around?”

“Nah. I’m sure it’s nothing. You just tend to the band business.”

Moments later, the detective strode through the door. Coming around his desk, Jackson met him in the middle of the room and they exchanged handshakes.

Jackson sized Gomez up quickly: young, good-looking and cocky. Though he couldn’t say why, the hairs stood up on his neck. Perhaps it was the way Gomez was eyeing him, like he was fresh meat about to be devoured.

Jackson smiled politely and asked in a cool tone, “What can I do for you, Detective?”

“Answer a few questions.” He paused. “If you don’t mind.”

“I’ll let you know after you’ve asked them.”

From the expression on Gomez’s face, the answer didn’t sit well with him, though he said, “Fair enough” in an even tone.

“Care to have a seat?”

Gomez shook his head. “I prefer to stand.”

“Suit yourself.”

For a moment, silence prevailed in the room as though each man was sizing the other up. Jackson had already done as much and decided Gomez didn’t like him. That in itself didn’t mean anything, except that it made this visit more awkward.

“I understand Roberta Klein is a friend of yours.”

Jackson hadn’t the foggiest idea what this interview was all about, but in his wildest imagination, he wouldn’t have connected it to Roberta. “You’re right,” he said with caution. “Has been for years. Why do you ask?”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“What’s this all about, Detective?”

“If you don’t mind, Mr. Cole, I prefer to ask the questions.”

Jackson was a master at hiding his emotions. If Gomez thought he was going to rile him with his brash tactics, he couldn’t be more wrong. “Fine. Fire away.”

“So, again, when was the last time you saw Ms. Klein?”

“Last evening, though I suspect you already know that.”

“It appears you were the last person to see Ms. Klein alive.”

Shock rocked Jackson. “Are you saying she’s dead?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

A weakness invaded Jackson’s system, making it impossible for him to remain standing. He sat down and stared at the detective. Impossible. Roberta couldn’t be dead. A million questions blazed to mind, but he kept his mouth shut. The truth was, he didn’t know what to say. And this was Gomez’s show—he’d made it clear he intended to run it.

“Care to comment, Mr. Cole?”

“When I left her, she was alive and well,” Jackson responded in a dazed voice.

“That so?”

Jackson suddenly wanted to knock the condescending smirk off his face. Instead, he managed to keep his cool even under the unexpected assault. “How did she die?”

“She was found slumped over the table, apparently strangled to death.”

Jackson felt sick to his stomach. At the same time, blind fury charged through him. If he got his hands on the person who had so cruelly snuffed out Roberta’s life, he’d save the justice system a lot of time and money.

“Know anything about that?” Gomez asked.

“Am I under arrest, Detective?”

“Not at this point. You’re one of many we’re questioning, though I have to tell you, you have the inside track.”

“Which means I need a lawyer.”

“It’s your call, of course.” The detective paused. “However, I’d like for you to come voluntarily to the precinct and answer a few questions.”

“When?”

“Now.” Gomez’s gaze pinned Jackson like a trapped rat. “If that’s convenient.”

Jackson knew Gomez didn’t give a damn if it was convenient. Voluntarily or not, he was in a heap of trouble.

“I’ll be there. With my lawyer.”

“Thanks,” Gomez responded. “I’ll expect you.”

With that, he turned and left the room. Jackson’s stomach roiled again as he splayed the palm of his hand on the top of his desk to hold him steady. He couldn’t believe Roberta was dead. And in such a brutal manner. Who would do such a thing? And why?

The Roberta he knew didn’t have any enemies, he thought, only to correct himself mentally. She had at least one, one who hated her enough to kill her. A shiver darted through Jackson, and he was chilled to the bone for more reasons than one.

The fact that he was a prime suspect sent another chill through him. He couldn’t ignore that, pretend Gomez and his suspicions would simply go away. They wouldn’t. He was in deep trouble.

What should he do? That was where things got sticky, especially when an answer jumped readily to mind: he could pay a visit to his ex-fiancée. Only, he wasn’t willing to pursue that option.

Yet did he really have a choice? No. He was desperate and desperate people often did stupid things. But this was not just about him. He couldn’t forget about Roberta. He had to find out who killed her. He owed her that much.

He didn’t remember when he hadn’t known Roberta. They had grown up in the same neighborhood. She had been like a sister to him and he’d spent a lot of time at her home, since he had not had one of his own. But like everyone else, Roberta had had her share of problems. She was a “needy” person whom he’d continued to help. Until he realized there was no helping her.

“What was that all about?” Terrance had entered the room.

“Roberta’s dead,” Jackson said in a dull, lifeless tone.

Terrance’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Terrance slammed his mouth shut and shook his head. “How? I mean…” His words faded.

Jackson told him.

“Surely the detective doesn’t think you had anything to do with her death.”

“Apparently he does, as I’ve been issued an unofficial invitation to appear at the precinct for more questioning.”

“Man oh man, that’s unbelievable.”

If you only knew the half of it, Jackson thought grimly. Combined with his other growing problem, this was getting close to becoming more than even he could handle. And he could handle a lot.

Terrance rubbed his mustache, then his beard. “So, what are you going to do?”

“See Hallie.”

Again, Terrance’s mouth gaped. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Jackson’s features darkened even more. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion or your approval.”

Terrance flushed, but he stood his ground. “I know you didn’t, but why Hallie, who’s not even a criminal lawyer? Though I’m sure someone in her firm is. If that’s why you’re seeing her—”

Jackson cut him off. “Look, I have to go.” At the door, he whipped around. “I’ll call you. Meanwhile, see to things.”

Terrance lopped a leg over the bar stool, his features pinched.

“What’s with you? You look like someone just stepped on your dick.”

Terrance threw Clyde Latham, the bartender, a disgusted look. “You have a mouth problem, Latham. You’d best not let the boss hear you talk like that or you’ll be in the unemployment line. You know how he feels about offending the customers.”

Undaunted, Clyde grinned. “You’re not a customer.”

“Then, you offend me personally. How’s that?”

Latham was a big, burly guy who was as competent as he was good-looking. He, too, had a gift for gab with the customers, and his big grin and laugh brought a lot of business to Elan. Still, Terrance didn’t much care for him, though he hadn’t said so. He had learned long ago to keep his mouth shut.

Latham shrugged, then asked, “You want a drink?”

“Not right now. I have too much on my mind.”

“If you’re talking, I’m listening.”

He shouldn’t vent to Clyde, but since his girlfriend, Jessica, wasn’t available, Clyde would do in a pinch. Besides, what had just happened affected everyone at the club. “Jackson might be in a bit of a tight spot.”

“How?” Clyde was wiping some glasses, but he stopped mid-action and stared at Terrance.

“Roberta Klein was found dead this afternoon.”

“You’re joking.”

“Not hardly.” The remark irritated Terrance and he didn’t bother to hide it.

“So, what are you saying? That Jackson had something to do with it?”

“No,” Terrance snapped. “But the police obviously think he might have.”

Clyde’s eyes widened, then he whistled.

“The guy who just left was from Memphis PD. He told Jackson he was the last one to see Roberta alive.”

“Man, I hate that she’s dead. She was a nice lady.”

“I hate it, too. But I hate Jackson’s involvement more.” Terrance scratched his head, a habit he had when he was nervous. And was he ever nervous. “Maybe I will have a drink, even though I’m about to be on full-fledged duty.”

“Scotch on the rocks?”

Terrance nodded.

After he’d felt the liquor hit his stomach with a burn then a punch, he felt better. Jackson would skin him alive if he knew he was drinking when the yuppie work crowd was due. Big drinkers, all of them, which meant they needed to be watched.

Still, he wouldn’t let his drink go to waste, not when he needed it so badly. What a turn of events. If Jackson… Terrance shut that thought down. Underneath his smooth facade, Jackson was tough as nails. And a fighter.

But if he was really a suspect, then things could get tough. If worse came to worst, Terrance knew Jackson would depend on him to keep the club running up to par. With that in mind, he pushed his unfinished drink away.

“So has he been arrested?”

Clyde’s deep voice pulled him out of his dark thoughts. “Not yet. He went to the station of his own free will.”

“Still, the fact he’s a suspect ain’t good.”

“It’s downright scary is what it is.”

“Hope he’s got a good lawyer.”

Now, that was the kicker, Terrance thought, but he couldn’t say as much. By making a beeline to Hallie, Jackson showed that where she was concerned, the little head was still overruling the big head. But that wasn’t his problem, he reminded himself.

After looking at his unfinished drink with yearning, Terrance got up and made his way back to his office to get ready for the evening.