Lost in Tennessee (30 page)

They rode to the county airport in silence. Kate mentally rehearsed her response to every argument. The hardest were the emotional ones, like believing the building would be cursed. She didn’t know Chuck Allen to be an emotional man, but there weren’t any rational reasons to pull the contract. Yes, she was a suspect. Kate fought hard to adopt Butch’s philosophy. She knew she didn’t kill Fawn. Butch, Jeb, and Tom knew she didn’t do it, so she wasn’t going to worry about the investigation. She trusted Jeb to catch the bad guy, because that was what a sheriff did.

Butch parked the truck in the lot and led Kate and Tom into the small building that served as the terminal. Butch used the charter service often enough that he knew everyone, and quickly they moved to the plane. When Kate started up the portable staircase, Butch followed her.

Kate stopped and looked down at him. “What are you doing?”

“Going with you. Get on up there.”

“You can’t go with us.”

“Yes, I can.” Butch took her hand in his. “Now we can either stand here and argue for ten minutes and then get on the plane together, or we can hold hands and go now, saving us time and aggravation.”

T
he Cicada CEO worked out of an overcrowded office in a three-floor warehouse where everyone still knew everyone by sight. In the last fifteen years, the business had grown, thanks to quality-made machinery and a shrewd eye for finance packaging. The core of Cicada’s business had shifted, moving farther south and reaching across the border. The company had a reputation for innovative thinking and craftsmanship and wanted a headquarters that matched.

The young assistant escorted the trio through a hallway stacked shoulder high with banker’s boxes. A bark of laughter rolled out the conference room door as they approached. Kate held her head high as she led the parade inside.

Chuck Allen, a remarkably unremarkable man of average height with black hair, brown eyes, and a slender build, sat at a conference table as old as the company. What Chuck lacked in stature, he made up for in grit and nerve. “The Riley twins.” Chuck rose to greet them. Polite but without a sign of the humor that sounded moments before. “Tom, Kate. Thank you for coming.”

“Good to see you, Chuck.” Kate eyed the man who rose with Chuck, slick with a trendy haircut and a fast smile. Not big and thick like Tom, he stood a bit over six feet with broad shoulders and an athletic build, more like a cyclist than a weight lifter, and carried himself with an air of confidence. Highlights streaked his sandy-brown hair, and his hazel eyes dared her to trust him. Kate dropped her lashes, declining the invitation, and turned her attention back to Allen. “This is Butch McCormick—”

“Their musician.” Butch offered a hand to the stern faced CEO.

Chuck shook the hand. “Ah, yes. I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. McCormick.”

“Butch,” he corrected. “Finch. Good to see you found your way.”

Landon Finch took Butch’s hand and clapped his back. Kate nearly choked on her tongue. Butch brought his shark for her.

“Chuck and I were just getting acquainted. This must be Kate Riley.” Finch extended his hand. “Talented architect, shrewd contractor. You have quite a reputation.”

Kate accepted the hand and smiled in acceptance of the compliment. “Taking a page from the legendary Mae West, ‘When I’m good, I’m very good. But when I’m bad, I’m better.’”

Tom offered his hand. “I know the voice, nice to see the face. Tom Riley.”

“You have a reputation all your own, don’t you? Ah, that’s a subject for another day.” Finch motioned the players into position. “Let’s play ball. How to move forward with the headquarters given the current situation?”

Chuck surveyed the outfield before stepping into the box. He didn’t ease into the game but swung at the first pitch. “The entire situation with Ms. Jordan is deplorable.”

Chuck nipped the top of the ball, Finch maneuvered into position to field the weakly hit grounder. “Absolutely, not least of all for Butch and for Fawn.” Finch tossed it to Butch.

“Fawn and I had been apart for over a year, but there was no animosity, at least on my part. Our careers took us in separate directions. Fawn was a good person, she just wasn’t the woman I married. I’m sure she thought the same of me.”

Chuck raised his eyebrows and nodded. Kate had done her research before starting work for Cicada. Chuck Allen was on this third wife, one nearly half his age. He was quoted in a magazine as saying all of his wives loved his money but were shocked he actually worked long, hard hours for it.

“My condolences.” With a quick flick of his wrist, he popped one alone the baseline. “But I can’t dismiss the fact that she was killed on Cicada property.”

Finch sprinted to the left to get under the ball. “Absolutely. The sheriff, Butch’s brother, believes the suspect dumped her body there because of the project. Specifically to implicate Kate in the death. As brutal as it was, it was also poorly planned and sloppily executed. Kate had been hours away at a trade show in Kentucky at the time poor Fawn was killed. The facts will come out, in due time.”

Chuck stepped out of the box and adjusted his gloves. With a tug on his hat, he stepped in, ready for the next pitch, determination carved in the lines of his face. “This isn’t the kind of publicity I want for Cicada.”

Finch dove to the right, snatching the line drive from the air. “There’s a saying in show business—there’s no such thing as bad publicity. Look at this.” Finch pulled a manila folder from his case and slid it to Allen.

Chuck opened the folder and picked up a glossy spread featuring iconic images of Maya Angelo, Ruby Dee, Amelia Earhart, and Fawn Jordan. Gone but not forgotten. Other images painted Cicada as a champion for women, challenging the status quo, investing in young and disadvantaged women.

Chuck raised a brow. “You think this will work?”

“I know this will work. Branding is all about telling your story, selling the image you want the public to see. You say nothing, pull the project, and hide, and you sell the image of a guilty coward. You stand behind the project, behind Fawn, and you stand for the American ideals of hard work and fair play.”

“We’ll build a memorial,” Kate said. “One of the pillars in the gallery will be steel and glass. Simple, elegant, beautiful.”

“Like Fawn.” Finch smiled and patted Kate’s hand. “That is a wonderful thought. The morbid fact is people are intrigued by the death of a celebrity, especially if it is layered in mystery. I’ll bet there are dozens of people outside your site now, scrambling to get a look inside. Canceling the project won’t make the curious and the fanatical disappear, but going forward with it creates the opportunity for you to elevate Cicada’s visibility on a national and international stage. Think about it, Chuck. We don’t get to choose our fifteen minutes of fame, just what we do with it.”

Chuck stepped out of the box and ran his handkerchief across a sweaty brow. Down to his last out. He stepped back in the box, brought the bat to his shoulder and pulled it short at the last moment, working the bunt. “I can’t handle that kind of exposure.”

Finch leaned in, snagged the ball, and beat Chuck to first base. “I can. First, a press conference. We need you front and center. The man in charge. I’ll make the calls. You need a black suit.”

While Chuck and Finch coordinated the details, Kate excused herself and found a narrow spot in a crowded cubicle where she could breathe. She realized she hadn’t been able to function since she talked to Chuck the night before. She hadn’t eaten, hadn’t slept, and hadn’t thought a coherent thought for over fourteen hours. All at once, clarity burned away the fog. Adrenaline beat at her weary body, pooling tears of relief in her eyes. Her hands shook when she lifted them, and her heart pounded.

Hands slid around her waist. She inhaled the scent of her own personal hero. Her hands clasped around those that held her.

Butch pressed against her back. “Are you okay? You looked a little pale when you left.”

She let her head fall back onto his shoulder, angling her face toward his. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I wish I could do it a thousand times. Thank you.” Kate turned in his arms, rose on her toes and wrapped her arms around his head. She pressed her lips to his, pouring in emotions she didn’t have the words to express. Then, she found that she did. “I love you.”

Butch crushed her against him. “Thank God. I’ve wanted to tell you for weeks. I love you with everything I am.”

Finch poked his head around the corner. “You two want to get back in here and finish the job?”

“We’re coming, Finch.” When they were alone again, Butch pressed a kiss to Kate’s temple. “I planned on our first ‘I love you’ being romantic, maybe with candlelight and wine. Not in a cramped corner stacked with boxes.”

“This is perfect.” Kate pressed a kiss to his chest. “This is just perfect.”

K
ate paced off sixty feet, dropped a spot of neon pink spray paint, turned left, paced another sixty feet, and dropped a spot of paint.

John kicked the stones with his goatskin boots. “So this is the big plan?”

Kate smiled at John and goose walked to connect the dots with the bright paint. “Well, it’s an idea. We were looking at different wings but wanted something that went with the farmhouse. This would be the courtyard here. That wing,” she said pointing west, “would be Butch’s wing. No morning sun to disturb his beauty sleep. Then the east wing would be for Jeb. The first floor will be shared space with bedrooms upstairs. I thought we could use breezeways to connect the wings, do them like covered bridges.”

“Are you really going to build this? For Butch?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m just doing this to keep my mind busy. It’s Monday. Jeb let Tom open most of the site back up but wants me to stay away until things settle down. I can only do so much paperwork before I get antsy.”

“Are those people still outside the fence?”

“Yep.” Kate rolled her eyes. “I guess it’s down to less than a dozen people. A few photographers, mostly fans with nothing better to do with their lives. Honestly, tell me who has time to stand outside a construction site and wave a lighter in the middle of the day. Don’t these people work?”

“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Have you heard from Butch?”

“He’s called ten times since he left on Friday.” Kate giggled as she drew lines on the grass. “I know I shouldn’t laugh, but your son is in over his head. It’s a good thing Trudy went with him. She’ll get that house in shape lickety-split. It sounds like they will be bringing a ton of crap back. He’ll need a bigger house one way or another.”

“Build the house,” John said.

Kate stopped mid-spray. “The cost—”

“I want my boys to stay,” John interrupted. “They were gone for too long. Jeb joined the Marines. He never would tell me what he did for them but three years ago, he went on a mission. For six months, we didn’t know if he was dead or alive. Emily prayed and cried and prayed some more. Year and a half ago, he came home, nearly a stranger. He doesn’t laugh anymore.”

“He laughs. I’ve seen him. He and Butch tease.”

John nodded. “He’s better around Butch. While Jeb was off saving the world, Butch was out there, seeing the country, making his mark, falling for the wrong women. He came back a lost man. It’s only been these last few weeks that he’s acted like his old self.”

Her face hot, did John know she was the next wrong woman? Kate studied the ground and kicked a rock. “He loves me.” After a moment she added, “And I love him.”

John took her hand and squeezed it. “Build the house. I have some money saved. Bring my boys home.”

Kate flashed him a mischievous grin. “It’s going to be amazing. Listen to what Tom came up with.” Kate moved across the back of the house painting a picture of a country villa, her hands moving across the scene to draw the picture for John. “It’s going to be a dichotomy. Old and new. Traditional and modern. Large and intimate.”

Jeb came out the kitchen door as Kate painted her picture, and she quickly enveloped him into the tale. “Jeb’s wing will have four bedrooms, a sitting room, and the crowned prince of bathrooms, just like in the Hermitage, right, Jeb?”

The first prick of trouble came when he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Jeb stood in the future courtyard, his hands hanging stiffly at his sides, looking at the worn patch of dirt.

“What’s the matter, Jeb?” Kate invaded his space, panic injected a flutter in her voice. “Did something happen to Butch?”

“No, Katie. Butch is fine.”

Kate let out the breath she held. “Oh, you scared me. With all of the bad luck going around, I was afraid something happened.”

Jeb lifted his eyes to her. “Something did happen, Katie.” His calm voice lacked expression. “The County Prosecutor is getting a lot of pressure on Fawn’s case. Those people outside the site, her agent, the press are demanding he do something.”

The can of spray paint fell from Kate’s hand. “Oh, God. You’re arresting me.”

Chapter Sixteen

“H
ow could you think I did that to her?” Kate’s throat tightened, choking her voice. “I was in Kentucky.”

“I’m not arresting you.”

Kate stumbled back, hearing the implied “yet.”

“But I have to take you in for questioning.”

“W-why?”

Jeb swallowed hard, spoke quietly. “The gloves retrieved from your truck were stained with Fawn’s blood. There were splatters on the seat. Fawn’s rental car was found abandoned near the construction site. We collected red hairs from the driver’s seat. The call came from your cell and you were placed at the scene—”

“It wasn’t me, Jeb. It wasn’t me.” Kate’s voice rose to a squeak.

“And with the witness statement…” He shook his head. “I’ll have you back here before dinner.”

Kate trembled. She truly hadn’t thought she would be considered a suspect. Everything about going with Jeb terrified her. She had no experience with the law. What if they didn’t believe her? Would they put her in a cell? Would they take her fingerprints and mug shot? What would happen to her career? To her business? No one would hire an architect with a record. Petrified, she couldn’t move.