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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.”
    “As long as I’m behind the bar there ain’t no trouble so I’m always behind the bar.”
    “Rough schedule.”
    “I don’t notice anymore. And there’s no better place than here as far as I’m concerned.” He recapped the whiskey bottle like he must have done a million times. “Another gal who might help too is Tawny Richards. She and Dixie shared an apartment. They lived in east Nashville.”
    He wrote the name. “She a singer too?”
    “Aren’t they all?” He rubbed calloused hands over the scrubby beard on his chin. “Tawny did sing here. She’s not as good as Dixie but she did all right. I used her as a last minute fill-in last August. She’s better than an empty stage.” He flipped through more cards and rattled off names and addresses.
    Deke jotted down the information.
    Rudy put the Rolodex back behind the bar. “You never said how she died.”
    “Beaten to death.” He didn’t mention Dr. Heller’s theory of a tire iron, knowing some details he’d share after he had a killer in custody.
    Rudy blanched. “Dear Lord. No girl deserves that.”
    The show of shock, Deke guessed, was rare for a man like Rudy who no doubt revealed as much as an iceberg’s jagged tip. “Whoever killed her wasn’t looking for money or sex. This was about rage.” Recognizing a weakening in Rudy’s tough exterior he added, “We confirmed her identity by her fingerprints.”
    Rudy unscrewed the whiskey bottle and again refilled his glass. He raised it to his bristled mustache with a trembling hand. “I liked Dixie. Liked her a lot. I should have told her she was dancing with trouble. Should have told her to ease up.”
    “Ease up on?”
    “The men. Sooner or later you’re bound to pick a crazy one.”
    The well-ordered row of booze bottles behind the bar and the freshly wiped countertop said this was a man who paid attention to details regardless of what he said. “How long had she been working here?”
    “About a year. She started waitressing and then asked if she could sing. She surprised me. In a good way. Like I said, she built a following. She was in the nine o’clock hour a couple of Saturdays ago. I don’t give that spot to just anyone.”
    Deke pulled a card from his pocket. “If you think of any helpful information, would you call me?”
    He took the card. “Sure, I’ll call.”
    Deke left the bar but glanced back to see Rudy drink the glass of whiskey. The old man shoved out a breath, as if expelling poison.

October 22
     
    Sugar!
    I was surprised to see you waiting in the alley behind Rudy’s tonight. When you stepped out of the shadows you gave me a start. I told you to stay away but I’m glad you don’t listen so well.
    The gift was really not necessary. In fact I can hear my mother’s voice warning me against a man’s unexpected kindness. She’d fear you’d lead me down the road of sin. But I’m not afraid of sin.
    I smile when I look at the little diamonds that curve into a heart pendant and the genuine schoolboy kindness warming your eyes when you gave me the little black box. How can such a beautiful gift, given with such loving kindness, be wicked?
     
    A.
     

    Chapter Two
     
    Thursday, October 13, 6 PM
     
    You’re poking the bear!
    Rachel Wainwright