“So you can’t say how long were they talking,” said Lamar.
“I really wasn’t staring the whole time.” She blushed. “I mean it’s natural, I’m not going to run away. Big-time superstar just walks in- just walks in by himself and sits down and listens? We never get anyone important, never ever. Not like on Second or Fifth or over at the Songbird. Those places, you hear all kinds of stories about celebrities dropping in at the popular clubs. But we’re away from all that.”
“Yeah, it is kind of a different location,” said Lamar.
“Dr. McAfee bought the building cheap. He’s a big real estate investor. I think he’s planning to tear it down eventually and build something else. Meanwhile, we’re doing music and I’m grateful for the opportunity.”
Big brown eyes. Lamar wondered what they’d look like, chilled by failure.
Baker said, “Talk to us about this lady, Gret. What did she look like?”
“That’s a tricky one.”
The detectives exchanged glances. That’s a tricky one is often code for “I’m lying through my teeth.” Baker said, “Do the best you can.”
“Well, she was older but not as old as Mr. Jeffries. Maybe forty or fifty. Shoulder-length dark hair…not so tall. Maybe…I dunno. Five four or five five.” She shrugged.
“What about clothing?”
“A dark pantsuit…maybe dark blue? But it could’ve been gray. Or black. That’s about all I could tell you. It was dark and like I said, I didn’t want to stare. Now ask me about the car.”
“What about the car?”
“Real nice Mercedes-Benz sports car and bright red like a fire truck.”
“You didn’t happen to catch the license plate?”
“No, sir, sorry.”
“Convertible?”
“No, a coupe. No canvas top.”
“Red.”
“Bright red, even at night you could see that. Looked like it had custom shiny wheels. Real shiny. You think she had something to do with it?”
“It’s too early to think anything, Gret. Anything else you can remember that might help us would sure be appreciated.”
“Hmm.” She took hold of her hair, bunched it back in a ponytail, let it drop. “That’s really about it.”
They asked for her full name, address and phone number.
She said “Greta Lynne Barline.” The brown eyes shot to the sidewalk. “I’m in between phones- looking for a better carrier, you know? I’m staying temporarily at the Happy Night Motel. Just a ways down on Gay Street, so I can walk.”
The detectives knew the place. One-star joint, not far from their office. It had once been a hotbed of naughtiness before the big vice crackdown. Now the place was trying to grab the tourist trade and an AAA rating. Mostly, it drew truckers and transients.
Greta added. “I had an apartment with a roommate but she left and the rent was too much. I was thinking the eastside, but it’s still pretty black. Maybe I’ll get a car and live near Opryland.” A big smile. “That way I can visit all the time, watch those tropical fish in that restaurant they have.”
“Doesn’t sound so bad,” Baker said. “One last question, Greta, and then I think we’re done for now.”
“Sure…shoot.” Another wide smile. She was enjoying the attention.
“Mr. Jeffries was here for about a half hour, maybe an hour?”
“More like a half hour. He left after I stopped singing.”
“What was Mr. Jeffries’s state of mind when he was here?”
“You mean his mood?” She brightened. “He was happy, really enjoying the music.”
7
The red Mercedes was a good lead. How many of those could there be?
The major dealer was Mercedes-Benz of Nashville, out in Franklin, but it was way too late to reach anyone.
“What now, El Bee?” Lamar asked. “Time to pack it in?”
“Actually, I was thinking of heading out to the Songbird. I hear they’re doing a tribute to Jeffries that’s gonna last pretty late. As long as I’m out, I thought I’d pay my respects.”
“And check out the crowd while you’re there?”
“Reckon so. You know I’m a big one for multi-tasking. Why don’t you come with me, Stretch?” A hint of a genuine smile. “Or do I have to twist your arm?”
Big grin from Lamar. “Buddy, I am so there.”
The café and dinner club was located in a strip mall, sharing a common wall with Taylor ’s Insurance. It had expanded recently, taking over McNulty’s Travel, which had gone south courtesy of Internet booking. Bad luck for Aaron McNulty, but a bit of good fortune for Jill and Scott Denunzio, the owners. The club was bursting at the seams and even with the extra room, on specialty nights there wasn’t a chair to be had.
The place was dimly lit with a beer and wine bar opposite the front stage. Large fir planks made up the floor and a half dozen ceiling fans were going full blast. About twenty tables were crammed with teary-eyed fans paying tribute to Jack Jeffries. The crowd looked to be well beyond the club’s 140 capacity, but neither detective was counting. When they walked in, the stage overflowed with some of music’s finest, all of them lifting their voices in unison for a soul-wrenching edition of one of Jeffries, Ziff and Bolt’s signature tunes, “Just Another Heartbreak.”
Once inside, the detectives leaned against the wall and listened, catching most of the song. Lamar had to remember to blink. Totally entranced by the music. Then thinking yet again about the differences between good, great, and a shot at the gold.
Each individual up there had righteous pipes worthy of several platinum records, but there was something to that saying about the whole being greater than the sum of its parts. Maybe it was the time and the place, maybe it was the emotion, but even Baker seemed under the spell. When they were done, the room remained silent for a few beats, then erupted into heartfelt applause that lasted a good five minutes. The stage cleared and Jeremy Train took the mike.
Mega-popular in the seventies, a chick magnet with his laid-back manner and boyish good looks, Jeremy had preserved amazingly well. He was around five ten, trim and muscled, with the famous stick-straight, shoulder-length hair. The locks were still dark, with a few sparkles of gray that twinkled every time Train moved his head. A couple of wrinkles were carved into his face but they made him look manly. He wore jeans, a black tee, boating shoes without socks. Like Greta Barline had done yesterday evening, he tapped the mike several times. Unnecessary, a singer’s tic; he’d just used it for the group number.
“Yeah, I guess it’s still hot…” A few titters of laughter. “Uh, I want to thank everyone for showing up at this…uh, impromptu gathering that was supposed to be for the First Amendment…” Applause. “Yeah, right on. Instead, we gather for a much sadder reason and…well…You know, Jack’s music really speaks for what he was…more than uh, I can say, you know?”
Applause from the audience.
“But someone should say a few words about Jack and I guess I was elected since I knew him well in our…uh, craaazy days.” A smile. “Oh man, Jack was…well, let’s not bullshit around. Jack was one crazy motherfucker.”
Applause and laughter.
“Yeah, one crazy motherfucker…but a very sensitive human being underneath all that craziness. He could be a mean son-of-a-bitch and then he could turn around and be the nicest guy in the universe. You know, throwing beer bottles out of the car at a hundred miles an hour, sticking his head out, cussing at the top of his lungs. Streaking naked down Sunset…man, he loved to get attention and that sure got attention.”
Jeremy Train laughed nervously.
“Then Jack would turn around and, shit…like once I was admiring a painting he had on his wall and he just took it off the wall and fucking gave it to me. I tried to hey, man, but Jack’s mind was made up and y’all know how stubborn that crazy motherfucker could be.”