Ren unlocked the door of his new condo and stepped inside, turning up his nose a bit at the stale, musty odor permeating the small unit. He shut the front door but threw open both living room windows before running up the stairs and opening the sliding glass door to the miniscule third-story balcony. Like most of the houses and condos in eastern Tennessee, the building was built into the side of a hill, with a partial basement and garage on the lower floor and most of the living space on the upper floor or floors of the residence. It was actually three stories high, which made for lots of stairs but afforded a breathtaking view of the foothills of the mist-shrouded southern Appalachian Mountains where Kingsport, Bristol, and Johnson City, dubbed the Tri-Cities area, nestled. The towns were maybe twenty miles from each other and shared an airport and an economy. Ren originally planned to rent in Bristol but Sawyer insisted on Kingsport, since both Cooper and Kylie lived there and she was the main suspect. So here he was, airing out his temporary digs and unpacking what little he had with him. He was due back over in Bristol in an hour for his first rehearsal with the band.
Ren made quick work of unloading his duffels into the generic dresser and placing his oldest guitar within easy reach of the bed, for when inspiration struck. He deactivated his own telephone and stashed his wallet with all of his real identification in the back of the dresser drawer. He was already using the wallet and phone that Sawyer overnighted to him in Kentucky, and he picked up the phone and stared at it a minute. Should he give somebody in San Antonio his contact information here in Tennessee? He’d already emailed his cousin Lalo with Sawyer’s phone and email in case of an emergency, but, God forgive him for even wondering, would Sawyer let him know if Lalo did need to get in touch with him? He wanted to think so, he really did, but Sawyer was so single-minded about catching drug dealers that the operation would most likely take precedence over anything else, including a Navarro family emergency. It might not be professional or even very smart, but he had to give Lalo at least a phone number.
He punched in a familiar number and smiled when he heard his cousin’s voice on the line. “Bueno, El Gringo. So you’re snooping for that pendejo Ellison again and going by ‘Ren Campbell’ now? Passing yourself off as a mountain hillbilly? What are El Jefe and Tio Joaquin supposed to think?” Lalo was definitely amused. Ren smiled.
“Tio Ernest and Dad probably will think I’m loco, even if I am getting paid this time. I realize it’s not quite my job with the Navarro Corporation real estate division, but it beats sitting on my ass in Kentucky waiting for the heat to die down in San Antonio so I can come home. And be nice. Granny and Granddaddy Campbell were mountain people.”
“Okay. So what can I do for you?”
“I wanted to add this number to the contact info I sent you the other day. Put it in your directory but don’t share it with anyone, even Dad, and use it only if you have to.”
Lalo was silent on the other end of the line. “You don’t trust Ellison, do you?”
“Not entirely, Lalo. Anyway, I just wanted you to have it.” Ren paused a minute. “Alex?”
“Vanished off the face of the planet. Been gone almost a month now. Tio Ernest doesn’t seem too upset about it. You, they miss.”
“Them, I miss too. So what’s going on at the corporation?”
Lalo spent a couple of minutes filling Ren in on the goings-on at the family’s multinational empire before they wished each other a good day. He pocketed the phone and the phony wallet and packed his instruments in the crossover, and thirty minutes later he was pulling into the alley behind Acoustics. The back door was slightly ajar and as he carried in his guitar and mandolin the sound of “St. Anne’s Reel” and somebody clog-dancing drifted down the hall.
“Anybody here?”
“In the front, Ren,” Kylie answered. “Come on through.”
Ren found Kylie in the front up on the stage with two young blondes, a teen and a tween, and a teenage boy who could only be Kylie’s son. Feet flying, the kids were dancing in unison to a blaring CD player. Ren watched with admiration as the kids went through about half the instrumental before they came to a stop and Kylie silenced the music. “A little off beat a couple of times, but not too bad. Bridget, pick your feet up a little higher and Brittany, keep your back straight. Danny, try to smile a little more.” She turned to Ren. “Come on up here and meet these renegades. Kids, this is Ren Campbell. He’s coming on board so Uncle Joe can go have his operation.” She gestured to the boy. “My son, Danny.”
Danny smiled crookedly and offered his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
They shook hands and Kylie turned to the girls. “My nieces, Brittany and Bridget. They’re Cooper’s girls.”
The girls also offered their hands and murmured their hellos. “Glad to have you on board, Mr. Campbell. What all do you play?” Brittany asked.
“Guitar, dulcimer, mandolin and dobro. How about y’all? What do you do besides the dancing?”
“Brittany and I both fiddle and we play the piano and mountain dulcimer,” Bridget said.
“Bridget’s really good on the fiddle,” Brittany added proudly. “Practically a phenomenon. And her singing is really something else. The disaster over there, besides being the best clogger in the school dance club, plays both kinds of dulcimers, guitar, and keyboard.”
“Wow, I’m impressed. Seems like the whole family’s talented.”
A half smile lit Kylie’s mouth. “We’re very proud of the upcoming generation. Speaking of which, that generation needs to go home and choreograph the rest of the song if they want some stage time Friday night. Scoot, kids. I want to see the rest of the song tomorrow.”
The kids obediently trooped out. “They’re good,” Ren said.
“Yes, they are. They’re even better on their instruments. And you and I better get good, too. We’re playing for their dance on Friday.”
Ren grinned and without further discussion he got out his guitar and the two of them quickly put together their own version of “St. Anne’s Reel,” an old French-Canadian tune, with Ren expertly weaving a lively accompaniment around Kylie’s fast-paced melody. They had just gotten it down to their satisfaction when the rest of The Barstows, minus Uncle Joe, trooped in. Ren was introduced to Kylie’s cousins Jake and Bradley and Jake’s wife Timberlynn, and they all quickly tuned up and took their places on the stage.
The next two hours were a revelation to Ren. He’d always thought of himself as talented, and if it weren’t for the pressure exerted by his family to take his place in the Navarro business empire he would have at least tried to make his living with music. But these musicians were in a class by themselves. As individuals, every one of them was seriously good, but put them all together and the outcome was magic.
Ren gathered from the questions and comments that they were all formally trained, and he wasn’t surprised to learn that both Cooper and Kylie taught music at the local university. But they also embodied the heart and soul of the spontaneous music-making he’d heard on Granny Campbell’s front porch. They lived their music and they loved it. Ren was a little nervous at first, but he either already knew the songs or could pick them up quickly, and soon he was as lost in the music as the rest of them.
It was almost dinnertime by the time they knocked off. Cooper motioned to Ren and Kylie to stay behind when the others wandered off the stage. “I heard you working up ‘St. Anne’s Reel.’ Sounded damn good. Have you given any thought to what else you’d like to put together?”
“When would we have had a chance to do that?” Kylie looked at her brother crossly. “We barely had time to get the reel ready for the kids.”
Cooper grinned at his sister. “Somebody’s blood sugar getting low?” He turned to Ren. “She gets cross when she gets hungry. I bet she skipped lunch to give a music lesson.”
“Something like that,” Kylie murmured.
“And I’ll bet we can fix that in a jiffy,” Ren said smoothly. “Kylie, would you care to join me for dinner tonight? So we can talk about what numbers we’d like to work up together?”
Kylie’s face cleared. “Absolutely. I’d love to.”
Ren turned to her unhappy-looking brother. “Would you like to come, also? We’d welcome your input.”
Cooper looked from Ren to Kylie. “I think I’ll pass. You two have a good time.”
Ren fought a smile as Cooper stalked out the door. “Protective big brother?”
“Nah, he’s a pain in the ass to everybody these days except the girls.”
Since they both had to drive back to Kingsport, anyway, Kylie suggested a funky diner that served fresh talk and sass along with the best hamburgers in the city. After placing their order and being duly insulted by the proprietor, they commandeered a corner table and waited for their order to be called. “So what numbers do you want us to put together? Do you have any favorites?” Ren asked as Kylie got a pencil and notepad out of her large handbag.
She flipped the notepad open. “Unlike a lot of dulcimer players, I don’t like to limit my repertoire to just the old folk tunes, although goodness knows I love to play those. And also unlike some dulcimer players, I love to sing and will do so every chance I get. So we can think in those terms.”
“All right. Do you like tear-jerkers?”
“Only if nobody’s dog gets killed. I hate it when the dog dies.” Her expression was deadpan but for the sparkle in her eyes.
“People?”
“Doesn’t bother me a bit to kill one of them.”
They both laughed out loud and started throwing out possibilities, stopped for a few minutes to savor a couple of excellent hamburgers, and went back to work. By the time the last of the fries and onion rings were gone, they had a list of fifteen numbers that included some really old tunes like “Soldier’s Joy,” some more modern but still traditional-sounding music such as “Long Black Veil,” and some unabashedly modern compositions like “Where Have all the Flowers Gone?”. Some of the songs were no-brainers but others they debated hotly.
Ren could feel himself becoming more and more drawn to this lively, passionate woman who obviously lived and breathed her music. Her sparkling eyes and lively expressions were as captivating as her lovely facial features and beguiling body. If he let himself, he could imagine capturing those luscious lips with his own and nibbling and tasting to his heart’s content. And if the widening of her pupils as she gazed boldly across the table at him was anything to go by, he was just as appealing to her as she was to him. Ren caught her eyes and stared deeply into them, deliberately upping the heat level between them and willing the mutual interest to develop and grow. Something that he intended to exploit, he reminded himself, not altogether comfortably as Kylie boldly returned his stare.
“So I think these songs will be a good starting point,” Kylie said as she put away her pencil and notepad. “I can email you the list. Of course, with dulcimer everything’s in D, unless you want me to capo to A for ‘Hangman’s Reel.’”
“It does sound better in A.” Ren stood and held the chair for Kylie. This close, he could smell the fresh cherries and mint of her shampoo and the sweet essence that was Kylie Richards, and his breath hitched in his throat. He wanted to reach out and touch her.
A mist-cloaked moon was rising over the eastern horizon as they walked toward Kylie’s car. Kylie clicked open her locks and turned to Ren. “Thank you for dinner and the adult conversation,” she said almost shyly. “I really enjoyed it.”
Ren felt a crooked smile touch his lips. “Well, we didn’t talk about much but the music.” He squeezed her hand. “Tell you what. We’ll do this again. And next time we will have some adult conversation.” He paused a minute. “I would like to get to know you better.” He deliberately held her gaze.
Kylie nodded. “I’d like that.” She went up on her tiptoes and, before Ren could react, kissed him gently on the cheek. “I would like that a lot.”
A delicate blush staining her cheeks, she smiled and ducked into her car. Ren stepped back to let her out of her parking place and watched until her car had disappeared into the teeming evening traffic. Damn, but he wanted her. He wanted her badly. He sensed that for the asking he could have her.
But he was no closer to figuring out if she was a drug dealer than he had been before.
So did he have it in him to cross that line? To use her that way? To sleep with her for the sole purpose of the investigation?
He got into his car and was about halfway back to his condo when his phone rang. Ah, the magic of Bluetooth, he thought as he pushed the appropriate buttons and the sound of Sawyer Ellison’s voice filled the car. “So, Ren, are you free to talk?”
“I’m free. I just left Kylie a few minutes ago. We had dinner together and came up with a list of numbers we want to work up as duets.”
“So did you find out anything that would shed light on any possible drug dealing?”
“Not a damn thing. What about on your end?”
“That’s why I’m calling. I just left the Johnson City police station. A group of college kids known to frequent Acoustics were busted for penny-ante dealing. They won’t name their supplier, who apparently has them thoroughly scared of the consequences if they do talk, but a substantial deposit was made into Kylie Richards’s account sometime yesterday.”
Ren made a face. “Well, that’s just peachy, isn’t it? So what do you want me to do, keep on keeping on?”
“Obviously.” Sawyer’s voice was dry. “You need to get as close to her as you can, up to and including sleeping with her if you have to. Pillow talk can sometimes be a treasure trove of information. And you need to search both the club and her house, if you can manage.”
“The club shouldn’t a problem. I’m there all the time. I don’t know about the house.”
Ren could hear Sawyer chuckle. “Shouldn’t be a problem if you’re sleeping with her.”
“You’re cold, Ellison. I’m not sure I can bring myself to use her like that.”
“No, I’m not cold, I just want to catch me a drug dealer or two. And so do you, if you’ll be honest with yourself. You’ll sleep with her if that’s what it takes to crack this case. Catch you later.”
Ren sighed inwardly as he clicked off the Bluetooth. Sawyer was right. He hadn’t forgotten what drugs had done to his Army buddy Jerry, and he did want to catch Kylie if she was guilty. If Kylie was dealing, she deserved whatever came her way.
But what if she wasn’t guilty? a little voice inside him asked. What if the woman was as sweet and innocent as she seemed? Would the end result actually justify the means if Kylie Richards was an innocent woman?
***
Ren pulled into his usual parking spot behind Acoustics and got his instruments out of the car. He was almost a half hour earlier than he had arranged to meet Kylie, but he knew that Doyle, the slow-witted custodian who cleaned the club, would be working this afternoon and that he would be able to get in. It had been nearly two weeks since his conversation with Sawyer, two weeks of practicing with Kylie and the band and playing with The Barstows, and this was the first chance he’d had to look around a bit in the club. He wasn’t sure which rooms were kept locked and which weren’t, but he would search as much of it as he could access. Whistling under his breath and trying to appear nonchalant, he shouldered open the door and sauntered inside. Perfect. He could hear Doyle vacuuming in the dining room and bar area, and he would be alone in the back of the club where theoretically any drugs would be hidden. Now, if only the doors were unlocked and he could get inside the two rooms—the break room and the office/instrument room—where an illegal stash would most likely be found.
Ren pushed gently on the door to the office and instrument room. Bingo! The door was set on lock but was slightly ajar, probably because the walls had shifted and Doyle hadn’t closed it carefully. Ren quickly stashed his mandolin case onto the shelf, so he would have an excuse for being in here if he needed one. Pulling the door almost but not totally shut, he made a mental list of what he needed to search and got to work.
A quick look through Cooper’s desk revealed an unopened envelope from the bank and a stack of older bank statements that showed all too clearly the dismal financial state the club was in, but nothing that remotely resembled illegal pharmaceuticals. Ren made a face as he returned the pile of statements to the drawer. Damn, the club was in bad shape, worse shape even than Sawyer knew. Cooper and Kylie were dependent on the money flowing into that offshore account to keep their club alive. Powerful motivation, he admitted, to doing whatever it took, no matter how illegal, to keep that money coming.
Working as fast as he could, Ren started going through the instrument cases, beginning at the top of the shelf and working down. He was on the second row when he heard the back door open. Hell, he thought he had plenty of time to get this finished before Kylie was due. Now he had to fall back on the lame “I left my instrument” excuse and hope Kylie was gullible enough to fall for it.
He zipped up the guitar case and shoved it back on the shelf. He heard footsteps go down the hall and was about to breathe a sigh of relief when he heard Cooper’s voice, not Kylie’s, in the hall. Shit. Kylie might have fallen for the lie. Cooper? Never.
Ren froze, his mind racing. The hall was silent for a minute before Ren heard Cooper’s voice again, fainter now and apparently in conversation with Doyle. He snatched up his mandolin case and beat a hasty retreat down the hall into the employee break room, where he collapsed onto a chair. Damn, that had been close and he hadn’t had time to finish, so he had no idea whether or not there was any contraband in the club. But he had learned just how desperately Kylie and Cooper needed the money in that offshore account to keep Acoustics’s doors open.
And that made the two of them look guiltier than ever.
***
Kylie pushed open the door to the office and stashed her spare dulcimer on the instrument shelf before sinking tiredly onto one of the practice chairs. “Damn, it’s almost seven and I still have to make dinner and go over the clog dance steps with the kids tonight.” Cooper sat at the desk looking down at a pile of bank statements with a scowl on his face. “Did you get the same text from Camille this afternoon that I did?”
“What? That Uncle Joe’s back in the hospital and is going to be out until sometime in the fall? Sure did. I hope the old bastard’s going to be all right.”
“Cooper, you’re terrible. Ah, well, at least we’ve got Ren for the duration. God, how can I be so damn tired?”
Cooper glanced up at her. His face was pinched and he looked as tired as she felt. “Maybe because you’ve been at it full tilt since eight this morning and know you’re far from finished? You should have sent Ren out of here an hour and a half ago. You don’t have to get your whole list ready in a week’s time.”
“I know that.” Kylie smiled sheepishly. “I get to making music with him and just flat forget the time. It’s easy to do when you’re having fun.”
“Having fun making music or having fun with Ren Campbell?”
“Little of both. So, what are you looking at that’s got your boxers in a twist?”
“What the hell do you think? The bank statement came this morning. We’re in even worse shape than we were last month and the month before that. I had to dip once again into your contribution just to make payroll. Here. Take a look.”
Kylie took the bank statement from Cooper and quickly scanned it. “I see what you mean. Payroll is huge. Have you considered that we may have too many on the wait staff? Last night they were tripping over each other.”
“And then last Friday the girls we did have could barely keep up with the crowd. I never know how many we need. It depends on the crowd we have, doesn’t it?”
“Damned if I know.” Kylie took another look at the statement. “What about the food orders Chad’s putting in? It looks like he’s buying a lot more perishables than we’re using and paying a lot more for them than he should be.”
“I’ll talk to him about it. But some nights we’re standing room only and he needs everything he’s ordered and then some. Crap, Kylie, I thought we knew what we were doing when we opened the club. I had no idea running a business was going to be this big a pain in the butt.”
Kylie handed the statement back to Cooper. “Cooper, you have to be patient. All the YouTube videos and online tutorials in the world weren’t going to teach us everything we needed to know, like how hard it was going to be to hire staff and buy booze and food and book talent. Come on, Cooper. It’ll come together for us in the next little while. Honestly.”
Cooper smiled tiredly. “My sister Kylie, always the optimist. All I can say is that I thank my lucky stars that you and Tommy were able to save as much as you did. Your support is making all the difference, you know that.”
Collins Wentworth’s support, you mean. “I’m glad it’s there to help.”
“I just hope we can get this place in the black before it all runs out.”
So does Collins.
Kylie changed the subject to the clog dance the kids were performing the next night and made polite small talk before leaving. Once in the car, she dropped the cheerful façade she’d used to reassure Cooper and admitted the truth to herself. Neither she nor Cooper knew what they were doing, and they were making mistakes right and left. Hiring a professional management company was out of the question. They cost a ton of money and she was in short supply of that.
And she was again telling the lies she loathed so much. God in Heaven, she hated lying to Cooper, but what choice did she have? Telling him the truth would not only risk the money, but he would learn that the mother he admired so much cheated on the father that he adored. And Cooper just didn’t need to know that.
Caught between going broke and breaking her brother’s heart, she would have to keep going down the ugly path of deceit. Her tired mind rolled back over the familiar path of resentment toward Tommy. Because he couldn’t keep his zipper in place or their money in the bank, they would all pay the price—unless she could keep all the balls juggling just right. She could only hope that their business would reverse course soon. And in the meantime, she would keep telling the lies she despised so bitterly.