Authors: Terri Blackstock
Double Minds (9 page)
The house that Brenna grew up in was among the mansions in Franklin, Tennessee, a well-to-do suburb of Nashville. Parker guessed it was about 10,000 square feet. She couldn’t imagine how anyone could fill every room in a house this size. Feeling awkward, she pulled into the line of cars parked along the circular driveway and waited until she saw Marta and some of Brenna’s friends getting out of their cars.
She slipped out and greeted Marta. “Chase asked me to come. Do you think it’s all right?”
Marta looked rougher than she’d looked a couple of days ago when Parker had met her at the dorms. “You worked with her, so they’ll want you here. They made us promise to come. Heads up, though—her mother’s on something.”
“On something? You mean, drugs?”
“Yeah. They must have tranquilized her for the funeral. Maybe that’s what we all need.”
Parker’s heart swelled for the broken mother. She turned back down the driveway and saw Chase walking toward the door. His nose was red and shiny; he’d probably been crying on the way over. What a day for him … for all who’d loved this girl.
Parker followed Marta up the front steps. Stepping into the opulent mansion, she had the sense of stepping into greatness.
Brenna’s mother was sitting in a throne-like chair in the parlor. For over a decade, she had been the top-selling Christian star in the US. Now, pushing fifty, her numbers had dropped, but Parker suspected that at least some of the opulence in this home had come from her income. She had her sunglasses on, no doubt to hide the grief in her eyes. She spoke with a slur and fawned over Brenna’s friends as they leaned down to hug her. She seemed a little like Anna Nicole Smith in the days following her son’s death.
When it was Parker’s turn to greet her, she took the woman’s hand in both of hers—brimming with sweet, comforting words. Instead, she got stuck on whether to call her Mrs. Evans or Ms. Teniere. She decided to skip her name, altogether.
“I worked with Brenna at Colgate Studies,” she said softly. “I thought she was a wonderful person.” She mentally kicked herself; that sounded so lame. And frankly, Parker didn’t know whether Brenna was a wonderful person or a terrible person. She’d never taken the time to find out. “I’m so sorry about what happened.”
“What’s your name, honey?” Tiffany’s hoarse voice had a drag to it, as if her tongue moved seconds behind her thoughts.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Parker James.”
“Parker James,” Tiffany slurred. “The songwriter.”
Pride flooded her chest. “That’s right.”
“You wrote all the songs for Serene what’s-her-name.”
“Serene Stevens.”
“That’s right. You’re a good writer, sweetie.”
“Thank you. I worked with Brenna at Colgate.”
“I remember her talking about you.” She stroked the hair out of Parker’s eyes. Parker wondered if Brenna really had spoken of her. She doubted it.
The crowd behind Parker pushed closer, so Parker stepped out of the way.
The thought that Tiffany Teniere knew who she was thrilled her. Then she slapped herself down. What was she doing, thinking of herself at a time like this? This wasn’t a networking opportunity.
She looked around for Marta and saw her on the back sun porch with Chase, among Brenna’s friends. She felt out of place, but something about this situation compelled her to stay. People here knew things. They knew of Brenna’s enemies, her fights, her admirers. Maybe the gossip would reveal some clues to lead them to the killer. She stepped out onto the porch.
Across the pool stood a gazebo. Nathan Evans sat there with some record executives that Parker recognized but couldn’t name. Nathan didn’t seem to be grieving the same way as his wife. Instead, he looked angry. His lips were tight and his teeth bared as he bit out words. She wished she could hear the conversation.
After a few minutes, Tiffany came out to the sun porch. “Would any of you like to see Brenna’s room?” She took Chase’s arm. “Chase, sweetie, let me lean on you and I’ll give you all a tour. I want you to see what a special and talented person my baby girl is … was.” As she corrected herself, Tiffany swayed. Parker wondered if she was about to faint.
“You sure you’re up to this?” Chase asked her.
Tiffany seemed to rally. “Of course.” Her voice was weak, nothing like the sound on her CDs. “I need to get away from all the well-wishers who didn’t even know her. Wouldn’t know her if she spat in their faces. Don’t even know why they’re here, except to see and be seen. Blood-sucking leeches.”
Parker felt a rush of guilt, but Tiffany reached out a hand to her. “Come on, kids, let’s go upstairs.”
Feeling like a fraud, Parker took her hand and let Tiffany lead her up the grand staircase, down the wide hallway floored with rich mahogany.
They went past several beautifully decorated bedrooms and a big study with Brenna’s portrait on the wall. Parker wanted to pause at each room and see how the upper class lived, but Tiffany kept walking.
Finally, they stepped into Brenna’s bedroom suite. Why would the girl have chosen to live in a cramped dorm on campus when she had a home like this? The room had the look of a penthouse in a five-star hotel. Parker was afraid to touch the furniture.
Tiffany went to Brenna’s bed and sat down. She grabbed a satin pillow and stroked it gently. Chase lost it—he covered his face and leaned against the wall. Marta and some of the other girls surrounded him, hugging him, trying to comfort him. Feeling like an intruder, Parker backed into the hallway.
She should leave, right now. She had no business here.
She heard footsteps on the stairs and saw Nathan Evans coming up with the three men she’d seen outside. Two of them she knew to be promoters. The third one was the guy with the ponytail, the one she had guessed to be Brenna’s brother. His eyes met hers again, calm and familiar as if he knew her, as they went into the study and closed the door.
Quietly, she headed back to the staircase. As she passed the study, she heard angry voices and paused. “This didn’t just happen by accident,” she heard someone say. “This was deliberate and it’s aimed at me.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” someone returned. “It could have been a case of mistaken identify.”
“You don’t gun
my
daughter down by accident. It wasn’t a mistake.”
The voices grew more muffled and she stepped closer. She couldn’t hear the words anymore, but the heated exchange sounded angry, bitter.
Maybe she should stay, after all. She might hear more. But she couldn’t lurk outside this door. She went back to Brenna’s room and, taking a deep breath, stepped back inside. Tiffany sat on the bed, leaning back against Brenna’s ornate headboard, her vacant eyes locked on another portrait on Brenna’s dresser.
“I told him,” she muttered. “He has so many enemies. They finally got even.”
Parker’s heart slammed through her chest. She waited for someone closer to the family to ask what she meant, but no one did. So she did. “Enemies? What enemies?”
Tiffany looked at her as though seeing her for the first time. “My husband’s enemies. She was his little girl. The thing that would hurt him most.”
Parker had the strangest feeling that the identity of Brenna’s killer might roll right off Tiffany’s tongue. “You sound like you know who did it.”
Tiffany seemed to snap out of it then. “Who knows? Dozens of people over all these years …”
“But … was there someone recently? Someone who made threats?”
“Not outright. Not that I know of.” Tiffany’s eyes fixed on some distant, unseen memory. “I don’t feel well. I have to go lie down.”
Parker swallowed, wishing she could get more out of her. “But if you could think of a name to give the police, they could arrest him.”
Tiffany got off of the bed and locked into Parker’s gaze. “It could have been anyone. It could even have been you.”
All eyes turned to her, inquisitive, accusing.
Horrified, Parker brought her hand to her chest. “It wasn’t,” she whispered. “You don’t think I—”
“Of course not, sweetie.” Tiffany touched Parker’s face. “Thank you for coming. Give my apologies.” Then she wandered down the hall and vanished into another room.
Brenna’s friends were quiet as they went back downstairs. Parker didn’t have the stomach for any more snooping. As the others headed back to the sun room, Parker stepped out the front door, glad for fresh air. She hurried out to her car and pulled out of the line of parked cars. Trembling, she powered on her cell phone and dialed Gibson’s number.
He was quick to answer. “Hey, Sis. Whatcha got?”
“I was just at the Evanses’ house,” she said, “and I heard this weird conversation. Her father was talking to these guys. Promoters, I think. Nathan told them that he didn’t think Brenna’s death was random, that someone killed her purposely because of him.”
Gibson was quiet for a moment. “What else did you hear?”
She related her conversation with Tiffany.
“I don’t like this,” Gibson said. “That she suggested the murderer could’ve been you. Brenna’s friends will be talking. That’ll get all over town.”
“She didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’ll take on a life of its own.”
“Well, should I be concerned? Is someone going to show up and handcuff me?”
“No. You have an alibi and no motive … and a brother working on the case. But Parker, you’ve
got
to stay away from the investigation. Don’t go near those people anymore.” He paused, clearly waiting for her to agree. “Parker, do you hear me?”
“Yes, I hear you.”
“This is not sister-brother stuff, Parker. This is police business. Your getting more involved could cost me the case, and maybe even my job. And worse, it could enable the killer to get away with it. You got that?”
“Yes, I’ve got it. Well, one good thing. If Tiffany and Nathan are right, the killer didn’t intend to kill me. I’ll feel safer.”
“Good,” he said. “So go home and work on your songs. And call Serene. She’s been calling everybody in the family, trying to reach you. She has good news. She’s about to hit the big time.”
Good news was relative. But Parker would have to talk to Serene. It wasn’t fair to put her friend off any longer.
Serene’s “Double Minds” photo shoot took place the next day at the Parthenon in Centennial Park, close to Parker’s house. It was a popular park where people jogged or walked their dogs, where nearby college students studied on blankets on the grass. The building was modeled after the Greek original in Athens, and it was a common place for Nashville stars to be photographed.
Parker found the photo crew on the front steps. The location was clichéd, if you asked her. She’d suggested to Serene that she try someplace different, but Serene was in a hurry to get the cover of her album done. Sometimes Parker wondered if she was the only creative person on Serene’s team.
She strolled toward them, her fake Uggs squishing in the damp earth. A small crowd had formed a perimeter around Serene as she posed with wind blowing her long blonde hair—courtesy of a couple of fans provided by the photographer. Her band members stood off to the side, unshaven and artistically disheveled. Daniel Walker, the youth minister she’d been playing for the night of Brenna’s murder, was clean-shaven, but someone had moussed and tousled his hair, as if that would complete his transition from minister to guitarist. They should have left him alone, she thought. His look needed no help.
Serene’s manager stood behind the photographer, checking every picture digitally as it was made. Parker swept her hair behind her ears and stood back with the spectators. She met Daniel’s eyes, and he winked at her. She smiled, maybe for the first time in days.
She remembered what he’d told the youth group about her, that she had left her concert early to keep from getting the glory and applause. He had a picture of her in his mind that wasn’t quite accurate, but somehow, she wanted to live up to it.
The photographer finished with the band, and they came down the steps, leaving Serene for her solo shots. Parker knew it would be Serene’s face that shone on the cover. The shots of the band would be reduced to a thumbnail shot on the liner notes. Still, she was glad Daniel would get some credit. His youth group would love it.
Daniel came toward her. “Hey, Parker.” He hugged her. “Are you okay? I’ve been praying for you.”
That warmth flushed through her again. “Yeah, it’s been a rough few days.”
The other band members mingled with the crowd, but Daniel took her hand and pulled her closer to the camera crew and away from the spectators.
“You did great the other night,” he said. “I’ve been wanting to tell you.”
“Thanks. Sorry I left you holding the bag.”
“No, I love how you did that.”
Guilt surged through her again. “Daniel, about the reason I left—”
Serene called out to her then. “Parker, I’m so glad you’re here!We’re almost finished. Don’t go away!”
“I won’t,” she called back. She turned back to Daniel, saw him checking his watch.
“Wow, it’s late. I have to get back to the church. We have a staff meeting.”
Parker admired Daniel’s devotion to his church. His music was a side business, something that supplemented his income while he went about the work of God. He was also a ripping guitar player, and Serene was lucky to have him.
Her explanation about the other night could wait. He packed his guitar. “So are you going to rewrite the songs so we can get back in the studio?” he asked.
Parker glanced back at Serene. “We’re talking about it today.”
He zipped the case and slung it on his back. “I understand your hesitation, but you don’t want anybody else butchering up your songs, do you? You let these guys get hold of them, they’ll sound third grade. Besides, I have a feeling Serene’s about to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”
Parker’s eyebrows came up. “Oh, yeah? What?”
“I can’t say. I’m just the hired help.”
The photographer finally shouted out, “That’s a wrap!” Serene bounced down the steps to examine the digital images. “Parker, come see. Do I look too washed out? Did the camera make me look fat?”
Parker said good-bye to Daniel and watched as the shots came and went, Serene banishing some of them to the computer trash bin. To Parker, they were all good. Serene was a natural. But you couldn’t put Parker on the steps of the Parthenon and make her look like a star. Her shoulder-length red hair was too short to blow in just that way, and she’d look ridiculous if she wore the costumy, flowing dress that Serene had on. Serene’s star quality shone in every picture. She supposed that was why her friend was famous. That … and because she could sing. Boy, could she sing. Serene’s voice was what had pulled her from life’s ghetto. It was her currency, her hope. Parker had recognized that when Serene was only thirteen.
Satisfied with the shots, Serene turned back to Parker. “We’re going to Fido to get a bite. We’ll meet you over there.”
Parker stood there a moment as Serene signed autographs, then she turned and squished back to her car. As she was getting in, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the readout. It was George Colgate, her boss.
She clicked the phone on. “Don’t tell me we’re opening today.”
“No, the building’s still sealed. I need your help. We’ve got to shuffle around these session times. We can’t have people immigrating to other studios. Can you get your brother to tell you how long before we can get back in? I’m losing tons of money every day that we’re closed. And see if he’ll give you your appointment book.”
“I think he’s logged it as evidence. He’s even got my laptop, becauseit was on my desk.”
“Come on! What are we gonna do? If we can’t open, we at least need our schedule so we can move things around. Use your influence, Parker.”
“I’ll ask him if he can at least give me a copy. But even if he doesn’t, I can call some of the labels this afternoon and try to shuffle things around. Since we can’t make up the days we missed, maybe we could farm some of the groups out to other studios.”
“Yeah, and take a huge loss. I’d rather just encourage them to record when the studios are available—like early morning hours.”
Mornings weren’t popular with vocalists, because their voices weren’t at peak performance level. Most musicians preferred to record in the afternoons and evenings, and some would work all night.
“The hours from, say, five a.m. to noon would be open,” Parker said, “if we could get anyone to come then. It won’t be easy, but mixing and editing could be done then.”
“It doesn’t pay to have a girl murdered in your lobby. Why did we hire Nathan Evans’s daughter anyway, for Pete’s sake?”
“You hired her, George. And remember, she worked for free. She was a nice girl and a good worker.”
“Just goes to show you, you ought to check people out, even interns. Are you sure they weren’t after me? Or you?”
“Nobody’s sure of anything yet, but I don’t think so.”
“I’ve decided to hire an off-duty cop for security.”
“Great idea,” she said. “It’ll make me feel a lot better.”
“Then it’s done,” he said. “I don’t want any more shootouts at the OK Corral.”
As Parker drove home, she wondered if her own death would have been such an inconvenience to the people who knew her.