Page 55 of Call Back

Died. That was the first time she’d conceded that he’d been killed instead of running off with Steve Morrissey’s wife. I briefly considered telling her about the serial numbers of the three gold bars, but quickly decided against it. I needed to wait until I had something concrete. “Did you ever think Daddy ran off with Shannon Morrissey?”

“No.”

I turned to look at her. “Yet you didn’t press it.”

“When the police made up their minds so quickly, I decided not to try dissuading them. I knew your father was part of something he was ashamed of, but he refused to talk about it much. I decided dead or run off, it was all the same—he was gone. My job was to protect you and Roy.” She pointed out the windshield. “Why are we still sitting here? Did you forget how to drive?”

I hid a grin as I pulled away from the curb and made a U-turn in the road. “You said Bill James worked with famous people.”

“Their connection with Max Goodwin garnered them a country music client or two.”

“Any I would know?”

She rattled off a few names I vaguely recognized from the radio, then several I didn’t. “Bill took the higher-profile clients,” she said. “Your father preferred the new up-and-comers like Clint Duncan and Rusty Blankenship.”

“And Tripp Tucker,” I said. “He sued over the Jackson Project.”

“Oh, yes. Tripp Tucker. You probably don’t remember, but he came over to the house a few times for dinner. The poor kid’s father ran off when he was a toddler, and he really looked up to your daddy. Brian tried to keep him on the straight and narrow, but Tripp ultimately flamed out.”

“He died?” I asked in surprise.

“No. He had one media disgrace too many.” She leaned her head back on her seat. “His label cut him, and he was bitter and angry.”

“Which is why he sued Daddy and plenty of other people.”

“Yeah. He lost the last of his money with that land deal. Last I heard, he’s here in Franklin, living off the residuals from the songs he wrote, but he’s not living high on the hog. Just gettin’ by. He wasn’t the only one your father took under his wing. So many young kids come to Nashville to try to make it, and when they finally get some success after scraping by for years, they want to blow it. Your father tried to teach them how to budget and how to invest.”

“I didn’t know.”

“That was the way he wanted it. He didn’t want you kids near those boys. Tripp was the exception. Your daddy took it hard when he turned on him.” She looked out the window. “Some of those boys were one-hit wonders, waiting for their call back into the spotlight. A few of them were at Luke Powell’s party.”

That got my attention. “Were any of them Max Goodwin’s clients?”

“Most of your father’s country music clients came from Max.”

I cringed. “I can’t believe Daddy worked with a snake like him.”

“He hated that man.”

“Then why did he work with him?”

“I asked him that question a million times, and the answer was always the same—the money. But I knew he was lying. I suspected Max had something on your father and kept him on a line.”

“What could he possibly have had on him?”

“I don’t know, but the reins began to chafe at the end, and I know your daddy had had just about enough. Maybe Max figured it out and that’s what happened to him.”

A month ago, I would have denied the possibility that my father could have done something horrible enough to be blackmailed. Now I wasn’t so sure. But if Max had known my father well, Max must’ve known who I was before he invited me to dinner in New York a couple of years ago. Which meant he’d known full well he was hitting on Brian Steele’s daughter.

Disgusting.

But that also meant Momma knew exactly who he was when she saw him at Luke Powell’s party, and she’d said nothing. Nothing then and nothing after he was murdered.

Why?

I parked in the lot behind the catering kitchen and handed Momma the keys after I turned off the engine.

She took them and held on to my hand. “There’s something else we need to discuss.”

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