Cooper's Choice, page 21
For now.
Because of the late hour, there was no hostess on duty. Serena led the way to a booth in the back corner of the café. Trent’s expression was grim as he slid in across from her.
The musician was a very good-looking man, or he would be if he smiled more often. Trent was also very talented, although her father’s best friend’s son, Jimmy Woodrow, had been even more so. The entire family knew Jimmy was brimming with talent, a shining star, one whose light had been extinguished far too soon.
As a private investigator, Serena had been hired by Jimmy’s father to uncover the truth about his son’s murder. Granted, the ME’s report had deemed Jimmy’s death to be undetermined, mostly because his tox screen had tested positive for alcohol and cocaine. Not enough to kill him, however, but still an indicator of his lifestyle. One that may have contributed to his demise.
Yet the rumor amongst the cops who’d responded to the scene was that something shady had happened that night. Without witnesses or much to go on, the investigation had stalled and became dormant.
There was a fair amount of crime in Nashville, always another murder to deal with. And the indeterminate conclusion from the ME didn’t offer much clarity either.
Trent continued to stare at her, clearly not willing to start the conversation. Once the server had brought waters and had taken their orders, she leaned forward leaning her elbows on the table.
“I know Jimmy Woodrow was no saint. He was an extremely talented musician, but he also partied a little too much.”
Trent didn’t so much as blink. She took that to mean she hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already know. Which was true. As Jimmy’s lead guitarist, she knew Trent had more knowledge of those parties than she did.
“I don’t know if you realize the medical examiner listed the cause of Jimmy’s death as indeterminate.”
“You said murder.” It was the first thing he’d said since leaving the parking lot at the Thirsty Saloon.
“Yes, because I believe he was murdered.” She didn’t want to tell him too much, but she needed his cooperation, now more than ever. “And I know you were with him that night.”
If she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she might have missed the nearly imperceptible flinch. “You’re wrong.”
“No, I’m not.” She’d been working on this case for several weeks and had learned from another member of the now broken-up band that Jimmy and Trent had been very tight. It didn’t make sense that he wouldn’t have been there that night.
Trent sat back in the booth. “You’re right about the fact that I was at the hotel for a while after the gig. We typically got together to celebrate finishing up a good run, and that night was the one in which we opened for Luke Bryan, which was huge. We all knew that night was our trip to the big leagues, so of course we were pumped. But I didn’t stay overnight. I left at four in the morning.”
“Drunk?” she asked pointedly.
He shrugged. “Rideshares are the best invention since sliced bread. No reason to drink and drive.”
Interesting that he hadn’t denied drinking. Then again, useless to deny something so easily proved as the two former band members she’d spoken to had mentioned how much Trent liked to drink. And how much he and Jimmy had partied that night he’d ended up dead in the hotel room.
Watching Trent for the past few nights, she’d noticed he’d only drank water with fresh slices of lemon. Which didn’t mean anything, he could have turned into a closet drinker, hiding his addiction from the prying eyes of the world.
But not from God.
Serena prayed for guidance as she regarded him thoughtfully. “That isn’t exactly the story I’ve heard, but we can set that issue aside for now. The real question here is who killed Jimmy? And why has that same person decided to come after you?”
A flash of impatience crossed his features. “Are you some sort of journalist? Because you’re pretty good at making up stories. There’s no proof Jimmy was murdered, and there’s no reason on earth the killer would come after me. Jimmy died three months ago. I’m pretty sure the Nashville police department has already stuck his death deep into their cold case file.”
She had to admit he was right about that. With no new leads to go on, the Nashville PD had moved on. The case wasn’t necessarily in the cold case file, but it sure wasn’t being actively pursued.
But it would be once she found the evidence they needed to keep moving the case forward.
“Why would someone attack you?” She lifted a brow. “Have you made someone mad? Cheated with a married woman? Owe someone money? What?”
He frowned. “None of the above. You’re making up stories again. That attack was a random thing.” His gaze narrowed. “Unless, of course, you’re the one who set it up. I’ve been never attacked by anyone until tonight. And you’ve been to my last few gigs.”
Again, she couldn’t help being impressed because she would have thought the exact same thing. And she had no reason to be paranoid, unlike Trent.
Their server brought their breakfast meals, then left them alone. Serena bowed her head and silently thanked God for the food and for guiding her to Trent in time to help him escape the hoodie assailant.
When she lifted her head, Trent was staring at her oddly. “What was that?” he asked.
“A prayer.” She didn’t understand why he was confused. “Considering the earlier attack, we have a lot to be thankful for.”
“Yeah, right.” His snide tone surprised her. Trent had been suspicious, blunt, confused, curious, and skeptical, but he hadn’t been downright rude.
“I take it you don’t believe in God.” She picked up her fork and cut into her omelet. Something about eating after midnight always made her want to order breakfast. Apparently, Trent felt the same.
“No, although I lived with the devil for about five years.” He turned his attention to his meal, oblivious to her shocked expression.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The words were grossly inadequate. “That must have been terrible.”
“Yeah.” Trent lapsed back into silence, concentrating on his meal as if his life depended on it. Which made her wonder about what he’d done before joining up with the Jimmy Woodrow Band. Not that Trent’s personal life should matter to her one way or the other.
Unless it had some sort of bearing on what had triggered Jimmy’s murder. But somehow she didn’t think so. No, Trent had been the lead guitarist, but whoever had killed Jimmy had a personal reason to do so.
Her father’s friend Allan Woodrow had maintained an overly positive view toward his talented son. He’d acted as if the drinking and drugs were smears on Jimmy’s good name by those who were jealous of his ability.
But that was not the picture Serena was uncovering through her investigation. Granted, the two band members could have been exaggerating, but she didn’t think so. Jimmy had been wild when it came to women and having fun. Finding his tox screen had contained alcohol and cocaine had only confirmed what Jed Matson and Dave Jacoby had told her. Whatever had transpired that fateful night, she was certain Jimmy had been too impaired to fight back or escape.
“Do you remember seeing anything suspicious the night Jimmy died?”
He glanced sharply at her. “No.”
She refused to be deterred. “I need you to think back on that night, on what was going on before you left. Any fighting? Arguing? Anything remotely unusual?”
“There was nothing to fight about, we’d just opened for a big-time star, and we were celebrating.” He stuck stubbornly to his story. “We drank too much and probably got too loud. I vaguely remember the hotel security coming to ask us to be quiet.”
That was something she hadn’t heard before. “Do you remember what time that was?”
“No.” He dropped his gaze to his empty plate, which he’d devoured in record time, then he dug into his jeans pocket for some cash. “Sorry I can’t be of more help, but I need to get home.”
Serena didn’t want him to leave. “What if I told you that Jed and Dave remembered there was an argument?”
His gaze snapped up to hers. “When did you speak to them?”
“Last week.” She eyed him steadily. “Sounds as if you and Jimmy were not in agreement about something, they both mentioned some harsh words between you.”
His cheeks flushed, and he tossed a twenty-dollar bill onto the table and stood. “You’re mistaken. We were celebrating. Frankly, I don’t appreciate you treating me as a suspect. I guess you lied to me about being a cop after all.” He stalked away, his long stride taking him quickly across the restaurant.
She winced, realizing she hadn’t handled that very well. She pulled out some cash and added it to his before hurrying after him.
But Trent was already in his truck, the engine rumbling to life. She hopped into her SUV and followed. She knew where he lived because she’d tailed him home from his gig last weekend. It was a hole-in-the-wall apartment, a far cry from the plush Grand Ole Opry Hotel where they’d stayed the night of Jimmy’s murder.
Which was another reason she didn’t believe he’d left at four in the morning. Why would he ditch the swank surroundings for a tiny apartment?
He wouldn’t. No one would.
Trent Atkins was hiding something. He wasn’t necessarily a suspect, but he was definitely hiding something.
For one thing, he wasn’t nearly as forthcoming as Jed and Dave had been. They’d relished talking about the old days and had seemed genuinely upset about Jimmy’s death.
They’d also seemed intrigued by the idea of their band leader being murdered, offering up dozens of possibilities.
Including one in which Trent and Jimmy had argued over a woman.
In her humble opinion, both men were handsome enough to hold their own in that regard. Add that to being in a band and she found it hard to imagine either of them resorting to fighting over a woman.
Then again, they’d both likely been drinking and doing drugs, so who knows what had gone through their minds?
Trent slowed near a tavern, but then speeded up again. She wondered if he’d given up on the drinking and drugs in the months since Jimmy’s death.
She decided to pray that God would guide him on the road to recovery.
When she saw Trent pull into the small parking lot outside his shabby apartment building, she drove past the place, but then pulled over to the side of the road. Getting out of the SUV, she headed back on foot. From her angle, she could see Trent sitting behind the wheel and staring out through the windshield for several long moments.
What was he thinking? She’d have given a hundred bucks for his thoughts. Was he remembering the night Jimmy had died? Jed Matson who was a drummer and Dave Jacoby who played the keyboard were both members of a new band called the Bootleggers. Not exactly an original name for Tennessee and Kentucky, but they seemed to be doing okay. Nowhere near as well as Jimmy Woodrow, but not bad.
So why had Trent struck out on his own?
Serena had more questions than answers after the brief time she’d spent with Trent. And she was keenly aware of the fact that she’d provided far more information than he’d given in return.
Trent pushed open his driver’s side door. Something hit the ground, and he bent over to retrieve it at the exact moment a gunshot rang out, shattering the driver’s side window of his truck. He hit the ground and shimmied beneath the vehicle.
“Trent! Stay down!” Serena pulled her weapon and crouched down behind a parked car. Using her phone, she called 911 to report the gunfire as her gaze searched for the shooter.
No way was this second attempt on Trent’s life a coincidence.
In a few short hours, someone had tried to kill him twice.
And with a guilty flush, she couldn’t help but wonder if her finding and questioning him had caused this to happen.
Laura Scott, Cooper's Choice
