She snorted softly and leaned back in her seat. “Look deputy, cut the games. Don’t think threatening Zach is going to guilt me into telling you anything. You won’t be able to pin shit on him, because he didn’t do anything.”
God, Colton hoped that was the truth. He wanted Zach to be what he’d thought—an innocent fiddle player that was having a bad time. “But Jeb did.”
“Jeb was no angel. If anything, he was his own devil.” She gave him a hard look. “Zach trusted you, and he doesn’t do that easily. He said you saw him, not something superficial. It’s too bad you two couldn’t have tried.”
Colton schooled his expression. There was a difference between not in the closet and talking about the dude he had the hots for on the job. “That’s not what we’re here to chat about, ma’am.”
“No?” She smiled and shook her head. “If you pass on that boy you aren’t as smart as I gave you credit for. Zach’s special. I’m probably being a foolish old woman talking to you, but I’ll tell you what I know. For Zach’s sake.”
She was mocking him, but according to Zach she cared about him. Colton sure as shit hoped that was the truth.
“You got to know, Jeb Baxter came into this world a nobody. Born and raised in the Shenandoah Valley to dirt-poor people. Only thing he was good at was playing the fiddle. Earned him a music scholarship to Virginia Tech. Laurel Betterman was from as old a family as the south could find. Plantations, slaves, the South will rise again, everything. Laurel went to Radford, which was an all-girls school at the time.” She settled into her story like she’d been planning to tell it for years. “Jeb played a concert at Radford, and Laurel fell in love. Her family didn’t approve of course, but she didn’t listen to them. Married him as soon as they both finished school.”
She went on to explain how the Betterman family had left Laurel a small fortune, and Laurel had a little girl, Mary Elizabeth, while Jeb toured the country with a band. “When Mary Elizabeth was seven, Laurel died in childbirth. The baby was stillborn. It changed Jeb. It also left him with a daughter to raise and very limited access to the funds in her trust, thanks to that lawyer, Lee.”
Now that was a name he knew, and his ears perked up. “This lawyer for the trust, is that Beauregard Lee?”
“That’s the son. Randolph Robert E. Lee was the original trustee.” Colton laughed, and she smiled. “I did say this was the heart of the old south.”
“My daddy’s middle name is Lee. I get it.” Look at him, gaining a rapport. Uncle Ted would be busting his buttons. “How did Jeb solve his money problem?”
“How much did the festival pay Jeb?” she shot back.
The sheriff was asking the same question, so they were getting somewhere. “I don’t know, but I believe the sheriff might.”
“Six thousand three hundred dollars. Three hundred a show for three shows a night and a seven-night stand. If you were to find copies of the contract Jeb kept for tax purposes, it says he got ten thousandpershow.” She raised an eyebrow. “Jeb’s bank account showed a hell of a lot more than what this show was worth.
Colton snorted. His ass. “Fred Jenkins ain’t got ten thousand dollars a day to pay no one.”
“I can’t speak to that, buthedidn’t pay Jeb. A crime family out of Philadelphia did. Jeb received ten percent to launder the money.”
He felt his eyebrow raise up to his hairline. A fucking East Coast crime family? Like the Sopranos kind of mob? His possible pick-up was a mobster? What the actual fuck was going on here, and where the hell was Uncle Ted? This was way over anything they dealt with. They did traffic stops and arrested drunk assholes who hit their wives, for fuck’s sake. “Where exactly did Ulmstead come into this?”
“When Zach was just little, his momma overheard Jeb talking to one of the men from Philadelphia who came in person to discuss business. She, being her daddy’s girl, charged in andtold Jeb she wanted no part of his dirty scam. She grabbed her boyfriend and drove off. They were found inside the charred remains of the car.”
Fuck a doodle goddamn doo. “How’d Zach escape?”
“He was with me at the time. My grandmother had worked for the Bettermans and, when Zach was born, they needed child care because Mary Elizabeth had taken over as the lead fiddle player. I needed a job. With his daughter gone, and Zach too young to take over, Jeb had to go back to playing. Zach took over when he was nine.
“Eventually, running the show, managing the schedule, and finding ways to hide the cash he was getting got to be too much to handle for Jeb. So when Zach was thirteen, Ulmstead and his boys joined the show.”
Bully for them. Assholes. Poor Zach had been fucked ten ways from Sunday.
“Ulmstead handled travel, set-up, and take-down. He wasn’t part of Jeb’s side dealings at first, but after some years, Jeb wanted better for Zach so he got ready to leave. He sold a quarter of the business, including the side hustle, to Ulmstead. In another six months, he was going to sell the rest and take Zach away from this life.”
And he thought his life was complicated. He was a fucking babe in the woods.
“Are we done?” Theassholewas implied.
Geez Louise, Colton was sure as shit glad this was being recorded, because this was a goddamn story and a half. Possibly a story and three quarters. “Let me talk to the sheriff first, ma’am.”
“I need to see Zach. I need to see him with my own eyes.”
Colton did too. This time her request was softer and more urgent. It was maternal. She cared for Zach like the womanwho’d raised him. He got that, but it wasn’t his call. Not even a little. “I’ll speak to the sheriff, ma’am. Just hang tight.”
He stood and sighed. What a tangled web these folks were weaving.
At least he wasn’t the sheriff.
