HOT.
The man pointed at her and then walked away, the paper fluttering to the ground.
She was close to the truth, it seemed.
When the Holmes follower had disappeared from view, she shifted into drive, but her phone chimed with an incoming text, stalling her. She read the message. Jack confirmed that he’d heard of the place and echoed Montrose’s warning urging her to be careful.
Finley drove away. She might not be as nice as she used to be, but careful was her middle name.
Paradise
South Broadway
Nashville, 5:00 p.m.
According to the posted hours on the door, the club didn’t open until six, but there were people inside prepping for the night. Finley had checked in with Sandy, and the owner of the property was Maurice Cosgrove. He had been the owner/operator of the place for twenty years.
No reason he shouldn’t remember Charles Holmes since, according to Montrose, he had been a regular here. No live bands, but there was always a DJ in the house. Lots of wild lights and even elevated cages those who wished to show off their dancing skills could utilize. Alcohol was served. A good many drug arrests had gone down outside the building over the years. But never inside. Word was Cosgrove was obsessive about keeping the place clean. This venue catered to the rich and famous. Even the infamous, apparently.
Finley walked up to the first person she spotted inside. “Is Mr. Cosgrove here?”
“Checking in a beer delivery in the back.”
“Thanks.” Finley didn’t wait for an invitation. She walked beyond the bar and through the staff-only doors. The driver of the beer truck had just rolled in the last of the order. Cosgrove signed the invoice, and the driver was on his way.
Cosgrove turned and noticed he had company. “Can I help you with something?”
She extended her hand. “Finley O’Sullivan. I’d like to speak to you about the Charles Holmes case, especially as to what your relationship was with him and any details you can provide related to the time he spent frequenting your establishment. I understand he was a regular.”
Cosgrove nodded. “Now there’s a blast from the past. Just so we’re clear, he and I didn’t have a relationship other than him regularly patronizing the place. Twice a week usually. Sometimes three.”
Finley nodded. “Did you ever see any trouble out of him? Any violence?”
“He gave all indications that he was a lover, not a fighter. Believe it or not, considering what we know now, there was never any trouble here with him.”
“Was he into dancing?” This was more like a dance club than just a hangout place.
“Not really. Not that I recall anyway. He usually hung out until he hooked up with someone, and then he was out of here.”
“Was he working the crowd for more than a pickup?”
Cosgrove shrugged. “I can’t say for sure, but judging by the one-offs he left with, I suppose anything is possible. He was a popular guy. Had his own little group of fans who hung around him.”
She showed him photos of Cecelia and Olivia. “Did you ever see either of these women here with him?”
“The twins.” He laughed. “They were here on a fairly regular basis.” He shrugged. “One of them was, anyway. She hung on his every word. I never got it. The guy was not what you’d call handsome and had no real personality. He was nothing more than another wannabe country music star. But they flocked to him like he was the last loaf of bread on the shelf with snow in the forecast.”
When Finley would have asked her next question, he held up a hand. “Before you ask, we do not and never have served alcohol to minors. We do, however, allow entrance to seventeen-to twenty-one-year-olds.”
Finley hadn’t planned to ask about his door policy, but she nodded her understanding to appease any worries he might have had. “Was there ever anyone in particular you noticed him with? Maybe one woman who kept up with him more than anyone else.”
“You know, I told the detectives on the case all this last time around. And they never investigated it as far as I know. I guess they figured they had their killer. No need to waste time. At any rate, there was this one girl who spent a lot of time with him. I don’t know if she’s relevant.”
“Can you tell me anything more about her? Describe her?”
“I can’t remember her name. She had dark hair and eyes. Kind of petite. Always well dressed. You might look on the bulletin boards up front. People used to leave photographs of their visits here. We had photo booths back then. The crowd loved them. The woman you’re looking for may be in one of the posted photos. I can’t be sure, but it’s worth a look. If you have more questions, just ask.”