by Elise Noble
He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I mean, I knew her. I was supposed to be with her tonight. What if they think I…?”
“Think you what?”
Then I realised. Until that moment, it hadn’t occurred to me that this was anything but a terrible accident, but what if Reagan had been pushed?
Travis wouldn’t have done that, though, would he?
No, of course not. Not Travis.
Although he did have a motive. First, Reagan had screwed him while he was unconscious, and then she’d practically blackmailed him into bringing her tonight. He’d had to be nice to her all evening, even as she bitched about everything to everyone. Hell, I’d been dreaming up ways to kill her myself earlier, although my plans had been more creative. Strapping her to the back of the tour bus then reversing into a wall. Strangling her with one of her definitely-not-designer necklaces. Lacing her coffee with rat poison. At no point had I envisioned something so simple as a swift shove down the stairs.
But I wouldn’t have actually done it, not a chance, and I couldn’t imagine Travis resorting to vigilante justice. Emmy Black? Yes, in a heartbeat, but not Travis. In the two weeks I’d known him, he’d been an arsehole at times, but a kind arsehole.
Dammit. Two weeks. I’d only known him for two weeks. Was that long enough to judge a person’s character?
And he’d had the opportunity to push her, because he’d walked away from me several minutes before the body was found. Mind you, somebody could say the same about yours truly—I’d been alone, and I’d certainly been gunning for Reagan too.
What a shambles.
The crowd parted momentarily, and I caught a glimpse of Reagan’s silver stilettos. They weren’t quite as high as mine, but she hadn’t looked too stable in them earlier, plus she’d been drinking. Me? My feet might have hurt, but I’d been wearing heels since I was three years old, and I’d never fall, no matter how much I might joke about it.
“Where did you go after…you know?” I whispered to Travis.
He tugged me away from the crowd. “You can’t think…?”
“No, of course not.” Maybe. “But did you see anything? Anybody?”
“I wasn’t anywhere near the stairwell.” He jerked his head in the other direction along the hallway. “I was down there, looking out the window.”
Where had he appeared from when he came back for me? I tried to recall, but my eyes had been too blurry to see straight. And Travis had a penchant for stairwells, I already knew that.
What if he had pushed Reagan? Could I blame him? Reagan’s demise was karma at work, surely? Did the truth matter?
Not to the media, it didn’t. The rats who chased Indigo Rain day and night would never let facts get in the way of a good story, and if they could make a quick buck by dragging Travis or any of the other celebs present through the mud, they’d do it for sure.
“Did anybody see you?” I asked.
Travis shook his head. “I don’t think so. It was quiet; that’s why I stopped there.”
A simple solution would be for us to say we were with each other, but then people would ask why. Fibbing to the cops about drugs at a party was something I didn’t feel too guilty for, but giving someone an alibi for murder? That was a dangerous game, and one I didn’t want to play.
“We need to stay apart.”
“Why?” Travis asked.
“Who did you tell about what Reagan did to you?”
“Just Rush, Dex, and JD. And you.”
“Frank? Gary?”
“No.”
“Then you haven’t got a motive for wanting to hurt Reagan. Hell, you brought her as your date tonight. But if people see you close to me, they might start to ask questions. Like you said, nothing’s gonna happen anyway, so you need to keep your distance.”
“I fucking hate this.”
“Me too.” Another awful thought struck me. “Oh, hell.”
“What?”
“I remember reading a story a while back. A story that you pushed your ex-girlfriend.”
“Ah, fuck.” Travis tore a hand through his hair again, and it went from artfully dishevelled to messy.
“It was a lie, right?”
“Two lies. Firstly, she tripped over a coffee table, and secondly, she wasn’t even my girlfriend. Just a hook-up in search of column inches.”
And she’d sure gotten those, hadn’t she? This was a mess. A big, huge, giant mess.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Nothing for you to be sorry about, blue. This is my life. My problem. And it’s going to stay that way.”
He stepped to the side, putting more space between us. Zander would look after me—of that I was sure—but would Gary go to bat for Travis? Hopefully, if it meant the record label’s investment in the band was threatened.
“Just say as little as possible,” I whispered.
Authoritative voices signalled the police’s arrival, and a gendarme moved the small crowd back. A man in a long-sleeved black shirt and grey slacks appeared, thirty or so years old, and I didn’t even have to ask to know he worked for Blackwood. All the Blackwood men radiated the same quiet confidence as Zander, and this guy was no different.
He scanned the scene, then made a beeline straight for me.
“Alana Graves?”
“Yes.”
“Mathis Guerin. I’m here to assist.”
“Assist with what?” Travis asked, sizing Mathis up.
“Anything Mademoiselle Graves requires.”
“Travis, it’s okay. My brother knows him. They work for the same company.”
Now Gary appeared, carrying the band’s award. The prick had claimed it as his own the moment the boys got back to the table.
“What’s going on?”
“Reagan fell down the stairs,” I told him.
“I’m not surprised with those dumb shoes she insisted on wearing. Can you believe she tried to claim them on her expense account? What’d she do? Break an ankle?”
“No, her neck.”
“Well, shit. Who’s gonna pick up my dry cleaning?”
I searched for some indication Gary was joking, that this was his misplaced attempt at gallows humour. But I got nothing. The asshole was actually serious.
“Perhaps you could pick it up yourself?”
“She had the tickets.”
Wow. Even Mathis rolled his eyes as if to say, Who is this dick?
“Gary, Reagan just died.”
“Yes, Alana, I know that. But we have to look at the bigger picture. There’s no room for sentimentality in this business.”
“Then maybe there should be. Music’s created with passion, not spreadsheets.”
“And you’re the expert now, are you?”
Mathis stepped away and began murmuring into his phone as I resisted the urge to increase tonight’s body count. Part of me wanted to quit and tell Gary to take a long walk off a short plank, but I couldn’t because that would mean leaving Travis too. And even after what he’d said to me tonight in the alcove, I couldn’t walk away completely. Call me a glutton for punishment.
“I just think you could show a bit more sympathy, that’s all. What will the public think?”
“Hmm, good point. I should call our PR director.”
He turned on his heel and strode off, and I sagged back against the wall as I watched him disappear down the hallway.
“Don’t worry,” Mathis said. “He’ll still get questioned.”
“On what grounds? Being an asshole?”
“Oui.” He held up his phone. “I have a friend. He will arrange, how do you say…a cavity search?”
Yes, I knew it was a dire situation, but I still choked back a laugh. “Are you serious?”
“Very much.”
Thanks, Blackwood. “Do you think the police will question me too?”
“I’ll ensure they keep it brief.”
The highs of the award ceremony faded into nervousness and exhaustion while I waited
for permission to leave. Due to the sheer number of people hanging around, the cops herded us upstairs to the bar, but I steered clear of the complimentary drinks and dragged an extra chair over to the corner table where the boys were sitting. Mathis hovered in the background, glaring at anyone who tried to approach while Travis stared into a glass of water.
“Reagan’s really dead?” Rush asked.
I nodded. “Yup.”
“I guess I should be upset, but I’m struggling.”
“Let’s look at the positives,” Dex said. “She’s still creating drama. Her legacy lives on.”
I’d had enough drama over the last fortnight to last a lifetime. Why couldn’t Reagan have faded quietly into the night instead?
Finally, a detective took me to one side.
“Can you describe your movements prior to the discovery of Mademoiselle Eckert’s body?”
“I went downstairs to use the bathroom.”
“You were in the bar prior to that?”
“Yes.”
“Did you use the stairs or the elevator?”
“The stairs.”
The detective glanced at my shoes.
“It was only one floor, and the elevator was taking ages to arrive.”
“Okay. And did you see Miss Eckert at any point?”
“No.”
“And how long elapsed between you using the stairs and the discovery of the body?”
“Maybe twenty minutes.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You spent twenty minutes in the bathroom?”
“Ten minutes. Have you ever tried wearing control underwear?”
Mathis, standing at my elbow, snorted and turned it into a cough.
“And the other ten minutes?”
Deep breaths. This was the part I didn’t want to talk about.
“I was on my way back upstairs when I bumped into Travis Thorne. We started talking, and I sat down for a few moments because my feet hurt.”
“Travis Thorne?”
“Yes. I work for one of his bandmates.”
“I see. And where did you meet him?”
“Outside the ladies’ loo, but we walked back down the corridor until I found a seat around the corner.”
“Did you go past the stairwell?”
“Uh, we went into the stairwell for a second.” The cop sucked in a breath, and I almost wished I hadn’t told him. “We were gonna go upstairs, but then we changed our minds.”
“Why?”
“Like I said, I wanted to sit down because my feet hurt.”
That sounded better than admitting we’d run from a stranger.
“And at that point, Mademoiselle Eckert was not in the stairwell?”
“No.”
“For how long did you speak to Monsieur Thorne?”
“About five minutes.”
“And then he left?”
I nodded. “But I stayed where I was until I heard someone scream.”
“Why?”
I just pointed at my shoes.
“Oui, I understand. And that’s when the body was found?”
“I believe so.”
“Do you know where Monsieur Thorne went in that time?”
“No.”
I didn’t want to admit to having spoken with Travis afterwards in case the police thought we were colluding. As Mathis instructed, I kept my answers to the bare minimum.
“And did anybody walk past you?”
“Not that I noticed.”
“I’ll need your contact details, Mademoiselle Graves.”
“Is that it?”
“Oui. For now.”
Thank goodness. Mathis trailed me back to the table, and I slid into the empty seat beside Dex.
“Did it go okay?” Travis asked.
“I said we talked and neither of us saw Reagan, but that was it. They didn’t ask me what we talked about.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but it trembled along with my hands. “I think I’ll have a glass of wine now.”
Or perhaps a bottle.
CHAPTER 16 - ALANA
“WHO ARE THEY?” I whispered to Travis as we climbed onto the tour bus.
We’d travelled back to London on the Eurostar first thing in the morning, and now the bus would deliver us to Leeds in time for the evening’s concert, the first of three that week. We also had Newcastle on Friday and Glasgow on Saturday, and on Sunday, Travis would fly back to Los Angeles for two days to fulfil his obligations under the DUI program. Right now, I had four hours to catch up on sleep, and I needed every second.
But first, I was curious about the two new faces in the front lounge. On the left, a pretty black girl who smiled, and beside her, a timid blonde who looked as though she should still be in school.
“The girl on the left is Vina. She won a reality TV show Gary made us go on as guest judges, and she sang on one of our tracks last year.”
At least Vina looked happy to see me. “And the other?”
“No idea.”
Gary appeared at that moment, fresh from first class. He’d made the rest of us travel in economy, where the boys had spent most of the trip speaking to fans until Dex got sick of being pestered and threw half a sandwich at one girl who refused to stop filming us.
“Guys, meet your new PA, Jeanne. She’ll be helping Courtney to do whatever Reagan did. And you know Vina. Her record label thought it would be great if she joined you on stage for your remaining UK tour dates so you can sing ‘Burn’ together.”
Oh, they did, did they? And what was in it for Gary? I’d quickly learned that he never did anything unless it benefited him personally, so he was probably getting a kickback.
“‘Burn’ isn’t even on the set list,” Travis said. “It doesn’t fit in with the show.”
“It was a number one in eight countries.”
Dex backed Travis. “It was some bullshit song we had to sing for a TV farce. This is Indigo Rain’s tour, not a showcase for washed-up reality stars.” He turned to Vina. “No offence, sweetheart.”
Her face crumpled, and I wanted to give her a hug. Dex may have mellowed towards me, but he could still go full-asshole whenever the mood took him.
Gary’s mouth set in a thin line. “The deal’s already been agreed to. You’ll have to swap out one of the other tracks.”
“We haven’t rehearsed,” Rush pointed out. “We haven’t even seen Vina for months.”
“You’ll have an hour this afternoon. You’re all professionals, people. If you can’t handle a simple song change, you shouldn’t be touring.”
Gary backed off the bus, and the drink JD threw at him splattered against the closing door and dripped down the glass.
JD wasn’t minded to be polite either. “Hey, Jeanne. Clean that up, would ya?”
“What with?”
“Do I look like a fuckin’ housekeeper? Find a cloth. Or tissues. Or lick the damn stuff up for all I care.”
I laid a hand on his arm. “It’s not her fault.”
“Yeah? She works for Gary.”
A tear rolled down Vina’s cheek. “I’m so sorry about this. My management told me you guys loved the idea, or I wouldn’t have come.” A sniffle. “I was supposed to be going on holiday to Portugal this week.”
Travis tugged at his hair. I’d noticed he did that when he got stressed. “Ah, fuck.”
I squashed onto the seat next to her and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Gary Dorfman lies to everybody about everything. There’s no reason he’d be any different with you.”
“How about if I just leave?” she asked. “I signed something, but maybe my manager could undo it?”
Travis cursed again, but more softly this time. “If Gary made you sign something, it’ll be watertight. Look, we’ll work with this somehow.”
“If I’d known…”
“It’s okay, we get it. Gary’s a dick.”
Courtney got up to help Jeanne, and I glanced around at the people gathered in the lounge. Without exception, everyone looked unhappy. Ner
vous, pissed off, or downright miserable.
“Guys, we can’t let Gary do this.”
“Do what?” Travis asked. “Induct Vina into hell? Because he already did that.”
“No, turn us all against each other. I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but Reagan wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, and she only divided us further.” Courtney didn’t seem as bad. Just way, way out of her depth. “So it’s us against them. Well, us against Gary mainly, although I don’t trust Ian, and hand-on-heart, I don’t understand why you keep Frank as your manager.”
Travis leaned in close so the other girls couldn’t hear. “Because Frank gets a percentage of our royalties forever. Yeah, we didn’t know any better when we signed that contract either. Back then, we were just happy to have someone—anyone—to represent us, and we weren’t making shit. Now, if we get a new manager, we’ll have to pay him as well as Frank, and at this stage, none of us are sure what benefits that would bring.”
“Oh. Shit.”
“Exactly.”
“But my point still stands. We should be working together, not against each other.”
JD got up silently and rummaged through a locker until he found a cloth.
“Sorry,” he said to Jeanne.
That was better.
“We need to get some sleep because the police kept us up for most of the night. Courtney, can you wake us if anything important happens?”
“Yup. Uh, I’m not really sure what else I’m supposed to do. Reagan mostly made me fetch coffee.”
Figured. Reagan had always struck me as a control freak who liked having an assistant because it made her feel important.
“We’ll figure it out, okay? Can you try to get the boys’ stage clothes ready? Do you know what they wear?”
“I think so.”
“And then ask Ian if he can put together a list of tasks for you and Jeanne. The man created an instruction manual for the bus, for crying out loud—he’s probably already got one.”
“Okay.”
“And if—when—Gary acts like a prick, don’t take it personally.” Rush yawned, and that set me off. “I’m going to bed.”
At least, that was the plan. Travis pulled me into the rear lounge and closed the door before I made it to my bunk.
“Travis, I’m too tired for this.”
“I… I… Fuck, I don’t know what to say. Sorry and thank you. Sorry for everything that happened last night. For what I said, because I know it hurt you, and for putting you in a position where you got questioned by the police.”
