She disappeared into the house with one hand raised, saying, “Everyone must drink wine!”
In the quiet that followed, Cara and Hunter seemed deflated. Allegra’s determination that everything had to be okay was exhausting them.
After a second Hunter squared his shoulders and reached for the bottle of wine. He filled a glass, holding it out to Harper.
“Everyone must drink wine,” he said.
She took it. One drink wouldn’t hurt.
He raised his glass, his expression somber. “To Xavier. May he come home soon.”
“Yes please,” Cara whispered.
Harper took a sip. The wine was cold and crisp. “That is delicious,” she said, surprised.
Cara gave her a rueful half smile. “Careful. We’ll corrupt you.”
Harper found herself smiling back.
It struck her that sitting in the cool ocean breeze on the beautiful veranda she could easily forget why she was here. It would be so nice to live like this. To have friends like these. To be talented and young. Harper was still only twenty-eight, but she hadn’t felt young in a long time. She wondered if she would have had a life like this if her mother had never been killed—if, instead, she’d lived long enough to worry about gray hair and smile wrinkles around her eyes.
Hunter lit a cigarette and held the pack out to Harper, with an inquiring raised eyebrow. When she declined, he said, “How do you manage to have so few vices?”
“Harper’s a good girl.” Cara sounded amused.
Hunter turned the pack to her and she slid one thin cigarette out, bending forward for a light. He flicked the glittering silver Zippo. The flame danced across her delicate features. Leaning back in her chair, she blew out a plume of white smoke that floated into the moonlight and hung there, ghostlike.
They’d clearly been drinking for quite a while. Harper thought that could work in her favor. “How did things go with Stuart today?” she asked. “Did he talk to the police?”
“Until they hung up on him.” Hunter’s tone was dry. “Because he’s such a dick.”
“The problem with Stuart is he wants to control everything, and he hates being told no,” Cara explained. “Xavier and he tend to end up fighting because Stu pushes him until Zay just snaps.”
“Is that why you think he might have run away? He snapped?” Harper asked.
Neither of them answered. Hunter focused his attention on his cigarette.
“Have you thought any more about where he might have gone?” Harper tried again.
It was Cara who replied quietly, “He wouldn’t stay away for so long without calling us. He should be in touch by now. He should be home.”
In the distance, Harper heard the faint sound of a doorbell. Cara and Hunter both stiffened.
“Christ. Not again,” Hunter groaned. Raising his voice, he shouted, “Don’t answer it, Legs.”
“We put up a sign saying not to ring the bell,” Cara told Harper. “But they just keep ringing it.”
“Why won’t they take a hint…” Hunter’s voice trailed off and he stared at the door, his body stiffening.
Harper turned to see Allegra emerging from inside the house, her face suddenly serious. Detectives Julie Daltrey and Luke Walker were right behind her.
Daltrey was small, only a few inches taller than Allegra, but she carried seven feet of authority. Her black hair was pulled back, her face tense as she took in the occupants of the veranda. When she spotted Harper, her eyes widened in surprise.
Luke frowned at her, and quickly turned away.
Allegra hurried to the sofa and leaned against Cara as if seeking warmth. “They’re detectives,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Hunter looked at Harper as if she would explain, but she knew better than to speak right now.
Daltrey stopped at the edge of the circle of chairs. “My name is Julie Daltrey. This is Luke Walker. We’re with the Savannah Police Department.” She glanced around the group. “I’m guessing you’re Cara Brand, and you must be Hunter.”
Hunter’s foot had begun to jitter. His hands white-knuckled the arms of the chair.
Daltrey turned her attention to Harper. “Perhaps you should leave now, McClain.”
There was no point in arguing. She started to stand but Hunter stopped her. “We want her here.” His voice was firm.
“This is private information,” Daltrey argued, but Hunter shook his head stubbornly.
“Talk to all of us.”
The other two nodded their agreement.
With obvious reluctance, Daltrey gave in. She motioned for Luke to take over.
“I’m afraid we don’t have good news.” He stepped closer to them, his voice somber. “A body was found this afternoon by a fishing boat off the coast. I’m sorry to tell you, we believe it’s Xavier Rayne.”
10
The night descended into chaos.
“It’s not true,” Allegra kept saying, looking plaintively from Cara to Hunter. “It’s not true.”
Hunter stood, knocking the guitar over. It hit the floor with a crash as he rounded on the two detectives, his face red, every muscle tense with shock. “How do you know it’s him?”
Cara was the only one who didn’t speak. She stared at Luke, as pale and still as a church statue.
“His mother is on her way now from Atlanta to identify the body.” Daltrey’s voice was steady. “But based on the pictures and descriptions we’ve received of markings and tattoos, we are confident.”
Cara gave a low moan.
Deprived of more objections, Hunter fell silent, his expression suddenly empty.
Allegra appealed to Harper, her huge eyes swimming with tears. “How is this happening?”
All Harper could think of to say was, “I’m very sorry.”
Jumping to her feet, Cara shoved past the detectives and fled into the house, her filmy white top floating behind her like wings.
Abandoned, Allegra ran to Hunter. He pulled her into his arms, holding her like a child. Harper heard her say something that sounded like, “I’m so scared.”
She wanted out of here. Watching them go through this was excruciating. They’d invited her in to talk, not to watch their lives shatter into a million jagged pieces.
As if he were thinking the same thing, Luke stepped closer and spoke to her, his voice low. “Come with me.”
Relieved, she hurried after him through the double glass doors into the hallway.
The house still looked as magical and perfect as it had that first day, but the feel of the place was already changing. A solemn chill permeated the huge, bohemian rooms.
“You need to go.” Luke’s voice was low but firm. “Right now.”
Harper ignored that. “You knew this afternoon, didn’t you?” she whispered accusingly as she hurried to keep up with him. “That’s where Daltrey was when I saw you. She was with the coroner.”
They’d reached the front door. He turned back to face her. “You know I couldn’t tell you what was going on right then. Anyway, we weren’t sure it was him yet.”
“Well, if you had told me, I wouldn’t have come in here tonight, asking them idiotic questions about where they thought he was hiding,” she said. “What the hell happened to him, anyway? Did he drown?”
His face closed.
For some reason, this got to her. There’d been a time when he wouldn’t have hesitated to trust her.
“Oh, fine, Luke,” she snapped. “Thanks for nothing.”
But when she tried to open the door, he pressed his hand against it, stopping her.
“Jesus, Harper. Could you just give me a second?” He raked his fingers through his sandy-brown hair, his brow knitting. “What I was trying to say is Julie would kill me if she found out I told you. I don’t want to piss her off. That’s all.”
“Give me a break, Luke. You know I won’t identify you. I never have before. Besides, Miles and I have a bet. I’ve got twenty dollars says he drowned.”
; For a long second he held her eyes. Then he said, “Where did Miles put his money?”
“Overdose.”
He glanced around to make sure no one was near, then stepped close enough that she could smell the clean, sandalwood scent of him, and lowered his voice. “You both lose. Someone shot him.”
Harper’s jaw dropped. “You’re shitting me.”
“I am not, in fact, shitting you. This is a homicide investigation.” He reached past her for the door, his arm brushing hers as he pulled it open. “Now, get going before the forensic team gets here, unless you want to spend the night in an interrogation room.”
She had her front-page story. “Thanks, Luke.”
“No idea why you’re thanking me,” he said, deadpan. “I told you nothing except that there’s a press conference in an hour.”
Racing from the beachfront mansion into the glare of the TV lights, she pulled her phone from her pocket, dialing without slowing down.
It rang three times before Baxter answered. “This better be good.”
“Oh, it’s very good.” Harper’s voice shook with each step. “Someone shot Xavier Rayne to death. They found his body.”
“Fuck me.” All the tiredness left Baxter’s voice. “When?”
“Just now. I was there when the police informed his housemates.” Breathless, Harper glanced to where the TV vans were parked. Natalie was watching her with a suspicious expression. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “No one else knows.”
“Is Miles out there?” Baxter asked.
“Not yet.”
“Call him. Get him to meet you. I’m heading back to the office. What time is it?”
Harper looked at her watch. “Eight o’clock. Listen, there’s going to be a press conference within the hour, but I got all this from a detective off the record. No names.”
“A well-placed detective?”
“Extremely.”
“That’s good enough for me.” Baxter sounded impatient. “Write something for the website right now citing an unidentified police source. I’ll rejig the front page. You and Miles get everything you can out there then get your asses back here. Break the speed limit. I’ll pay your tickets.”
The line went dead.
Without missing a beat, Harper called Miles. He answered on the first ring. “What’s up?”
She gave him the same information she’d just told their editor. “Baxter wants you here. Press conference within the hour.”
All he said was, “On my way.”
Nothing ever surprised Miles.
Harper jogged to where she’d parked the Camaro and popped the trunk to get her laptop and into the driver’s seat to write.
She was waiting impatiently for the mobile Wi-Fi to connect when two dark sedans drove down the narrow lane, followed by a van. Harper spotted Lieutenant Blazer in the passenger seat of one of the cars.
If Blazer was already here, there wasn’t much time. The cops would be eager to get the message out—to show that they were on top of it. Soon the forensics team would descend on the house and turn it inside out.
Harper kept replaying the moment Luke and Daltrey stepped out on the porch. The way Hunter had turned pale. And Cara’s hope shattered like glass.
She could kick herself for caring. But for some reason, the three people in that house had gotten under her skin.
When the connection screen finally opened, she gave a relieved sigh and put them out of her mind as she got down to work. The story came together quickly.
Missing Musician Xavier Rayne Found Dead
By Harper McClain
Up-and-coming Savannah singer and guitarist Xavier Rayne has been found shot to death, a police source told the Daily News.
Rayne, 24, had been missing for three days. He was last seen at 2 A.M. Thursday morning, walking from his Tybee Island mansion to the beach.
He was never seen alive again. Police and Coast Guard have been looking for him ever since. Tonight, his body was found by a fishing boat, off the coast.
Police are now investigating the case as a homicide.
She was just wrapping up when Miles pulled in next to her, the engine of his Mustang a rumble of power. He must have driven a hundred miles an hour to get out here so fast.
After hastily sending the article through to the newsroom, Harper slid the laptop under the seat. When she climbed out, Miles was standing next to the Camaro, camera in his hand, gazing at the TV lights ahead. “I see the circus has arrived,” he observed.
“Murder always attracts a crowd,” she said.
As they walked down the dark street, she told him everything she’d learned in the last hour. When she finished, his expression was gloomy.
“I almost wish it was drugs,” he confessed. “Such a talent, wasted.”
“It’s wasted either way,” Harper said. “There’s no good way to die at twenty-four.”
A minute later, they walked into the harsh media glare. Word of the upcoming press conference had spread. Portable lights were being lugged from the vans and aimed so that the white house was vividly illuminated. Microphone stands sprouted like saplings at the foot of the front steps.
In the blur of sudden activity, Natalie sidled up to Harper and grabbed her elbow with long fingers. “Don’t think I didn’t see you scuttling out of there earlier, you cheat. What’d you find out?”
Harper hesitated, but her story would go up on the website any second. Besides, everyone was about to learn what she already knew.
“A fishing boat found Rayne’s body,” she whispered.
“I knew it.” The TV reporter’s voice held quiet triumph. “I had five dollars on drowned.”
Harper gave her a long look, and her expression changed.
“Not drowned?”
Harper leaned closer. “Murdered.”
Natalie swore. “Josh had murdered. He’s going to clean up.”
She spoke too loudly. Josh Leonard, the Channel 5 reporter, who was standing nearby, glanced up. “Did I hear my name?” He glanced back and forth between them. “What am I cleaning up?”
Harper gave Natalie a condemning look.
“I know.” Natalie winced. “Inside voice.”
Before either of them could explain, the door of Rayne’s house opened. The reporters surged forward. Harper had to elbow her way between Natalie and Josh to see what was happening.
In the glare of the TV lights, Luke stood next to Julie Daltrey. Blazer was at her other elbow. A fresh-faced police press officer hovered nearby. At the edge of the group, Tom Southby looked uncomfortable in his black Tybee PD uniform, as if he’d been invited to a party where he didn’t know anyone.
Somehow, Harper doubted he still believed the gunshots reported the night they met were fireworks.
Blazer stepped up to the bank of microphones and began to read a statement. “Just after fourteen hundred hours this afternoon, crew on the Rocky Road, a fishing vessel from St. Simons Island, discovered the body of a man about a mile off the Georgia coast. The body has been identified as that of Michael Xavier Rayne.” Building the drama, he paused, looking at the assembled cameras. “It is clear from preliminary examination by the coroner’s office that he suffered two gunshot wounds.”
There was a collective intake of breath from the assembled journalists. Blazer spoke over it, his face absolutely expressionless. “This investigation is now being treated as a homicide. At the request of the Tybee Island Police Department, Savannah PD will lead on the investigation from this point on. A full autopsy will be held tomorrow to determine the cause of death.” He folded his notes and put them in his pocket. “We will now take questions.”
The press erupted.
“Did the gunshots kill him?” Harper asked, raising her voice to be heard above the others shouting around her.
Blazer looked at her. “We will learn the cause of death in the autopsy tomorrow. Until then, I don’t want to speculate.”
“How long had he been in the water?” someone s
houted.
“We’ll know more after the autopsy,” Blazer repeated, “but I can say the body bears the hallmarks of several days in the water. Those of you who have covered floaters before will know what that means.”
“Crabs go for the eyes first,” Harper heard a cameraman say behind her. All around her, the reporters were leaning forward, eagerly. She could feel their excitement like heat.
“Is there any indication that the gunshots could have been self-inflicted?” Natalie asked.
It was a good question. Blazer gave her a glance of dark approval. “We saw no obvious indications of that in the preliminary, but we’ll know more tomorrow.”
Harper doubted it. Shooting yourself once is hard enough. But twice? That would take determination.
“Are there any suspects?” a man asked.
The lieutenant squinted into the lights. “None I can tell you about at this time.”
“What about Cara Brand, Rayne’s girlfriend?” the same man pressed in a flat West Coast accent. “Is she a suspect?”
Harper twisted around to see him. He was short and wiry, with dark, unruly hair and an unshaven jaw. She recognized him instantly as the man she’d passed on the footpath earlier trying to find a way into the house.
She turned back, waiting for Blazer to shut him down.
“I’m not prepared to comment on suspects at this time.” The lieutenant’s tone was measured.
Harper stared at the lieutenant, stunned.
Everyone else accepted his statement at face value, and the questions resumed. But she’d covered the police long enough to know what he wasn’t saying. He wasn’t saying no.
Cara was a murder suspect. And so was everyone in that house.
11
The press conference continued for a few more minutes, but Harper tuned out. She kept thinking about the way Cara’s face had crumpled earlier tonight—those thin shoulders trembling. It had been picture-perfect grief. But, perhaps, too perfect?
Revolver Road Page 8
