He considered this. “Stay there for the next couple of nights at least. I’ll make sure you’ve got security. I can’t protect you if you’re constantly moving.”
She nodded uncertainly. Everyone was giving her conflicting advice. Who was right?
“Let me know if this Lee person reappears,” Blazer continued. “I’d like to have a word with him.”
The meeting was over. Harper stood to go, but the lieutenant stopped her.
“By the way, you haven’t heard from your friends out at Tybee, have you?”
When she gave him a puzzled look, he clarified, “Rayne’s housemates.”
With everything that had been going on, she’d pushed the case to the back of her mind. Suddenly, the conversation she’d had with Cara flooded back. Had that only been last night?
“Why?” she asked. “Is something going on?”
“No, and that’s the problem. Daltrey and Walker, they’re working the case well but without physical evidence, and with those three backing each other up, we can’t pin it down. I was hoping they’d let something slip with you.”
“I talked to Cara last night,” she told him. “She told me she was afraid of the other two. She suggested she’s starting to wonder if one of them was the killer. But she said she didn’t know for sure.”
Blazer looked interested. “Did you believe her?”
Harper thought of Cara whispering on the phone, the tense timbre of fear in her voice.
“There’s definitely something going on. They’re not a cozy group anymore.” A thought occurred to her. “Actually, Allegra’s playing a gig tonight at the Library Bar. I’ll try and talk to her. I think she trusts me. Maybe I can get something out of her.”
“I can send Daltrey and Walker,” Blazer offered. “You shouldn’t go in there alone.”
But Harper shook her head. “If detectives are there nobody will talk,” she said. “Let me give it a shot on my own. I’ll be careful. If they’re starting to turn on each other, maybe I can make them turn faster. Besides, it’ll take my mind off everything else for a while.”
Blazer studied her. “You know, Smith used to tell me you’d make a great cop. I’m starting to think he was right.”
Heat rose to Harper’s face. The lieutenant was not one to hand out praise.
He waved one hand. “Go. See what you can find out. Just don’t arrest anybody. Leave that to us.”
“I’ll do my best,” she said, opening the door. The sounds of the busy hallway poured in.
“When you get home tonight expect a deputy on your doorstep,” he told her, gruffly, as he wrote something on a sheet of paper. “If you don’t find one there, don’t go inside. Turn yourself around and call me on my cell. Here’s my number. Do we have a deal?”
She crossed back to his desk took the paper. Their eyes met and she gave him a grateful look.
The strangest thing to come out of this situation was that she was actually starting to like Larry Blazer.
But all she said was, “You’ve got a deal.”
27
When Harper arrived back at the newspaper a short while later, there was a patrol car parked in front of the building. The lieutenant hadn’t wasted any time. Unfortunately, this meant there was no way to hide the situation from Baxter any longer.
She’d dreaded this moment, convinced the editor would make her pull back from daily reporting. To her surprise, though, Baxter took the news calmly.
“This is why you look like you haven’t slept in three weeks, I gather.”
“Sleep isn’t something I’m getting much of lately,” Harper conceded.
They were in Baxter’s glass-walled office. Bright sun slanted in through the blinds, striping the room with light and shadow.
“Is it safe for you to be here right now?” the editor asked.
“Aside from the police station, this is the safest place I go,” Harper told her. “There’s an off-duty cop downstairs with a gun, and a cop car sitting outside the door.”
The editor considered her in silence for so long, Harper was sure she’d send her home. But then she sighed and said, “Well, then. Get your ass to work.” But Harper had seen the worried look cross her face.
“I’ll be fine,” she promised.
“Make sure you are,” Baxter told her, sternly.
“Oh, one more thing,” Harper said. “Allegra Hanson is playing a gig at a bar in town tonight. I’d like to go to it. I want to see if I can get her talk.”
Baxter didn’t look thrilled. “There’s no story there. Unless she shoots someone onstage, no one’s going to care.”
Harper didn’t back down. “They’ll care if she tells me who killed Xavier Rayne. Allegra’s fragile. She’s young. She loved Xavier—he gave her a career in music. If I can get her alone, I’m sure I can get her to talk.”
Baxter still wasn’t convinced. “Even if you get a story out of her it’s page three at this stage,” she pointed out. “And, who’s going to monitor the police scanner while you’re sitting in a bar?”
Turning, Harper pointed across the newsroom to where DJ was sitting at his desk typing furiously.
Baxter gave her a look. “You treat him like he’s your assistant.”
“He loves it. His beat is boring.”
“It is boring,” Baxter agreed, making a note on the spreadsheet in front of her. “Actually, I was thinking I might move him to courts.”
That didn’t make any sense. “Ed Lasterson does courts. Is he leaving?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Baxter stopped writing. “MaryAnne Charlton called this morning. She’d like to have her layoffs now.”
Harper’s stomach dropped. With everything that was going on, she’d forgotten what Dells had told her about the newspaper’s owner.
“Oh, come on. She can’t be serious.”
“Charlton doesn’t do humor.” Baxter sighed. “I hate that woman more than cancer.”
“You can’t do it,” Harper told her. “We have half the staff we did seven years ago. And Ed’s good. He’s got contacts no one else has. Judges call him personally. Nobody else gets that. You can’t let him go.”
“He’s been here twenty years,” Baxter said, pointedly. “He’s the highest-paid reporter on staff. DJ’s the lowest-paid. As far as MaryAnne is concerned, it’s that simple. Ed goes. DJ stays.”
Harper knew she shouldn’t be surprised by anything at this point—she’d seen numerous layoffs over the years—but she was shocked nonetheless. It was so callous. So heartless. And Baxter showed no sign of fighting it.
“Ed’s on the highest salary because he’s the best at what he does,” she reminded her. “DJ is great. But he’ll be starting from square one. And where will Ed go?”
Baxter didn’t even try to argue. “I don’t have the answer to that. I can’t think about it. I just have to do what I’m told to do by the woman who owns this newspaper. If I don’t, she’ll fire me and get someone else to do it. She’s done it before.”
Harper was so angry it was hard for her to speak. “Dells was right. She’s going to sell this place, isn’t she? First she’s going to hollow it out, then she’ll sell what’s left to some banker.”
“Probably. And then you and I will be following Ed to the unemployment office.” As she set her silver pen down, Baxter looked defeated. “In newspaper, you take what you get.”
“I hate this.” Harper stood up so abruptly her chair scratched against the floor. “It’s a messed-up, shitty thing that one woman can ruin so many lives.”
“You’re preaching to the choir.” The editor’s tone was bitter. “I can honestly say this is the best job and the worst job I’ve ever had.”
The revelation about upcoming layoffs threw Harper off her game. She couldn’t bring herself to even look at Ed. It was a relief when the day reporters went home at six o’clock, leaving only her and DJ.
She didn’t want to stay in the newsroom—every time she saw Baxter looking at her computer, she imagi
ned her crossing people’s jobs off a list.
“Come on, DJ,” she said, just after seven o’clock. “Let’s go get something to eat.”
All the way to Eddie’s 24-Hour Diner she thought about telling him the news about layoffs, but she couldn’t. DJ was chattering happily about how he’d joined a gym and was going to start lifting weights. “Finally getting in shape.” He patted his stomach. “Got to get washboard abs by summer.”
Eddie’s had retro 1950s décor, and a short while later they were seated in a vivid red booth, blinded by chrome, listening to the Beach Boys as Harper picked at some fries.
“You know, if I got overtime pay,” DJ said, spinning the scanner on the tabletop between them, “I’d be loaded.”
“Same,” she said, barely looking up.
“Unpaid work…” he mused. “Isn’t there a word for that? When you’re forced to work without money. What is that word?”
“It’s called modern life. Eat your burger,” Harper said shortly. “Anyway, you’re lucky you have a job.”
The edge to her voice was unmistakable. He gave her a puzzled look but, when she didn’t say more, let it go, demolishing the remains of his meal with quick efficiency. Harper, her thoughts veering between Martin Dowell and layoffs, hadn’t made much of a dent in hers. After he pushed his plate away, DJ watched her not eat for a while in silence before saying, “Hey. Is something going on with you?”
Harper folded a napkin, primly. “Not really.”
“Come on. You look terrible. Are you sick? Addicted to meth?” He gestured at her plate. “Giving up food for Lent?”
Harper cut him off. “Too much work. Not enough sleep.”
But he wasn’t about to take that as an answer. “Why aren’t you sleeping? Is it this case?”
Harper hesitated. She liked DJ. And she knew he’d want to know what was going on. But she couldn’t bring herself to go into it again. Not today. Luckily, before she had to summon an excuse, the scanner crackled to life.
DJ, one foot propped up on the chair next to him, looked at it with only mild interest.
Harper shot him a glare and, remembering it was his job for the night, he jumped, grabbed it, and held it to his ear.
Harper reached for the bill. The least she could do was buy him dinner.
“What’s a code four?” he asked.
Harper’s hand stopped in midair, hovering over the slip of paper. “It’s a dead body. Are you sure they said code four?”
He nodded, listening. “They’re sending more officers.”
Harper motioned impatiently for the scanner.
When he handed it over, a patrol officer was talking. “This is unit three-nine-eight, out at the code four on Veterans. I’m going to need some extra units out here for crowd control. Also, alert forensics for me.”
It sounded like a juicy story, but it was nearly time for Allegra’s show. Reluctantly, she handed the scanner back to him.
“You better get out there,” she said. “It’s probably natural causes but it’s hard to tell from what they’re saying. I’ll drive you to your car.” She pulled cash from her wallet and set it down on the table and got up, grabbing her bag, feeling the reassuring weight of the Glock inside.
He followed her out to the Camaro and climbed into the low-slung passenger seat. “You don’t want to come along?”
“I’ve seen enough dead bodies, thanks,” she said, although really she did want to go. “There’s someplace I need to be tonight.”
“Come on. What’s going on that’s so important?” he cajoled, as she backed out. “Normally you’d never let me handle something like this on my own.”
“The Xavier Rayne case.” She merged into Drayton Street traffic. “One of the housemates is playing a gig. I’m going to see if anyone will confess to murder.”
As she turned left and headed back to Bay Street, he stared at her. “You get the best stories every single time.”
28
Just before nine o’clock, Harper walked into the Library Bar to find an empty stage. The crowd—good-sized for a Wednesday—talked loudly at tables that had been arranged in front of the performance space. A gloomy acoustic song whispered unhappily from the jukebox.
Bonnie waved from behind the bar as she walked up.
“This is cheerful,” Harper said, sitting on an empty barstool.
“We tried to choose appropriate music for the event.” Bonnie made a face. “I think we went too far.” She gestured at the beer fridge, but Harper shook her head.
“I’m working.” She glanced around the room. “Is she here?”
“She’s in the back. Came in with a guitarist. Said she needed a minute. That was over an hour ago.”
Harper’s eyes swept the room falling on a familiar figure. Cara had her back to her, but her honey-blond hair and slim profile were unmistakable. She was alone.
A few rows behind her, she noticed the unpleasantly familiar profile of Jon Graff. He was staring at his phone, but had positioned himself near enough Cara to watch her openly.
It made Harper’s skin crawl. She knew how it felt to be stalked. The suffocating, creeping threat of it.
Leaving Bonnie at the bar, she weaved through the crowd to Cara and sat down in the empty chair at her table.
The actress gave her a startled look. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to talk to Allegra,” Harper told her. “I’m surprised to see you. After our conversation, I didn’t think you’d come.”
Cara’s hands fluttered nervously. The drink in front of her was untouched. “I didn’t have a huge amount of choice,” she said, her gaze skittering around the room. “They wouldn’t give up until I agreed.”
Harper wondered what that meant, but Cara was as nervous as a frog in a kitchen. She didn’t want to push her too hard.
“Don’t look now,” she said, “but Jon Graff is sitting a few rows back.”
Cara shuddered. “That man is disgusting.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Harper glanced behind them. Graff was staring at her with open dislike. His presence made her plans for the evening much more difficult. But now that she was here, she had to try.
“I was going to call you,” she told Cara, quietly. “I talked to the detective overseeing the investigation today.”
Cara leaned toward her, lowering her voice to a whisper. “What did he say?”
“He thinks you’re right—someone in that house killed Xavier.” Harper searched her face. “Has anything changed? Are you still suspicious of Hunter and Allegra?”
At that moment, though, the lights in the room went dark, save for a few spotlights pointed at the stage. The audience gave a smattering of applause.
“About time!” someone shouted.
Cara looked at Harper, her eyes unreadable and gleaming in the shadows, but turned away without answering. She held her head stiffly, staring at the stage, unblinking as Allegra walked out with Hunter at her side, holding a guitar. She waved at the crowd briefly before flitting straight to the microphone and adjusting it down to her low height with quick, practiced moves.
“Sorry to make y’all wait,” she said in that rich, husky voice. “They say some things are worth waiting for. I hope you think this is one of them.”
She was dressed in a short black skirt and a fitted dark top. With heavy eyeliner and her hair back-combed, she looked older. Professional. She was confident on stage in a way that diverged completely from her soft-spoken off-stage persona. It was as if she was another person.
As the crowd shifted, settling down for the show, Hunter strapped the guitar across his chest. His glasses sparkled in the spotlight’s glow as he counted off the first song. “One, two, three…”
He began playing the guitar with skilled ease, summoning a delicate melody from the strings. In Xavier’s band, he’d played keyboards, but clearly his musical skills transcended one instrument.
The first song was a melancholy, elegant interpretation of “La Vie
en Rose”—Hunter’s guitar giving it a modern twist and Allegra’s voice lifting the lyrics into something beautiful and rare.
Harper, who had meant to get up and go back to the bar, found herself transfixed. It was easy to understand what Xavier had seen in her as a performer. She was tiny and yet she held attention. It was hard to take your eyes off her.
The audience fell silent—absorbed in the music. When the song ended, the applause was rapturous.
Cara didn’t clap. Her gaze remained fixed on the stage as Allegra sang one beautiful song after another. Watching the light play across her features, Harper wondered what she was thinking.
It was near the end of the show when Allegra, flushed and glowing from the attention, spoke into the microphone. “This next song means everything to me. I want to dedicate this one to the love of my life. I miss you, Xavier.”
Even through the crowd’s applause Harper could hear Cara’s sharp intake of breath. Her fingers gripped the edge of the table as Hunter broke into the first notes of “Revolver Road.”
“I love you more than I ever thought I could,” Allegra sang in an ominous minor key. “I did things I never thought I would. Now the night grows long and the hour grows cold. Meet me on Revolver Road.”
Cara made a broken sound and jumped to her feet. Harper looked at her, confused, but the woman didn’t look at her. Covering her lips with one hand, she fled the room. Harper saw Jon Graff turn to watch with interest as she hurried blindly across the floor.
On the stage, Hunter fumbled a note as his eyes followed Cara. Allegra, though, didn’t miss a beat. Her perfect voice slid over the notes of Xavier’s song as if he’d written them for her.
Harper lost sight of Cara. She stood and made her way to the bar. Bonnie, who was drying glasses, lifted one eyebrow as she approached. “What the hell was that about?”
“I’m not sure,” Harper admitted, looking around. “Where’d she go?”
“Ladies’ room,” Bonnie said. “At a hundred miles per hour.”
Harper glanced back at the stage. Allegra was singing the last notes of the song. When she finished, the crowd roared. Ignoring their enthusiasm, Hunter stepped quickly to Allegra’s side and whispered in her ear.
Revolver Road Page 22
