by Kelly Rey
She nodded her agreement. "We'll do surveillance and wait for our chance at Gilbert Gleason's trailer. I'll get an old pickup truck from Honest Aaron. Nobody will pay attention to another pickup truck. Do you have any flannel shirts?"
I'd stopped listening. I was busy watching a set of headlights in the side view mirror that seemed to be getting bigger in a hurry. "Maize, look."
She glared into the rearview. "Is that what I think it is?"
I sure hoped not. "Maybe it's just someone in a hurry," I said.
The high beams flashed on, lighting up our interior like a spotlight.
"I don't think so." Maizy scowled into the mirror. "Too bad for him I'm driving this time."
"What does that—" I was hurled forward against my seat belt when Maizy suddenly slammed on the brakes. All my breath left me in a whoosh. The Escort zigged left and zagged right, squealing madly. I heard tires screeching behind us, and then the interior abruptly went black and the pickup roared past us with its headlights dark and its deafening air horn blasting.
"Not bad," Maizy said with grudging admiration. "The doofus has good reflexes."
"Are you trying to get us killed?" I yelled.
She straightened out the car and gave it some gas. The car lurched forward with hesitation, as if it couldn't understand what we were asking of it.
"Don't you get it?" Maizy asked.
Oh, I got it, alright, if it was nausea.
"He's been watching us," Maizy said. "He must have followed us to the trailer park."
I swallowed several times, until the oily taste of panic slid back down my throat. "I don't care," I said. "And I don't care who killed Nicky D. Maybe the amplifier did fall on him."
"Maybe the doofus lives there," Maizy said. "On C Street."
"I never even met Nicky D," I muttered. "So he was good-looking. Big deal. There are lots of good-looking men in the world."
"No, I don't think so," Maizy said. "We'd have seen it."
"One of them's playing the drums right now," I said. "At the Golden Grotto."
She chewed on her lip, thinking. "Wish I had the plate number. Then we could go on offense."
I wasn't sure what that meant, although I was sure I didn't like it. But I had nothing useful to contribute, so I stayed quiet and tried to rub the seat belt imprint off my stomach.
"We need to go back to the garage," she said finally. "See if the pickup is still there. Don't worry. We'll have time to do it later."
Oh, good. I was afraid we might not be able to make it.
"Might as well take a break," Maizy said. "That should be the Grotto up there where that yellow sign is. Looks a lot busier than the Pinelands."
A lot nicer, too. The Golden Grotto had a hole-free sign with a picture of, what else, a cute little golden grotto fed by a sparkly golden waterfall. The building itself was more log cabin than nightclub, with a big stone chimney at one end and a porch stretching across the front. The lot was nearly full. Curt's Jeep was parked in the far corner next to the Virtual Waste van, near a paver stone walkway leading down the side of the building, probably to a rear entrance.
I waited until she'd fitted the Escort into a spot. "You know, you never told me what Gilbert Gleason's ex said. Does he have a temper?"
"The guy who put a bullet through a snare drum while trying to shoot someone? Gee, she didn't mention that."
"Very funny," I told her. "What did she mention?"
"She mentioned Gilbert was disbarred," Maizy said.
"Probably that anger-management problem of his," I muttered.
"It's not that," Maizy said. "He did nicky-nack with a client."
Geez. Even Howard and Wally hadn't sunk that low. That prohibition was practically on the front cover of the ethics handbook. "That's despicable," I said.
"According to his ex," Maizy added, "it was bound to happen anyway. She said it was just a matter of time, that if he wasn't suing them, he was—"
"The client wasn't related to Nicky D, was she?" I cut in. If so, that polished up Gilbert's motive to a high gloss.
"We can ask her," Maizy said. "Her name's Miranda Law. I've got the goods on her right down to the Social Security number."
I couldn't hide my suspicion. "How?"
"Not like that. From her file." Maizy shrugged. "Gilbert's ex worked in his office. And she's not the forgiving type. She's still furious that Gilbert didn't keep his junk where it belonged. But then my friend Haley says men never really grow up."
Haley, the Samantha Jones of Maple Grove High.
I scanned the lot for a homicidal pickup. "Do you think maybe he'll be here?"
"If we're lucky," Maizy said. "Try to stop shaking, will you? I've got a reputation to maintain."
"I can't help it." I scratched my arms. "I do that when someone tries to kill me."
She fished an ID from her pocket. "Why? You should be used to it. Besides, it might have just been someone in a hurry."
"That's what I said!"
"Yeah, but it sounds better coming from me," she said. "You were a little hysterical when you said it."
I glowered at her. "That's because one of the people trying to kill me tonight was you."
"Yeah, we probably shouldn't mention that to Uncle Curt." Her gaze settled on something at the edge of the lot, near the Virtual Waste van. "Go ahead of me. I need a second to get in the zone."
I rolled my eyes. "What are you talking about? You're an expert at getting into bars illegally."
"That's kind of you to say." She gave me a little push. "Don't worry. I'll be there in a minute."
Someone was hovering near the Virtual Waste van, the tip of his cigarette flaring red in the darkness. Either he had a visor built into his forehead, or he wore a baseball cap. He practically dissolved into the night in a dark hoodie. And dark sunglasses.
"Who is that?" I asked.
"That's Bones."
"We should talk to him," I said. "We could ask him why he wasn't with the band last Saturday."
"I bet he had a good reason," Maizy said.
"Right. Like maybe he threw out his back picking up that heavy amplifier on that Friday night."
"They all pick up the amplifiers," she said. "They don't have roadies."
"You know what I mean."
"Besides," she said, "he doesn't have to sneak backstage. And I'd have recognized him anyway."
Unless…
"Maybe he used that to his advantage," I pointed out. "He knew no one would question his going backstage."
"That's not bad," she said.
That sounded vaguely like an insult. But I was too busy detecting to take offense. "Why's he wearing sunglasses? Does he have something to hide?"
"He's got an image," Maizy said. "Don't be so judgmental. God."
"Wait a minute." I stopped walking. "Didn't you say the guy you saw was wearing a hoodie and work boots? And didn't TJ say Bones always wore a hoodie and work boots?"
"That doesn't mean anything. Everyone wears hoodies and work boots."
Yes, but in the summer, in the northeast, when you could not only breathe the air but bathe in it?
"I bet Uncle Curt's waiting for you," Maizy said. "You'd better get in there."
She was up to something. I could feel it in my bones. The thing was, I didn't know what, and I didn't care to stick around to find out. Despite the creepy woods, the abandoned trailer, the reappearance of the maniac driver, and the cornucopia of bad-luck omens, I'd been unable to shake the image of Susan Two chasing Curt around the stage with bad intentions and well-lubed hands.
I went inside.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
After handing over ten bucks for the privilege of being grilled by the security guy at the door, I knew what Maizy was up to: finding another way inside. I had to lay out enough personal information to gain national security clearance before I was free to look for Curt. Two indecent proposals and one fanny pinch later, I found him backstage, deep in conversation with Mike and TJ. Plop was sitting
on the floor nearby, back to the wall, eyes closed, very Zen. I didn't buy it. I wasn't sold on Plop's outward cluelessness, even though he hadn't given me any useful argument against it.
Bones stood alone near the open side door, hands stuffed in his pockets, staring at the floor. His baseball cap and hoodie now sat on an equipment trunk. His shoulder-length black hair was pushed back behind his ears, showing an assortment of silver hoops, barbells, and studs in both ears. Multiple silver chains around his neck. Broad leather straps around his wrists. Still with the sunglasses.
And something else about him caught my attention. Deep bruises and a small cut on the inside of his right bicep. Strange place for bruising.
I knew opportunity when I saw it and when it was standing alone ten feet away from me. I hurried over to him. "You're Bones, right? Can I talk to you for a minute?"
He may or may not have looked at me. It was hard to tell since I couldn't see his eyes. Either way, he said nothing.
"My name is Hortense Doe," I said. "I'm a private investigator looking into Nick DiBenedetto's death." If it worked for Maizy, it would work for me.
It wasn't working for me. Still nothing from Mr. Charisma.
I gestured to his arm. "Those are some nasty bruises. Did you get those lifting all this heavy equipment?" Especially the amplifier?
The sunglasses settled on me for a long, unsettling, silent moment. Then finally: "Car accident." His voice was surprisingly deep and rich. A voice made for telling bedtime stories. The adult kind.
Back on point, what a convenient excuse.
"That's too bad," I said. "What do you drive?"
Another pause. "Truck."
The kind of truck that tried to run women off the road? Probably not a prudent question, since I had others that needed answers. "When did that happen?"
"Couple Fridays back."
Friday? Run-me-off-the-road Friday? No, that couldn't have been Bones. Not unless there were two maniac drivers out there. Because even if it had been Bones on that Friday night, he didn't seem psychotic enough to show up at the Golden Grotto, calm and unflappable, minutes after running us down a second time.
I struggled to keep my voice calm. "I guess that's why you weren't around to help the band pack up the morning after Nicky D died, right?"
A tiny shrug.
"TJ tried to call you, but he said you didn't answer," I added.
"Broke my cell," he said. "In the accident."
Wow. Almost a full sentence there.
"No landline, huh? Lots of people are getting rid of those. It's the prices. I'm keeping mine, though. Can't get enough calls from telemarketers." I attempted a smile.
He shifted and glanced over my shoulder. He was growing impatient.
Okay, fine.
"I need to ask you about Nicky D," I said.
Not surprisingly, he said nothing. I'd had more satisfying conversations with Ashley.
"Where were you between sets on the night he died?" I asked.
Long silence. You could time an egg by this guy. "Talking to my mother," he said at last. "Outside." His head swiveled toward me so that I saw my own reflection in the mirrored glasses. I should've worn a different color. And used more anti-frizz cream on my hair.
"Your mom comes to your shows?" I asked him, surprised. "You don't see too many people that age going to clubs anymore. I'm sure she fits right in, though. It's nice that she supports you like that."
This time I was convinced he was staring at me. "On the phone," he said flatly.
Oh. Of course. That would be another way to do it.
"You must have seen TJ outside, too," I said. "He stepped out to have a cigarette between sets."
Was that a smirk?
"TJ doesn't smoke," he said.
I blinked, not sure I heard him correctly. "Excuse me?"
"He doesn't smoke. It affects his singing."
"But he said…" I trailed off. It didn't matter what he'd said if he'd lied.
"That it?" he asked. "Hortense Doe?"
Well, there was no need for snark. "I'll be in touch if I have any more questions," I said.
That time I knew it was a smirk when Bones brushed past me. That had gone spectacularly. Rather than clear anyone, I'd added another suspect or two. I took a moment to reflect on my lack of interrogation skills before turning to track down Maizy.
I found her perched on a stool backstage, watching everyone and everything as if she had to describe it all to the police after the show. She grinned at me, unconcerned that she'd exposed me to an admission process that had stopped just short of a cavity check.
But I'd have to deal with that later. At that moment Curt was making it hard for me to breathe. There was something different about him. His dark hair seemed even thicker. His eyes seemed even blacker. His chest seemed even…chestier. He had a five o'clock shadow that made his teeth practically glow when he smiled.
And I hadn't even gotten to the good stuff yet.
As if he could read my mind, he glanced over while I was blotting drool from my lower lip. Immediately he broke away from Mike and TJ to join me. "You missed the first set. Where've you been?"
Maizy materialized behind him, shaking her head. In the background Mike drifted off, melting into the crowd on his way to the bar. TJ started scribbling on a piece of paper. I couldn't help but wonder if he was writing another note to "Blue-haired Girl."
"The killer driver struck again," I blurted. Hey, I'd never made any promises. Besides, at that instant, I would have given Curt just about anything he wanted, including my last Butterscotch Krimpet. And everyone knows how I feel about Butterscotch Krimpets.
Oh, boy. That sounded an awful lot like groupie-think.
Maizy rolled her eyes and did that annoying tsk sound perfected by teenaged girls the world over.
"I don't want to hear it," I told her. "You couldn't bring me in the back way? They did everything but give me a gynecological exam out there!"
"What's your point?" she said.
"Hold it." Curt's smiled vanished. "The pickup? Did he hit you again?"
"No, he didn't hit us," Maizy said. "I was driving."
"But she tried her best," I said snidely.
"Are you sure it was the same one?" he asked.
No. I shoved the thought aside. No one could be so unlucky as to have two nut jobs chasing them around South Jersey.
"Sounded like it," Maizy said. "But I was busy maneuvering, and Jamie doesn't see too well at night because of the cataracts."
I ignored that.
"Maneuvering," Curt repeated. "What does that mean?"
"It means he got away again," Maizy said. "Turns out he drives almost as well as I do."
"You failed your driver's test twice," Curt said.
She shrugged. "Hate the car, not the driver."
Curt turned to me. "Did you get a partial plate this time?"
I shook my head. "Same MO as before. He kills the lights before he flies past us, blaring that deafening horn."
"It's okay, though," Maizy said. "We're going to check out Max's Garage later and see if the truck is still there. We can at least run the plate."
"How do you plan to do that?" Curt asked her.
"You don't really need me to answer that, do you?" Maizy said.
He gestured to her hair with a sigh. "I'd hoped that meant you were finally going straight."
"Don't do that," she said. "You're doomed to disappointment."
"By the way," I told her, "I just talked to Bones. He's quite the conversationalist. I practically had to use pliers to find out he was on the phone with his mother when Nicky D was killed."
Maizy frowned. "Are you sure that's what he said?"
"He didn't say much else," I said. "Why?"
"Because they had a huge fight like two years ago and haven't talked since." Her brow creased. "She wanted him in college, not in a band. She even threw him out of the house."
"Maybe they reconciled," Curt said. "It happens."
Maizy shook her head. "Not the way he feels about it. He was really hurt. Bones is a sensitive soul."
Yeah. I could tell. Apparently he was also a liar. Maybe worse.
I glanced around. "How's it going here? Seen anything unusual?"
"Maybe." He put his arm around my shoulders and steered me out the side door. Maizy followed behind, close enough to clip my heels. Sure, now she didn't want to let me out of her sight.
Curt kept his arm around me and lowered his voice. "I talked to TJ about the night Nicky D died. He said he tried to meet with Mike between sets about recording their next CD."
"What's so unusual about that?" I asked. "I'd expect them to do that."
"Except they didn't," Curt said. "TJ couldn't find him. He even asked Archie Ritz if he'd seen him."
"Wait, what?" Maizy ducked under Curt's elbow and elbowed her way between us. "Mike and Archie were supposed to be at the bar together. That's what Mike said, right?"
"Mike might have lied to us," Curt said.
"That's a given," Maizy said. "Everyone lies to us. I thought you knew that. What else did TJ say?"
"Next time he saw Mike was when Mike yelled for help," Curt said. "When he found Nicky D backstage."
"Maybe he didn't find him so much as leave him," I said.
Curt nodded his agreement.
Maizy's mouth twisted. "I never liked Mike. His hair's too short. What about Archie? Did he disappear, too? Maybe they were in it together."
"According to TJ," Curt said, "Archie left between sets. Said he was in kind of a rush. He's supposed to be here tonight. Be a good chance to talk to him, see if he's got a motive. Or an alibi."
Maizy chewed on her lip. "Does Archie drive a pickup truck?"
"You think Archie tried to run us off the road?" I asked. "Why would he want to do that?"
"Why would you want to put pineapples on a pizza?" Maizy asked.
"But he doesn't even know us," I said.
She snorted. "Like that's stopped anyone from trying to kill us before."
Curt's arm dropped from my shoulder. "What?"
"She's exaggerating," I told him. "What she meant to say was it hasn't stopped anyone from wanting to kill us."
"Yeah, that's better," Maizy said.
