"I'll take another mojito too, if you don't mind," Ryan said. I grabbed the pitcher from the table and tilted it toward his empty cup, but he held up a hand to stop me. "Actually, would you mind getting me a fresh one?" He looked sheepish. "If it's not too much trouble, I mean. That pitcher has been sitting out in the sun for a while, and all the ice has melted. I hate watered-down drinks." He leaned toward me and gave me a conspiratorial nudge. "Have the bartender add a little extra rum to mine, while you're at it. I like my drinks on the stronger side."
"Yeah, sure." I carried the pitcher over to Charlotte's bar tent and set it down on the counter.
Charlotte thanked a skinny blonde girl who'd just dropped a couple of bucks in her tip jar. Then she turned to me, her brows pinched. "Is that Graham guy alright? I couldn't see what was happening from over here."
"I don't know," I said honestly. "He seemed pretty sick." I stepped behind the counter and reached into the cooler for a fresh bottled water for Emily.
Charlotte shrugged. "Maybe he had an allergy to one of the ingredients," she suggested.
"That didn't look like any allergic reaction I've ever seen." I bit my lip. "Anyway, where should I dump that pitcher? Ryan wants a refill."
"Oh." Charlotte's mouth twitched. "You, er, should probably rinse it out." Her cheeks colored.
My suspicion stirred. "What did you do?" I asked, squinting at her.
"Nothing too terrible." Charlotte avoided my gaze.
"What did you do?" I repeated.
She rolled her eyes and blew out a breath. "Fine," she huffed. "I spit in his drink, okay?" A short man wearing a Santa Claus hat and a Hawaiian shirt walked up to the counter just as she made her confession. Eyes widening, he did an about-face and steered toward the second bar tent, where Juan was pouring drinks. Charlotte watched him go and then turned back to me, shrugging. "Look, I know it was unprofessional, but he pissed me off. I just wanted a little payback. No real harm was done."
"No harm? The dude got carted off to the hospital."
Charlotte flashed me a wry grin. "Come on, Bronwyn. Do you really think that's what made him sick? I know I can be bitchy sometimes, but I don't actually spit venom."
I grabbed the pitcher and inspected it, frowning thoughtfully at the little green flecks floating in the liquid. "Do you have any more mint leaves under the counter?" I asked. Charlotte pulled out a container, and I held up a leaf to compare it side-by-side to the ones in the mojito pitcher. They looked nothing alike. A memory pinged in the back of my mind of another plant I'd seen earlier in Castle Rock's break room. I pulled out my phone and did a quick Google image search. "Your saliva may not be poisonous," I said to Charlotte, holding up my phone so she could see the screen. "But mistletoe is."
The color drained from Charlotte's face. "I didn't put that in there," she said, vehemently shaking her head. "I swear I didn't. I hocked a loogie in his cup and one in the pitcher, but that was all."
"Was there any way that you could have gotten the mistletoe and the mint mixed up? Maybe you dropped some in there by accident."
"No way," Charlotte insisted. "The only other green I've got back here is the kind you smoke, and I'm not wasting that on some sleazeball's cocktail."
I swallowed hard, feeling a familiar knot of dread taking shape in my stomach. "That means someone else must have put those leaves in the pitcher. Somebody poisoned Graham Sullivan."
CHAPTER SIX
Charlotte and I both fell silent as the realization sunk in. Someone had tried to kill Graham—or at the very least, make him seriously ill. After a moment, Charlotte spoke. "If you ask me, he kind of had it coming," she said quietly.
"That's a horrible thing to say." I pursed my lips.
Charlotte placed her hands on her hips. "Sorry, but in case you didn't notice, the guy was a huge jerk. Someone like that has more enemies than friends."
I leaned against the bar counter, arms folded over my chest. "We have to catch whoever did it," I said.
Charlotte's brows knitted. "Uh, why would we want to do that? Didn't you hear what I said? The guy's a perverted, douchey narc. He probably lives in his mother's basement and trolls people on the internet all day in between spanking it and playing World of Warcraft."
I blew out a breath. "I know. Graham's not exactly winning any personality contests, but we can't just sit around twiddling our thumbs while someone gets attacked on Castle Rock's property—even if we do think he might have deserved it just a little bit." I held up a finger. "Worst case scenario: Graham dies, and we're caught up in a murder investigation. Best case: he lives, but he sues whoever tried to poison him." I arched a brow. "That reason enough for you?"
Charlotte grimaced. "Okay, fine," she said, rolling her eyes. "I guess I'll help. Where do we start? I mean, anybody could have done it." She paused to pour two beers for a college-aged couple, turning back to me once they'd paid for their drinks. "You heard how vicious Graham was to all those Battle of the Bands contestants. Maybe one of them decided to get back at him."
I mulled that over for a moment and then shook my head. "The judges' table was at least fifty yards away from the stage and the artists' lounge area, so I think that rules out all the performers." I met her gaze. "Whoever poisoned him had to have access to his drink pitcher."
Charlotte curled her lip. "Would I have offered to help catch the culprit if I was the one responsible?"
"I wouldn't call that offering. I'd call it giving in."
She squinted. "Fine. But if I'm a suspect so are you. You had plenty of chances to drop something in that blowhard's booze."
"Touché." My lips twitched. "This whole back-and-forth blame game is a waste of time. Let's focus on who else had the motive and opportunity."
"It had to be one of the other judges, right?" Charlotte asked. "Emily or the DJ guy, Ryan. They were sitting next to him the whole time. One of them could've mashed up some mistletoe leaves and slipped them in the pitcher when Graham wasn't looking."
I frowned. Emily had said that Graham made her uneasy, but I just couldn't picture the petite, pregnant woman doing something so malicious. Rockin' Ryan Hartley seemed like a nice enough guy, and he'd gotten along with Graham as far as I could tell. Of course, just because I had a good impression of the pair didn't necessarily mean they were both innocent. "I'll have to do some snooping," I told Charlotte. "Can you pour me a fresh pitcher of mojitos? I'll take the drinks back to the table and see if I can get the judges talking."
Charlotte mixed a mistletoe-free batch of the cocktail and poured it in a clean pitcher, and then I carried it over to the table along with an empty cup for the new judge, Andy, and more water for Emily.
"Thanks." Emily beamed at me as she took the bottle. She twisted off the cap and took a slow sip. "I hope Graham is all right," she murmured, her brows pinched.
I waved a hand. "I'm sure he'll be fine." Leaning closer to the pregnant woman, I added in a conspiratorial whisper, "Kinda serves him right, don't ya think?"
She frowned. "How so?" Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Ryan turn toward us with interest.
"You said yourself that Graham was a creep," I said, my tone nonchalant. "Plus he's been a first class A-hole to everyone he's come in contact with. I'm not even sure why he agreed to be a judge. I guess he just gets off on tearing other people down. Maybe it was about time that someone took him down a peg or two." I turned my attention to Ryan. "Am I right?"
Ryan shrugged. "The man could definitely stand to improve his people skills," he agreed. A half-smile quirked his lip. "And build up his liquor tolerance."
I studied Ryan closely. He was leaning back in his chair, his posture relaxed. If there was anything malicious behind his wide-set brown eyes, it was well-camouflaged. Either he was a good actor, or he had nothing to do with what happened to Graham. I'd need to throw out a little more bait to know for sure. Before I could say anything else, though, Kat appeared at the table, escorting a short man with curly, black hair and a lazy smile. Ryan's fac
e lit up at the sight of the newcomer. "Andy! Glad you could make it, bro."
The shorter man's grin widened. "Free booze, free tunes, and a primo spot to watch chicks strut around in slutty costumes and bikinis? Count me in." He cast an appreciative glance at Kat's tight-fitting reindeer dress.
Kat gave him a strained smile. "Now that we've got three judges, we're ready to kick things off again." She pressed the button on her radio and spoke into her headset. "Reese, is everything fine backstage? We're ready for the next band." Her forehead wrinkled when no response came. Unhooking the little radio from her dress, she held it up and inspected it. "Crap. I think the battery's dead." Kat caught my gaze. "Bron, would you mind running to my office and swapping this out for one that's fully charged?"
"Sure thing, boss lady." I took her radio and keys and started toward Castle Rock's rear entrance. I wouldn't be able to interrogate Ryan when the contest resumed anyway, and this would give me more time to come up with another strategy.
Cheers and applause erupted as I reached the building, and Sleigher began their thrash metal cover of "My Favorite Things." I flinched. It sounded like what you might get if you chucked a Bluetooth speaker into a blender and pressed the turbo setting while the music was still playing. Stepping into Castle Rock's downstairs hallway, I closed the back door behind me. The music disappeared, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Peace, quiet, and air conditioning. After soaking in the refreshing cool blast for a few moments, I started down the quiet hall. Without the noise of the band and the crowd, the little spider bells on the tips of my shoes seemed much louder. I took a quick detour into the ladies' restroom, where I'd left the Party City shopping bag with my clothes in it. That's much better, I thought a few minutes later, smiling to myself as I returned to the hallway in my combat boots.
I unlocked the door to Kat's office and flicked on the light. As the venue's owner, she had claimed the largest room as her personal workspace. A tan, leather sofa lined the far wall, and file cabinets stood in the two back corners. A mini-fridge and wooden table took up the space along the wall behind her desk, and the remaining walls were lined with posters from some of her favorite acts to perform at Castle Rock over the years.
Kat kept the spare radios in the bottom drawer of her desk. I placed the old set on the table along the back wall and then perched on her chair and rummaged through the drawer for a replacement. My elbow bumped Kat's computer mouse, and the monitor came to life. The sudden burst of light startled me. I jerked in surprise, my arms and legs thrashing as I slipped off the chair's edge and tumbled to the floor. My foot struck the small wastebasket next to the desk, and it tipped over.
"Ow." I gingerly rubbed my tailbone, sore from landing hard on the floor. "That hurt." I frowned up at the chair and then at the overturned trash. I totally just pulled an Amelia, I thought, suddenly wishing my clumsy boss was here. I looked up to Amelia Grace like an older sister—not only did she give great advice, but she'd solved a mystery or two herself. Amelia always catches the bad guy. If I were her, where would I look for clues next? I wished I knew.
With a sigh, I sat up and began stuffing crumpled papers, empty Diet Coke cans, and gum wrappers back into Kat's wastebasket. Something red and green caught my eye, and my hand closed over it. Holding it up, I stared at the little branch with its familiar green leaves and festive red bow. Mistletoe.
Could be coincidence, I thought, setting the little plant on Kat's desk and cleaning up the rest of the scattered trash. This is a Christmas-themed event. Even Reese was carrying some of the stuff around earlier. I chewed my lip. Kat was one of the few people who had been near the judges' table before Graham got sick. She had also taken the pitcher of mojitos over to the table in the first place. But what reason would Kat have for trying to hurt Graham?
The last of the trash now deposited in the wastebasket, I stood up and wiped my hands on the front of my dress. As I reached for the mistletoe, my gaze went to Kat's computer monitor. I froze, mouth hanging open in disbelief.
My boss had a motive after all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
My stomach clenched as I read and reread the words at the top of Kat's computer screen. Her web browser was open to Graham's blog, Atlanta Sound Bytes. The latest entry was displayed on the page, one that had been published just yesterday. The title of the post read, "Is this the end of Castle Rock? Famed Atlanta concert venue rumored to be closing its doors permanently."
Castle Rock closing? I bit my lip. There's no way that could be true. Feeling my heartbeat in my throat, I eased shakily back into Kat's desk chair and read more of Graham's post:
Local venue Castle Rock's reign in the Old Fourth Ward neighborhood may finally be coming to an end. A development partnership called ATL Residential LLC is eyeing the property and its adjacent 1.3 acres for a potential new housing complex. Reliable sources tell me that the firm has plans to repurpose the Gothic-inspired building as part of a 24,000-square-foot development. I reached out to venue owner Katherine Taylor for comment, but she declined. I've landed a spot as a guest judge there tomorrow for their first (and probably last) annual Christmas in July Festival, so I'll see what dirt I can uncover and post again next week with an update.
Let's be real, folks. It's about time this dusty old building closed its doors. Castle Rock is a relic as far as concert venues are concerned. The old building is quickly losing its charm as music fans turn their attention toward locales with more modern architecture. Even the bigger national acts are booking their Atlanta sets at the newer, more popular venues. Castle Rock's stone walls, chintzy red carpet, and stained glass guitar windows are hokey, and it simply can't compete with other local venues such as Terminal West, the Loft, and the Fabulous Fox Theatre.
The words on the screen blurred as my eyes filled with angry tears. How could someone say such horrible things about the place I loved the most in the whole city? And they weren't even true! We had booked some huge acts recently—just last month the mega rock group, Royal Flush, had played a sold-out show upstairs in High Court. People loved the kitschy castle theme too. Castle Rock was quirky and charming, and Graham Sullivan was a miserable, lying jerk.
I wiped my eyes and stared down at the mistletoe on Kat's desk. The memory of her phone call with Amelia earlier that afternoon pinged through me. Kat had been angry with someone—I now assumed it was Graham. Hadn't she told Ame she was mad enough to kill him? "Don't do anything drastic," Amelia's words echoed in my brain. I was starting to think Kat hadn't heeded her warning.
I snatched up the radio and the mistletoe and hurried out of Kat's office. She and I needed to talk. I found her backstage, her fake antlers swaying back and forth as she bobbed her head to the music. Sleigher was closing their set with a metal version of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town." I touched Kat's shoulder, and she turned, smiling at the sight of me. "Thanks, Bron!" she called over the loud music as she took her radio and office keys. Her gaze moved to the mistletoe dangling from my other hand, and she giggled. "I'm flattered, but you're barking up the wrong tree, chick," she joked. "You should probably try kissing your boyfriend under that stuff. Not me."
My cheeks warmed, and I shook my head. "I found this in your office," I said, giving her a pointed look.
Kat's brow pinched. "Okay. What's the big deal?" She cocked her head, waiting for an explanation.
"I know what you did to Graham."
"I didn't do anything to Graham." Kat gave me a funny look. "What's going on? Did someone spike your eggnog?"
My lip curled. Who would drink eggnog in this heat? Gross. Shaking my head, I crossed my arms over my chest. "I'm serious, Kat. I saw Graham's post about Castle Rock." I leaned closer to be sure she could hear me over the music. "Tell me the truth. Are we really closing? Was poisoning Graham your way of getting back at him for blogging about it?"
Kat took a step back, genuine shock registering on her face. "Graham was poisoned?" A couple of stagehands turned their heads our way, brows raised.
I grabbed
Kat's arm and tugged her to a far corner of the backstage area. "You seriously didn't know?" I asked, studying her reaction.
Kat shook her head, wide-eyed. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "I thought Graham was having a bad allergic reaction or that maybe his appendix had burst or something. I was going to call the hospital before the final round of the contest and see how he was doing. What makes you think he was poisoned?" Her shoulders stiffened, and a scowl curled her lips. "And why would you think I had anything to do with it?"
I took a step back from Kat, holding my hands out in front of me. "Okay, don't get mad, because I totally wasn't trying to eavesdrop," I began, giving her an apologetic look. "But I sort of overheard your phone call with Amelia earlier. You seemed really pissed off about something." Before she could get in a word, I continued. "Then Graham collapsed, and when I took his drink pitcher back to Charlotte at the bar tent, I found mistletoe leaves in his cranberry mojito instead of mint. Someone dropped them in there to make him sick. When I went to your office just now to grab another radio, I saw his blog post about Castle Rock on your computer screen." I held up the sprig of mistletoe. "And I found this in your trash can."
"You were snooping through my computer and my trash can?" Kat's scowl deepened.
"Not on purpose." My head drooped guiltily. After a moment, I looked back up at her, feeling my eyes mist. "Is Castle Rock really closing?"
Kat's expression softened. "Of course not." She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Bron, you can't believe anything Graham Sullivan says. He's a sucker for drama." She rolled her eyes. "That whole post was just Graham's way of stirring up trouble."
"He said some pretty harsh stuff about this place. Didn't it make you angry?" My fists clenched, and I narrowed my eyes. "Hell, if someone hadn't already sent him to the hospital today, I'd jump in line for a chance to kick his ass."
Cozy Christmas Shorts Page 12
