“Shaley.” Bruce’s low voice sounded behind me. “Don’t.”
Jerry held his hands up, palms out. “I don’t think you want to be going anywhere, Shaley. That suite’s for your own protection.”
Irritation wriggled in my gut. “I just want to talk to the policeman. Hear what they’re doing downstairs.”
“They’re doing their job. Collecting evidence.”
“But maybe they’ll miss something. I need to make sure.”
“Listen.” Jerry laid a hand on my shoulder. “You want to help? This isn’t the way. The best thing you can do is remember every detail when the police interview you. They’ll be counting on you for that.”
Jerry’s gaze lifted above my head. I could imagine Bruce nodding to him in agreement.
Before I could reply, the door to the suite nearest the officer and security guards opened. Mom appeared, Mick alongside. She caught my eye and began walking toward me with purpose. In her concert clothes — the straight-legged jeans and red high heels, an Ella Moss top — she looked every bit the star, even though her face was grim, her usually lithe movements tense. The policeman ogled her as she passed. Mick gave him a hard look.
Jerry glanced around and saw her coming. He stepped out of her way.
Mom drew up, her expression pinched.
“Shaley, let’s go in there.” She pointed to the suite where I’d been. “We need to talk.”
6
All around the arena, red lights ripped the night, slashing across the countless police officers scurrying here and there with such self-importance. He leaned against the glass, looking down on all the activity. From here in the soundproof building he could hear nothing. But he imagined the shouts and police radios and car doors slamming.
All this chaos — thanks to him.
He smiled.
A policeman strode by, talking into the radio attached to his shoulder.
He stifled a laugh. All these uniforms hustling around looking for a killer — and there he stood. Right in front of their faces.
He’d already given his statement to one police officer. He’d seen nothing, knew nothing.
Cops were morons. Not to mention unjust. In his previous existence, they’d liked nothing better than putting him behind bars. First time at age sixteen. He hadn’t deserved that.
Last time he got out, he’d vowed it—no more jail. Never again. For by then he had a new mission in life. He’d been sent to watch the Special One.
He slipped parole and secured a new identity. Now his past was wiped clean.
“Hey.” One of his fellow workers appeared beside him, arms folded and pulled tightly to his chest. Guy looked nervous. “This is insane, isn’t it?”
“Totally.”
“I can’t believe this happened.”
“Me either.”
Down below, a new police car carved to a stop outside the building. The driver’s door opened, and a cop hurried out.
“It’s so terrible.” The man next to him sighed. “Poor Tom.”
“Yeah. Poor Tom.”
He ran a hand over his mouth, hiding his smile.
7
Nerves prickling, I followed Mom into the suite. She sat down on the couch, patted the cushion beside her. I sank into it.
Mick took up residence just outside the door. Opposite him I could see Bruce’s trouser leg and one huge dangling hand. Doubly guarded.
Without a word, Mom hugged me. I leaned against her, soaking in her comfort.
She let me go too soon.
I clutched my hands. “What are they doing down there? It’s taking forever.”
“They’re gathering evidence. That’s all I know.”
“Why aren’t they talking to me? I’m the one who found him. I’m the one who saw him last.”
“They’re about to. A detective’s coming up here in a minute. He’ll want to hear everything.”
I firmed my mouth. “It’s about time.”
Mom thrust her long red fingernails into her hair. “Look, I know this is a terrible time to talk about this, but a lot is happening at once. You need to know we may have to stop the tour.”
I blinked. The tour had been the last thing on my mind. “Why?”
She lifted a hand. “It’s in every contract that we can cancel venues if some disaster happens. And this certainly qualifies.”
“You mean we might just stop everything and go home?”
“I don’t know. Ross has to figure it out.”
I stared at her. “That’s what you all were talking about in there? The tour?”
“Like I said, it’s a bad time.” She rubbed her temple. “But it’s reality.”
“Maybe it is reality, but — already? I thought you all were in there talking about Tom. Who might have killed him —”
“We were, Shaley.”
“Obviously not for very long.”
“Why are you snapping at me?” Her voice sharpened.
Tears bit my eyes. “Because it sounds like you don’t even care.”
“Of course I care.”
“About what? Tom or the tour?”
Mom looked away from me, mouth tightening. I folded my arms and glared at her.
“Look,” she said after a minute. “I know you’re upset. You’ve had a terrible shock. Please don’t take that out on me. We need to stick together here.”
I focused on my lap. A tear dropped down, wetting a circle on my jeans. “I’m sorry. I just …”
She sighed. “I know.”
I rubbed a thumb against the damp spot.
Mom’s voice edged. “Listen, Shaley, if there’s anything I’m worried about most, it’s you. Danger came far too close to you tonight. When I think that you might have been with Tom when he walked into that office —” Her words cut off. Mom’s jaw squared, and she blinked hard a few times. “So here’s the deal. You’re not going anywhere without a bodyguard. I mean nowhere. Not one step out of your hotel room, understand? Not one step into the parking lot.”
I nodded.
Mom took a deep breath and ran a hand over her face. “Have you heard from Brittany?”
“She should be calling any minute.”
We’d planned to have so much fun. Now what a nightmare she was walking into.
I drew in my shoulders. “Who do you think did this?”
Mom shook her head. “It has to be a local stagehand. I just can’t believe it could be one of our own people. Arena security knows every person they let in that back door. They’ll find him, Shaley. Whoever it is, they’ll catch him.”
“But why would someone who didn’t even know Tom come in and kill him?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I keep asking myself. Ross couldn’t see that anything had been taken from his office.”
A huge man with short-cropped dark hair materialized in the doorway. My breath hitched.
Mom patted my leg. “It’s the detective.” She started to rise. “Come in.”
I gawked at him. He looked like an ex-linebacker after a fifty-pound weight gain.
The man held up a hand. In his other one he carried a notebook. “That’s okay, don’t get up.” He lumbered over to a chair against the wall and picked it up like a matchstick. Brought it over to set in front of us. When he sat down, it squeaked beneath his weight.
He gave me a little smile. His face was square and rugged with a flat nose.
“Shaley, I’m Detective Furlow with the San Jose Police Department.” He raised thick eyebrows, and his forehead wrinkled. “I’ve gotten all the immediate information I can from Mick, but now I need to talk to you. Since you saw Tom first, you’re an important witness.”
Finally—something I could do. “I know. I’m ready.”
He tapped his shirt pocket. “I have a little tape recorder that I’m going to turn on before we start. Okay? It’ll pick up your voice from here.” He pushed a button on the recorder, then stated his name, our names, and the time — 11:45.
Had it only been an hour sinc
e I counted the minutes to get Brittany? It seemed a lifetime ago. Everything was planned then. Everything was safe.
“Shaley, when did you last see Tom?”
“He was in Mom’s dressing room. We were getting ready to go to the limo and pick up my friend at the airport. He said he had a few things to do and that he’d meet me at the exit.”
“Know what time that was?”
“Around ten forty-five.”
“Do you have any idea what he was going to do when he left that room?”
I raised a shoulder. “Not really. I just figured he was packing stuff up.”
The detective jotted a note. “Have any idea why he went into the production manager’s office? I hear it’s not typical for anyone other than Ross Blanke to be in there.”
“I have no idea. I wondered the same thing.”
“Did you trust Tom, Shaley?” Detective Furlow’s voice was gentle.
I nodded, fresh tears pooling in my eyes. Mom put her hand on my knee.
“Were you friends?”
“Yes.” I hated that word — were. “We teased around all the time. He was with me and Mom a lot, doing our hair and makeup. He was just … really fun to be with.” My words trailed away.
My brain conjured up the picture of Tom on the floor. His fingers curled toward his hand. The black hole for an eye. I shuddered a breath. “Mom says one of the local stagehands must have done it.”
“Maybe. Don’t know yet.”
“You can know that. Nobody on our tour would want to hurt Tom. Everybody loved him.” “Okay.”
“Besides, there are certain people you can know didn’t do it. Like the band. They were all onstage.”
Even before the last word left my mouth, I realized that wasn’t true. Tom had left the dressing room before I heard the first of Rayne’s two encores start up.
Well, that didn’t matter. No one in the band would have done this.
The detective watched me as if reading my thoughts. “It’s true.” My voice rose. “Nobody I know would have wanted to hurt Tom.”
Detective Furlow’s eyes moved to Mom’s face, then back to mine.
I straightened. “What do you know? Did you find the gun?”
He surveyed me, as if deciding how much to say. “I have a daughter your age. I can’t imagine what this would be like for her.”
I leaned forward, seizing my chance. “I’ll tell you what it would be like. She’d want to know everything she could, because she’d want the person who did this to her friend found and sent to jail. So — did you find the gun?”
He dipped his chin. “Yes. In the top drawer of the desk.”
My eyes widened. I hadn’t really expected him to say yes. “Why there? It can’t be Ross’s.”
“Quickest way to get rid of it, I suppose.”
I pulled my top lip between my teeth, trying to picture someone shooting Tom, stashing the gun in the desk, and slipping from the room. With so many people around. Whoever did it had nerves of steel.
“But why didn’t we hear the shot?”
The detective cleared his throat. “The gun had a silencer.”
A silencer. Like someone had planned this.
“Well, if you have the gun, and a silencer, can’t you find out whose it is then?”
Detective Furlow gave me a wan smile as if to say, you watch too much TV. “We’ve bagged the weapon. Unfortunately, the identifying numbers on the gun have been filed down. Maybe we can make out a few of them in the lab. But it’s not likely a legally owned weapon anyway.”
Frustration bounced around in my chest. “So that won’t help you find the guy?”
“Maybe, if we can identify it enough to track down where it came from. But it’ll take time.”
“We don’t have time. We need to find the answers now!”
My cell phone went off — Brittany’s ring tone. Distractedly, I flipped open the phone. “Hi.”
“Shaley, why didn’t you come? What’s going on?”
My eyes flicked to the detective, then Mom. “I can’t talk now. Just get here. I’ll tell you everything.”
“This is scaring me. You’re scaring me. Are you okay?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“What kind of answer is that?”
“Is Carly there?”
“Yes. The driver’s loading my bag in the limo.”
“She’ll tell you what happened. And you’ll be here soon. It’s not far.”
“Shaley, what —”
“Brittany, I have to go. See you soon.”
I snapped the phone closed. “Sorry.”
“No problem.”
The detective continued asking me questions. I related what I was doing before I found Tom. What rooms I looked into first. Where Mick searched. Then I had to describe what I saw. Did I move Tom in any way? Touch him?
The question sent a shudder up my spine. “For a minute I thought he was teasing me.” If only. “I pushed him with my foot. But that didn’t … move him.”
The detective asked me what I knew about Tom’s friends. Who was he close to on the tour? Did he have any enemies? Had he gotten into any fights with anybody recently?
“No.” I hugged myself. “Like I said, everyone loves him.” I winced. Loved him.
8
Out in the hall, I heard a familiar voice. Brittany had arrived. I sprang to my feet, but felt pulled in two directions.
“My friend is here. Can I see her just a minute?”
Detective Furlow closed his notebook. “Go ahead, we’re done for now, Shaley.”
“You sure?” I glanced out the door. “I want to help all I can.”
Mom stood up. The detective did the same. He towered above me. “Don’t worry, I’ll be around. I’m going to be right here for a while, talking to your Mom.”
“Okay.” With a quick look at Mom, I scurried across the room and into the hallway. Brittany stood close to the door, whispering with Mick. She’d hung around with me enough back home to know our bodyguards.
“Brittany!”
She rushed at me. We hugged each other hard.
I pulled back and looked at her, starting to shake. The mere sight of her brought tears to my eyes. “You look great.” She’d cut new layers in her long blonde hair, and the makeup on her hazel eyes was perfect.
She scrutinized me through her thick, long lashes. “Are you okay? Carly told me what happened. I just can’t believe it.”
“I’m … yeah.” Words tangled in my head. So much to tell her. I didn’t know where to begin.
Pete Strickland reappeared up the hall, followed by Ed Husker, Rayne’s sound tech. They headed our direction. Great. More people. “Come on, Brittany.” I took her arm. “Let’s go somewhere to talk.”
I hauled her two suites down, Bruce heavy on our heels. We passed Wendell, standing guard at the suite next door, where the other band members and Ross had gathered. Wendell’s arms were folded, a tight T-shirt showing off his rocklike muscles. At five eleven, he’s the shortest of our bodyguards but intimidates me the most. His black hair, two inches long and gelled, stands straight up. His eyes are deep-set and hard. A long shiny scar runs the length of his chin.
Briefly, he nodded to me. I nodded back.
In the third suite, the atmosphere hung heavy and dark. Carly sat on a couch along with the two other backup singers.
I stopped just inside the door. “Is it okay if we just sit over there and talk?” I pointed to the front corner of the room.
“Sure,” Carly said. “Brittany, you remember Lois and Melissa?”
Lois is tall and skinny with short brown hair. Melissa is a large African American who sings like an angel but hardly says a word. Brittany had met them and all the other band members before at our house, but it had been a while since they’d seen each other.
“Yeah.” Brittany managed a smile. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Lois said. Melissa nodded.
Brittany and I sank onto the carpeted floor. Qu
ickly I told her the details. Her eyes filled with tears. She took my hands in hers. “Shaley — “
Ross poked his head in the suite. His pudgy face was flushed. The large diamond ring on his right hand glittered in the overhead light as he gripped the doorpost. “Lois, Melissa, Carly, come on next door. We need to talk about the tour.” He flicked a look at Brittany and me, then disappeared. Carly gave us a tight smile as she and the other two women filed from the room.
Brittany bit her lip. “You think he’s going to stop the tour?”
Canceling would make Tom’s death doubly hard. Local promoters would have to be reimbursed their advance fees. Ticket sales would be paid back. Ross, Mom, the whole band, the technicians and roadies, everybody would be out a lot of money.
“I don’t think so.” My voice was tight. “I know Ross. He’ll be thinking about the bottom line. He’ll say we still have Marshall to do Mom’s hair and makeup. I don’t mean to say Ross is cold, but the fact is — it’s not like one of the band members is dead.”
Pain stabbed through me. The tour might physically be able to continue, but how could I manage the rest of it without Tom? Especially after Brittany left.
Brittany picked at the carpet. “It’ll be over for me for sure. When Mom hears this, she’ll want me on the next plane home. Count on it — I’ll be leaving tomorrow.”
My eyes widened. “Brittany, no! I need you here!” I hadn’t had time to think about it, but she was so right. Brittany’s mom was very strict. We’d had to beg her to let Brittany come in the first place.
“I know.” Brittany’s focus drifted over my shoulder, as if she saw something in the distance. Fear flicked across her face. Her mouth opened, then closed. She pressed her lips in the expression I knew all too well.
I leaned forward. “What is it?”
For as long as I’d known Brittany she’d had an uncanny ability to sense things. Not often, nor predictably. But when the sensing came, she always turned out to be right.
She shook her head.
“Come on, what?”
Brittany turned troubled eyes on mine. “I feel something.”
Her fear curled up in my stomach. “I know. Tell me what it is.”
She bit her lip, studying me. “I’ll just say this: we have to persuade Mom to let me stay.”
Always Watching Page 3
