“Sorry, I’ve got a gig.”
“Working for Val’s Uncle Freddie?” I asked.
“Not right now. It’s sort of a freelance thing while Freddie’s in rehab,” Ryan said.
“Rehab? Val said he was touring.” This was sad news. I had no idea Uncle Freddie was having trouble, and I wondered why Val hadn’t told me.
“I would know if he was touring, right? I’m his bodyguard. I’d be with him,” Ryan said.
“Right. You would be. So, he’s in rehab? Did he have a drug problem?” I felt strange digging for information, but since Val had been secretive about this, I needed to get my answers from somewhere.
“Last year he started having a lot of knee pain—those high platform boots aren’t doing him any favors, other than making him taller, but he won’t stop wearing them. He started taking some painkillers, and I guess he got hooked. He needs a knee replacement. You know he’s no spring chicken, even though he acts like it. Doing all those concerts was sort of doing him in, and he was using too many painkillers. He realized he had a problem and checked himself in.”
“Geez, I wish I had known he was struggling with addiction,” I said. I wondered why Val hadn’t told me, especially since she over-shared pretty much everything else in her life.
“I don’t think he really wanted the news to get out.”
That was understandable. To us, he was Uncle Freddie, but to the rest of the world, he was rock superstar Freddie “Boom Boom” Roberts, and I was certain the tabloids would have a field day reporting on his drug abuse problems.
After I finished my call with Ryan, my brother called me back.
“Sorry, I did what I could to get access to the medical records for Austin Greer, but I didn’t find anything. I’m not entirely sure why—could be he didn’t believe in seeing doctors, or it could be that I just couldn’t get to the records because they’ve beefed up security on the servers at the hospitals. Or, he could have been getting his pain meds off the street. Sorry, sis, I think I’ve let you down.”
“Thanks for trying. I really appreciate it.”
“Hey, I’m happy to help you anytime.” We said our goodbyes and hung up.
I wondered what insights Uncle Freddie might have into where Austin Greer had gotten his pain killers, given his own battle with addiction. I called Ryan back.
“Where is Uncle Freddie being treated?”
“Why do you want to know?” Ryan asked.
“Well, I wanted to talk with him about the drugs he was on. You see, one of things you don’t know about Austin’s murder is that he had a huge amount of narcotics in his system when he died.”
“He did?” he asked, sounding as surprised as I’d felt when I found out.
“Yes, so much so he could have died from the drugs alone if the chandelier hadn’t fallen on him.”
“Wow, Jax, it sure does explain why he was acting so weird, flying off the handle at even the smallest thing, becoming nearly rabid if we didn’t get everything just right when we were rehearsing. And then, after his tantrums, he would have moments of such calm we thought he’d fallen asleep.”
“Wow is right. I only had one conversation with him, and he struck me as a bit of an odd bird, but I had no idea he was acting like that all the time. Actually, I did, because Tessa’s daughters had told me as much, but I frankly didn’t believe them. I do now. So, about that address where Uncle Freddie is staying…”
“You promise not to tell another soul?”
“Cross my heart,” I said, fingers crossed he’d tell me.
“Château Glen View .”
“Thank you so much, Ryan. I owe you one!” I said goodbye and hung up, happy that Ryan always wanted to help me, regardless of the consequences. I hoped him spilling the beans wouldn’t get him in trouble with Uncle Freddie.
I needed to find my way to the Château, and fast. I had some questions for Uncle Freddie. Since it was still early in the day, I decided I had time, since it was just a few miles out of town. It was a gorgeous May afternoon, so I put the top down on the Ladybug to enjoy the rare Seattle sunshine while I could.
As I pulled up to the facility, I didn’t expect to be confronted with a gate and a guard. Honestly, I hadn’t known what to expect, but I certainly hadn’t thought it would be a high-security situation. It did make me wonder if all the gates and fences were to keep people out or to keep people in.
I drove up to the guard booth and said hello to a man wearing an official-looking black polo with a castle-shaped logo over his heart. I figured if I nonchalantly asked to come in, maybe he’d let me pass. No such luck.
“Hi, I’m Jax O’Connell, here to see Freddie Roberts.”
The guard consulted his clipboard. Then he paged through a binder.
“Sorry, ma’am. You’re not on the list.”
“Dammit,” I muttered. I didn’t have a cell phone number for Freddie and I really didn’t want to call Val and ask her for it. She might be upset I’d found out the truth.
“Is there any way you could call him and ask if he wants to see me?”
“Lady, you know how many people try to get in that way? Dozens. And you know what? It never works, so why don’t you just take off. Don’t embarrass yourself.”
“Can’t you just try?”
“Who are you—ex-wife, ex-girlfriend, ex-fiancée, ex-mistress?“
“No, I’m just the neighbor of his niece Val,” I said, shaking my head, knowing my chances of getting in and seeing Freddie were less than zero.
“Val? Oh, hey, I know her. She gave me some advice on what to wear to my daughter’s wedding. Hold on a second.”
I waited while the guard turned his back and spoke into a walkie-talkie, before finally turning and pushing the button on the gate.
“There you go, ma’am. Have a nice day. He’s in suite 74A. And say hi to Val next time you see her,” the guard said.
“Will do, and thank you,” I said, heading through the gates. I was starting to think Val truly did have some magical powers—just mentioning her name had gotten me into the Château.
As I snaked through the parking lot looking for the entrance that would take me to suite 74A, I thought about what the guard had said about Val. She had obviously visited her uncle here, because the security guard knew who she was. It saddened me to think Val had been too ashamed to tell me her uncle was in rehab. I’d have to decide whether I would even mention to her that I had been here to see her Uncle Freddie.
I found suite 74A and knocked on the door. Expecting some sort of nurse or attendant to answer the door, I was surprised when Uncle Freddie himself was standing before me. He looked less like a rock star than I had ever seen him, wearing sandals and a sweat suit.
“Jax! What a pleasure to see you,” he said, pulling me inside his nicely appointed, but sterile, living room and giving me a hearty hug. “What brings you here? How’d you find me?”
“Ryan isn’t always the best at keeping secrets,” I said.
Uncle Freddie chuckled. “Yeah, he’s a good guy, but he doesn’t always have the best judgment.”
I could agree with him on that, although I had benefited on more than one occasion from his poor decision-making skills.
“I came to ask you a favor,” I said, getting right to the point.
“I’ll always say yes to a friend of my little Valerie,” Uncle Freddie said, escorting me to the sofa. As we walked together I realized how incredibly short he was—without his tall boots, he wasn’t much taller than I was. Val must’ve gotten her height from the other side of the family.
“I’m sorry you’re here. Are you okay?” I said, sitting down next to him.
“Me? Oh, I’m fine. I just found myself just a little too reliant on some little white pills. Far too many rock stars take far too many pills, and I didn’t want to be one of them. Really, it’s jus
t a precaution being here. I don’t want to end up like some of the more famous rock stars—dead.”
“I’m glad to hear that, because I wouldn’t want you to be sick or have an addiction or something,” I said.
“You caught me on the best day, because I’m actually checking myself out of here.”
“You can do that?”
“Of course I can. I checked myself in. I’m checking myself out. I think I better change, though, because if anyone sees me wearing a tracksuit they’re going to wonder what happened to me.”
“Can I ask you about the drugs you were on—I hope it’s not too personal. I’m asking because someone died recently and he had high levels of opioids in his bloodstream when he passed away. He was murdered, so it’s sort of complicated.”
“Did he overdose? I’ve lost a lot of friends that way. That’s why I was being extra careful, myself. Drugs—is that what killed him?”
“No, actually, it’s pretty gruesome. A chandelier fell on him,” I said, wincing at the thought of it.
“What a terrible way to go,” Uncle Freddie said, shaking his head. “But I’m not sure how I can help.”
“You got your drugs from a doctor, right?”
“Right.”
“The man who died—his name was Austin Greer—we don’t really know where he was getting his drugs. My brother, who’s usually really good at finding things out like that, wasn’t able to turn up any evidence that was the case. So, I’m pretty sure Austin was getting his drugs from someone on the street.
“You know, if you’re addicted, you’ll do just about anything to get what your body craves. So it’s possible that if his doctor cut him off, he found another way to get what he needed,” he said.
“Is that what happened to you?”
“I had doctors—stupid doctors—who were more than willing to prescribe me anything I wanted.”
“I had this idea that maybe the person who killed Austin was his drug dealer, and something happened that made the dealer angry enough with Austin to want to kill him.”
“See, here’s the thing. He could’ve been hopping around from doctor to doctor getting his drugs, or he could’ve found an unscrupulous physician willing to prescribe the pills for him. You can’t assume it was some sort of seedy drug dealer who killed that guy.”
“Thanks. We’ll have to keep looking. Freddie, you’re a superstar,” I said, giving him a hug.
“You got that right. And this superstar has to get out of here before they charge me for another day.” Freddie grabbed his suitcase. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Can I ask you another favor?”
“Wow, two favors in one day—you’re really pushing your luck,” Freddie said, teasing me.
“Might you be available tomorrow night to be the Master of Ceremonies at a fashion show and auction? It’s for a good cause. Even Val is helping us.”
“Sure, sounds like fun. I cleared my calendar a few weeks back, so I can. Anything for you, Jax. You’re like family.”
• • •
Relieved I’d found an emcee for the gala, I called Jaya Bakshi at HAT to tell her the spectacular news while I sat in the Ladybug in the parking lot of Château Glen View.
“I’m sorry, Jax, but I’m afraid HAT is pulling the plug on the event. Without the chandelier, we aren’t going to make much on the event. We’ve got to focus on restructuring our organization now that Austin is no longer with us.”
“’Restructuring?’ What does that mean? You’re not going to close down, are you?”
“My organization has had a difficult time working with Mr. Greer. We’d like to move on at this point.”
“What do you mean ‘difficult?’”
“He gave us a lot of money, but he was a real jerk about it. Always dangling money in front of me, making me beg him for it. It was disgusting. And the insults, the petty remarks, the sexual innuendo…”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“When he’d finally give us the money, I’d swear it was the last time we’d take anything from him. Now that he’s gone, HAT is going to have to figure out how we’ll go forward, if we can,” she said.
“Couldn’t you find other donors?”
“Yes, that’s what we’ll have to do. I regret it took Austin’s death to realize I should have been looking for other donors long before now.”
“That must’ve been hard, dealing with his insults.”
“The board of directors kept telling me to suck it up. To take his money. There was no way to—”
“There was no way to get rid of him?”
“That’s right. There was no way to get rid of him. Except kill him, and I can assure you, I’m not the one who did. But if I ever meet the person who did kill him, I’ll probably shake their hand and thank them.”
“Oh…”
“And if that makes you want to turn me into the police, that’s fine. I’ve got nothing to hide. I can tell you this: I didn’t kill him—”
“I didn’t say you did. But at this point, I don’t think you should be giving up on the event. We don’t have the chandelier, but we have lots of other items. And isn’t it better to make some money than no money?”
“I suppose,” Jaya said with a sigh.
“And I did find a new emcee for the event.”
“You did?”
“Yep. Freddie Roberts.”
“The Freddie Roberts?”
“The one and only. He’s a friend, and we’re not going to have to pay him. So, what do you say? Can we do this? I know there will be a lot of people who will be glad if you say yes, including your board of directors.”
“Okay, then, yes. And Jax? I do have an alibi for the night Mr. Greer died. If you are planning on siccing the police on me, you should know I couldn’t have been the one to kill him.”
“Of course,” I said, hanging up the phone. I’d also make sure to tell Zachary every word Jaya had said, because anyone who had already thought through their alibi was certainly worth looking into.
My next stop was the local paint supply store. I picked up everything on the list Rudy gave me and selected a paint color—Lavender Mist, a pale purple that seemed soothing to me. It would be perfect for my newly renovated attic. As I waited for the clerk to mix the paint, I called Zachary and left him a message suggesting he check out Jaya Bakshi.
EIGHTEEN
Now that the gala was definitely happening, I needed to find something beautiful to wear to the event. I knew I didn’t want to have Val choose something for me, or else I’d end up in sequins and Spandex. I recalled the boutique I’d stopped at near the theater just a few days before, and since I was only a few blocks away, I decided a detour was in order.
I pulled to the curb in front of Styles by Cassie.
“Hello, and welcome back,” Cassie said as I entered the shop. “Glad you made it back in. Are you ready to shop for something to wear to the gala?”
“I am.”
I also had something else on my mind. She’d told me when we met she didn’t have any jewelry because things hadn’t worked out with her jewelry designer. Then I discovered Dylan was that designer. According to him, she said she was closing her store, which was why she’d returned his jewelry. I wanted to get to the bottom of it. It seemed to me that Cassie, who had made a snarky comment about the bad timing of Austin’s death, was hiding something. If it had something to do with Austin’s demise, I wanted to know about it.
“I’m looking for a little black dress,” I said. “I’ve never really had one, and it seems like it would be a good basic piece for me to have. It would go with everything, especially my jewelry.”
“That’s right. You were going to bring me some samples of your work.”
“Sorry, not today. This was sort of a spontaneous shopping trip. I promise I’ll bring som
ething by next week. But I do have a question for you. I’m friends with Dylan McCartney, and he seems to be under the impression that you’re closing your shop.”
“Oh, dear. Yes, that is a little difficult to explain,” Cassie said as she fidgeted with the rings on her hands.
“Was there a reason you’d tell him that? Are you really closing your shop?” I asked as I started to browse the racks, hoping my nonchalant inquiry wouldn’t make her defensive.
“More like wishful thinking.”
“I don’t understand. So you’re not closing?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I got an offer from a real estate developer. He wanted to buy my building, and all the rest of the property on the block, including the Chanticleer Theater. So, I got ready to shut things down and move to the Fremont District. That’s why I told your friend I was closing up shop.” I nodded and listened as I continued looking for the perfect dress. I’d gathered a couple of options but didn’t want to stop while Cassie was willing to fill me in on what was going on. “Stupid Austin, he refused to sell. He said the theater was too important to him.” She was getting a little red in the face. I could tell she was upset about what had happened.
“I guess he must have really loved that old theater,” I said, thinking about why some people irrationally hold onto things at times.
“I can’t explain the actions of that lunatic. He could have made a fortune selling the theater, and I could have made some serious money too, but only if we were both willing to sell.
“I guess he cared more about the theater than the money. I don’t think he needed the income,” I offered.
“Yeah, well, he sure liked to be a goody-two-shoes. It’s too bad he couldn’t have done some good in this neighborhood. This location is getting worse and worse. That’s why I put those security gates up—too many break-ins in recent months. I was hoping they’d tear all this down and put up some nice condos.”
“But with him gone, maybe his wife will want to sell the theater. That would be good, right?”
“From what I hear, the developer has moved on to a new project. He might reconsider building condos here, but I doubt I’ll ever get that generous offer again,” Cassie said, as she tidied a stack of scarves, trying her best to control her temper.
To Bead or Not to Bead, Glass Bead Mystery Series, Book 4 Page 14
