Sedona Law 6

by Dave Daren

“You guys are doing another play?” Vicki asked.

  “A film,” Leila answered.

  “We’ve started our own production company,” AJ said.

  “A production company?” I raised an eyebrow. “That’s ambitious.”

  “Well,” Leila qualified. “It sounds a lot more impressive than it is. Right now, we just wrote a script, and are scraping up Jerry’s old contacts to see if we can pull together a film.”

  “You have funding?” I asked as the wheels in my head started to turn.

  Leila and AJ looked at each other and shrugged.

  “Our paychecks,” Leila laughed. “No, I’m joking. We’re trying to get some of Jerry’s old investors.”

  “Jerry’s investors were crooks,” Vicki protested.

  She was right. Jerry Steele had gotten in over his head with crooked investors and it ultimately led to his untimely demise.

  “Some of them were legit,” Leila said. “I’ve got meetings with a couple of them this week.”

  She held up the flash drive. “It helps that we have a screenplay. Well, I’ll let you guys get on with suing people and shit.”

  She cast one last glance at AJ, who smiled brightly.

  I laughed. “See you around, Leila.”

  “See you, Thomas Jefferson,” she teased and then walked out the door.

  I shot Vicki a look, and she shrugged. After everything Phoenix had just said, it seemed like our firm was traveling in a different direction than I had expected.

  Chapter 3

  The Sedona Nightlife taping was done in a converted barn, and when Vicki and I arrived, it was actually pretty cool. The barn was part of a defunct farm.

  There were fenced off areas where cows and horses had once lived, but they were long empty. Now, it was evening and hipsters with man buns and ironic glasses milled around the lawn drinking craft beer and smoking pipes.

  Musicians with long beards sat outside on benches and strummed guitars, while groups of fangirls fawned over them like the Second Coming of Christ.

  “Phoenix was right,” I told Vicki. “They’re trying too hard.”

  She laughed. “Yeah. I can see that.”

  On one side of the field, I saw a guitarist with a large following was playing a love song with a haunting melody. He was truly captivating, and as we sat and listened to him, I wrapped my arm around my fiancee and she smiled. We let the music wash over us, and envelope us like a warm blanket, while the stars blinked endlessly in the Arizona sky. I turned to Vicki and kissed her, and the world faded away.

  The song ended and the crowd dispersed. We went inside, and folding chairs were set up audience style, framed by intimidatingly professional grade camera and lighting equipment. At the front of the room, an empty stage set was up with basic gear--drum kit, keyboard, monitors, microphones, and guitars and a bass.

  The room was filling up now, and I spotted my mother and sister in the crowd. Harmony’s face lit up when she saw us, and she almost tripped over a light tree trying to get to us.

  “Vicki,” she gushed and hugged my fiancee so hard I thought she would knock her over. “We’re going to be sisters!”

  Vicki laughed. “I know. Isn’t it great? I’ve never had a sister!”

  “Me neither,” Harmony laughed. “I have brothers, and they’re both a pain in the ass.”

  I cleared my throat. “I’m right here.”

  “You’re a pain in the ass but we still love you,” Harmony corrected as she moved to hug me. “How was Tahiti? Did you go scuba diving?”

  “We didn’t do that,” I said. “What did we do?”

  I turned to Vicki who had a puzzled look, and then Harmony’s face blushed red and then she laughed.

  “You guys are awful,” she laughed. “You didn’t leave the hotel did you?”

  “Umm,” Vicki searched my face and I racked my brain.

  Did we?

  “Oh my god,” Harmony said. “I don’t even want to know.”

  I laughed deep and heartily, and Harmony smacked my arm. My mom showed up and gave me a quick hug but there was a bit of distance that I attributed to my somewhat neutral stance on Phoenix and Landon’s RV.

  “Okay,” Harmony insisted. “Let me see the ring.”

  Vicki held out her hand and my sister giggled. “It looks so good on you.”

  “I heard you got engaged,” I turned around to see Toby Lithgoe coming up behind me.

  “Toby,” I said. “Good to see you.”

  Harmony and my mother cooled, and they shot Toby a withering glance and then silently walked away. Toby awkwardly scratched the back of his head.

  Toby had been Harmony’s public defender, and the catalyst for our relocation. He also had been an old high school acquaintance of mine, and since we were both lawyers in a one horse town, I found it beneficial for my professional life to bury the hatchet with him.

  After all, Harmony didn’t go to prison, and Toby had apologized, albeit to me and had unwittingly assisted our firm with another case. I, personally, had decided to let bygones be bygones. Apparently, my mom and sister--not so much.

  “Give it time,” I told him.

  Toby made a face like he knew better.

  “How’s it going? You here with anyone?” I asked in an abrupt subject change.

  Toby had always been labeled as attractive. He was tall with perfectly disheveled blond hair and a scruffy beard. Today he wore black skinny jeans, a gray button down shirt, with a black cashmere pullover and he had sunglasses perched on his head. He leaned against the wall as he chatted, and no matter who he was talking to, his blue eyes constantly scanned the room in search of alternate conversation.

  Toby changed dates about as often as most people change their underwear. Most of his girlfriends were of the barely legal sort. I suspected women our age found his manner more off putting than the size of his wallet could compensate for. The younger ones didn’t know any better, and couldn’t get past the phrase, “hot young lawyer.”

  Yeah. The hot young lawyer card will get you laid any time of day or night. Hell, based on some of the associates at my old firm in L.A., I didn’t even think you even had to be young. Or even hot for that matter.

  Pre-Vicki, I couldn’t say that I hadn’t cashed the card in a time or two. There was no shortage in the world of shallow status obsessed women up for a good time. But, if you were looking for something real, that was a whole different story. I guessed Toby hadn’t figured that part out yet.

  “Nah,” Toby said. “I’m flying solo tonight. I was dating this super hot waitress that looked exactly like Britney Spears from the early 2000’s. I mean, it’s like creepy, how dead on this girl looks like her. I’ve got to introduce you. Dude, it’s like nuts. But, then we got in a big fight and now she’s pretending like she’s out with her ex.”

  “She not?” I found the anecdote oddly amusing.

  “No,” he said. “I know her ex. He does overnight meditation retreats in the vortexes, and he’s got a whole group out there right now. I’ve got two clients out there with him posting on Instagram.”

  “So then where is she?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “My guess is she’s sitting at home watching Netflix drunk texting me screenshots of her Tinder matches.”

  I laughed. “Your love life is entertaining.”

  The smile briefly faded from his face, and a shadow passed across his expression.

  “Not everyone has what you have, man,” he said softly. Then, he slapped me on the back and walked away. I turned to Vicki, who was engrossed in a conversation with Julie, another friend who was dating the police detective, Leonard Colby.

  I watched her eyes light up as Julie told an animated story, complete with hand gestures and jokes. God, I loved Vicki.

  Feedback resonated from the stage as an emcee took the microphone.

  “Alright, people,” the emcee said. “Let’s get this party started!”

  A loud cheer rose from the room which had now g
athered to about two hundred people. The house lights darkened, and the stage lights came up. Camera operators with headsets scurried to their places and the seats filled quickly. Vicki and I missed the rush for the chairs so we were squashed to standing room only on the sides.

  The standing room areas filled to about six or seven deep, and between the excessive body heat and the television lighting, the temperature in the room skyrocketed. Within minutes, I could pull visible drops of water off my face.

  The prevailing din rose like a mushroom cloud hovering the rafters. Two scantily clad college girls snaked their way through the crowd toward the front and in the rush nearly pushed Vicki over. A production assistant somehow managed to circulate through the room and offered free water bottles.

  A couple of people around us took the drinks, and I grimaced as water splashed on my arm. I turned to Vicki, who rolled her eyes. She was in a dress and heels and found an abandoned barstool to perch on. I stood next to her and leaned against the wall penned in by the crowd.

  Then the emcee came back up, and look straight into the camera. “Welcome to Sedona Nightlife.”

  The roar of the crowd rose to a deafening crescendo as the camera panned shots of the crowd. I noticed they all had the logo for Starbright Media. I turned to Vicki and pointed at the logo and she nodded.

  We recently had a big murder case that centered around Starbright Media and we ended up becoming somewhat familiar with its eccentric owner, Marvin Iokava. I scanned the crowd to see if I could spot him in some of the VIP clusters, but I didn’t see him. I did however, see the two college girls from earlier try to flash the camera.

  Then the first guitar strains erupted and I thought the crowd would lose their minds. It was a hipster rock band that was trying to be Death Cab for Cutie. They actually had some good songs, and if I hadn’t been so drenched in sweat, I could have enjoyed it more.

  The emcee came back up and he smiled. “‘So our next band is a local favorite, known for the use of this contraption here.”

  The emcee gestured toward a new addition to the stage and held up a black Sedona Nightlife t-shirt.

  “Free t-shirt to the first person that knows what this instrument is called,” he announced. “Anyone?”

  I knew what it was, but from my spot pinned against the side, I didn’t want to try. Loud intelligible muttering followed, and the emcee was dying up there trying to get an answer.

  “Anyone?” he tried again. “Free t-shirt. All you got to do is name this instrument.”

  What the hell, I thought.

  “Dulcimer,” I yelled out.

  I was apparently loud enough, because everyone turned to look at me.

  “Dulcimer,” the emcee repeated and tossed me the shirt. “To the gentleman over there, looking all dignified like he walked out of a GQ magazine.”

  Titters of laughter followed his comment.

  “That guy looks like he could be like a lawyer or something,” the emcee shook his head. “Taking his girlfriend out on the town.”

  I raised an eyebrow and a titter of laughter washed through the crowd.

  “Oh he is?” the emcee blushed as he touched his earpiece. He turned to my direction. “You’re really a lawyer?”

  I nodded and the crowd laughed.

  “Wow,” the emcee laughed. “I did not know that. Please don’t sue me.”

  I just laughed, and the emceee listened to a couple of comments on the front row.

  “Iakova? Really? He’s friends with Marvin Iakova?” the emcee summed up.

  Friends was a strong word for what we were, but the camera was on me, so I just nodded.

  “Geez,” the emcee looked at me wide eyed. “Dude, you can have all the free t-shirts you want. All the free food. All the free drinks. Consider your...butt...kissed.”

  The crowd roared in laughter, and I just dismissively waved my palm. The camera moved off me, and the emcee finished laughing and continued his comments.

  “So our next act,” he said. “Proficient in the use of the dulcimer, ladies and gentleman, please welcome the James Matthews Band.”

  The crowd roared with delight and James Matthews took the stage. Really? The James Matthews Band? If your name last name is Matthews, and you have a band, don’t use the word ‘band’ in your name.

  James Matthews took the front microphone and his entourage took places at the various stage instruments.

  James nodded to the crowd. He was a lanky hipster in his early thirties with blue corduroy pants, a maroon pullover sweater layered over light blue collared shirt. He had black rimmed eyeglasses and wide blue eyes, and his sandy blond hair was neatly trimmed and combed over.

  “Thank you,” he spoke into the microphone. “It’s always great to be on Sedona Nightlife. We always enjoy being here.”

  “Take it off, James,” I heard a female voice yell from the darkness. This was followed by several more lewd comments. James hesitated slightly, and I saw a producer motion from the back of the room to keep going. I took it the comments didn’t get picked up by the cameras.

  “We consider you guys family,” James continued.

  I wanted to throw up. The bullshit was starting to smell worse than the sweat in the room.

  “And as family,” James said. “We have a little bit of housekeeping announcements we’d like to share with you.”

  I sighed and checked my phone. I hadn’t seen my dad here yet.

  “We want you guys to be the first to know about a move we are about to make,” he said.

  A dramatic silence followed his pause.

  “The James Matthew Band,” he announced, “has just been offered a six month residency in Las Vegas.”

  The crowd went wild with the news.

  “And we want to thank the Sedona Nighlife team, and our family of supporters here for being part of this journey with us,” James went on. “It’s been a wild ride, and you guys were there every step of the way. We couldn’t have done this without you. Truly.”

  Oh God. This was brutal.

  “We’re going to open our set tonight, with our new single, it’s called Hudson. I wrote this about a girl, a great friend of mine, and some of you might relate to this, it’s like everyone’s told her who she is, and what she should be, and how she should believe and perceive and experience life. And they’ve told her so much, that she can’t find herself. I hope you enjoy.”

  The dulcimer player plucked out on intro, and then James sang a couple of verses. The dulcimer launched into another solo, and James nodded to the music, while he grabbed a water bottle off a stool and took a long swig.

  Then James pulled out a saxophone, and holy shit. The man went to town on that thing. I could see why Vegas was calling. He just went on and on. Then, his solo reached its climax, and every camera was trained on him. The audience was in shock, listening to the dizzying notes swirl round and round.

  Then James stopped, and somewhere in that split right before the applause, he stared into the audience with a horrified expression.

  Then, suddenly, his knees buckled from under him, and he hit the floor with a loud thud.

  The music immediately stopped as the band members rushed to James’ aid. From all over the room, producers and Starbright crew emerged and joined the crowd on stage.

  “I’m a doctor,” a man yelled as the crowd parted ways for him. The doctor joined the scene on stage, and an official looking type with an earpiece paced the stage with a cell phone glued to his other ear.

  Anxious chatter filled the crowd and it rose higher and higher. I put my arm around Vicki on the barstool. It wasn’t the first time we had been through something like this.

  The doctor leaned over James unconscious form for several minutes, and the anxious crowd onstage blocked the view. The only indicator was the man on the cell phone who kept pacing back to the scene, and then would rub his forehead, and shake his head and talk more into the phone.

  Right about the time we heard the ambulance sirens, the doctor rose fr
om the ground and forlornly shook his head. The EMT crew rushed like a cavalry. But it was clear.

  James Matthews was dead.

  Chapter 4

  It was late when Vicki and I got back to our cottage. We silently dressed for bed.

  “This is getting to be too familiar,” she said.

  “I know,” I said. “But this one wasn’t a murder. This is just an accidental death. We don’t know what happened. My guess is a heart arrhythmia.”

  “He was playing that sax hard,” she said.

  “Maybe he had some kind of heart condition,” I said. “He may have known, he may not have.”

  “That’s so sad,” she said. “He was young too. Our age. You know, that could be us one day.”

  She climbed into bed with me, and I smiled. “That won’t be us. We’re going to live until we’re old and wrinkled, and we gross out our grandkids because we’re old and sloppy and love making out at the table during Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “Oddly specific, but speak for yourself,” she laughed. “I, however, am not going to be old and sloppy. I’m Korean. Koreans age gracefully.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Well, you’re going to have to stick around, cause you’re going to have to take care of my old and sloppy ass, and find my denture cream for me. Because I’m British. We have good genes, we don’t die.”

  She laughed and her eyes twinkled.

  “For better or for worse,” she squeezed my hand.

  “For better or for worse,” I repeated and squeezed her hand back.

  I loved when she was like this with me, sensitive and vulnerable. No one else saw this side of her. She fell asleep on my chest, and I played with her hair, while I browsed my phone until I fell asleep.

  The next morning, I woke early and went for a jog. It was Saturday and Vicki would want to talk about wedding details. We also needed to check in with Jim Hurley. He was the architect who was designing the house we were building. I had talked to him a couple of times from Tahiti, but we were so worn out from these big back to back cases, we didn’t have the energy to design a house. Now that we were home with fresh energy, I needed to find out where we were on that.