by Tess Oliver
I looked at Bronx. "See, she gets it."
Bronx put up his hands. "No, I agree. The whole thing is weird. Especially the part about Jensen lying to everyone about Sutton's death. But like you said—she's gone now. You'll never get to the bottom of it, so you might as well move on."
"Not so fast," Layla said as she poured coffee. "You know the name of her band. Just Google the band. They probably have a bunch of social media accounts to follow, then you can find out where they're playing. And then there's always some evidence searching in your hometown. Maybe you can find out more about the mother's disappearance and Kenzie's death. A little mystery investigation sounds fun."
I looked at Bronx. "I love this woman. And you know what, you're right, Layla. I can keep track of her by following the band on social media."
Bronx laughed dryly. "That sounded like the exact words a stalker would say. I can keep track of her? Seriously, are you going to dredge up all this old shit? Thought you always said you wanted to wash the stench of Westridge off of you once you were free of that place."
"I can hardly be free of that place while my parents still live there. Which reminds me—a developer has been sweeping in and buying up all the old houses, Jensen's included. Apparently it's going to become a posh mountain resort."
That earned a good laugh from Bronx.
"I thought it seemed ridiculous too," I said, "but my dad is patiently waiting for the big offer to come through."
"In that case, you better hurry your investigation before all the scandals are buried under new cement and foundations," Layla noted.
I looked at Bronx. "How the hell did you get so damn lucky?"
9
"So—you're stalking the chick?" Angus asked as we climbed out of the truck.
"No," I said abruptly. "I'm just following the band. Isn't that what chicks do when you're playing somewhere?"
"Yeah but those are my groupies, my fans," he said smugly.
"Stop glowing there, buddy. You aren't exactly Bruce Springsteen yet. And why are they fans, but I'm a stalker?"
"One—cuz you're creepy."
I smacked him on the shoulder. He laughed as he rubbed it. "All right, you're not too creepy, but I was with you the other night at the contest. Your reaction to the singer wasn't one of those hey she's hot and she has an amazing voice and I want to buy her music and follow her band around the country kind of reactions. It was more of a holy crap that woman—I need to have her kind of reaction."
We headed toward the dilapidated bar. It didn't look big or sturdy enough for the amount of cars in the parking lot or, for that matter, a band. Angus noticed the same thing.
"As a firefighter, I'm not all that thrilled to be walking into this bonfire waiting to happen building. It's still got an old wooden shake roof. Don't even get me started on fire code. Hope this girl is worth it. And remember, you promised to pay for the beer."
"Yeah, yeah, you cheapskate, I'll pay for the beer," I muttered as I pulled open the door. Someone was doing a sound check on stage. My heart started its overdrive thing. I had no idea why.
The place was as rundown inside as out. There had been no attempt to cover the splintered planks of wood that made up most of the structure. There were places you could see right through to the outside, which was probably their ventilation system. A few tables were strewn about the place, but most people huddled in groups around the room. The bar was three people deep.
"Jeez, you'd think the owner could reinvest some of his money to make this place a little more sound and appealing," Angus said. "Don't know who owns this place, but I think we could shut it down for about a hundred violations."
I elbowed him to shut up. "There's the band. They're setting up." I stretched taller. "Wait, I don't remember that woman last time. I don't see Sutton."
"That's because the singer's name is Tony. If you're going to stalk someone at least learn their name."
"Yeah, yeah, but her name is Sutton. Tony is her nickname."
He looked over at me with an arched brown. "Just how much research have you been doing on this girl cuz you're kinda freakin' me out."
"I knew the singer. I grew up with her. I helped her carry her solar system model into our third grade classroom."
"Well, then I apologize. I didn't know you knew her so intimately. I mean third grade solar system carrying is a big deal. Are you stalking her to find out how she feels about Pluto losing planet status?"
"I'm rethinking my decision to drag you along," I said. "Didn't know I was going to be ridiculed. Why the hell haven't I seen Sutton on stage? All the rest of the band is up there checking sound and whatever you band people do before a performance."
He laughed. "Get me a beer, and I'll fill you in on all the gritty band people details."
"That bar is packed with people. I'll wait until the band starts and people move toward the dance floor." I surveyed the dimly lit room. "Guess there isn't much of a dance floor but the music should help pull them away from the bar. Especially when Sutton sings."
The big moose of a guitarist, who would probably not be happy to see me, was checking the speakers while the woman who'd walked out with them was tapping the microphone.
"I don't get it. Where is Sutton?"
"Maybe she just likes to make a grand entrance," Angus suggested. "Or maybe Binky is singing with Isle of Freedom tonight."
"Binky? Who is Binky?" I asked. Suddenly, it seemed as if my brand new investigation had already hit a bump in the road.
"Binky, the cutie with the leopard print vest. She's not as good as Tony, but she's got a nice voice."
"So you know her?"
"Sure do and intimately," he added. "No solar system involved."
"Of course. Why do I even ask? Hey, since you know her, let's ask her what happened to Tony. I'll let you do the talking. That potato faced guitarist does not like me."
Angus nodded. "That's right. That was when your whole new life as a stalker began. Kaos said things were pretty tense when you tried to talk to Tony."
"Yeah, yeah, Kaos likes to embellish. I had it under control." As I spoke I was pushing him through the crowd toward the stage. Angus seemed a little reluctant to approach Binky.
I stopped and looked at him. "Let me guess. You picked up your shoes and your shirt and tiptoed out of her apartment so you wouldn't have to exchange phone numbers."
His head tilted side to side. "Something like that. She makes these little squeaky sounds during sex. At first I thought there were mice in the mattress. It really threw me off my game, if you know what I mean."
"I do but I'm going to wash it out of my brain so I don't have to think about you fucking. And, if her name is Binky, it sort of follows that she would make squeaky noises in bed. Just saying. Now swallow your pride and ask her where the heck Tony is, otherwise this whole adventure is a write off."
"Shit, then this is gonna cost you a dinner too." Angus plowed through the crowded floor up to the stage. He didn't even have to call her name.
Binky, a small woman with pink bangs and a lot of gold chains on her neck, put her hands on her hips and glowered down at Angus from the stage. "You sneaky asshole. Why'd you duck out of my place? I was planning on making you my famous omelet breakfast. Your loss." She was smiling by the end of her rant. "What the hell are you doing here? Don't you have a gig of your own tonight?"
"Nah, I've got the night off."
She pointed at him. "That's right. Singing is only a hobby. You drop out of the sky into fires for a living." She crouched down to talk to him. "Did you come to watch me sing?" A hopeful smile followed.
"You bet I did," he lied. "But, hey, my friend was telling me that he saw this band at a contest, and there was another singer."
Binky sat down on the edge of the stage and swung her legs off the side. She reached over and tapped his chest. "Ooh, wow, I wasn't imagining it. You've got great pecs. We were so plastered that night, I thought maybe I'd just imagined you."
Angus chuckle
d. I smirked knowing that he would have preferred to be anywhere but standing in front of the stage talking to Binky.
"Hey, Binky, we're going to get started in ten." It was the guitarist. I tried to shrink back behind Angus, but he caught a glimpse of me and stared hard for a second. He turned to leave, then swung back around.
"It's you," he growled. "Thanks a lot. You scared off our best singer."
Binky glanced back at him."Fuck off, Rocky. Maybe you should sing tonight."
"Sorry, Binky." He shot me a disgusted look and left the stage.
Angus smiled at Binky and even reached up and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked like a pile of melted butter. Angus had a way with women that turned them to mush.
"What was he talking about?" he asked. "With the singer getting scared off?"
Binky looked over at me, slightly confused by what Rocky had said. "Not sure about all that. All I know is that Rocky called me to come sing tonight. He said the gal who'd been singing with them said she could no longer be part of the band." She lowered her voice, though it was hardly necessary considering the drunken carnival going on behind us.
"Rocky said she was one of those people with all kinds of secrets, lots of skeletons. She was flighty too. She'd just disappear for a few months then show back up. She kept changing her name too, claimed she was trying out different stage names, but Rocky thinks she was hiding from someone or maybe even the law. Anyhow, guess she skedaddled again after they won some money." She looked at me. "Maybe you know more than me."
I shook my head. "Nope, not sure what your guitarist meant, but I've only met her once."
"Well, Angus"—she reached for his hand—"Maybe we should meet up after the gig. This time I can cook you that omelet."
"That sounds great, Binky, only I'm seeing someone now. We might even get engaged soon."
Her mouth turned down in a pout. "There are going to be a lot of disappointed groupies on the local band circuit."
Angus's mouth pulled tight. I sensed that he was regretting his massive lie.
"I've got to go backstage and gargle to loosen up my vocal cords." She stood up. "Maybe we can get a drink later. You know, celebrate your engagement." It seemed Binky was onto his bullshit, and she was going to make him suffer a bit.
"Sure thing," he said. "Have a good set." He spun around quickly. I had to shuffle to keep up with his pace.
"I want a fucking steak dinner and the best ale we can buy," he muttered as we headed to the exit. He took a deep breath. "Ah, fresh air. Was it my imagination or did that place smell like piss?"
"I did catch a urine smell mingling through the crowd." I was recovering from a slap of disappointment. It seemed I was never going to talk to Sutton. She was sure as hell living a sketchy life. Did she fake her own death? None of it made sense. Growing up, Sutton had been the A student, the teacher's pet, the girl who succeeded at everything. She was destined for something far greater than slinking from town to town and playing in two-bit rock bands. The music teacher in junior high always let her practice piano in the music room. I was no expert but she sounded like one of those pianists you might see playing in front of a stadium. She had so much talent. How could she have ended up running from place to place under fake names?
"I'm thinking of a lobster plate rather than a steak," Angus said as we reached the truck. "Hell, maybe both. Whatever is most expensive on the menu since you're paying."
"Whatever," I muttered. We climbed inside.
Angus was pointing at my windshield. "Think you've got a note there under your wiper blade. Maybe someone didn't like the way you parked."
"Nothing wrong with the way I parked." I climbed out and snatched the paper. It was a flyer advertising that Isle of Freedom was playing tonight. I tossed the flyer on the seat. Angus picked it up and looked at the back.
"I knew you'd show up tonight. Meet me at the park off Clearman's Road at midnight," he read. "Handwriting looks feminine."
I grabbed the flyer and read the same words.
"This girl really likes a good mystery. And midnight," Angus said. "The witching hour. Are you going to go? I mean, what if it's a set up or some kind of ambush?"
"It's not," I said. "At least, I don't think it is."
Angus clapped his hands together once. "At least we've still got plenty of time for that steak and lobster. Maybe a side of those truffle coated French fries too." He glanced over at me. "Did you bring your credit card?"
10
Angus took his sweet time, sitting in his plastic bib, hoovering lobster and steak like Henry the Eighth at a medieval feast. I hardly ate a bite of my steak. My mind was on my midnight meeting in the park. An anonymous letter from someone telling me to meet them in a dark park at midnight should have given me pause, but I knew just looking at the writing that the note had come from Sutton. She'd won penmanship awards at school along with just about any other award they could come up with. Kenzie might have been the most popular girl in school, but Sutton was the one headed for Harvard or Yale or one of those big deal schools. But it seemed things went awry in her life. I had no idea why she wanted to see me but could only figure she was going to tell me to leave her the fuck alone.
I rubbed a towel over my hair. It was short enough to dry with a few good swipes of the towel. I pulled on my dark blue sweater and jeans and headed out the door. The night air was brisk but not freezing. A half moon glowed in a mostly clear sky. I climbed into the truck and headed toward the park on Clearman's Road. During the day, the place was filled with kids riding scooters, jumping off swings and sliding down the massive twisting slide. It was officially closed at dark, but there were no gates or barriers to keep people out.
My mostly empty stomach churned with nerves. I had a billion questions, and I worried that I might blurt them all at once. More likely, she would shut me down on the spot and tell me to mind my own business and stop following her. Sutton was never a fan of mine. She never minded Bronx, mostly because he was one of the few guys who wasn't crazy about Kenzie. He always insisted that Sutton was the cooler of the two sisters. I never saw it but then I was one of the fools who thought Kenzie Jensen was eventually going to tell me she loved me.
A small, green sedan with a dented fender was parked a block from the park. I pulled over and climbed out. The only lights at the park were two small lamps on the recreation equipment shed. I strolled along the pathway that kids used for bikes and skates and headed to the back corner where a cluster of picnic benches sat beneath trees. Autumn leaves were scattered everywhere, and the bare branches allowed some of the moonlight to fall on the tables. Her silhouette rested against the dense shrubbery behind the tables. I walked toward her, slowly, still sure she would bolt if I moved too fast. She looked small and vulnerable sitting in the shadows, but there was nothing vulnerable about Sutton Jensen. She was always confident, cocky. She knew she was so much damn smarter than anyone else.
I neared the table she was sitting on. She was wearing a gray sweatshirt and jeans. Her hair, dyed dark auburn, was tucked behind her ears, and just like back in Westridge, she wore no makeup. She never hid behind the stuff like her sister and seeing her now, her face dimly lit by the moon, I realized she was the exact replica of Kenzie.
"Wasn't sure if you would come," she said. "After I left the note on your truck, I considered the possibility that it sounded a little psycho. You know, like something a stalker might write." The latter was directly pointed at me.
I circled around and sat on the table across from her. "In my defense, both times I ran into you were pure coincidence, the coffee and the band contest. My friend Angus was supposed to sing—"
Sutton smirked a little, and I was dragged right back to Westridge Junior High when I got up to give a book report on a book I never read. Turned out I was using the wrong name for the main character through the entire disastrous presentation. Sutton, who had, allegedly read most of the books in the school library, smirked through the whole thing. Naturally, I fail
ed the report and the class. Spent the whole summer in school making up the credits.
"That was a band catastrophe most of us won't forget," she mused. "The drummer stumbling off stage to puke, but Angus, he nailed those first few lines of the Stones' song. Never heard it sang better."
"Speaking of singing, you sounded great," I said lamely. "But then, being great at stuff was always your thing, wasn't it?"
"Not when it came to making friends. That distinction always belonged to my sister." She stared at me for a second. "Admit it—you were very disappointed to find out that I was Sutton and not Kenzie."
"No, that's not true," I started, but the look she gave me pushed a confession out of me. "Yes, I thought you were Kenzie. For a moment, I thought that horrible day had turned out to be an illusion, a bad dream. I let myself believe that it wasn't Kenzie they dragged out of the river."
Silence fell between us. It wasn't a tense silence but rather one where we both thought back to the day and wished it could be erased for good. If only that day had never happened.
"You truly loved her," she said, softly.
I looked at her and nodded. "Spent a lot of my waking hours thinking about her. She was just—just so much energy and brightness in a town that was dark and gloomy. Maybe I loved her because she was always happy, the opposite of my mom."
She stared down at her shoes and reached down to brush dust off the toes. "That's right. Your home life wasn't too much better than ours. I remember your poor mom walking down the street with her shoulders hunched and looking as if she would rather be dead than alive. And you're right, Kenzie was always full of life." She pulled her sweatshirt closed around her. "Until she wasn't," she added darkly. "Turns out you can only put on that act of blissful joy for so long if inside you're being torn to shreds by unhappiness."
