Murder at Castle Rock (17 page)

Bobby leaned in as he passed me. "You know, love," he said. "Now that we're not working together, you should take me up on that offer to come try out the hot tub in my hotel room." He gave my butt a brief squeeze. Before I could slap his hand off, Jared gripped his wrist and twisted it away from me. Bobby yelped in pain. "Geeze, mate, I was just having a little fun."

"You should never touch a lady without her consent," Jared warned. He locked gazes with me. "Goodbye, Amelia." He ushered Bobby away before he could get grabby again. Part of me was going to miss having Jared around. Cliff shrugged and followed them. Candy stuck out her tongue out and gave me the finger on her way out.
Yep. Definitely not gonna miss her.

"Good riddance," Kat muttered.

Bronwyn turned to her father. "Ugh! Dad, I can take care of myself! I totally could've taken him. He's just a miserable old man." Her father just shook his head and patted her on the shoulder.

"Alright, Sinclair, you win." I held hands out to the sarge in resignation. "Kat and I will clear everyone out of here, but please let me know as soon as we've got the green light to open back up."

"Of course," he agreed. "My team will stay here to continue the investigation. I'm going to take Bron home to her mother and then head back to the station to ask your friend Reese some questions."

Bronwyn bit her lip. "Go easy on him, okay, Daddy? I think he's innocent." Now more than ever, I thought so too. My exchange with Shawn Stone had convinced me that, while I couldn't prove anything yet, I knew he was somehow involved in all of this—and I was going to find out how.

Kat and I made our way back to her office to retrieve her purse. She dropped down to her knees on the floor of her office, and I rushed to her side. "What's wrong?"

"What is this?" she asked, picking up a small blue notebook from the floor in front of her desk. She turned it over in her hand, and I recognized it as the one that Detective Dixon had been using when he took our statements. He must have dropped it when Reese came crashing down the hallway. Kat looked over her shoulder at me. "Guess who Dixon has listed as suspect
numero uno
?" She asked, holding up the notebook. "Me."

"You? On what grounds?" I stepped forward to snatch the notebook from her outstretched hand. I skimmed over his notes. "Okay, so you were secretly married to Parker. You don't have a rock solid alibi for Monday night. You do stand to gain Castle Rock…Wait, what?"

Kat held out her hands, fingers splayed. "He has no other family. I'm his next of kin." She shrugged. "The thought never even occurred to me until I read it in Dixon's notes just now." Wow.
Wow.
Parker was dead, and Kat was inheriting Castle Rock. We'd both dreamed of owning our own venue—but not enough to kill for it. Still, I could see the detective's logic.

"Plus," Kat continued, "now they might peg me with Laura's shooting too. I was the one that found her, and her affair with Parker gives me a motive."

"What? No way—they just found the gun on Reese, remember?" I countered. "They already took him down to the station." I didn't have the heart to tell her the truth about Parker and Laura's kiss just then—I'd have to explain it all to both Reese and her later, when the emotional wounds weren't so fresh.

Kat frowned. "I technically had enough time to run back inside and stash a gun in Reese's coat pocket before I screamed, and you guys came running."

"Kat, whose side are you on, here? The law's or your own? You're not really making much of a case for yourself."

"Yeah, I know." She sighed. "I'm just saying I can see their point." She looked at me with sad, blue eyes. "I don't want to go to jail, Ame."

"I know. Don't worry. We're going to figure this out. You've been through another hell of a night, and for now I think you need to go home and get some rest." I slipped Dixon's notebook into my purse. I'd take it back to him for Kat. It would give her at least one less thing to stress about—and potentially keep her from walking into the police department and being escorted straight to a jail cell.

"Maybe the sarge closing us down is a sign that a little vacation from work would do us both some good." Kat sounded tired. "Come on, walk me out."

It had finally stopped raining when Kat and I reached her beat-up little Honda Civic. Tony pulled the 95Rox van into the parking lot as we were saying our goodbyes. "Need a lift, pretty lady?" he asked through the open window.

"Thanks." I climbed into the van's passenger seat as Kat drove away. On the drive to Emory University Hospital, I filled Tony in on my confrontation with Shawn, Sinclair's call to shut down Castle Rock, and the fact that Bobby's final show was being moved to the Beat Barn.

"Sounds like I got Tim out of there just in time," he said, staring at the road ahead of us. "Otherwise the whole southeast region would be hearing all about it on-air right now."

I leaned forward and turned up the radio. Sure enough, Tim Scott's voice boomed out from the van's speakers. "…More trouble in Castle Rock tonight as another employee fell victim to a tragedy—this time a vicious shooting. Authorities have taken a suspect into custody—her boyfriend, another Castle Rock employee. There's no word yet as to whether or not this shooting was connected to the death of owner Parker Deering—which has now been officially ruled a homicide—but this reporter has it on good authority that Mr. Deering and the second victim were having an affair behind her boyfriend's back. Stay tuned as more details develop—and don't forget to tune in Friday evening for a special edition of
Tune Talks'
Star Talk at Seven, when I sit down to have a chat with the Pop Rock Prince himself, Bobby Glitter!"

I muted the radio and gave a frustrated sigh. "I guess he finally got something on the books with Bobby," I muttered.

"Yeah, he called and tore Stone a new one when we got back to the station, and he finally gave in and worked out a time with Bobby. He said that Stacy girl at the Beat Barn is going to let them in to do sound check early so that he can sit down with the band right before the show on Friday," Tony said. I was silent for the rest of our drive. I crossed my arms and stared out the window, seething. Stacy Jefferson had not only stolen my last set with Bobby Glitter, but she'd also sucked up to Tim Scott to get more positive publicity for the Beat Barn—and more negative news updates about Castle Rock.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Tony asked as he pulled into the Emory Hospital parking deck and backed the van into the first open spot.

"You'd need at least ten grand to start," I said wearily, adding up how much money Castle Rock was going to be losing. He put a comforting arm around my shoulder as we made our way across the deck to the sliding glass doors of the Emergency Room lobby.

I surveyed the waiting room and spotted Laura's parents in the far corner, slumped into two uncomfortable grey lobby chairs. "Oh, Amelia!" Laura's mother, Theresa, launched herself at me as I reached them. "How could he do this to my baby?" She sobbed. The police must have informed Laura's parents that Reese was in custody. While my instinct was to defend him, I didn't have the heart to tell Mrs. Holly that whoever had done this was still out there.

I patted her hair soothingly "She's going to be alright, Theresa."

"Well, she's not out of the woods yet." Laura's father, Peter, rose from his chair to join us. "The doctor said she was lucky—the bullet missed her heart by just about an inch—but she's lost a lot of blood." His voice was shaking, and as I met his eyes—as blue and stunning as his daughter's—a tear leaked out of one and trickled down his cheek. He quickly wiped it away and cleared his throat, then gently pulled his wife away from me and held her to his chest as she cried. He was trying to be brave for her, and my heart broke for them. Tony remained silent behind, squeezing my shoulder.

"If there's anything I can do…" I began, my voice trailing off.

Mr. Holly smiled sadly and nodded. "Thank you, Amelia, it means a lot. We can't visit with her just yet. We'll let you know when she's out of surgery."

I hated to leave them there like that, clinging to each other in anguish as their only daughter fought for her life just a few doors down the hall. I made another offer to bring them food or coffee, but they declined. Theresa Holly broke down in sobs again. Tony and I bowed out of the room quietly and made our way back toward the parking deck.

"Maybe if she makes it through, she can tell us who really shot her." I said, fastening my seat belt. "I just hope she's going to be okay."

"Only time will tell," Tony said quietly. "So, where to, babe?"

I gave Tony the address to my apartment. Within a few short turns we were back on North Avenue several minutes away from my place. I could feel the weariness creeping into my bones. After a long, cold day, I wanted nothing more than a hot bubble bath, a glass of wine, clean sheets and pajamas, and the cool side of the pillow. As we passed Castle Rock, I realized that those things would have to wait. A light was on upstairs in High Court. No lights had been turned on up there since Monday night.
The police, maybe?
My gut said no.

"Tony." I leaned forward in my seat. "Can you pull around to the back of Castle Rock? There's a light on upstairs—something's not right."

Tony shot me a puzzled sideways look. "It's probably the cops," he said, shrugging me off.

"What if it's not?" I argued. "Can we please just pull through the back and check it out? It'll only take a minute."

"Oh, alright," he groaned, turning on the side street next to Castle Rock. The light clicked off as we slowed down next to the building. I shifted nervously in my seat. Tony was probably right—we'd find one of Sergeant Sinclair's men still parked out back. Maybe forensics was pulling an all-nighter, or a patrolman was doing a security sweep. There was no patrol car parked out back, though—just a dark-colored truck with its lights off, easing slowly away from the curb. Someone didn't want to be seen leaving the venue.

"Tony, follow that truck!" I yelled. As if the other driver had heard me, the truck's headlights suddenly came on. The engine roared to life, and the mystery vehicle squealed down the street in the opposite direction.

"Son of a…! Hang on!" Tony shouted. He whipped the van around and sped after the escaping truck. The driver had too much of a head start on us, but Tony pushed the van to the limit and managed to get within twenty feet behind it.

Even under the streetlights, it was difficult to determine the truck's color. It was painted a dark hue—blue, green, or black. The back gate of the truck was folded down, obscuring my view of the license plate, make, and model. As we passed under a streetlight, I could see the outlines of what looked like pieces of metal in various shapes and sizes sliding around in the truck bed.

We followed the truck onto I-75. I had just enough time to wonder if the metal scraps would stay secured in the open truck bed when my question was answered. I screamed in terror as a steel rod tumbled out of the truck and into our path. It landed on the interstate and bounced high in the air, heading straight at our windshield.

"Hold on!" Tony yelled. I ducked low in the seat, feeling the entire van swerve as he cut the steering wheel. Tires screeched. Tony swore loudly. He switched lanes and mashed the brakes.

As we slowed, the rod came crashing back down to the road, wedging itself under the front driver's side tire. I heard a loud
pop!
, and the front of the van rocked forward violently. For a moment it felt as though we might flip, and I held my breath. The cargo van had no back windows or rear view mirror, and Tony had only a moment to glance at the over-sized side-view mirrors before he veered the van across two more lanes. I cringed at the sound of grinding metal as the front wheel axle was dragged across the two lanes before the van finally came to a stop on the side of the road.

We sat in stunned silence for several minutes. Tony's knuckles were white from his death grip on the steering wheel, and he was breathing hard. "Are you hurt?" he panted.

"No," I said in a small voice. The mystery truck had gotten away, but I hardly cared at that moment. I couldn't believe how lucky we were to be alive—it was a God's honest miracle that we didn't flip the van or crash it. If Tony hadn't slammed on the brakes when he did, the rod would have come straight through the windshield—or had the interstate had a heavier traffic flow, we could have plowed into another car as we veered across to the shoulder. I tried to take several deep, calming breaths but instead nearly hyperventilated.

Tony reached behind the driver's seat and grabbed an old McDonald's bag, handing it to me. I took it and inhaled and exhaled into it a few times until my breathing steadied. "Relax. You're going to be okay." Tony offered me the McDonald's cup from the cup holder. "Maybe drink a little? It's Diet Coke—the ice is melted but it should still be okay, it's from earlier today."

I stared disdainfully down at the drink in my hand. The disposable cup had turned somewhat soggy as the leftover beverage seeped into its fibers—plus there was an icky red smudge on the straw. There was no way I was taking a sip from that drink. "Thanks, but I think I'm okay," I said, setting the questionable drink back in its cup holder.

"Suit yourself." Tony shrugged then hopped out to survey the damage. I climbed carefully out of the passenger side and walked on wobbly legs to join him at the front of the van. The front driver's side tire was completely shredded to bits, but other than that there were only a few minor scrapes on the fender. Fortunately, according to Tony, each of the 95Rox station vehicles was stocked with a full-sized spare and a jack. "I'll be right back," he called, jogging around to the back of the van to find his tools. He whipped out his cell phone as he went to call the station and let them know about the accident.

At that moment, my vision was blinded by the bright headlights of another vehicle pulling off of the road and stopping behind us. It was a black limo with dark tinted windows. To my astonishment, Bobby Glitter stepped out, followed by Jared. They'd changed out of their performance attire and looked as though they were ready for another night on the town. Bobby had donned dark skinny jeans and a silky crimson shirt, and Jared wore jeans that highlighted his best, er, asset and a fitted green V-neck that matched his emerald eyes. Gorgeous, as always. I was surprised by how happy I was to see them.