Murder at Castle Rock (7 page)

He
had been acting weird lately, though
, I realized, recalling his new ladies' man schtick and those awful shirts. The old Parker never would have ordered those slut-tastic tees. Maybe he was going through a mid-life crisis and just couldn't handle it anymore.
No.
I didn't believe for a second that he would have jumped on purpose. Judging from the hurt and uncertainty in Eddie Sinclair's voice, I was pretty sure he didn't either.

The fall must have been an accident. I couldn't recall hearing Parker yell or call out as he fell, but I was so traumatized when I realized what was happening that my mind was already trying to block out the memory. When he'd hit the ground, I'd stood there in shock for a few moments before bolting back into the hallway, where I'd collided with Kat and Reese. I remembered that Kat had still been crying. In that moment, though, all I could do was plead in between my own sobs for Reese to call 911. I suddenly found myself wondering what had her in tears.

"We'll wrap up here for tonight just as soon as we have a statement from everyone," Sergeant Sinclair was saying to Detective Dixon. "Then we'll clear out. I've already sent the media packing. Go ahead and have Simpson seal off the upstairs." He blew out a breath. "I've gotta go back in there and break the news to Miss Grace that we're shutting down Castle Rock while forensics collects evidence—"

Consider it broken.

Close down Castle Rock? For how long?
My grief was replaced by panic. They couldn't do this now—not during Bobby Glitter Week. Even amid tragedy, my instincts to keep the venue running kicked in. Before I could stop myself, I was on my feet and storming into the hallway, where I caught both officers off-guard.

Both
armed
officers.

I bolted through the doorway, screeching like a banshee, "You
can't
shut us down! Not now!" My sudden unexpected appearance in the hallway startled both men, and in the blink of an eye, the boys in blue had their guns drawn and aimed directly at me.
Gulp.
I shrank back behind the door, throwing my hands in the air in surrender. "Sorry! Sorry!" I squeaked. "Please don't shoot!"

Realizing there was no real danger, both officers slowly re-holstered their weapons. "Er…reflex," Dixon muttered sheepishly.

Sinclair was not amused. His face burned a deep crimson, and with his bald head, mustache, and bulging arms, he reminded me of an angry cartoon character—like I'd just pissed off Mr. Clean. All that was missing was steam coming out of both ears and that high-pitched teakettle whistle. "Amelia Grace!" he thundered. "You do not ambush armed officers like that—you could have been seriously hurt! And you were eavesdropping on classified information in a police investigation. I could throw you in jail for that."

It was my turn to be red-faced and angry. "Not my fault!" I cried. "Your detective didn't shut the door all the way—I couldn't
not
hear what you were saying! What was I supposed to do? Shove my fingers in my ears like a frickin' five-year-old? Start singing 'Lalalalalala! I can't hear you?'" I placed my hands over my ears and stamped my feet to demonstrate just how foolish that would have been.

As I was stomping around, the officer who was interviewing Kat in her office opened the door and poked his head out into the hallway. "Uh, you guys need backup?" he asked, eyeing me with a confused expression. Dixon shook his head, and the officer shrugged then retreated back into Kat's office. The
slam
of the door echoed down the hall.

Dixon winced. His eyes darted to my open office door, comprehension of his mistake fully dawning on him. I watched with some satisfaction as an
Oh shit
look formed on his face. He hung his head guiltily. "Sorry, Sarge. The door didn't catch when I pulled it to…this one's on me."

Owning up to his mistake after I'd just thrown him under the bus was way more respectable than taking me down with him. I felt a little guilty for placing the blame on Dixon. Regardless of who was to blame, I wasn't going to let them shut down Castle Rock without a fight.

The Sergeant narrowed his eyes first at me then at Detective Dixon. He sighed and threw his hands in the air in resignation. "Alright, fine. Amelia, you're off the hook for now, but it would be unwise to repeat anything you may have heard. This is still an open investigation. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." I forced back my temper and gave him a pleading look. "Sir, with all due respect, Castle Rock can't close down now. I'm sure Bronwyn's told you that it's a really big week for us—Bobby Glitter Week. We have two more sold-out shows scheduled, and they're shooting Glitter's tour video here, too. There's no room to postpone the shows, and refunding thousands of tickets could put us under." Growing misty-eyed, I added, "Parker's gone, and this place is his legacy. Please don't take it away from us."

Sinclair grimaced. "I'm afraid I have to." He shook his head sadly. "We need the entire second floor and the tower to remain undisturbed until our forensics team wraps up their investigation. At the very least it will be forty-eight hours or so before I can let you all back up there."

Forty-eight hours? I glanced at my watch and quickly did the math. It was now two in the morning on Tuesday. Bobby's next set was scheduled for Wednesday evening at nine o'clock, but he and the band would need to do another sound check at five, and doors would open at seven…that just wasn't enough time. I opened my mouth to protest but was cut off by a cry from down the hall.

"Ugh! Dad, come
on
! You
can't
shut us down!" came a whiny plea from around the corner. The three of us whirled around—thankfully with no guns raised this time—to see a small face framed by short pink hair peeping at us from around the corner. Uh oh.

"Bronwyn Rebecca Sinclair!" the sergeant bellowed. "Get your ass over here now!" Bron shrank back around the corner with a frightened squeak as her father continued to yell. "Just
what
do you think you're doing, young lady? This is official police business!" The officer from Kat's office peeked out into the hallway again and raised a curious eyebrow. Sinclair shot him a withering look before throwing his hands up again, exasperated. "Is there no place in this building to have a private conversation?"

I cleared my throat and gestured to my office. Sinclair followed my gaze. His jaw clenched. "Dixon, excuse us a moment while I have a word with Miss Grace and my daughter," the sergeant ordered gruffly. Dixon reluctantly moved aside, and I followed the sarge into my office, with Bronwyn scrambling after us. Sinclair gave his detective a pointed look as he made a show of slamming the door to ensure that it was closed. I could see Dixon's face redden through my office window. He'd certainly never make that mistake again.

"I am gonna be
so
grounded," Bronwyn lamented under her breath. "I'm sorry, Daddy," she said in what I called her "cotton candy voice." It was light, airy, and sweet. I suspected she'd used it often to get out of trouble with her old man. "Officer Thomas told me I was free to go, and I was just coming to find you to take me home. I only heard that last part about shutting down Castle Rock, I swear!" She looked up at her father and innocently batted her lashes.

"You just
can't
shut down Castle Rock, this week, Daddy," she pleaded with that sugary tone. "If this puts the venue under and we have to close permanently, I'll be out of a job. Then I won't be able to afford college, my car payments, or my phone bill. You'll either never get me out of the house or I'll have to get a job on the streets just to make ends meet," she wailed dramatically. "Then I might end up in prison, or a strip club, or dead in that ditch that Mom's always talking about…you see where I'm going with this, right? Don't you want better for your only daughter than becoming another sad teen statistic?"

As Bronwyn fixed him with her most convincing puppy dog eyes, the sergeant's face softened. She'd laid it on thick, and he ate it right up. The sarge folded his arms across his broad chest and turned to face me. "Fine," he said, defeated. "I still stand by my orders that the second floor and rear tower are to be sealed off—as well as the loading dock and Parker's office." I opened my mouth to argue, but he held up a hand to stop me. "All of those areas will be strictly off limits to the staff and the public. However," he added with a glance at Bronwyn, "I will allow the downstairs stage to remain open for business. My forensics team will be in and out of the closed-off areas as they investigate further, and I will assign a couple of officers to patrol those areas as I see fit. If so much as a speck of dust is moved up there by someone other than a member of the APD, I will shut this place down so fast it'll make your head spin. Do we have a deal?"

I nodded hastily and shook his hand before he had a change of heart. My own mind was racing, mapping out the logistics of moving Bobby's second show—and possibly the third—down to the Dungeon. The downstairs setup mirrored the stage and seating of High Court, and it held the same capacity. The acoustics weren't quite as great, but we could get by. There was just one thing…"Sergeant Sinclair, I think we can make that work—but I've got one more quick issue to settle. All of the band's instruments and the crew's video equipment are still in High Court. Since my staff and I are barred from the area, how do you propose we get it moved downstairs?"

Bronwyn shot me a warning look. "Quit while you're ahead," she mouthed from behind her father's back.

Sure enough, Sergeant Sinclair barked out a laugh. "What?" he scoffed. "Do you expect my men to move your equipment around? What do you take us for, a bunch of wannabe roadies?" He shook his head. "I've done all I can for you by letting you keep the downstairs open—but I can't allow you to contaminate our crime scene by going up there and moving things around. You're a bright woman, Amelia. I'm sure you'll figure something out."

Twenty minutes later, I was finally free to go. The cops had run off the gaggle of reporters waiting to harass us, and Bobby and his crew had been escorted safely to their hotel. The rest of the Castle Rock staff was released while Bronwyn and I were negotiating with the sarge in my office.

Kat left before I could see how she was doing. I would call and check on her when I got home. I'd been so focused on trying to earn a promotion that I'd failed to be there for my best friend.

While the thought of walking to my car alone made me a little uneasy, I declined Sinclair's offer to escort me. I glanced over at Bronwyn, slumped down and already drooling on the seat belt in the passenger side of his patrol car, and something told me it'd be best if he went ahead and got her home before Mrs. Sinclair went mad with worry. The sergeant didn't argue. "Detective Dixon will be in touch tomorrow, Amelia," he said as he eased into the driver's seat and closed the door behind him. I waved goodbye and began my trek to the employee parking lot behind the courtyard out back.

As I rounded the corner of the building, my gaze traveled up to the rear tower. Until now, I'd always considered the structure to be one of my favorite spots at Castle Rock. Kat, Reese, Laura, and I had hung out up there lots of times, knocking back beers and sharing the occasional joint. The tower had a perfect view of the fireworks displays held at Turner Field after Friday night Braves games and on the Fourth of July. I had a lot of fond memories up there. Now, after Parker's tragic death just hours before, the majestic structure loomed dark and formidable against the night sky. I shuddered, remembering the ghastly silhouette of my boss's body in the moonlight as he plummeted toward the loading dock. I would never look at that tower the same way again.

The night seemed eerily calm, with no sound aside from the whispering of the breeze through the trees just inside the fence—not even the occasional car horn or siren. It was rare to experience such quiet in the heart of a city like Atlanta, and it unnerved me. I shivered in the chilly November wind and pulled my coat more tightly around me, quickening my pace. I could just make out the dim lights of the employee parking lot beyond the fence. Rounding the corner, I spotted my grey Jetta, the lone car left in the lot. I found myself regretting the decision to walk out here alone at three in the morning.
Don't worry,
I reassured myself.
Almost there.

I was about to sprint the last few yards when a bright light shone in my face, blinding me. Squinting, I saw the outline of a figure in front of me. I screamed bloody murder and tried to run past, but I couldn't see where I was going. A cracked section of pavement tripped me up, and I went sprawling across the sidewalk.
Ouch
!

My unknown assailant rushed to my side, and the light followed. Between the sounds of my own cries, I could make out the words "reporter," "eyewitness," and "death." As my eyes adjusted, I could see the blinking red recording light of a video camera, held by a tall cameraman in faded jeans and a green hoodie. The reporter spouting questions at me was a middle-aged man with greying hair and a dark blue suit. I recognized him from one of the local news shows. 'Mark' something.

"Can you tell us about the death here tonight? Our sources say the body belonged to the owner of this establishment, that he jumped from the tower. Is this true? Was it a suicide? " The reporter loomed close to my face and rattled off questions in a rapid-fire manner, not allowing me room to so much as catch my breath, let alone answer.

"Get away from me!" I shrieked, struggling to pull myself off the ground. For the record, neither the reporter nor the cameraman made any attempt to help me up.
Rude!

"Leave her alone!" someone called. Rapid footfalls grew louder behind me. I whipped my head around to see Tony Spencer, the hot radio guy, jogging yet again to my rescue. Tim Scott was on his heels.

"Where do you get off, man?" Tony snapped at the reporter. He held up one arm to shield us both from the camera and shoved the cameraman with the other, nearly causing the man's equipment to topple off of his shoulder. The man managed to maintain his balance and fired an angry glare at Tony. Still, much to my relief, he clicked off his camera and lowered it.