Echoes in the Wind (6 page)

“Do you even like him?”

“I do,” she admitted. “I love the Scottish accent or brogue, whatever you call it. I kind of get the idea there are some problems connected with his former band, possibly a few unresolved issues. The lead singer, Finn O’Conner, was at the bar too. With his brother.” She shook her head. “The guy is messed up. I was so disappointed because during my younger days I thought he was sooo cute. His brain is fried, I’m guessing from past drug use. I’m not sure he wasn’t wasted tonight. His brother.” Stephanie rolled her eyes “Talk about a first class jerk. He showed up later on. I didn’t realize he’d been a backup in their band. He kept mouthing off, like he hates everybody in the group for whatever it was they did to him. Finn wouldn’t leave us alone either. He insisted he needed to talk to Blaine right away and Blaine should phone the other members and meet with him. Blaine kept telling him they’d get together another time. The two of them were such huge pests, and then Blaine got the news about Drake and everything was over. I told him to call me later and walked here. I wish I’d taken my car so I wouldn’t have ended up soaked. End to a perfect night.”

“I read Finn had substance abuse problems. Eric told me the band had been repressed because their tyrant manager treated them like prisoners for years. He implied they’d all been a little crazy since the break-up. I’d imagine some of Finn’s difficulties stem from that.”

Stephanie’s eyebrows rose. “Eric?”

Darla stiffened.

“Darla.” Stephanie leaned closer. “Eric? As in Eric Boyd, the lead guitarist from Raging Impulse?”

She looked down and stirred her ice cream. “Yes.”

“I was unaware you were acquainted with Eric Boyd. You flat refused to meet any of those guys at the party. What happened to change your mind?”

Darla snapped her head up. “Nothing changed anything. Eric Boyd and I don’t know each other. I may have spilled my wine on him after I got a drink. We talked for a few minutes, things began to get out of hand, and we started to leave. Then the murder happened, so we were stuck together. Waiting forever. After we spoke with police, he walked me home.” She shrugged. “That’s all.”

“Oh.” Stephanie scraped the bottom of her bowl. “Sounds innocent enough. Except he told you about the group being suppressed by their nutty manager, and he made sure you got home okay. Kind of personal. A lot more information than Blaine gave me.”

“Your circumstances were different.”

Darla placed her empty dish on the coffee table and tucked her legs underneath her bottom.

Awkwardness swept over her that she didn’t understand. The talk about Eric with her best friend made her uncomfortable. Normally they discussed everything. This should be no different, yet she wanted to keep her meeting with Eric to herself. Plus, she was uneasy admitting her eagerness for a casual hookup.

“Wait.” Stephanie frowned and studied Darla. A slow smile spread across her face. “You
may
have spilled your wine on him?”

“Okay, we met when I spattered my drink all over him and I ruined his shirt.” She gave a self-conscious chuckle. “I made a lasting impression, I’m sure.” She continued to fill Stephanie in on most of the details.

“That’s so not you. You’re proper and always in control.” Stephanie relaxed into the sofa. “What’s Eric like? Did you have fun, at least until the tragedy happened?”

“It wasn’t a big deal. We didn’t form any real bond or anything.”

“Would making a connection with him be so bad?”

“I just got out of a relationship.” She grasped for her favorite curl to wind around a finger. She wanted ensure her friend she indeed hadn’t developed feelings for a man she’d only spent a few hours with. Plus she needed to be convinced.

“It’s perfectly normal for you to have an interest in someone else even if you just split from your boyfriend.”

“The guy broke my heart, remember? I’m only allowing myself to deal now. I’m having a hard time getting past the fact I’ve spent the last four years with the wrong person and not feeling like a total fool.”

“We’re all a work in progress. Let the experience with your ex help you learn something about yourself.” Stephanie surveyed Darla. “Soooo, did you like Eric?”

“I guess he was all right.” She pressed a hand to her forehead to fight the visions of those mind-blowing blue eyes. She needed to resort to throwing things at Stephanie to get her to quit talking about the guy so she’d stop thinking about him. Like that would happen anytime soon.

“There wasn’t a lot for us to discuss. He’s a musician. I’m a geologist. We don’t have much in common.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Stephanie laughed. “You study rocks, he plays rock.”

Darla chuckled too. “I hardly call that common ground.”

“Yeah, though you have to agree. He’s one fine-looking man.”

“I think he’s gorgeous. But he and I live in a completely different universe. I tried to intertwine dissimilar lifestyles before. Things didn’t work out so well. I’m not going there again.”

Stephanie gave her a knowing glance. She set her bowl aside and leaned forward to open the laptop sitting nearby. Eric’s picture instantly appeared on the screen.

Fan-friggin-tastic. Busted. Any logical explanation of why she’d been viewing Eric Boyd’s photograph online other than the real reason failed her. In the end, she wouldn’t be able to fool Stephanie anyway. She may as well come clean.

Darla’s shoulders casually lifted then lowered. “I was curious.”

“As you should be.” Stephanie glanced at the photo before shifting back to Darla. “The two of you have a very opposites-attract kind of thing. That’s huge. I bet some major sparks flew when you met.”

“Yes on the opposite, no to attraction. There weren’t any fireworks between us. Okay, well maybe a few. He seemed to like me a little. And I admit I thought about following in your footsteps and just going for it, but the murder destroyed the mood.”

“Yes,” Stephanie shouted. “To be continued later?”

“Doubtful. The idea has passed,” she lied.

“If you say so.” Stephanie stretched her legs and propped them onto the table, crossing her ankles. She lifted the computer to her lap. “Since the Raging Impulse website is open, I think I’ll do some research on Blaine.”

“Be my guest.” Darla picked up the bowls and carried them into the kitchen. She flipped on the faucet and ran the dishes full of hot water, then returned to the living area to reclaim her spot on the sofa. A comfortable silence settled between the women. Darla’s head drifted back as her eyes closed. Slowly, she gave into her weariness and drifted into a restful doze.

“Hey, did you read this article on their manager?”

Darla’s head jerked up. “What?” She blinked several times, de-fuzzing her mind.

“Raging Impulse’s manager.”

“Shane?”

“Who?”

“Shane Macinsomething. I met him tonight too.”

“I’m talking about their former manager. The bad guy.” Stephanie gazed at Darla. “It says he was arrested and has been in jail for a while, and he recently escaped.”

“No, I didn’t read anything like that, but I wasn’t searching for information about him.” She shifted closer to Stephanie and looked over her shoulder. “What does the story say?”

“The beginning talks about how he broke out of prison, but that’s not the interesting part.” Stephanie leaned into the screen to read aloud.

“Pop artist’s managers are often viewed as more infamous than the singers they represent. Dugan Holt joined the group of managerial disgrace many years ago. Holt, best known for the guidance of chart-busting protégés, Raging Impulse, raised them to staggering heights, but his career remains marred by a series of scandals, ending with a prison sentence for a number of illegal transgressions.

“He helped the band rise to fame from their obscure start, often playing at a now defunct club called Nutscrub. The members consisted of five Aberdeen University students: keyboardist Drake Maloney, second cousin Mitchell Young, who played drums, lead guitarist Eric Boyd, bass guitarist Blaine Stewart, and their singer, Max Sharp.

“Through musical contacts, Holt secured more gigs for the ensemble. As their reputation grew, he assumed the role of manager. Not happy with the singer, his first act as their leader was to replace Sharp with Finn O’Conner, an up-and-coming crooner from Ireland.

“Throughout their years together, they became a huge success. But the constant touring with little social life, plus the youngsters evolving into men caused many stress fractures to appear. Members got tired of the endless road trips and resented the purging of their private lives.

“Raging Impulse did not find their final years kind. Fans grew up, musical directions changed, but Holt refused to allow the band to evolve. Disagreements and hostilities surfaced even more. The turmoil between members remained constant throughout their time together, fueled by Holt as his way to maintain his hold over the men to focus away from possible shady dealings.

“The end occurred over two years ago, when an onstage clash, centered on O’Conner, who’d become increasingly difficult to work with, walked off and quit. The same night, a band member made the discovery of pornographic paraphilia on Holt’s computer. During the porn investigation, the authorities also discovered a large amount of cannabis in his possession. Those findings led to Holt’s arrest.

“After he was charged and booked, the remaining participants stood up and fired him, something they claimed they’d wanted to do for many years. The band tried to carry on but found no success. Their time was over.”

Stephanie lifted her head from the article. “Nice guy.”

“Seriously.” Darla bent farther over her PC. “Turn the computer so I can see his picture.”

Stephanie angled the laptop toward Darla. “Why? He’s a creep and certainly nothing to look at.”

“I’m curious. It occurred to me when you were reading, that this guy may hold some kind of resentment over the band. Drake might have been the one who fired him.”

“You’re thinking Dugan Holt escaped from prison in Scotland and managed to sneak into the U.S., and he killed Drake over a personal vendetta?”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“Did you get a good look at the guy?”

“No.” Darla fell back against the sofa. “He was dressed in dark clothing, and his head was covered with a motorcycle helmet.”

“If you couldn’t distinguish the guy’s face, how is viewing this photo going to help?”

“The police asked me about height or build, but I can’t recall anything specific. Maybe an image might jar something from my memory.” Darla shook her head as she viewed the picture. “This guy appears heavier. The man that rammed into me was definitely muscular, though I guess that could change.”

“Right. Anyone can lose weight and firm up.” Stephanie’s voice sounded cautious. “What happened after he ran into you?”

“He hurried underneath the deck, hopped on a motorcycle, and sped away.”

“Were you able to spot anything unusual about the bike?”

“Just the color, which was black. I believe it was one those racing types where the rider has to hunch over. His helmet was a star-trooper meets oversized ant-man. Sinister looking.”

“It may have been custom made.”

“I’m not familiar enough to even make a guess. The only thing I know for sure is the scary life-sized action figure shoved me as he escaped.”

Stephanie’s eyes widened as she gasped loudly. A hand flew to her chest.

“Besides the obvious, what’s wrong?”

“You’re not going to believe this. When Blaine and I were walking to the bar, I swore that ant-trooper passed us on a dark motorcycle. He disappeared into a garage before I got a better look.”

“In this area?”

“Yeah. I can’t remember exactly where it’s located, but the home was for sure in this neighborhood.”

Darla stared at Stephanie. “So you’re saying the killer lives nearby.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Chapter 6

Eric tugged his jacket closer to guard against the ocean’s sharp breeze. He moved relatively normal for someone who’d taken huge sucker-punch. It’d been stupid of him to choose this route when the street seemed a lot more sensible. And it would have saved him from muddying up another pair of shoes.

Except being close to the water made him feel better. So instead of cutting through and heading home by way of asphalt, he continued his hike down the beach. A surge of fury tightened in his chest and once again he resisted the urge to smash something, an impulse he’d fought since he’d left Finn’s. After many deep pants, he swallowed hard and relaxed his rage.

He touched his shirt pocket. Shit. He’d run out of cigarettes hours ago. This newest dilemma seemed to invoke a short-term memory loss, and he’d forgotten he chain-smoked an entire pack at Finn’s. He was surprised he could breathe after inhaling so much nicotine. His lungs must love him right now.

Eric stopped. He plowed his fingers through his hair and stared into the blackness. A blast of cold air smacked him in the face, knocking him backward. Nothing new. Every time he took what he perceived as a step forward, something always shoved him back. Not a couple of steps either, but flat on his ass. This past year he’d finally gotten things under control, or so he thought. Now he understood. Any power he believed he may’ve had over his destiny was nothing short of laughable.

At least everything made sense. If understanding was a consolation.

He turned to the homes across the beach. Unlike earlier, they were dark now, sitting eerily quiet. A murky gray fog hovered around the bottoms. Kinda like he felt. Jamming his fists into his pockets, he bowed against the strong wind and moved forward. Several lengths down the shoreline, he drew up to pause again. Darla Hennessey’s house sat about a hundred yards away. He shook his head and wished for memory loss concerning this girl.

Yet, she’d stayed in the back of his mind. Even after Drake’s death, and during his meeting with Finn, he couldn’t erase the image of her. He didn’t have the energy to analyze these unwanted feelings either. He wanted to smother them for good.

He almost laughed out loud. It’d probably help if he quit acting like some lovesick teenager, and not stalked her home in the middle of the night. Maybe he should cut through to the street now. Go around the block and miss her house altogether. He was an idiot. At this hour smart girls like her were snug in their beds sound asleep. Usually alone.