Keeping the Peace (20 page)

“Not me, but I don’t know everybody. And there’s places in those hill towns where nobody’s been.”

“This is true,” John agreed. “We better get on it, though. Isn’t there a part-time constable up there, Becky?”

“I can find out,” she said.

“Good, I’d like to talk to him or her.”

The telephone rang again. Becky answered and said, “Just a minute, I’ll put him on.” Then she turned to John. “It’s Marian Strand,” she hissed in a stage whisper. “Gabriel Strand’s mother.”

The chief arched his eyebrows. He pointed at Cully and said, “Don’t go anywhere just yet.” Then he turned on his heel and disappeared back into his office. He picked up his phone. “Mrs. Strand,” he said. “John Giamo, Chief of Police.”

“I just got off the phone with my son, Mr. Giamo. I want to thank you personally for watching after him. Since I received the call from the police here, I’ve been very frightened. I wanted to fly right out there, but the police have asked me not to.” John noted that her voice sounded level-headed and reasonable.

“We’re working as fast as we can, Mrs. Strand,” he said. “I have reason to believe that an acquaintance of yours, Richard Seeley, could be involved in the murder of a music promoter, Bruce Blake. Did you know Mr. Blake?”

“I didn’t. Apparently he’s a promoter for these shows and concerts on the east coast. Gabriel didn’t know him before he went east this time. The poor man.”

“What can you tell me about Richard Seeley, Mrs. Strand?”

“I’ve known Richard Seeley for many years. We used to teach in the same school system. After his wife died, I kind of reached out to him, you know, because I felt so bad, having been through it myself. We started to go out once in a while. We were both lonely, I guess.”

“How long did you go out together?”

“Oh, probably, around a year, on and off. It was rather sporadic—not every weekend, even—but then he lost his job as a college placement adviser.” Here, she paused.

“And?” John prodded gently.

“And I believe he changed after that. He began coming over to the house unannounced, which I usually didn’t mind, but sometimes it was obviously inconvenient, and he didn’t seem to care. His attitude toward the kids changed, too. He was quite sarcastic with them. Rude, even. He seemed especially critical of Gabriel the more successful Ragged Rainbow got. For instance, one weekend they were opening for Lady Gaga. They were over the moon. Jessie, my daughter, was so thrilled because Gabriel said she could be backstage with them. It was their first appearance of that caliber. Richard happened to drop by the night the promoters confirmed, and we were just blathering away to him about it. Jessie, especially. Richard asked who was Lady Gaga? And Jessie answered like any kid, ‘You don’t know who Lady Gaga is?’ She was only fourteen at the time, Mr. Giamo. You know how kids are.”

“I’ve got three teens myself. I know how kids are.”

“Girls?”

“One girl. In the middle.”

John listened patiently while Mrs. Strand told her story. He was encouraged by the fact that she related the same basic information he’d received from Gabriel, nothing new. That meant Strand had told him the truth as he remembered it. It was reassuring to John to be pursuing the investigation along what appeared to be the right road. “Go on, Mrs. Strand.”

Marian Strand continued with the more recent events. “Then one day this past spring, I was grabbing my coffee to hurry out the door to school. Gabriel was home, and he came downstairs just as I was leaving. He told me to sit down; he had something to talk to me about. Well, I did, and he told me to quit my job. Then he told me about the financial news his manager had given the band members the night before. Good news, Mr. Giamo. One thing led to another after that. I sold my house. Gabriel bought Jessie her horse and the house we’re in now, and we moved.”

“And Seeley?”

“That’s when his behavior became, well, disturbing. He called the house. He drove past it. He left notes under the front gate and at the stable where we board the horse. Gabriel started to get really nervous. Ever since his father died, he’s taken the ‘man of the house’ thing seriously. I never pushed it on him; it’s just the way he is. He was nervous about being away with the upcoming tour. He insisted on the restraining order.”

“When was that?”

“It was a little over a month ago. I haven’t seen or heard from Richard Seeley since.”

“Did you see the blurb in that magazine mentioning the restraining order?”

“Yes, I did. Jessie showed it to me. Mr. Giamo, do you think it was Richard Seeley who killed that man?”

“I really can’t be sure, but he is definitely someone we need to talk to. If you hear from him, Mrs. Strand, call LAPD immediately. By the way, did he ever mention any ties to Vermont?”

“No, he never did, but I will definitely contact LAPD if anything untoward happens. I’m worried about Gabriel. I know he told me that he’s staying at your house and that he’s safe, but I worry anyway.”

“We’ll do our best.”

There were a couple of minutes more of small talk, a polite goodbye, and then John hung up the phone and went back into Becky’s office.

“Find anything?” he said.

“Yes,” she answered. “I spoke to Rose, the town clerk in Proctorsville. She says there’s a Bud Seeley who lives way the heck out on Shropshire Brook Road. Not a familiar name to me.”

“Hmm,” the chief mused. “I still have that feeling I should know that name. At any rate, I better go out and talk to this guy. Did you get any other information on the man?”

“Just that he’s in his late eighties, still lives alone. His wife died quite a few years ago; the town clerk wasn’t sure exactly when without looking it up. The old man has apparently done odd jobs to make a living—raises poultry, rabbits, that sort of thing.”

“Poultry!” the chief exclaimed. “I think my wife might know him. I’m going to call her. I’m remembering something, but my mind’s like a sieve lately. It’s taking me longer these days to sort things out.”

“Just like the rest of us, John. You know when young parents think their kids are so smart just because they can recite the alphabet or sing the ‘Do Re Mi’ song? Well, the kid’s not that smart. It’s just that there’s nothing else in there. No bills, no mortgage, no husbands, wives, children, jobs. Who couldn’t sing the alphabet song?”

John laughed and went into his office to call his wife.

When she answered, John gave their customary greeting. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

“Do you remember some guy up in the hills named Bud Seeley?”

“Of course!” Melanie exclaimed. “My uncle used to take my cousins and me up there to buy pet chickens and ducks and things. It drove my mother crazy. The guy raised poultry of all kinds. He had this pet turkey who followed him around. We were scared to death of that thing!”

“I knew it!” John said, pleased with wife. “I knew you’d remember! You used to tell me about that guy.”

“He was a real character. You never met him? He lived way up in the hills on an old farm. Why the interest?”

“It appears he could have a connection to our case.”

“Really?” He heard her pause, then say, “Oh, John! Not Bud Seeley and Richard Seeley! How bizarre. Tell me more.”

“We think that’s where Richard Seeley went when he came to Vermont last week. I’m going up there now to talk to him.”

“He’s still alive?”

“So they say. Want to come along?”

“What about Gabriel?”

“Leave him at the house,” John said shortly. “If he bolts, he bolts, but something tells me he won’t. Not with you there.”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Come with me.”

“You never ask me to go with you on police business.”

“I’m asking you now. Besides, you know the guy.”

She gave an odd little laugh. “What’s the matter with you today?”

He ignored the remark. “I’ll leave the office now to come get you,” he said.

In ten minutes, John strode into the kitchen of his home. Melanie and Strand were bringing in wood for the stove through the woodshed door. Michael and Peter were sitting at the kitchen table eating pie out of the same dish. Mia was nowhere to be seen.

John watched as the musician smiled at Melanie, taking the wood, one log at a time, from her arms. His eyes were bright, and his skin glowed from the recent exertion in the cold. John had a sudden, stabbing memory of what it was like to be a young man.

“Daddy!” Mia came into the room and immediately hugged him. “What are you doing home?”

There were definite compensations for age, he thought, looking at his three children. Still, the price you had to pay along the way was pretty steep.

“I came to pick up Mom,” he said, wrapping his arm around her. “I need her to help me for a while this afternoon. Where’s Emmie?”

Mia shrugged as she walked to the kitchen table. “She had to go home. Debbie finally got brave enough to drive up here.” She set her laptop down and picked up a small pile of papers. “I brought up a lot of posts from those message boards. Here, I printed them out.” She handed the stack to her father.

“Thanks, Mouse.” Then John addressed the musician. “Strand, who do you know named Kayla?”

Gabriel bent down and deposited the rest of the wood next to the stove, then straightened up. “Kayla? Ah, I met a girl named Kayla at an after-party when the tour just started.”

John searched the young man’s face, but this time, he could detect no deception.

“Did you date her?”

“No, no.” The young man shook his head vehemently. “The only reason I remember her at all is because she attached herself to our drummer. She spent the night with him, I guess, and the next morning, she thought she was coming with us to Chicago. She didn’t take it too well when he told her she wasn’t invited. I got some e-mails from her, too, on the band site, not my personal e-mail.”

“Really? Were there any threats?”

“Not what I’d call threats, just weird letters, like I was telling you about. She was mad when we left after that first concert. She came to me and said she really wanted to go with the band and asked if she could go with me. I told her I was sorry, but it was business and maybe Justin would call her. I was only trying to make her feel better.”

“Did Justin call her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Could you identify her?”

“I don’t think so. Why? Did you find something out?”

The chief shrugged. “Maybe. Here, take a look at this. A female fan pushed this on my officer, Tim Cully, the day of the blizzard.”

Strand took the note from John and read it. “Yeah,” he said, handing it back to John. “That’s a lot like what she was writing on the band e-mail site. Same stuff. Crazy.”

“The question is how crazy,” John said. “Have you checked your personal e-mail?”

“There’s nothing on that except spam and stuff from my mother and sister.”

John held up the bunch of papers Mia had handed him. “Have you gone through these with Mia yet?”

“No,” said the musician, “I haven’t seen them.”

Mia broke into the conversation. “Well, there’s a lot of them, and there’s a whole trail of ones from Kayla, whoever she is.”

“I’d like her to go through the band e-mails, too, Strand,” John said. “Do you mind giving us your password? You and Mia could go over them together now.”

“Sure, we can do that. My password is AboveTheClouds,” Gabriel answered.

Mia punched her father in the arm. He ignored her.

Instead, he addressed Strand again. “Is that okay with you, then? Will you stay here until Melanie and I get home? Something’s come up, and it involves your case.”

The musician’s back was to him. He was shoving wood into the maw of the woodstove. A new skill, thought John. He saw Strand’s shoulders heave with a sigh. “Sure,” he said resignedly. “I’ll stay.” Gabriel turned back to John. “What came up?”

“We think we’ve made a connection that could help us track Seeley. I’ll tell you about it when we’ve got it confirmed. You know I can’t hold you here. It’s up to you, but I think it’d be better for your health if you stayed. Go over the e-mails with Mia.”

“I’ll stay,” Strand insisted. “Besides, I’m a good babysitter.”

Instantly, Mia lashed out. “There’s only one baby in this house, Mr. Ragged Rainbow! ‘Ooh! Somebody’s trying to kill me! Ooh!’” she said mockingly. “I think the whole thing is a hoax! Did you see the body, Dad? Sounds like a publicity thing to me!”

Her brothers laughed, but Strand was taken aback. “Hey!” he protested. “I’m sorry. It was just a joke. I was just trying to be funny. This whole thing is getting to me!”

John considered the banter. Mr. Gabriel Strand was apparently not acquainted with the ferocity of a provoked teenaged girl, celebrity or no celebrity. “I saw the body, Mouse,” he said. “The guy was dead.”

Melanie admonished, “Mia!”

“Sorry,” Mia said sulkily. “I guess we’ve got cabin fever.”

“I’ll play you a song,” their guest said, nonplussed. “Hey, I’ll
write
you a song.”

“Really? For me?”