Leave Tomorrow Behind (Stella Crown Series) (8 page)

Chapter Twelve

“No, I didn’t know her. I never talked to her.” I’d said it a million times. “I saw her in concert this evening, like everybody else. That’s it. That’s all I know.”

“But she’s local.”

“So are thousands of other people. I don’t know them all.”

The detective—what was her name again? Wyatt? White? Watts—wrote in her little notebook. Why she hadn’t just asked the other officers for my statement was beyond me. But I was doing my best to cooperate and not be a pain in the ass. Because I’ve been told I can be one. By many people.

But I was reaching my limit. A talented young woman was dead, and from what I could see, the cops weren’t any closer to figuring it out than they were hours earlier. In fact, they needed a whole new approach, if their communication was as bad as it seemed. And I was tired of trying to communicate.

“Look, lady, I’ve told you everything I know. Including who I saw Rikki talking to earlier.”

Watts blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Mr. Gregg, whatever his first name is.”

“You didn’t mention him at all.”

I hadn’t? I’d told my story so many times, I couldn’t remember what I’d said. “They were together after the concert, on the stage side of the fence. She stomped on his foot.”

The detective gave a surprised laugh, then pretended she was coughing. “Why?”

“Because he was attacking her.”

“Attacking her?”

“He’d grabbed her wrist. It was obvious he was hurting her.”

“And you saw this how?”

I explained why Nick and I had been held up in the stands, and how I’d just happened to catch the altercation.

“What happened after she…got away?”

“He went the opposite direction. There was another woman there, with an iPad or whatever, so it didn’t look like he could go after Rikki.”

“Did this Mr. Gregg and the victim have a relationship?”

“How would I know? I assume since she’s a singer and he’s a recording studio exec there could be something there. But like I said, I’ve never talked to the girl, and the Greggs and I aren’t exactly friends. I don’t think they even know my name.”

She frowned. “But you know theirs?”

“Well, sure, everybody knows theirs.”

“I don’t understand.”

So I had to explain the whole cheating at the fair thing. She seemed confused. “They don’t raise their own cows?”

“Right.”

“And that’s a problem?”

Obviously, the woman was clueless.

“The whole point of 4-H is for kids to learn about animals, and take on responsibility. If they just buy champions, they haven’t done any work, and they take away rewards from the kids who have.”

“But what about the kids who had the champions to begin with? At last year’s fair?”

“Those kids raised the animals and turned them into champions. They deserved the prize.”

She looked at me blankly. “Is this something someone would kill over?”

“I doubt it. People get angry about it, but killing someone? I don’t think so. Besides, the Greggs aren’t dead.”

“True.”

I glanced at my watch. Almost two. “Do you know how long ago she died?”

The detective didn’t answer.

“Hello?” I waved my hand in front of her face.

“No way to know. We do know she was alive at ten o’clock, because someone saw her heading away from the grandstand.”

“Right after I saw her with Gregg.”

She nodded. “I suppose so.”

I recalled standing in the fairway, seeing Gregg with those thugs. “He was looking for someone later.”

“Gregg?”

“It was close to eleven-thirty. He was walking fast past the carnival games with two other guys. They were looking for someone.”

“How do you know?”

“He was checking out all the games and vendors, looking through everybody. So were the men.” I shuddered, remembering the way the guy’s eyes had stunned me.

“Who were they? The ones with him.”

“Don’t know. I guess you’ll have to ask him.”

“I will.”

I rubbed my temples. “Can I please go home now? I’ve told you everything I know—” which I’d also told everyone else “—and I’m tired. And I’m sad.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you sad?”

Was she kidding? “Because a young woman is dead. Doesn’t that make you sad?”

“Well, of course it does, but—”

“Look, Detective, I’m going home.”

“I’m not done with—”

“Yes, you are. You are done with me and you’re done with Nick.”

“Who’s Nick?”

Was she shitting me? I looked around. The cops had taken over one of the exhibit halls, closing it off to the exhibitors and visitors, and all of us witnesses were being questioned in different corners of the building. I’m sure everybody with a booth in there was really going to be happy about that in the morning.

But that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except that a talented young woman was dead. My eyes landed on a pathetic huddle in the middle of the room, people I didn’t know, probably Rikki’s entourage. The group consisted of young women, mostly, all with red eyes and smeared mascara. A couple of guys sat with them, along with a middle-aged woman who stared into space, knees together, feet apart, creating an awkward triangle that wrenched my heart. Rikki’s mother? There was no way to know, but no one was treating her like she was special that way.

Across the room, half-hidden behind the regional Relay for Life table, were two men and a woman in power suits. All three were on the phone, and all three appeared ready to explode. When one of them would end a call, he or she would immediately punch in another number and begin talking again. Rikki’s agents? Managers? Recording studio executives? But then, Gregg was conspicuously absent. Had he worked with Rikki? If so, I would think he’d be here, for sure. Unless he was the one who had killed her, and had taken off for Brazil.

I let my gaze wander.

The girl who’d found Rikki’s body on the manure trailer had been sequestered at the local florist’s table, but I couldn’t imagine why the cops were keeping her. What more could she say, other than, “I saw the feet, and freaked out”? In other spots teens waited quietly in folding chairs, probably only to end up being questioned about who they’d seen out by the trailer that evening. I supposed it made sense to ask, but who was thinking about loiterers when they were shoveling shit? If it were an attractive teenager hanging around, maybe, but other than that? Everybody else may as well have been invisible, unless they were doing something strange. I didn’t think any of the 4-H’ers would have the answers. And I knew for sure that I didn’t.

I got up and walked away.

“Hey,” Detective Watts said, “you can’t just—”

“Watch me.”

I spied Nick in the corner of the building, talking to a police officer. Or listening to one. Or else just sleeping. He was wearing a stretched out Dairy Association T-shirt he’d been given by one of the 4-H parents after his had been used for cleaning off Rikki’s face. It was better for everyone if his naked torso wasn’t open for viewing. Who knew what some crazed stalker woman might do when presented with a living, breathing ivory sculpture. I strode over, and touched his shoulder. The officer stopped whatever he was saying to glance up at me. “Can I help you, Ms.?”

“I’m taking him.”

Nick’s eyelids cracked open to reveal bloodshot eyes. “Hey, you.”

“Hey, yourself. Come on. We’re going home.”

The officer’s head whipped around to the other groups of people, as if checking to see what he’d missed. The detective was striding our way, fire in her eyes, so I hauled Nick to his feet. “Start moving.”

He didn’t argue.

“Ms. Crown! Stop!”

All heads in the area swiveled our way, and one of the other cops stood up, fingering the gun on his belt.

“Whoa,” I said, hands up. “No need for violence.”

Watts waved the officer down, and I wasn’t sure if her irritation was with me or the gun-happy dude. When he’d relaxed and all the focus had left our little group, she glared at me. “I said I wasn’t done with you yet.”

“And I said I’ve given you all I had. Twenty times. And so has Nick.”

She eyed him. “So you’re Nick?”

He attempted a smile, which even in his state was devastating.

The detective wasn’t moved. “I need to talk to you.”

He sighed. “Whatever you need.”

“Nick—”

“I’m fine. Just…stay with me.” He sat back down, hanging onto my hand, and after a moment I yanked a chair over beside him. The officer stayed, and the detective loomed over us.

“From the beginning,” she said. “And I especially want to hear about this Mr. Gregg who assaulted our victim.”

Nick glanced at me, then started to talk. I crossed my arms and glared at the detective. She may have been in charge, but that didn’t mean I had to be nice about it.

Twenty minutes later, in the middle of yet another stupid, repetitive question, there was a commotion at the door, and Daniella Troth burst through, eyes wide, face as pale as Nick’s.

“You can’t come in here.” A cop jumped in front of her.

She peered over his shoulder and scanned the room, skimming over the manure trailer girl, Nick and me, and the line of waiting teens. Her eyes landed on the group in the middle, where Rikki’s friends cried. One of the girls jumped up and ran to her, wailing. She flung her arms around Daniella’s neck and sobbed. Daniella held onto her tightly, smoothing her hair in such a motherly gesture I wondered if the girl actually was her daughter.

But then other girls jumped up and raced to her, too, and soon she was like a mother hen, so swamped by chicks she could barely stand. The cops gave up trying to separate her from her flock, and stood by, watching. Most of the officers’ faces showed sympathy, pain even.

Not so my dear detective. She just looked annoyed.

“Guess other people are sad, too,” I said. “Does that make them all suspects?”

She glared at me. “They’re girls.”

“You’re kidding me, right? You think girls can’t kill somebody?”

“Oh, I know they can. I just think it’s a lot more likely it’s someone else this time.”

“Like?”

She cocked her eyebrow. “You can’t really think I’m going to answer that.”

“Nope. Just like we’re not going to answer anything else. Come on, Nick. Let’s go home.”

This time, she didn’t stop us.

Chapter Thirteen

Word had obviously gotten out about Rikki’s death, because a crowd had gathered outside the exhibit hall. Teenagers, reporters, a drunk guy passed out on a bench. I figured the cops were too busy to get around to hauling him away. Nick and I threaded our way through the people, me leading, pulling him along. We’d almost made it out before they found us.

“Stella?” Zach pushed through the people closest to us. “Is it true?”

Taylor was right there with him, along with Claire, Bobby, and Randy. Taylor’s eyes were bloodshot, and her nose had reddened.

“Taylor’s mom said something happened to Rikki Raines.”

We’d attracted more people, most of whom I didn’t know. I jerked my head, and Zach and his group followed us to an unoccupied space next to the junior 4-H building. I wasn’t sure what to say. Nick squeezed my hand and gave me a nod.

“Rikki Raines is…dead,” I told them. “I’m sorry.”

Taylor let out a sob, and leaned into Zach’s shoulder. He glanced down at her, then awkwardly put his arm around her. Claire’s mouth pinched, and she crossed her arms over her stomach, looking at the ground. The other guys stood silently.

Zach swallowed. “But…what happened?”

“We don’t know. She was out behind the calf barn.”

“You found her? That’s why you were in there?” He meant the exhibit hall, with the cops.

“We heard screaming. We went to help.”

“Was she—”

“We don’t know how she died, Zach. They didn’t tell us anything, and we couldn’t see.”

Taylor pulled away from Zach. “Is my mom in there?”

“Yes.” I thought of how the girls had flocked to her. “How does she know those people, the ones who look like Rikki’s friends? Did your mom know Rikki, too?”

Taylor took a shuddering breath. “They all come to her salon, Rikki and her whole group. The salon has a contract with the recording studio. They do all the make-up and hair for their shoots and videos and public appearances and whatever. She got to know Rikki over this past year. I even got to meet her one time. She was so…nice.” The tears started again, and Taylor swiped at her face.

Zach stared at me, his expression frightened. It wasn’t about Rikki, I didn’t think, but what to do with the crying girl on his shoulder. I wasn’t going to offer to take her, because God knew I wouldn’t be any better. But I knew someone who would.

Nick read my face without a word, and gently extricated Taylor from Zach, murmuring something I couldn’t hear. Just like he’d done with Claire’s cow Breezy earlier that day.

“Why don’t you guys head on back to your trailers,” I said. “We’ll stay with Taylor till her mom comes out.”

I half expected Taylor to freak out at the suggestion, but she was so out of it I’m not sure she heard what we were saying. Besides, Nick knew what he was doing.

Zach and the other boys put up a little token refusal, but Claire seemed relieved.

“Come on, guys,” she said. “It’s late.”

“Calf judging starts tomorrow,” I added. “You need sleep.”

“You think they’ll still go on with it?” Bobby asked. “Won’t this mess things up?”

“They can’t cancel the whole fair.” I didn’t think.

Still they hesitated.

“Go on, guys. There’s nothing you can do here. They’re not going to tell you anything.”

In fact, more cops had arrived and had begun dispersing the crowd.

“I guess,” Zach finally said. “If you’re sure.”

“We’re sure. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Nick had taken Taylor to a bench—the drunk guy had now been removed—so Zach and the other kids left without saying goodbye. I assured Zach I’d let her know where they went. With Daniella taking Friend Consolation Duty, she might be a while. Taylor could always crash in her cousins’ trailer while she waited. They were too tired to get up to any shenanigans yet that night. Probably.

When Zach and his friends were gone, I went over to the bench. Taylor sat in the crook of Nick’s arm, snuggled up against him like a little puppy. Her face was blank and white, and I don’t think she was even aware of where she was.

I stood beside them, watching as the police sent people away. I know “There’s nothing to see here” is a cliché, but it was also true. We weren’t even in the vicinity of where the body had been found. That was roped off out behind the barn, out of sight from where we were. I wondered if there was a crowd gathered there, too, and how exactly you memorialize a manure trailer.

The reporters were a little harder to dislodge, and several of them refused to budge. Free speech, and all that. The cops seemed to realize it was a hopeless cause, and left them alone. A helicopter flew over, and I wondered if that, too, was reporters, or if it was law enforcement, searching for the perpetrator, although it seemed a little late for that.

The officers eventually made their way to us, and we explained about Taylor’s mom being in the building. They made a call, then let us stay, asking us to just “keep out of the way.”

Not an issue. We weren’t up for moving.

Almost an hour later—an hour filled with silent tears, blank staring, and sniffles—Daniella Troth exited the building. She was alone, so either Rikki’s friends were still inside, or they’d gone out the other side. The reporters were on her immediately, like Queenie on a day-old bone. The cops had pulled some of their manpower, so Daniella was smothered with shouted questions, and microphones stabbed at her face. Two officers did their best to tear the journalists away, but weren’t having much effect.

I strode over and forced my way through the reporters. Daniella stared into the camera lights like a raccoon in the headlights of a Mack. I grabbed her arm and backed her up against the building so we weren’t surrounded from all sides. I stepped in front of her.

“You.” I pointed at one of the cameraman blinding us. “You, and you.” All three. “Turn those off.”

“Who are you?” A heavily made-up woman I recognized from the evening news pointed a microphone in my face.

I grabbed the microphone away from her and covered the mouthpiece with my hand. “I am the person who’s going to make sure this lady isn’t hounded by you folks.”

The reporter tried to get the microphone, but I held it above my head, and she couldn’t reach it. I guess she thought it was undignified to jump.

She put her hands on her hips. “We have a right to know.”

“Who am I? I’m surprised you’re so interested.”

“No, in what’s going on.”

“Well, then, it’s fortunate you have so many people to ask. Just not this lady.”

“Who’s she?”

“No one you need to know.” I aimed meaningful looks at the cameramen.

“You can’t make them put down the cameras,” Revlon Lady said.

“Oh, can’t I?” I handed the microphone to Daniella. “Hold this.”

The first cameraman met my eyes as I stepped toward him, but his gaze soon dropped to the tattoo peeking around my neck, and his expression wasn’t so confident.

I leaned toward him and spoke quietly. “Look, man, I really don’t want to break your camera. Do us both a favor and back off.”

He hesitated a few more seconds, then lowered the camera.

“Derek!” the reporter shrieked.

He wouldn’t look at her.

I swiveled my head to glare at the other two cameramen. One of them put his down right away, but the second waited a few more beats before complying. I nodded my thanks.

“Come on,” I said to Daniella. I walked her in the opposite direction of Nick and Taylor, because the last thing I wanted was to lead the reporter to them. We were almost across the open space when the camera lights went back on. I spun around, but they weren’t interested in us anymore. Someone else had exited the building. It was a couple of the girls and the middle-aged woman from the center group.

“Who is that?” I asked.

Daniella sniffed and pulled a tissue from her purse. “Rikki’s aunt. She raised her. Those are her cousins. Poor things.” She hiccuped.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, but her nose was as red as her daughter’s. “Can we go over to Taylor now?”

Taylor jumped up when we got close, and grabbed her mother around the waist. Daniella hugged her, and whispered into her hair. Taylor nodded, and stepped back, staying close.

“Thank you, Stella, for…that.” Daniella gestured at the reporters.

“My pleasure.”

“And Nick—I really appreciate you taking care of Taylor.”

“Glad to help.” He handed her one of his business cards, which bore his cell phone number. “Let us know if there’s anything else we can do.”

She gazed at the card, then blinked, as if just then realizing what she was holding. “Thank you. I will.”

There was so much I wanted to ask her, like how was it she’d gotten to be “mom” to that whole gaggle of girls, why she’d been arguing with Gregg earlier, and just how she stayed looking so beautiful with a Rudolph nose. But even I realized it was not the time for questions. We walked the two of them out to the parking lot, and went our separate ways without speaking again.