Tombs of Endearments (22 page)

The girls had gone over to the right, and my seat was with theirs, but I had no intention of sitting down any time soon. There was time yet before the concert started, and I needed to find Belinda. I stepped to the left. “I’ll meet you after the show, over by—”

“You’re such a card!” Laughing, Ella wound her arm through mine. “You’re not going to have to meet us. We’ll be together. Weren’t we lucky to be able to get one more seat in our row? It’s perfect. At intermission, we’ll grab some hot chocolate—my treat. I want to talk to you about a cemetery conference in Chicago. Don’t get too excited.” She patted my arm. “I’m not sure if I can fit it into my schedule but maybe, maybe you can go in my place. Then when the show is over, I promised the girls we could go into the gift shop and pick up a few Mind at Large CDs. I know they’re going to love the band.”

“And I am, too. I promise.” I untangled my arm from hers. On our way over to the plaza, I’d noticed a long line of Porta Pottis set up across the street. I looked that way. “I need to go over there first,” I said. As if. “I’ll be right back.”

Ella couldn’t argue, and since she was shorter than me, she couldn’t keep an eye on me when I started out across the street, then turned sharply to head in the opposite direction. I skirted the fringes of the crowd, then cut up the aisle farthest to the left to head closer to the stage.

I actually might have gotten all the way there if a guy in a yellow jacket that said
Events Staff
on it in big black letters didn’t step into my path.

“Hi!” I sparkled.

He’d been well-trained. He was immune.

I looked past him and what I could see of the maze of backdrops, props, and sound equipment that lined the path backstage. “I’m with the band,” I said.

“Right.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Nobody gets back there. Not even cute chicks.”

“You think I’m cute?” It was a minor victory of sorts so I tried the sparkling routine again. “We could have a drink after the show.”

“We could. But that’s not going to get you backstage.”

My lip curling, I backed off.

Lucky for me, just as I did, I caught sight of a flutter of color behind one of the amplifiers. I wasn’t sure, but it looked enough like a gauzy purple skirt for me to take the chance.

“Belinda!” I raised my voice and called, and when she poked her head out and saw me, I waved. “I need to talk to you.”

I think Security Guy was going to argue, but since Belinda was already backstage, there wasn’t much he could say.

When he stepped aside, I grinned. “Told you,” I said. “I’m with the band.”

A second later, I stepped backstage and straight into pre-concert chaos. Roadies and technicians scampered all around me, their arms laden with guitars and microphones and what looked to be miles of heavy black cable. There were extra clothes
hanging from a nearby rack, a change of denim shirt (Pete’s usual attire), a couple of jackets in case one of the band members got cold, even an extra cowboy hat. I had no doubt it belonged to Alistair. Mighty Mike’s bottle of Southern Comfort was out on a table, but there was no sign of Mike or any of the other Mind at Large members.

“Is everything okay?” I asked Belinda.

Much to my surprise, I actually got a straight answer. Sort of. “You mean, has he been back? Not since he tried to make the car swim. I’m not worried.” Her stringy hair flapped around her shoulders when she shook her head. “Pepper helps me hide from the man with the kitty cat feet.”

I was grateful for even this much clarity. “That’s right,” I said. “I helped you hide. And I’ll keep you safe, Belinda, but to do that, I need your help. I need you to think very hard, about the picture of Damon that was in your living room. You remember, the one you took of him the night he died.”

“I remember that night.” Her bottom lip trembled. “I loved him. We’re soul mates.”

“Then you can do something to help him. You want to help Damon, don’t you?”

“Help?” She tipped her head, studying me. “He’s in trouble?”

“He is. Yes. Someone’s trying to hurt him. You have to think, Belinda, you have to tell me what was in that picture. Besides Damon, of course.”

Belinda closed her eyes. She chewed on her lower lip. And I held my breath. She’d had nearly forty years to memorize every inch of that photograph. She had to know—

“A ball. Like the sun.” When she opened her
eyes, Belinda looked pleased with herself. “Shiny.”

I won’t repeat what I said in reply.

While I tried to think of a way to get through to her, I stood there grumbling under my breath. It might have been easier to see my way clear if I could think straight. But every time I tried to order my thoughts, an image of Damon formed in my head. I saw him the way he looked that morning at the cemetery.

Someone—or something—was tearing at Damon’s spirit. He was in torment.

And I was the only one who could help.

My heartbeat racing, I scrambled for a plan. But before I could come up with one, a curious thing happened.

I heard a chirping sound.

“What was that?” I asked Belinda, but I was wasting my breath. She’d already lost interest in me. She was wandering around, mumbling to herself and getting in everyone’s way.

I heard the chirping again.

It sounded awfully familiar.

My head bent, the better to listen and let the sound guide me, I wound my way through the maze of equipment and farther backstage and hey, who could blame me for feeling as if I was on the right track?

Because as strange as it seems, I actually recognized that sound.

It was one I’d heard back at the recording studio.

Right after someone tried to blow our heads off.

I found myself all the way at the far end of the
plaza, behind and under the stage in a makeshift sort of room. Just beyond the perimeter of tarp someone had the good sense to drape all around to block the wind, the ground sloped. When a stiff breeze blew the tarp, I could see the sharp drop into Lake Erie. There was a table in the room with the remnants of a couple of party trays on it. Bread, luncheon meat, pickles. Someone had spilled a two-liter bottle of Coke, and it pooled on the table and drizzled to the floor.

Even as I stood there looking around, I heard the chirping noise again. It was coming from a phone that had been left atop the piano directly across from where I stood. A phone that was also a walkie-talkie. That wasn’t the only thing on the piano. There was a fat, black candle there, too, and a framed photograph of Damon. One I’d bet any money had been taken right off Belinda’s wall.

I had already made a move toward the piano when I heard a voice from somewhere out in the maze of jury-rigged hallways.

“How the fuck am I supposed to answer the damned thing when I can’t find it?”

When Gene Terry hurried into the little room, he found me with the picture of Damon in one hand and his cell phone in the other.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked.

I could have tried to come up with some bullshit story, but there really didn’t seem to be much point. Instead, I held up the phone for him to see.

“I think that’s actually my question. What the hell were you doing
there
? When the roadie called you to get over to the recording studio after the shooting, you were already there. I heard your phone.”

He yanked the phone out of my hand and shoved it into the pocket of his suit coat. “Yeah, and I’m the only one in America with a walkie-talkie.”

Was I discouraged by this little piece of logic? I was not. Because, see, there was still the photo of Damon to consider. Gene didn’t give me a chance to mention it.

“Are you done?” he asked in a way that said if I wasn’t before, I sure was now. “We’ve got a show to do and you have no business being back here.”

There was no use arguing the point. Except for the whole bit about truth and justice, of course. I was still clinging to the photograph, and I turned it around so that Gene could see what I could see.

“A ball. Like the sun. Shiny,” I said, pointing to the man just barely visible in the background of the picture. He was bald and his head…well, it looked like Belinda knew what she was talking about after all. His head looked like a shiny ball. “You were supposed to be in Pittsburgh that night.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Gene ripped the photo out of my hands and tossed it on the table with the band’s leftover dinner. “So I’m in some old picture of Damon. So what?”

“So maybe that overdose Damon took wasn’t accidental. Otherwise, I don’t think you would have lied about the trip to Pittsburgh. Damon was leaving the band and I’ll bet you were plenty pissed. Your gravy train was about to hit the skids. It all makes so much sense, I’m amazed I didn’t think of it sooner. Then again, Damon doesn’t know you’re a liar. He believes you were exactly where you said you were. If he suspected you weren’t in Pittsburgh, he would have said something to me about it.”

Just as I expected, the comment got a rise out of Gene. His eyes flew open, but I had to give credit where credit was due. He knew better than to lose his cool. He laughed. “What are you smoking, kid? No way you could have talked to Damon. He’s been dead since before you were born.”

“Dead, but not gone. And I’ve been talking to him. Don’t say it can’t be done,” I added quickly when I saw Gene was going to tell me I was nuts. “You know it can. You were all involved in black magic. That’s what Vinnie told me. Only I thought when he said
all
, he meant the band. But you’re as much a part of Mind at Large as any of the band members. You were just as involved as they were. My guess is that you knew Vinnie was channeling Damon’s songs, too. He said the thought of channeling terrified him. Maybe you’re the one who pushed him into doing it?”

I didn’t wait for Gene to answer my question. I didn’t have to. I could tell by the way his eyes nar
rowed the slightest bit that I had hit upon the truth. Considering that I was alone with a killer, it was insane to be jazzed, but I couldn’t help myself. The threads of this investigation had been dangling right in front of my eyes. I was finally able to gather them together—and maybe help Damon find some peace, too.

“You didn’t give a damn how he got them, Vinnie’s songs made you a fortune. But then he told you he wasn’t going to channel anymore. I’ll bet you were as mad as hell. Just like you were when Damon said he was quitting the band. That’s why you killed Vinnie. And it’s why you broke into my apartment. And Belinda’s. Damn!”

I could have kicked myself. “You knew you had to have something personal of Damon’s or you couldn’t channel him. You knew Belinda had visited Vinnie’s place. And you knew I was there, too. You thought one of us had Damon’s things, the stuff Vinnie used for channeling. That’s what you were looking for when you broke into my place. And here I thought it was my lousy ex. Don’t go there!” I warned him when I thought he might ask. No way I was going to get into a conversation about Joel.

“News flash, Gene, you were wasting your time. I had all the stuff, all right. I destroyed every last bit of it.”

“Then you’re as brain dead as Belinda.”

“Who’s not so brain dead after all.” For all I knew, this wasn’t true, but it didn’t hurt to let Gene think I had a backup plan. And a little corroboration when it came to my theory. “Sooner or later, Belinda’s going to remember what—and
who—is in that photo of Damon. That’s why you knew you had to kill her. She’s already starting to put it together.” I let my gaze drift to Gene’s bald head. “She’s the one who told me about the shiny ball.”

“The bitch!”

Yeah, I was trying to get a rise out of Gene and maybe get him to confess in the bargain. I didn’t intend to send him over the edge. When he whirled toward the doorway with fire in his eyes, I knew he was hell-bent on finding Belinda. When he did, I knew there was nothing I could do to protect her.

“No!” I sprang forward and grabbed his arm, but as I might have mentioned, though Gene is short, he’s got a powerful build. He shook me off like a gnat.

I wasn’t going to let that stop me. I wrapped both my arms around one of his, and no way was I going to let go.

Of course, it’s the whole action and reaction thing. I held on tight. Gene tried to shake me off. Pretty soon, we were dancing around the room in a crazy sort of rhythm, knocking into the dinner table, banging into the piano. In the best of all possible scenarios, someone would have heard the scuffle, but no sooner had we started than the stage above us shook, and a guitar riff designed to make the audience scream cut through the air like a knife through butter. The crowd went wild, and I knew after that, nobody was going to hear me.

I kicked Gene in the shins. He biffed me in the shoulder. Hard.

His phone was in his pocket and I knew if I could get it, it wouldn’t matter if I held on to Gene
or not. I could call 911 and have reinforcements here in a matter of minutes.

I loosened my hold on Gene.

Big mistake.

Because when I did, he grabbed one of the big metal party tray platters and smashed it over my head.

The last thing I remember is stars exploding behind my eyes.

Oh yeah, and hitting the floor like a rock.

Lizard scales and devil’s wings
.

Bloody, spoiled soul
.

I’ll leave you, love, in your heat, in your sweat
.

Sated, gorged
.

My black butterfly body
,

Wet from the chrysalis
.

I was dead and in rock and roll heaven.

Or was it hell?

I wasn’t sure, I only knew the familiar lyrics pounded through my head along with the driving beat of Alistair’s drums and the wail of Mighty Mike’s guitar. For a guy who was mostly blind drunk, he sure could rock.

If all this sounds absurd and a little disjointed, it’s no wonder. My head felt as if it was going to explode.

I groaned and opened my eyes. That one, crystal moment of clarity when I realized I wasn’t dead should have cheered me right up. Except that was exactly when I also realized that I couldn’t move my arms or my legs. There was heavy cabling
wrapped around me. And Gene Terry was bent over me.

“Good, you’re awake.” Like I weighed nothing (and before there are any comments about my weight or my dress size, let me just set this straight: I am perfectly proportioned and a size six, but even I know I don’t weigh nothing), he lifted me and threw me over his shoulder like a sack. When he carried me to the tarp wall, he barely staggered. “It’ll be more fun thinking of you wide awake when this happens.”

This? Happens?

I didn’t like the sound of that, and I let him know it. I kicked and I squirmed, but with my arms pinned to my sides and my legs tied together, it was a futile effort at best.

Which didn’t keep me from kicking and squirming more when he brushed aside the tarp and I got a bird’s-eye view of the lake, some twenty feet below.

“Maybe this will teach you to keep your mouth shut,” he said, and he tossed me into the air.

He was wrong.

I didn’t keep my mouth shut. In fact, I screamed my head off.

Too bad Mind at Large was playing so loud nobody could hear me or the splash I made when I hit the water.

Water? Damn!

My hair was going to look like hell.

A funny thing happens when you know you’re going to die. You get sort of comfortable with the idea and a kind of peacefulness settles over you.

For maybe about two seconds.

Then the panic kicks in and the struggling starts.

That’s pretty much what I did, struggle and panic, not necessarily in that order.

I cursed myself for wasting my breath on screaming now that I needed every bit of air left in my lungs. I kicked my legs and twisted my body in an attempt to bob to the surface, but instead of rising, the weight of the cabling carried me down. Above me, the bright lights of the Rock Hall glimmered on the water like diamonds. The music from the concert was muffled and distorted. Too bad. I recognized one of Damon’s old songs. It would have been nice if I could enjoy it since it was the last thing I’d ever hear.

My lungs burned. My throat tightened. I needed air, and I needed it badly.

I drifted farther down into the murky water.

And for the second time in just a couple of minutes, I figured I was already dead.

That would explain the splash I heard and the shadow I saw come between me and the sparkling lights on the surface. It was the only thing that made any sense when I saw a figure slip up next to me. It was dressed in white, and the brightness hurt my eyes. I closed them just as the figure grabbed me.

I don’t know how long it took for us to break the surface of the water, I only knew that when we did, my hair was in my eyes and my lungs felt as if they were going to pop. I hauled in a breath and got a mouthful of water along with it, and whoever had ahold of me held on a little tighter when I
choked and coughed and thrashed around. A short while later, I was lifted onto dry land.

“Ambulance is here!” I heard someone shout. “Give us room to work.”

“I will. I just want to make sure…” A gentle hand swiped my wet hair out of my eyes, and the next thing I knew, Quinn Harrison was looking down at me. He was wearing a white dress shirt and was soaked to the skin.

“You—” I hoped he didn’t hold it against me that I barfed up a stomach full of lake water, and I guess he didn’t because when the paramedics put me on a stretcher, Quinn was still at my side. It hurt to talk, but I had to know. I gulped in a couple more precious breaths. “How—”

Somebody draped a blanket over his shoulders, and Quinn sank into the warmth and sighed. “Good thing my timing was right. I had just arrived to arrest Gene Terry when I saw him toss you in the lake.”

“Arrest?” The paramedics hurried me over to a waiting ambulance, and my voice bumped along. “How did you—”

“He got careless. His fingerprints were at the warehouse.”

Even in my weakened condition, I recognized his mistake. “He was there,” I said, and when Quinn climbed into the ambulance with me and the paramedics slammed the doors, I was able to continue my argument. “Of course…fingerprints there…Gene was at warehouse. You…you saw him.”

“He was at the warehouse, all right.” When the ambulance siren split the air, Quinn bent closer.
He rested a hand on my forehead. “But not up on the third floor.”

I refused to stay at the hospital overnight. I was fine, considering, and besides, I couldn’t just lie around, not when I was still so worried about Damon. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been in terrible pain and now I knew why: Gene Terry was channeling him. Quinn had assured me that Gene was behind bars.

So where did that leave Damon?

In my weakened state, I figured that since I couldn’t drive myself home (no car, after all, and there was the whole just-been-nearly-murdered thing), Quinn would play chauffeur. But of course, assuming all this meant I was underestimating Quinn. And I should have known better than to do that.

We weren’t at the hospital for five minutes before he called Ella, and once he did, well, there was no way she was going to let anyone else take care of me.

She somehow managed to find a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and a pair of sneakers that were my size, and she insisted on driving me home. I was not so easily put off. I played the pity card and got her to take me to Garden View instead.

“You need to be home in bed, Pepper,” she said as we cruised through the employee entrance. Ella’s three daughters were in the backseat, and they were either so blown away by their Mind at Large experience (I was doubting this), or so shocked by all that had happened to me and how their evening
had been cut short by an attempted murder and a visit to the ER, they were as quiet as mice. “I don’t understand why you’d want to stop at the office.”