Deception at Castle Rock (Amelia Grace Rock 'n' Roll Mysteries Book 2) Page 13

  "Like hell you are!" Zane called from somewhere in the background. There was a crashing sound—I assumed it came from the video game—followed by a chorus of male chuckles.

  "Take that, Taylor!" Chad yelled.

  "That's not fair! I'm on the phone," Kat argued back. "Ame, hold on. Let me pause this really quickly." There were shouts of protest from the guys as the game's music abruptly cut off. "Okay, I'm back," Kat said a few seconds later. "What's up?"

  "I've got some news for you too." I pinned the phone between my shoulder and ear and lifted my computer into my lap. "I hope you've got room for one more at your place. Bron pulled her little Harriet the Spy routine on her dad this morning and found out they're releasing Mickey today."

  "What?" Kat cried, and I heard Zane and Chad pressing her for explanation. "Mickey's getting out," she told them.

  "Holy shit! Really?" Chad sputtered. "This is great! That means the tour's back on, right? I've gotta go tell Jack and Suzie. Hey, Jack!" The guitarist's voice faded away, and I pictured him sprinting out of Kat's living room in search of Jack and his fiancée.

  Crap. "Better reel him in before he gets everyone excited," I warned. "Mickey can't leave town yet." I waited for Kat to call Chad back into the room and give him the not-so-good news. No use in getting Ginger worked up only to pull the rug out from under her again. The poor woman seemed harried enough the first time she had to call around postponing tour dates.

  While Kat filled Chad and Zane in on the caveat to Mickey's release from jail, I closed the ATL Night Beat page on my computer and brought up Facebook. I typed Dillon Green's name into the search bar at the top and located his profile. Though we weren't friends on the social media site, his page was viewable to the public—which meant I was able to see all of his recent activity, including several posts he'd made promoting his new band. I clicked on a link to the Dillon Green Band's page then scrolled through their list of tour dates. Apparently, Dill had been playing gigs at bars all over town for the past several months.

  Running my finger down the screen, I scanned for today's date to see if the band was booked for a performance. As it turned out, they were. Sometimes the universe has impeccable timing.

  "So, it sucks that the tour's still on hold," Kat said, pulling my attention back to the phone. "But we should still celebrate Mickey being free—er, well, no longer behind bars, anyway. And I'm sure he's probably hurting for a stiff drink and something other than bland jail food. I'll have Ginger call his lawyer so we can arrange to pick him up, and then we can all go to dinner."

  "Uh-huh," I said, tapping my finger on my laptop screen. The Dillon Green Band was scheduled to play at 7 p.m. that night at Taco Heaven. Perfect. "Dinner sounds great, Kat. How do the guys feel about tacos?"

  * * *

  Bronwyn insisted on joining us for dinner, and she brought Reese along too. They picked me up in Bron's little green Ford Fiesta later that evening. "You guys had better enjoy my designated driving while it lasts," she griped as I slid into the backseat. "Because as soon as I'm twenty-one, it's someone else's turn to play chauffeur."

  "Fair enough," I said.

  "She's not really mad." Reese turned in the front passenger seat and flashed me a dimpled grin. "If you don't have your car, it'll be harder for you to escape the post-dinner activities she has planned."

  "Babe, shut up!" Bronwyn shushed him and then locked eyes with me through her rear view mirror. She must have seen the panic that flashed across my face, because suddenly the automatic lock on my door snapped down. "Don't even think about bolting," she said, winking. I gulped. Gee, that wasn't alarming at all.

  Taco Heaven was located in East Atlanta about fifteen minutes from my apartment. I was silent for most of the drive, lost in my own thoughts as Bronwyn and Reese chattered away up front. My mind wandered back to my conversation with Kat that afternoon with a twinge of jealousy. While she was hanging out with Chad, Zane, Jack, and their entourage, playing video games in her living room like a bunch of college kids, I was out risking my neck to clear Mickey's name. Stop it, my conscience scolded me. Being on the road for a tour is hard enough without one of your bandmates getting murdered and another thrown in jail. Think of everything the guys have been through this week—and everything Kat's been through this year. They all deserve to blow off a little steam every now and then.

  I chewed my lip. That annoying voice in the back of my head had a point. When I'd spoken to her on the phone before, Kat sounded genuinely happy for the first time in months. She was healing—and as her best friend, I couldn't deny her a chance to finally chase away the cloud of grief that had been following her around over the past few months. Plus I knew Chad would treat her well. He was a sweet, funny guy, and he'd be really good for her.

  We arrived at the restaurant at a quarter until seven and found Kat, Ginger, Suzie, and the guys waiting for us out front. My pals in Royal Flush were decked out in various hats and sunglasses to mask their famous faces. Mickey was with them, looking tired but still much better than when I'd seen him during visitation the previous afternoon. He'd traded his orange jumpsuit for dark jeans and a red-and-gray flannel shirt. The bruise under his eye had faded from light purple to a jaundiced yellow and was mostly hidden behind his aviator shades. His face had lost the jailhouse pallor as well, with a little color returning to his cheeks. A gray beanie was pulled down over his head, and his brown hair stuck out from underneath at different angles. Mickey hadn't yet shaved the two-day beard that grew like a shadow on the lower half of his face. The whole rugged lumberjack look suited him.

  When I had greeted the others, I turned to Mickey and gave him a hug. "How are you holding up?" I asked quietly in his ear.

  Mickey slid his arms around my middle. "Better now that you're here," he said, squeezing me tightly. He released me and gave me a tired look. "I can't wait for this whole thing to be over. At least now I know why I couldn't remember anything about what happened that night with Sid." He grimaced.

  "Come on." I grabbed his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'll buy you a margarita." I tried to pull my hand back, but Mickey kept his own fingers laced through mine.

  "Wait," he said in a hushed tone. Mickey held me back as the others followed Kat toward the restaurant's side entrance. "Did you find my pocketknife?" he asked, lowering the sunglasses from his eyes so he could meet my gaze.

  My mouth crimped in a remorseful frown. "I'm afraid not," I said, that familiar feeling of guilt setting up shop in the pit of my stomach. Pretty soon I was going to have to start charging it rent. "It's my fault, Mickey. I should have done something about it when I had the chance—but when I went back for the knife, it was gone." I hung my head.

  "Hey," Mickey said softly. His hand slid to my chin and tilted my head so that I was looking him in the eyes. "Don't beat yourself up. You've done more for me than I deserve. I just wish I knew who was trying to frame me."

  "Well," I said, breaking free of his grasp to dig around in my purse. I retrieved my phone and pulled up the picture of Sid and Coral that I'd saved from ATL Night Beat. "Does she look familiar?" I asked.

  Mickey took my phone in his hand and squinted at the screen. "I've never seen her before in my life." He winced. "At least, not that I remember." Mickey looked back to me, eyebrows drawn up in question. "You think this chick had something to do with what happened to Sid?"

  "It's possible. This picture was taken the same night he was murdered, after he stormed out of Castle Rock."

  Mickey shook his head, a smile burning at the ends of his lips. "See? You've already tracked down a lead. With you on the case, I'm liking my odds."

  "Don't thank me yet," I told him, my cheeks turning pink.

  Mickey noticed my blushing and chuckled. "You always were cute when you were embarrassed. Remember that time junior year when you spilled a vodka and cranberry juice all over your white top during our show at Smithe's Old Bar?"

  A little gasp escaped my throat at the memory. "Oh my gosh! That was th
e worst. It looked like a vampire threw up on me."

  Mickey's eyes twinkled. "Until I gave you my Radiohead tee—which you pulled off quite nicely as a T-shirt dress." He grinned. "The In Rainbows album cover never looked so sexy."

  "Aww—er, thanks." My cheeks burned fiercely now. Mickey slid an arm around my waist. His gaze flitted to my lips, and his expression grew eager. I felt my own pang of sudden desire. His hands on me felt so natural, as if no time at all had passed since the last time he held me like this. It was a major workout for my self-restraint, but I managed to extract myself from his embrace before one of us did something I was going to regret.

  "We should head inside," I said, moving quickly away from him. "The others are probably halfway through their first margaritas by now." I turned on my heel and awkwardly scurried toward the side entrance of the bright blue building. I heard a disappointed sigh behind me and then footsteps as Mickey followed.

  Kat had reserved a secluded booth at the back of Taco Heaven's large patio, allowing the band to enjoy their meal without attracting too much attention from the rest of the restaurant's patrons. The table was already covered in a spread of chips, guacamole, salsa, and several margarita pitchers when Mickey and I slid into the two empty spaces at the far end. Bless Kat's heart—my bestie had already ordered a peach margarita for me and had it waiting on the table. I flashed her a look of gratitude and immediately downed a third of it. The sugary drink and alcohol mix was going to burn in my belly since I'd downed it so fast, but I didn't care. I needed the liquor to take the edge off my nerves, stat. Not only had my trip down memory lane with Mickey thrown me for a loop, but Dillon would be walking onto the patio stage any minute—and I'd sort of neglected to mention that he would be there. I hadn't even told Bronwyn.

  "Ame, are you all right?" Reese asked from across the table, and nine pairs of eyes turned my way. "You look a little green."

  "I'm fine," I insisted, ignoring the queasy feeling in my stomach. "Just thirsty." Our waitress dropped by then with a tray of waters. I grabbed a glass and chugged then gave a refreshed sigh as I set it down. "All better." I looked over at Ginger, who was seated between Zane and Suzie, swirling her straw around the fruit chunks in her white sangria. "How is everything going with rescheduling tour dates?" I asked her.

  Ginger's delicate features became pinched. She tilted her drink to her lips before responding. "So far, we've had to cancel five shows," she said. "I won't know how many other venues to contact until this whole mess is resolved." She darted a disapproving glance toward Mickey, who grimaced and dropped his gaze to the bowl of chips in front of him.

  "I don't know about you all," Jack said, giving Ginger a warning look. "But I'm enjoying a little time off. It's nice to be back in our hometown for a few days after so long." He smiled and slung his arm around Suzie, pulling her close. "Suz and I have finally been able to iron out some wedding details during the downtime. Right, babe?"

  Suzie nodded, parting her lips in a shy smile. She tilted her face up to stare at Jack, her wide, doe eyes shining with adoration. "My biggest fan," Jack said, grinning. He leaned down and planted a kiss on the corner of her mouth. "I don't know what I'd do without you, baby." He raised his glass and looked around the table. "If I've learned anything over the past month, it's that life is short. So, live and let live, and be quick to forgive. Here's to Sid. Rest in peace, you crazy son of a bitch."

  "To Sid," everyone echoed.

  Suzie clinked her glass to Jack's and took a long sip. As she set it down, her diamond engagement ring slipped off her finger. "Shit!" she mumbled, leaning under the table to search for it. Jack and Chad ducked down to help her, with Chad recovering the sparkly bling.

  "Damn," Jack said as Suzie placed the ring back on her finger. "That's the third time it's fallen off this month."

  Suzie blushed and dropped her gaze to the table. "I guess I've lost a little weight since the accident," she said. "Maybe I should get it resized."

  Chad took a swig of his own drink and then glanced toward the stage. His bushy, red eyebrows rose in surprise. "Hey, about that whole 'forgiving' part of your toast, Jack," he said coolly. "Look who just walked in."

  I nervously bit my lip, my gaze darting to the patio stage where Tim Scott was strutting toward the microphone. Ugh. How had I missed that 95Rox was sponsoring the show? I rolled my eyes and then looked past the arrogant DJ. Dillon was standing right behind him.

  "What the hell is he doing here?" Jack asked in a low, growling tone. His eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. Jack tightened his fist around the stem of his margarita glass, threatening to shatter it. Beside him, Chad and Zane both tensed, and even Suzie and Ginger looked uncomfortable.

  Movement brought my attention several seats to my right where Bronwyn was jerking her head side to side, trying to catch my eye. "Nice!" she mouthed, giving me a thumbs up. Her green eyes danced with excitement. She was probably hoping for some action.

  "No need to cause a scene, guys," Mickey said in a diplomatic tone. "Technically, we're on his turf. Let's just sit back, enjoy our dinner, and let him play."

  "Great idea," I said. I held up my hand to signal the waitress, hoping a round of tacos and empanadas might diffuse some of the tension around the table.

  Kat caught my eye and seemed to read my mind. "I'm starving," she said when our server approached. "Do you recommend the goat cheese quesadilla or the chorizo enchiladas?"

  Up on stage, Tim and Dillon hadn't noticed our group. Tim adjusted the mic stand and smiled down at the crowd. "How're we all feeling tonight?" he called. He was met with tequila-fueled cheers—and a couple of boos, one of which came from Bronwyn—and applause from around the patio. "Welcome to 95Rox's first-ever Tune 'n' Taco Tuesday," Tim continued. "We'd like to thank our awesome hosts here at Taco Heaven for having us tonight." He paused for another round of applause, most of which came from the Taco Heaven staff.

  Someone at a table near the stage threw a tortilla chip at Tim, and it caught in his goatee. Bronwyn and Kat snickered. Tim's expression soured, and he flicked it away. "Anyway," he said, ignoring the hoots and hollers from the table that had thrown the chip, "let's give a big welcome to tonight's first act, the Dillon Green Band!"

  The other tables clapped and cheered as Dillon and two other men waved to the crowd and then picked up their instruments. To their credit, the members of Royal Flush didn't boo, and they didn't get up and walk out of the restaurant. If we could just make it through dinner, I could corner Dillon after his set and grill him about following Sid out of the strip club on the night he was murdered. Bringing the whole band along without warning them that he'd be here didn't top the list of Amelia's Brightest Ideas, but there was safety in numbers. Dill was potentially dangerous, and it helped to have five strong guys with me—plus I knew none of them would want to risk attracting more media attention by causing a scene. I just hoped everyone could keep their tempers in check. The night didn't have to end in more disaster.

  Dillon's drummer, a skinny blond man with tattoos covering his arms, counted off the first song on his drumsticks. The trio launched into a fast-tempo rock number that reminded me a lot of Royal Flush's upbeat sound. It was actually quite good. I took a sip of my margarita and cast a nervous glance around the table. To my surprise, Jack, Mickey, and the other members of Royal Flush were leaning forward in their seats, staring attentively at the stage. Chad and Zane bobbed their heads to the beat, and Mickey tapped his index fingers on the table along to the drum rhythm. Even Jack seemed to be enjoying the music. Excitement flickered in his blue eyes, and he seemed energized by the song, bouncing slightly in his seat and nodding his approval. When the song was over, our whole table clapped and cheered enthusiastically.

  "Wow," Kat breathed. "These guys are good!"

  "Yeah. Dillon's really come a long way," Chad agreed. He gave Kat a high five and then slipped his arm around her.

  Jack shook his head, his dirty blond hair swaying from side to side. "I have to admit, I d
idn't think Dill had it in him," he said. "But that was impressive."

  The tension in my chest melted away. This was going much better than I'd hoped. Dillon and his band continued their set for the next twenty minutes with Dillon jumping from guitar to bass as he sang. At one point, he even sat down at a keyboard and plunked out a beautiful melody during one of the band's slower numbers. When their show was over, the three men stepped forward on the stage and bowed. They were met with a roar of applause (and a few more tortilla chip missiles) from around the patio. "Give it up for the Dillon Green Band!" Tim Scott called into his microphone from the side of the stage.

  The members of Royal Flush removed their hats and glasses. They rose from their seats at our booth and clapped loudly, chanting "DGB! DGB!" over and over again in unison. It was kind of touching. Then again, it probably wasn't the smartest move. People all around the patio turned toward the source of the chants.

  "Hey, aren't those the guys from Royal Flush?" someone called from a nearby table. Uh oh. Cover blown. People stood up from their chairs and peered at our table to get a better look at the rockers. Cell phones came out of pockets, and cameras flashed.

  Back on the stage, Dillon gaped down at our booth, his dark eyes wide. The color drained from his narrow face. "Er, excuse me," he mumbled into the microphone. He handed his bass over to one of his band mates before leaping off the stage and bolting toward the parking lot.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Chairs scraped the floor as people either rushed to the edge of the patio to watch Dillon flee or approached our booth looking for an autograph or a photo opp. As the former head bouncer of Castle Rock, Reese's bodyguard-like instincts kicked in. He pulled himself up so that he was standing in his seat at the booth and then hauled himself over the side, coming around to stand in front of our table to block the advancing crowd. "Back up, people!" he barked in an authoritative voice. "Now!"