Deception at Castle Rock (Amelia Grace Rock 'n' Roll Mysteries Book 2) Page 16

  "Huh?" Ginger looked at me with droopy eyes.

  I shrugged. "Just curious. I mean, I imagine it gets pretty lonely on the road with the band—unless you've got a playmate along for the ride." I gave her a conspiratorial wink. "You mean to tell me you haven't hooked up with one of the guys even once?"

  Ginger's head swiveled from side to side. "They're not really my type," she drawled.

  "I hear ya. They're a bunch of goofs," I admitted. "I just thought I picked up a vibe between you and Sid—"

  "Sid?" she scoffed. "I wouldn't have even touched that jerk with someone else's lady bits." Her face tightened in anger. "He was a no-good, sleazy, arrogant…" Ginger's voice trailed off. Her expression deflated and sloppy tears streaked down her face, causing her makeup to run. "And he's dead. Here I am calling him names, and the stupid jerk is dead!" She dropped her purse, and its contents spilled onto the tiled floor. Several other girls who were standing in front of the mirror backed away quickly, not wanting to get involved in the poor woman's drunken meltdown.

  "Oh, no. Ginger, don't cry," I begged, grabbing some paper towels to help wipe away her tears. "I didn't mean to upset you. I was just making conversation. Girl talk, that's all. I'm sorry." I helped her mop up her tears and then stooped to collect her fallen belongings.

  Way to go, Ame, I scolded myself. Making a drunk woman cry. I reached for Ginger's fallen tube of lipstick, and I froze, my hand hovering over the container of pink gloss. Unless those are really tears of guilt, I thought, staring down at the little tube. I picked it up and examined the color more closely. It was a bright pink shade called Devoted Diva. I was almost positive it was the same hue that stained the cup I'd found from Royal Flush's tour bus—the one that had disappeared along with Mickey's knife. Maybe Ginger wasn't as innocent as she pretended to be.

  "Here you go," I said, straightening to hand the crying woman her purse. I discreetly dropped the tube of lipstick into my own bag so that later I could compare it to the shade in the picture I'd taken of the cup. I smiled at Ginger. "All better?"

  She nodded and gave my shoulder a grateful squeeze. "Yes, thank you," she said, sounding more lucid. It seemed the crying spell had helped to sober her up a little. "I've just been so stressed lately. There's so much pressure to keep this tour running smoothly, and things keep going wrong at every turn. I don't know how much more of it I can take. It's making me sick." Ginger's stomach made a gurgling noise. She met my gaze, and her complexion paled. "Oh, no," she moaned. "I think I'm actually gonna be sick." She dashed into the nearest stall.

  I leaned against the sink counter and waited patiently to make sure that she was all right. When she hadn't emerged from the stall after a few minutes, I retrieved my phone from my purse, deciding that perhaps I had enough time to compare the photo to the tube of lipstick before she reappeared. No sooner had I located my cell than it chirped and began to vibrate in my hand. Kat's name glowed on the screen. "Did you run out of money to tip Gyrating Jerry?" I joked as I held the phone up to my ear.

  There was no response on the other end of the line—or if there was, I couldn't hear it. The loud, distorted thrum of the club music boomed through my phone's tiny speaker, making it impossible to make out Kat's voice through all the noise. "Hello? Kat?" I called, jamming one finger in my other ear to try to block out the excess sound. "I can't hear you. Speak up." The flood of music and snatches of other loud conversations continued to pour through from Kat's end of the call.

  "Ginger, I'm going to step outside," I called in the direction of her stall. I unplugged my ear and pushed open the door leading back out into the strip club. I glanced across the room toward our table and saw that it was empty. Kat and Bronwyn were no longer by the men's stage, either. "Kat, if you can hear me, stay on the line," I yelled over the loud music. "I'm going to find some place quieter." I turned from side to side, searching for a place that I might be able to block out some of the sound. My gaze landed on the door to the side exit of the club. Perfect. I'd be able to hear Kat better from outside. Once I figured out where she and Bron had run off to, I could check back in with the bouncer at the entrance to come back in. I shoved past a group of men coming out of one of the back VIP rooms and danced my way around three women staggering toward the bar. When I finally reached the side exit, I pushed out into the warm night air.

  "That's better," I said into the phone. "Can you hear me now?" I walked several feet out into the parking lot to distance myself from the bass that was practically shaking the building. There was still no response from the other end of the line. I cast a glance around the parking lot and found that I was alone out there. An uneasy feeling crept over me. "Kat? I'm going to hang up and try calling you back." I ended the call and started to press redial, but the sudden echo of approaching footsteps froze me in place. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I began to turn around, but the feather boa draped over my shoulders was yanked backward, tightening around my windpipe.

  I sputtered and coughed, one arm pin-wheeling backward to fend off my attacker while the other tugged wildly at the boa, trying to loosen it. Lucky for me, Bronwyn hadn't sprung for the highest quality costuming. The boa snapped in half, and I gasped, filling my lungs with air. My relief lasted only a fraction of a second. A cry of rage sounded behind me. I whirled to face my assailant, ready to deliver some serious payback for the near-asphyxiation. As I turned, there was a horrible crunching sound, and pain erupted in the crown of my head. My vision swam, disintegrating into shades of gray (not the sexy kind) before fading to black. As my eyelids tugged down, I hoped that the cracking noise wasn't my skull. Then the world fell away.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  I awoke to an intense, throbbing pain—as if someone had stomped on my skull with a steel-toed boot, and they were still standing on my head. My breathing was shallow, and I felt incredibly thirsty and nauseous. Cracking one eye open and then the other, I was startled by bursts of double vision. Oh, great, I thought. I'm actually seeing stars. They swirled around my head in a circular blur like something out of a cartoon. As my sight gradually focused, I realized the whirring lights were actually coming from a revolving disco ball on the club's ceiling. Their movement worsened my queasiness. I slowly lolled my head to the side, focusing on the plush red carpet until the wave of nausea passed. I was in a small room, larger than the private booth where I'd questioned Coral, but more secluded than the main area. One of the Saucy Minx's special VIP rooms, maybe.

  "I told you we shouldn't have moved her," said a woman. "She might have a broken neck—or a concussion. And all that blood…" Fear ran its icy fingers down my spine. I tried to swivel my head in the direction of her voice, but another sickening wave of pain surged through me. Dizzy, I closed my eyes again, thankful there wasn't any music playing in here. My head was already throbbing in time with the distant beat of the Lil Wayne song that blared from the main room's speakers.

  "An ambulance is on the way," another woman replied. I sensed someone leaning over me and opened an eye to peer up at the brunette bartender I'd spoken to before. "You're gonna be all right, sugar," she said. "Can you talk?"

  "Mrrph," I replied.

  She pursed her lips, her expression grim. "I'll take that as a no." She placed a cool hand on my forehead, and it felt like pure heaven. I made another noise that I hoped conveyed my gratitude. "Hang in there, darlin'," she said.

  "Stay with her, Jessa," said the other woman again, her voice sparking recognition. Though I couldn't see her, it sounded like Coral.

  A door opened somewhere close by. "Hey," called a man's voice. "There are some ladies out here that said they know her." The music crescendoed (and with it, the angry swarm of bees buzzing around inside my head) as the door opened wider.

  "They were with her when she ordered drinks from me at the bar," Jessa confirmed. A stampede of heels clattered toward me, each little click-clack against the floor driving through my brain like a railroad spike. I grunted my displeasure.

  "Ameli
a!" Kat's piercing cry drove the spike deeper, making my vision swim again. "She's bleeding." Kat stooped beside me where I lay. Realizing I was on one of the icky black leather couches, my nausea doubled. "Are you all right?" Kat asked. I gave an involuntary shudder and rolled onto my side, yakking all over her shoes. Lucky for her that they were close-toed.

  "Ew!" someone shrieked behind Kat. In the throes of my mind-crippling headache, I couldn't be positive who had screamed. It sounded like Ginger.

  "Gross," Bronwyn murmured.

  Kat and I had taken turns holding each other's hair back in college after late nights of parties and too many vodka Red Bulls, so she was unfazed by my digestive pyrotechnics. Or, at least, she was more upset about the blood. I yowled at the biting pain that came when she touched her fingertips to the top of my head. She drew her hand back and held it up so I could see the thick, dark blood coating her digits. "You're probably gonna need stitches," she said. Kat pulled a pack of tissues out of her purse and cleaned her hand. Then she wiped the spittle from my mouth before stooping to clean my puddle of sick off her shoes.

  "Ohmigod! What happened to her?" came Suzie's voice in a high pitch bordering on hysteria.

  "Someone whacked your friend on the head," said Jessa the Bartender. "I went out to the parkin' lot for my smoke break and found her on the ground covered in blood and yellow and pink feathers. It looked like someone had slaughtered Big Bird. One of the glass candleholders from our ladies' room was smashed next to her."

  Yellow feathers? The restroom candleholder? I struggled to hold up my head and look around the room. My gaze landed on Ginger, who was still teetering slightly as she stared down at me. The yellow boa was no longer around her neck. "Her," I managed weakly.

  Everyone turned to look at Ginger. Her eyes grew as round as saucers. "Me?" she protested. "I didn't do anything—I was tossing up my last martini in one of the bathroom stalls." Her cheeks flushed at the confession.

  "Where's your boa?" Bronwyn asked her. "The yellow feather boa you were wearing before, when we got here."

  "I-I don't know," Ginger stammered. "It must have slipped off in the restroom."

  "Save it, lady." Lenny the Bouncer stepped forward and gripped her arms, wrenching them behind her back.

  "Let go of me!" Ginger protested. "I didn't attack Amelia." She looking wildly around the room of accusing faces. Turning her head toward Suzie, she said, "You believe me, don't you, Suz?" Suzie's face pinched, and she dropped her gaze to the floor as she backed away from Ginger.

  "I already called 9-1-1," Coral said. "An ambulance and the police should be here any minute."

  Bronwyn sucked in a breath. She stooped down next to Kat and me. "If the Sarge finds out I was here, I'll be grounded till Nickelback wins a Grammy."

  Kat snorted. "That'll never happen."

  "Exactly." Bron grimaced. "Which means I'll be grounded forever."

  EMTs burst through the door right then, and I was strapped to a gurney and carried off to the waiting ambulance. Because they couldn't tell the severity of my head trauma, the medics insisted on rushing me to the ER. Coral and Jessa followed us out, promising that Lenny would detain Ginger until the police arrived. Bronwyn called Reese to let the guys know what happened and that she was taking Suzie back to Kat's place. My bestie gave Bron her house key and accompanied me to the hospital, riding in the front of the ambulance.

  Kat and I spent the next two hours at the Emory University Hospital. One CT scan, four stitches, and a hefty hospital bill later, I was cleared to be discharged. Though I didn't have a concussion, I was instructed to use a cold compress and take it easy for the next couple of days. "Don't stress yourself," the doctor said, his serious blue eyes boring into mine. "Get plenty of rest, and avoid stressful situations."

  I blinked at him and then exchanged a look with Kat. Clearly he didn't know whom he was talking to. Asking me to "avoid stressful situations" was like asking the sky not to rain. I wasn't always blameless, but sometimes trouble just found me.

  "You'll also need someone to stay with you for the next forty-eight hours, just to make sure your symptoms don't worsen," he continued. The doctor held out a bottle of prescription painkillers, and I eagerly grabbed for it. "One more thing," he said, pulling them out of my reach at the last second.

  My hand closed around the empty air, and my face clouded. "What?" I groused.

  The doctor gave me a pitying look. "Since you've been drinking alcohol, I'm afraid you'll have to wait at least another hour or two before you can take one of these." He handed the pills to Kat, who dropped them into her purse. "There is only one hydrocodone tablet in that bottle, which is enough to get you through tonight. You'll need to go by a pharmacy in the morning to fill the full prescription. I've also prescribed some antibiotic topical cream to keep your stitches from getting infected."

  The man offered me a wheelchair, but I refused with an irritated shake of my head. Instead, I shambled down the hallway, cursing under my breath as Kat walked patiently beside me. I reached up to feel the top of my head. There was a two-inch patch where the doctor had shaved my head to apply the sutures. I ran my fingers over the tiny bristles of hair that remained and felt hot tears sting my eyes. Not only was my scalp still excruciatingly tender, but I had a bald spot. "I look like a freak," I muttered tearfully.

  "Aww, it's not so bad." Kat slid an arm around me as we slowly made our way down the hall. "You can just part your hair differently and it'll cover it right up—or hell, why not just shave the whole right side of your hair and leave the left side long? It's what all the hipsters are doing nowadays." I gave Kat a dark look. "Aw, come on," she said, nudging me gently with her elbow. "Laughter is the best medicine, right?"

  "Not nearly as effective as that painkiller is going to be." Detective Ben Dixon walked through the electric sliding doors just as we reached the lobby. I pulled away from Kat. "Can you find a ride home?" I asked. "I imagine I'm going to be here a while longer."

  Kat put her hands on her hips. "I'll wait. You can't be alone for the next forty-eight hours, remember?"

  I chewed my lip. "Right. Well, hang tight, then. I need to check out and then give Dixon my statement about what happened tonight. At least he's less likely to flip the interrogation switch on me this time around."

  "Cool. I'm going to find a drink machine, then," Kat said. "Somewhere in this hospital, there's a Diet Coke with my name on it. I'll meet you back here." She turned and retraced her steps down the hall.

  I caught Dixon's attention with a little wave of my hand and then motioned to the front counter. The detective came to stand beside me as I flipped through the small stack of medical paperwork, scribbling my signature at the bottom of each page. "We have got to stop meeting like this," he said, a playful smile touching his face. The humor quickly drained from his expression when he got a closer look at the sutures holding my scalp together. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in this throat. "That had to hurt."

  "Understatement of the night."

  The detective nodded, his expression sympathetic. "I know you're probably exhausted," he began. "But I'm going to need to get your statement while it's still fresh in your memory."

  "As long as I can get some coffee first," I said. Between the cocktails and the near concussion, my eyelids felt like they were made of lead.

  "Let's grab a cup in the cafeteria, then," Dixon suggested. When I'd completed my paperwork, he led me through a set of double doors and down another hallway. The hospital cafeteria was mostly empty at a quarter till two on a Wednesday morning. Our only company in the large room was two doctors huddled in a corner with their own cups of joe and a blonde nurse who appeared to be catching a quick nap, her eyes closed as she rested her head on the table. A thin stream of drool trickled down her bottom lip, and she was snoring softly.

  "You know the drill," Dixon said as we sat down at an empty table in the opposite corner. He took a sip from his Styrofoam cup and then wiped droplets of coffee from his mustache w
ith one hand. "Walk me through what happened tonight. Why were you at the Saucy Minx?"

  "Bachelorette party for Jack's fiancée."

  The detective pursed his lips. "Am I supposed to believe it's a coincidence that you picked the one strip club in town that employs a person of interest in my murder investigation?"

  "Is Coral still a person of interest? Ginger's the one who just tried to split my head open." I sipped my own steaming cup of coffee and felt the blissfully hot liquid slide down my throat.

  "Ginger Robbins has been taken into custody," Dixon said. "And I'll question her when I get back to the station. But I still have to explore every possibility. There were no witnesses, and from my understanding, you didn't see your attacker."

  I shook my head, my stomach twisting in a knot worthy of a Girl Scout badge. "But her yellow feather boa was found outside with me—and so was a glass candleholder from the ladies' room. That's the last place I saw her."

  Dixon nodded. "Circumstantial evidence." He set down his cup and stared, his expression calm but intense. "What I need to know is why she attacked you. I'm willing to bet it wasn't because you cut in front of her in line at the bar." The detective reached for the notepad in his shirt pocket. "I think you know something that she doesn't want anyone else to find out."

  I shrugged, dropping my gaze to the table. "I don't have anything concrete," I said.

  Dixon must not have believed me. He studied me for a few moments, eyes narrowed. Then his expression softened, and he leaned forward in his chair. "Work with me here, Amelia. Look, I'm not upset that you've been running your own little side investigation. I understand. I can tell you to stay out of this all day long, but your friends are involved, and you want to help. So I'm giving you the chance to do that."

  I stared at him with one eyebrow cocked. "What do you mean?"

  "You were an asset to us in tracking down your boss's killer last fall. I think you could help me find out what really happened to Sid Malone. So consider this your free pass—if there's something you've discovered that you haven't already told me, now's the time to spill."