Murder at Castle Rock Read online

  As I reviewed my mental checklist for Bobby's arrival for a third time, Kat sashayed into the restaurant, wearing her usual broad grin. "Sorry I'm late," she said breathlessly. She slid into the booth across from me. "I got sidetracked. You know how it is on the day of a big show."

  "Uh-huh." I arched one eyebrow and gave her a knowing look. "So, who is he?"

  Kat had been reaching across the table to snag a pepperoni from my pizza. She froze mid-grab and looked up at me. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, but the blush of her cheeks and sheepish tone of her voice begged to differ.

  "Right." I smirked. "Didn't you get my text?"

  Kat shook her head and looked down at her phone. "Damn spotty reception! I don't have any new messages." She avoided my eyes.

  "So, tell me about the new guy! Not just any man could make you late for happy hour. He must be one hot piece of—"

  My words died in my throat when I saw the look on Kat's face. Her features twisted with an emotion that I couldn't quite identify. Sadness? Anger? Regret? "It was nobody," she said quietly.

  "Wait a sec." A light bulb flashed in my head. That look had definitely been one of regret, which could only mean… "Oh, Kat, you didn't." I cringed. "It wasn't Bradley, was it? The guy from the bar last week?" Bradley was the creepy guy with a lisp and overactive sweat glands that had followed her around like a puppy when we met up for drinks at The Cavern, our favorite afterhours haunt. She'd ignored him for most of the night—but maybe, if she'd had a few more tequila cocktails after I left…Yuck. "You could do so much better."

  "Ew! No!" Kat crinkled her nose, offended. "Jeez, Ame, I have standards." She sighed and gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "Look, it's just a little fling. Not worth mentioning." She offered me an innocent smile. "Besides, there are definitely more important things we need to talk about—like the fact that Bobby Freaking Glitter is going to be here in an just over an hour! Can you believe it?"

  Hmm. It wasn't like Kat to avoid talking about the men in her life. It was usually her favorite topic, yet she'd just shut down my questions twice in the past five minutes. I'd figured with the dating dry spell we'd both been suffering over the past six months, she would be dying to dish about the mystery man. Why was she suddenly so secretive?

  Not wanting to pry—she'd tell me when she was ready, right? I turned my thoughts back to Bobby's arrival. My inner fan-girl came rushing back with a giddy vengeance. "I'm so pumped!" I gushed, feeling like we were back in high school all over again.

  Kat clapped her hands merrily. "We're just like Liv Tyler and Renee Zellweger in Empire Records!" she squealed, referencing our all-time favorite movie. I did feel a little like Liv's character, Corey, when the day finally arrived for her long-time celebrity crush, Rex, to perform at the record store where she worked. I only hoped that meeting Bobby wouldn't turn out to be as much of a disappointment as Rex was for Corey.

  "Do you think I can handle a week this huge?" I asked, taking my own turn at changing the subject. "We've got a sold-out show tonight, Wednesday, and Friday. That's three times the chance for something to go wrong." The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and my nerves fluttered like spastic butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I suddenly wasn't hungry anymore. I pushed my plate of pizza across the table towards Kat just as Sharon swooped in to place an empty glass in front of her.

  "Thanks!" Kat said, smiling at us both. She grabbed the pitcher of sangria and filled her cup, then took a bite of pizza. Her blue eyes locked with mine. "Sweetie," she said through a mouthful of crust, "you've got this. The will call list is ready, and all of the other tickets were mailed weeks ago. The sound and light crews are at the venue setting up right now, and Bobby is gonna freak when he sees the sweet set-up you've got for him in the green room! You've done an amazing job."

  "Thanks. I needed that." I gulped down the last of my second drink and emptied the pitcher into my glass. I crumpled my napkin into a ball in my hand as I stared down at the table. "It's just that I've been looking forward to this for so long, and with my review coming up next week, the stakes are high. I've psyched myself out, I guess."

  "Typical you," Kat scoffed. "Girl, you need to relax! By the Grace of Amelia, everything will be fine!" she added, using her favorite play on my name.

  "By the grace of me, my ass!" I rolled my eyes and playfully threw my napkin ball at her, hitting her square in the nose as she sipped her sangria. She snorted and splattered the drink all over herself. I cringed as the burgundy liquid seeped into her blue Foo Fighters tee.

  "Son of a…now I'm gonna have to change!" She swore under her breath as she dabbed a napkin at a few dark circles that were spreading on her sleeve.

  "You could always wear the new Castle Rockettes tee," I said, smirking.

  "You're so funny," Kat said, deadpan. "Not gonna happen. I'll just run home and change." She checked her watch. "Will you cover for me until I get back? If I go now I think I can beat rush hour traffic."

  "Sure, no problem."

  Kat grinned. "You're the best! I'll see you back at Castle Rock in an hour—an hour and fifteen, tops." She bolted from the restaurant just as Sharon was rounding the corner with our checks.

  The waitress raised an eyebrow and inclined her head toward the window, where Kat's black Honda Civic could be seen speeding out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell. "Where's the fire?"

  "She had a wardrobe emergency." I gestured to the purple-stained napkins that lay in a puddle of drink on the other side of the table. Sharon clicked her tongue as she pulled out a stack of extra napkins. I took them and handed her my credit card. "Put both checks on my card, please, Shar. I'll clean up the mess." I began sopping up the remaining puddle.

  Five minutes later, I smiled to myself as I strolled toward the door. Sharon was a huge Bobby Glitter fan, so I'd stashed away a pair of tickets for her before the first show sold out. I placed them on table along with her tip. She squealed in delight as she spotted them. "Oh, Amelia!" she cried after me. "Thank you so much!"

  "Enjoy the show." I gave her a wave and then ducked out of the restaurant and into the bright sunlight.

  I walked back to work at a leisurely pace, enjoying the view of the Atlanta skyline as I climbed the hill on North Avenue. The beams of sunlight breaking through the cityscape gave the buildings a heavenly glow, and the glass windows shimmered like a sea of diamonds in the distance. I love this city, I thought. And I love my job—and dammit, I'm good at it. Kat's right—everything will be fine. This is going to be a week I'll never forget.

  CHAPTER TWO

  An hour and a half later, I was standing in front of Castle Rock, waiting for Bobby and his entourage to arrive. The happy hour haze had faded, and my nerves were taking over again. It didn't help that Bobby was late. Are they lost? Did the driver pass the venue by mistake?

  I knew I was overreacting. It was nearly impossible to miss a building like ours. Castle Rock was named for its resemblance to a sixteenth century European gothic castle. It looked as though it belonged on the set of Dracula, or maybe atop a creepy mountain on a dark and stormy night. The castle was built of dark grey ashlar stones, some slightly crumbled around the edges to give it a more mysterious and spooky appearance. There were two large columns on either side of the entrance, each topped with pointed arches. Rock stars and fans alike were attracted to the dark, dramatic building that looked as if it were home to underground crypts, torch-lit stairwells, and maybe even a ghost or two.

  Of course, there were no gargoyles, crypts, or creepy crawlies—and the only "Dungeon" around was the aptly named stage on the ground floor of the venue. There was one mysterious feature of the castle that stood out from the rest, though. The rear wing of the building featured a grand, round tower that was connected to the castle proper by stairwells that fed into its spiral staircase from the first and second floors. The tower extended high above the rest of the venue with a door that opened into a room and balcony that were off-limits to concert patrons. Th
e majestic structure was mainly an aesthetic contribution to the authentic castle-like appearance of the building, with two red flags emblazoned with black guitars hanging from its front windows. The large flags and the electric, neon red "Castle Rock" sign could be seen from several blocks over. The only way Bobby's driver could miss this place was if he were driving blindfolded.

  As if on cue, a black tour bus pulled up and came to a stop on the side street next to Castle Rock. A short, grey-haired man in a tattered brown suit emerged "Hi there!" he called, hurrying toward me. "I'm Shawn Stone, Bobby's manager." He flashed me a wide smile, and his impossibly white teeth gleamed in the afternoon sun.

  I returned his grin—after all, this was the man who had insisted that Bobby shoot his tour video at Castle Rock. Though his appearance didn't scream Money!, the man was paying more than triple our fee for each performance. Mr. Stone had handed me the deal that would set me up to earn my promotion next week. I almost wanted to hug him.

  I offered him my hand. "I'm Amelia Grace. We spoke on the phone when you first booked Bobby's shows. It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

  "Ey! Stone!" A husky British voice bellowed from somewhere inside the bus. Bobby Glitter?

  I released Stone's hand and straightened my posture, nervously running my fingers through my auburn hair. I frowned down at my outfit. I'd reluctantly changed into the horrible new staff shirt—which, as I suspected, was several sizes too small. I stretched it out as best I could and buried it under my grey blazer. The shirt had begun riding back up above my navel, and I tugged it down to meet the top of my jeans.

  My jaw nearly dropped down to the gravel as a gorgeous man stepped off the tour bus and began walking toward us. He was average height, with a stocky, muscular build, short black hair, and eyes like sparkling emeralds. It took a moment for my mind to catch up to my hormones, and I realized with disappointment that this man was much too young to be Bobby Glitter.

  "Hi," the beautiful man said when he reached us. His sultry baritone voice held no trace of the British accent I'd heard calling from the bus a moment before.

  "Hi—," I echoed, but my voice failed me as his hand closed over mine. A tingly sensation shot from my fingers down to my toes, and I swallowed hard.

  He didn't seem to notice. "I'm Jared Flynn, Bobby's bass player." Though his voice was warm, there was something guarded and mysterious behind his eyes. Excitement mixed with fear deep in my core. Was it my imagination, or was there something dangerous about him?

  Dangerous but dreamy, I thought as I studied him for a moment longer. He had full lips, sexy dimples, and a strong, square jaw peppered with a light layer of stubble. I knew that Bobby hired a couple of supporting band members for his tour, but I'd pictured a couple of greasy, old roadies. I hadn't expected someone so yummy.

  I was less than thrilled when a cheap-looking blonde appeared suddenly on the bus stairs and slunk toward Jared, wrapping her arms around him suggestively. Sigh. The hot ones are always taken.

  "This is Candy James," Jared introduced her.

  "Hiya," Candy said, smacking a mouthful of bubble gum. She stroked Jared's arm and narrowed her eyes, giving me a He's mine! kind of look. I forced a polite smile back at her.

  A thin wiry man shuffled off the bus and strode wordlessly past us. He leaned against the back of the bus and stooped down to retrieve a pack of Marlboro Reds from his boot. "That's Cliff Rogen, the drummer," Candy rasped. "He don't talk much."

  "Stone!" There was that hoarse, British voice again. "Where are my bloody cigarettes?" A lanky figure emerged from the depths of the bus, and my heart hammered in my chest. I had waited years for this moment.

  My excitement was short-lived. Photographs of Bobby Glitter in magazines showed a sexy British stud with wavy, jet black hair, sharp cheekbones, and smoldering, midnight blue eyes. The man on the bus steps was tall and lanky with stringy black-grey hair that hung limply in his face. His cheeks were sunken, and his face had the gaunt, hollow look of drug addiction. The man's once-dark eyes were cloudy and dulled from a drunken stupor. My heart sank.

  Bobby staggered off the bus and lost his balance, pitching forward down the steps and nearly falling face-first on the street. He found his footing at the last second and clumsily straightened himself before leering down at me. His eyes roved over my chest, and I pulled my blazer closed. "Who is this lovely young bird?" he crooned, stretching his thin lips in an eerie smile.

  This was the man whose picture I'd cut out and secretly carried around in my compact mirror in tenth grade? Ick! Eyes on the prize, Ame, I reminded myself of the promotion. Don't screw this up. I recovered from my disgust quickly—and hopefully unnoticeably—and extended my hand to the aging pop star. "We're so honored that you've chosen to shoot your tour video here at Castle Rock!" I smiled graciously at them all and turned to lead the way into the venue. "Come on. I'll show you around and then take you to the green room to get settled before sound check."

  "And maybe after the show, you could come back to my suite at the hotel. We could dig into the mini-bar and then hit the hot tub…see where the night takes us." He squeezed one eye shut in a creepy wink.

  Promotion. Promotion. Promotion. The word echoed in my head like a mantra as I fought off my gag reflex. "I appreciate the offer, Mr. Glitter, but—"

  "Please, love, call me Bobby." He bounced his bushy black eyebrows up and down.

  Jared watched our exchange with a look of amusement. "Don't give her too much trouble yet, Bob. It's only Monday. You've got a whole week to chase skirts." Though he was smiling, his voice carried an undertone of warning. His green eyes found mine, and I felt my cheeks flush. Candy stepped between us, glaring. I had a feeling she and I weren't going to be best buds anytime soon.

  "Right this way, folks," I said, ignoring her. Cliff, the curly-haired Marlboro Man, snuffed out his cigarette and joined the group as I lead the five of them through the entrance to Castle Rock.

  The front of the venue boasted a huge wooden door with a large brass knocker like you might see on a real castle. While there were other entrances to the building—a smaller door in the front, one on the west side, and also an employee-only exit in the back—this was the way that concertgoers entered the venue for a show. People loved the novelty of it, and I'd seen countless patrons stop to snap a photo in the doorway. Everyone felt like rock royalty when that large door opened to grant them entrance to Castle Rock.

  "This place sure is fancy," Candy said, awestruck. She tilted her face upward to gawk at the architecture.

  "How regal," Shawn remarked. His eyes roved slowly over each stone, and he rubbed his hands together. I thought I even saw him lick his lips as he gazed up at the tower. I was glad he was pleased to have such a unique location for Bobby's video shoot.

  I chuckled. "Oh, you ain't seen nothin' yet!" I pulled open the large wooden door and ushered them into the entrance hall.

  While the exterior of the building was quite a sight, the venue's interior was the real spectacle. From the outward appearance of the castle, one might expect a lavish entrance hall with a beautiful crystal chandelier and a mile of gaudy red carpet—but the authenticity of the castle-like appearance didn't reach past the main door. We had a red carpet, alright—but the black-light bulbs from the floor lights made the chintzy tapestry take on more of a deep purple hue. The chandelier that hung high above the hall wasn't made of colorless crystals, either. Instead, it was comprised of bright multi-colored transparent gems. They reflected a rainbow of colors that danced along the walls as the light fixture swayed slightly from the air current created by opening and closing the front doors.

  "Sweet window art," Jared said. He ran his fingers gently over one of the stained-glass windows in the entrance hall. There were two of these windows; one was built into the wall on either side of the front hallway, with floodlights set up below each to illuminate their rock-themed designs. One window featured a winged blue electric guitar soaring high above a lake of fire, while the ot
her depicted a red guitar placed on a golden throne, with waves of musical notes floating away from it down a red carpet.

  "Those were designed by Jackson Deering, the original owner of Castle Rock," I explained. Jackson, Parker's father, passed away two years ago and left the venue to his son.

  I turned back to smile at Jared and found that Candy and Bobby had wedged themselves between us. Cliff shuffled behind them, looking disinterested, and Shawn brought up the rear as he carefully inspected his surroundings. I stifled a sigh and led them down the hall to the downstairs stage.

  Forty-five minutes later, we stood in the green room with cold beers in hand, having wrapped up our tour of the venue. After dodging several more drunken propositions from Bobby, I was relieved to see Laura Holly step through the door. Laura was our most popular bartender. Some nights she had customers lined up twenty deep just to order a drink from her.

  Since I'd last seen her at Camila's over lunch, Laura had changed from jeans and sweater into a tight, black leather skirt and the Castle Rockettes baby tee. It was also too short for her, but she didn't seem to mind baring a little extra skin. She'd cut the sleeves off, and it looked more like a bra than a tank top.

  "Hi, y'all," she cooed in a twangy Southern accent. I knew the drawl was one hundred and ten percent fake, reserved for coaxing customers to drop an extra dollar or two into the tip jar. Patrons weren't crazy about her tough-girl Boston accent, so she'd adopted her own version of a sweet Georgia lilt. I wasn't a fan. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends here, Amelia?" She drew out each syllable of my name, "A-meee-leee-yaaa," in a singsong drawl that drove me nuts.

  "Everyone, this is Laura Holly, one of our bartenders. She'll be happy to bring you more drinks."