Murder at Castle Rock Page 4

  At the end of the hall, we climbed the employee-only stairwell to the green room and backstage area of High Court. I motioned for Tim and Cody to hang back as I knocked on the door. It was best not to just barge in on a temperamental rocker like Bobby. He was probably in the middle of some bizarre pre-show ritual, and the odds were good that it was something young Cody shouldn't see.

  Sure enough, there was a loud snorting sound, followed a sputtering cough. "Bobby," I called through the door. "Your pizza is here." There was a scraping noise and another snort, and then someone shuffled hastily toward the door.

  Bobby flung open the door and glared at me from the threshold. "I'm not hungry," he snapped.

  The aging rocker's face was caked with a thick layer of stage makeup, though no amount of concealer could hide his wrinkles. Dark eyeliner drew even more attention to the crow's feet developing at the corners of his eyes, and the smudged lip liner on his mouth was several shades too bright. His outfit was even more ridiculous. Bobby wore a velour lime green tracksuit with glittery black lining stitched down the side. A pair of shiny, black vinyl boots completed the ensemble.

  I gaped at him, momentarily speechless. The Pop Rock Prince looked like he was ready to play Dungeons and Drag Queens, not please a sold-out crowd of music fans.

  From behind me, Cody snickered. "What are you laughing at?" Bobby demanded, glowering at the teen.

  My gaze traveled past Bobby into the green room. The rest of the band was nowhere to be seen. Beer cans littered the floor by the couch, and a half-empty bottle of scotch sat on the dressing table next to a rolled-up dollar bill and small lines of a powdery white substance. I glanced back at Bobby. There was a faint dusting of white underneath his left nostril.

  "I'll take those," I said to Cody, who was craning his neck to peek into the green room. Taking the stack of pizza boxes from him, I moved to block his view of the drugs and booze, giving Bobby a disapproving look. If he got too loaded to perform tonight, my career was toast.

  "Can I have your autograph?" Cody asked the rocker, awestruck.

  Bobby grinned down at the teen. "A fan, eh?" He grabbed the pen and pizza receipt from Cody and began scribbling. "Who should I make it out to?"

  "My mom, Virginia. She's never gonna believe I met Keith Richards!"

  Anger pulled the wrinkles on Bobby's face tight. He stopped scribbling and crumbled the receipt into a ball, tossing it and the pen over his shoulder and onto the green room floor. "Beat it, you sodding pussbucket!" He screamed. Tim and I were pushed aside as Cody scrambled toward the stairs.

  "Same old Bobby," Tim chuckled. He offered the rocker his hand. "Got a few minutes to catch up with an old friend?" He pulled out his recorder.

  Bobby ignored Tim's waiting hand. "Sorry, mate. I don't have time for has-been journalists. I've got a show to prepare for—so piss off!" He slammed the door in our faces.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I turned to Tim, mortified. What if he dissed Castle Rock on air because one of our acts wouldn't give him an interview? Gulp. I could see my job going down in flames if I didn't fix this. "I am so, so sorry, Mr. Scott," I stammered. "I'm sure he's just suffering pre-show nerves."

  "Right," Tim said dryly. He wasn't stupid—he'd seen Bobby's "refreshments," too. Tim opened his mouth and then closed it, his narrow face reddening. After a moment, he sighed. "It's fine—I should have expected as much, really. He's still sore about Tommy Lee's birthday bash back in '99. We were both after the same girl, and I came out on top. Well, she was on top, if memory serves me right…Ah, sweet Carla. Or was it Charlotte?" He grinned and bit his lip, lost in a lusty reverie. Ew.

  Jared Flynn strode down the hall with Candy on his arm. Cliff was right behind them. The drummer stopped to grab the pizza boxes from me and nodded a silent thank-you before scooting into the green room. Jared held the door open to let Candy slink through and then paused in the threshold. He regarded Tim and me with an apologetic look.

  "Don't let him get you riled up, man," he said to Tim. "Bobby's not a big fan of reporters. It's nothing personal."

  Shawn stalked up the stairs and stopped at the green room door, panting as he caught his breath. "Sorry about that, Miss Grace. I could hear him yelling halfway down the staircase." He shook his head. "I can't leave that man-child alone for more than five minutes…" I had a feeling this wasn't the first time he'd had to apologize for strung out Bobby Glitter. Poor guy.

  Stone smiled apologetically at Tim. "I'll talk some sense into Bobby, and we'll reschedule for another time this week. Lord knows he could use the positive press." He reached for his wallet and began thumbing through a stack of twenties.

  Tim held up a hand to stop him. "I don't let money sway my journalistic integrity," he said, and I admired him for it. "But if you will get Glitter to agree to an interview this week, I'll look past this unfortunate incident."

  "Deal." Shawn offered his hand, and they shook on it. With a look at Jared, he added, "I'll get the whole band to sit down with you."

  The handsome bass guitarist nodded. "Whatever the boss man says." The tension in my chest eased. With Tim pacified, the night was back on track. I flashed Jared a grateful smile. His green eyes met mine, and his lips curled in a smile that turned my insides to mush. Seriously, how could Kat not find him delicious?

  "I appreciate it," Tim said. "I'll have my assistant call and set something up before the week's end—once Glitter comes down off his high horse."

  Parker rounded the top of the stairwell then with a sour look on his face His gaze came to rest on Shawn, and his upper lip curled into a sneer. Stone's cheeks burned crimson. He excused himself before taking off down the hall after my angry boss. "Either we have a deal or we don't," I heard Stone growl. "What happens next is up to you."

  I flicked a glance from Sean and my retreating boss back to Tim. I didn't want to ditch the deejay right after Bobby had just given him the brush off, but I needed to smooth over whatever trouble was brewing between Parker and Stone. I opened my mouth to excuse myself from Tim when Jared spoke up.

  "Sounds like Stone's being his usual over-demanding self," he muttered. "I'll handle it." A cloud settled over his handsome features, and he avoided my gaze as he took off after the arguing men.

  "Miss Grace," Tim said, then cleared his throat. "If it's alright with you, I'd like to salvage the night by at least grabbing a few sound bytes of Glitter's performance for Tune Talks."

  "Of course." I nodded, my gaze still fixed on the three other men as they disappeared around the corner. What was that about? I shook my head to clear it and turned my full attention back to Tim. "Let's go find you a good spot in the wings."

  Tim's face lit up. "That would be wonderful! Thank you." He pressed his headset to his ear and spoke into the mic. "Tony, it's a no-go on the interview tonight. We'll be re-scheduling something with Glitter hopefully by Wednesday. I'm going to hang back and get some sound clips for the show, so you can break down the broadcast equipment and just do some T-shirt or CD giveaways."

  I heard Tony's smooth, sexy voice come in over the receiver. "Roger that. Just radio me if there's anything I can do to help out inside." I can think of a few things he could help me out with. I had to turn my head so Tim wouldn't notice me blush. No. No, no, no. It was Night One of Bobby Glitter Week. It didn't matter that the rocker had turned out to be a pervy, strung-out jerk. His set was scheduled to begin within the hour, and the show must go on. The future of my career depended on it. I couldn't let hot radio techs and bass players distract me. It's go time.

  I escorted Tim to find a comfortable viewing spot in the wings and then hurried downstairs to Parker's office. In all the chaos, I'd almost forgotten I had a box full of tiny T-shirts to dispose of. The door to his office was open, and I was surprised to find Reese Martin sitting in the green overstuffed guest chair. "What are you doing in here?" I asked. "Shouldn't you be out front checking IDs?"

  Reese rose from the chair, his large frame towering over me. "On my break,"
he said, his green eyes looking past me to the door. "The line died down a bit, so Bron offered to check them at the box office while I took five." He frowned. "I need to talk to Parker."

  "What about?"

  Reese's blond curls swayed as he shook his head. "Doesn't matter. It'll have to wait—my break's over." He stalked out of the office before I could get another word in. I chewed my lip. Reese was normally a warm, friendly guy. First Parker, then Kat, now Reese—hell, even Bronwyn had seemed a little moodier than usual—why was everyone acting so out of character? And on today of all days? Were they trying to give me a heart attack on Bobby's opening night?

  I hoisted the T-shirt box into my arms and balanced it on one knee as I pulled Parker's door closed behind me. The box was heavier than I'd expected. By the time I'd lugged it to the end of the hall, I was panting. The stairs looked a lot steeper than usual. "How much can a stack of baby tees weigh?" I muttered, setting the box down so I could wipe the sweat off my brow. "They're not even whole shirts."

  "Need a hand?" The voice startled me. I whirled around, catching my foot on the shirt box and nearly tripping myself again. Jared Flynn closed the short gap between us and caught me around the waist before I could topple over. His grip eased as I steadied myself, and I felt a blush creep up my neck. How long had he been behind me in the hall? Now he's going to think I'm some weak weirdo who talks to herself.

  "Thanks," I said meekly as I stooped to pick up the box.

  "Here, let me." Jared reached down and effortlessly scooped it out of my arms. Seeing the look of embarrassment on my face, he smiled. "For what it's worth, it is heavier than it looks."

  "What are you doing down here?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "Looking for you, actually."

  My heart gave an anxious thump. Something must be wrong. Bobby's too drunk to play, or we don't have all the right equipment backstage, or— I shut out the panicked voice in my brain. "Whatever it is, I'll take care of it," I said.

  "Relax," Jared chuckled. "Nothing's wrong—that's actually what I came to tell you. You seemed wound pretty tight upstairs before, and I knew you were probably still worrying about Stone's little spat with your boss. I just wanted you to know that everything is okay."

  "Oh." A wave of relief crashed over me. Another crisis averted. I met Jared's gaze. "Do I really seem that wound up?"

  Jared nodded. "Between Bobby's little episode and Stone's squabble with Deering, you looked like you were about to have a heart attack."

  I grimaced. "I've just got a lot riding on this week," I admitted. "Are you sure everything is alright between Shawn and Parker? Do you know what they were arguing about?"

  The handsome bass player shrugged. "Just a small discrepancy in our contract. It's taken care of now." He took a step toward the stairs and turned back to me. "Where to?"

  "The merch table at the back of the main room, near the bar."

  "Yes ma'am." Jared grinned and shifted the box to one arm, giving me a mock salute with the other. He climbed the stairs toward High Court, leaving me alone in the stairwell. I frowned after him. I'd been the one to negotiate Bobby's contract, not Parker. Was that really all they'd been arguing about?

  Relax. I tried to shake off my concern. It made perfect sense for Shawn to take up contractual issues with Parker—he was the owner, after all. It wasn't out of the ordinary for managers to try and weasel their way into a few extra dollars or a hotel room upgrade once we met them face-to-face. Parker wouldn't blame me for that. The show-time stress was just getting to me.

  I headed backstage and peeked past the curtain into High Court. The enormous room had a high-vaulted ceiling painted a dark, royal blue with thousands of white and silver stars. Fifty rows of seats filled the back half of the floor, and the bar lined the back wall. The rest of the space between the seats and the stage was standing room only, and that area was already packed.

  I pushed through the curtain to enter the main room. My appearance on the stage was met first with an excited roar of cheers and applause, followed quickly by collective groaning as the crowd realized that the show wasn't starting just yet. Whoops. I hopped down from the stage and walked along the barrier rail to the edge of the crowd, then slowly made my way through the mass of people.

  Many teenagers milled about, some who wanted to be there and others who were dragged along by their excited parents. Baby boomers stood at the bar, ready to relive their glory days watching one of the great performers of their younger years. I rolled my eyes at a group of girls that stumbled by. They were what the Castle Rock staff referred to as "candy kids." You know the type—uber-skinny teens or twenty-somethings stumbling about, high as kites on whatever designer drug was all the rage that week, scantily clad in bright, neon-colored bands around their chests (They made the Castle Rockettes shirts look modest.) and bright fishnet tights, with furry boots up to their knees. These girls would fit right in on stage with Bobby and his ridiculous velour tracksuit.

  I found a spot along the back wall by the bar and watched Laura as she worked her magic on the two young men at her end of the counter. She playfully twirled a strand of her dark hair around her index finger and gave one of them a wink as she slid his glass of whiskey across the bar. "Keep the change, sugar," he said with a dopey grin. He handed her a fifty-dollar bill—that's right, fifty.

  I frowned, thinking of her poor Reese, out of sight and out of mind as he checked IDs downstairs. What would he think if he walked in right now and saw his girlfriend chatting it up with a couple of frat guys? I didn't think Laura had ever done more than a little innocent flirting with our patrons, but she certainly had a wandering eye. Reese was admirably loyal to her. He deserved more respect.

  The house lights dimmed a few short minutes later, and the crowd erupted in applause. Chants of "Glitter! Glitter!" emanated throughout the room as the curtains slowly opened to reveal Bobby, illuminated in a single spotlight with his head bowed and guitar in hand. The rocker lifted his head and blew a kiss to the crowd—Sharon, the waitress from Camila's, later swore it was to her, specifically. He turned to face one of the cameramen on the left side of stage.

  "Are you ready to rock?" he called in a singsong voice.

  The crowd ate it up, screaming, whistling, and cheering.

  "We love you, Bobby!" someone shouted. The old rock star winked at the crowd and did a quick little two-step to the other side of the stage, where another spotlight shone down to reveal Jared. He'd changed into tight, dark jeans and a black tank top that showcased his sculpted arms. Mmm. Bobby then pranced backward on the stage and bowed toward another light that beamed down on Cliff at the drums, still wearing his sunglasses and spinning his drumsticks around his index fingers.

  "Let's do this!" Bobby screamed. "A-one! A-two! A-one-two-three-four—"

  * * *

  Nearly two hours into the set, I was dancing my heart out and singing along as Bobby whipped the crowd into a frenzy. Despite his despicable behavior before, I had to admit that he still knew how to rock. He strutted back and forth across the stage, as energetic and smooth as he had been when Kat and I saw him at Philips Arena back in high school.

  Jared and Bobby leaned into each other so that their backs were touching as they played, each facing a different side of the crowd. The muscles in Jared's arms rippled when he strummed a funky bass solo during the instrumental break on Glitter's smash hit "Tara's Eyes." I found myself wishing I'd chosen a spot front and center for an up-close view of the sexy bass guitarist in action. Sigh.

  It was so rewarding to watch the crowd light up as Bobby, Jared, and Cliff rocked onstage. This was why I put up with the countless hours of contract negotiations, phone calls, spreadsheets, and babysitting needy performers. I did it for the music, and for the rush that people—myself included—felt after a night of dancing and singing along at a stellar live show. If the energy of both the band and the crowd was any indication, I was doing my job right. Promotion, here I come!

  I took a break from dancing t
o glance at my watch. Eleven o'clock on the dot—time to jet back to the green room and refill the band's beer cooler so they could grab a cold drink before the encore around eleven-thirty. Maybe I could stay back there and check out—er, hang out—with Jared for a few minutes before they went back out on stage, even though Candy would probably be plastered to his side. I could see her in the wings of the stage drooling over him herself.

  I shimmied my way through the crowd and over to the bar, where Laura was waiting for me with two cold six-packs of Yuengling. Scooping them into my arms, I headed across the room, grinning as I passed a few of the teen girls from earlier. They'd traded their neon pink and green cropped tube tops for Parker's Castle Rockettes shirts. With their matching shirts and nearly identical choppy hairstyles, they looked like a band of rock n' roll Barbies.

  Bobby launched into his number one hit, "Baby, We Gel" just as I reached the door marked "Employees Only." A wave of nostalgia swept over me, accompanied by a pang of disappointment. Where is Kat? He's playing our song! I had expected her to come join me in the crowd for the show, but I hadn't seen her in hours.

  As I pushed through the door to the hallway, the gleeful cries and cheers on one side gave way to angry shouts and yelling on the other. I looked out into the hall just in time to see Reese slam Parker against the wall. "Stay away from her! If you touch her again, I'll kill you!" The angry bouncer reared his arm back and balled his mammoth hand into a fist the size of a grapefruit.

  Before I could react, Kat came hurtling down the hallway and jumped into the fray. "Reese, don't!" she yelled. Kat pulled at his arm, which was twice the size of her own. "He's not worth it." She glowered at Parker, who was panting and struggling to free himself from Reese's grasp.