Always Watching (10 page)

T
he shrimp and pasta Brittany and I ordered was delivered by a young waiter with thick black hair and ice-blue eyes. He looked like he belonged more on the movie screen than pushing room-service carts. He set the covered plates and drinks on a table by the window.

“There you are, Miss O’Connor.” He dipped his head to me, then Brittany.

“Thank you.” I nudged a five-dollar bill into his hand.

“Appreciate it.” He raised his cool eyes and gazed at me.

The moment stretched out, and still he looked. Electricity danced up my nerves. I pulled back, tensing. “What?”

He gestured toward my hair. “I like you better without the wig.”

Abruptly he swiveled toward the empty cart and pushed it toward the door, as if realizing he’d overstepped his bounds. I stared after him as he slipped out into the hall.

The door clicked shut.

I turned to Brittany, feeling violated all over again. “We already made the news.”

“Yeah. Terrific.”

I focused on the black screen of the TV. The last thing I wanted was to see the coverage and be reminded of those awful minutes in the mall. But to not know what reporters were saying …

Striding to the nightstand, I snatched up the TV remote and punched the
on
button.

From the table, the smell of pasta and cream sauce wafted up my nose. My stomach flip-flopped.

“Go ahead and eat.” My face scrunched up. Gripping the remote, I flipped channels to find the news stations.

“That’s okay, I’ll wait for you.”

“No, Brittany.
Eat.”

I pushed the channel button.

A car commercial.

Brittany sat down at the table and angled toward the TV.

Punch.

A sitcom.

Punch.

MTV.

Punch.

News. Something about the economy.

Come on!

My index finger worked feverishly, my stiff arm thrust toward the TV. With every channel, the dread inside me grew. I’d shouted at the reporters and burst into tears. They’d probably shown it over and over — made me look as bad and weak as possible. What great drama for all the watchers across America.

Had I hurt the band? Would Mom be mad at me?

Brittany took a few bites, then clacked down her fork. The sound shot right through me.

“Wait,” she said. “Maybe it’s not on at all.”

“Then how would he know?”

“Maybe he was
there.”

My hand dropped, the remote dangling from my fingers. A cell phone ad played on the TV. “But I don’t remember seeing him. Do you?”

“No. Not that it means much. There were so many people …”

We locked eyes, trying to think it through. If the waiter had been there — what could it mean?

“Wouldn’t he have been here, working?” Brittany asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe he works dinner to closing.”

My gaze traveled to the connecting door to Mom’s room. Mentally I rehashed the conversation with Detective Furlow. Pictured him turning over the “always watching” photo with his gloved hand.

I blew out a breath. “I’m going to keep checking.”

Brittany ate. I sank onto my bed and channel surfed between the news stations.

Suddenly, there we were on the screen. I gasped.

“Leave me alone!” I watched myself cry. The cameras flashed, the crowd pressed in. Microphones were thrust at me. And the expression on my face! I looked so scared, like some homeless child with nowhere to run. Just watching the scene, I felt the claustrophobia crowding my lungs.

I shuddered.

The camera panned over Bruce as he pushed through the crowd, then focused on Brittany. Her features were pinched and white.

“Oh, no.” She pushed her plate away. “My mom’s going to freak.”

My throat tightened. “Will she make you go home?”

“Probably.”

“But you said you
can’t.”

“I know. I won’t.”

“What is it, Brittany? What’s going to happen to me if you leave?”

“I told you I don’t know for sure. Just … something. Some danger.”

I huffed. “What good is sensing the future if you can’t be a little more specific?”

“Maybe,” she said grimly, “we don’t want to know.”

I cast her a long look, then turned back to the TV. A camera captured the three of us bursting out the door and jumping into the black limo. The last scene showed the car driving away.

“Did you see the waiter anywhere in that crowd?” I asked.

“No. But the footage was pretty fast. He still could have been there.”

A blonde female commentator filled the screen, relating the known details of Tom’s death and the investigation. A detective was interviewed — not Detective Furlow. He didn’t say much except that they were “following a few leads.”

The report ended.

“We could call the hotel restaurant,” Brittany said. “Ask somebody if that waiter was working this afternoon.”

I tilted my head. “But he’d probably hear that we asked. I don’t want him to know we’re suspicious of him.”

“What are we suspicious
of
anyway? Even if he was in the mall, he couldn’t have been backstage last night. He couldn’t have had anything to do with Tom’s death.”

“Remember, the detective said more than one person could be involved.” I wandered to the bed, sank down on it, and stared at the ceiling. All these puzzle pieces. I felt way too frazzled. My tired mind couldn’t begin to sort it all out. “I don’t know. I just
don’t know.”

With a deep sigh, I turned onto my side in a fetal position. Another whiff of shrimp filled my nostrils. No way could I eat it now, even though my body needed food. I just wanted to go to sleep and wake up when this was all over. Like maybe a year from now.

A knock sounded on the connecting door.

Mom.

“It’s open!” I dragged myself off the bed to face her.

Mom stepped inside. Her eyes flicked over Brittany and the food, then roved across my face. “Shaley, are you okay?”

Can’t you see I’m not?

I shrugged. “Yeah.”

Her gaze held mine.
Ask me again, Mom. Ask me again.

She checked her watch. “I’ve set a meeting for all of us here in the hotel. It’s in ten minutes in Ross’s room.”

“Why?”

“There are things we need to talk about.”

“You mean Tom’s death?”

“Partly.”

I drew back. “You going to tell them about his wall? That it’s my fault he’s dead?”

Mom’s face softened. She touched my arm. “Shaley, this is
not
your fault.”

“But I don’t want them to know!”

I couldn’t imagine it—Ross and the bodyguards and everyone in the band looking at me. Hearing what Tom had felt. Just thinking about it, I wanted to throw up all over again.

“I’m not going to tell them that. In fact the detective wants it kept quiet. But we do need to talk about added media attention. That, on top of the murder — we all need to be extra careful.”

I shrank away. “Are you going to tell everybody about the white rose? And the ‘always watching’ photo? I don’t want them to know that either.”

“Shaley, you just might be in danger, don’t you understand? For some reason
you’ve
been targeted with these things. I want the rest of the band to know that much. We can all help watch out for you.”

“We’ve got Mick and Wendell and Bruce for that. Besides, what can happen to me behind a locked hotel door?”

Mom’s eyes closed. “It’s not just tonight. It’s tomorrow and the day after that.” She held on to both my shoulders. “I’m
not
going to let anything happen to you.”

“Why not?” The words blurted out of me, bitter and cold. “Then you wouldn’t have to keep all the stuff about my dad from me anymore.”

Mom pulled in a sharp breath. Her eyes glistened. “That has nothing to do with this. I just want to keep you safe.”

Deep down I knew that was true. But trust can’t be put into separate boxes. If I couldn’t trust Mom for one piece of my life — the
piece that involved my father and who he was and who that made
me
— I couldn’t trust her in others.

“Shaley,
talk
to me. You know I love you.”

The back of my throat burned. I didn’t want to cry. “I love you too.”

She squeezed my shoulders, then let go, all business once more. She had band issues to attend to. “We can finish this conversation later. Right now we need to get over to Ross’s room.”

I turned my head away, my gaze landing on the food. Brittany had eaten most of hers. Mine hadn’t been touched.

My chest deflated. “Brittany’s coming with me, Mom.”

No way was I going through this torture without her.

R
oss’s room was a suite even bigger than Mom’s, complete with a work area containing a large desk, fax, and multiple phone lines. We all crowded into that space, pulling chairs away from a rectangular table, pushing the couches and love seat into a haphazard circle. Brittany and I sat on two chairs as far back as possible.

I swear I could have cut the tension in that room with a knife.

Maybe most of it was mine.

Ross perched on the black desk chair, his short, heavy legs spread apart and belly hanging over his jeans. One strand of his scraggly brown hair hung in his face. He’d shot me a long look as Brittany and I entered. “Shaley, how you doing?”

Just great.
I tossed him a tiny smile.

Kim and Morrey, Rayne’s drummer, sat together, holding hands. Morrey wore a plain white T-shirt, revealing his tattooed arms. His full lips were pressed together, dark hair in a ponytail. His face looked strained.

Rich, the bass player, was next to Mom on one couch. He leaned back with hands clasped behind his shaved head and knobby elbows sticking out. His casual pose turned my stomach. How could he look so relaxed in a meeting about Tom’s murder?

Stan, the lead guitarist, was pitched forward on the other couch, feet wide apart and black hands dangling between his knees. He frowned at the carpet, glancing up now and then as others walked in.

Bruce, Wendell, and Mick stood, leaving the seats for everyone else. Carly came with Melissa and Lois. She smiled at me and mouthed, “You okay?”

I hesitated, then nodded.

“Okay, let’s start.” Mom ran a hand through her hair. “First, all cell phones off. Not vibrate.
Off.
I don’t want this meeting interrupted.”

Everyone took out their phones and powered them down. Musical tones collided with each other, then the room fell silent.

Mom looked from one face to another, her gaze snagging on me. My eyes pleaded even then for her to say nothing. To just say we all needed to be careful, as Detective Furlow still didn’t have a firm suspect. That’s all she needed to reveal.

Please, Mom.

She held my eyes a moment longer. I could practically hear the wheels of decision turning in her head. Stan straightened, looking from her to me, questions in his expression.

Mom laid a hand at the back of her neck. “Some things happened today—involving Shaley.”

I slumped down in my seat. Briefly Mom told them about the delivered flower and photo with similar messages. She left out the detail of the white rose.

Rich twisted around to look at me in surprise. “Shaley, this is terrible. I’m so sorry.”

I lowered my eyes.

“I don’t know what all this means,” Mom said. “Maybe they’re just coincidences with Tom’s death. But the timing …”

Ross slapped his hands on his meaty thighs. “Whatever’s going on, we’re going to be watching Shaley extra carefully. Wendell, Bruce, Mick — she doesn’t go anywhere without being guarded. And that means so much as step out her hotel room door.”

Mick and Wendell nodded, faces unsmiling. Bruce said, “Yes, sir.”

I gripped my upper arms.
Please, Mom, keep your word and don’t say anything about Tom’s wall.

Mom gave me a purposeful look. Her mouth tightened, blue eyes narrowing. And she blinked slowly. It was a look to say,
I know what you’re thinking. And I’m not going to tell them.

My throat cinched up, tears of relief biting my eyes.

The meeting went on for another hour, people venting opinions over who killed Tom. Morrey insisted it had to be a local roadie. “Somebody got through that back door, that’s all there is to it.” He rubbed the Superman tattoo on his upper left arm. “If I were the detective, I’d be questioning the local guard posted at that door real hard. Maybe he
let
someone through.”

“Or what about any fan who wanted to get backstage?” Rich spread his hands. “Maybe one of the inside security people let the guy through.”

“Who says it’s a guy?” Ross raised his eyebrows. Carly looked at him askance. He shrugged. “I’m just saying — we don’t know.”

Rich wagged his head. “Guy, girl. Either way, that means a mere thirty thousand people attending the concert are suspects.”

“Maybe Tom was into something we don’t know about,” Stan said. “Like drugs. Someone could have killed him over that.”

No way, Tom hated drugs.
I shot Stan a disgusted look.

“Or maybe he knew something he shouldn’t know.” Morrey scuffed a sneakered foot against the carpet. “I’ve seen that happen before. Remember Stephen Restler who played with Ace? He was going to testify against some gang member and was shot before the trial started.”

Kim stuck a hand in her hair. “Did Tom gamble? Owe somebody too much money?”

No, he didn’t gamble.

I pressed my legs together, teeth clenched. What was
wrong
with everybody? Didn’t they know Tom better than that?

Shaley—you didn’t know him either.

The thought hit me like a brick. I pushed back against the chair,
feeling sick all over again. True, I didn’t know him like I’d thought. What other secrets had Tom kept from me? Maybe he
did
do drugs. Gamble. Hang out with violent people.

My eyes flicked from one face to another — to the people I thought I knew so well. What were
they
hiding from me? From the rest of us?

What if one of them
was
the murderer?

Revulsion shot up my spine. No, I couldn’t believe that.

Kim blew out air. “You know, Tom might have —”

“Stop it!” I shoved up from the chair. “Stop it, all of you! You don’t know what you’re saying. There wasn’t anything wrong with Tom — there
wasn’t.”

My chin quivered.
No.
I did
not
want anyone to see me cry.

“Shaley.” Mom stood up. “We didn’t mean —”

“I don’t want to hear it. I just — I’m
leaving.”
Shuddering a breath, I stalked across the room. Behind me, I heard the rustle of Brittany pushing to her feet.

Mick strode to the door, opened it, and checked in the hallway. “Okay.” He motioned me out, his expression a total poker face.

I flounced from the room, not looking back. Brittany followed.

Mick escorted us down the hall, took my key card and slid it into the lock. Inside our room, he checked around the beds and in the bathroom before pronouncing it safe.

When he left, I collapsed on my bed, feeling numb.

Thank goodness Brittany was with me. I wouldn’t want to face this night alone.

By sheer habit, Brittany pulled out her cell phone and turned it on.

She groaned. “Oh, no. I have a message from Mom.”