Best Girl (4 page)

Then the crowd parted as if Moses was coming through. And everyone turned around to look at me. Someone was coming through, but it wasn't Moses. It was Stu Van Dam. I barely recognized him in jeans and a T-shirt, looking almost normal except for the platinum blond hair cut short and spiky. Taller than he looked in the video. He was heading right for me. My pulse quickened. Should I be scared? I guess he couldn't kill me in front of all these people.

Trish's mouth hung open as he approached.

My boss, Tony, shoved a pad of paper in front of him. “Could I have your autograph?”

Stu smiled and graciously signed.

“It's an honor to have you in our salon. Can I get you anything?”

“Nah, I'm good. I'm looking for Mandy.”

Everyone stared at me.

Stu broke away and stopped in front of me. “I'd know you anywhere. Can we talk?”

One of the stylists jumped in and took the flatiron out of my hand. “I'll finish. You go ahead.”

Everyone watched as I led him to the side door. He turned around and waved. Everyone cheered. He knew how to milk an audience. Probably too smart to do anything to me here. He followed me downstairs to our lunch room, the only private spot in the place. We sat down at the table. He'd gotten older, gained some weight but was tall enough to carry it. I was glad for the mirrors; I could keep a closer eye on him.

“You look just like your mother,” he said with a sad smile. “Sorry about Carol. Iggy told me.”

I nodded my thanks. “He said you were touring.”

“Yeah, up at Casino Rama. Those old lady gamblers are really into me.”

Not the tour I imagined.

“I hear you've been asking about me.”

So here it was. I was on to something if he rushed from Ontario cottage country to see me. What was he scared of ?

“I'm trying to figure out who killed Freddy. Maybe my mother was innocent.”

“Go for it.”

“I think someone close to my father might've killed him. Someone in the band.”

He roared with laughter. “Don't beat around the bush or anything. Is that what this is about? You're kidding, right? Why would I kill Freddy?”

“He wanted to take your name off the songs.”

His smile disappeared. “Yeah, well, Freddy had a big ego. He didn't get that I rearranged his songs every time I sang them. I'm an artist. I don't just sing the songs.”

I caught him admiring himself in the mirror behind me. “So he never got a chance to take off your name, did he? The songs are still in both names?”

“Wake up, kid. Nobody gives a shit about those songs.”

“You get the royalties for them, don't you?”

He smirked. “The royalties don't even pay for my sound crew.”

I didn't know whether to believe him. “I heard you fought over girls.”

“Iggy been spilling his guts? Look, it was nothing. They were groupies. Dime a dozen. I had my regular girl. She was always waiting for me.”

Iggy hadn't mentioned her. “What happened to her?”

“Nothing happened to her. She's alive and kicking. I didn't kill her.” He grinned at me and my suspicions mellowed. But he was a good actor.

“Why didn't you marry her?”

“How d'you know I didn't?” He fixed his platinum spikes in the mirror. “Yeah, you're right. I'm not the marrying kind. Never home. She understands. But I did right by her. Set her up in her own club. Maybe you been there? Brooke's.”

I'd heard of it. Cool place.

“You tell her I sent you and she won't shut up about me. Great chick.”

“If you're innocent, why'd you come as soon as you heard I was asking about you?”

He tilted his great blond head forward, like he was going to tell me a secret. “Wanted to see who was making trouble. You start rumors, sometimes things can get ugly. Wouldn't want that, would we?”

I sat back in my chair as if he'd poked me in the eye.

CHAPTER FIVE

T
hat night I dressed carefully. Though I wanted to be a musician I didn't get out to clubs much. Especially not cool clubs where the floor didn't smell of beer.

I liked to dress down. God forbid people should think I cared enough to dress up for them—it was a hangup of mine. If you don't care, you don't get hurt, right? But there were different ways to dress down, and this time it had to be funky.

I stared at the clothes in my closet. The poofy skirt? Too young, unless I wanted to get carded. The mini-dress? Maybe. I tended to dress from the shoes up. If I was going to wear my sexy high-heeled motorcycle boots, the outfit would have to go with them. What impression did I want to make? It was important because one day I might want to come back to the place and bring my guitar. Yes, I had to speak to Stu's squeeze to see if he was telling anywhere near the truth. (Because he sure didn't seem the reliable type.) But no reason I couldn't check the place out.

So I pulled on some black leggings, threw over my purple plaid mini-dress and topped it with a little jean jacket. I straightened the curls out of my hair with a flatiron, then sprayed it till it wouldn't move. At least I had control over
something.
I was ready.

Guys on the subway checked me out. I was used to that even when I wasn't all dolled up. I usually liked it, though I never let on. Now I was too riled up thinking about what I would do when I got to the club. I rode west into the Annex.

It was dark by the time I got to street level. I walked past cute little shops with handmade jewelry and clothes designed by the owner. People sat outside on the patio of an Italian restaurant under a striped awning. Looked like everybody was having a good time. I was cool with that. I just wished
I
was having a good time. Brooke's was in a building on a corner, the name lit up in big orange letters over the front door.

I didn't feel it, but I knew that confidence was everything. So I held up my head and walked like I knew where I was going. I opened the door to Brooke's and stepped inside, my heart loud in my ears.

I'd arrived early so I wouldn't have to compete with the music. As usual in a club, the lighting was low. But this place sparkled—the bottles behind the bar to the right, the wall sconces, the shiny wood floor. A guy with a shaved head stood behind the bar wiping glasses.

“I'm looking for Brooke,” I said.

“Through that door.” He pointed to one side. “Office on your left.”

I opened the door to a short hall. In front of me, a staircase marked
Private
led to the second floor. A door to the left said
Office
. On the right a wider door tempted me. I opened that one a crack and saw a large room set with round wood tables. A girl and three guys were setting up on the low stage at the front. One day, I thought, that might be me.

I headed toward the office door. I knocked and was surprised when it opened. A pretty auburn-haired woman stood there watching me. Not young, but hot.

“Can I help you?”

She was wearing jeans and a long turquoise shirt cinched at the waist with a leather belt.

“I'm looking for Brooke.”

“That's me,” she said, waiting in the door.

“I wanted to talk to you about Freddy Allan.”

Her eyes grew wide.

“He was my father.”

Her jaw dropped, and then she flung the door open. She grabbed both my hands. “Freddy's little girl! I can't believe it.” She studied my face. “You grew up so pretty. You have his eyes.”

I wondered at this, since his eyes seemed so sad in the picture. But I was pleased, and felt myself go red.

She pulled me into the room and sat me down in a chair opposite her. “So tell me about yourself. What're doing these days?”

I hadn't expected this reaction. “I'm styling hair right now, but I want to get into music.” I'd never said that out loud to anyone besides Shelley. Was kind of afraid to say it. What if it never happened?

“Well, like father, like daughter,” she said. “When you have something, I'd love to hear it.”

My heart skipped. “Wow! That's awesome! Better get practicing.” I waved in the direction of the door. “You have an amazing place here. Stu told me about it. He said to come.”

Her expression changed, the smile suddenly forced. “When did you talk to Stu?”

“Uh, well…” Did she know he was in town? I didn't want to be the cause of trouble between them. “I wanted to talk to him about my dad. I heard they were fighting at the end.”

She looked away, embarrassed. Must've had her own secrets. “Yeah, well, two guys with hormones. They were together all the time. Mostly on a bus. No surprise they were fighting.”

“Does Stu have a temper? Is he violent?”

“What're you asking?”

“How mad was he? Mad enough to kill?”

She stared at me. “Carol killed Freddy. Everyone knew that.” Then she softened. “I know she was your mother, and it's hard to accept…”

“What if she didn't do it? What if someone else killed him?”

She took in a breath. “Whatever gets you through the night.”

“I just need to know.”

“Well, it wasn't Stu. He's big and loud, but he'd never hurt anybody.”

“Were you there, that last night?”

“Sure.”

“What happened after the show?”

“Same thing as always. We all went back to the dressing room. They brought in some food. After we ate, we did some drugs. The guys were so wired at the end of a gig they needed something to get off on. I only smoked weed. They were into the hard stuff.”

“Freddy too?”

“Course.”

“Then what?”

“After a while we all passed out. Not too glamorous.”

“When did Freddy leave?”

“Don't remember.”

“Did you and Stu leave together?”

She took a breath. “Some little groupie found us and started telling him how great he was. He lapped it up. I took off, mad.”

“So he could've followed Freddy home.”

“Look, he was too wasted to kill anyone. He could hardly walk.”

I sat back in the chair. If that was true, Stu wasn't my guy. I was disappointed and relieved at the same time.

“Did you know my mother?”

She blinked at my change of direction. “Yeah. She was cool. She changed when she had you. Got serious. Looked out for you.”

“And you really think she killed Freddy?”

Brooke shrugged. “He hurt her. People do strange things when they're hurt.”

I thought about that. “Maybe he hurt someone else. Was there anyone else mad enough to kill him?”

She pursed her lips. “Well, come to think of it—there was this girl. She sang with the band that opened for them. Toured together. What was her name? Jill. It was a long time ago. Let me think. Jill Hanes. She was intense. She had a thing for Freddy. Threw herself at him. He never refused. But he didn't stay with any girl for long. All hell broke loose when he broke it off.”

“You know where she is now?”

“I heard she's living in public housing. St. Jamestown, I think. You know, the one that's always on the news.”

There was a light tap at the door, then it opened partway. A cute dark-haired dude stuck his head in.

“Hey, Mom, they're asking for you.”

Brooke's cheeks flushed. “I'll be right there.”

The door closed. I pasted a smile on my face to cover up my surprise.

“I didn't know you had kids,” I said sweetly.

“Just one. Lexy. He helps me run the place.”

She stood up, in a hurry to go. “Oh, if you're going looking for Jill, watch yourself there. Not the safest place.”

CHAPTER SIX

I
hustled to get my late-morning client finished before lunch. I was fast, not slack, so her hair still looked cool. I had an hour and a half to go before my next client. Time enough to find Jill Hanes. St. Jamestown was on the subway line I took to get home. I never got off there. For obvious reasons.

I took off the white skirt and blouse that was my hairdresser's uniform. I didn't want to stand out in that part of town. If I blended in, maybe the locals wouldn't bother me. I pulled on a T-shirt and jeans and the scruffy old jean jacket I'd brought from home.

It was a ten-minute subway ride from the salon. I'd found Jill's address in the white pages online. Just not the apartment number.

Even from a distance the place creeped me out. It was a forest of high-rises, a dozen cement slabs pushing up into the sky. I passed three of the ugly blocks before finding Jill's. There were two guys I didn't like the look of hanging out on the other side of the street. They stood there smoking, trying to look all tough. They squinted at me like they were inspectors and I was meat. I ignored them and hurried into the building.

There were some names scribbled on a piece of paper taped to the wall just inside; some had apartment numbers. Maybe Jill's was there, maybe not. A big old guy was standing with his back against the wall, so I couldn't read the names. He wore a heavy jacket and dirty gray tuque like it was still winter.

“Five bucks if you want in,” he said. Booze on his breath.

He was big but he was old. And hammered. If I pushed him, he would fall down. “Hey,” I said, “what's that?” I pointed to the ceiling.

He moved away from the wall to look up, and I found Jill's name and apartment number scrawled on the paper.

He grabbed my arm as I tried to step past. He was stronger than I thought. So was the smell. Unwashed skin and sweat. I looked in his red-rimmed eyes. They were blank.

“Gimme five bucks.”

If he knocked me down to the cement floor, my head could split open.

“Let go of me or I'll call the cops.”

I reached into my purse with my free hand and brought out my cell.

He grunted and let go. I ran inside.