Murder at Castle Rock (5 page)

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.

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.