Rock 'n' Roll is Undead (Veronica Mason (12 page)

“What about you, Craig?” I asked.

“I’ll try. My wife may not be happy with me. I’m supposed to take her to the movies sometime soon. Maybe I can convince her to come too.”

“I’d love that. But if you have other plans, I understand. Call and let me know, okay?” I said as he jumped off stage.

“Nice to meet you, man, and glad you’ve joined,” Craig said to Buzz. Unlike Frank, who could be rude even on his best days, Craig was quiet and mostly well-mannered.

“Yeah, same here. Thanks for having me.” Buzz shook Craig’s hand.

We both watched as Craig left. We stood in silence for a few seconds.

The quiet got the better of me. I grabbed my purse, then said, “I’m sorry I didn’t ask if it was okay with you. If you can’t make it, I understand. I forget everyone else has a life, unlike me.”

“I’ll be there. Write down your address.”

“Oh, okay, yeah, great.” I nodded as I rummaged through my bag for pen and paper.

I jotted down the address. The jolt I felt knowing I’d see Buzz later was electrifying and terrifying all at once.

Buzz left and I slipped into the restroom. I didn’t think I could handle walking outside together. I wanted to put distance between us. What if I grabbed him and smacked a big kiss on him in the parking lot? I needed to splash some cold water on my face and snap some sense into my brain. Even after the crazy incident at the diner, I still found myself attracted to him.

After a few minutes, I ducked out of the restroom and made my way outside. I walked across the parking lot, hoping I’d given Buzz enough time to leave. No such luck. Toward the side of the building, I spotted him. But he wasn’t alone. He was talking to Detective Walker. Why had the detective cornered him? He’d just started in our band; he couldn’t offer him any clues. Unless the detective was asking about the rest of us, which wouldn’t surprise me in the least. I’d pegged him as sneaky like that. Detective Walker made me uneasy and seeing him twice in one day was two times too many. Didn’t he have anything better to do? Like find a vampire killer?

At first, they didn’t spot me, but Buzz glanced in my direction. He said something to the detective, nodded and then climbed on his bike, waving goodbye as he drove off. Detective Walker didn’t look in my direction. Instead, he walked to his car, got in and drove away. Fine by me.

Only a few clouds dotted the sky. The day would have been perfect—a fresh and sunny day. Too bad it was surrounded by such a horrible situation. Neon signs lit the crowded street behind me as I made my way through traffic. I watched as the blues clubs and restaurants faded into the distance. I passed Sun Studios and it made me smile. Just thinking of Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, and Jerry Lee Lewis singing there years ago made me giddy. And I needed something to take my mind off the mess.

Elvis Presley sang Love Me Tender as I steered the Bel-Air through a green light and made a right. Mixed in with the scent of barbeque from a nearby restaurant, a whiff of honeysuckle floated through the air. The sweet aroma tickled my nose. It reminded me of weekends—I liked to cruise the old country back roads with the top down, listening to music. It was relaxing, therapeutic. The hot air didn’t stir my hair. No need to bother putting on the scarf this time. Besides, even if it did, I was only going home and there was certainly no one to impress there.

When I drove by the Dizzy Whiz burger joint, I made another right and was within a few miles of my apartment. Traffic was light and I was thankful. When I made a right turn at the stop sign, I glanced in my rear-view mirror. That’s when it registered. The car behind me had been the same one I’d seen last night and today at the diner.

Chapter 22

The hot rod had been a few lengths back when I’d turned, but now it was gaining on me and making every move I did. Were they pursuing me? A chill ran up my spine. What the hell did they want? I decided to turn on the street up ahead and see if they followed. The light turned yellow as I approached and I mouthed a silent prayer I wouldn’t have to stop.

Without easing off the accelerator much, I steered left onto the street and glanced in the mirror. After a few seconds, sure enough, the car whizzed behind me. Okay, yeah, definitely not a coincidence. My stomach twisted into a knot; I wanted to lose this deranged nutjob in the worst way. I didn't want them to know where I lived. No way could I go home with this strange car pursuing me. The facial features of the car’s occupants weren’t discernible, but I made out the silhouettes of two men. The skull placed in the center of the front window was easily spotted and definitely spooky. I prayed it was a leftover Halloween decoration.

The dull gray 1958 or 1959 Cadillac needed a paint job—not in mint condition like mine. Something told me I didn’t want to be caught in a dark alley with these characters. What could they possibly want with me? Did it have something to do with Johnny's murder? Possibly because I’d discovered him?

Since I’d never taken a course on losing crazy psychos who were tailgating me, I had no idea how to shake off the car. It was so close people probably thought I was towing it. Somehow I figured hitting them upside the head with my pocket book wouldn’t save me.

I turned again. The car turned with me.

Sweat broke out on my forehead and my hands were clammy, making the steering wheel hard to grip. I had to think of a way out of this mess quickly before they captured me. Maybe I should just pull over and ask them what the hell they wanted. No, not a good idea. They could have guns or any number of weapons. Not to mention sharp fangs, or claws, if they happened to be werewolves. Plus, I wasn't exactly a big girl. They'd tower over my five foot two frame. My brother had probably outrun cars before. I should have asked him for pointers—I should have asked him for a lot of things, but it was too late for that now.

As I steered the car around a curve, I was certain of one thing—these guys wanted me dead. What other reason would they have to chase me like that? It couldn’t be a coincidence this happened after I found Johnny. Maybe the killer thought I knew their identity? The mysterious hot rod still trailed my bumper. If I went any faster, I’d lose control of my car. My apartment was nearby. If I could make it there, I’d be safe. I thought car chases only happened in the movies. I prayed I wouldn’t meet with my final destiny. Not yet, anyway. I had a lot more life left in me.

I usually didn’t speed, but the car behind me seemed hell-bent on pushing me to move faster. A vintage car like mine was made for cruising around town. I liked to take my time. Apparently these hooligans didn’t. Hadn’t they ever heard of taking a joy-ride? With the traffic up ahead, punching the accelerator again wasn’t an option. An ice cream truck poked along in front of me. With the car in front of it, there looked to be just enough space for my Bel-Air between the truck and the other vehicle. If the psychos behind me didn't speed up, I thought I could slip in between the two vehicles. I didn’t have any other options. Good thing my father couldn’t see my driving now. The idiot following me was in serious need of a Prozac and Xanax cocktail.

After a couple of miles of straight road, I reached a difficult section of the highway. A big yellow sign with a winding arrow came into view warning of the danger ahead and making me grip the wheel a little tighter. In order to handle the car better, I eased my foot off the gas when I reached a curvy section of the road, navigating through the twists and turns and keeping my eyes focused ahead. But the loud rumble from the other car engine caught my attention, breaking my concentration.

When I glanced in my rear-view mirror, the gray Cadillac followed so closely I felt as if I’d been transported into a Nascar event. With the sun in my eyes and a glare across their windshield, I couldn’t make out the driver. The posted speed limit was thirty; I was already driving over the limit at thirty-five. Going faster around the turn wasn’t an option. Maybe they were some of those road rage people in a hurry to get nowhere. No, my mind told me this wasn’t the case.

The street had turned into two lanes with no shoulder, so I couldn’t move over. I had nowhere to go. The vehicle sped along behind me like a big bully, as if they owned the road. I had no idea how to get out of this situation. Where was help when I needed it? I couldn’t even reach my cell phone without wrecking.

At least putting other vehicles between us might help. It couldn’t hurt. Or could it? A car horn honked as I swerved to the left. I overcorrected. Grasping the wheel tighter, I straightened the car, narrowly missing a parked car on the side of the street. I hadn’t driven under this kind of pressure since I took my driver’s exam. Rumor was that the instructor quit right after my parallel parking incident, but whatever. Luckily, there was no oncoming traffic, so I switched to the other lane. This was one instance when I wished the police would stop me for speeding. I could tell them someone was following me. If I could have fished around for my phone in my purse, I would have. But I'd for sure wreck if I tried that maneuver. A stunt driver I was not. People on television made it look easy, but trust me, it wasn’t. At this rate, I’d be driving a car named The General Lee and hopping through the open side window to get into it.

I sped up and in one swift move jerked the Bel-Air over to the correct lane. My poor baby, I’d never driven her so hard. She practically moaned when I hit the accelerator. Glancing in the rear-view mirror again, I noticed the car swerving back and forth behind the truck, looking for an opening to get behind me again. The muscular man in the truck seemed to notice them as well. He honked, then pumped his fist out the window. If they kept following him like that, he'd probably stick a snow cone in a place they wouldn’t want.

I looked ahead and saw a street coming up. If I turned quickly, they might not have time to make it. One small problem: I'd have to keep the truck behind me from ramming into me. I could try to get the massive machine to ease off my bumper a little, but that might give enough time for the strange men to prepare for a turn. No, I'd have to take my chances and hope I didn't cause a multi-vehicle pileup and possibly kill innocent people and myself in the process. The turn approached and my heart thumped wildly. No need for the treadmill today, my heart was getting enough of a workout. I gripped the wheel and in one swift movement, turned to the right. The tires squealed and I righted the car to avoid oncoming traffic. Car horns honked. Road rage ran amok. I hadn’t even come that close to hitting anyone. Yet.

Chapter 23

When I peered back through the mirror, I saw the car zoom past. They had attempted to slow down, but it was no use. A car trailed directly behind them, and if they’d stopped, it would have smashed right into their bumper. They’d probably try to find the next street over and look for me, so I made another right. I planned to loop back over to the main road I'd just turned from. The ass-hats wouldn’t think to look for me back there. If they were as dumb as I figured they were, they'd spend their time searching the side streets. Home sure did sound good. Safe and sound. I hoped.

“Come on, baby, just a little bit more and we’ll be home.” I patted the steering wheel.

I tooled through the evening traffic. My fear amplified as I contemplated what had happened. Perhaps I did need a weapon. Heaven knows I didn’t own a gun. I made a mental list of things to use in case I was attacked. Umbrella? Keys? I’d seen those used in self-defense classes. Okay…so I had no weapons. I shook the thought out of my head. No, I wouldn’t need a weapon. If I thought it enough, it would be true, right? Better to think of my upcoming gig instead of fighting off a serial killer.

I punched down the gas again, more in a hurry than ever after my little game of car tag, and made my way down the congested street as fast as the old Bel-Air would take me. I never liked pushing my car this much. My baby was delicate. For what must have been the thousandth time, I glanced back looking for the mysterious car. It never reappeared. I’d made it home in one piece. As I pulled into my apartment building parking lot, I finally allowed my breathing to become somewhat normal again. My pulse slowed to normal, but thoughts of the maniac driver returning still played in my head.

The old house I lived in had been converted into apartments. It had three floors and I lived on the top one. My place consisted of one bedroom, a small kitchen, and a living/dining room combination. Not a huge space by any means, but enough for me. Having a place to call home after being out on the road was all I needed. Right after moving in, I’d painted over the white walls with warm colors. I added splashes of red and sage green with pillows and such, bringing out my inner interior decorator. The kitchen area I’d painted a muted yellow. It reminded me of the warm summer days at Grandma Annie’s when she’d tried to teach me magic. I had a bizarre mix of a Pottery Barn catalog and kitschy Fifties décor, but I liked to think of it as eclectic.

Next to the house was a parking area. It was for the law firm next door, but they allowed us to use a few spots for extra money. It sure beat fighting for a spot on the side of the street. Built in 1888, the house looked like something out of a haunted movie, minus the cobwebs and thunderstorms. On stormy nights it could be creepy. I liked to order a pizza and watch the teenage delivery boy hesitate before approaching the imposing structure. The place definitely had that old haunted house look, but it wasn’t exactly the Bates Motel, either. At least it wasn’t run-down. The landlord maintained the historic home well and it showed.

Its intricate cornices and stained windows gave it an almost gothic feel. Most of the homes on the street had the same look. It was like stepping back in time when you walked down the sidewalk. Tall, narrow, double-paned windows covered the brick structure and the porch was topped with a balcony with large banisters. I hurried up the front steps, onto the porch, and stuck my key in the front door. When I twisted, I discovered it was already unlocked. Old Mr. Cooper was forever forgetting to lock it when he came home. I’d been reminding the landlord to replace the lock with one that latched on its own when the door closed, but he said that was just asking for trouble. He was probably correct. The other tenant was older as well, and my landlord knew they’d inevitably lock themselves out, requiring him to make the fifty-mile trip and let them in. I guess I could see his point.