H
e collapsed on his bed and shut his eyes, blocking out external sound. This day had been long and hard — and it wasn’t over yet. He needed sleep, but he wouldn’t get it. His back was tied in knots, and his neck felt like stone. Tension squeezed at his veins and arteries. His head still pounded.
Every Saturday he received a call from the person who had sent him on this tour to watch the Special One. In the past their conversations had been brief and veiled — there was a risk that others could be listening. He spoke of his work like he was just shooting the breeze, knowing the person on the other end of the line understood the meaning behind his chatter.
But now he no longer took the calls. Nor would he ever again. Things weren’t going exactly the way the sender had planned.
The scene of the Special One at the mall flashed repeatedly through his brain.
Such chances for her he’d taken — and she’d gone
shopping.
He pictured her tears as the crowd hemmed in, the fear on her face. Maybe she was a little too ungrateful. Maybe she’d deserved that.
And the lurid details he remembered of that crowd. Especially the close, pressed bodies …
He cycled his legs against the mattress, seeking comfort that couldn’t be found.
Face it — he never should have agreed to this mission. Sure, the
sender’s money was good, but the
ungratefulness
of this girl. The sheer
flaunting
of herself — in front of the whole world.
He’d thought she was as superior as he. That she deserved him.
How wrong he was.
B
rittany had to go home.
Her mother was adamant. She wasn’t going to have her daughter hounded and scared by the press. She never should have let Brittany come in the first place.
I curled up on my bed, worn and hungry, and listened to Brittany’s side of the conversation.
“I wasn’t
that
scared, Mom. It was really no big deal.”
“But they have bodyguards with us
all the time.”
“So
what!
We didn’t think they’d notice Shaley in the wig. But now it doesn’t matter, because her mom already told us we’re not going anywhere. And we’re
guarded.”
“I can’t leave her now; she needs me. I
won’t
go.”
I don’t know what’ll happen, Shaley, just … some danger.
“All the other people on tour don’t matter. I’m her
best friend.
I need to stay with her.”
“We’re leaving San Jose tomorrow, remember? We’ll be in Colorado, far away from whoever killed Tom.”
Let’s hope so.
“How am I supposed to get home anyway? Rayne’s already paid for all my plane tickets. I’ve already got one for Denver.”
Her mom had already figured that out. Brittany would ride in the limo with us to the airport in the morning. Instead of boarding the plane to Denver, she’d be catching one a half hour later bound for Southern California. End of story.
Brittany stomped back and forth across the room, begging and
pleading and arguing until she was practically blue in the face. “Do I have to get Rayne to talk to you again? Is
that
what it’s going to take?”
“Mom, I
can’t
leave. I’m telling you, she
needs
me here.”
I pulled a pillow over my head, wishing I could shut out her voice. Her arguments wouldn’t matter, I knew that. Future lawyer or not, this time she wouldn’t be changing her mother’s mind.
In the end, Brittany smacked off the call, threw her phone across the room, and sank down on her bed. She lowered her head and started to cry silently. I sat up cross-legged, watching her shoulders shake. My tears had all dried up. I was just too tired.
Brittany sniffed. “I can’t believe this.”
“I can. After all that’s happened? I wouldn’t expect
anything
to go right.”
Brittany spread her fingers on the bedspread and bunched up the fabric. “Maybe you could come home with me.”
My stomach grumbled. I still hadn’t eaten anything. When we came back to the room, my dinner was too cold. We’d set our plates outside in the hall.
“Do you think you could?” Brittany looked at me, her face pinched.
“I wish. I can’t
wait
to go home. But I know what Mom would say. Here I’m close to her, plus we have the bodyguards. There I wouldn’t have any protection.”
“Maybe Bruce could come with you.”
Wouldn’t that be
great?
To go home and see all my friends again.
“But your mom wouldn’t want me staying with you. I’d just bring trouble.”
Brittany considered that. “You could stay at your own house. Your housekeeper’s there. Bruce or Wendell could even stay in one of your guest bedrooms.”
I fastened a look on her, feeling a twist in my belly. Brittany’s eyes held mine. Slowly her expression flattened.
“You don’t think …”
“No. But how can I know for sure? Detective Furlow thinks Tom’s killer is one of us. How can I know it’s not Bruce or Wendell or Mick?”
“But you
know
them. You
trust
them.”
“I thought I knew Tom too. I didn’t.”
“But that’s diff —”
“Brittany,
shut up.”
My voice thinned to steel. I pushed off the bed, hands thrust in my hair. “You think I want to have these thoughts? That I want to distrust everyone around me? This is driving me
crazy.”
She dropped her head, pressed thumb and forefinger between her eyes. I took a few aimless steps, then flopped back down on the mattress.
“Sorry.” I cast her a rueful look. “Didn’t mean to snap at you.” “I know.” She sighed. “At least ask your mom. Would you just do that?”
So I asked. I didn’t even want to drag myself to the connecting door. Instead I turned on my phone and called Mom’s cell. I told Mom Brittany had to leave and begged halfheartedly to go with her, knowing the answer.
“No. You need to stay near me. Near the bodyguards.
No way
am I letting you take off on your own.”
Depression weighing me down, I hung up. Brittany and I barely spoke. We hugged each other, then went about the business of packing. I wished I hadn’t bought any new clothes. Now I just had to work all the harder at fitting things in my suitcase.
We watched a movie. I hardly saw it.
Sometime after eleven we crawled into bed, craving sleep but dreading tomorrow.
We turned out the lights, and I stared upward, reliving the last twenty-four hours — finding Tom, the nightmare about my father. The rose, the photo, the crushing crowd.
Sweaty and trembling, I took a long time going to sleep.
Troubled dreams wove through my head, surreal scenes of the mall and flashing cameras, white roses raining down on me, walls covered with pictures materializing out of nowhere —
And a blasting sound in my ears, loud enough to wake the dead.
My eyes flew open.
T
he
blat-blat-blat
pitched raucous and high. Blaring again and again. The noise took an ice pick to my head. I jerked upright in bed, smacking both hands over my ears.
“What
is
it?” Brittany shouted.
I sucked in deep breaths. “A fire alarm!”
Blat-blat-blat.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Shaley, what do we do?”
It wasn’t the first time I’d heard a fire alarm in a hotel. I pulled back the covers and forced my feet to the floor. “We have to get out of here!” I stood up, swaying, my body groggy and heavy.
Blat-blat-blat.
The noise was about to burst my brain open.
Brittany groaned. “Maybe it’s a false alarm.”
“We can’t rely on that. Besides, you want to stay and listen to this?”
“No.”
Brittany slid out of bed.
We switched on a lamp, blinking in the sudden light, and slipped into the clothes we’d taken off just a few hours ago. My arms and legs were limbering up. I shoved my feet into my shoes, remembering to grab my room key from the nightstand. “Ready?”
Brittany flipped uncombed hair from her face. “Yeah!”
Mom pounded on the connecting door. I leapt for it and swung it open.
Mom stood in shorts and a T-shirt, tension in her every movement. “Come with me.” She swiveled toward her room. Brittany and I scurried after her.
Blat-blat-blat.
“You’re not going out there alone!” Mom yelled over her shoulder as we hurried through her room. “Mick’s outside, ready to take us down. Shaley, don’t you
move
from his side.”
We slammed through the door and into the hall, then ran for the stairwell, Mick beside me. The noise was every bit as loud out there as in our rooms.
As he ran, Mick’s right hand hovered waist high, near the gun he always wore beneath his shirt.
Rooms slid by in peripheral vision. Other band members popped out of their doors, joining us in our flight.
Mick’s right fingers flexed.
We reached the steps. With no food in my stomach, I felt so weak. My legs started to wobble on the very first flight. We had fourteen floors to go down.
Blat-blat-blat.
The alarm ricocheted off the hard stairs and metal railing, the stark white walls. Echoes bounced around my aching head, their vibrations thudding through my chest.
One floor.
Two.
Three.
Why
hadn’t I eaten dinner last night?
Ninth floor. Eighth.
Thudding feet and the open-mouthed pants of everyone crowding the stairwell blended with the screech of the alarm. A long line formed, people moving as fast as they could, more joining us through banging doors at every landing. Vaguely I registered the second looks of numerous people as they recognized the band members. Their curious eyes made me want to shrink away.
Mick held me tightly by the right elbow, his other hand still poised above his gun.
Seventh floor.
Sixth.
Fifth.
My vision blurred, my feet moving on their own. I couldn’t even feel them anymore. A buzzing started in my brain, whirling around and around, fueled with each sounding of the alarm. I dropped my jaw wide open, sucking air.
Fourth.
Third.
Almost there, Shaley, almost there.
Memories of the mall pierced my head. The noise, the crowd —
I stumbled.
“Whoa!” Mick jerked me upright.
Second floor. Sweat rolled down my temple. I’d lost Brittany. Where was she?
One more level.
Ground floor. My heel banged down on the last stair.
I tripped on my own feet. Mick threw an arm around me and pulled me to the exit. We burst through the heavy door and into the parking lot. Cool air slapped my cheeks. I gasped.
A camera flash split the night.
The sudden light spun terror through me. I jerked back as if I’d been hit.
“Get out of here!” Mick roared. He encircled me with his arms, spun me away.
Another flash, a second, and third. I cringed in Mick’s arms.
Then — pounding feet. They retreated into the night.
I squeezed my eyes shut and slumped against Mick’s chest. Whimpers spilled from my lips.
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” He patted my head. “They’re gone.”
Brittany and Mom ran up to us. Mom pulled me from Mick’s arms and held me tightly. Soon the others materialized in groups, their chests heaving. Rich, Stan, Kim, and Morrey escorted by Wendell. Ross, Lois, Melissa, Carly, and Marshall with Bruce.
Inside the hotel, the alarm still screamed.
Mick scuttled us off to the side of the parking lot, away from
other people and the bright pole lamps, and we formed a huddle. The three bodyguards faced outward. Brittany and I clung to each other. Familiar voices spoke, cursing the alarm and lack of sleep — and how hard that would make the next concert. Mom and Ross talked in low tones. I couldn’t say a word. Couldn’t even get enough oxygen. I raked in air, tears biting my eyes.
Don’t be such a baby,
I scolded myself. But too little sleep, no food, and way too much fear got the best of me.
My legs trembled.
The last thing I remember is sliding through Brittany’s arms toward the hard, dark asphalt.
I
swam to consciousness, lying on my back. Brittany, Bruce, and Mom bent over me with distorted faces. I blinked hard. The left side of my head throbbed.
The hotel’s fire alarm cut off mid-blare. The sudden silence roared in my ears.
“Shaley, can you hear me?” Mom sank down beside me, cradling me in her arms.
“Yeah, I’m … My head hurts.”
“You hit it when you fainted.”
Ross stomped back and forth before our group, cursing. “Anybody see that photographer’s face?”
Photographer. Flashes. The memories flooded back.
Vaguely I registered the negative answers.
“I didn’t see it either,” I whispered to Mom. “Everything happened so fast.”
“I know, I know.”
Ross whipped his cell phone from his pocket.
A hotel employee approached. “It’s all right to go back inside now. Someone pulled a false alarm. We’re so sorry.”
Ross cursed again. “False alarm. Right.” His narrowed eyes met Mom’s. “This was
planned.”
She gave a tight nod.
Planned?
More memories swept over me. Mom not letting me go into the hall without her. Mick running with a hand near his gun.
Ross jabbed numbers on his phone.
The pavement felt so hard. I sat up straight. “I want … I need to get up.”
Mom helped me stand. “Feel all right now?”
Brittany peered at me with concern.
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Detective Furlow, Ross Blanke here.” His irritated voice boomed into the phone. “You need to get over here
right now.”
“Shaley, you okay?” Carly came over and hugged me. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t even see you go down.”
“It’s okay. Really.” I smiled crookedly. “Thanks.”
“There is too much craziness going on here,” Ross snapped. “I expect you to get to the bottom of it — now.”
“Rayne,” Mick said. “We should get back inside.”
“Yeah. Okay.” She pulled at Ross’s arm.
“All right.” He snapped his phone shut. “Detective’s on his way.” He looked around. “Let’s go. Everyone stay together.”
Mick, Bruce, and Wendell placed themselves on the outsides, the rest of us in the middle. Our thick group narrowed to enter the lobby door two at a time.
Ross halted. “Who’s got room keys?”
Vaguely I remembered sticking mine in a pocket. I felt for it. “I do.”
Some of our group hadn’t remembered to grab theirs on the way out. Apparently neither had half the hotel residents. People were already streaming toward the reception counter. “All right, wait a minute. Raise your hand if you forgot your keys — one person to a room.” Poking his finger in the air, Ross noted the hands. “Carly, Stan, Kim, Morrey. Okay, get on up to our floor. I’ll bring your keys.”
Heading toward the elevator, I glanced back to see Ross wedging himself at the front of the line.
Back in our room, I placed a small suitcase in the door to Mom’s
suite to hold it open. Brittany and I fell onto our beds and waited for Detective Furlow to arrive at Mom’s room.
I still felt lightheaded. I really needed something substantial to eat, but nothing was available at the hotel at that hour. And our room’s pay-as-you-eat bar with cookies and chips held no interest for me. My body craved protein.
Brittany turned toward me on her bed. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“You mean someone pulled that alarm to get us out of our rooms?”
“Not
us,
Shaley.
You
.”
I blinked. “Why just me?”
“Come on. Who got the white rose and the photo? And
who
did that photographer take pictures of when we got downstairs?”
“You mean I was the only one?”
“Yup.”
“You didn’t see the person’s face?”
“No. I wasn’t even looking in that direction until the flashes went off. Then the light was too bright.”
I stared at the ceiling. “Why go to all that trouble just to get another picture of me? Like they didn’t get enough today.”
“I don’t know.”
“Shaley.” Mom appeared at the connecting door. “The detective’s here.”
I sighed and sat up. “You want to come, Brittany?”
“They probably won’t want me in there. Leave the door open — maybe I’ll be able to hear.”
“Okay.”
The detective looked rumpled as usual, but in a different wrinkled shirt and pants. A shock of his hair stuck out.
A still-agitated Ross joined us as we sat in the lounge area of Mom’s room. He sat forward on one couch, knees apart and a fist against his hip. “That photographer was
planted,
I’m telling you. Mick, the bodyguard who was with Shaley, reported he saw
no other signs of photos being taken until they ran out the door. Someone was waiting there for her.”
“You get a look at the photographer?” The detective turned to me.
“No. The flashes were too bright, and I was too …”
“She fainted about that time.” Mom drew her bottom lip between her teeth.
Detective Furlow’s eyebrows rose. “Are you all right?”
I leaned my head back against the armchair. “Yeah. I guess I hadn’t eaten, and I was kind of wobbly.”
“You had anything to eat yet?” His tone was gentle.
“No. We just got back into our rooms.” I tried to smile. “You got here pretty fast.”
“What do you want?” Ross stood up. “I’ll call the front desk. They’ll get something from the kitchen for you even if it is closed.”
I hesitated, not wanting to put anybody out.
“Shaley,” Mom said. “Order something or I’ll order it for you.”
My stomach twisted. Hungry as I felt, I wasn’t even sure I could eat. “I don’t know. Maybe a hamburger? Or a salad with chicken?”
Mom nodded. “Ross, sit down, I’ll do this.” She headed to the nightstand and picked up the phone. Turning her back to us, she spoke in a quiet but firm tone that said her daughter would not be denied.
Detective Furlow cleared his throat. “What happened to the photographer?” He looked from Ross to me.
I pulled my arms across my chest. “He ran away. Just snapped the pictures, then took off.”
“Do you know for sure it was a man?”
I frowned. “No. Guess not.”
Mom hung up the phone and returned to perch on the edge of her chair. “Food will be up soon.”
“Thanks.”
We exchanged tired smiles. It occurred to me that Mom had
paid me more attention in the last twenty-seven hours than she had in the many days before, all added together.
Detective Furlow focused on Mom. “At the end of our last meeting I told you we’d be questioning the photographers and reporters who showed up at the mall when Shaley was there. News footage has helped. We’ve been able to see for ourselves who was there. So far we’ve tracked down four people: The reporter for the
San Jose Mercury;
the photographer for
Shock,
Ed Whisk — “
“Vulture.” Mom narrowed her eyes into slits. I made a face.
The detective tilted his head. “I can see where you’d get the name. Also we talked to Brenda Bloomenthal with the
All That’s Hot
tabloid and a freelancer named Alan Crease.”
Brenda Bloomenthal. We called her Frog. “What did the freelancer look like?”
“Big, overweight. Heavy jowls.”
“Frodo,” Mom and I said at the same time.
The detective smiled briefly. “All were questioned on camera at the station. All had alibis for the time of Tom’s death, claiming they weren’t even in town. Each one said he or she hurried to San Jose
after
the news broke about the murder. They all live in the Southern California area, so it wouldn’t take long to hop a morning plane up here. But I’ve got people checking those alibis out.”
“If that’s true,” Mom said slowly, “then none of them could have taken the photo that ended up in Shaley’s shopping bag.”
“That’s right.”
“What about the other photographers I saw at the mall?” I asked.
“Still tracking them down.”
Detective Furlow’s cell phone rang. He pulled it from the clip on his belt and checked the incoming number. His head came up. “Excuse me for a minute.”
He held the phone to his ear. “Furlow.”
His eyes roved over the room as he listened.
“Great. Good thinking. On my way.”
He flipped the phone shut and stuck it back in his belt.
“Well.” He looked from Ross to Mom. “We got a lucky break. Looks like one of our officers stopped a speeder not too far from the hotel. When he shined a flashlight into the vehicle, he spotted a large camera. The speeder’s name is Len Torret. Said he works for
Cashing In.”
Len Torret. We called him Cat. The slinky, disgusting-looking man with bleached blond hair. Mom and I couldn’t stand him.
The detective stood up. “The officer would have given Torret a ticket and let him go, but he got mouthy and refused to cooperate. So he was arrested. At the station, the officer heard talk of the fire alarm. I had checked in with the station after you called me.” Detective Furlow nodded to Ross. “The officer put two and two together.”
Cat. He’d been at the mall. Now it looked like he’d been the one in the parking lot tonight.
Had he put the “always watching” photo in my shopping bag?
As he started to leave, Detective Furlow shook hands with Ross. I watched their fingers clasp, and a sudden memory seared my brain. A memory of Tom … and Cat.
My mouth dropped open. I turned wide eyes on the detective.
“Wait
.”