Broom and Gloom Page 12

  “That’s why I pay someone else to do it. I have no patience to do it myself.” I flashed a smile.

  “Let’s get you shampooed, then.”

  I tried to be long-suffering as she washed my hair, because that was no time to strike up a conversation. I also tried to persevere as she blow-dried my hair, tugging mercilessly at my strands. That was also a terrible time to try and talk.

  All of that said, I realized my time was whittling away and I should have probably chosen something simpler like just a haircut. Then I would have had plenty of time to try and get information out of her.

  Finally, she put the hair dryer down and picked up the flat iron. It was just in time, too, because my hair right now looked like Bozo’s right after he stuck his finger in a light socket.

  “So, Georgia usually does my hair. Did I hear she’s not here anymore?” I tried to sound casual.

  She shrugged. “Yeah, she’s gone. No one really knows what happened to her.”

  “She didn’t turn in her notice or anything?”

  She shrugged again. “Maybe she went to another salon. It’s not usual. She probably tried to take her clients with her, which we sign a clause saying we’re not going to do. Maybe quitting without explanation was the easiest way to get around it. Of course, I guess this means she didn’t contact you.” She raised her eyebrows as if to say, “Too bad, too sad.”

  I ignored the look. “Did anyone ever think it was suspicious she didn’t come back?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You know something I don’t?”

  “I mean, if she went on her own, I’m totally offended that she didn’t contact me. I considered myself to be a loyal client.”

  That seemed to appease her, because she shrugged. Still, she said nothing.

  “I always get suspicious when people drop off the radar,” I continued. “My cousin did that once. Turned out she ran off with her boyfriend, who was a drug addict. She’s had a horrible life ever since then.”

  “Girls are so stupid like that sometimes. The things they do for men. I hope I’m never like that. Georgia . . . well, she might have had those tendencies. Call it daddy issues or whatever; she seemed to think she needed a man in her life in order to feel valued.”

  “That can be dangerous.” I hoped I wasn’t like that, but something about her words struck me. It seemed like I always had a guy in my life. This was the first time in a long time that I was alone, and I wanted to appreciate just being me, without someone by my side. Despite that, I refused to think that Georgia and I were alike.

  “Tell me about it.” Poppy sprayed my hair. “If she didn’t leave for another salon, then she probably dropped everything to become a Trace Ryan groupie.”

  Something buzzed through my blood. Now we were getting somewhere! “She was obsessed with his music, wasn’t she? Even I realized that, and I was just a client.”

  “Obsessed is an understatement, and it wasn’t just about his music. She was obsessed with Trace himself. Even claimed to go out on a date with him once.” She rolled her eyes.

  I stored away that information. Had she told people there was more to their relationship? Certainly there wasn’t any truth to her words . . . right? Trace would have told me if there was. “You don’t believe it?”

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t. Believe me, she would have pictures if she did.”

  “Was she like . . .” I struggled to find the appropriate words. “Stalker-like obsessed with him?”

  Poppy froze. “You’re really asking me that? Because it seems random.”

  “I’ve been accused of being random before.”

  “I guess I’m okay with random.”

  “Besides, I just read this article in People magazine about celebrities and the danger they’re in because of the paparazzi and our celebrity-obsessed culture. It’s really gotten me thinking.”

  “Sounds like you think a lot. That can be a bad thing.” She continued spraying down my tresses. “Anyway, I don’t think she would take it that far. Groupie, yes. Stalker, no.”

  “What makes you so sure? I mean, where are those lines exactly?” I shrugged. “It’s something I’ve always wondered.”

  She paused and eyed me suspiciously. “It almost sounds like you’re the one stalking Georgia.”

  I cringed, realizing I’d gone too far. I tried to shrug, hoping I didn’t look guilty. “I’m just the curious sort.”

  “Curious, yes.” She said it like an insult. Despite that, she went on to say, “Look, I like Georgia. I want to believe she’s decent and doing okay for herself. But she was acting strangely in the week or two before she disappeared.”

  I knew I was pushing it, but I couldn’t stop asking questions. I needed to know more. I needed to hear Poppy’s interpretation of all of this. “Why do you think that was?”

  “I have no idea. I asked her about it once, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She said she just had a lot going on.” She flat ironed another section of my hair before twirling my chair back toward the mirror. “What do you think?”

  I stared at my reflection, hardly recognizing myself. The smooth hair softened my features and made me look less spunky and more . . . pretty, I supposed. “I like it.”

  “It gives you an entirely different look.” She took the cape off and walked me toward the front counter.

  The receptionist quoted me the price, and I gaped. It was more than my monthly cell phone bill. I hoped it was worth both my time and my money. However, even if it wasn’t, at least I had good hair for a day.

  ***

  By the time I left Hair Kingdom and grabbed a burger at a local fast food joint, I had just enough time to swing past the residence of Quinton McLewitz. Trace had gotten his information from Jono. He’d then texted me the man’s name and address while I was getting my hair done. He was the guard who’d supposedly been on duty at the tent where Dud had died. I had a few questions for him.

  Quinton lived in a townhouse about thirty minutes from Lawton. A car was parked on the cracked concrete driveway out front, so I hoped that was a good sign. Feeling more confident than usual thanks to my smooth new hair, I approached the door, saw a piece of duct tape over the doorbell, and decided to knock. I was observant like that.

  A few seconds later, the door opened and there stood Quinton. He looked different without his uniform. He wore a stained T-shirt and old jeans and had some food stuck in his scruff. “Can I help you?” he asked.

  Obviously, he didn’t recognize me yet. Maybe it was the hair.

  “I wanted to ask you a few questions about Dud Larson,” I started.

  His face paled, and he stepped back, waving his hands in the air like an air traffic controller saying, “Don’t approach!”—only more frantically. “I don’t have anything to say.”

  “Please. I’m not with the police or the media. I’m just asking as a friend.”

  He paused and viewed me as one might stare at a pit bull, wondering if the dog was going to attack. “You were at the scene that day. You were with the police.”

  “But I’m not the police,” I told him. “Truth be told, I’m a crime scene cleaner.”

  That was the one advantage to my job—knowing I was a blue-collar worker seemed to make certain people trust me more quickly. Whether I liked it or not, there were just some people out there who didn’t like law enforcement officials for one reason or another.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Who’d you let into the tent with Dud?” I held my breath, waiting to see how he’d respond.

  “Excuse me? I’ve already been through this. I didn’t let anyone in. Nor did I see anyone go in. End of story.” He stepped back again, his hand on the door and his scrawny face scrunched up in frustration.

  “Listen, this is just between you and me. But I think you know more. You’re claiming that you were probably talking to a pretty girl and he slipped inside. But I know you play the guitar.”

  I didn’t know that until a few minutes a
go when I spotted an old Fender inside his place. He didn’t have to know that, though.

  “What’s that have to do with anything?” He looked at me like I was a pit bull again.

  “It’s just a hunch. But did you ever talk to Dud about music?”

  He hesitated before rolling one shoulder back and raising his chin. “Maybe once or twice.”

  “Getting to know someone like Dud—getting in his good graces—that might help open up some doors for you.”

  “Anyone would tell you that.” He clucked his tongue as he nodded.

  “What I’m wondering is if Dud made you some kind of promise in exchange for you letting him into the tent with a girl.”

  He rubbed his beard and remained silent for a moment. “That’s a pretty big accusation for such a little girl.”

  His words made me abrasive. “We can do this the easy way. You can talk to me, and I’ll use that information to benefit my investigation. Or we can do it the hard way, and I can report to the police that you know more than you’re letting on. What’s it going to be?”

  He raised his hands in innocence. “I don’t want any trouble. I had no idea what was going to happen that night. I just thought Dud was trying to impress a girl. You can’t blame a guy for that.”

  “So he did ask you if he could go into the tent?”

  “Yeah, he asked me. Said he was going to introduce me to some friend of his who was looking for a guitarist. He told me I could go hang out with the band at Wentworth’s ranch sometimes and Trace would give me some pointers.”

  “Really?” It sounded like quite the deal.

  “Yes, really. He insisted he wasn’t going to cause any trouble. He just needed some privacy.”

  “Did Dud and this woman act like they were a couple?”

  Quinton shrugged. “Hard to say. They weren’t holding hands or anything. There was some tension between them. I couldn’t tell if it was romantic or angry. All I cared about was that gig Dud had for me. I’ve been playing for years, hoping the right door would open for me. I thought it could be my in.”

  That was all fine and dandy, but his future was the least of my worries at the moment.

  “Describe the girl again.”

  He looked off into the distance and pressed his lips together in thought. “I don’t know. She had dark hair. Really dark. She was medium height. Thin. Kind of quiet. She seemed kind of eager about something, but she didn’t really say a lot.”

  Had Georgia disguised herself as Skye and blackmailed Dud into meeting with her? Or maybe they’d had a romantic relationship? Since Trace wasn’t interested, had she moved on to Dud? But, if that were the case, why had she killed Dud? I still had so many questions.

  “So, spell out for me what happened that night. You were guarding the tent because there was expensive sound equipment inside. As you were at the door, Dud came up and whispered this little arrangement to you. You agreed. How much longer was it before we discovered Dud’s dead body?”

  “About thirty minutes, I suppose.”

  “You didn’t hear any gunfire?”

  He shook his head. “The music coming from the other tent was loud. I didn’t hear a thing. I’ve felt terrible about all of this since it happened.”

  “But not terrible enough to go to the police?”

  He leaned toward me. “Look, I’ve got a son. I’ve got to pay child support. I can’t afford to lose this job. Are you going to tell the police?”

  I stared at him a moment, contemplating my answer. Finally, I shook my head. “No, I’ll keep this quiet—unless it becomes crucial to the investigation. I’ll do whatever I can to protect you, though.”

  “Thank you.”

  I nodded, needing to let this new information sink in.

  ***

  After talking to Quinton, I made my way back to the warehouse where the band was rehearsing. It took me nearly two hours. Rush hour was in full swing, and I was tenser than a cat on a tightrope over water by the time I parked and walked inside.

  For the first time today, I wondered what I’d missed at my conference. I hated to pay the money for it and then not show up. But it had been good to dig into the investigation and get my hands dirty.

  It had also been good to avoid Dr. Levi Stone.

  I frowned at the mere thought of him. I’d had him up on a pedestal that he never deserved to be on. His fall had squashed me but didn’t affect him at all. Arrogance was like that—it made people oblivious.

  I leaned against the back wall and listened to the band. It just wasn’t the same onstage without Dud. There was another drummer, but the band kept stopping in order to talk about how songs should be played. I could see the frustration and grief on Trace’s face.

  “They’re almost finished,” someone said.

  I looked over and saw Jono standing beside me, his arms crossed as he watched the band finish rehearsing.

  “I’ll just wait,” I told him.

  “If you can’t tell, they’re trying out a new drummer.”

  “That’s gotta be hard.”

  He shrugged. “You have to do what you have to do. They can’t afford to lose any momentum right now. It’s a hard reality, but reality can be like that. They’ll have plenty of time to mourn once this tour is over.”

  “That seems harsh.”

  He scowled at me. “What can I say? Timing is everything. Stopping the tour right now would be a huge mistake. I’m not sure if the band would recover. I’ve been trying to ready Trace all day for a press conference. He needs to seem sad yet hopeful. Our A&R guy has been rehearsing with him all morning.”

  Nothing I’d say would change Jono’s mind about how insensitive he was being, so I just leaned against the wall to wait for Trace to finish. I needed to give his truck back, plus I was going to update him.

  Jono shook his head beside me. “Next week at this time, they’ll be off on a 150-city tour. But it’s going to take a lot of work before then. They’re making a lot of mistakes today.”

  I listened to the band and I didn’t notice anything. “You mean the drummer is making a lot of mistakes?”

  He let out a long sigh. “I know it doesn’t look like anything is choreographed onstage, but everything is planned and on purpose. There’s a science to being a good performer. Rule number one is that you have to make it look like you haven’t practiced. Everyone’s off their game today.”

  “Considering what happened, that’s not surprising. All of this sounds complicated.”

  “It is complicated. That’s why so many people fail in this business. They can be the most talented person musically, but if they don’t have that ‘it’ factor, they’re not going to succeed. This isn’t the music business it was fifty years ago, when just talent alone could get you by.”

  I crossed my arms, talking louder than usual in order to be heard over the music. “You think Trace has the ‘it’ factor?”

  He scoffed. “Think it? I know it. That’s the only reason I agreed to manage the band. Trace has the talent, the look, and everything else in between. I know a sure bet when I see one.”

  Since Jono was being chatty, I decided to seize the moment. “I heard Lenny was pretty upset when you swooped in and took over.”

  “I hardly swooped in. I was hired.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Didn’t you pursue them?” No one had directly said that, but I could see Jono as the type to go after potential clients.

  “Nothing wrong with going after what you want. I saw potential in Trace.” He pushed his glasses up higher. “Lenny just wasn’t cutting it. He was holding the band back instead of moving them forward.”

  “I’m sure there were some hard feelings there.”

  “You know what I say: all’s fair in love and music.”

  I glanced at him, narrowing my eyes. “Is that what they say?”

  He shrugged, a small smile curling the corners of his lips. “That’s what I say.”

  “You and Lenny ever have any confrontations about this? I
could see where he might think you’d stolen his job. There’s a lot of potential for negative feelings.”

  “He’s got to be a big boy and grow up. I don’t know what else I can say.”

  “I see.”

  “How’s your investigation going?”

  “I haven’t found as many answers as I would have liked. I’m not ready to give up yet, though.”

  He glanced at me with his beady, high-strung eyes. “Look, I want all of this cleared up just as much as anyone, but sometimes I think Trace is just being dramatic.”

  His words threw me off guard. “She’s done some disturbing things. In fact, I thought I saw her spying on me when I was at Trace’s place.”

  Jono shook his head and flipped his hand in the air in a nonchalant manner. “Trace led her on, and she didn’t know how to accept his rejection. End of story. I just wish Trace would get over this. It’s really getting old.”

  “Why would you say Trace led her on?”

  “He gave her some attention and then started to brush her off. She thought it was more than he did. Same old story that’s happened since dating began.” He rattled it off like it was a grocery list or something.

  I didn’t like Jono’s reaction to what had happened. How could he be so flippant about everything?

  Unless Trace hadn’t shared with him everything that had occurred with Georgia.

  It was the only thing I could think of.

  “You’ve heard about everything that’s happened?” I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Really. I mean, Jono was the one who’d assembled that folder full of information. I thought he was invested in this.

  “He’s reading too much into things. He has a flare for drama. It helps with his charisma factor, but he’s going to have to get used to women wanting to be groupies. He can’t yell ‘fire’ every time.” He shook his head. “I can’t tell Trace that, though. Stars have to be treated very carefully.”

  “I’m sorry, but did you say there’s been another occasion?”

  Jono nodded. “Yeah, there has been. I wasn’t his manager then, but apparently a year ago he thought another woman was following him everywhere. He even thought she broke into his house. There was never any proof. If you ask me, it’s because it never happened.”