Broom and Gloom: Squeaky Clean Mysteries, Book 9 Read online

  “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.”

  I absorbed the information. Before I could ask any more questions, Trace spoke into his microphone. “I’m going to be running late, Gabby. It’s probably going to be another hour or two. You good with that?”

  Truth was that I was exhausted, and I was mad at myself for not having a car right now. Make that, I was mad at Levi, since he was the reason I didn’t have a car.

  I waved to him, and he took it as a sign I was okay. He ran his pick across his guitar strings again and began tuning a wayward string.

  I turned to Jono. “I’m going to get a cab. I’d really like to get back. Could you give Trace his keys back and let him know?”

  He offered a tight smile. “Of course. Anything for Trace’s future stepsister.”

  But I had a feeling he couldn’t wait for me to get out of town. He was determined not to let anything ruin Trace’s tour. I wondered if he thought of me as a liability also.

  CHAPTER 17

  I stepped outside of the warehouse just as a faded old yellow sedan pulled up. I eyed the passengers stuffed inside for a moment. Finally, the window rolled down and a college-aged girl with glossy auburn hair and wide, dancing eyes stuck her head out.

  “Is this where Trace Ryan rehearses?”

  I wanted to deny it, but Trace could clearly be heard singing in the background. “Maybe.”

  A car full of squeals sounded. “I knew this was it, girls! I knew it. We found him!”

  Another round of squeals emerged.

  Groupies, I realized. This was my chance to find out some more information about Georgia.

  I pulled up Psycho Woman’s picture on my phone, knowing I needed to make the most of this opportunity. Wasn’t that where success happened? Where preparation and opportunity met? Those self-help books might pay off after all.

  “Have any of you ever seen this woman?” I asked.

  My phone got passed around.

  “Why do you want to know?” the driver finally asked, not so much with hostility as curiosity.

  “We’re worried something happened to her,” I responded. “She was a die-hard fan; that’s why I thought one of you might recognize her.”

  “Who are you?” The driver’s voice was still light, like she was storing the information away to embellish later when she got back to campus or when she wrote her next killer Facebook post.

  “I’m an investigator who’s searching for her. Anyone leading us to information that helps us find this woman will have the opportunity to meet Trace Ryan and get backstage passes.”

  Another round of squeals. I hadn’t confirmed that, but I felt sure Trace would be willing. I hoped so, at least.

  “I’ve seen her before. My name is Bridgette, and I can give you my phone number,” a brunette in the back said, rolling down her window.

  “Tell me more,” I pushed.

  “She was named after a state. Savannah, maybe?” Bridgette scrunched her pert little nose.

  “Savannah’s not a state, idiot!” the girl sitting beside her said, swatting her friend on the arm.

  “Ouch. Whatever. I just got confused.” She rolled her eyes.

  “I think it was Georgia,” the driver said. “Yeah, we’ve seen her around. We go to every concert. She’s always there. She always acted entitled to be near Trace, you know what I mean? She’d give us dirty looks like we were beneath her and she was the deserving one.”

  That was obviously the ultimate insult to these fan girls, because they acted like the homecoming queen was trying to steal their collective boyfriend.

  “When was the last time you saw her?” I asked.

  They all looked at each other, as if they had to confer before answering.

  “Probably a couple of weeks ago. At that concert in Austin,” the driver said.

  “Austin, Texas?” I clarified.

  She nodded. “That’s right. If it’s within a certain driving distance, we try to make it. Austin was kind of pushing it, but it was a great concert, wasn’t it?”

  Her gaggle of friends agreed.

  “Anytime we see Trace Ryan, it’s great,” the backseat girl who thought Savannah was a state said.

  “Did she ever say anything about herself? This girl.” I raised my phone, thinking a couple of them might need additional clarification.

  They all glanced at each other and shrugged.

  “Not really,” the driver said. “Everything was about Trace. Where he was playing next. How good he looked in his jeans. How his voice made her swoon.”

  “Did anything else ever strike you as odd about her?” I asked. “Other than her obsession with Trace.”

  “I heard her say one time that she knew she and Trace would end up together one day,” Driver Girl said. “I thought that was weird. I mean, really? I’d never even seen Trace talk to her. She seemed to think they were going to get married or something.”

  “Oh, and I think I heard her mention that she’d started a fan page,” Backseat Savannah said. “She said she was talking to the drummer—or was it the guitar player?—about getting some more information, maybe some never-seen-before photos. Apparently, she wasn’t above using people to get what she wanted.”

  Interesting. Maybe Georgia really was that scheming. Which really meant that this case was becoming more dangerous all the time.

  ***

  As I rode back in the cab, my mind turned over what I’d learned today. Based on what Jono had told me about another potential stalker, was Trace one who liked to cry wolf? Was Georgia innocent here and Trace just exaggerating? I found that hard to believe. Besides, I’d seen that woman peering into Trace’s house.

  Then there was Skye. Maybe she was just a gypsy who didn’t like to stay in one place for too long, and maybe all my investigating was for nothing. It was a possibility I needed to face. I’d be foolish if I didn’t.

  And what about the information Fan Girls had given me? Had Georgia manipulated another band member into helping her? Had she manipulated Dud into helping her? Perhaps she’d gotten close to him, just so she could be nearer to Trace.

  I shook my head. I just didn’t know.

  Just as I pulled into OKC, Trace texted me and asked if I wanted to meet tonight to hang out. He said he’d come out to my part of town and meet me.

  I thought about it a moment. Why not? Even though I was tired, I’d still like to ask him a few more questions.

  The cab driver dropped me off in front of the convention center hotel, I handed over nearly all my cash, and then I started toward the front door. I noticed the same sidewalk prophet standing on the corner, holding signs about the end being near.

  Maybe that’s what I needed to do to proclaim my faith. Stand on the city streets and yell at everyone who passed. That just wasn’t my way of spreading the gospel message, though, and I didn’t think it would ever be.

  “Ma’am!”

  I paused, knowing good and well who was talking to me. I slowly turned toward the Willie Nelson lookalike. “Yes?”

  “She’s watching you,” he said, his eyes so wide the whites were visible. He jabbed a finger toward me and stared.

  I shuddered, though I wasn’t sure if it was because of how he looked or what he said. Maybe both. “What?”

  He nodded, his skin vibrating at the intensity of the motion. “Danger lurks close.”

  I tried to brush off his words as those of a crazy man. That had to be it. Right? It wasn’t like the man was really a prophet. Not even a psychic. At the most, the man had mental problems. At the least, he was just passionate about proselytizing. But still, I felt a little rattled.

  I hurried inside, desperate to get away from the craziness. I had no idea what I
’d do tonight, but at least I’d have the freedom to set my own schedule and not rely on anyone else for transportation.

  Much to my dismay, the first person I saw when I walked into the building was Evie. She stood with a phone to her ear near the front door, wearing almost all black again.

  Winona Ryder, I decided. That’s who she reminded me of, only with less expression and more of a goth vibe.

  As soon as she saw me, she put away her phone and approached me. “There are better ways to get ahead, you know.”

  I stopped and gave her my best no-nonsense stare. “What?”

  She looked down at me, her eyes full of challenge. “You don’t have to sleep with Dr. Stone to advance your career.”

  My arms went to my hips as fire heated my blood. “What in the world are you talking about? Are you on drugs or something?”

  “I saw you leave with him yesterday. And now you’re wearing the same thing as you were last night. I can put things together, Gabby. I’m not a member of Mensa for nothing.”

  “You’re making a lot of assumptions.”

  She twisted her head. “Am I?”

  “I may have had a lapse in judgment, but you’ve got all of this wrong. Dr. Stone is a first-class jerk. But I’m not the type to use people to get ahead. Get that through your Mensa-sized brain. I’ve worked for everything—everything—I’ve got in this life. It may not be much, but I’ve earned it all through tears, sweat, and hard work. So, why don’t you go pick on someone else?” Anger singed my voice. She’d obviously hit a soft spot. But I was really tired of people assuming things.

  I started to walk away, to storm back to my room, for that matter, when Evie called me. “I’m sorry, Gabby.”

  Her voice sounded soft, sincere.

  After drawing in a deep breath, I slowly turned. I needed mercy in my life. That meant I needed to offer it to other people also, even people who didn’t deserve it. “But are you?”

  She cut her eyes to the left and right and then stepped closer. “I was up for a position in Chicago. It was between me and another woman. The other woman was ‘friends’ with Dr. Stone, who just happened to be working there at the time. Needless to say, the other woman ended up getting the position, even though I was more qualified. I guess you could say I’m still bitter.”

  “I had no idea that Dr. Stone had this kind of reputation.”

  She nodded coldly. “He does. It makes me sick. He’s a narcissist. And yes, that is my official opinion.”

  I shook my head and decided to explain even more. “I had to get a ride home last night, and one thing had snowballed into another. That’s why I’m just getting back.”

  She stared at me another minute, her dark eyes obviously calculating something. “Have you had dinner yet?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Want to grab something?”

  “I’d love to.” Even though some solitude in my hotel room was calling me, Evie had me intrigued. I wanted to know more about Dr. Stone, and she seemed to be just the person to ask. “But it will have to be close. As you reminded me, I’m still wearing what I wore yesterday.”

  “There’s a place right down the street where I’ve been hanging out after the conference. We can walk there.”

  ***

  We talked about Evie’s career as we walked the three blocks to this restaurant she was sure I’d love. She had big dreams of essentially doing what Dr. Stone did now. She wanted to write books, consult, speak, and head up national forensic organizations. She sounded smart enough to do just that.

  I pulled my coat tighter as I listened to her speak. For a moment, I felt jealous. She’d seen what she’d wanted in life and gone after it. That was more than I could say for myself.

  “Hi, Evie!” A man with a bright, silly smile on his face approached us on the sidewalk.

  I studied him as he got closer. He was of average height, thin, and had thick dark hair and wire-framed glasses. He wasn’t classically handsome, but instead studiously nerdy. I’d seen him in one of the classes I’d attended.

  “Oh, no,” Evie muttered. Louder, she said, “Hi, Sherman.”

  He stopped beside us. “What a coincidence we ran into each other. Do you know what the probability of that is? It’s like 2.34 out of more than a thousand. It’s pretty crazy.”

  Evie grunted, looking uninterested.

  “You two just heading out?” Sherman continued, his puppy-dog-like gaze volleying between the two of us.

  Evie nodded. “That’s right. We’re grabbing some supper.”

  “I’d love to grab a meal together sometime while we’re here. I mean, if you’re available. Not, like, available available, just if your schedule is free.” Every inch of visible skin on his face turned bright red.

  “I’ll check and see,” she said coolly before starting to walk again. “Good running into you.”

  “You too!” he called, a little too brightly and eagerly.

  I flashed him a smile, hoping to reassure him not to take Evie personally, before continuing down the street. The poor guy had it bad. “I think he likes you.”

  She scowled. “He’s been following me around like a lovesick teenager all week.”

  “Do you work together?”

  “No, he’s a computer forensic scientist from Kansas. We actually know each other from Mensa. He’s a know-it-all, and he’s always quoting off-the-wall facts. Who really cares about the probability of us running into each other? And, for that matter, his statistics didn’t sound anywhere close to correct. We’re at the same conference, for goodness’ sakes. That increases the likelihood exponentially.”

  I hid my smile. “Not interested?”

  “I prefer to be married to my career. Relationships will only fail me. My career won’t.”

  Her words surprised me. “You really feel that way?”

  “Yes, really. I don’t have time for games or dating or people who try to toy with my emotions. I have a lot to do in this life and only one chance to get it right.”

  I felt the same way about the time I’d been given here on this earth, but I tended to put more emphasis on relationships in that aspect. In a way, her words were true, though. I’d given up a lot for my relationships, starting when my mom was diagnosed with cancer. I’d dropped out of college to help out. Then I’d put my job search on hold to take care of Riley.

  Did I regret those things? I knew I didn’t. But life would be different right now if I’d made other choices. Maybe Dr. Stone was right. I hated to admit it, but maybe I needed to really buckle down.

  I didn’t believe in only looking out for myself. There was no fulfillment in that. But maybe how I’d been living wasn’t the best choice either. One way or another, I really needed to think long and hard about my future.

  “Since you’re not interested in Dr. Stone, is there anyone else in your life? A boyfriend back home?”

  I shook my head. And, yet again, I found myself pouring out the story about Riley. All of it.

  “You really should give him time, you know,” she said.

  I blanched. “What?” I was not used to hearing that. I was used to hearing people telling me that enough was enough.

  “Yeah, traumatic brain injury is difficult. I know everyone says that relationships always suffer afterward, but the truth is that they change more than they suffer. I think the statistics are overblown.”

  I paused on the sidewalk. “What are you saying?”

  She shrugged. “It’s your life. I’m just saying that as a psychologist, I can attest to what all the professionals have told your ex. I can also tell that you still care about this guy, and that’s half of the battle. Give him time.”

  “You’re the first person who hasn’t told me to move on.”

  “Sometimes moving on isn’t about making drastic changes. Sometimes moving on just means being sure of who you are; that way you know that whatever the future holds, you’ll be okay.”

  Before I could fully absorb her words, we stopped.
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  “Here we are,” Evie said, pulling open the door to a corner restaurant called Barbarians.

  Much to my surprise, it looked like a cave inside. Not only that, but all the servers were dressed like cavemen and -women. The smell of steak and other sizzling meats made my stomach grumble like any true meat eater’s would.

  “Cool, huh? I discovered it by accident on the first night when I was walking around.”

  “Interesting.” Not probably my first choice of a relaxing place to hang out, but I went with it. Besides, now that she’d mentioned food, I was starving.

  We were seated at a chunky wooden table, and I ordered a petite sirloin with a baked potato and broccoli. Apparently, all the food was what might be served during prehistoric times. It was a fun twist on the whole-foods trend that most of my friends were embracing.

  “So, what happened with Dr. Stone?” Evie asked, picking at a dinner roll.

  As last night flashed back into my mind, I frowned. “He wanted more than I could give. I had no idea he had that reputation.” I shook my head. “I’m really not naïve. I guess I just had him up on a pedestal.”

  “A lot of people do, but he’s full of himself. He’s let all his success go to his head, and people have let him. Honestly, he thinks he’s better than he is.”

  “You really don’t think highly of him, do you?” I took a long sip of water, not realizing how parched I was.

  She stared at me a moment. “Can you blame me?”

  I shook my head. “No, not at all.”

  “Apparently, that’s why his wife left him. She couldn’t take his little trysts on the side anymore.”

  “The more I hear, the more I think he’s a horrible person.”

  Evie eyed me a moment, her jaw twitching. Finally, she shared the thoughts that had been brewing in her mind. “I have to warn you. A couple of other conferees saw the two of you leave together yesterday. The rumor mill may have already started up.”

  “May have? Is there something you’re not telling me?” I braced myself for her response, worst-case scenarios rushing through my mind.

  “I try not to gossip, but the doctor has a reputation for having his flavors of the week at conferences like this.”