Always Watching (13 page)

No response.

“Well, I have an answer for you.”

“Wonderful.”

“As you admit, you’re all about making money with your photos. Somehow you must have thought this would help you make money.”

Cat smirked and looked away at the wall.

Bingo.

“If you don’t want to talk about that, we can go back to Tom’s murder.”

“I
didn’t
have anything to do with that.”

For the next twenty minutes, Detective Furlow pressed Cat about the murder. But Cat refused to budge — he knew “nothing” about it. Neither did he know anything about the white rose I’d received.

“I’m not lying about either of those things!” Cat shouted.

The detective sat back, eyes locked on Cat’s face.

Mom sighed. “The detective’s not getting anywhere with this. Maybe Cat wasn’t involved in the murder.”

“But we can’t know. Maybe he was working with someone else,” Ross said. “Question is — are they just going to let him
go
in the meantime?”

Please no.
I didn’t want to be on the streets, knowing Cat could show up any minute. Or worse, be watching me unseen. The thought sent shivers down my spine.

The detective folded his arms. “I know you
are
lying about some things, Mr. Torret. You’d better tell me what you
did
do — and why. Or this could be a very long night.”

Cat slumped in his chair, looking deflated and worn. “Okay, okay. I put the photo in her bag to scare her a little. No big deal.”

To scare me?
Righteous indignation kicked up my spine. Mom and Ross both uttered curses.

“Why would you want to scare her?”

Cat gave the detective another one of those you’re-an-idiot looks. “Because if she’s scared, she’ll look more vulnerable. Those kinds of photos are worth more.”

“I see.” The detective cocked his head, as if pondering the logic. “So … you scare her with the photo. Then later that night you pull the fire alarm. You figure when she runs out of the building, she’ll
really
look tired and frightened by then.”

Cat shrugged.

Shrugged.

No denial. He’d
done
it. He’d put me through all this just for some lousy pictures.

“Have I about summed it up?”

Cat looked around, annoyed. “Can I go now? You got what you wanted.”

“Mr. Torret,
did
you pull that fire alarm?”

“Yes, yes! Okay? Now I’m done talking. You want more, get me a lawyer. Otherwise I’m out of here.”

Slowly, Detective Furlow stood up, towering over Cat. “Hate to tell you, but you’re not ‘out of here.’”

Cat’s face paled. “What?”

“As I see it, you got multiple charges. Tampering with a fire alarm is a misdemeanor in California.”

“Yeah, a misdemeanor! Hardly a reason for you to keep me — “

“And
you’ve violated California’s anti-stalking law.”

“I’m not a stalker!”

“Tell it to the judge. You sent Shaley O’Connor a message designed, by your own admission, to cause her to fear for her safety. And you pulled the alarm to further disturb her.”

“Oh, come on!” Cat surged to his feet. “That’s a twisting of the law if I ever heard it!”

Detective Furlow stared him down. “Like I said, tell it to the judge.” He walked to the door.

“No, wait!”

The detective looked back, one hand on the knob. “An officer will be here in a minute to escort you to your cell.”

Left alone in the room, the typically smug Cat crumbled into whining tears.

D
etective Furlow finished questioning Len Torret at 3:45 a.m. As Mom, Ross, and I slid back into the detective’s car to return to the hotel, my brain and body felt like they were wrapped in fuzz. As much as I’d wanted to concentrate during the last half hour of the interview, my eyes kept sinking shut. Still, it had been worth it to sacrifice our sleep. Especially watching Cat cry. Mom and I did a grim high five at that.

Detective Furlow’s car smelled like ranch dressing and chicken. I’d left my salad on the seat.

“You should eat some more,” Mom said.

I made a face. “It’s icky and warm now.”

As Detective Furlow started the engine, I sank back, my sluggish brain doggedly going over everything I’d just heard.

“You were great in there, Furlow,” Ross said from the front passenger seat.

“Thanks.”

Mom buckled her seat belt. “At least he’s off the streets for a while.”

“That was my goal. We needed to keep him behind bars as long as possible while we continue investigating the murder. I’m still not convinced he knows nothing about it.”

Ross grunted. “Is he facing jail time over these current charges?”

“I
hope
so.” Vengeance bittered my voice.

“Possibly.” Detective Furlow pulled out of the station’s parking lot
onto the street. “The fire alarm tampering and the stalking charges each carry a maximum one year. But all his charges also carry fines, so it’s possible a judge may only hand down that kind of sentence. For now, though, these multiple charges allow the prosecutor to ask for higher bail. Maybe that will help us keep him behind bars for a day or two.”

My heavy eyelids closed. The vibration of the car was lulling me to sleep.

Mom heaved a sigh. “Can’t you keep him because he’s a suspect in a
murder?
Isn’t that
enough?”

“I wish it were that simple, but it’s a stretch. We know he’s been harassing Shaley. We know he was in town at the time of the murder. But we don’t have anything concrete to tie him to that crime.”

Anything concrete.
That’s what we still needed.

I massaged my forehead, dragging in deep breaths. I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever sleep again. Once in bed, would my brain even shut down? Plus I’d have maybe four hours before the alarm went off. I
had
to get up in time to eat something in the morning, or I was likely to faint in the airport.

Wouldn’t
that
“vulnerable pose” put the paparazzi in a tizzy?

At the hotel, Detective Furlow escorted us inside and to our floor. He shook hands with each of us before leaving. We thanked him profusely.

He shrugged. “Just doing my job. And it’s hardly done yet. Even though we won’t be seeing each other, you can know I’ll keep on this case. And I’ll be in touch. I hope to have an answer about the white rose tomorrow.”

Ross moved his wide neck from side to side, trying to work out the kinks. He had to tilt back his head to look the tall detective in the face. “And if Torret’s lying about sending the rose?”

“Then I’ll question him again. And next time I won’t be so nice.”

T
he buzzing alarm pounded nails in my head. I slapped it off and stared blearily at the closed curtains of the hotel room.

Brittany and I moved like slugs as we dressed, dreading our parting. Hopefully we could stay together until the last minute since she was flying on the same airline and our gates shouldn’t be too far apart.

I so wanted to go home with Brittany. If only Mom had said yes.

I have to stay with you, Shaley, or there’s danger …

Brittany’s expression told me she was thinking the same thing. Neither of us spoke it.

I was achingly tired, and my head felt pressed in a vise. I’d promised myself I would eat breakfast but now had no interest in food. My growling stomach stretched within me like a deep, black hole.

Our limos pulled away from the hotel shortly after ten a.m. Sitting next to Brittany, I closed my eyes and laid my head back against the seat. I felt miserable. At that moment I
hated
the tour. I hated the band. I just wanted to
go home.

“You all right, Shaley?” Mom sat on the other side of Brittany, Kim next to her. Facing us on the opposite seat were Mick, Ross, and Morrey.

“No, thanks to you.” My tone dripped with accusation.

Mom’s voice edged. “I’m just trying to keep you safe, Shaley.”

“I’d be safer away from this tour.”

“You’ll be safer where I can keep an eye on you. Not to mention the bodyguards.”

Little good they’d done.

No one else spoke. Tension swirled around us all the way to the airport. I kept my eyes closed the entire ride.

The limo pulled to a halt.

“Heads up, Shaley, we’re here.” Mom sounded irritated. “And mind yourself if reporters show up. The last thing we need are news stories of you acting snotty.”

Snotty?

Okay, so Mom was tired too.
Still, didn’t I have a right to be angry?
I railed to myself.
How about Cat and the other paparazzi?
Not to mention the reporters. They were hounding me, remember?

Besides, at that moment I couldn’t have cared less what
anyone
thought of me. Why couldn’t everyone just leave me alone?

We entered the San Jose terminal, pulling our own bags, and headed for the upstairs level where check-in is located. Mom and I stepped off the elevator straight into a mass of reporters.

I shrank away. The reporters shouted, and TV cameras whirred. Flashes battered my eyes. Microphones were thrust toward me. I ducked and put a hand in front of my face.

“Rayne,” some woman yelled, “what do you know about Tom Hutchens’s murder?”

“Are there any suspects?”

“Shaley, is it true Tom was in love with you?”

The question stung like pelting hail. I reeled back.

“Shaley, talk to us!”

More reporters shoved. Cameras clicked on.

“Hey!” Ross shouted. “Get back and give us some room!”

“Shaley, was Tom your boyfriend?”

“Did the false alarm at your hotel have anything to do with the murder?”

“Were you dating anyone besides Tom?”

Wendell grabbed my arm. “Let’s go.”

My throat cinched shut. Brittany hung onto me. Keeping my head down, I watched the floor move under my stumbling feet. Bruce and Wendell closed in on either side of Mom.

Airport guards surrounded us as Ross checked our baggage. The questions and cameras wouldn’t stop. I buried my head in Wendell’s chest, hands over my ears, praying for Ross to
hurry.
Finally checked in, we were hustled through security as quickly as possible. Once we pushed into the lines, the reporters had to fall back.

Tears swam in my eyes as I walked through the security machine. On the other side, I could finally breathe.

Ross’s face was red with anger. “Sorry about that, Shaley.” He gave me a rough hug. “Those idiots don’t even know what they’re talking out.”

Oh,
yes they do.
But how had they found out? Leaks from the police? The media now knew more about Tom’s feelings for me than Ross and the band did. Wouldn’t take long for Stan, Morrey, and all the rest to hear the sensational details. Then how could I
face
them?

Bruce, Wendell, and Mick formed a triangle around us as we headed to our gate. Reporters were gone, but fans and curiosity-seekers were everywhere. The band members always tried to be polite with fans, but this had been a rough couple of days for all of us. The looks on our bodyguards’ faces sent the message —
leave them alone.

“You okay, Brittany?” I reached for her arm. She could stay with me until we boarded.

“Yeah.” She sounded as shaky as I felt.

At the gate, I fell into a chair, Kim on one side and Brittany on the other. Exhausted and sick at heart over Brittany’s leaving, I stared at my lap.

Carly came over and patted my knee. “Want something to eat? There’s a Starbucks nearby. I can bring you a sandwich.”

I shook my head. “But thanks.”

Brittany laced her fingers through mine. “Just stay close to your bodyguards — all the time. Everything’ll be okay.”

“But you said —”

“I know what I said.”

“Then, what? That sense of yours telling you something new?”

She was silent for a moment. “You’ll be okay. You
have
to be.”

In other words — no.

An airline employee called for our boarding to begin.

Brittany and I stood up and clung to each other. Tears ran down her cheeks, wetting my own. “Take care of yourself. Be careful.”

“I will. You’re right — I’ll be fine.”

She pulled back. “Call me. A
lot.
The minute you get off the plane.”

“I will.” I pulled my top lip between my teeth. “I’m sorry, Brittany. I’m so sorry all this happened. I just wanted you to have a good time.”

“No, it was the
right
time for me to be here. I mean, if this had to happen, I’m just glad I could be with you.”

“Come on, Shaley.” Mom touched my arm, empathy in her voice. “We have to go.”

“Bye, Rayne.” Brittany hugged my mom. “Thanks so much for inviting me.”

“Sure. Wish you could have stayed.”

Brittany stretched out her arm as I moved away, and we touched fingers until we could no longer reach.

Walking down the boarding ramp, I turned back for a final wave. She raised her hand with a sad smile.

A
month.
A solid month until I saw her again. The last two days themselves had seemed an eternity.

Mom’s cell phone rang as we entered the plane. She pulled it from her purse, checked the ID, and answered in low tones.

I followed her into our first-class row—hers, the window seat, mine, the aisle. Sinking into my seat, I turned off my cell phone
and shoved my purse under the chair in front of me. Mom was still talking to someone.

“I see.” She stared blankly at the seat in front of her. “Well. That’s really —” She laid her head back and gazed upwards. “Yes. We should. In fact she’s right here. Would you tell her?”

She handed the cell to me, her expression serious. “Detective Furlow.”

I tensed, searching her eyes. Now what? News about Tom’s murderer I didn’t want to hear? “Hi, this is Shaley.”

“Hello. I understand you’re on the plane. Glad I caught you. I just told your Mom we were able to trace the credit card buyer of that white rose you received.”

It’s my dad.
The thought pierced me, an arrow through the back. I went weak. Maybe he really
was
out there trying to reach me. After all the years of wanting to find him, had it come down to this mundane moment, sitting on some stupid plane?

“Yeah?”

“Turns out it’s not someone we’d thought of, but in hindsight, we should have guessed.”

My heart knocked against my ribs. “Wh-who?”

“Tom Hutchens.”