Dirty Rotten Tendrils (11 page)

“Mom!” I heard Tara call. “Cody’s limo is driving up! OMG!”

I glanced through the glass door pane and saw the white stretch limousine follow two cops on motorcycles straight across the lawn to the side entrance. They were followed by two black limousines, squad cars, and a screaming mob. At once, security guards poured out of the black cars and joined the cops already stationed there to form a barricade.

Tara came tearing out of the parlor just as three young girls ran up to Bloomers from the outside. They were all dressed in the same costume: hot pink satin baseball jacket and cap, voluminous pink cargo pants, and white sneakers. They squealed at each other and at Tara, and jumped up and down until Tara unlocked the door for them.

“Code Blue!” they cried, high-fiving each other.

“What does ‘Code Blue’ mean?” I asked.

“That’s the title of Cody’s hit song,” one of the girls replied.

“Is the song about death?” I asked.

Tara gazed at me as though marbles had just rolled out of my ears. “It’s about love. Duh.”

“That was going to be my second guess.”

Tara rolled her eyes for her friends’ benefit.

“Excuse me,” I said, “but I work long hours here, and when I get home the last thing on my mind is a reality TV show. And if you roll your eyes at me again—”

“We named our rap group after Cody’s song,” one of Tara’s friend interjected, possibly trying to stop an argument. The girl unzipped her pink jacket to show me her white T-shirt with a bluebird painted on the front.

“You formed a rap group?” I glanced at Kathy in surprise, but she merely shrugged.

“We’re the Code Bluebirds,” one of Tara’s friends answered.

Original. “How long have you been a group?” I asked.

“Since we heard Cody was coming to New Chapel,” Tara said.

Kathy added, “They’ve been rehearsing every spare moment.”

“Want to hear us?” one of the girls asked, still bouncing with excitement.

“Not now, Krystal,” Tara said. “Mom, can we go across the street now? Please?”

“Let me get my coat,” Kathy said. “Want to keep me company, Ab?”

“As delightful as that sounds, Kathy, there’s something I have to take care of first. But don’t tell me you’re a Cody fan, too.”

“I like his hit song,” Kathy admitted, “but his appeal is mainly to Tara’s age group. So come join us when you’re done. I could use some adult company.”

After they’d gone, I put in a call to Rafe. When his phone went to voice mail, I left a message asking him to get in touch with me as soon as possible. Then I headed across the street to find out why Cody Verse was such a hit.

 

 

When Cody took the stage, the roar from the crowd was deafening. Police stood shoulder to shoulder across the front to prevent fans from rushing him, but two teen girls managed to slip through anyway. They scrambled onstage and bared their midriffs for Cody to sign. I could see his mouth moving as he spoke into an almost invisible microphone that wrapped around the side of his face, but whatever he said was lost in all the screaming. He was wearing a sequined white satin baseball jacket, matching baseball cap, voluminous cobalt blue pants and white sneakers. I understood now where Tara had gotten the look.

Cody scribbled on the girls’ stomachs, and then, as police led them offstage, he tried quieting the crowd by giving them the peace sign, then finally strummed a dissonant chord on his electric guitar that bounced off the buildings, boomeranging from one side of the square to the other. He held up his hands, asking for silence.

As the roar faded to a manageable buzz, Cody put his guitar aside and began to yell into his mic as he strutted around the stage. “Thank you, New Chapel! It’s great to be home! You guys rock! Wooo-hooo! Yes! You rock!”

“We want Lila!” a male called from the crowd. He was joined by others, until finally Cody held up his hands.

“I hear you, man. Who wouldn’t want Lila?” He turned and motioned to someone.

As the audience clapped, Lila Redmond climbed up the steps at the back and glided across the stage toward him, her glossy black hair rippling in the spotlight. She wore a black furry vest over a colorful, long-sleeved print tunic, with a pair of black leggings and high-heeled gold gladiator sandals. She waved at the crowd and blew kisses, causing more than one male to shout, “I love you, Lila!”

As she stepped to his side, Cody put an arm around her and pulled her tightly against him. “Lila Redmond, everyone.”

The audience cheered as Cody and Lila smiled at each other. But oddly, despite the show of teeth, the look that passed between them seemed hostile. In fact, Cody looked ready to bite.

He released her and turned toward his adoring fans. “Lila knows how happy I am to be back in this wonderful town—my hometown—New Chapel, Indiana!”

That brought on a swell of cheering and clapping and shouts of “New Chapel!”

Cody sure knew how to milk it.

“And tomorrow morning we’ll appear on WNCN’s morning talk show,” Cody told the crowd, “so remember to tune in.” He laughed at a remark about his relationship with Lila, then said, “Sorry. You’ll have to wait for tomorrow to find out. Okay, so I guess we’re ready to—”

Lila gave him a nudge. Cody glanced at her and then said, “Oh, right. I forgot to announce that Lila will be star-ring in a movie called
Beach Belles of Summer
, coming out in July.”

Lila used a portable mic to say in her breathless voice, “I hope you’ll come see me in it.”

That started a new round of applause, along with some wolf whistles.

“Now, then—are you ready to call a code?” Cody shouted, as Lila backed away from the center of the stage and stood just beyond the reach of the lights.

The crowd went wild and began chanting, “Code Blue!” as he picked up his guitar and put the strap around his neck.

“Don’t forget,” Cody yelled above the racket. “Signed copies of my
Code Blue
CD will be on sale after the performance at the tables set up behind the stage.”

He was about to launch into his song when he seemed to remember the whole purpose of the event. As though rushing to get through it, he said, “I’d like to dedicate this evening to the late Ken Lipinski and to the family and friends he left behind.”

There was a smattering of applause as people in the crowd glanced at each other as though to say,
Is that why we’re here?

“Cody didn’t even mention that Lipinski was his attorney,” Kathy said to me.

Cody strummed a few opening bars to whet the audience’s appetite. “Here it is—what you’ve been waiting for—my winning song!” As the crowd hooted and cheered, he began to sing, “My heart belongs only to you. If you leave me, just call a code blue.” Then he hit a loud chord and took off in a wild frenzy, shattering the air with his electric guitar, leaping around the stage, setting off nearly every set of female lungs in the audience. He pumped up the volume even higher, until I could feel the vibrations through the soles of my shoes. And although my ears were ringing, I found myself dancing with the crowd, caught in the spirit of the music.

“Can you see why ‘Code Blue’ won the contest?” Kathy shouted in my ear.

Cody waited until the crowd quieted to introduce his second number, a song he had just written, he announced proudly. And although the girls still screamed as he performed it, and those decibels still stabbed my eardrums, the music was bland and the lyrics repetitive and uninspired. I wondered if the missing ingredient was Andrew.

Before Cody could begin his third number, a figure suddenly leaped onto the back of the stage and grabbed the mic from Lila’s hand. Before the cops or guards realized what was happening, the young man yelled, “Cody Verse is a fraud! I wrote the words to ‘Code Blue’!”

The cops had managed to scramble onto the stage after him and now grabbed his arms and forced him off the platform. It didn’t prevent him from yelling, “You know what you did, Cody. You know you’re guilty, man! You can stall the lawsuit all you want, but I won’t let you get away with it!”

He struggled but finally gave up as the cops folded him into a squad car.

“Who was that nut?” Kathy asked, as the car took off, lights flashing.

“I’m guessing the nut is Cody Verse’s former songwriting partner, Andrew Chapper.”

 

 

After the interruption, or maybe because of it, Cody ended his performance, which didn’t thrill Tara and her group or the other teen girls in the audience. Cody brought his agent onstage, who thanked him for the great performance, then introduced Cody’s new attorney, Scott Hess, Ken Lipinski’s only associate, who wanted to say a few words in tribute to his late boss.

Hess was a thirtyish, brown-skinned man of slight build and average height who seemed elated to be onstage with Cody. After repeatedly shaking his hand and then Lila’s hand, Hess finally took the portable mic from her and proceeded to give an effusive tribute to his deceased employer, whom he credited for hiring him when no one else would.

After he spoke, the mayor took the mic, thanking Cody for generously giving of his time in memory of such an upstanding attorney, while in the background Cody and Lila ducked into their limo and were driven off. As soon as the fans saw them leave, they jumped up and raced for the tables to buy Cody’s CD, leaving the mayor talking to rows of empty chairs.

My cell phone vibrated, so I said good-bye to my niece and sister-in-law and answered the call as I headed toward my car.

“Hey, Abby, it’s Rafe. I just got your message.”

“I can hardly hear you. Where are you?”

“Standing in line to buy a Cody Verse CD.”

I turned around and glanced back toward the tables. “On the courthouse lawn?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you meet me at my flower shop when you’re done?”

“Tonight?”

“Hey, we’re both downtown, so why not?”

“Well . . . I guess so. What’s up?”

What was I supposed to say?
I have to talk you out of your wedding?
“Oops, got another call. See you in a few, Rafe.”

I glanced at my watch. Eight o’clock. Still early. I let myself inside the shop, made a cup of honey-and-lemon tea to warm up, then sat at a table to stare out the window, planning what I was going to say. Rafe showed up fifteen minutes later—with his bride-to-be in tow.

Well, there went that plan. Now I’d have to find a way to speak to Rafe alone.

I let them in, then locked the door behind them. Cinnamon gave me a quick smile and a distracted “Hi,” as she glanced around, twirling a lock of neon orange hair that had fallen over one eye. Rafe stood just inside the door, jingling the keys in his pocket as though on edge.

“Come on in,” I said. “Anyone want tea? We’ve got quite a few flavors, but no coffee, unfortunately. Grace is the only one who knows how to run the machine. It’s one of those multitaskers that does everything except drink the coffee for you.”

“Nothing for me, thanks,” Rafe said, still jingling.

“I’ll have a double espresso latte with cocoa,” Cinnamon said, snapping her chewing gum.

Had she missed that whole bit about me not being able to work the machine? I looked at Rafe, but he was helping Cinnamon with her coat. Although the evening was chilly, she had on a red miniskirt with a short, quilted black coat, bare legs, black flip-flops, and, as her coat came off, a red striped tube top, no bra, was revealed. She eyed me from the right side of her face, as her hair hung like a curtain over the left side, then angled up sharply to the nape of her neck in back.

“No coffee tonight,” I said. “Sorry.”

She didn’t look pleased. “Got any diet soda?”

“Nope. Tea or water.”

She gave an unhappy shrug, then began to explore the room. “Water, I guess.” She paused beside my mom’s tee cart and scrunched up her face in distaste. “Is this, like, the biggest golf tee in the world?”

“Yes. Rafe?”

“Water is fine.”

I led the way into the parlor and got two bottles of water from the minifridge under the back counter. Cinnamon was standing in front of the bay window watching the workers take down the stage, her palms flattened against the glass.

Rafe pulled out a chair for her; she parked herself on it, then sat back and crossed her legs, glancing around as though she didn’t have a care in the world. Rafe took a seat beside her but sat on the edge, his knees bouncing nervously as he opened his bottle and took a long drink.

“What did you think of Cody’s performance?” I asked.

“Totally awesome,” Cinnamon said in a matter-of-fact voice.

“So what’s up?” he asked me.

“I thought since we were all down here at the same time, we could sit and talk, warm up a while. It’s brisk out there.” I rubbed my arms and shivered, though I wasn’t sure why I felt the need for body language.

Rafe ran his fingers through his wavy dark hair, looking very uncomfortable.

“Hey, Rafe, as long as you’re here—a light went out in my workroom and I can’t reach the bulb. Would you help me? It’ll only take a minute.”

“Can’t you climb on a stool?” Rafe asked.

“I fall easily. I promise we won’t leave your girlfriend alone long.”

“Fiancée,” she corrected. Popping her gum, she held up her left hand and pointed to it with her right. “Officially.”

At first all I saw were her long fingernails decorated with shiny multicolored stars on a black background. Then I noticed the ring on her fourth finger, a small marquise-cut diamond in a gold band etched with tiny chevrons on either side.

She was wearing my engagement ring.