Necessary Detour (4 page)

“Wait a minute.” She laughed. “You’re the Soup Guy.”

He acted surprised. “Ah, technically you’re the Soup Lady.”

She wagged a finger at him.

Their common ground was a hundred cans of chicken noodle soup.

“Thanks for your help that day,” she said.

“No problem.” When her little dog sniffed his feet, he leaned down to scratch its ears. What had he read about this dog? Adopted recently. Goldy and the dog did promotion for the Humane Society.

“Have you eaten all your soup yet?” Nikki grinned brazenly at him.

“I realized it’s the one thing I can’t eat.” He shrugged. “It’s a boring childhood story that involves puking.” Pete was gratified when she laughed. “I’m renting the Dickerson place.” He pointed to the log house.

She nodded like she’d just added two and two. “I didn’t notice anyone over there.”

Ha! That was cute because she’d been watching him just now. He played along. “Good because I’ve been hammering. Kind of noisy.”

“S’okay. I’m Nikki by the way.”

Her gaze made him nervous. “Pete Bayer.” Meaning to shake her hand, it turned into more of a joining of hands. He let go and she folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head. He’d held on too long. Shit. She could now tell he was falling all over himself. Probably used to that.

The dog barked at something in the bushes.

“Do you live here full time?” He’d pretend he didn’t know she was Goldy, try to find out when she was leaving. That’s what he’d come over for. That, and to let her know he could see her spying on him. And that had to stop. Immediately.

“This is just a visit.” she said. A look of suspicion crossed her pretty face, like she’d put up crime scene yellow tape. Probably it was normal for a superstar to question everyone’s intentions. He’d crossed a boundary.

“You hit some nice weather.” Try to draw this out. He looked at the sky and waited for her to say she was leaving soon. When he looked back, she was still staring at him. She was good at this. He was too. Usually. “I’m going to be busy working, but if you need help with anything...” Pete took a step back and almost fell over a tree root poking up through the dirt.

“What kind of work do you do?” Goldy stepped forward to close the distance. Now she was in charge. Interesting.

“Computer software.” It sounded believable.

“Well, I’m sure you won’t find Elvis and I distracting.” She shrugged. “Or helpful.” They both laughed.

“It’s technical stuff.” He wished he’d told her he did something more interesting. More macho. Crocodile wrestler or stuntman.

“Nice to meet you.” She turned to go.

He’d been dismissed. “You too.” Okay, she wasn’t going to reveal her plans to a stranger, but he considered continuing the conversation just to watch how her lips slid across her teeth when she talked. She was so damned pretty.

She walked to the front of the house without looking back, her silk robe blowing out behind her. Did she know how dangerous that was to turn her back on a complete stranger?

Pete mentally kicked himself for not getting more information. It would be difficult with her so close but not impossible.

****

Nikki’s face was hot and her heart pounded against her rib cage. If that man wasn’t paparazzi or a stalker, who was he? Maybe he was a renter, working on computer software like he said.

She’d been shocked to see her neighbor was the cowboy from the grocery store. The very attractive cowboy from the grocery store. He had a large scar across his chin, suggestive of stitches, maybe a childhood injury and when he smiled, the scar turned white. He still sounded like he’d swallowed barbed wire.

Just in case she was wrong and this Pete guy was taking photos through the trees, Nikki had to stay sharp. It would put her at a slight advantage to have him dumbstruck over meeting Goldy. Most reporters and photographers had a glazed look in their eyes when face to face with her for the first time, and Pete Bayer was no exception. She understood the celebrity thing. He’d be used to seeing her on TV, hearing her referred to as a rock goddess. Hopefully he’d report that she’d been gracious and approachable. They often were unnecessarily cruel.

If he was writing a book about her or a magazine piece, then his visit wouldn’t have been simple curiosity. Meeting her would add credibility to his story. He’d say he’d lived next door, knew her well enough to say hello, and was perfectly qualified to write the dirt about the star’s withdrawal from the world. She hoped she was wrong.

Placing a call to her security people, she came up empty on the name Pete Bayer. “Sorry, Ms. Burnside. I’ll keep working on it. Maybe I should send someone out there.”

It was standard for them to offer security, but if she consented to having a bodyguard at Louisa Lake, then the whole purpose of this retreat was shot down. Another person at the house to watch her every move would be horribly intrusive. She might as well be back in L.A.

“No thanks, Steve. I’m safe here, as long as you haven’t traced my call.”

He didn’t laugh. “Don’t worry about us.”

****

Nausea moved into Nikki’s body in full force. She’d felt slightly woozy for the last few weeks, but not this bad. After eating a few bites of dry toast, she climbed the stairs to the loft that overlooked the great room and sat down at her piano.

Most of Goldy’s hits had been written at that baby grand, and Nikki cherished it, not only because it had made her a lot of money, but because it made music. With eleven platinum CD’s and twice as many hits spun from them, it had served her well. Many of her fourteen Grammy awards owed their existence to her time at that piano.

With her hands drifting lovingly over the keys, Nikki remembered the lyric she’d written months before. Now the song needed music. The first melody that trickled off the keyboard was wrong for the sentiment of the song. Too sweet, too mushy. She added some minor notes, more staccato. The music would have to be forceful, warlike in its message.

“Danielle, you took me for a fool,

Danielle, I sympathized with you,

And now, you have him back with you,

Is this what you wanted me to do?”

She recalled writing these words in the Goldy deluxe touring bus in the middle of the night, driving from Chicago to St. Louis. Nestled in her chair, she plucked away on the guitar, as they headed toward their next concert.

By then, Burn was sleeping in a single bunk, probably dreaming of the busty woman who’d been all over him at the after party earlier. He was snoring and Nikki realized that problem would soon be some other woman’s, not hers. Strumming the Les Paul on her lap, she thought about all the women who’d pretended friendship with her over the years, then turned around and slept with her husband.

“Danielle, I sat and held your hand

While you were working on your plan

To get your claws back in my man

By now you know I’m not your biggest fan

Danielle, I only asked you why,

The truth was harder now to hide

My pain is not exceeded by

Your ability to lie…”

Burn had been cheating for years and Nikki had been the ultimate good sport for everyone’s sake—Quinn, the band, her fans, even Burn. It was only when she realized that she was still young enough to find love in someone else, she gave up. The marriage ended within the week and the relief was like coming around a corner on a turbulent river to find a calm peaceful pool.

Nikki was thinking of giving
Danielle
to Burn’s latest protégée, Rebecca Raven, who’d asked for a Goldy song for her next CD. This lyric begged to be a hit, she could already tell. Burn would know it was about him. They always were. Perhaps Rebecca would too, when it came time for him to bed her. If he hadn’t already.

Feeling satisfied with the song for now, she moved downstairs to the hammock. A warm breeze blew in off the water. It was frivolous and wonderful to lie around like this. When the house phone rang, she almost flipped over onto the deck’s floor.

It was Harold, the sheriff in town. “What’s up?” she asked.

“I just wanted to tell you that Andy Dickerson rented the house. It’s not for sale FYI.

She offered a tidbit for more information. “I saw him.”

“Some guy from the city. Andy said he took it for the month so you’ll see him around, if you’re staying.”

“Who is he?”

“Dunno. Hey, I read that you’re MIA. Big story. If you’re out there alone at Birch House, I better do a daily check on you.”

Nikki froze. Harold was the epitome of a nosey neighbor, and she didn’t want him coming to call.

He grunted like his back was hurting him. “Thing is, I can’t really be driving out there, can I, with the time it takes to get there and everything else I got going on in town?”

“No. I’m fine, but thank you, Harold.” What was he getting at?

By the time Nikki convinced him he didn’t need to visit on a daily basis and that phoning would suffice, she realized someone had probably asked him to do this. Probably Quinn. No one else knew she was at Louisa Lake. No one.

“The man at Dickerson’s looked about forty, forty-five.” She tried to sound casual, even throwing in a yawn like it was no big deal, instead of someone who had nothing better to do with her time than peer at men through the bushes.

Harold was maddeningly ignorant. “I dunno. Call me tomorrow to report in… and Nikki.” He paused, while he took a bite of something. “Let me know if you need anything.”

I need to know who this guy is, Harold!

“Wait, I just remembered something about the renter,” he said.

“Yes?”

“About the man renting Dickerson’s house?”

“Yes? What?”

“Andy said not to worry about checking on him. He’s not very friendly, apparently. He’s writing a book or something and wants privacy.”

Dusk moved in across the lake like a sheer veil as Nikki stood on the deck wondering how she’d last for months in the bush. Already she was worried about how much she talked to herself. If Pete Bayer was writing a book she had to avoid him. Let him write the damned thing and then sue him if it was inaccurate. She’d done it before.

A thumping noise, followed by an ungodly screech, broke the evening’s silence. Car tires slid across the gravel road and Nikki’s heart jumped to her throat. That order of sounds meant one thing. A vehicle had hit an animal. The yelping was from a dog.

“Elvis!” She bolted around the house.

Pete Bayer, only sixty feet away, was crouched over a lump on the road.

“It’s your dog,” he called, not taking his eyes off the body.

Nikki sprinted to them. Elvis was still howling and that meant he was not dead. She knelt beside Pete and put her hand on Elvis’s ribs. “S’okay, boy. Please don’t die on me, Elvis.” He wasn’t flattened. There was no visible blood or open wounds.

“I think he rolled under the truck.” Pete ran a hand over Elvis’ small form.

Nikki’s heart thumped against her chest wall. “The tires didn’t run over him, right?”

“They didn’t,” Pete whispered.

Nikki leaned in and stroked the dog’s head, tears dripping onto his fur. “Elvis. Don’t die on me, little boy.” A pink tongue emerged to lick her hand and Nikki stifled a sob. Pete had a flashlight on his keychain, and ran it over Elvis. His tummy was scraped but there were no gaping wounds. Not on the side they could see.

“Looks like road rash.” Pete sat back on his haunches and looked at Nikki.

Her hands drifted over the dog’s abdomen, checking for tender spots. Nothing. Was he simply dazed? “I can’t tell if it’s serious.” Her strangled voice surprised her. She couldn’t lose Elvis. If her dog was dying, she wanted to hold him. She slid her hand under his head and crouched lower to cradle him. “You are all I’ve got right now.” She lifted the dog’s shoulder to peek underneath. “He’s not whining. That’s got to be a good sign.”

“Could be.” Pete didn’t sound convinced.

“Maybe it just knocked the wind out of him.” She kissed Elvis’ neck and buried her face in his fur. “Mommy loves you, Elvis.”

Pete’s hand rested against Nikki’s back and she wondered how long it had been there. The warmth was comforting. “I’m so sorry, Nikki. I didn’t see him.” His voice was still raw, like a growl.

Nikki turned and saw pain in his eyes. “I know.”

Elvis lifted his head, sniffed, and uttered a noise, like a snort. Nikki’s heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. “No Elvis, don’t leave me.” The little dog’s head lifted further and he snorted again and sniffed the air.

“Sniffing is good,” Pete said, leaning in.

Elvis’s snort turned into a half bark as he tried to focus on the bushes behind Pete. He squirmed, and Pete reached across Nikki to hold him down. “Take it easy, boy.”

Elvis’s ears were in full alert. He tried to get his legs under him so they moved him to stand. Pete’s light enabled them to do a full check for wounds. Nothing big, just some rash burns on his leg and tummy. A chipmunk chattered close by and Elvis cocked his head.

“See if he can walk,” Pete suggested.

Nikki let go of Elvis and watched him wobble a few steps. When he ambled off into the underbrush, she wiped the remaining tears that had stuck on her jaw line. “Elvis. Come here. I can’t believe he just walked away. I’d say you definitely didn’t run over him with that three ton truck if he can move like that.”

“Thank God.” Pete’s hand went to his heart. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see him until it was too late.” He turned to face her. “Maybe we should take him to the vet, if they have one in town.” Pete watched Elvis emerge from the darkness nearby. “At least get an x-ray.” Elvis was happily scouring the ground for smells, his hopping around another good sign.

“I don’t think he’s broken anything.” She’d risk the town and vet if she thought Elvis needed medical attention but he looked perfectly normal as he zigzagged around the bushes. “I’ll keep my eye on him tonight. But thanks for suggesting it.”