The Day Will Come (12 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Lucy joined me in the barn the next morning after getting Tess on the bus and helped with the last bit of mucking out. She didn’t say much, but cast lots of curious glances my way. When I’d about had my fill, she finally spit it out.

“So what did Nick have to say last night?”

I stashed my pitchfork in the corner and headed toward my office. “Nothing.”

It was true.

In my office I sat at my desk and turned on the computer. I’d been so busy worrying about non-farm crises this week I’d left the paperwork too long. I was going to be racking up late fees if I didn’t get my ass in gear and pay the bills.

The door opened and Lucy came in. “I’m going to get started in the parlor.”

I looked at her. Hadn’t we just finished?

“The guys are coming to spray this morning,” she said. “Remember?”

Nope. Hadn’t remembered.

A glance at the calendar confirmed it. It was time for our yearly dose of bug spray, to keep down our barn’s population of flies, spiders, and other various winged and multi-legged annoyances. It made a huge difference in our comfort level while milking, especially during the hot summer months. The cows’ comfort, too.

I sighed. “I’ll be right there.”

“No rush. We have a little time till they get here.”

After she left I took about a half hour to pay the piper, cringing each time I hit the “submit” button on the computer screen. I’d have to keep last night’s movie and dinner in mind for quite a while—I wouldn’t be doing that again anytime soon. Unless someone else paid again.

The phone rang as soon as I went off-line, and I snatched it up reflexively. It was only after I said hello that I realized it could be Nick.

“Stella?” A woman’s voice. Good.

“Yeah, this is Stella.”

“This is San. San Powell? Genna’s sister?”

“Oh. Sure. Hi, San.” I leaned back in my chair and stretched my feet out in front of me, arching my back.

San’s voice was quiet, and timid. “I’m trying to find Jordan. Have you talked to him today?”

“Nope. You tried his house?”

“I did. I got his answering machine.”

“Did you leave a message?”

“Yes. I asked him to call me.”

So if he was there, he was screening his calls. And didn’t want to talk to Genna’s sister.

“You tried his cell, too?”

“Yeah. Not on.”

Big surprise.

“Nothing else I can tell you, then,” I said. “I haven’t talked to him since yesterday, and he didn’t give me his plans for today.”

She sighed so loudly I heard it over the phone. “How was he?”

“Not good. But he’ll make it.”

“Did he…did he mention me?”

I pulled my feet back under me and sat up. “No. Sorry.” Should he have?

“That’s okay. If he…if he calls you, could you tell him I’m looking for him?”

“Sure. He has your number?”

“Yeah. He has it.” She hesitated. “It was the same as Genna’s.”

Oh.

“Well, thanks,” she said, and hung up.

A lot of help I’d been.

I pushed away from my desk and went out to the parlor, where Lucy was busy covering the water cups and feed bowls with plastic. I grabbed the tape and began securing the openings on the ones she’d done. She didn’t say anything, but I knew she was dying to know what was going on with Nick and me. The tension of her unasked questions hung in the air between us, and I wasn’t about to break it. I knew her curiosity wasn’t from nosiness. She really cared about us. But that didn’t matter.

The milk truck pulled up outside, and I breathed a sigh of relief at the excuse to get away. I could feel Lucy’s eyes on my back as I left, and knew the respite would be a brief one.

Doug, the driver, didn’t need my help, but I hung out with him anyway, discussing the weather, the cows, his kids’ spring soccer. He didn’t know Nick, or anything else about my personal life. Probably didn’t even know Lucy was getting married that weekend.

It was pleasant.

But all too soon he was packing up his equipment to head back out on his route. I was standing outside, watching him get into the cab, when the phone rang. Once. Twice.

Doug looked at me.

“Lucy’ll get it,” I said.

She did.

Doug was driving out the lane when Lucy appeared in the doorway. “It’s Nick.”

I kept my eyes on the back of the milk truck, focusing on the happy, milk-drinking cow on the door.

“Take a message,” I said.

Lucy didn’t move.

“Please,” I said.

“You’re sure?”

I didn’t respond.

She left.

I felt like shit. Almost ran after her. But didn’t.

A minute later she was back. “I told him you were outside helping Doug. That you’d call him back when you could.”

I nodded. Feeling even more like shit because Lucy had lied for me.

“The parlor’s ready,” she said. “The guys should be here before too long.”

“Thanks. I’ll watch for them.”

She wanted to say more. I could feel it. But she walked away, toward the house.

I went back into my office and went on-line. Firefox opened, bringing me to the AskJeeves bar. I stared at the blinking cursor, my head aching. Finally, I typed in “multiple sclerosis,” hoping I was spelling it right. I must’ve been, because I got thousands of hits.

The first on the list was the MS Society. I clicked on it, and got to a screen where there was more information than I ever thought existed. And more than I ever wanted to know.

But I read it.

I learned about symptoms, medications, support groups, charities, and prognoses. I saw photos, read testimonies, and studied diagrams.

I still felt like shit. But I also felt better educated.

I stood up and walked to the window, stretching my back. Lucy was in the garden, pulling weeds from her rows of peas and radishes. Probably picking lettuce for lunch.

Not that I was hungry. I wondered if Jordan was hungry yet.

I went back to the desk and clicked back on the AskJeeves bar. I typed in “Tom Copper Band,” and again got thousands of hits. Within the first few was their official web site, and I took some time checking it out.

There was all the stuff you’d expect: reviews of their albums, praise from other musicians, dates and ticket information for upcoming events. The photo album contained pictures from their concerts, as well as shots of them with other high-profile musicians: Kenny Wayne Shepherd, Train, Aerosmith. Bands they’d opened for on the road.

A truck pulled into the lane, sending Queenie into a barking fit. I peeked out to see the bug spray guys unloading themselves and their equipment. Lucy was heading their way from the vegetable plot, slapping her gardening gloves together. She caught sight of me in the window and waved me back. She’d take care of the instructions. I was glad to leave her to it.

I sat back down at the computer and checked out the band’s bio page, which explained their beginnings. A photo of them as youngsters, Parker included, looking cool and…well…hot. I wasn’t surprised they’d had groupie girls following them everywhere. The text told about their start at Temple University. A bar band until they were discovered by—I blinked in surprise—Gary Mann.

They’d known the owner of Club Independence that long?

I sat back, thinking about how—
if
—that changed things. None of the guys had said anything at Genna’s memorial service about knowing Mann that long, or the effort he’d put into the band. Not even Jordan had mentioned it. Why? Was it such a natural part of things they didn’t need to? I kept reading.

The web site didn’t say all that much about the relationship. Just that Mann heard the band playing at a school coffeehouse and had taken Tom and the guys under his wing. He’d gotten them gigs at his place during that time—a bar called simply The Bar—and helped them along the way to wider recognition, putting them in contact with their record label.

Nothing sinister. Just business. But still…

I typed “Club Independence” into the search line and found the club’s web site. Seeing the façade of the building made me feel queasy, so I hit the “About Us” button.

A photo of Mann and Robert Baronne took up the left side of the page, accompanied by a paragraph explaining how Mann had hired Baronne, his long-time friend and business partner, to manage the finances of Club Independence. Former college pals, they’d participated in various ventures together over the years before landing in this one about a decade earlier.

So they really had been together for ages. No wonder Mann was looking ragged. Not only had Genna been killed in his club, but his best friend was missing.

Missing as in kidnapped? Or missing as in took off? I still wasn’t convinced anyone was looking all that hard for him. Just Alexander, who was barking up the wrong tree, anyway.

I clicked around a bit more on the site, checking out the upcoming concerts and performances. The club had been closed over the weekend, after the bomb threat and Genna’s death, so the police could investigate. I’m sure that was a pain in Mann’s ass, having to either find a new venue for the folks to perform in or cancel the event altogether.

My mind stopped mid-thought when I clicked onto the photo album page and a picture caught my eye. Mann with another guy, each looking back over their shoulders at the camera, Mann holding a paper they’d obviously been studying. The caption said Mann was standing with George Walker, the head of Club Independence’s security team, going over plans for an event. The security guy that had supposedly called in sick, giving Jermaine a night’s work.

But he hadn’t called in sick. I’d seen him with my own eyes. Wearing a B.B. King T-shirt and helping injured people to the ambulances.

Chapter Seventeen

“Go to the site’s photo album,” I said into the phone.

Jermaine grunted in the background. “My fingers are too big for this stupid keyboard. Keep hitting the wrong things.”

“Yeah, yeah, cry me a river. You there yet?”

“Okay. Okay, I’m there. What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“The third picture from the top. See that guy with Mann? Where it says ‘George Walker, head of security’?”

“Wait. Oh, there. What about it?”

“You recognize that guy?”

“Mann?”

“No, the other one. The head of security.”

“Nope. But then, I wouldn’t. The only reason I was at the concert was he called in sick. Wasn’t there.”

“But he was.”

“What?”

“I saw him after the concert. Helping folks get to the EMTs.”

“Really?”

“Really. So I guess he wasn’t sick, after all. At least not at-home-in-bed-puking-his-guts-out sick, anyway.”

Silence. “That’s weird.”

“I’ll say. Any idea what’s going on?”

“Nope. Unless Mann called him once the shit hit the fan with the bomb threat and all and he came over.”

“I’m telling you, he didn’t look sick. Looked healthy as a heifer.”

“Don’t you mean horse?”

“I don’t raise those. Anyway, no ideas?”

“Nope.”

“All right. Thanks.”

“What you gonna do?”

“I don’t know. I’ll see.”

I hung up and considered my options. I chose the easiest, and dialed a number I knew by heart. It wasn’t long till Detective Willard was on the phone.

“Got a tip,” I said.

“Let’s hear it.”

I explained the discrepancy I’d found. A supposedly sick head of security at the scene of a major crime, looking all too good for his alleged condition.

“Anything else you can tell me?” Willard asked.

“Mann knew Walker was there. Came running up to him, asking if he’d seen Bobby.”

“Wait. You mentioned that before. Him asking about Bobby.”

“Yeah, but at the time I didn’t know who he was talking to. Makes a difference.”

“Sure does. Thanks for calling.”

“Anything to get Jordan off the hook.”

“Well, maybe this will help. Not quite sure how, but I’ll pass it along.” He paused. “Anything else to tell me?”

“If you’re meaning about Jordan, nothing I haven’t already said. He didn’t do it. Either thing. Any of them. How ever many crimes you’re investigating.”

“How ever many there are. I’ll be in touch.”

I hung up and went out to thank the bug guys, who were finished spraying. They were pulling out of the lane when the phone rang, its piercing jangle making me wince. Lucy, who was back in the garden, stood up and pointed at me. She wasn’t going to lie for me again. I listened for one more ring and trudged into the house, where I took a deep breath before picking it up and mumbling, “Hello?”

“Stella!”

Not Nick. Ma. In a full-blown shriek.

“What is it, Ma? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Jordan! They called with the autopsy results.”

My stomach plummeted.

“It wasn’t accidental, like we thought.”

Oh, God.

“They really do think someone did it, Stella. Someone
murdered
her.”

I knew I should say something. Something to ease Ma’s distress.

“Stella?” Ma said.

“How did she die?” Not that I really wanted to know.

“They say…they say she was beaten. But that’s not what killed her. She could’ve been saved, if she’d been found sooner. If it hadn’t been for the bomb threat that cleared the building.”

I swallowed. “Saved? How?”

Ma’s voice was steely now. “She didn’t die from being beaten. She died because she bled to death. She was…whoever beat her either didn’t know how badly she was hurt, or didn’t care. Genna—” Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat. “Genna bled to death from a cut on her leg. That big artery you have in your thigh. They aren’t saying how that happened, exactly…”

But it all came down to a cold truth. Genna hadn’t been trampled. Hadn’t died by accident. Genna really had been murdered.

“So where’s Jordan?” I said.

A steadying breath. “I don’t know. Our lawyer, your friend Mr. Crockett, he called to tell me. Said he had tried to call Jordan, but wasn’t getting an answer. Jordan knows, I’m sure of it. I’m sure someone told him. And I can’t bear to think where he’s gone. Alone.”

I knew where this was going. And I knew I’d say yes, because I had to.

“I’ll find him, Ma,” I said. “And I’ll let you know.”

I hung up as she was saying thank you, and sank into the kitchen chair, leaning my head against the wall. Someone had assaulted Genna, and was horrible enough to leave her there to die, possibly unconscious and bleeding out. Only one person came to mind with the arrogance and selfishness it would take to do such a thing, and I was sure Jordan had thought it, too.

Jordan didn’t answer either of his phones, so I scrabbled around in the papers on the kitchen stand and found the number Lucy had given me for contact with the band. I dialed it and waited for Tonya’s voice.

“Tom Copper Band.” A male voice.

“This is Stella Crown, and I need to—”

“Stella? Tom Copper. What do you need?”

“Ricky’s address. Or his phone number.”

Silence.

“It’s an emergency,” I said. “Please.”

“You think he did it,” he finally said.

“What?”

“You think he killed Genna.”

I took a deep breath through my nose and let it out. Tom had obviously heard the news about Genna’s death. “Ricky is the first person who came to mind. But I’m not going after him. I want to stop someone else from getting to him first.”

“Jordan.”

I didn’t need to respond. I could almost feel Tom thinking.

“I’m in New Jersey, on my cell,” he said. “You can probably get there first.” The phone crackled, like he was changing hands. “Tonya,” he said, his voice muffled. “Find Ricky’s number on here, give it to Stella.”

The phone crackled some more, and beeped. “Stella?” Tonya now. “Here it is.” She read off the number, which I scribbled on the same sheet as theirs.

“You know his address?” I asked.

“Give me a minute.”

I heard a zipper, and papers rattling.

“Isn’t the contact sheet in here?” she asked, her voice muffled now.

“Should be,” Tom said. “Look in the blue folder.”

More papers, then her voice again.

“Kimball Street,” she said, and gave me a number. “He rents a townhouse there.”

“Thanks,” I said, and punched the flash button.

The phone in Ricky’s place rang two, three, four times, before his answering machine came on. I cursed under my breath, stopping when I heard a beep.

“Ricky, it’s Jordan’s friend Stella. I think he’s coming down—”

“Hello?” A female voice. Tentative.

“Who is this?” I said.

A pause. “It’s Marley.”

Of course.

“Where’s Ricky?”

“He’s not here. He should be back soon.”

Damn. “Jordan could be on his way to your place,” I said, then corrected, “Ricky’s place. Don’t let him in.”

“What?”

“Just don’t. I’ll be there soon.”

I slammed down the phone, snatched my keys off the counter, and sprinted out to the garden. Lucy peered up from where she bent over the rototiller, filling it with gas.

“Gotta find Jordan,” I said. “Genna was murdered, and he thinks Ricky did it.”

Her eyes widened.

“At least I think so,” I said. And took off.