Killer in the Band

by Lauren Carr

  “I want to help you, Suellen,” he whispered. “You have to know that. All you had to do was ask me to come help you, and here I am. You didn’t have to ask a second time. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

  She blinked the tears out of her eyes.

  He reached across the table to wipe the tears from her face. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “Can we go home, J.J.?”

  Realizing that it would be useless to push her in a public place like the coffee shop, J.J. packed up his e-reader and stood up. He held out his hand to her. “You look like you need a good nap.”

  Taking his hand, she stood. J.J. wrapped his arm around her waist. When they turned around, she saw an attractive man with thick blond hair—every strand of it in place—at the counter. Stunned to see him, she froze in place.

  “Suellen?” J.J. followed her line of sight to the counter.

  After picking up his coffee, the man turned to search for an empty table. Seeing the couple staring at him, he pleasantly smiled. “Good afternoon.”

  With a yelp, Suellen collapsed into J.J.’s arms.

  “Maybe now would be a good time for you to clue us in about what’s going on,” Joshua said. He’d waited to bring up the subject until he and J.J. were alone and cleaning up after their dinner of pizza, salad, and beer.

  The EMTs had taken Suellen to the nearest emergency room after she’d collapsed in the coffee shop. Once again, J.J. had called Tad, who had rushed to the hospital. After a long discussion with the emergency room doctor, who had concluded that Suellen had collapsed due to low blood sugar, he’d released her to Tad’s care, at which point J.J. had driven her home with Tad following directly behind them.

  Izzy was more than willing to volunteer to help out by feeding the farm animals their dinner—but still, Joshua refused to allow her near the horses, which was a rule that in her eyes was growing old very fast.

  “Nothing is going on, Dad.” To make his point, J.J. slammed the dishwasher closed.

  Folding his arms across his chest, Joshua leaned against the kitchen table. “Look me in the eye and tell me that nothing besides a May-December romance is going on here.”

  J.J. stopped wiping down the kitchen counter and looked directly at his father. “I know you find it very hard to believe that I could be in love with a woman almost as old as you are, but it’s true. I didn’t go looking to fall in love with someone old enough to be my mother, but that’s what happened. If you don’t like it—”

  “I have no problem with that, Son! I can see that you love Suellen, and I’m glad that you found a woman you love so much that you’re willing to make sacrifices for her. I just doubt that you’re fully aware of exactly how painful it’s going to be to see someone you love so much die!”

  His mouth dropping open, J.J. stared at him. “Did—”

  “Tad said nothing,” Joshua said softly. “Remember you asked me to come out to feed the animals this morning?”

  “You came into the house and went poking around.” J.J’s eyes narrowed.

  “Only because I was worried about you,” Joshua said, nodding his head. “I found the prescription bottles on her vanity and looked up the names of the medications on the Internet. They’re powerful painkillers for patients in the last stages of cancer.”

  J.J. eased himself down into a kitchen chair. “I know it’s not going to be a cakewalk.”

  Joshua sat down across from him. “Your mother died in my arms. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about that.”

  “Would you have preferred that she die alone without you there?”

  Joshua shook his head.

  “She says I’m the love of her life,” J.J. said. “She wants to spend the time she has left with me…And I realized when I saw her that I never did stop loving her. She was my first love, Dad. Don’t you remember your first love?”

  “Yes, I do,” Joshua said.

  “She has no one, and I want to be with her.”

  Nodding his head, Joshua said, “I only want you to be sure that you know what you’re getting yourself into. Taking care of someone who’s dying—especially when it’s someone you love—is hell on earth. Plus she has a big farm, and half of those horses are crazy. Charley isn’t wrapped too tight either.”

  “I’ll be fine. Tad says he’ll teach me everything I need to know.” With a forced grin, J.J. shrugged his shoulders. “How hard could it be?”

  “You have no idea,” Joshua said. “How long does she have?”

  “Only about three months,” J.J. said. “Four if we’re lucky. I’ll stay here with her. Hospice workers will be coming out regularly to help out. I’ll stay on schedule with my studies so that I’ll be ready to take the bar in September.”

  Joshua laid his hand on J.J.’s. “It’s not the bar that I’m worried about.”

  Chapter Seven

  “I feel like a fool.” Suellen pulled the blanket up to cover herself as she rested in the master bedroom.

  “Don’t.” Tad put the last of his medical equipment away and closed the case. “You need to eat a little bit of something. I think that’s why you fainted.”

  “How about a slice of pie and a glass of milk?” Cameron asked.

  When Cameron turned toward the door, Suellen stopped her. “Tad, could you please get it for me? I’d like to talk to Cameron alone for a minute.”

  Sensing that they were going to be having “girl talk,” Tad closed the door on his way out.

  “Now that he’s gone, tell me how you really feel,” Cameron said.

  “Lousy,” Suellen said. “In more ways than one.”

  Cameron sat on the edge of the bed. “I am so sorry.”

  “You know. Don’t deny it. I could see it on your face when J.J. carried me in.” Suellen swallowed. “It was the expression that I didn’t want to see. Pity. That’s why I told Tad not to tell anyone.” She sighed. “I can’t stand pity.”

  “I felt the same way when my first husband was killed,” Cameron said.

  “When my parents were killed in that accident—”

  “How did they die?”

  “Our quarter horses were at their peak then. We had the best horses outside of Texas and Kentucky. My folks had a camper horse trailer—”

  “I don’t understand,” Cameron said, shaking her head.

  “It was a combination horse trailer and camper,” Suellen said. “Huge. They hauled it with a big truck. The front portion was a camper, and the horse trailer was in the back. They could haul four horses in that thing. They were coming back from a horse show in Kentucky and crossing the mountains. They had three of their top horses with them—including Captain Blackbeard’s grandfather—when they went around a tight curve in the road and found a truck jackknifed. Dad swerved to avoid the truck and lost control, and the whole thing—the truck, camper, and all—went off the side of the road and rolled. All of them—the horses, Dad, and Mom—were killed.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible,” Cameron said in a low voice.

  “It’s been thirteen years,” she said. “And up until recently, none of the horses had been worked with or shown since. My heart just wasn’t in it.”

  “Why now?” Cameron asked. “If it was your mother’s thing, why—”

  “The quarter horse farm was to be her legacy,” Suellen said. “The dairy farm and the orchards are Dad’s legacies. Breeding and showing those horses were my mother’s love. I failed her by letting them go. I need to revive the horse farm before I die so that Captain Blackbeard’s bloodline can go on.”

  “I don’t think I understand,” Cameron said.

  “It’s a shame that Clark and I were never able to have children—we tried, but it just wasn’t in the cards. Before I die, I have to make sure that the farm and those horses are in good hands. Otherwise, everything that my an
cestors lived for will die along with me.”

  Still uncertain of what Suellen wanted, Cameron nodded her head slowly. “I can see that.”

  “You remind me of my mom,” Suellen said. “I think that’s why we’ve connected.”

  “I thought it was because you’re the cougar, and I’m the evil stepmother.”

  “That, too.” Suellen allowed herself to smile. “My mother had dark-red hair and freckles all over her face and the greenest eyes you ever saw. And she was this tiny little thing. She was five foot two, and I don’t think she ever got over a hundred pounds.” She settled back onto the pillows. “She had this gift…I’ve never seen anyone who could talk to horses the way she could. I once saw her walk into a paddock with the nastiest, craziest stallion. She had nothing but a rope with her, and within fifteen minutes, that stallion was following her around like a puppy dog. She said you just need to understand animals—to talk to them in their language. It’s something you’re born with, and when you’re born with that gift, you can understand people and the world in a way that no one else can.”

  “That sounds like Izzy,” Cameron said.

  “She does have the gift, but she has yet to develop it.” Suellen let out a deep breath. “I miss my mother. I do look forward to seeing her again.”

  Cameron grasped her hand. “If you need anything—”

  “I’m glad you said that, because I do need one favor from you. Before I die, I need you to find a killer.”

  “Do you mean Monica Brady’s murderer?”

  “No. Dylan Matthews’. Back almost thirty years ago, I had a rock group,” Suellen said. “We were the Reading Railroad Band from Reading, Pennsylvania. I went to Albright University in Reading. I was the leader, wrote our songs, and played keyboard. We were a minor success.”

  “Never heard of you, but I’ll take your word for it,” Cameron said. “I always wanted to lead a rock group. I envisioned myself as being like Joan Jett. I gave up on the idea when I realized that you need to learn how to play an instrument and actually sing in order to get into a rock band.”

  Cameron slipped her cell phone out of her pocket and brought up her police app so that she could search for the case. “When and where was this Dylan Matthews killed, and who do you think killed him?”

  “I don’t know who killed him.” Tears came to her eyes. “But I do know that he was murdered, and I didn’t say anything.” She sobbed. “Now I feel so ashamed. I’m afraid to tell J.J. what I did—or didn’t do. How could he respect me if he knew I didn’t do anything and let my friend, someone I cared about—”

  “That’s something you need to talk to him about,” Cameron said. “In the meantime, tell me who this Dylan Matthews was and what happened to him.”

  Shaking her head, Suellen sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. “Like I said, it was thirty—” She paused and then corrected herself. “No, I was twenty, so it was twenty-eight years ago. Fourth of July. Our band was one of four selected to do a concert at the college in Moon. We were the third band to perform and went right before the main attraction.”

  “Moon?” Cameron cocked an eyebrow. “Out by where Dixmont State Hospital used to be?”

  “Exactly.” Suellen’s eyes glazed over as she recalled what had happened. “We were on top of the world—on top of our little world. We had been together a little more than a year, but we were successful enough to get bookings practically every weekend. We had a following, and we were making money.”

  “That’s big,” Cameron said.

  “I liked to think it was because of my original songs,” Suellen said. “But I was enough of a realist to know that it was more than that. Dylan Matthews was our lead singer. He was tall with wavy blond hair and one sexy body. He had a good-enough voice and could play only six chords on that fancy guitar of his. But, man—he knew how to work a crowd.”

  “Did you and Dylan—”

  “No,” Suellen said quickly. “He wasn’t my type at all.”

  “What type was he?”

  “Self-centered. Ambitious. Manipulative. Opportunistic. He’d say and do anything to get ahead. But the audiences loved him.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “At that concert, right before our last song, Dylan announced that it was our last concert, which was major news to the rest of the group. He had signed a deal with Bruce Springsteen’s talent agent—as a solo singer. He was leaving the group and going to Hollywood. Since Dylan was the major draw of our group, he basically broke up the band at that concert in front of a live audience.”

  “Sounds like he gave the band members a motive for murder,” Cameron said. “How did the other members of the group take that news?”

  “Not well,” Suellen said. “Harrison Calhoun, our guitarist, punched Dylan in the face, giving him a bloody nose.”

  “Gee, I wonder why,” Cameron said, her tone filled with sarcasm.

  “They got into a big fight,” Suellen said. “Cat and I broke it up.”

  Cameron was typing notes that she could later use to look up the case. “Who’s Cat?”

  “Catherine Foxworth,” Suellen said. “Everyone called her Cat, and that was her stage name. She and Harrison Calhoun have since gotten married. They have a few kids. At the time, Cat was dating Dylan. They were kind of living together.”

  “Did she know that he was planning to break up the group?”

  “I think she was as surprised as the rest of us,” Suellen said. “As a matter of fact, after we broke up the fight, I pushed Harrison back away from Dylan and tried to calm him down, but Cat went after Dylan, slapping him and kicking him in the legs.”

  “She was living with him, so wouldn’t she have had a heads-up about his moving across the country?”

  “I’ve wondered about that from time to time.” Suellen said. “I honestly don’t know. Oh, she was so mad, in fact, that when Dylan told her to get her overnight bag out of his van because he was leaving right then, she told him to keep it. She didn’t want to see his face ever again.”

  “He was leaving for California that night?” Cameron said. “That means that he must have had his stuff packed and in the van. Why didn’t Cat, who was living with him, know that he was leaving?”

  Suellen shrugged. “I never asked. I haven’t seen any of them since that night.”

  “So Cat kicked the stuffing out of Dylan. Did anyone break that up, or did the rest of the group join in?”

  “Keith broke them up.”

  “And Keith? The guy who broke up Cat’s fight with Dylan?” Cameron asked as she typed the name in her notes.

  “Keith Black was our bass guitarist,” Suellen said. “He was the least mad of all of us—except for maybe Wednesday, who probably wasn’t with it enough to realize what was happening.”

  “Wednesday? As in the day?”

  Suellen nodded her head.

  “Let’s talk about Keith first,” Cameron said. “You said he was the bass guitarist?”

  “Yes,” Suellen said. “But he didn’t really seem to mind—”

  “He didn’t mind, or he wasn’t surprised? Maybe he knew what Dylan was going to do.”

  “No,” Suellen said with a laugh. “You’d have to know Keith to understand why he wasn’t mad. Keith wasn’t ambitious. He cared only about sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll. He made a career out of traveling from one place to another playing his bass, and he was good enough that he never had trouble getting a gig someplace—if not with a band then as a solo performer. After breaking up the fight, he told us that it’d been a nice ride while it had lasted and that he hoped we had nice lives, and then he took off with two groupies he’d taken up with on the way to the concert. I never saw him again.”

  “And Wednesday?”

  “Her real name was Wendy Matthews,” Suellen said. “We called her Wednesday behind her back because she was ve
ry goth and dark and moody even before that was cool. She was with the band only because she was Dylan’s sister, and she could play the drums.”

  “How did she feel about Dylan’s betrayal?”

  Suellen shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. “I have no idea. No one ever knew what that girl was thinking.” She waved a finger at her. “She had a boyfriend. I met him that day. Cat told us that he’d met and taken up with Wendy after our last concert a few weeks before and that he’d moved in with her and Dylan immediately.”

  “So he might know how she felt about Dylan’s betrayal,” Cameron said. “What was his name?”

  “I only know his first name. Silas.”

  “Silas?” Frowning at what she considered to be an odd name, Cameron typed it into her notes and asked, “How was Dylan Matthews killed?”

  “I was told he was beaten to death,” Suellen said.

  “You were told?” Cameron asked. “Who told you that?”

  “Cat,” she said. “She called me at least ten years ago. It was the summer after Clark, my husband, died. Cat had seen on one of those unsolved-mystery programs that the remains of a murder victim had been found in Dixmont State Hospital.”

  Cameron stood up from the bed. “Cat Calhoun saw that show. That’s what she told you?”

  “It seemed almost symbolic that his body was found there, because on that day—the Fourth of July—Wednesday had told Cat that their mother had died there.”

  “I’m familiar with that case.” Cameron lowered herself down onto the bed. “Remains of a male, a John Doe, were found when they were getting ready to demolish the place. Forensics said he had to have been there for decades.”

  “None of us ever heard from Dylan after that night,” Suellen said. “A broken up guitar was found with the body. Maybe that’s what he was beaten to death with. Dixmont was only fifteen minutes from where we last saw him. We realized it must have been him.”

  “And ten years ago you realized that Dylan wasn’t in Hollywood but that someone had killed him?” Cameron asked. “But you didn’t say anything?”