Indigo Rain

by Elise Noble

  “Get some good pictures, Instababe?”

  “Yes, I got one of you scratching your balls during the soundcheck. Will that do?”

  “Go for it. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Travis flashed me a smile before the guys got hauled off by a PR woman, and meanwhile, the auditorium lights had come on. I caught a flash of red as Peyton neared the exit.

  “Where’s Zander?” I asked Bryson.

  “Stuck behind those girls.”

  He flicked his gaze towards a group of wannabe rock chicks, all done up in black eyeliner and leather. Dammit. Every time Zander tried to dodge around them, one got in his way. Finally, he elbowed his way straight through the middle, but it was too late.

  “She’s gone out the exit,” Bryson told him.

  I waited, hoping, but after ten minutes, Bryson shook his head. “She’s gone. But don’t worry; Zander’ll find her again.”

  How could I not worry? Vina was lying in a hospital in London, and Reagan was dead in Paris. If Peyton’s presence in both cities linked their fates, how long would it be before there was another accident?

  Tonight would be the last night with Travis in my apartment, at least for the foreseeable future. Tomorrow, we’d be back on the tour bus, heading for Birmingham and the third biggest show on the tour after Manchester and the O2. When they first started booking for the On the Run tour, only half of the dates had been scheduled, but as venues sold out, Gary had added more and more performances. So many that the boys had started calling it the Running on Empty tour instead. Gary didn’t care.

  And we couldn’t even relax this evening, because Devan, Bryson, Max, and Zander were sprawled all over the lounge, drinking beer and ruminating over the case. Then Nye turned up with a bottle of red wine to add some class, and the discussion turned even more serious when he fetched a whiteboard from the storage closet in the hall.

  Drunken detecting. I’d seen it many times before. Sometimes, I’d even helped them to make notes when their writing went wonky.

  “So,” Zander said. “We’ve got one incident that’s pretty likely to be deliberate…” He printed Vina’s name in neat-ish capital letters and circled it. “Another that may or may not have been intentional…” Reagan’s name came next. “And two that we and everyone else assumed were accidents until the other two episodes occurred.” Marli and Jae-Lin.

  “And what have we got to connect the two?” Nye asked.

  Zander waved his pint glass towards Travis, then cursed as beer slopped over the rim. “Him.”

  “Better get a cloth, mate. Dove’ll get pissed about the carpet.”

  Bryson tossed him a crumpled-up handkerchief, which Zander dropped on the floor and smushed around a bit with his foot. On any other day, I’d have pointed out the error of his ways, but I was too curious about what else he had to say.

  “And the other band members?” Nye asked.

  “Maybe.” He ticked off points on his fingers. “But Travis dated Marli and Jae-Lin, yes?” He looked to Travis for confirmation.

  “Yes.”

  “And you were on a date with Reagan the night she died.”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Vina?”

  “Nothing happened between me and Vina. I’ve never seen her with a guy other than her boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend.”

  “But you acted the part on stage. And now we’ve got stalker-girl, who we know has been in the United States, Paris, and London. We have to at least consider the possibility that these accidents weren’t all accidents.”

  “But we also have three alternative scenarios for Vina,” Devan pointed out. “An angry ex, a bitter rival, or tampering at the factory. Which you have to admit are more likely.”

  “I’m not sure about the factory. Those song lyrics bother me. What about the other three incidents? Is there anything in Indigo Rain’s music that could relate to those?”

  Travis was always quite pale since he never got time to go outside and England didn’t get much sun in any case, but now the little bit of colour he did have drained away.

  “I’ve written hundreds of tracks.”

  Zander’s voice softened, turned gentler. “Let’s work backwards and start with Reagan. A fall, a broken neck, something like that?

  The clock on the living room wall ticked on, the loudest sound in the room until Max put his beer bottle down on the coffee table. He’d opened another and drunk a quarter by the time Travis answered, and my nerves were fraying rapidly.

  “Last year, I wrote a song called ‘The Bitch’s Touch.’” He sang a verse from the song softly.

  Each time I see you, I touch you, I hear you,

  The agony grows, a mistress so cruel.

  Each time I block it, you throw me to the floor,

  And yet I still get up and go back for more.

  “It could fit,” Zander said. “What was the inspiration behind that one?”

  “My personal trainer. Gary sent us all to the gym for a month while we were recording in Los Angeles, and they assigned me this ex-wrestler who was built like a tank. I tried to escape once, and she picked me up and put me back on the fuckin’ treadmill.”

  “Your charms didn’t work?” I asked.

  “She was a lesbian.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Zander grabbed a notepad and got Travis to repeat the words so he could write them down. Seeing his suspicions in black and white made the situation seem all the more real.

  “Next girl,” Zander said. “Jae-Lin. Can you spell that for me?”

  Travis took the pen and jotted her name down, then carried on writing.

  Pain filled me from the inside out, a bitter pill to swallow.

  Of our love I never had a doubt, but your thoughts didn’t follow.

  You saw things a different way,

  Even though I begged, you refused to stay.

  I choked, I fell, my body lay cold,

  While you walked out with the breath you stole.

  “The song was called ‘Bitter,’” he explained. “I wrote it with Jae-Lin, not about her. She was hurting after her ex-girlfriend cheated on her.”

  The shocks just kept coming. “Jae-Lin liked girls too?”

  “Jae-Lin falls in love with souls, not the bodies that contain them.”

  “That’s kind of beautiful.”

  “She’s a beautiful person. You’ll like her when you meet her properly.”

  “Where is she now?” Zander asked.

  “Los Angeles. She’s a backup singer for another rock band, and they’re rehearsing for their next tour.”

  “Okay. What about the first victim? Marli?”

  “Half of our songs mention drugs. And don’t ask me about the fuckin’ inspiration, because it’s obvious. I can’t pretend to be who I’m not, but I’m not taking them around your sister.”

  Zander didn’t look happy—no surprises there—but at least he understood the priorities. “We’ll discuss that later. For now, we have a bigger problem to deal with. Was there any police involvement in Jae-Lin’s case?”

  “They came out, but they were more interested in the smashed-up hotel suite,” I told him. Zander opened his mouth, but I leaned across and put my hand over it because I knew what he was about to say. “That’s another thing we’ll discuss later, okay?”

  “I’m making notes. Don’t think I’ll forget this stuff because I won’t. What about Marli?”

  “I don’t know,” Travis said. “I guess they’ll have a file, but I wasn’t there for any of it.”

  “When did you last see her?”

  “Three days before she died, at a party. Fuck. Either you’re right and there’s some sick fucker out there, or I’m a bad luck charm for women.” He glanced sideways at me. “I’m getting nervous here.”

  Zander’s voice took on a hard edge. “We’ll take care of Alana. But I’ll need a list of all the other women you’ve come into contact with recently.”

&nb
sp; “Can you define ‘recently’?”

  “Start with the last six months.”

  “Uh…”

  “It’s gonna be a long list, isn’t it?”

  Travis didn’t look at me when he replied. “Yeah.”

  “And while you’re at it, write down all the people you’ve had a disagreement with in the same time period.”

  Travis glanced at his phone screen. Half past midnight. “I need to get some sleep tonight.”

  “Better write quickly, then. And don’t mention this conversation to anyone. If the media or police raise concerns, keep your mouth shut and call me.”

  “Is that it?”

  “Not quite. Until we get to the bottom of this, I don’t want Alana going to the US with you. I’m not stupid, Lanie. I know you’ll want to do that.”

  “But—”

  “He’s right, blue. The most important thing is that you stay safe.”

  “And in the meantime, if you go anywhere, make sure you stay with people you know. Keep your distance from Travis in public. You’re only on the periphery of this mess right now, so it’s unlikely you’re a target, and we need it to stay that way.”

  What could I say? Arguing with both of them would be impossible.

  “Okay. Just don’t let this go on forever. Please.”

  “None of us intend to, Lanie. None of us intend to.”

  CHAPTER 27 - ALANA

  MONDAY STARTED WITH an early breakfast in the hotel, and after last night’s discussion, Travis was determined to maintain a clear distance from me in public, just in case anyone was watching. Even though I understood why he did it, having to sit with Rush while he shared a table with Meredith and Zephyr hurt.

  Rush was kind of confused too.

  “Did you two have an argument?” he whispered.

  I shook my head. “We’ll explain everything on the bus, okay? Just go with it for now.”

  “Sure. You want more coffee?”

  “I wouldn’t say no.”

  I’d stayed up into the early hours, feeling hollower inside with every girl’s name Travis added to his list. Yes, I’d known Travis had been with a lot of girls before me, but seeing it written out in black and white made me wonder whether I’d be enough for him. Whether his eye would start wandering again. He’d reached triple figures, for crying out loud. Then he wrote down everything he knew about Peyton, and he’d started detailing all the people he’d rubbed the wrong way when Zander sent me to bed. There were a lot of those too.

  There’d been no naughtiness when Travis crawled under the duvet beside me an hour later, but I still barely slept, worried not just about the future of our all-too-new relationship, but also about how the hell Zander and co. could possibly solve the case with a list of suspects that looked more like a telephone directory.

  Rush waved at a waitress, and she practically skidded to a halt by his side, coffee jug in hand.

  “Fill us up, babe.”

  Did he have to make everything sound like an innuendo?

  “Anything else, sir?”

  “Can you bring a glass of orange juice?”

  “Large or small?”

  He winked at her. “Take a guess.”

  Yes, apparently he did.

  “Where are Dex and JD?” I asked.

  “Dex decided the walk wasn’t worth the effort, and JD’s unconscious.”

  Sounded like Monday was off to a good start for everyone.

  Half an hour later, I stowed my suitcase in the luggage compartment under the bus and climbed on board for the final week of the tour. The band had a TV appearance to record that evening, then three more shows on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Birmingham, Nottingham, and Cardiff. On Friday, they’d fly back to the US for an appearance at Rock Fest in Wisconsin.

  So far, we hadn’t talked about whether I’d go to the US at some point in the future, and waves of uncertainty washed around inside me as I slumped onto the sofa beside Travis. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, which helped a little, but this whole relationship thing had left me feeling rather seasick. The other three guys sat opposite, and JD promptly fell asleep.

  “So,” Rush said. “Why were you two avoiding each other earlier?”

  Travis started the story, and I filled in bits where necessary. By the end, Dex had elbowed JD awake, and the three guys stared at us with a mix of horror and fascination.

  Rush spoke first. “No fucking way. That shit’s all connected?”

  “We can’t be sure. But my brother does this for a living, and he thinks we should at least consider the possibility.”

  “Peyton’s weird, man,” Dex said. “Remember in Chicago when she turned up in the hotel restaurant with that gift for Travis? Done up fancy with a ribbon and a damn bow?”

  “What gift?” Travis asked.

  “JD was supposed to give it to you.”

  Travis raised an eyebrow, and JD looked puzzled.

  “Uh, I must have left it on the table or something.”

  Great. “So we don’t know what it was?”

  “Sorry.”

  “Has she ever tried to contact any of you apart from that time?”

  Travis had never given her his number, thank goodness, so at least she hadn’t been able to call him.

  Rush shook his head. “But she DMs Travis on Instagram.”

  What? “Travis, why didn’t you mention this last night?”

  “Because I never look at my fuckin’ messages anymore. Rush does, because he’s an asshole.”

  “Hey, when all these girls have been thoughtful enough to send porn, it’s a shame to waste it.”

  “So that’s what Peyton sent?” I asked. “Porn?”

  “Nah, she writes poems and long, rambling essays on true love and the meaning of life. Apparently, there’s one kindred spirit for everyone, and you’re hers, buddy.”

  Oh, this got creepier and creepier. “We need to send those messages to Zander. Rush, if I give you his number…?”

  “Yeah, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Any more Peyton stories? Or did you see anyone else acting strange around Vina? Or Reagan?”

  “Or Marli and Jae-Lin?” Travis added. “Could Peyton have gone to those parties?”

  I recalled my own experiences trying to get into my first-ever Indigo Rain shitshow. “The guy on the door tried to bar me the night of Jae-Lin’s incident.”

  “Derek? He might have stopped you, but he never checks the staff.” Rush winked at Travis. “Remember that enterprising blonde who dressed up as a waitress last year?”

  Travis didn’t look at me. “I remember.”

  “So if Peyton had worn a wig and a uniform…”

  “Yeah, she could’ve gotten in.”

  And so could anybody else. I didn’t envy Zander his job, but I was pleased he’d proven to be good at it because he’d need every ounce of his skill to solve this case.

  On Monday night, I’d hoped to sneak Travis into my room again, but an error by the hotel staff meant they’d overbooked, and I ended up sleeping on a folding bed in Meredith and Verity’s room instead. Better than kipping on the bus, for sure, but I missed my comfortable bed at home as well as the man who’d shared it with me. I couldn’t even call him. We’d discussed letting the support acts in on the secret, but Travis pointed out that the more people who knew, the more risk there was of somebody making a drunken slip-up. Or of Gary finding out, and he’d surely have something to say about the matter.

  “Thanks for letting me stay here tonight,” I said.

  Meredith grinned and chucked me a tiny bottle of wine from the minibar.

  “Anytime. Us girls have to stick together. Do you want chips? Or candy?”

  “Are there any Maltesers?”

  A bag came flying in my direction, and I ducked just in time.

  “Thanks.”

  The girl time was kind of nice. A little escape from the waves of testosterone. I missed Tessa like crazy, and while the boys were fun, I couldn’t
have a sensible discussion about make-up or shoes without Rush taking the piss out of me and the others looking confused.

  Verity dropped down onto the bed beside me. “So, what are we doing this evening?”

  “Uh, sleeping?”

  “No way! We’re going out for dinner. I want to see Birmingham.”

  She pronounced it “Birming-ham,” American-style, not “Birmingum” like the British did. Either way, I wasn’t sure I wanted to start exploring the city at ten o’clock at night. But Meredith was already hunting for shoes.

  “Hurry up and drink your wine, bitches. The clock’s ticking, and I’m hungry.”

  “What about the guys?” Verity asked. “Should I call them?”

  My brother said to stick with people I knew if I went out, so this would be okay, right? Just a quiet dinner with friends.

  “Zephyr and Skinny are meeting us in the lobby. Travis says Indigo’s staying in tonight. They’ve gotten so boring over the last couple of weeks.”

  “Probably because Gary’s being a dick.”

  “Gary’s always a dick. Alana, do you need to borrow shoes? What are those, ballet pumps? You can’t wear those.”

  Anyhow, that was how I ended up on stage in a dodgy pub in Birmingham, singing karaoke with four members of two rock groups, full of curry with my feet aching from Meredith’s ridiculously high shoes. I’d never, never have done anything so crazy sober, but that evening, I got an idea of the buzz Travis must feel on stage, even if my audience was only a bunch of hammered guys in Arsenal shirts who’d hung around after the football finished earlier.

  We didn’t leave until the landlord kicked us out in the early hours, and I staggered along the pavement between Verity and Zephyr, our arms wrapped around each other’s waists, wondering where the hell the hotel was. Meredith got a piggyback from Skinny.

  “Does anybody know…” Oh dammit, now I had the hiccups. “Where…where we’re going?” And the giggles.

  “Left,” Verity said. “I think it’s left.”

  It wasn’t left. At some point, a pizza delivery guy on a moped took pity and helped us into a taxi, warning us not to puke. Meredith serenaded the driver on the trip back to the hotel, and I crawled out of the elevator on my hands and knees before passing out halfway onto my bed at a time normally reserved for night-shift workers and insomniacs.