She shook her head and said something in reply, quick and angry. Whatever it was, it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
His face darkening, he resumed his place.
Beaming, Allegra grabbed the microphone. “Just one more song,” she said. “You’ve been the best audience. I’m so thankful for you being here.”
Hunter began to play again, thin shoulders hunched. Harper could sense him watching as she crossed to the ladies’ room. When the door closed behind her, the music faded into the background.
The room appeared empty, the row of graffitied cubicle doors all closed. The room smelled strongly of some aggressive air freshener.
“Cara?” Harper asked cautiously. “Are you okay?”
There was a long silence and then, after a second, movement—a shuffling of feet. Cara walked out of the stall at the end, a tissue in one hand, her eyes red.
“That bitch. How could she do that?”
“Do what? You mean the song?” Harper prompted, trying to piece it together.
“That song…” Cara’s voice broke and she sagged against the sink, covering her face. “Out of everything she could have chosen. She picked that song.” She was crying again. “I could see it on her face. I could see everything.”
Harper wasn’t sure what was happening. Cara looked absolutely shattered. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t mean to be insensitive but why shouldn’t she sing it?”
Cara gave her a look of disbelief. “Harper. Can’t you see? It’s so obvious what was going on. The two of them…”
Harper’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about? Something between Hunter and Allegra?”
“Not Hunter.” A bitter laugh tore from Cara’s throat and she dropped her head to her hand. “God, I’m so stupid.”
“Cara. I don’t understand.” Harper stepped toward her. “Tell me what’s going on.”
A burst of applause poured in from the other room. The song must have ended.
“I’m such an idiot.” Lifting her head, Cara gave her a haunted look. “I was wrong about everything.”
Behind them the door flew open. A group of young women in short skirts and jeans walked in chattering loudly. Abruptly, Cara turned and ran, shoving past them to the door.
“Rude,” one of them commented. The others giggled.
“Cara, wait!” Harper ran after her, but she had to pause to let the women pass. When she got through, she raced into the main barroom. The stage was empty, the spotlights illuminating the two abandoned microphones. Music poured from the jukebox speakers again.
There was no sign of Cara.
The audience had moved from the tables and were now thronging around the bar.
Harper threaded her way through the crowd, toward the stage. It was quieter on that side of the room and she could clearly hear raised voices coming from the back room. When she reached it she paused, pressing her ear to the door. Hunter was shouting something.
Harper turned the handle, opening the door just wide enough to peer in.
Allegra, Hunter, and Cara stood in the harsh glare of a bare bulb surrounded by boxes of beer and wine in vivid green, red, and blue stacks. The room was cold, and smelled of dust and cardboard. Hunter and Allegra were side by side, facing Cara.
“Did you invite her?” Hunter was asking heatedly. “Are you trying to destroy everything?”
“You can’t be serious.” Giving them an incredulous look, Cara stepped toward them. “I’m trying to destroy everything? You’re out of your mind. There’s nothing left to destroy. It’s already gone.” She rounded on Allegra. “And you. How dare you sing his song? How dare you even touch his words? You disgust me.”
Whip-fast, Allegra slapped Cara’s face. The crack of the blow was so loud and violent, Harper gasped. The sound echoed in the sudden silence. Allegra and Hunter spun around to look at her. Cara didn’t move. She stood stock-still, one hand raised to her cheek, which bore the red imprint of Allegra’s hand.
“Harper.” Allegra cocked her head, dark eyes suddenly alert. “What are you doing here?” She seemed curiously unashamed, given what Harper had just witnessed.
Hunter, on the other hand, looked anxious. “It’s just an argument,” he explained. “Allegra didn’t mean…”
With a muffled sob, Cara turned on her heel and ran for the door. Harper stepped aside to let her pass, holding the door wide. When she was gone, she hesitated long enough to see Hunter and Allegra exchange a weighted look before heading off in search of Cara.
She wasn’t sure what she was witnessing here: whether this was three guilty people who’d done something awful bowing to the pressure, or a group of friends crumbling beneath the unbearable weight of grief and public attention. Or something else entirely. Something involving Xavier Rayne and Allegra.
Cara’s pale top fluttered around her frail frame as she sped through the crowd. She was fast, and Harper was running by the time she reached the door. Junior, the bouncer, gave her a questioning look as she hurried by, but she shook her head. There was nothing he could do to help.
On the dark street she turned left and right, finally spotting Cara getting into the convertible she’d seen parked in front of Admiral’s Row the other day.
“Cara!” Harper ran up to the car, where Cara had already started the engine and was strapping on her seat belt. “Can you just tell me what’s going on? Maybe I can help.”
Through her tears, Cara gave a bitter laugh. “It’s so funny,” she said. “I always thought reporters were smart. But they fooled you like they fooled everyone. How can you help when you can’t even see?”
“Just tell me,” Harper pleaded. “What happened that night? Who killed Xavier? You know, don’t you?”
Cara looked for a moment as if she wanted to tell her. But then the door of the bar opened and Jon Graff walked out. He stood watching them with interest.
Cara gave Harper a long, tormented look. “It doesn’t matter, anymore. Nothing will bring Xavier back. He’s gone forever. And I don’t know if I can live with that.”
“Wait—” Harper began, but Cara slammed the car into drive and floored it, shooting out of the parking place.
She stood on the curb as the car’s brake lights blinked red at the corner, and then disappeared into the night.
“What was that all about?” Graff asked. “Looks like a guilty conscience.”
Harper turned and hurried back inside, ignoring him.
Cara had not behaved like a murderer looking to cover up her crime. She’d seemed much more like a bereaved girlfriend, betrayed by her friends.
Betrayed how, though? Had something been going on between Allegra and Xavier? What had she said before she sang his song? “I dedicate this to the love of my life.” Was that any way to talk about someone else’s dead boyfriend?
And hadn’t the neighbor heard Cara accuse him of having an affair? What if that affair had actually happened inside his own house?
Pieces were beginning to fall into place. But the picture was still not clear. She needed to talk to the others.
In the bar, Allegra was perched on a stool holding a drink as if nothing had happened. Hunter leaned on the bar next to her. They were talking to a small group of admirers. They both looked relaxed—not at all like they’d just been in a knockdown fight in a back room.
Bonnie wiped the already-clean bar. “What happened?” she asked, sotto voce. “I saw the blonde fly out of here like someone was chasing her with a sword.”
Harper leaned over to whisper. “A fight. Very intense.”
“Over what?”
“Still trying to figure that out,” Harper said.
Bonnie shot a dark look at Hunter and Allegra, surrounded by adoring fans. “Well, I don’t like them.”
As if he’d heard her, Hunter looked up. She thought for a second she saw a flash of contempt in his eyes, but then he lifted a hand and there was nothing there but melancholy. He leaned over and whispered something to Allegra, who glanced at Ha
rper and said, “I see someone we need to talk to. It’s been great meeting you.”
She slid off the stool and the two of them walked over to where Harper waited, their faces somber.
“Can we go somewhere?” Hunter asked.
“Give me a second,” Harper said.
Jon Graff was walking back into the bar. She leaned over and motioned for Bonnie. Gesturing at Graff she said, “Make sure he doesn’t follow us, okay?”
Bonnie didn’t ask any questions. “I’ll put Junior on him,” she promised.
Straightening, Harper looked around for a quiet space. She led Allegra and Hunter to the side room known as “Poetry,” where lines from famous poems had been painted on the dark walls in white paint.
“What was that about?” she asked, as soon as they were alone.
“Cara’s still dealing with everything that happened.” Allegra said it in that soft, timid voice, quite different from the one she’d used onstage. “I can’t blame her for being upset. She won’t get over it. No one could.”
“Get over what?” Harper gave her a direct look. “Xavier being murdered? Or Xavier being murdered by someone she knows?”
“Oh, come on,” Hunter interjected. “You can’t be serious. You’ve been hanging out with us for days. Do we look like killers?”
His innocent act grated on Harper’s nerves. Suddenly she could see the manipulation—the way his eyes searched hers to gauge whether she was buying it.
She was tired of wasting time on these people, when somewhere out there tonight a man was hunting her.
“Do you really want to ask that question?” She squared up to him. “Are you sure you want to know what I think? Because I don’t think you do. Why don’t you just tell the truth?”
“But it is the truth,” Allegra insisted. “Cara is upset. Her boyfriend is dead and the police haven’t found the killer. How would you feel if that was you?”
“Terrible.” Harper rounded on her. “Worse, perhaps, if my friend dedicated a song to my dead boyfriend and called him the love of her life.” She paused, then added, “Especially if I thought she was sleeping with him.”
Allegra didn’t react. She just watched her with those huge, enigmatic eyes.
“Were you sleeping with him?” Harper prodded. “Is that what Xavier and Cara fought about that last night? Was it all about you?”
Hunter stepped between them. “You know half of everything and you think you’re a genius,” he said, angrily. “Now you’re throwing allegations around like a tabloid hack. I thought you were better than this.”
Ignoring him, Harper kept her focus on Allegra.
“Here’s what I think happened,” she said. “Xavier and Cara had a fight that night. A big one. About you. Cara was angry. She followed him down to the beach to finish it. She was planning on leaving the next morning. But she brought a gun. Maybe to kill herself. Maybe to kill him. It doesn’t matter. Xavier tried to take it from her. It went off in the scuffle. It was an accident. You two helped her drag the body out to the water and got rid of the gun. You were all involved. Now you’re rubbing it in her face, and it’s falling apart.”
Allegra watched her with something more like fascination than fear.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” Harper demanded.
“You’re wrong.” Allegra said, flatly.
“Then what did happen?” Harper demanded. “I’m sure Xavier didn’t die alone on that beach. You were there. You were with him. You all were. That’s why none of you will turn each other in. You’re all guilty in some way.”
For a long second Allegra stood still, barely breathing, her eyes fixed on Harper. The music and voices from the next room seemed to fade. Harper could sense how much the other girl wanted to tell her—could smell it in the air like electricity. And she might have. Except Hunter broke the spell.
“You’re out of your mind,” he told her dismissively. Turning to Allegra, he said, “Get your stuff. We’re leaving.”
For a second she didn’t react. She gave him a look Harper couldn’t read.
He shook his head in answer to some unspoken question. “Go.” His voice softened. “I’ll take care of this.”
Allegra bolted from the room, her small shoulders high around her neck as if braced for a blow.
When she was gone, Hunter turned back to Harper and gave a small, understanding sigh. “Look, I know why you think we were involved but I promise you we had nothing to do with it. Yeah, he and Cara had a screaming fight, but that was what they did. They loved each other and they fought. That was them. That’s why Cara’s such a wreck.” He bit his lip, hunching his thin shoulders in that boyish way Harper had once thought charming and vulnerable, but now saw as purely manipulative. “Maybe we shouldn’t have done ‘Revolver Road’ tonight with Cara out there, but that’s all that upset her,” he continued. “Hearing that song—it was too much. I’ll apologize to her and things will be fine.”
“Are you saying Allegra and Xavier weren’t having an affair?” Harper challenged.
“Of course not.” He looked horrified, as if the suggestion were ridiculous. “They were like brother and sister.”
Harper didn’t hide her doubt, but if he noticed he didn’t show it. Instead, he moved closer to her.
“The last couple of weeks have been the worst thing any of us has been through. And I just want to thank you for helping us.” He reached for her hand before she realized what he was doing. “I’m sorry I got angry earlier. It’s just so stressful. But you have really helped—”
Startled, she yanked her hand free and took a hasty step away from him. “Don’t.”
If he was embarrassed by her reaction she saw no sign of it in his unconcerned shrug. “Hey, it’s cool. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“All I want to know is what really happened that night,” she said, evenly. “Nothing more.”
“You know everything there is to know.” He held her gaze, his eyes as flat as coins.
Across the bar, Allegra emerged from the back room, carrying a guitar case and shoulder bag.
“I’ve got to go,” Hunter said. “Thanks for coming tonight. We’ll see you around.”
He sloped off to join Allegra, lifting the guitar case from her hand.
As Harper walked back to the bar, she spotted Jon Graff in a corner being talked to by Junior, who towered over him. Graff’s face was red with rage.
That, at least, was satisfying.
She joined Bonnie, who was watching Allegra and Hunter leave.
“It’s so weird to think they were Xavier Rayne’s friends,” Bonnie said. “He was so spiritual. They’re just thirsty for fame.” She paused as the door closed behind them. “That girl can sure sing, though.”
Harper didn’t reply. Everything was starting to make sense.
At last, she thought she understood who killed Xavier Rayne.
29
Fifteen minutes later, she parked the Camaro on Bay Street, directly in front of the newspaper building. The road was nearly deserted. There was no patrol car waiting for her.
Overhead, clouds scuttled across the dark sky, obscuring the moon. A cool wind blew her hair into her eyes and she shoved it back, hurrying across the sidewalk to the front door and grabbing the handle. It didn’t turn.
She shook it harder. The door stayed stubbornly locked.
Cupping her face with her hands, she peered through the glass at the desk where the guard should be. It was empty.
In fact, she could see no one at all through the smeared pane. She knocked hard on the glass, twisting her head to peer down the corridor, but no one emerged from the shadows.
Suddenly feeling exposed, she pounded harder on the door. “Hello?” she called, raising her voice. “Is anyone there?”
When no one replied, she turned around, surveying the dark street. She shouldn’t be out here alone. She remembered Lee’s warning about the newspaper building. “It’s the one place he knows to look for you.”
Her throa
t went dry. She should go back to her car, she decided. Drive away. Call Blazer, maybe.
The city seemed dangerously quiet. The only people she could see were two men a block away on the otherwise lonely street, walking toward her.
As she took a step toward the car, Harper found herself watching them, nervously.
They were probably tourists, she told herself. Or friends out for a drink.
But there was something about the way they moved. They weren’t talking. They weren’t even looking at each other.
They were looking at her.
They stuck to the shadows—she couldn’t get a good look at their faces. One was short and stocky, with thick hair that gleamed white in the darkness. The other was tall and walked about two steps behind the first.
Her heart began to beat faster. Keeping her eyes on the two men, she dug into her bag, fingers sliding off the cold metal of the Glock, and she hesitated.
Could she do it? Could she shoot two men on the steps of the newspaper?
The men were crossing the street, now, moving faster. There was no question in her mind that she was their target. She could sense it, feel it in her bones the same way a rabbit could sense a coyote.
Dropping the gun, she turned back and beat her fists against the door.
“Come on,” she whispered, her lips growing numb. “Come on.”
As if he’d heard her, the gray-haired man smiled.
A metallic click broke the quiet and the door behind her gave way. She stumbled backward into the reception space.
The guard held the door open with one hand, a fresh cup of coffee in the other.
“Is everything…” he began.
Harper slammed the door hard and jumped back from it. “Lock it,” she told him, her voice trembling.
He looked confused. “What?”
“Lock it,” she demanded, frantic.
“It locks automatically.” He set the coffee down on the desk and stepped closer to the door, looking out before glancing back at her. “What happened?”
“Two men.” Harper stared at the glass door, waiting for them to appear.
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