Murder at The Blues Stop

by Wendy Byrne

  Unfortunately, he was still passed out cold, pretty much in the same position I’d left him, when I returned to the motel room. I fanned the newspapers out on the small table next to the chair, finding a similar article in each and every one.

  With each account, I became more and more anxious. A small, grainy-looking picture of Shane was featured in each paper. The police were asking for the public’s help in finding him and were offering an award. The papers didn’t give a lot of detail other than to mention a murder weapon was found at the scene and that there had been an altercation between Shane and Mack. But it was the Chicago Tribune that convinced me things were much worse than I possibly could have imagined.

  I was mentioned as having been seen with him last. Which didn’t make sense. He hadn’t been around all night long, and Mack was killed after closing. That fact could be easily verified.

  Who could put me and Shane together except for the men who were shooting at us when we left town? And why would they volunteer information to the police that might possibly implicate themselves, unless they would be free from scrutiny.

  Hungry for more information, I turned on the TV and waited for the news. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to see more coverage about what had happened or if I feared there’d be even more attention about the incident.

  Unfortunately, it was the lead story in the news report including a big honking picture of Shane and a plea for help in finding him. Oh my God. This was infinitely worse than I’d thought.

  At just over the state line, we were much too close to Chicago to be safe for very long. It would only be a matter of time before we’d be discovered.

  I gathered up our things, changed into my new purchases, put a baseball hat on Shane’s head, and with not much help from him, got him dressed.

  I looked at a map and picked a spot. North seemed as logical a choice as any. From what I could tell, Madison, Wisconsin, looked like a fairly large town where we could blend in, regroup, and wait until Shane recovered enough to figure a way out of this mess.

  “Shane, we have to get out of here.” I opened the door and glanced both ways. When a police car circled the block, I held my breath and slammed the door shut.

  After a litany of ‘please, oh please, oh please’ I peered out the door once again. Not a police car in sight. Still, we needed to move on.

  First, I brought our things to the car. Then, after some maneuvering, I managed to get Shane safely inside. My heart had to have been beating at least twice its normal rate until we were safely on the road.

  ***

  I settled us into the new motel using yet another set of plates on the car. Although the motel was almost identical to the last place, meaning one step above a dive, I felt a whole lot better being farther away. Here there were no Chicago newspapers in the stores, and there were no broadcasts of Chicago TV stations.

  Using the music on my iPod to soothe my fears, I was singing when I heard Shane.

  “Damn, Gabriella, you have a great voice.” Shane sounded hoarse. “Could I have some water?”

  “You’re awake. Thank God. I thought for sure you were in a coma. If I didn’t have my iPod, I would have gone stark raving mad.” Jumping up, I grabbed a bottle of water and handed it to him. I couldn’t believe how much better I felt now that his eyes actually opened. Desperate to transfer responsibility, I figured a partially recovering Shane had to be better than me.

  Taking in a giant gulp of air, I continued. “I went shopping while we were in Milwaukee. I hope you don’t mind that I used some of that money you had stashed in the trunk. I couldn’t go around in those heels forever.”

  Unable to stop rambling, I stroked my hands up and down my legs to give my arms something to do. My heart and mouth were simultaneously going about a thousand miles a minute, and I couldn’t stop either one to save my soul. I needed to tell him how much danger we were in but couldn’t get myself to do it. The last thing I needed was for him to relapse. He still looked pathetic, even more so now that I’d given him an impromptu haircut.

  “I think the swelling is going down. Your eyes look much better. And your cheek isn’t so distorted. Even your lip is back down to normal size. Of course, your face is still black and blue but. . .”

  “I’ve gotta pee. I’m hungry as hell. I need a shower. And everything, including my fingernails, hurts.” He stopped, cautiously easing his legs over the edge of the bed.

  “Other than that, how are you?” After a day in Milwaukee and another day in Madison, I needed some relief.

  He stood up. Bracing his hands on either side of his hips, he took in a breath. He looked shaky. I wasn’t one bit surprised when he sat back down on the bed. He sniffed at his underarms. “I really need a shower.” With a deep breath, he pushed himself upright once again.

  “Maybe you should consider a bath. Less likely to fall flat on your face when in a prone position.” I itched to help him but knew better than to try.

  “No self-respecting man takes a bath.” He grinned. At least that’s what it looked like he was trying to do. “Or if he does, he’s not alone.”

  I figured Shane took stubborn to a whole other level, but it was something I could live with now that I’d had a taste of being in charge and confirmed it wasn’t my thing. “Is that some kind of macho code?”

  “Just mine.” While his voice sounded confident, his body betrayed him as he swayed slightly before righting himself.

  “If you insist on this disaster trip, at least let me help you. You can barely stand. How are you going to keep from passing out in the shower?”

  I imagine he wasn’t used to being the weak end of a partnership; I sure wasn’t used to being the strong one. Like it or not, I was in the middle of a major role shift.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  I stood in front of him, grasping his elbows to steady his wobbly advance lest he drop right there on the disgustingly dirty carpet.

  “This is ridiculous. I have seen a man’s penis before.” I didn’t take him for the shy type, but it was the only explanation.

  “You haven’t seen mine.”

  “If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.” I blew out a breath and tried to think of another way to reason with him. “I won’t look.”

  “If the situation were reversed, would you trust me to help you in the shower?”

  “Of course not. But that’s different. Men never do anything unless they’re getting something in return. Women are much more altruistic.”

  He ignored me. Using the wall to steady himself, he shuffled toward the bathroom.

  “If you fall, I’ll never be able to get you up by myself. I’ll have to call 9-1-1, which is exactly what you don’t want me to do.” Since he wasn’t listening to reason, I decided I needed to stop him from doing something crazy and blocked his path, taking a stand inside the bathroom door.

  “For the last time, no.” He put his hand on the doorframe and moved me aside. “And when I’m feeling up to it, I’ll show you all about a man giving and not receiving.” With that, he closed the door.

  Maybe I should have warned him about his hair. Then again, maybe his vision wasn’t too good yet. Or maybe he wouldn’t look in the mirror.

  “Gabriella.”

  Oh crap. I knew I should have warned him. But I thought his vision might be blurry enough that he wouldn’t notice.

  He flung open the door and braced himself on the doorframe.

  I chewed on the corner of my lip. “You weren’t coherent, and I had to make an executive decision.”

  “What? To make me look like an idiot?” Shane brought his hands up to his head, feeling around the bald spots and swearing.

  “I was going to fix it as soon as you were awake. I’m pretty good at hair stuff. I didn’t think it would be too difficult to shave yours. It got a little complicated when I couldn’t get the back or the sides. The way you were tossing and turning made it hard to get it even.”

  He ground his jaws together. “The question is
why.”

  “There was a front page article in the Milwaukee Journal about your disappearance, along with a fairly good photo.” I chewed on my fingernail. “I was worried someone might recognize you and thought it would be best to be preemptive.”

  “Preemptive?”

  “Hey, I saved your ass and got us here in one piece, didn’t I?” I placed my hands on my hips. “You’ve done nothing but sleep for two days while I did all the worrying, and now that you’ve got a smidgen of your strength back, you think you can second-guess all my decisions.” I walked close and poked him in the chest. “I don’t think so, buster.”

  “Buster?” I think he might have smiled. With his face still swollen and bruised, I couldn’t tell for sure.

  “Don’t worry about your hair. It’ll grow back. Besides, you would have done the same thing under the circumstances.”

  “A baseball cap would have done the trick, don’t you think?”

  “Everyone and their brother uses that as a disguise. It never works. Besides, I can even it out later.”

  “I’ll do it. Where’s the machete you used?”

  I plunked the razor in the palm of his hand, along with some clothing as well. “I’ve been busy while you’ve been out of it.”

  “Would you mind getting some food? I’m starving.”

  “I’ll get you some soup if you pinky swear you’re not going to go facedown in the shower.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  When I opened the door to our room, Shane was wearing a pair of jeans that hung low on his torso and nothing else. His newly shaved head glistened with water.

  I tried to keep my eyes away from his chest, but that only meant I focused on his arms or legs, or worse yet, the very low rise of his jeans. None of those seemed to be healthy options.

  Just because we’d slept together each night didn’t mean I should start thinking about sex. It would only muddy our situation. Besides, the last time I’d initiated something, he’d turned me down.

  “I have some food,” I nervously said like some love-struck teenager. Ever since the night I’d kissed him, I’d had this absurd fascination with trying it again. Maybe it was because he basically shut me down. Or maybe I’d become delusional after spending the last few days virtually alone.

  He stalked toward me. The old Shane never walked, and somehow that made me feel positively giddy. Normally, every move he made seemed more of a mission than anything as simple as getting from one place to another. The shower must have done him a world of good since he’d recovered his swagger.

  “I’m starving.” He snatched the bag from my hand and smiled. “Thanks.”

  “Is that a thanks for saving your life? Thanks for taking care of things while you hovered near death? Thanks for having the good sense to leave Milwaukee when the papers were plastered with your picture?”

  Even though I was being a tad dramatic, he needed to understand all the pressure I’d felt over the last few days. No doubt he’d become accustomed to life and death drama. Not me. With only myself to rely on, I needed confirmation I’d handled things respectably.

  “It’s a thanks for everything. I’d probably be dead if it weren’t for you.” He took a spoonful of the soup. “I do wish this was a burger with fries though.”

  “You need to start back slow.” Where had that come from? I sounded like my mother. My quick slide into adulting was frightening.

  Shane shook his head. “Where are we? What day is it? I vaguely remember leaving Milwaukee.”

  “It’s Saturday evening. And we’re in Madison, Wisconsin.”

  He nodded and continued eating his soup. After breaking off a chunk of the hard roll included with the soup, he ate that as well. “What did I miss?”

  I filled him in as best I could. But had oodles of questions of my own. “Do you know who did this to you?”

  “Cops. O’Brien, the one from court the other day, and another couple I don’t know. They beat the crap out of me, then locked me in the closet in the back of The Blues Stop. I’m not sure why they stopped, but I think somebody came in. Don’t know who. Don’t care. Just glad they did. They must have figured I was close enough to dead that they’d just finish me off later so they stuffed me in the closet.”

  My breath caught. All night long while I was singing, he’d been locked up not even twenty feet away. He had been right there the whole time, and I hadn’t known.

  “You weren’t being paranoid about the cop thing.”

  He gave me one of those you’ve-got-to-be-frickin-kidding-me kind of looks. “Ah, no.”

  I wanted to press the issue but didn’t think he was ready to go down that road right now. “How did you get out of that closet?”

  He pondered the thought before responding. “I’m not sure. I came to, and the door was locked, but then it wasn’t. I might have been coherent enough at some point to pick the lock, but I don’t think so. Somebody must have helped me. I’m guessing it wasn’t you.”

  I shook my head. “You got out, but you didn’t get far.” As much as I tried, I couldn’t piece it together in my head. Was that why Mack was in trouble? Had he helped Shane escape? “Why did they go after you? Did it have to do with the Marcos case?”

  He rubbed at his temple as if he needed the extra incentive to remember. “I don’t think so. They wanted some kind of video they thought I had.”

  “A video of what? And why would they think you had it?” This new wrinkle I hadn’t anticipated.

  “Hell if I know.”

  “Do you think it has anything to do with The Blues Stop?”

  Shane shook his head. “I thought about that even before this happened. Like why did Walt keep the place open when it leaked money? I still don’t get it unless he was running something illegal through there, maybe drugs or something else.”

  I suddenly remembered his stepfather’s visit. It seemed like weeks and weeks ago instead of a few days. “I’m not sure where this fits in, or even if it fits in, but your stepfather stopped by the office to warn you off the Marcos case. I tried to get in touch with you, but I guess you were too busy getting beat up.” I tried for a smile.

  “I should have figured he was in on this.” He bit out the words and stopped eating his soup. Halfway finished, he pushed it away. “The prick. I knew he hated me, but I hadn’t figured this much.”

  Nervous, I chewed at my lip. This had opened up old wounds for Shane, ones he might never get past. “I’m not sure he was involved. It sounded like it might be a totally separate issue. I’m saying there’s a possibility he wanted to protect you.”

  While he didn’t contradict me, he folded his arms across his chest, giving me his response in body language. Even though physically he looked one hundred percent better than he had in the last few days, exhaustion still simmered below the surface, and I opted not to press the issue. Still, as far as I was concerned, the jury remained undecided about both Daniel and Patrick O’Neil.

  He eased into a smile. “Even though I appreciate everything you did, for the record, men my age don’t like their heads shaved. Afraid it might not grow back.”

  And I thought I was the only one who had trivial insecurities. “How old are you?”

  “I’ll be thirty-five in November. How about you?”

  “Just turned thirty-two. But don’t worry about your hair growing back. I saw no evidence of impending bald spots. And at least you don’t have giant Dumbo ears or an odd-shaped head.”

  “Gee, thanks. I think.”

  “Not to change the subject, but where did you get that scar on your stomach?”

  His eyes narrowed, and for a minute or two, I didn’t think he’d tell me. “I’ve encountered more than my fair share of nasty people. It was a lesson about who I could trust and who I couldn’t.”

  I let him off the hook for the time being, but I had every intention of revisiting the question. “Were you inside the dumpster at some point?”

  “That was my initial idea since I knew I couldn’t get f
ar. But before I could drag my sorry ass inside, I passed out.”

  “Believe me, you were close enough to have the lovely aroma wafting about you.”

  “That was my strategy. I wanted to blend into the environment.”

  “You did a bang-up job of that.” I didn’t want to think about what might have happened if I hadn’t shown up that night. Would he have been found by the bad guys? Would he have survived if he hadn’t?

  He sipped at the bottled water. “What have you been up to?”

  “Not much besides worrying myself to death and going stir-crazy watching daytime TV.” I shook my head. “There’s only so much Jerry Springer or Dr. Phil I can take before my mind starts to turn to mush or I psychoanalyze myself.”

  “I came out of it just in time to rescue you then, huh?” He tore off another small piece of bread and began to scan one of the papers. “Give me the Cliff Notes. Why do they think I killed Mack?”

  “As far as I can tell, they’re citing his mismanagement of the club and say that the two of you had an argument about it.” I couldn’t understand why that would be a plausible reason for murder, but I supposed people killed for less. “They’re quoting a source who worked at The Blues Stop as stating there had been trouble between the two of you. Since it wasn’t me, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Donna, that only leaves Stu as an option.”

  “Unless they made that part up.” He put his finger on the spot in the paper where he was reading and looked at me. “Considering Stu was a friend of Mack, we should be suspicious. Mack didn’t have the best judgment in people.” He grinned. “Except, of course, for gorgeous, sexy blues singers. He got that right.”

  “I knew underneath all that grouchiness you had a secret crush on me.”

  He smiled. “Something like that.”

  “Flattery aside, this newspaper article brings up a huge problem.” I crossed my legs and folded my hand across my knee. “They’re also mentioning me as a possible accomplice. Now that you’re coherent, maybe we should entertain the idea of going back to Chicago to get this mess straightened out.”