"They would never spot me."
"True, you would blend in easily with their legions of fans."
"Exactly. Do you think they'll stay together as a trio?"
"I don't know. Maybe. I don't think they've decided yet."
"Katya didn't write any of the songs; and she only did a couple of solos ever. She's not the most valuable member. That's Amelia. She writes most of their songs. Maybe she could go solo?"
"I don't think any of them can go solo. I haven't seen their contracts, but I think they're obliged to stay with the band unless management throws them out."
"Or they die," Lily pointed out. "If the band breaks up, Amelia could make a lot more money as a solo star. Oops, gotta pee. Don't solve the case ‘til I'm back." She slid off her stool, grabbed her purse, and hurried to the downstairs bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.
I refreshed our water and tossed the empty bottle into the recycling can, thinking about what Lily said. Could Amelia make more money without the band? That had to be a strong motive for breaking up the band; and what better way to do that than by threatening to expose their secrets? I wondered if Shelley and Lauren could have similar greedy motives, but without their contracts or financial records, I couldn't definitively answer my own question. Assuming the theory that the blackmailer and the murderer were the same person, Amelia became the only name I could place as my number one suspect. She hated Katya and benefited the most from the band splitting.
By the time Lily returned from the bathroom, several long minutes later, I was still clinging to the thought that the band members could each have a lot more to gain by being ejected from the band, rather than staying together. All except Katya, who according to the anecdotes I heard, seemed to contribute the least to the band, but demanded the most. "I gotta go," Lily said, giving me a quick hug. "Something came up."
"What?" I asked.
"Uh, nothing. I mean, something. I'm running late!" She turned on her heel, heading towards the door, and leaving me no other option, but to hurry after her. "Oh, I meant to ask you, what was on the envelopes?" Lily asked, pausing as she pulled open the door. Before I could tell her I didn't know, and hadn't seen the envelopes, she hurried down the steps and vanished.
Chapter Eight
"How's dinner?" Solomon asked.
We were seated in his dining room, at opposite sides of the table, and I could tell he'd gone to real effort to pretty the table up, using expensive white china, glass votives with small flickering candles, and a narrow-mouthed vase of blooming white and pink roses.
"Delicious," I said, tucking the final forkful into my mouth. "You've outdone yourself."
Solomon smiled. "Another glass?" he held up the carafe of sparkling grape juice. It wasn't wine, but I had no complaints.
"Thanks."
"How're you feeling?" he asked next.
"Frustrated mostly. I cannot work this case out. Every time I find a new question to ask, it just opens up ten more. As for making a connection between..."
"I meant your health," interrupted Solomon.
I frowned. "I'm fine, thanks."
"Have you thought about taking supplements?"
"It hadn't crossed my mind, no."
"I thought I might go to the health store tomorrow and pick up some supplements."
"Okay. And then can we call Joe and ask him for the envelopes? I had an idea..."
"Do you want to take Victoria out at the weekend?"
I frowned. "Victoria?"
"Your niece," Solomon reminded me, a little unnecessarily. I knew who she was, I was just thrown by the question. Solomon was great with my nieces and nephews, having been present on more than a few occasions when I babysat, but he never volunteered before. "I thought maybe we could take her to the park or out for lunch. What do you think of her stroller? Is it a good model?"
"Uh... it's cute. Sure, I'll ask Serena if we can take Victoria out."
"Great. Delgado seems to be enjoying step-fatherhood."
"Victoria adores him. She thinks he's a jungle gym."
"She's changed him. She makes him happy. I never thought I'd see the day when Delgado became a family man."
"I never thought I'd see the day when my sister acted like a normal human being; so I thank Delgado every day for that," I replied, laughing. "And Victoria. Babies change people."
"For the better, I think."
"Absolutely. How did the blackmail letters get into the hands of the band members?" I asked, switching topics, my mind still stuck on the case. "Don't they get screened by their staff first? Shouldn't a dozen people or more handle any letter before it reaches any one of them?"
"I'll ask tomorrow. Let's not talk about the case now. I don't want you to get tired. Do you want to change your hours? Do you need more flexibility?"
"No, I'm fine with working exactly as I am, thanks."
"If you need to, just say. If you want to come into work later, that's not a problem."
"Uh..." I frowned again, wondering if I misheard the dinner invitation. It appeared to be more like an appraisal session about my work. Any moment now, I expected Solomon to move the roses aside and produce his latest pension plan.
"And if you need to take breaks, just say so. I want the agency to be a good place to work."
"It's a great place to..."
"I was thinking of starting a company car program. Do you need a bigger car? More space in the trunk?"
"No, the VW has all the space for shoes and cameras that I need."
"Okay," Solomon agreed readily. "Just let me know if you’d prefer something bigger."
"Have you been reviewing employee benefits?" I asked, puzzled at his questions. "I can tell you I'm really happy. You don't have to worry about my hours or a new car."
"What about your health plan?"
"I'm healthier than I've ever been."
He narrowed his eyes. "Really?"
"Really!"
"Want some ice cream?"
"Yes, please."
Solomon insisted I relax in the living room while he cleared our dinner plates. I listened to him tidy away, loading the dishwasher and banging the freezer drawer shut. Meanwhile, I leafed through a magazine as I wondered what could have gotten into him. Normally, he loved talking about work, but this evening, he seemed to want to talk about anything else. Not that I minded him voicing his concern about my general health, it was just strange. As he dropped onto the couch next to me and handed me a spoon, I put it down to the stress of the case. Nothing had gone to plan, and nothing appeared straightforward. Even I wondered why on earth I wanted to talk about it. Really, I should have been enjoying an evening off with the man of my dreams and a large bowl of ice cream.
"Can I get you anything else?" Solomon asked, prying off the lid.
"What? Like a pickle?" I teased and he sucked in a deep breath. "Joking," I said hurriedly. "All I need now is a loving arm around me and I'll be set for the evening. I barely had to wait a second to get my wish.
~
Solomon and I awoke together, breakfasted together, and I convinced him, despite his warnings for me to stay away from Joe and the band, that we should go together to the hotel. On the way, I explained my confusion about the envelopes, waiting for Solomon to come to the same conclusion. If the letters were hand-delivered to specific areas where only the band members would find them, our suspect pool would have been substantially decreased. I could certainly check off superfans and strangers, moving directly to my list of band and crew.
Speeding past the front of the hotel, where a small number of photographers waited, we drove around the back to the employee parking area. Solomon flashed a pass for access and I followed him to the lobby and an elevator that only stopped at the top floor. "When we first visited, this accessed all floors," I pointed out.
"I tightened up security," replied Solomon. "Now, this elevator only services the top floor. It's easier to track all who enter and exit." Seconds later, we stepped out in front of Larg
e and Larger before beginning our search for Joe as Large pointed in the direction of Joe's suite.
"Where are you on the blackmail?" Joe asked as we entered. He was sitting on the couch, a bunch of papers spread across the coffee table and didn't look angry anymore, which was a relief.
Solomon shut the door. "Lexi?"
"I'm following up leads, but there's nothing solid yet."
"I need it solved like, yesterday. My phone is ringing off the hook. Management are going crazy back in LA. I've got journalists from every newspaper, magazine, and entertainment show trying to get the inside word."
"All of that for Katya?" I guessed, knowing I was correct when Joe nodded. "So far, the blackmailer doesn't know we're investigating him or her. Probably thinks he or she is in the clear."
"To try again?" he wondered.
"Potentially," I admitted, "which means they won't be scared off either. Regardless of whether the blackmail and murder are connected, the blackmailer might try and use Katya's death to his or her advantage. To threaten and extort further since the band are now scared."
"Great. Just great. I thought you might have been the bringer of good news."
"Give us time, Joe," said Solomon. "Lexi's got an idea."
"When you gave us the letters, there weren't any envelopes. Can you remember if they were hand-delivered, or if there were postmarks?"
"I can do one better. I still have them." Joe got up and moved over to the desk in front of the balcony windows, pulling open a drawer. "I was going to throw them out, but then I thought about fingerprints. I meant to put everything together in the file, but I guess I've been a little distracted." Joe turned around, a plastic folder in his hand, and walked across the room, handing it to me.
I opened it, peering inside, uncertain as to whether I should touch the envelopes or not. Like Joe said, there could be fingerprints, and Solomon had access to a lab, but prints were useless without something to compare them to. What became immediately obvious was that each name was typewritten across the middle of the envelope and there was no postmark. Someone must have hand-delivered each envelope, which meant the blackmailer had to have obtained access to every place the band stayed.
"Can you tell me where the letters were found?" I asked.
"Either in the girls' bedrooms at their hotel or in the dressing rooms at the venue."
"The crew that tours with you all have access to the venue's dressing rooms?"
"Most of them, yes."
"Do the crew also have access to the hotel rooms?"
"No. Most of the crew stay elsewhere, so only a limited number would have access to B4U's hotel."
"Who would that be?"
Joe pushed out his jaw as he thought. "Me, security, wardrobe, their vocal coach, occasionally the dancers and choreographer are here."
"Have these people been the same throughout the tour?" I asked, rapidly narrowing down my suspect pool to the lower double digits.
Joe nodded. "They're all contracted through the tour, and we haven't had any replacements."
I pointed to the notepad he'd been using as we entered. "Can you write the names of all security staff who have or could have accessed the hotel, plus, the wardrobe staff, a vocal coach, choreographer and the dance crew?” A minute later, I had a list of eight, plus the names of ten dancers. I pulled a pen from my purse and added Joe, Lauren, Shelley and Amelia. Twenty-two names and one of these names had to be our blackmailer, maybe even Katya's murderer.
"Does that help?" Joe asked.
"Yes. I'm going to start talking to all of these people. Where can I find them?"
"Everyone will be at the warehouse."
"Preparing for the concert?"
"No, they're working on the video."
"I thought it got canceled?"
Joe shrugged. "It's postponed for now, but it might still go ahead. The guys above me want it reworked as either an homage to Katya, or a relaunch for the band as a trio."
"Kind of cold," I said, wondering how many hours had passed Katya's death before the management sent down their decision.
"That's the music business, honey."
"How are the band today?" asked Solomon.
"I think it's only just sinking in that Katya's really gone. They're pretty cut up." Joe paused as a whoop sounded from the hallway. "They express their grief in different ways," he said, picking up his cell phone as it beeped.
"We'll head over to the warehouse," said Solomon. "And I want to take all the letters and envelopes for testing."
"I need to think about that," said Joe, reaching over and tugging the folder from my fingertips before I even realized what he was doing.
"Think about it fast," Solomon warned him. "Think about whether you want the blackmailer caught, or if you want another murder on your hands."
Joe swallowed. "I get your point, but I need some damage control too. Murder is bad for business," Joe added before we left and headed for the elevator.
"You were a little hard on him back there," I said to Solomon as the elevator doors shut, and we quickly descended.
"He's delaying. He's letting us see what he wants us to see, but refusing to take it any further."
"Why would he do that? What's he hiding?"
"What? Or whom?"
I frowned. "You think he knows who’s behind the blackmail?"
"It's just a hunch but I think he might suspect someone."
"Why didn't you ask him?"
"Because I didn't think he'd say. He wants to be wrong."
"Then it must be someone close to him," I decided, shaking my head at the pointlessness of my statement. "But he's close to everyone. He's the linchpin of this tour. He knows everyone and the entire schedule, including where the band can be found at any given moment."
Solomon pulled out his phone as we exited the hotel, heading towards his car. "Delgado, we're leaving the hotel and heading to a warehouse across town. Watch Joe Carter and let me know his movements." He hung up.
"Now you're having him watched?"
"Naturally."
I climbed in and pulled the seat belt around me. "I need you to drop me off at Warehouse Twelve on Westbrook Road."
"Drop you off?"
"So I can interview everyone on this list while you do whatever you're doing with security. That was your plan for today, right?"
"Plans change. You know whose security I am today?" Solomon asked, gunning the engine. "Yours."
Warehouse Twelve was a cavernous building with a beefy security guard at the door. Evidently, Joe called ahead because our names were on the list and we were waved in. At the far end, a set had been built complete with cameras and lighting equipment situated all around it. To the left of that, the dancers were practicing a routine. To me, they looked perfect, but the choreographer didn't seem to share my opinion. He repeatedly stopped them, shouted and signaled to start again. The dancers shuffled into different positions and struck poses. The choreographer counted them in, and again, they struck different poses to the beat before bursting into an energetic routine. Twirling, changing positions, and always remaining entirely in sync with each other, it was fabulous to watch and I wished I could have seen more.
"Let's start with wardrobe," said Solomon, pointing to the racks of clothing to our immediate right. I could hear the sound of a sewing machine running as we approached. Ducking around the rack, I found a tall woman with very short, very bright, yellow hair, holding up a PVC corset and squinting at it. A few feet away, another woman was bent over the sewing machine, carefully stitching a seam in place.
"Annabelle?" I asked, checking the list.
The yellow-haired woman glanced over her shoulder. "Yes, and you are?"
"Lexi Graves with the Solomon Detective Agency. This is Solomon."
Annabelle took a long look at Solomon and an even longer look at me. I couldn't help wondering what she thought of my outfit. With my pants and blouse, I was a lot preppier than the PVC corset she held. "You're here about the blackmai
l plot?" she asked, surprising me.
"Yes. How did you know about it?"
"Not many secrets here, darling. Plus, I was with Shelley when she got her first one."
"So you've seen the contents?"
Annabelle nodded. "I have. I heard there were more letters."
"How did Shelley react?"
"She was angry. Really angry."
"Did you see who left the letter?"
"No, it was already waiting in Shelley's room when we got there after that night's concert."
"How come you were in Shelley's room?" asked Solomon.
"Shelley was complaining that her top for one of their numbers was rubbing uncomfortably and I needed to do a refit that night. We had to restructure it before we got on the road for the next concert."
I nodded, like I understood. "You didn't have much time?"
"Barely any. There's only my assistant, Janette, and me working on this tour, and we're often overrun with alterations, refits and new costumes to keep it fresh." The woman whom I guessed was Janette looked up as she pulled the material from her sewing machine. "Is that finished? Oh great!" said Annabelle sounding considerably more pleased.
"We won't take up too much of your time," I told her. "I can see you're busy. We just need to ask you a few more questions about the letters the band received."
"Shoot."
"Can you think of anyone on the cast or crew who might benefit from blackmailing the band?"
Annabelle frowned. "They asked for a lot of money? So... everyone?"
"What about anyone who would benefit from embarrassing the band?"
"None of us! We're all relying on the band to stay together for our jobs. I don't know about everyone else, but I get a bonus for completing the tour, although I don't know what's going to happen now. The tour might be canceled."
"You still seem busy?" I said, pointing to the large stack of alterations on the rack next to Janette and glancing towards the dancers busily rehearsing. None of them looked like they were packing to catch a flight home.
"Joe told us we had to carry on as normal until a decision was made as to the band continuing as a trio. So we're taking a break from the concert clothing and focusing on the video. Joe wants a whole new look for the band as a trio, and that means rethinking the band's apparel, as well as ten dancers’ clothing. Then there's footwear and coordinating with hair and makeup. It's a big job, and as usual, we have barely any time to pull it together."
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