Echoes in the Wind

by Debra Jupe

  “I bet you don’t.”

  “Believe what you want, I’d have dumped her hours ago except for the—Drake—you understand.”

  “I do.” Shane turned to him and smiled. “But if you’re not interested…she’s pretty cute, maybe I’ll have a go at her.”

  “She’s not your type either.” Eric rushed up the stairs to his back porch.

  “If you say so.” Shane veered away. “I’m heading home unless you need me to hang around.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Large cold drops pelted the minute Eric mounted the first step leading into his house. Once inside, he balanced against the wall, shifting his weight as he toed off his muddy boots. He glimpsed out the window to view the storm before he edged across the darkness using the lightning flashes to guide him until he reached his room. Inside he fumbled for a lamp’s switch. Light on, he kicked off his damp jeans, yanked the shirt over his head, then searched the floor for the towel he’d dropped from an earlier shower. Once he’d dried, he snatched a pair of sweats draped over a chair and slipped them on. He glided to his bed and rifled through the covers. Locating his pillow, he fell onto the mattress and stuffed it behind him. He lay quiet, staring at the ceiling fan whirling in slow motion.

  Drake. His good friend was dead. Murdered. He still couldn’t understand. He’d lost others before. Family, friends, people he’d cared about. All tragic but nothing compared to this senseless heartbreak. Unable to cope, he refused to contemplate the horrible occurrence now. He’d hash and rehash the whole thing with his friends later and be forced to read the story in the media. God, the media. They’d carry on over this incident for years. Drake would never be at peace.

  He needed to refocus his mind or he’d go insane over the loss. Stretching for a legal pad sitting on the nightstand next to him, Eric held the tablet under the lamps dim glow and studied the scribbles on the front page. This song had given him hell. He and Blaine had hammered out the music though neither of them could come up with decent lyrics. Staring at the pad, an impulse swept over him and urged him to play. He stood up. A swift search through several drawers produced a pen. He swiped up the paper and his guitar, then perched on the edge of the mattress. He strummed the instrument. For a brief moment, the haunting melody drove away the pain from his loss and coincided with happier thoughts.

  Of Darla.

  Words formed. He grabbed the pen to write them down, matching each word with a chord. Before he realized, the first verse, then the second were complete. He carried on, building the chorus. Words flowed from his heart to his fingertips as he put them to the music. Excited, he played again. This time he sang softly as each note bounded into his soul.

  A tap at his door interrupted him. He glanced to where beams of light shined from underneath. Blaine must be home.

  “C’me in,” he mumbled. He continued to scrawl notes on the edge of his tablet.

  Blaine poked his head inside. “Hey.”

  Eric stole a glimpse at his partner, nodded, and went back to his writing.

  His friend entered the bedroom. “You’re ’bout finished.”

  Eric looked up and frowned.

  “The song.”

  “Yep. Needs a few tweaks here and there. It’ll be ready soon, though.” He paused to make another notation, laid the pen down to give Blaine his full attention. “The storm seemed to inspire me.”

  “Sounds like a hit.” Blaine’s head bobbed. “We need to include some more ballads.”

  An uneasy silence filled the room. Eric set his guitar aside. He slid from the bed’s edge and relocated to the top of the mattress, leaning against the headboard.

  Eric stared at Blaine. “You heard, right?”

  Blaine’s face paled. “I’m sick about the news.” He paced to the window to stare into the night. “Drake’s the nicest guy in the world. Who’d do this to him?”

  Eric shrugged, still wanting to stay away from the subject but realized the uselessness to keep putting the topic off. “The shooting doesn’t seem random, yet it’s hard to believe Drake did something so bad someone would do this to him.”

  Blaine threw a quick glance over his shoulder. “Maybe we didn’t know Drake as well as we thought we did.”

  Eric lifted his brows with a “you’ve got be kidding” expression.

  Blaine rotated away. “I can’t come up with any other reason.”

  “I can.”

  Blaine turned around and leaned against the window frame, arms folded over his chest. “I know what you’re thinking, but that’s not possible.” He uneasily cleared his throat. “He’s in jail.”

  “This sounds as if the shooting was done by a professional. Like a hired gun. He managed to get in and out of a house full of people and blow Drake’s head off without anyone able to recognize him. Someone knew what they were doing.”

  “The idea is crazy.”

  “I don’t think so,” Eric argued. “He’s associated with some shady people. How hard would it be for him to hook up with someone in jail and pay them or one of their associates to murder Drake?”

  Blaine hesitated. “I hope you’re wrong.”

  “Give me another reason why anyone would want to kill him.”

  “I can’t. If I’d had any idea how sick he was, I’d have walked away from the money and fame and stayed in Aberdeen forever.” He paused. “It’s got to be something else, Eric. Something we’re unaware of must have happened in Drake’s life. We’ve been concerned over the demons he was dealing with for a long time.”

  Eric’s chin dropped. “Drake had a drinking problem. Although since he’d quit the business and got married, he had it under control.”

  “That’s what he told us, but is it the truth?”

  Eric’s head shot up. “I choose to believe so.”

  “For his family’s sake, we’ll say you’re right.”

  “I am. Dugan Holt was a first class crook among other things. I dunno why you think he’d be above getting rid of anyone he viewed as an enemy. Don’t underestimate the man, Blaine. That would be a huge mistake.”

  “I don’t take Dugan’s past deeds lightly.” Blaine’s tone turned grim. “As a matter of fact, I always thought he’d come after us some day. But I figured he’d hurt us in other ways. Ways where we’d suffer in life. I never believed he’d outright kill one of us.”

  “In a normal mind, your type of revenge makes sense. But we ruined him. Destroyed his reputation and we sent him to jail. He’s not going to forgive us without a major retribution.”

  “Still, killing one of us?” Blaine balled a fist and drove it into his palm. “I’ve been afraid everything will crash down on us at any moment since the day we called the police on him.” He glanced at Eric, his expression irritated. “I’m still unsure about the way we handled things.”

  Eric grunted. “This wasn’t a situation where we needed to stop and talk or discuss our feelings. Our circumstances had already exploded.”

  Blaine’s eyes narrowed to focus on Eric. “Yeah, and you didn’t help out in that incident either.”

  “I did what needed to be done.” Eric straightened his back. “No one else wanted to take a stand and things were out of control.”

  Blaine spoke carefully as if he were choosing his next words. “You realize your method wasn’t the best way. What happened after was the catapult for Raging Impulse’s destruction.”

  “You’re saying our band’s demise was my fault?” Eric rolled off the bed and surged to his feet, fists clenched.

  “Of course not. Everyone knows your first love is music.” Blaine shot Eric a dark glare. “But I am saying there were more appropriate ways to work through our issues.”

  “Finn wanted out. He’d done nothing except talk of leaving for the last year and because he wished to leave, he behaved like a fuckin’ ass. More so than usual.” Eric fell backward into the mattress and landed on his back. He lay quiet for several seconds, inhaled deep, then sat up. “I just gave him the way. And the authoriti
es needed to know about what else I discovered.” Eric’s eyes turned into slits, his vocal cords shook. “If you want to place blame for Raging Impulse’s collapse and demise—put the responsibility on the person who caused the shit. Our former manager, Dugan Holt. We were stupid since we didn’t bother to find out what he was when we hired the guy. And we ignored his misdeeds until things got out of hand because the money and fame was too good to give up.”

  “Yeah. And here you’re suggesting he may have something to do with Drake’s murder. I don’t mind telling you, the thought scares the hell out of me. Dugan sitting in jail has never given me a bit of relief.”

  “Me either. The guy holds a grudge. Anyone he determines as an enemy is a target. He views us as enemies, and I’m terrified Drake just paid the ultimate price.”

  “I hate to believe Dugan’s that cold, although I’m not going to say you’re wrong.” Blaine shifted to the border of the bed and picked up Eric’s song pad for a closer inspection. He studied the ballad. “This is good. Reads like you felt something for someone.”

  Eric shrugged carelessly. “It’s just a song.” His stare dropped to the floor. “Doesn’t mean anything. The words fit the music, that’s all.”

  He squirmed, unable to erase the image of Darla out of his head. He wished he’d never written those lyrics and fought every instinct to lean forward and snatch the tablet out of his friend’s fist.

  Blaine looked up with a half grin. “There must be some lady who affected you more than you’re willing to admit. You appeared to be moved by a pair of haunting, dark eyes.” He tossed the pad in Eric’s direction. “You should read what you wrote.” Blaine walked toward the doorway. “Saw Finn at the bar. Made a real pest of himself. I know you don’t want to, but he wants us to stop by tonight to look at this big discovery he’s made.”

  Eric glanced at the clock. Past midnight. Too late to go anywhere. Even if he had the desire. “He’s still harping on the big deal he couldn’t shut up about at the party? I don’t think so.”

  “I know it’s late but if we want him to quit bugging us, we ought to go and get it over with.” Blaine clutched the doorknob. “Think about it.”

  Eric gritted his teeth. He had no desire to speak with Finn ever again and just the mention of Holt made his insides jittery.

  Before he became Raging Impulse’s manager, the band knew of Dugan Holt during his stint as a music teacher, mysteriously dismissed from the university some of the members attended. Although the group didn’t officially meet him until he approached the guys after hearing them play at a dingy backstreet pub one evening.

  He thought they possessed potential and made them an offer. He wanted to help them get to the next level. While he’d never managed a band, he convinced them he would make them bigger than the Beatles. Dugan’s inexperience didn’t concern any of them. Nor did they question his past.

  The men, young and naïve, only wanted to play their music, produce hit records, and become immortalized as rock and roll deities. They needed someone to help get them there. They happily accepted Dugan’s proposition. A decision each member had come to regret.

  Eric rolled off the bed and strolled to the window. He stared into the foggy darkness. The rain had passed. He turned away to dress. After he put on fresh socks and shoes, he swiped up a jacket, then stepped into the next room.

  Blaine was on his phone. He swung Eric a worried glimpse as he paced the floor. Eric slipped an arm through the sleeve of his coat and struggled to get it in place while he waited for Blaine to finish the call. His gut coiled from the sight of the lines in Blaine’s forehead deepening.

  “I guess you’re right. He managed to slip out of jail and now he’s gone missing,” Blaine told him in a strained voice after he disconnected. “Dugan. He’s escaped. The news is all over the UK. Things have started. He’s disappeared because he’s coming after us.”

  Eric drew a sharp mouthful of air as his insides plummeted. “He’s already gotten one of us. We need to get ready.”

  Chapter 5

  Darla bolted upright and rubbed her eyes. Angry slashes burst through the windows while noisy roars rattled the house. A loud pop dimmed the lights. She held her breath and turned a gaze to the ceiling. The thunder faded, and the power returned to normal. Relieved, she swung her feet to the floor, spun off the sofa where she’d been dozing and stumbled across the room to switch off the lamps. Storms made her nervous, but tonight fatigue overruled fear.

  On her way to her bedroom, she passed her open laptop perched on the edge of her coffee table. She took a step back and tapped the mouse pad. She lifted the nearby wineglass and traced the rim with a finger as a tiny smile played on her lips

  Another roll blasted followed by a loud pounding. She flinched and released a small scream. The roar diminished, although the hammering continued coming from the front of her house. Someone was at the door. She set the glass down, lowered the computer’s lid, and then cautiously stepped to the entryway to put an eye to the peephole.

  She threw the door open. A drenched Stephanie stepped inside.

  “Towels.” Darla hurried away. “And I’ll bring dry clothes,” she said over her shoulder.

  She returned moments later carrying the promised goods and handed them to Stephanie. “The pants are too short but the shirt should fit.”

  Stephanie took the things from her. She unfolded a towel and patted her face. “Anything will work at this point.” She whirled around, spraying water droplets over the hardwood, rushing toward the spare room. “Back in a few.”

  Darla waved a hand. “Take your time. I’ll go make you some hot tea.”

  Darla lighted her way to the kitchen. Within minutes, her friend reappeared dressed, her hair slicked back, and the towel draped around her neck. She leaned against the doorway and dried the damp strands between the cloth’s edges.

  “What a night.”

  Darla glanced up as she stuck a cup under the faucet.

  “I wonder how your ex’s wedding is surviving the storm. Rumor is the social function of the year was to be a huge outdoor extravaganza. Hope they had a plan B in place.”

  “Don’t know, don’t care,” Darla replied airily as she shoved a mug of water into the microwave and punched in the minutes. She turned to Stephanie. “You know what happened at our party, right?”

  “I heard.”

  The thunder growled, prompting the lights to flicker again. Darla winced and looked across the room at her friend. The microwave dinged.

  “And you’re aware who the victim is?” Darla picked up a teabag and retrieved the steaming cup. She handed it to Stephanie, then brushed past her.

  Steph followed her close behind, traveling into the living room as each woman claimed a side of the sofa.

  “Unfortunately, yes. I got the word about Drake Mahoney’s murder when I was out with Blaine.” She put the mug to her lips and took a sip. “I’m sorry for Drake, but the news was just the perfect end to the worst date ever.”

  “Stephanie. A man is dead. Murdered.” Another crash shook the house. “And you’re concerned over a bad evening with a guy you picked up? Did it occur to you we were at a party where a killing happened, and we could have been in danger?”

  “I doubt if we faced any real risk.” She placed the teacup on the table in front of her. “We’re nobodies. No one would want to do anything to us.”

  “You maybe.” Darla scowled at her. “The killer ran past me. He rammed me out of the way when he was leaving.”

  Stephanie gasped as her palms fluttered across her cheeks. “Did he hurt you?”

  “I’m fine. I didn’t find out he was the murderer until later on. Still, the thought of being near someone who did something so horrendous is scary.”

  Stephanie nodded and dropped her hands. “I’m sure. Did you have to speak with the police about this?”

  “After waiting for what seemed like hours.”

  “Sorry. But you told me you were going to get a glass of wine and lea
ve. How did you end up staying longer?”

  Darla straightened. “My nerves are giving me the munchies. I have double chocolate chip ice cream. You want some?”

  “Ooh calories, yeah, bring ’em on. Let’s make this a true party. Our style, anyway. Get the bag of cookies I spotted earlier today too.”

  Darla jumped from the couch and raced into the kitchen. She retrieved some bowls, ice cream, and then dipped. After putting the carton away, she grabbed their frozen treats and hurried back to Stephanie with a dish in each hand and the cookies clenched between her teeth. She handed Stephanie her dessert and opened her jaw to drop the sack onto the coffee table. Seated, she spooned the extravagance and glided the sweet blend into her mouth.

  “Not to change the subject, but what happened with your guy from Raging Impulse? Why was the date such a bomb?”

  Stephanie opened the package to remove several cookies. She twisted one apart and ate the icing from the middle. She nonchalantly raised a shoulder. “The beginning wasn’t awful. In fact, most of the evening was good for the time we were together. We left the party to go have a drink at the little bar across the highway from this subdivision. I didn’t realize Blaine lived close to you. We exchanged phone numbers, so we’ll see.”

  “You swapped numbers? That’s it. No wonder the date was a disaster.”

  Stephanie took half of a cookie, scooped up some ice cream, and shoved the concoction into her mouth. “Yeah. There were…” Her expression displayed a trace of frustration. “Complications.”

  “Do you even like him?”

  “I do,” she admitted. “I love the Scottish accent or brogue, whatever you call it. I kind of get the idea there are some problems connected with his former band, possibly a few unresolved issues. The lead singer, Finn O’Conner, was at the bar too. With his brother.” She shook her head. “The guy is messed up. I was so disappointed because during my younger days I thought he was sooo cute. His brain is fried, I’m guessing from past drug use. I’m not sure he wasn’t wasted tonight. His brother.” Stephanie rolled her eyes “Talk about a first class jerk. He showed up later on. I didn’t realize he’d been a backup in their band. He kept mouthing off, like he hates everybody in the group for whatever it was they did to him. Finn wouldn’t leave us alone either. He insisted he needed to talk to Blaine right away and Blaine should phone the other members and meet with him. Blaine kept telling him they’d get together another time. The two of them were such huge pests, and then Blaine got the news about Drake and everything was over. I told him to call me later and walked here. I wish I’d taken my car so I wouldn’t have ended up soaked. End to a perfect night.”