I sighed and lowered my eyes. Rubbed my finger across patterned stitching in the bedspread. Brittany pulled her feet up and sat cross-legged.
My stomach rumbled. Lunch had been over seven hours ago, and after my flight to the bathroom, there was nothing left in me. Still, I couldn’t imagine eating.
“All of this, Carly. It makes me feel so … unsure of things. Like I can’t really control anything in my life. And I can’t even be sure of what I know. I didn’t understand how Tom felt. I don’t know anything more about my dad. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow.”
Carly inhaled a long breath. “None of us do, Shaley. That’s why we need God so much.”
A new expression flickered over her face, mixing anger and righteous defiance. Her tone firmed. “And listen to me, Shaley. Someone meant those words on the back of that photo to harm you. But here’s the good news. Someone is always watching. That someone is Jesus. He’s watching when things are good and when things are terrible. I should know; I’ve been through both. So every time those words ring in your head, Shaley, don’t just think of the mean person in this world who wrote them. Think of God in heaven, because that’s his promise to you.”
I brushed at imagined lint on my jeans, fighting the urge to steal a look at Brittany. I hadn’t asked Carly here to talk about God. But I should have known she would.
“Can I tell you something about my own life?” Carly asked after a moment.
I nodded.
She remained silent. I looked at her and saw memories — whatever they might be — creasing her face. She focused on the distance, beyond the room, as if the walls had disappeared and she gazed into her past.
“I lost my mama when I was nine.”
I blinked in surprise. Brittany made a sad sound in her throat.
“My father was an alcoholic. He went over the deep end after Mama died. He lost his job. Couldn’t provide for me. I didn’t have brothers or sisters, so I felt very alone when he stayed out all night drinking. He ended up robbing a bank. They caught him, and he went to jail. I was, for all practical purposes, an orphan.”
Oh. I squeezed her arm. Losing both parents was more than I could imagine. “What did you do?”
“My grandmama took me in.” Carly smiled. “She was a praying woman. She prayed over me loud and long. Downright shook the rafters. I thought she was a little crazy, but I loved her. She was so good to me.” Carly looked at her lap. “I only had her a year. Then she died too.”
I shook my head. So much loss. I never would have guessed this about Carly.
“After that I was shoved in and out of foster homes, all the way until I graduated from high school.” Carly’s voice dropped. “Those years were terrible. I can’t tell you how bad. I won’t tell you all that happened to me. I thought I’d lost everything. I had lost everything — on this earth. But in my senior year of high school, I found the most important thing. I realized that Jesus loves me, and I will always have him, no matter what I have to face. After that I turned to him for guidance every day.”
Have him? Didn’t seem much good to me since you can’t even see Jesus. How do you turn to someone for guidance when you can’t see him?
“If Jesus loves you, why’d he let all those things happen?”
Carly sighed. “Baby, I don’t know. I figure I’ll understand when I get to heaven. But I do think it’s the wrong question to focus on. We know this world can be hard to get through. The right question is, what are you going to do about that? If you were on a long, hard trip, wouldn’t you want a map to guide you? If you wanted to put a model car together, wouldn’t you read the instructions? God created this world, including us. Jesus is our map, our instruction booklet. If we go it alone, we’re bound to have a much harder time.”
I trailed a painted fingernail across the bedspread. “Did things get better for you after you turned to God?”
“No. Not for a while. I fell in love with a man who cheated on me. He broke my heart. Then I lost a couple of jobs and practically had to live on the street.” She shook her head. “Life was tough. But with God’s help I did get better at handling things. I began to see he had a purpose in allowing me to go through hard times. Those times brought me closer to him, because I had to rely on him more.”
It sounded good. I wanted what Carly had. I wanted to believe in something bigger than myself. Bigger than my circumstances. Especially after the circumstances of that day. But something in my heart balled up like the wet tissue in my hand.
What little energy I possessed evaporated from my limbs. I shivered and crossed my arms.
Carly surveyed me. “You’re tired, poor thing. Have you eaten?”
My lips twisted into a sick expression. I glanced at Brittany. “No.”
“Well, honey, you need to do that. Order some room service. Put some meat on those bones, as my grandmother would say.”
Her mouth curved. I gave her a tiny smile back.
“Thanks, Carly.” I hugged her. “You’re the best.”
She pushed off the bed. “Call me if you need me now, hear? Any time.” She looked from me to Brittany. “I’ll see you tomorrow on the way to the airport, if not before.”
We had a ten a.m. call to meet the limos. Our flight to Denver was at 11:55.
“Okay. Thanks again, Carly.”
She slipped out the door.
Brittany gave me a tired smile. “Carly’s nice.”
“Yeah. The best.”
We looked at each other, saying no more. But I knew she was wondering about the Jesus thing, as I was.
I checked the digital clock on the night stand. Its red numbers said 7:45. I was so tired. This day felt like a thousand hours already.
Brittany rubbed her flat stomach. “I’m starved. Can you eat something?”
“I’ll try.” As I walked over to the desk for the large black binder that contained the room service menu, my mom’s voice flashed through my brain.
You’re not the only one who knows about the rose.
I fingered the pages of the binder. Who else knew? And how?
27
The shrimp and pasta Brittany and I ordered was delivered by a young waiter with thick black hair and ice-blue eyes. He looked like he belonged more on the movie screen than pushing room-service carts. He set the covered plates and drinks on a table by the window.
“There you are, Miss O’Connor.” He dipped his head to me, then Brittany.
“Thank you.” I nudged a five-dollar bill into his hand.
“Appreciate it.” He raised his cool eyes and gazed at me.
The moment stretched out, and still he looked. Electricity danced up my nerves. I pulled back, tensing. “What?”
He gestured toward my hair. “I like you better without the wig.”
Abruptly he swiveled toward the empty cart and pushed it toward the door, as if realizing he’d overstepped his bounds. I stared after him as he slipped out into the hall.
The door clicked shut.
I turned to Brittany, feeling violated all over again. “We already made the news.”
“Yeah. Terrific.”
I focused on the black screen of the TV. The last thing I wanted was to see the coverage and be reminded of those awful minutes in the mall. But to not know what reporters were saying …
Striding to the nightstand, I snatched up the TV remote and punched the on button.
From the table, the smell of pasta and cream sauce wafted up my nose. My stomach flip-flopped.
“Go ahead and eat.” My face scrunched up. Gripping the remote, I flipped channels to find the news stations.
“That’s okay, I’ll wait for you.”
“No, Brittany. Eat.”
I pushed the channel button.
A car commercial.
Brittany sat down at the table and angled toward the TV.
Punch.
A sitcom.
Punch.
MTV.
Punch.
News. Someth
ing about the economy.
Come on!
My index finger worked feverishly, my stiff arm thrust toward the TV. With every channel, the dread inside me grew. I’d shouted at the reporters and burst into tears. They’d probably shown it over and over — made me look as bad and weak as possible. What great drama for all the watchers across America.
Had I hurt the band? Would Mom be mad at me?
Brittany took a few bites, then clacked down her fork. The sound shot right through me.
“Wait,” she said. “Maybe it’s not on at all.”
“Then how would he know?”
“Maybe he was there.”
My hand dropped, the remote dangling from my fingers. A cell phone ad played on the TV. “But I don’t remember seeing him. Do you?”
“No. Not that it means much. There were so many people …”
We locked eyes, trying to think it through. If the waiter had been there — what could it mean?
“Wouldn’t he have been here, working?” Brittany asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe he works dinner to closing.”
My gaze traveled to the connecting door to Mom’s room. Mentally I rehashed the conversation with Detective Furlow. Pictured him turning over the “always watching” photo with his gloved hand.
I blew out a breath. “I’m going to keep checking.”
Brittany ate. I sank onto my bed and channel surfed between the news stations.
Suddenly, there we were on the screen. I gasped.
“Leave me alone!” I watched myself cry. The cameras flashed, the crowd pressed in. Microphones were thrust at me. And the expression on my face! I looked so scared, like some homeless child with nowhere to run. Just watching the scene, I felt the claustrophobia crowding my lungs.
I shuddered.
The camera panned over Bruce as he pushed through the crowd, then focused on Brittany. Her features were pinched and white.
“Oh, no.” She pushed her plate away. “My mom’s going to freak.”
My throat tightened. “Will she make you go home?”
“Probably.”
“But you said you can’t.”
“I know. I won’t.”
“What is it, Brittany? What’s going to happen to me if you leave?”
“I told you I don’t know for sure. Just … something. Some danger.”
I huffed. “What good is sensing the future if you can’t be a little more specific?”
“Maybe,” she said grimly, “we don’t want to know.”
I cast her a long look, then turned back to the TV. A camera captured the three of us bursting out the door and jumping into the black limo. The last scene showed the car driving away.
“Did you see the waiter anywhere in that crowd?” I asked.
“No. But the footage was pretty fast. He still could have been there.”
A blonde female commentator filled the screen, relating the known details of Tom’s death and the investigation. A detective was interviewed — not Detective Furlow. He didn’t say much except that they were “following a few leads.”
The report ended.
“We could call the hotel restaurant,” Brittany said. “Ask somebody if that waiter was working this afternoon.”
I tilted my head. “But he’d probably hear that we asked. I don’t want him to know we’re suspicious of him.”
“What are we suspicious of anyway? Even if he was in the mall, he couldn’t have been backstage last night. He couldn’t have had anything to do with Tom’s death.”
“Remember, the detective said more than one person could be involved.” I wandered to the bed, sank down on it, and stared at the ceiling. All these puzzle pieces. I felt way too frazzled. My tired mind couldn’t begin to sort it all out. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
With a deep sigh, I turned onto my side in a fetal position. Another whiff of shrimp filled my nostrils. No way could I eat it now, even though my body needed food. I just wanted to go to sleep and wake up when this was all over. Like maybe a year from now.
A knock sounded on the connecting door.
Mom.
“It’s open!” I dragged myself off the bed to face her.
Mom stepped inside. Her eyes flicked over Brittany and the food, then roved across my face. “Shaley, are you okay?”
Can’t you see I’m not?
I shrugged. “Yeah.”
Her gaze held mine. Ask me again, Mom. Ask me again.
She checked her watch. “I’ve set a meeting for all of us here in the hotel. It’s in ten minutes in Ross’s room.”
“Why?”
“There are things we need to talk about.”
“You mean Tom’s death?”
“Partly.”
I drew back. “You going to tell them about his wall? That it’s my fault he’s dead?”
Mom’s face softened. She touched my arm. “Shaley, this is not your fault.”
“But I don’t want them to know!”
I couldn’t imagine it—Ross and the bodyguards and everyone in the band looking at me. Hearing what Tom had felt. Just thinking about it, I wanted to throw up all over again.
“I’m not going to tell them that. In fact the detective wants it kept quiet. But we do need to talk about added media attention. That, on top of the murder — we all need to be extra careful.”
I shrank away. “Are you going to tell everybody about the white rose? And the ‘always watching’ photo? I don’t want them to know that either.”
“Shaley, you just might be in danger, don’t you understand? For some reason you’ve been targeted with these things. I want the rest of the band to know that much. We can all help watch out for you.”
“We’ve got Mick and Wendell and Bruce for that. Besides, what can happen to me behind a locked hotel door?”
Mom’s eyes closed. “It’s not just tonight. It’s tomorrow and the day after that.” She held on to both my shoulders. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
“Why not?” The words blurted out of me, bitter and cold. “Then you wouldn’t have to keep all the stuff about my dad from me anymore.”
Mom pulled in a sharp breath. Her eyes glistened. “That has nothing to do with this. I just want to keep you safe.”
Deep down I knew that was true. But trust can’t be put into separate boxes. If I couldn’t trust Mom for one piece of my life — the piece that involved my father and who he was and who that made me — I couldn’t trust her in others.
“Shaley, talk to me. You know I love you.”
The back of my throat burned. I didn’t want to cry. “I love you too.”
She squeezed my shoulders, then let go, all business once more. She had band issues to attend to. “We can finish this conversation later. Right now we need to get over to Ross’s room.”
I turned my head away, my gaze landing on the food. Brittany had eaten most of hers. Mine hadn’t been touched.
My chest deflated. “Brittany’s coming with me, Mom.”
No way was I going through this torture without her.
28
Ross’s room was a suite even bigger than Mom’s, complete with a work area containing a large desk, fax, and multiple phone lines. We all crowded into that space, pulling chairs away from a rectangular table, pushing the couches and love seat into a haphazard circle. Brittany and I sat on two chairs as far back as possible.
I swear I could have cut the tension in that room with a knife.
Maybe most of it was mine.
Ross perched on the black desk chair, his short, heavy legs spread apart and belly hanging over his jeans. One strand of his scraggly brown hair hung in his face. He’d shot me a long look as Brittany and I entered. “Shaley, how you doing?”
Just great. I tossed him a tiny smile.
Kim and Morrey, Rayne’s drummer, sat together, holding hands. Morrey wore a plain white T-shirt, revealing his tattooed arms. His full lips were pressed together, dark hair in a ponytai
l. His face looked strained.
Rich, the bass player, was next to Mom on one couch. He leaned back with hands clasped behind his shaved head and knobby elbows sticking out. His casual pose turned my stomach. How could he look so relaxed in a meeting about Tom’s murder?
Stan, the lead guitarist, was pitched forward on the other couch, feet wide apart and black hands dangling between his knees. He frowned at the carpet, glancing up now and then as others walked in.
Bruce, Wendell, and Mick stood, leaving the seats for everyone else. Carly came with Melissa and Lois. She smiled at me and mouthed, “You okay?”
I hesitated, then nodded.
“Okay, let’s start.” Mom ran a hand through her hair. “First, all cell phones off. Not vibrate. Off. I don’t want this meeting interrupted.”
Everyone took out their phones and powered them down. Musical tones collided with each other, then the room fell silent.
Mom looked from one face to another, her gaze snagging on me. My eyes pleaded even then for her to say nothing. To just say we all needed to be careful, as Detective Furlow still didn’t have a firm suspect. That’s all she needed to reveal.
Please, Mom.
She held my eyes a moment longer. I could practically hear the wheels of decision turning in her head. Stan straightened, looking from her to me, questions in his expression.
Mom laid a hand at the back of her neck. “Some things happened today—involving Shaley.”
I slumped down in my seat. Briefly Mom told them about the delivered flower and photo with similar messages. She left out the detail of the white rose.
Rich twisted around to look at me in surprise. “Shaley, this is terrible. I’m so sorry.”
I lowered my eyes.
“I don’t know what all this means,” Mom said. “Maybe they’re just coincidences with Tom’s death. But the timing …”
Ross slapped his hands on his meaty thighs. “Whatever’s going on, we’re going to be watching Shaley extra carefully. Wendell, Bruce, Mick — she doesn’t go anywhere without being guarded. And that means so much as step out her hotel room door.”
Mick and Wendell nodded, faces unsmiling. Bruce said, “Yes, sir.”
I gripped my upper arms. Please, Mom, keep your word and don’t say anything about Tom’s wall.
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