“Rayne,” some woman yelled, “what do you know about Tom Hutchens’s murder?”
“Are there any suspects?”
“Shaley, is it true Tom was in love with you?”
The question stung like pelting hail. I reeled back.
“Shaley, talk to us!”
More reporters shoved. Cameras clicked on.
“Hey!” Ross shouted. “Get back and give us some room!”
“Shaley, was Tom your boyfriend?”
“Did the false alarm at your hotel have anything to do with the murder?”
“Were you dating anyone besides Tom?”
Wendell grabbed my arm. “Let’s go.”
My throat cinched shut. Brittany hung onto me. Keeping my head down, I watched the floor move under my stumbling feet. Bruce and Wendell closed in on either side of Mom.
Airport guards surrounded us as Ross checked our baggage. The questions and cameras wouldn’t stop. I buried my head in Wendell’s chest, hands over my ears, praying for Ross to hurry. Finally checked in, we were hustled through security as quickly as possible. Once we pushed into the lines, the reporters had to fall back.
Tears swam in my eyes as I walked through the security machine. On the other side, I could finally breathe.
Ross’s face was red with anger. “Sorry about that, Shaley.” He gave me a rough hug. “Those idiots don’t even know what they’re talking out.”
Oh, yes they do. But how had they found out? Leaks from the police? The media now knew more about Tom’s feelings for me than Ross and the band did. Wouldn’t take long for Stan, Morrey, and all the rest to hear the sensational details. Then how could I face them?
Bruce, Wendell, and Mick formed a triangle around us as we headed to our gate. Reporters were gone, but fans and curiosity-seekers were everywhere. The band members always tried to be polite with fans, but this had been a rough couple of days for all of us. The looks on our bodyguards’ faces sent the message — leave them alone.
“You okay, Brittany?” I reached for her arm. She could stay with me until we boarded.
“Yeah.” She sounded as shaky as I felt.
At the gate, I fell into a chair, Kim on one side and Brittany on the other. Exhausted and sick at heart over Brittany’s leaving, I stared at my lap.
Carly came over and patted my knee. “Want something to eat? There’s a Starbucks nearby. I can bring you a sandwich.”
I shook my head. “But thanks.”
Brittany laced her fingers through mine. “Just stay close to your bodyguards — all the time. Everything’ll be okay.”
“But you said —”
“I know what I said.”
“Then, what? That sense of yours telling you something new?”
She was silent for a moment. “You’ll be okay. You have to be.”
In other words — no.
An airline employee called for our boarding to begin.
Brittany and I stood up and clung to each other. Tears ran down her cheeks, wetting my own. “Take care of yourself. Be careful.”
“I will. You’re right — I’ll be fine.”
She pulled back. “Call me. A lot. The minute you get off the plane.”
“I will.” I pulled my top lip between my teeth. “I’m sorry, Brittany. I’m so sorry all this happened. I just wanted you to have a good time.”
“No, it was the right time for me to be here. I mean, if this had to happen, I’m just glad I could be with you.”
“Come on, Shaley.” Mom touched my arm, empathy in her voice. “We have to go.”
“Bye, Rayne.” Brittany hugged my mom. “Thanks so much for inviting me.”
“Sure. Wish you could have stayed.”
Brittany stretched out her arm as I moved away, and we touched fingers until we could no longer reach.
Walking down the boarding ramp, I turned back for a final wave. She raised her hand with a sad smile.
A month. A solid month until I saw her again. The last two days themselves had seemed an eternity.
Mom’s cell phone rang as we entered the plane. She pulled it from her purse, checked the ID, and answered in low tones.
I followed her into our first-class row—hers, the window seat, mine, the aisle. Sinking into my seat, I turned off my cell phone and shoved my purse under the chair in front of me. Mom was still talking to someone.
“I see.” She stared blankly at the seat in front of her. “Well. That’s really —” She laid her head back and gazed upwards. “Yes. We should. In fact she’s right here. Would you tell her?”
She handed the cell to me, her expression serious. “Detective Furlow.”
I tensed, searching her eyes. Now what? News about Tom’s murderer I didn’t want to hear? “Hi, this is Shaley.”
“Hello. I understand you’re on the plane. Glad I caught you. I just told your Mom we were able to trace the credit card buyer of that white rose you received.”
It’s my dad. The thought pierced me, an arrow through the back. I went weak. Maybe he really was out there trying to reach me. After all the years of wanting to find him, had it come down to this mundane moment, sitting on some stupid plane?
“Yeah?”
“Turns out it’s not someone we’d thought of, but in hindsight, we should have guessed.”
My heart knocked against my ribs. “Wh-who?”
“Tom Hutchens.”
38
He awoke that morning to a bonfire in his belly.
In the few hours he’d slept, the flames of injustice had stoked themselves until their heat burned down every limb, every nerve.
He’d put his future on the line for Shaley O’Connor and received nothing in return.
He would set this despicable situation right. Today.
Pushing off his bed, he stumbled into the bathroom.
As he splashed his face, logistics played through his mind. Backstage at tonight’s concert could pose problems. Would there be extra security in Denver after Friday’s murder?
No matter. Such challenges would not deter a superior man like himself. Forget staging an “accident.” Too much had happened now. He’d simply find a way to do what must be done.
Consumed by his vengeance, he ate breakfast alone. The eggs were tasteless and his coffee bitter.
When the fire is out, he thought. When the fire is out, I can live again.
39
Our plane sat on the tarmac for two hours. There was something wrong with a part, which had to be replaced and then checked. The pilot kept coming over the speakers, saying it would be “another half hour.” That happened four times.
I should have slept through it all. I would have if Detective Furlow hadn’t called with the news that shook my world all over again.
Tom had sent me the white rose.
The detective was right — we should have known. Hadn’t we seen the photo of Tom’s wall with all the dried white roses?
He ordered the flower Friday afternoon, just after we arrived in San Jose. A few hours later, he was dead.
On the airplane, as everyone fidgeted and complained about the delay, I stared at the back of the seat ahead of me. My mind reeled.
After we finally took off, Ross leaned halfway over the aisle to discuss logistics with Mom. Their conversation flowed in front of my face. With the late arrival, we wouldn’t have time to go to our hotel first, he said. It would be straight to the Pepsi Center in downtown Denver. Even then, the band would be late for the usual four o’clock sound check.
Mom groaned. She was tired. She knew I was tired. She’d hoped to have a chance to rest—at least one hour.
“No way.” Ross shook his head. “Just won’t work.”
“Well, obviously,” Mom shot back. “You should have left us more than two hours’ leeway. You know how late planes can be these days.”
Ross cursed. “Gimme a break, Rayne. This is the first time it’s happened on the entire tour.”
“Stop!” I threw my hands up, casti
ng a dirty look at them both. “Don’t we have enough going on without you two fighting?”
Ross made a disapproving sound in his throat. Mom flung herself back against her seat, arms crossed. She snapped her head to focus out the window.
My eyes slipped shut, my thoughts returning to Tom.
I’m watching over you. The note he’d written with the rose. What had he planned after I received it Saturday? Was he going to tell me it was from him? Was he ready to admit how he felt about me?
What would I have done?
Sickness rolled around my stomach as I imagined the scene. I hated the fact that Tom was dead, of course I did. But a tiny part of me — a part I couldn’t stand — was glad I didn’t have to face him as he declared his feelings for me. That detestable part of my soul mired me in guilt, because it came all too close to relief that Tom was dead. I wasn’t relieved. I missed Tom. Even if I would’ve had to listen to him say he loved me, even if I’d gotten mad at him for using a symbol so dear to me and Mom — even that confrontation would have been better than this.
Maybe he hadn’t planned to tell me at all. Maybe he was going to listen to me tell him about receiving the rose — which I surely would have done — and see how I reacted.
I’m watching over you.
Not a message from my father. Silly, being disappointed over that. Hadn’t I known the rose couldn’t really be from him?
So why did I want to cry all over again?
A thought popped into my head. My breath caught. “Mom.”
She turned from the window, eyebrows raised at the sudden intensity in my tone.
“Yesterday. Before we talked to Detective Furlow. You said we weren’t the only ones who knew about the white rose. Obviously Tom knew. How? And who else knows?”
A rueful expression crimped her forehead. “Years ago, when Rayne was just beginning to go somewhere, I was interviewed by a magazine. They asked about your father. I didn’t want to talk about that, so I diverted the conversation to something that had happened long ago between him and me. I told the white rose story. Who knows how many people read that and still remember? Today I wouldn’t be surprised to find that interview on the Internet.”
My jaw dropped. I’d dared believe only my father could have sent that rose. “Why didn’t you tell me? I thought it was him!”
“I told you it wasn’t. And then Detective Furlow came to the door and … everything else happened.”
Anger swirled around my chest. Why all this secrecy over the years? I was so tired of it.
I closed my burning eyes. Tears pushed out.
“Shaley.” Mom’s voice softened. “It’s not bad news that Tom sent the rose. Now at least we know it has nothing to do with Cat’s photo and message to you. Now the police can put the rose aside and concentrate on what matters.”
My head nodded. “Yeah.”
“Then don’t be so downhearted.”
I focused on my lap. Didn’t she understand all the confusion I felt over Tom?
Mom looked out the window and let out a frustrated sigh. “I wish this stupid plane would get to Denver.”
So much for worrying about me.
I couldn’t stand the thought of facing another night backstage — without Tom or Brittany.
I folded my arms. “When we get to the Pepsi Center, I’m calling a limo to take me to the hotel. I want to go to bed.”
She shot me a weary look. “You can’t go alone.”
“Then send Wendell with me. And Bruce. And Mick. And the rest of the population for all I care. I’m not sitting backstage while you sing to your adoring fans.”
Mom’s jaw flinched. I’d hurt her. Guilt twinged my gut. What kind of terrible person was I turning into?
Her expression hardened. “Fine, then. You can go if you’re going to be a brat. But I will have to send someone with you. Make that two people.”
Flouncing back against the seat, I closed my eyes.
“Good. Whatever. Whoever.”
I just want to hide from the world.
For about ten years.
40
Denver, the “mile-high city.” Thousands of people were proud to call it home. To me it was just another town.
I called Brittany as soon as we touched down. She was already at her house.
“Miss you already,” I said.
“Me too.”
As soon as we left the airport’s secure area — surprise, surprise — more reporters and photographers surrounded us. They hurled more stupid, humiliating questions at me, thrust more microphones in my face. Flanked by Wendell and Bruce, I pushed through the crowd, beyond tired and hating the band and everyone in it.
Our troupe scrambled into three limos.
“Hurry up!” Ross barked at our driver. “Get us to the Pepsi Center!”
Mom, Kim, Morrey, Rich, Carly, and Mick ended up in the car with me. As we raced through the streets, Ross tapped fingers on his knee, eyes flicking this way and that. Clearly he had a hundred things on his mind — all the concert details he’d have to check in a super hurry once we arrived at the arena.
No one spoke — until Mom’s cell phone rang. She glanced at the ID, then at me, “It’s Detective Furlow again.” She flipped her phone open. “Hi, it’s Rayne.”
I leaned close to hear his voice through the cell.
“I’m calling this time with not-so-good news,” he said. “Len Torret is out on bail.”
“Oh, no.”
“I know. We just couldn’t keep him. We still don’t have enough evidence to connect him to Tom’s death. However, he’s been warned not to get within five hundred feet of Shaley or any of your band members.”
Not enough evidence to connect Cat to the murder — that was an understatement. They didn’t have any evidence. And Cat knew it. Even from five hundred feet, he’d find a way to flaunt that fact in my face. For all I knew he’d show up here in Denver.
Good thing I was headed for the hotel soon.
I focused out the window. Buildings and streets and men and women rushed by. Who were all those people, and why were they in such a hurry? I drew my arms across my chest. Lately the world loomed so big and noisy and frightening. Like some rickety wooden roller coaster rocketing through a black tunnel. You couldn’t see what was coming next and didn’t know what you’d do when it did come.
I just wanted to get off.
Someone is always watching. That someone is Jesus. Carly’s words. Were they only from yesterday? They flashed into my brain and hung there.
Did I believe God watched the world?
I don’t know. I guess.
Always watching. Every time those words ring in your head, Shaley, don’t just think of the person in this world who wrote them. Think of God in heaven …
A new sorrow welled up in me, deep and almost indefinable. I felt like a little girl searching desperately for something vitally important but not even sure what it was.
Good grief. I needed sleep.
I leaned back and shut my eyes. I tried to shut out the thoughts, but Carly’s words glued themselves in my mind. The more I tried to fight them, the more they pulled at me.
Okay, Jesus. Are you watching me right now for real? If you are, could you help me through … everything? Because I’ve had it.
41
The Pepsi Center is a pretty building with lots of glass. I remembered it from Rayne’s previous tour. As we drove by I caught a flash of red, white, and blue flowers in the shape of a large Pepsi logo. Our limo pulled around the building and into the back parking lots reserved for performers.
The Rayne bus and the equipment trucks were parked in the back. Everything had been unloaded earlier that day. The crew was already inside with equipment set up, waiting for the band members to run the sound check.
Ross hit the deck running, no time to worry about getting me to the hotel. Since he carried the credit card and always checked us in, I’d have to wait until he could make a phone call to get me into my room wit
hout the card.
I snagged his shirt as he hurried by in the hallway. “Ross, let me go. Please. I can just put the room on my own card.” My knees sagged, and my eyes wouldn’t stay open.
Ross pulled out of my grip, barely slowing. “No, Shaley. I don’t want to have to change all the accounting later. Just give me a minute.”
A minute, right. More like five, ten, a half hour. I slumped on the ever-present blue sofa in Mom’s dressing room, listening to snatches of songs and guitar riffs as Rayne went through sound checks. My stomach was so empty it felt tied in knots. Still, not one item on Mom’s food table looked inviting. For some strange reason I longed for steak.
As soon as I got to my hotel room, I planned to order a thick sirloin.
Wendell and Bruce hung out in the room with me. “Don’t leave her side,” Mom had told them before trotting onstage.
I sank my elbow into the arm of the couch, a fist supporting my head. Memories of Tom clamped around my heart. If he were alive, he’d be with me right now, probably singing one of his crazy rap songs louder than anything onstage.
Brittany phoned, but I didn’t want to say much, not with the two bodyguards in the room. And the call only made me more miserable. Brittany should have been with me.
With a sigh, I pushed to my feet. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
Bruce and Wendell both got up to follow. I flicked a look at the ceiling. “You guys coming in with me too?”
As I came out of the bathroom into the hallway, Hawk, the stage manager, strode past, followed by our bus driver, Jerry. “Hey, Shaley.” Hawk halted mid-step to hug me. He had to talk loudly over all the music. “How you doing? We’ve all been so worried about you.”
“Me too.” Jerry held a box in his hands. “How are you, Shaley?”
I managed a semblance of a smile. “Fine. Thanks.”
Jerry smiled back. “I still need to tell you those stories to make you laugh.”
“Yeah. I wish Brittany was still around to hear them.”
“You mean she’s gone?”
“Her mom made her go home. Too much happening.”
“Oh.” His expression saddened. “That’s too bad.”
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