Killer Beach Reads

by Gemma Halliday Publishing

  "Got it!" Charlotte palmed the keys and made her way across the lawn toward Castle Rock's back entrance.

  "So, you like her, huh?" I asked Reese when Charlotte was gone.

  He nodded, staring out at the crowd. "Yeah. She's got a great personality, and she makes a mean drink." He met my gaze. "Charlotte's pretty cool, huh?"

  "Oh," I huffed. "Well, I guess so—if you're into that whole 'tatted and pierced goth chick' thing." As soon as I said it, I blushed, remembering my own little emerald nose stud.

  "Jealous?" An amused grin curled Reese's lips.

  "I—uh," I sputtered, my face burning. So much for playing it cool.

  "Don't be." He stared at me with sensual green eyes for a few moments before turning away.

  What was that supposed to mean? We stood there in silence for several minutes, me over-analyzing this latest development in our flirtationship while Reese watched the band as if nothing had happened.

  Charlotte reappeared ten minutes later with a bag of limes. "Turns out I didn't need these," she said, dropping the keys back into my open hand. "The back door was unlocked."

  I frowned. "Are you sure?"

  Charlotte nodded. "Yeah, I tried putting the key in and turning it, and that just locked the door. It was definitely already unlocked when I got back there."

  I bit my lip and exchanged a look with Reese. I'd been the last one to walk out of Castle Rock's back door. Did I forget to lock it? I suddenly couldn't remember.

  "It's not a big deal." Reese shrugged. He turned his gaze to Charlotte. "Did you lock up on your way out?"

  "Yup."

  "Then no harm, no foul." Reese winked at me.

  "Right," I said quietly, but uneasiness settled into my stomach like bad Taco Bell. I thought about the white van that had parked outside the venue and remembered the break-ins at Beat Barn and the Soul Hut. Keep an eye out. Emily Almond's voice echoed in my head. Castle Rock could be next. I shook off the worried feeling and tried to enjoy the rest of the show. "What time is it?" I asked Reese a while later.

  He held up his watch and pressed the backlight button so I could see. "Ten-fifteen." I read aloud. I set my drink down on the counter. "The band's encore should start around ten thirty—I'm going to go grab Dusty's electric guitar for him." I smiled at Reese. "I'll see you after the show."

  "Sure thing." He smiled back.

  I ducked out of the bar tent and pushed my way through the dancing people out on the lawn. Within two minutes' time I was back at the rear entrance to Castle Rock. The white van that had been parked on the side street before was nowhere in sight. See? Nothing to worry about. Unlocking the door, I pushed my way into the downstairs hallway and headed for Amelia's office. A sinking feeling pulled through me as I reached her doorway. I was so sure that I'd shut and locked the office door before, but now it stood slightly ajar.

  "Nothing to worry about," I repeated under my breath, trying to shake the uneasy feeling in my gut. I swallowed hard and crept inside.

  A moment later, my heart sank through the floor. I froze, staring slack-jawed at the empty couch in Amelia's office.

  Dusty's guitar was gone.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "How could you let this happen?" Arnie Mack, The Landstanders' manager, thundered. He huffed and grunted, his chubby cue-ball head splotchy and red with anger.

  Reese and I were seated in Ame's office with Arnie and Dusty, who was blubbering like a child who had lost his favorite toy. "That guitar was my first love!" he wailed, his voice thick with emotion. Strands of his blond hair stuck to the snot and tear tracks on his cheeks. It was like being in an elementary school principal's office with an angry parent and his spoiled kid. I wondered if the fit he'd given Reese over the coconut water had been anything like this.

  When I'd discovered that Dusty's Fender Stratocaster was missing, I grabbed one of our staff walkie-talkies and radioed Reese for help. Then I searched every inch of both Ame's and Kat's offices, along with the supply closet and the green room, while Reese rushed backstage to break the news to Arnie. Dusty had been so upset that he refused to come back onstage for the encore, and the band ended up performing a couple of instrumental songs without him. Thankfully the fans didn't seem to mind, but sending home a few hundred less-than-happy music lovers wasn't high on my list of worries right now. Someone had taken Dusty's guitar right from under my nose! If Ame and Kat found out about this, they'd never leave me in charge again, assuming they'd even let me keep working here. I had to find out who took it.

  "Our staff is searching every inch of the venue right now," Reese assured Arnie and Dusty. "If that guitar is here, they'll find it. And it's got to be here," he added quickly, flicking a glance at me. "I mean, where else could it be?"

  "I asked her to hold onto it for me." Dusty glared and pointed an accusatory finger in my direction. "You promised to keep it safe!"

  "I'm sorry!" I stammered. "It was safe! It was locked inside this exact office. The building was locked, and no one was inside." I shrugged my shoulders. "It's like it just vanished."

  "Expensive instruments don't just go 'poof'," Arnie said coolly. "Someone stole it—and we plan to press charges if we find out who that person is." He eyed me suspiciously. "If that guitar isn't returned to us, I'll make sure no band under the Arnie Mack Management Group signs a contract to perform at Castle Rock ever again—and I'll spread the word to all my other friends in the biz."

  I gulped. "We'll find it," I promised. "You have my word. Just give us a little time."

  Dusty whimpered, and Arnie gave an exhausted sigh. "Fine." He threw his hands up in the air. "The band is in town through Monday, staying at the Hyatt Place Hotel in Buckhead. If you can find Dusty's guitar before our flight leaves at three that afternoon, then all is forgiven. But if not—" He glared from me to Reese. "—your venue is going on the touring circuit blacklist. You'll be lucky if you can book a D-list celebrity's experimental jazz-dubstep fusion group. Got it?"

  "Yes sir." I gave a shaky nod. The pair left Ame's office with Arnie supporting the sniffling Dusty as he staggered out of the room like a grieving widow. "Jeez, you'd think we killed his puppy or something," I muttered.

  "This is bad, Bron," Reese said, a serious edge to his tone. He whirled on me. "What happened?"

  "I don't know!" My vision blurred as frustrated tears began to well in my eyes. I took a few calming breaths. "Dusty gave me his guitar and asked me to bring it outside before his encore. I set it on the couch in here and then locked the door—I swear I did."

  "And then you came outside," Reese said. I nodded. "Hmm." He crossed his arms over his chest and cradled his chin in his right hand. "I was out in the courtyard before the band came out and stayed until after the encore. Derek was working the door—I had a clear view of him from where I was standing by the bar tents. He never left his post. So that leaves…" he paused for a moment, a frown creasing his handsome face.

  "The bartenders," I finished for him. "I never saw Jody or Juan leave their stations, but Charlotte did." My eyebrows shot up, and I snapped my fingers as a thought hit me. "Charlotte borrowed my keys! She used my keys to come in and get more limes. She was inside the building all alone—she could've easily swiped the guitar." My mind was racing, several memories from the evening pinging through me all at once. "And she saw me with the guitar before the show!" I added, my excitement mounting. "She even talked about how awesome it was. Charlotte had to be the one to take it."

  Reese's frown deepened. "But she's friends with the band. Why would she want to steal from Dusty?"

  I shrugged. "You said she used to date their manager. Maybe it ended badly, and she snatched the guitar to get a little revenge?"

  Reese shook his head. "No, that doesn't seem right. Charlotte's ex doesn't work with them anymore—they're managed by Arnie Mack now. So that doesn't seem like much of a motive."

  "Are you guys talking about me?" Charlotte appeared in the doorway, her face stricken. "Why would you think that I took Dusty'
s guitar?"

  I eyed her suspiciously. "You're the only person who came inside during the show. The venue was empty." If the combat boot fits…

  She shook her head, her face a mixture of sadness and disbelief. "And to think I wanted to work here full-time," she said quietly, staring at the floor. "I thought you guys were cool." She lifted her gaze to me, her amber eyes narrowed. "Plus I told you that the door was already unlocked when I got to it. Anyone could've gone in before I showed up."

  "Like your buddy in the white van?" I asked, remembering the vehicle that had been parked beside Castle Rock earlier. "Did you get him to haul the guitar off for you?"

  "What are you talking about?" Charlotte's face pinched with confusion. "I don't know anyone who drives a white van." She held up a finger, her expression thoughtful. "Except Pete's brother, Jack."

  "What?" My face went slack. Pete! He'd said that Reese and I would be sorry that we'd fired him. And I hadn't taken his keys away! Aww, crap. Could he have driven his brother's van back over here after the show started and sneaked in to steal the guitar? It was possible. Still, I wasn't completely convinced of Charlotte's innocence just yet.

  "Pete said you were working at the Beat Barn on the night DJ DirtyBeatz's turntable went missing too." I stared hard at the purple-haired bartender. "Is that a coincidence? If I called Soul Hut right now, would I find out that you worked a shift for them last night too when Buster Jones's sax went missing?"

  "Bronwyn, cool it," Reese warned.

  "No, Reese, it's okay." Charlotte wiped away a tear, smudging the dark liner at the crease of her left eye. "Let her think what she wants—it's clear she's not going to believe anything I have to say. I'll just go split up tips with Juan and Jody and go." She gave me a withering look. "That whole 'Veronica Mars meets Regina George' attitude doesn't suit you, honey." She turned on her heel and strode into the hall.

  "Way to go," Reese said dryly. I winced.

  "Okay, so I might have been a little harsh," I admitted. "But it doesn't change the fact that she was working for at least two of the three burglarized venues on the nights that equipment went missing. I'm just stating the facts."

  Reese blew out a breath. "Grow up, Bron," he said, his voice cold. He stalked out of the room.

  I stared after him as he disappeared down the hall, feeling like I'd just been kicked. Was I so insecure that I'd convinced myself of Charlotte's guilt just because Reese found her attractive? I wasn't acting like myself.

  "It's the stress," I said out loud to the empty room. Trying to keep everything afloat at Castle Rock without Amelia and Kat was a lot tougher than I'd thought it would be. And now I'd gotten us all into huge trouble by letting Dusty's guitar get stolen. The only way to make things right was to find out who really took it.

  I can do this! I thought. I can figure out who stole Dusty's guitar and get it back. My father was the sergeant of the Atlanta Police Department—crime solving was in my blood! I just had to catch the thief before Dusty and his band left town—and before Ame and Kat found out. That meant I couldn't waste any time working through my list of suspects. I thought about Pete and his threats from before. First thing in the morning, I was going to pay Petey a little visit.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "Yoo-hoo, Pete!" I called cheerily. I wrapped my knuckles against the door to his Midtown apartment. Several minutes passed with no answer. I frowned at the white van parked several spots away from Dad's green Ford pickup. Three spots over was Pete's black Passat. I was ninety-nine percent sure he was here. I blew out a breath and knocked again.

  The door opened a crack, and a skinny blonde answered the door in her underwear. "Hi." She blinked sleepily at me and yawned. "Who're you?"

  "Is Pete here?" I asked, ignoring her question.

  She yawned again. "Yeah, one sec." She vanished into the apartment, but not before I caught a glimpse of her butterfly tramp stamp. Classy.

  Pete emerged a few minutes later, wearing only a Coldplay T-shirt and a pair of blue plaid boxers. I flushed, averting my eyes from the little bit of morning excitement he was experiencing below the belt. "What do you want, Sinclair?" He frowned down at me where I stood on his stoop.

  "Heya, buddy." I held up a Starbucks coffee and a bag with a blueberry muffin inside. "I brought you breakfast."

  He speared me with a beady-eyed expression. "Why?"

  I flashed him an innocent smile. "Can't a girl pop by a former coworker's apartment and bring him pastries without an agenda?"

  "No." His eyes bore into me, and his lips curled down in a deep scowl. "Seriously, what do you want? Are you here to say you're sorry for being such a little brat yesterday?" Unemployment certainly hadn't improved his attitude.

  I opened my mouth to retort and then closed it. Play nice, I reminded myself. Kill this rude sucker with a kindness grenade.

  "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did come to apologize." I softened my gaze and forced a smile across my lips. "Mind if I come in, just for a minute?"

  Pete stared at me for a long moment and then stepped back, pulling the door open wider so that I could enter his apartment. The place was immaculate, with cream carpet, blue leather couches, and a clutter-free coffee table. There was even a vase of daisies on the kitchen table. Either the blonde with the tramp stamp was doubling as his girlfriend and housekeeper, or Pete was as uptight at home as he was at work.

  I perched on the edge of Pete's blue love seat and set the drink and muffin on his coffee table. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for how things went down yesterday," I began. "I was under a lot of stress, and you caught me at a bad time."

  "Is there ever a good time to talk to a woman?" he grumbled. He grabbed the cup of coffee sipped it. "It's cold," he complained.

  I took a deep breath and pushed it out slowly, willing myself not to explode on the sexist, ungrateful piece of crap. "I was stuck in traffic," I said, trying to sound apologetic. "At least the muffin should still be fresh."

  Pete set the coffee down and lifted the muffin bag, peering inside. "Blueberry?" He sniffed. "I would've preferred chocolate chip."

  Are you kidding me right now? I squeezed my toes together in my zebra-striped TOMS, trying to push my anger down and keep my temper in check. "I'll remember that for next time, pal," I said, my voice oozing enough sweetness to put him in a diabetic coma.

  "So, back to your apology," he said, picking the blueberries out of his muffin. "Does this mean I have my job back?"

  "Er, well," I hemmed. "I've got to talk to Reese about that, since he's technically the one who approved firing you."

  "That douche better have a change of heart, then," he grumbled. "I was wrongfully terminated. I could sue."

  I arched a brow. "Pete, you do remember that you came into the office to quit in the first place, right?"

  He shook his head emphatically. "No, I came in there to give you an ultimatum. Either raise my pay or I'd walk."

  "That's not really how it came across. I believe the words 'I quit' were the first thing you said to me when you walked in the door."

  "Look, if you aren't here to give me my job back, then why are you still sitting on my couch?" Pete ground his teeth, his tone growing impatient. "You've already apologized, so as far as I'm concerned, there's no reason for you to stick around."

  "Alright, fine." My smile evaporated. "Does that white van out front belong to you?"

  Pete's brows knit in confusion. "It's my brother's, but what does that have to do—"

  I cut him off. "Did you drive it over to Castle Rock last night? Say, around nine o'clock?"

  Pete shook his head. "Jack left that van over here last week when I dropped him off at the airport. He's leaving it here while he's in Cancun, but I don't even have the keys. He took them with him."

  "Are you lying to me?"

  Pete frowned again. "Why would I lie about that? And what's your obsession with my bro's van?"

  I narrowed my eyes at him. "You said yesterday that you'd make Reese and me sorry. So
tell me the truth—did you come up to Castle Rock last night and take something that didn't belong to you?"

  Pete blew out a breath. "Oh, is that what this is about?" He huffed. "I didn't steal anything last night—I swiped them on my way out yesterday morning. But since you're going to be such a crybaby, I'll give 'em back." It was my turn to be confused as Pete rose from the couch and shuffled down the hallway. A few minutes later, he returned. My eyes bulged as he dropped two large bundles of concert tickets in my lap, each stack held together by a rubber band. There had to be at least a hundred tickets there! I flipped through the stacks and counted at least twenty each for upcoming shows with Psycho Panda, Jupiter's Tears, The Cage-Free Eggs, and Gavin Elliot.

  "Are you serious?" I asked in disbelief. "This is easily five hundred dollars' worth of tix."

  "Yeah, I know." Pete's tone was smug. "I was gonna let you and Reese take the heat for losing them. I figured I'd sell 'em for double the base price on one of those third-party ticketing sites. But I'm a reasonable guy—since you were able to admit that you were wrong for being such a bitch to me yesterday, I'm giving them back."

  "Baby?" a woman's voice called from somewhere in the back of the apartment. I assumed it was Little Miss Tramp Stamp. "Are you coming back to bed or what?"

  Anger wound me tighter than a guitar string. I rose from the love seat, my arms wrapped around the stacks of tickets. No more Miss Nice Bron. "You are a narcissistic, sexist, sociopathic asshole." I brushed past him, purposely bumping the coffee cup off the table. Pete let out a high-pitched, girlie shriek as the drink hit the ground and black coffee seeped into his perfect carpet. He dove to the floor, ripping off his Coldplay T-shirt and pressing it to the ground as he tried to sop up the mess.

  "And thanks a lot for the herpes, Pete!" I shouted, loud enough for Tramp Stamp Blondie to hear from his bedroom. I pulled open the apartment door and slammed it shut behind me.