"I'm Bryce," I said, pulling the cash just out of her reach. "What's your name?"
Jody took a step back from me, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why do you need to know my name? This is just a quick transaction. You won't ever see me again."
"Well, if you've ever got more gear to sell, I might be interested," I tried again. Come on. Just say your name out loud.
"Hey, Rick!" Jody turned and called toward the kitchen. "I think we've got a problem here."
"Problem?" My face went white. "What problem?"
Jody took another step toward me, her face tight with anger. She reached up and snatched Reese's baseball cap off my head, knocking the sunglasses from my face as she did so. "I thought I recognized that nose ring," she said angrily. "How did you know, Bron?"
Rick entered the living room, his expression hard. He took one look at me and growled. Veins bulged in his neck, and he stalked toward us, fists clenched. "I told you we should've waited to sell this shit, Jo'," he said through clenched teeth. "You got us caught!"
"I'm sorry, baby," she whined. She cast a nervous glance back at me. "What are we going to do with her?"
I gulped. "You don't have to do anything, Jody," I said, loud enough that Reese could hopefully hear, if our phones were even still connected. "You can just let me go."
Rick leaned menacingly over me, and I dropped the stack of twenties, sending them scattering across the floor. Jody scrambled after them, wadding them up and stuffing them into her bra. "We've got the money, baby," she said from behind Rick. "You don't need to hurt her. I know her." She laid a hand on his tatted arm.
"Shut up!" Rick wrenched his arm out of Jody's grasp and shoved her backward. Jody cowered on the floor behind him, whimpering. "This is your fault!" he bellowed. Rick turned back to me, his eyes blazing. "And now I've got to clean up another mess."
CHAPTER EIGHT
I opened my mouth to scream for help, but no sound came out. What did it mean for Rick to "clean up a mess?" Was he going to kill me?
Suddenly, Rick froze. His gaze flew to the window. "What the f—?" Blue and red lights flashed against the shutters. Rick turned back to me, his face pale. "You called the freakin' cops?"
"Yep," I lied, nodding emphatically. "You're busted, greaseball."
Rick and Jody both flew into a panic, running around the apartment, grabbing their wallets and car keys. Rick scurried into the kitchen and then quickly made his way down the hall, carrying several bags full of white powder. I could hear him cussing under his breath as he dumped them into the toilet and flushed it. He returned and looked at Jody, who was smashing open a small purple piggy bank from the bookshelf and scooping all the change into her pockets. "We've gotta go, babe," Rick said, his tone frantic. It seemed in all the chaos that they'd forgotten I was even there. I watched, wide-eyed, as the pair scrambled out the back door.
When they were gone, I ran for the front door, pulling it open and stopping short in the doorway. Reese stood leaning against Dad's truck, his cell phone glued to his ear. The flashing lights were coming from my Dad's dome police light that he left on the floorboard of the truck. Reese had found the light and attached it to the truck's roof. My knees buckled with relief at the sight of him. Seeing me stumble, Reese rushed forward. "She's out," he said into the phone. He looked me over. "Are you hurt, Bron?"
"I'm okay," I said, my voice shaky. "But Jody and her boyfriend are getting away—they ran out the back." I'd barely spoken the words when a large white van skidded around the building's corner and tore past us, tires screeching. "Should we chase them?" I asked, starting for the truck.
"No." Reese held up a hand to stop me. He turned his attention back to the phone. "The thieves are on the run, but we've got their license plate number." He read the van's tag number out loud and then paused while the person on the other end spoke. "That's right," he answered. "We'll wait right here." He gave them the address and then hung up. "The police are on their way." He smiled. "You did good, kid."
"Not really." I hugged myself. The rush of fear and adrenaline still had me trembling. I looked up at him guiltily. "They made off with the money you gave me."
"We'll get it back." Reese wrapped an arm around my shoulders to stop my shaking. He walked me back over to the truck and turned off the flashing light, storing it below the passenger seat. He brushed his mop of curls out of his eyes and pulled me to him. "You were amazing, Bron," he said, hugging me. "You didn't back down, even when you had to go inside without me. And you were smart to call my phone so I could hear what was going on. When I heard that man threaten you…" His face darkened. "I almost tore the damn door down."
"But instead you made him think the cops were here," I said, my lips curling up in a little smile. "That was brilliant!" Before I realized what I was doing, I threw my arms around Reese and pressed my lips against his. A few moments later, my brain caught up to my body, and I went rigid. What was I doing? Reese isn't interested in me! I pulled back, my face white. "I'm so sorry!" I stammered.
"For what?" To my surprise, Reese beamed down at me. "You're one hell of a woman, Bronwyn Sinclair." He placed a hand on my cheek and dipped his mouth to mine. My body hummed from the shock. Am I hallucinating, or is Reese freakin' Martin kissing me back? As the kiss deepened, my thoughts melted away, and my mind went blissfully blank.
Our romantic moment was interrupted by a loud cough from behind us. "You might not want to be doing that when your father gets here, Miss Sinclair," said a familiar voice. "I've been told he's quite protective of his little girl." I pulled away from Reese and turned to find the same cop who had pulled me over Friday evening. He stood with his arms folded, a look of amusement on his acne-scarred face. "So," he said. "Tell me what happened."
* * *
The police caught Jody and Rick less than two miles away from their apartment. The back of Rick's van was full of other stolen equipment, along with several more bags of cocaine. After searching the apartment, they recovered the stolen turntable and saxophone, along with a whole back room full of other stolen gear.
It turned out Jody had been stealing from Pete's tip jar and swiping bits and pieces of equipment from Castle Rock for weeks now to pay for her drug addiction. She hid it well at work, but Rick had gotten her hooked on some pretty bad stuff. He juggled shifts as a bouncer for Beat Barn and Soul Hut, so they decided to snag equipment and sell it off fast to get a quick fix. Rick was in charge of guarding the green room at Beat Barn on the night that DJ DirtyBeatz performed, and he grabbed the turntable and passed it through the back door to Jody to load in his van. He did the same with Buster Jones's saxophone at the Soul Hut. Jody had a set of keys to Castle Rock for unloading alcohol deliveries to the bar. She gave Rick her keys the night before, and he waltzed right in and grabbed Dusty's guitar while everyone was out in the courtyard enjoying the show.
After the police took our statements, Reese and I were free to go. The shrimpy officer from before thanked us for our help in catching the thieves. He turned to leave but paused, fixing me with a curious gaze. "I responded to an interesting call this afternoon outside Rockin' Rentals."
"Yeah?" I asked innocently, keeping my expression blank.
Officer Shrimp lifted his brow and gave an amused shake of his head. "A kid claimed that a short girl with pink hair stole a guitar out of his car." The corner of his mouth quirked up. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"
My cheeks suddenly felt hot. "Nope, no idea what you're talking about," I said, shaking my head and hoping he hadn't taken a peek into Dad's truck.
"That's what I thought you'd say." The cop grinned. Without another word, he turned and walked back to join the other officers.
* * *
After busting Jody and Rick, Reese and I called Arnie Mack and met with him to return Dusty's guitar. The sandy-haired hippie rocker was so happy to have his Fender back that he hugged and fawned over it like a long-lost brother. Having met our end of the deal, Arnie promised that Jody's
thievery wouldn't affect Castle Rock's reputation or relationship with the Arne Mack Management Group and its clients, which meant Ame and Kat probably weren't going to kill me.
"Wow," Amelia said after Reese and I filled her in on Monday afternoon. "Sounds like you guys had a hell of a weekend." Understatement of the freakin' year.
Ame sat with her sprained ankle propped up on her desk, a pair of crutches leaning against the wall behind her. Kat perched on the chair opposite her, and Reese and I were seated together on the couch.
Kat propped her elbows on her knees and leaned down to cradle her chin in her hands. "I shouldn't have had so many margaritas this weekend," she groaned. "So, you're telling me that our only two bartenders are both gone?" She rubbed her eyes and blinked at me. "Better brush up your Coyote Ugly impression, Bron."
"Actually," I grinned. "Reese and I know a couple of people who are just right for the job." I told them about Charlotte and Juan. Before heading into work that morning, I'd invited Charlotte out for coffee so that I could apologize for how things went down on Saturday. It was unfair of me to jump to conclusions about her when Dusty's guitar went missing. I admitted that my bitchiness might've come from being a teensy bit jealous of Reese's attention to her—something that didn't bother me now that I knew how he felt about me. To my surprise, Charlotte wasn't interested in Reese—she had a little crush brewing on me, though. She was apparently into spunky chicks with dark eyeliner.
"Sounds like you've really taken care of everything." Kat leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other and placing her hands behind her head. "I've gotta say, Bron, I'm impressed."
"Thanks." I beamed at her. "That's not even the best part." I reached in my pocket and pulled out a stack of twenty one hundred dollar bills. "We got both rewards from the owners of Beat Barn and the Soul Hut for finding their acts' stolen instruments. Two grand. Now I can buy my own car!" I split the stack in two and handed half to Reese. "Here's your cut."
"Thanks, babe." Reese leaned over and gave me a smooch on the lips. Ame and Kat stared at us.
"Looks like we missed a lot," Kat said, grinning.
"Maybe we should leave you guys in charge more often," Amelia said.
"No!" Reese and I cried in unison.
"Running this place is a lot harder than I realized," I admitted. "Reese and I were only in charge for one day, and already I need a vacation."
Amelia chuckled. "Welcome to being a working-class adult."
"Adult, eh?" I smirked. "Does that mean you'll finally buy me a drink?"
"Nice try," Kat arched her brow. "No booze for you just yet—but how does lunch on the patio at Camila's sound? My treat?"
"And since there's no show booked tonight, maybe we can go help you car shop after," Amelia added.
"Awesome!" I beamed at them. The four of us made our way to Kat's car. In the back seat, I leaned against Reese as Kat opened the sunroof of her Honda Civic and pulled the car away from Castle Rock. I exhaled a happy sigh and squeezed Reese's hand. This weekend hadn't exactly been a walk in Piedmont Park, but I'd like to think it had a happy ending. And summer was only beginning—who knew what other kinds of trouble we could get into?
I couldn't wait to find out.
* * * * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Anne Marie used to work in radio, and it rocked! After studying Music Business at the University of Georgia, Anne Marie worked for several music venues, radio stations, and large festivals before trading in her backstage pass for a pen and paper. (Okay, so she might have kept the pass…) Her debut novel, Murder at Castle Rock, was the winner of the 2012 AJC Decatur Book Festival & BookLogix Publishing Services, Inc. Writing Contest, and the 2013 Book Junkie's Choice Award Winner for Best Debut Fiction Novel. It was also a finalist for Best Mystery/Thriller in the 2014 RONE Awards. Gemma Halliday Publishing will be re-releasing Murder at Castle Rock, along with the currently untitled second book in the Amelia Grace Rock 'n' Roll Mystery series.
Aside from all things music and books, Anne Marie loves college football, Starbucks iced coffee, red wine, and anything pumpkin-flavored. She is a member of Sisters in Crime and the Sisters in Crime Guppies chapter. Anne Marie is currently writing several books, including the second book in her Amelia Grace series and several other projects.
To learn more about Anne Marie Stoddard, visit her online at: http://amstoddardbooks.com
BOOKS BY ANNE MARIE STODDARD
Amelia Grace Rock 'n' Roll Mysteries:
Murder at Castle Rock
48 HOURS IN NEW YORK
by
Stacey Wiedower
* * * * *
Nicki Bradley stepped off the plane and entered the breezeway with the delicious feeling that her life was about to change.
Pinpricks of bright July sunlight penetrated gaps between the walkway's partitions, and a blast of stifling summer air hit her like a shockwave after six hours of breathing cool, canned airplane oxygen. Even the thick heat felt exciting, as if it carried the promise of something unknown, something too tenuous to be held up on a Pacific breeze.
Nicki pondered the nervous anticipation that tingled in her stomach. She wasn't sure why she felt like change was imminent. It wasn't a vacation that was landing her here at LaGuardia, just a business trip—and such a quick one she'd barely have time to recover from the West-to-East Coast jet lag.
Maybe it was just that she was ready for something to happen, so ready she could taste change on the tip of her tongue. Or maybe it was because her boss had asked her to go on this trip at all—it was the first time that had happened in the three years she'd worked for the museum. Nicki really wanted to use this opportunity to prove she was capable of more responsibility at work.
Since she'd landed her job as curatorial assistant, Bridget, her boss and the museum's exhibitions curator, had taken every trip that involved any sort of addition to the museum's collection herself. And Bridget would have taken this trip, too, if she hadn't wiped out on her surfboard a week earlier and gone home with a concussion and a fractured ankle.
Bridget's doctor had estimated recovery time at six weeks. Which meant Nicki had six weeks to make herself completely irreplaceable as a right-hand woman. Or right-leg woman, as it were.
"Excuse me."
"Ouch," Nicki said at the same time, as the woman who'd gotten off the plane behind her rolled over her bare toes with one wheel of her black Fendi roller bag. "'S okay," she muttered as the woman shot her an apologetic look. At least she didn't have the attitude that went with the three thousand dollar bag.
Nicki rolled her eyes at the way she was assigning such expectation, such drama, to this day. She thought that life had a way of stepping on your toes when you did that. At least it did for her.
She followed the signs to baggage claim, silently cursing herself for checking a bag instead of just bringing a carry-on—but seriously? Two days in New York with one tiny suitcase? No thank you. Her carry-on was barely big enough to hold her laptop, camera, and makeup.
She wandered for so long it was embarrassing before she finally found the baggage claim belt for her flight. As she stood and waited for her suitcase to come around the carousel, she thought ahead to her day beyond the airport, beyond the cab ride that would usher her across the East River and into her happy place, her favorite city on earth. Why, again, did I move to California and not New York?
She grimaced as the answer popped into her head a second after she had the thought. It wasn't an answer so much as a face. One she wanted to slap—again—just from conjuring up the image.
As if Kevin would have moved anywhere for her career. As if Kevin had any consideration for anybody at all besides himself. Why am I even thinking about Kevin, anyway? I must be bored.
At that thought she perked up a little bit. At least she was in the best spot in the world to cure boredom. If you were bored in Manhattan, you just weren't trying.
Finally her turquoise suitcase with bright pink polka dots—a score
from Target that was as cute as it was inexpensive—came into view, and she snagged it quickly and took off toward the exit. She put an extra spring in her step despite the fact that her toes were still stinging. In fact, her middle one felt like the woman's suitcase wheel might actually have drawn blood. It rubbed painfully against the lip of her shoe with every step.
She resolved to forget about it—mind over matter—as she rolled her bag through the crowd and followed the signs to the cabstand. She would have an exciting forty-eight hours, no matter how much the universe wanted to conspire against it.
* * *
Three hours later, she'd called everyone she knew in this city, but nobody was free. Her roommate from the University of Colorado lived in Brooklyn, but she was in the Outer Banks for an annual beach trip with her family. Her best friend from seventh grade lived at 34th and 2nd in one of those breakneck Midtown high rises, but she was gone all week, sharing a rental in the Hamptons with some friends from her law firm. She'd invited Nicki to come, but Nicki wasn't in town long enough for that.
Rounding out the list was Maxime, a friend of her sister Sam who'd gone to New York straight out of high school to audition for Broadway shows. Nicki had always admired her nerve, but the last she'd heard Maxime was working in retail and still trying to finish her degree at NYU.
Maxime didn't answer Nicki's text.
She briefly considered trying to track down Nathan, a boy who'd had a crush on her all through middle and high school. Nicki knew he lived in the city, too, and they were friends on Facebook, but she didn't want to contact him—for obvious reasons. In fact, she'd been so sure Briana, her old roommate, or Emmy, her childhood friend, would be up for meeting her she hadn't even tried to work out plans before she came.
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