CHAPTER TEN
Tuesday night found me sitting alone in my apartment, drumming my fingers on my dining room table as I held Tim Scott's card in my hand. I eyed Tony Spencer's number that was scribbled across the back. Kat had insisted that she wanted to be left alone for the night. Tomorrow, she'd begin the heart-wrenching task of planning Parker's funeral—since she was now his only living relative, the duty had fallen to her. Before leaving her office, I made her promise to call me if there was anything I could do to help, even if she just needed a shoulder to cry on. I drove Bronwyn back to her house in silence, not yet ready to talk about all I'd heard from Detective Dixon and Kat. By the time I got home, however, I couldn't bear to spend the night alone with my thoughts. He did say to call if I needed anything, I reasoned. After staring down at the card for a few minutes, I finally worked up the nerve to dial Tony's number.
"This is Tony." His low, sexy voice sent shivers down my spine. I realized I had no idea what to say to him. In a sudden panic, I hung up the phone.
What are you doing? I smacked my palm to my forehead. He's going to think I'm such a weirdo. Sucking in a breath, I punched the call button again and waited for him to answer. "This is Tony," again in that smooth dulcet tone.
Okay, so at least he doesn't sound upset about the dial-and-ditch. That's a good sign, right? I cleared my throat, a little too loudly. "Uh, hi, Tony. It's Amelia, from Castle Rock. Sorry about that—I had a bad connection before." Liar, liar, pants on fire!
"Well, hey there, beautiful. In need of some more rescuing?" He chuckled. His warm voice put me at ease, and my shoulders slumped as the tension eased out of them.
"Oh! Um, no, nothing like that. Listen…it's been a long couple of days, and I could really use a drink. I was hoping maybe you'd join me." The words just tumbled out of my mouth, and I grimaced. This kind of boldness with a guy I'd only just met was out of character for me.
"Sure, a drink sounds good. Where should I meet you?"
"Great! I mean…cool." I felt like I was back in high school with my old braces and utter lack of social skills. "Have you ever been to The Cavern?"
"Yeah, I've been there a few times before. Meet you in half an hour?"
"Perfect. I'll see you then." I dropped the phone on the counter and jumped up and down, buzzing with excitement. It'd been a horrible twenty-four hours, so I'd take my victories where I could get them—and a night out with a guy like Tony was a grand slam in my book.
I hastily threw on the green sweater dress, black belt, and black leggings that Kat had given me for my birthday. I donned some black boots, threw my hair back in a messy-but-cute ponytail, and reapplied my mascara and lipstick. Smacking my lips together, I made a kissy face at the mirror as I placed the lipstick cap back on. "Ow ow!" I catcalled to my reflection. Feeling refreshed and a little more confident, I grabbed my black pea coat and locked the apartment door behind me.
Twenty-five minutes later, I sat on a bar stool at the Cavern, swirling the tiny stirring straw around in my Jack and Diet Coke. The Cavern was a hole-in-the-wall kind of place smack dab in the middle of Midtown. Kat and I loved the bar because there was almost always something to do there besides sit in a booth and down drink after drink. It had an Indiana Jones pinball machine, three pool tables, and a shelf full of board games. Kat and I could usually be found at the pool tables or playing pinball, but I had no idea what kind of activity Tony would prefer and decided to wait at the bar until he arrived.
Another twenty minutes passed, and I stared at the bottom of my second empty glass. I fidgeted with a complimentary book of matches with The Cavern's logo printed on it, trying to distract myself from the fact that Tony had blown me off. I decided to drown my sorrows in drink number three. "Make it a strong one," I requested of Andy, my favorite bartender. He nodded with a smile and came waltzing back to my seat at the bar a few minutes later, having upgraded my drink order to a pint glass that was heavy on the whiskey, light on the soda. "Perfect." I took a sip and slid a twenty-dollar bill across the table. "Keep the change," I slurred.
"Rough night, doll?" He eyed me with sympathetic brown eyes and patted me on the arm. "You know what? I think it's about to get a lot better." He winked then he raised his eyes to the door behind me.
I eyed him, confused. Two hands clamped gently around my waist and spun my chair around, bringing me face-to-chest with six feet of tall, dark, and sexy. I tilted my head up…and up some more…and found Tony aiming a goofy grin down at me. "Sorry I'm late," he said, releasing me. "I was wrapping up work at an event when you called—I drove the van straight here so I wouldn't keep you waiting any longer."
I was thoroughly buzzed from my first few drinks. Using my newfound liquid courage, I slid off the bar stool and grabbed Tony's hand, tugging him toward the next room. I heard Andy let out a low whistle from behind the bar. Without turning around, I reached backward to give him a thumbs-up as I pulled Tony onto The Cavern's dance floor.
We inched our way through the gyrating crowd and found a spot to dance. I offered Tony a sip of my Jack and Diet Coke. "Thanks!" he called over the loud music. He took the drink from my hand and downed a few swigs as I got down to the beats of an electro-pop song.
We spent the next half hour dancing but not speaking, moving with each other yet never touching, creating a palpable sexual tension. I wanted to wrap my arms around him as we moved to the music, but being three sheets to the wind, I was afraid I'd lose control and rip his clothes off right there on the dance floor. My mind conjured up some pretty tantalizing imagery at that thought, and I cast my face downward to hide my blushing. Easy, girl…
I had to admit, while I didn't go out dancing with hot guys…well, ever…this was exactly what I needed to unwind from all the stress I'd been feeling. Tony was an excellent dance partner, and he didn't seem to mind that I was in no mood to talk—he just let me groove. It was refreshing to shake off all of my worries and fears, but it didn't last long. I couldn't hide from everything that had happened in the past two days. As Katy Perry's song about waking up in Vegas blared through the speakers, the thought of Kat's secret marriage to Parker came rushing back to shatter my solace.
Tears threatened to spill from my eyelids, and I whirled away from Tony. I fought my way through the crowd to the edge of the dance floor. He caught me gently by the wrist and turned me around to face him, confused. "What's the matter? I thought we were having a good time."
Overwhelmed with emotion and elevated blood alcohol content, I could no longer hold back everything that was weighing on my mind. I pulled Tony to a corner booth and tearfully told him about my afternoon with Kat. Though I'd only known him for a short time, I found him easy to confide in—he sat back in the booth and listened without interrupting. When I'd finished my story, he grabbed my hand from across the table and leaned in close. "You're beating yourself up for not being there for Kat, but the situation was out of your control. She had her reasons for not telling you right away, and you had no way of knowing."
A cool wave of relief washed through me. He was right—I was being too hard on myself. Still, when it came to my friends, I was loyal to a fault. As a result, I often found myself shouldering a personal sense of responsibility for them—especially Kat. She was the sister I'd never had, and I cared about her. My heart ached that she'd felt forced to keep her relationship with Parker under wraps. Now he was gone, and she didn't know who'd killed him. Kat deserved some closure, and I was going to help her get it.
Andy shuffled around from the back of the bar, balancing two drinks on a tray. Setting down the two Jack and Diets, he smiled at me. "These are on the house." To Tony, he added, "You treat her right—Amelia's quite a catch. She's one of my favorite regulars." I blushed as he winked and then trotted back to the bar.
"Quite the catch? I think he should throw you back." I whipped my head toward the nasal voice. Tall, blonde, and bitchy Stacy Jefferson stood next to our booth, a nasty smirk on her bright red lips.
Stacy's fa
ther, Owen, owned at least half of the music venues in the Southeast, including three in Atlanta: Vintage House, the Beat Barn, and the Soul Hut. As his only child, she'd grown up a spoiled-rotten rich kid who was used to having everything handed to her—trophies, grades, all the top honors in school—until I came along. Our music management professor, Dr. Covington, had been a man of integrity. Stacy's grades in his class couldn't be bought, and through hard work and hours of studying, I edged her out of the top spot in the Music Business program. She had harbored a personal vendetta against me ever since. I wasn't too fond of her, either.
I narrowed my eyes at Stacy. "Hello to you too, Stace," I said coolly. "Alone tonight, I see—what's wrong? Daddy wouldn't buy you a date for the evening?"
Tony snickered, but he cut his laughter short when Stacy shot him a withering look. She eyed him appraisingly, her lip curling upward as she tried to look seductive. "You could do better than Amelia Graceless, you know." She leaned over to shake his hand, purposely thrusting her cleavage in his face. "I'm Stacy. Maybe I can take you out sometime and show you what it's like to be with a real woman."
Tony took her hand but pointedly kept his eyes locked above her neck—I gave him points for not ogling her when he had the chance. "Tony Spencer," he introduced himself. He glanced at me and added, "I think I'm doing just fine over here." I beamed at him as Stacy scowled. She wasn't used to being rejected. She rose to her full height but let her hand linger over his on the table for a few moments. I wanted to slam my glass down on her fingers. If it wouldn't have crushed Tony's hand too, I think I might've done it.
"Your loss, baby," she said in a bored tone. She lifted her hand to inspect her perfect manicure. "Besides," she said, giving me a sidelong look, "I'm seeing someone new anyway. I landed a Las Vegas man on my last business trip with Daddy. He's devastatingly handsome, great in the sack, and obviously has supreme taste in women."
"Good for you, Stace!" I mocked. "How much did he cost you? Three thousand? Four? Or are you bargain shopping these days?"
Stacy's face turned as red as her lipstick. Growling, she raised her hand as if she wanted to strike me across the face. She took a deep, calming breath and then dropped her hand back to her side. With her eyes shooting daggers into me, she said haughtily, "I think I'll go find a better bar to hang out in. Something in here stinks."
"It's your perfume." I pinched my nose to block the overwhelming odor. "What fragrance is that? Eau de Bitch?"
With an angry gasp, Stacy turned and stormed off, her stilettos clicking loudly on the floor. She stopped after a few feet to turn back and sneer at me. "By the way," she said with mock sincerity, "so sorry about your boss. Now that he's gone it's only a matter of time before Castle Rock goes under. Your days are numbered, Graceless." She pivoted on one heel and was gone before I could respond.
"I hate her," I muttered.
Tony shook his head. "Don't let her get to you. She's not worth it." He put his hand over mine. The warmth in his voice made me smile. I found myself wanting to know more about this sweet, funny man that rated a thirteen out of ten on my hotness scale.
We spent the next half hour nursing our drinks as I playfully grilled him about his life. I learned that he was thirty-two and had grown up in a small town in Nevada, an only child. He received a marketing degree from a community college in his hometown and had worked promotions for a club there until recently, when he'd moved down to Atlanta. He was now working two jobs: a part-time gig as an auto-mechanic by day, and at night he worked promotions and events for 95Rox. By the end of the conversation—and my drink—I found that I was either pretty drunk, or pretty smitten—or perhaps a little bit (okay, a lot) of both.
"Your turn, "Tony said, throwing another one of his charming grins my way.
"What would you like to know?" I gave him a coy smile.
"For starters, I want to know when you'll go out with me again."
Well, that was forward, not that I'm complaining. I made a show of glancing at my watch and pretending to think it over for a minute. "When you beat me at a game of pool." I smirked.
"Oh, you're on! This should be easy," he gloated, jumping out of the booth and leading the way to the pool table in the next room.
Fifteen minutes later, I had already cleared all of my balls, and if he missed his shot I could sink the eight ball and clench the game. Tony lit a cigarette and leaned down low to assess his options on the table. "I'd aim for the six and try to bank your shot off of the rail, into that far left pocket," I advised smugly. "No pressure."
"I know what I'm doing," Tony mumbled. His aim was too far to the right, and he missed his mark. The cue ball shot past the six and came to a stop along the rail, perfectly lining up my winning shot.
"Sucker!" I sang as the eight ball dropped into the pocket with a clink. "I win!" I held my drink high in the air and strutted around the table in a victory dance. "I guess I'm not as easy as you thought." I froze, realizing too late my Freudian slip. Crap.
Tony rolled his grey eyes and surprised me by sweeping me up in his arms. "I never said you were easy, doll face. I demand a rematch, though. You just got lucky that time." He gently grabbed my chin and tilted my face to his, leaning in close so that his lips were almost touching mine. Speaking of getting lucky…
"Mind if I cut in?" slurred a thick British accent. Tony released me abruptly, and I whirled around, finding myself face-to-face with a very drunk Bobby Glitter. Candy and Jared stood just behind him. Jared's smug smile suggested he was pleased they'd interrupted what could have been my first encounter with Tony's luscious lips. So much for luck.
"What are you doing here?" I scrunched my nose at the waves of stench rolling off the sloshed singer. His breath reeked of liquor and cigar smoke, and just a hint of vomit. Ew. "And where have you been? The dump?"
"Your bartender recommended this place last night," Jared said, eyeing Tony.
"We kicked off the night at the Clermont Lounge." Bobby flailed his arms excitedly, nearly smacking me in the face. "I'd heard there was a woman there who could crush a beer can with her bloody breasts. It was spectacular! We were having a ball until they asked me to leave—apparently it's frowned upon to try and shag the dancers." He cackled so hard he had a coughing fit and had to pound on his chest a few times before it subsided. He glanced at Tony's lit cigarette and then looked up at him hopefully. "Could I bum a smoke, mate?" He coughed again, wheezing so loudly that I was surprised he had lungs left to ruin.
Tony arched a skeptical brow at Bobby but still retrieved his pack of Camel Filters from his back pocket. "Not sure if you need this, man, but knock yourself out." He offered the pack to Bobby and the drunken rock star snatched a cig from it without so much as a thanks.
I turned back to Tony. "I think I've schooled you enough for one night," I teased, moving to hang up my pool cue.
"I wouldn't mind playing the winner," Jared said. He wrenched out of Candy's clutches and stepped forward. Pouting, Candy skulked toward the bar to order some drinks. Jared hadn't noticed. His attention was on Tony. "Have we met before?" He studied Tony's face as if trying to place it.
"I don't think so, dude." Tony placed a hand on my shoulder and extended the other to shake Jared's. From under his arm, I felt him stiffen. He tightened his grip around me. "Maybe you saw me last night? I worked a 95Rox promotion outside Castle Rock before your show." His even tone of voice didn't let on that he was suddenly feeling so possessive.
Jared nodded absently as he racked the balls for our game of pool. I gave him a run for his money, but in the end, he beat me out to become the new champion in our little tournament. "Come on—just this once, winner buys the loser a drink." He gave me a good-natured smile. I couldn't argue with free booze, so I happily led the group into the other room and eased into an empty booth. Tony pushed past Jared to slide in next and threw his arm around me. He seemed jealous of Jared, though he had no reason to be—Candy had returned with a drink in hand. She pulled Jared into the side of the booth
opposite us. She must have made a pit stop to the restroom for a bump of somethingher pupils were like tiny pinpoints, and her nostrils were red.
Bobby stopped to give out a few autographs to a group of star-struck women who had been peeking around the corner at him while Jared and I played pool. He caught up with us and slid into the booth next to Candy the Red-Nosed Groupie, leaning his lips to her ear. "Got any more nose candy, Candy?" he whispered loudly. She giggled and reached into her cleavage to retrieve a small baggy. Grabbing Bobby's hand, she pulled it under the table where she doled out some of her goods. Bobby dipped his head below the table, and I heard a loud sniff! as he snorted something. I glanced around uncomfortably. I wasn't cool with them doing drugs out in the open like this. Tony watched them with some interest, but Jared didn't react at all. He studied the drink menu, completely ignoring what was going on beside him. I wondered what he saw in a washed-up junkie like Candy.
Andy came to take our drink orders, and as we waited for his return I made an attempt at small talk. "So, where's your quiet friend tonight?" I asked, referring to the silent drummer, Cliff.
"He wasn't feeling well," Jared replied. "He's taking the night off from partying to rest up for tomorrow's show."
"Not much of a talker, is he?" I hadn't heard Cliff speak since the band arrived the previous afternoon.
A smirk curled the edge of Jared's lips. "He's a man of few words."
I turned my attention to Bobby. "What about your buddy, Stone? Not a night owl, either?"
"Stone?" Bobby snorted. "That lazy bloke was probably in bed hours ago—either that, or he's still on the phone with his mates back home in Vegas. The man used to party like a rock star, but lately he's been a real drag. All business, all the time. I have more fun without him, anyway."
Andy brought over our drinks and three shots of bourbon for Bobby. The rocker lined up the small glasses and quickly downed each: One, gulp. Two, gulp. Three, gulp.
Murder at Castle Rock Page 9