Fanatically in Trouble

by Jenny B. Jones

  “For the love of Spanx, you have a darn family,” I reminded her yet again.

  “You know what I mean. You were the people I was closest to, who understood me and the wild world we were a part of.”

  I had to begrudgingly admit, I did get that. Aside from Sylvie and Frannie, my own family hadn’t approved or appreciated my music career. They’d treated me like an outsider and had shown no interest in my work. “We did have a lot of good times.”

  Trina’s lips broke into a slip of a smile. “Yeah, we did. And I’m grateful for the time we had. I know you were meant for bigger things, Jaz, but we were friends. And you just tossed us away. It hurt. Once you got to the top, you didn’t even extend a hand to pull your sisters up.”

  “I know. And for that, I’m sorry.” Jaz sat back down in her chair. “If it’s not too late, I’d like to help. Trina, I could talk to my producer. And I know a ton of agents who’ll do anything I ask. Maybe if we could get you the right songs, your next album would soar up the charts.”

  Trina pulled her focus from the mirror and looked at her old friend. “I know my time on stage is over. It’s been a long road to acceptance, but I’m there. I don’t want record deals that are going to go sour or execs to call me just because you told them to.”

  “Then what do you want?” Jaz turned her cheek for contour. “What do either of you want from me?”

  That was a good question. I’d dreamed of this day. How many times had I fantasized about Jaz begging me to help her? How many years had I envisioned her groveling on her knees, crying for my forgiveness?

  And now that her desperate forgiveness was here?

  I didn’t even need it.

  “I love my life.” Suddenly I could see a perfectly clear vision of my home, my business, and every beautiful person in my life. And one more punch in that Dixie Dairy card, and it was free fries and a shake for me! “How you treated us was lowdown. But I accept your apology, Jaz. It’s time we all moved on. We have good lives—all of us.” Peace dusted over me light as the powder the makeup artist applied. “While you certainly could’ve handled it differently, in a way I have you to thank.”

  “Me?”

  “If you hadn’t broken up the band, I never would’ve come to Sugar Creek. I arrived here with no money and no options. If I’d had the band, I never would’ve accepted the terms of the will that gave me Enchanted Events. At the most, I would’ve sold the building and gotten out of town as fast as I could. Losing my voice still would’ve been inevitable. I can handle one night of faking it, but a career of it? That’s just not me. Becoming an event planner is the best thing that’s ever happened.” I thought of all my mother’s criticisms. “And by gosh, I’m good at it.”

  “Amen!” Trina lifted a hand like a front-row Baptist. “You bet you are.”

  “I discovered Sugar Creek is where home is. And where my heart is.”

  A sigh slipped from Jaz. “That boy is mighty fine.”

  My voice went low as sin. “You touch my man, and Reese will be the last of your worries.” I watched as the hairstylist gathered my curls in her hand and piled them on top of my head, weighing her options. “But I mean everything here fills me up. All the junk I went through—the band breaking up, the total humiliation of becoming a pop has-been, going hopelessly broke—it all led me to where I was meant to be. So, Jaz, for that, I’m grateful.”

  “And I invested most of my money from our band days,” Trina said. “So even in the lean years, I’ve done okay for my sister and me. Probably without Jaz, we wouldn’t have been as successful.” She closed her eyes for false eyelashes. “Still, Jaz, if you cross Paisley and me again, we’ll write a tell-all book and make up a bunch of lowdown trash. Okay, then?”

  Relief colored Jaz’s face as she laughed. “Yes. Okay.”

  “Now we go out there and give the fans one last show.” Trina used her old pep-talk enthusiasm. “We’ve all changed a lot, but we’re still those three young girls who love music. Let’s give them something to remember.” She held out a hand on either side. “Electric Femmes always and forever?”

  I put my hand in hers. “Electric Femmes.”

  Jaz held on, her dark eyes glistening again. “Always and forever.”

  Chapter Forty

  I’d survived.

  Well, at least to intermission.

  My deodorant had given up, my feet ached in my stupid knee-high spike boots, and I might’ve dislodged a hip during one of our more raucous songs, but so far I had endured, lip-syncing in perfect time and watching the crowd go wild.

  One of Jaz’s entourage handed me a water as I exited the stage, and I twisted the cap and took a celebratory drink. After a ten-minute break, Jaz would do a half-hour solo set, before calling Trina and me back for the finale. Then it would all be over. Tonight I would crawl beneath my crisp sheets completely unburdened and sleep like the dead.

  The stale cold air inside the boat pressed in, so I climbed the stairs to the third level and breathed in the fresh night air. A full moon glowed above like a celestial seal of approval. All around us, the lake quietly rolled, completely unimpressed it carried one of the most famous women in the world. Nature was such a good equalizer. Beau had taught me that.

  “Paisley!” Two twenty-somethings rushed toward me as I reached the railing, notebooks in hand and phones waving. “Can we get an autograph?”

  “And a picture?”

  “Sure.” I was certain I needed a makeup touch-up, and probably smelled like sweat, but I stood between both women, put my arms around them and smiled.

  “We listened to the Electric Femmes all the time in high school,” one said. “This concert has been a blast.”

  I grinned for one more photo, then scribbled my name on a blank page. “I’m so glad you’re enjoying it. Jaz is signing autographs after the show. You can find Trina downstairs.”

  “Thank you!” They scurried off, and I returned my attention to the water.

  “What if I want more than an autograph?”

  Arms slipped around me, and I didn’t have to look up to know who held me close. “Hello there, Beauregard.”

  “Good concert.” His lips nuzzled my ear. “I’d like to volunteer to be a groupie, but I’m pretty picky about who I’m with.”

  I turned in his embrace and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Do you have your eye on anyone I might know?”

  “The bass guitarist is kind of cute.”

  “Is it his three-foot-long beard you’re attracted to or his flair with eyeliner?”

  Beau kissed my cheek, sending his own waves across my skin. “I’d just be using him to get to someone else.” He kissed my cheek, my chin, my temple. “You might know her. She’s beautiful, got a heck of a brain for business, and tonight she’s wearing boots big enough to double as a body bag.”

  I laughed into his shoulder, thankful for the respite that was Beau. “You look pretty dashing yourself. I haven’t seen you in a tux since my junior prom. Didn’t you go with Jessamine Delmanaco? Not that I was keeping track.”

  The boat engines revved as the vessel sluiced over whitecaps, while in the distance revelers could be heard from below.

  “You wore an off the shoulder white number,” Beau said, pulling me to his side.

  “You remember that?” He’d hated me back then. We’d mutually despised each other. It had been our thing.

  “Jessamine said I watched you so much that night, you were the one I should’ve asked to prom.”

  What if he had? Would it have still led to here? Would we be further along than me tiptoeing around how I felt? “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “You were my sister’s best friend. And you cursed the ground I walked on.”

  “The only one I cursed was Delmanaco.” A breeze lifted my curls and sent them dancing. “I wished for her to wake up with zits and an unexpected ten pounds.”

  “Didn’t happen.” Beau’s cheeks dimpled as he smiled. “But she still couldn’t hold a candle t
o you.” His head lowered, and his lips brushed mine. “I’m really proud of you, Paisley. It’s been incredible to see you in the role of the pop star tonight.”

  “I desperately want this to be over.”

  “I know, babe. But in a matter of hours Jaz will be gone, the fan fest will be done, and you won’t have to perform again. Any catfights break out yet?”

  “I hear that blood-thirsty want in your voice, but no. The three of us actually had a really nice talk tonight.” I filled Beau in on all the details. “I think this was the closure I needed.”

  “Jaz hasn’t talked you into coming back to LA?”

  “No.” My words were pointed like arrows, aiming right for Beau’s heart. “My life is here.” Tell him! Tell him you love him. “Beau, I . . .”

  The phone I’d wedged in my boot trilled, giving us both a jolt—and me a reprieve. Was I nuts? What if I scared him away forever? I’d rather have Beau in small, restrained doses than not at all.

  “I . . .I should check that.” I pulled my gaze from eyes that were curiously locked on mine. “Henry came back to work tonight, but he was fading fast.” Pulling out my cell, I checked the display. “Alice says we have a few tipsy fans on the sun deck above us. I better go shoo them down before they fall overboard and ruin Jaz’s mended reputation.”

  “And I should rejoin Sylvie and Frannie—make sure they’re not throwing their bras at your drummer this second set.” He caught my hand as I moved to leave. “Paisley, was there something you wanted to say?”

  “No.” Shadows fell on the planes of Beau’s face, and it was everything I could do not to reach out and trace every line. “Can’t think of a thing.”

  It was hard to walk up the steep steps in boots that threatened to swallow my legs whole, but with the aid of a slightly rusted handrail, I finally reached the sun deck. The tippy-top of the boat was like the top layer of a wedding cake, smaller, cuter, and not for everyone’s consumption. We’d roped off this level for everyone’s safety, but knew we’d still need to keep watch.

  “Hello?” I called, not seeing the two trespassers.

  My pained feet carried me to the other side, where I startled to discover a lone figure at the railing. “Johnny. What are you doing here?”

  Jaz’s manager turned, his nose pink from the sun. “I came to see my favorite client.” He lifted his right hand, where a cigarette dangled. “And try to sneak a smoke. Don’t tell, Jaz. She thinks I’ve quit.”

  “I thought you were back in LA.”

  He wore white slacks, a pink oxford, and a navy blazer emblazoned with gold buttons. He looked like he was dressed for the yacht club. “I couldn’t leave without catching the finale.”

  I’d tried phoning Johnny all day, but every call had gone straight to voicemail. “Have the police talked to you?”

  “They did.” He flicked his ashes over the lake. “And I have no idea where Reese could be. But I hope they find her and soon. She’s obviously a very troubled woman.”

  “You stole her song.”

  “What?”

  “Jaz’s hit ‘You Ain’t the Other For Long.’ You stole it from Reese Riggins.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  The breeze lifted my tresses, and I knew I was minutes away from ruining my hair and makeup in this humidity. “I saw the video of Reese’s audition for Pop Sensation from three years ago. She sang an original song titled “Boy Problems,” and it was a near duplicate of Jaz’s song about killing the other woman.”

  Johnny took a deep puff, tilted his head back, and blew out smoke. “We wrote Jaz’s song a year ago.”

  “We?”

  “Me. Jaz.”

  “Who else?”

  Something flickered behind his eyes. “Just us. But I gave Jaz all the artistic credit.”

  He was lying. “How’d you get Reese’s song?”

  “I had no idea she was ever on that show.”

  “Jaz said you pitched the song to her. She was lying, wasn’t she?” I’d fallen for Jaz’s routine again. When would I learn with this girl? “She must’ve taken it from Reese. Probably promised her money or golden opportunities and opened doors? Then when none of that materialized, Reese got even.”

  Johnny shook his head, his jaw taut. “I’m not following this at all. The tune didn’t come from Reese.”

  “Then who? Johnny, it’s important.”

  He looked toward the lake, watching a smaller boat pass us by. “I got the song from Trina.”

  My overworked antacid gave up, and my stomach twisted like a pretzel. “She stole music from Pop Sensation?” I watched him, waiting. “Either you start talking, or I go to Sharky Cooper about your son’s assault of America.”

  He turned to the railing and let his hands dangle. “Trina's not a half-bad song-writer. She couldn’t get too many people to take her seriously in the business, but I’d meet with her about once a quarter and see what she had. She always charged garage sale prices because she told me one day she’d bring me a giant hit with the promise I’d produce it—with her on lead vocals, of course. I found some of Jaz and America’s songs this way, and I didn’t want to mess up a good thing. So I agreed.”

  This was way beyond the duties of a manager. “Why dabble in production?”

  “Because I could agent the deals and also make them happen. Earn more. Providing hush money for my son’s transgressions has drained me.”

  “Trina gave you this song.”

  “Yeah. She brought me the one. It was so different from anything else she’d done.” He exhaled a puff of smoke.

  Pieces of the puzzle finally clicked, revealing a clearer picture. “Then you cut Trina completely out. Not only did you not give her writing credit, but Jaz sang it. And took it to number one.”

  “Jaz changed it up, and she deserved her name on it. I explained it all to Trina. She didn’t have the chops to bring this one home. It needed a stronger voice, someone with sex appeal and star power. When I first heard the song, I could see the video, the worldwide domination, the moment in Jaz’s concert when it would bring down the house. There was no way I was letting that hit die. It wasn’t personal. It was business.”

  “The song was Reese’s.”

  Johnny shrugged. “I didn’t know.”

  I wasn’t sure about that, but what did it matter? “Trina did. And you knew no one would have the resources to pursue a lawsuit.”

  Johnny flicked his cigarette butt over the boat, then gave me his full attention. “So you’re telling me that the writer of Jaz’s most popular song later got a job as her assistant? Why would Reese do that?”

  “Maybe it was part of her murderous plan. Or maybe she wanted in so she could finally get a chance to talk to you.” Or maybe Reese simply wanted closer proximity to Jaz’s husband.

  “But she never did. Reese never said a word.”

  I thought of the friend whose hand I’d held only two hours ago. “Did Trina ever confront you for hijacking her song?”

  “Yeah. That gal’s got a temper.” His gaze grew troubled, no doubt remembering the fire of Trina Sparkles. “She told me that Jaz and I had sabotaged her comeback. Things got pretty heated until I brought out my checkbook.”

  “Another payoff.” I’d once idolized Johnny Pikes. Now I couldn’t stand to be on the same boat with him.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you. It’s a back-stabbing business. Something I imagine you know all too well.”

  Trina had stolen music, with plans for the tunes to get her back on the charts. And when that didn’t work, what if she was so enraged, she’d plotted revenge? “You need to tell the police about the song. It gives Trina a motive.”

  “That’s not going to happen.” Johnny Pikes reached into his pocket and pulled out a stick of gum, popping it into his mouth. “We both know my career is over if word gets out I borrowed some music.” His piercing eyes hardened. “And here’s the thing, Paisley. Before you go sharing this tidbit, not that anyone would believe you, you might
ask yourself if it’s worth my army of attorneys coming after you and making your life miserable. I’d hate to see you lose your little business over a piddly libel suit.” Johnny tossed his gum wrapper over the rail and grinned. “It’s time for Jaz’s solo set. I promised her I’d be on the front row.” He had the nerve to pat me on the shoulder as he passed. “You and Trina turned out fine. No harm, no foul, right?”

  I swiveled back to face the lake, letting the anger roll off my shoulders. If I ever needed one final assurance that leaving the music world was the right choice, tonight had provided it in spades.

  The iPhone painfully lodged in my boot rang again, and with some effort, I dug into the zipper and pulled out my cell.

  “Matt?” I had so much I needed to tell him.

  “Paisley, can you hear me?” The line crackled with static, as the bars on my phone faded in and out. “We found Reese.”

  “Alive?”

  “Barely. She was in another rental car at a truck stop in Tulsa. She’d overdosed.” His voice faded in and out. “. . .recreational drugs in the vehicle.”

  “This doesn’t feel right at all.”

  Matt continued talking as if he couldn’t hear a word I’d said. “County lab pulled a miracle, and we got the prints on the takeout bag and the necklace.”

  The wind whipped through my hair and amplified the static in my ear. “Are they positive for Reese?”

  “Prints on the bag weren’t a lot of help, but the receipt attached was. According to the time stamp, the order was picked up seven hours before America was discovered dead. We just pulled the surveillance video from Bugle Boy.” Words got lost in the wavering connection, but his next question came out loud and clear. “Guess who came through the drive-through at that time?”

  A large wave hit the boat, and I grabbed the rail. “Who?”