“I’ve never carried a marsupial.” Goddammit. The simplest of things. He wasn’t even capable of holding an infant. Maybe it was a good thing Tara—
“Hey, it’s okay. She’d just probably get uncomfortable like that.” She positioned Lucy under his arm, at his side.
“I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
“You didn’t. She’s liable to start wiggling and kicking, though. Better to hug her to you.”
“None of my siblings have provided any offspring in our family yet. I… I don’t know how to handle a baby.”
She brought his arm under Lucy to take the weight of her butt. “Hey, honestly, some days I don’t think I do either. Quite a learning curve. There. Food should be up in a sec.” And she left them again.
Grant deeply inhaled as he adjusted the slipping bags on his shoulder. Lucy still stared at him. What is it? What’s wrong with me? What do you say to a baby? His brows furrowed and he smirked. Could he be any worse at this?
Like a sun peeking out from around a cloud, Lucy smiled. Her cheeks rose, her mostly toothless mouth opened, and her clear, bright eyes squinted as she gave him the most beautiful grin he’d ever seen. His heart melted and puddled to the cement.
Apparently the unease on his face was humorous. He couldn’t help but let out a laugh and raise the corners of his lips. Lucy waved her arms—was she slapping him or trying to clap?
For the next few moments, they tried to figure each other out. He staring at her, amazed at the miracle of her presence, and she, well, he had no clue what was going through Lucy’s head. She lost her smile, but she wasn’t crying. Had to be a start.
Roxie came back with a white paper bag and two cups. “Here.” She offered him a cup, which he took with his free hand, and she motioned to take Lucy back.
“Uh, actually, never mind. You hold her.”
She stepped back and refused to look at him.
“You sure?” Damned if he’d admit it, but he wasn’t ready to give Lucy back to Roxie.
“Yeah. She likes you.” She walked down the sidewalk.
Could his heart stretch any wider? Lucy liked him? Sure, she wasn’t fussing, but how did Roxie know Lucy liked him?
****
Seated in Dave’s office, Roxie rummaged through the diaper bag. Go figure the teether would be hidden on the bottom. If it was in there at all. While she balanced a bouncing Lucy on her lap, her purse fell to the carpet on her left. Grant shot his hand out to catch it, keeping it upright before all the contents spilled out.
She cringed at the fluster and sounds she was making in the too-quiet, sterile office. Wrong place for a baby. How was she going to take notes with Lucy on her lap?
Why did he offer to bring Lucy here with us? Grant’s flip-flop of attitude made no sense. How had he gone from hating Lucy’s presence at the dinner with Marcus and Sheree to holding and smiling at Lucy on the sidewalk?
When she’d snuck a look through the windows of the Mexican carryout and saw Grant holding her daughter like a kettle-ball, she worried she had pushed him way outside his comfort zone. She hadn’t missed his embarrassment when she’d remedied his hold on her daughter. As though he’d wanted to hold Lucy and do it properly. She’d let him carry Lucy the rest of the time because she could guess he was experiencing a newfound joy. His family hadn’t provided any offspring. No surprise he’d word it so clinically.
Lucy wasn’t offspring. She was a baby.
And no matter how unusual the day was turning out to be, an interview with the manager of a murdered musician was no place for a child of any age.
I’ve got to consider looking for a daycare.
The idea burned worse than third trimester heartburn.
“Sorry,” she muttered and pressed her lips in a tight smile at Dave who had been waiting at his desk.
Dressed in a gray suit, he dismissed her with a flap of his hand and watched as she settled into her seat.
Fuck. No teether. She offered Lucy her thumb knuckle, and the kiddo chomped on it. Roxie held in a grimace. Goddamn, those teeny incisors hurt like razors. To her left, she gave Grant her attention, praying he wouldn’t hate her for coupling her parenting with their case.
“Thanks for meeting with us,” Grant said.
“No problem.” Dave took his brown-eyed gaze from Lucy on Roxie’s lap and faced Grant. The sheen of his bald head hinted at Josh’s manager being over the hill. While a few gray strands peppered his goatee, his tanned face was free of wrinkles and showcased an alarming lack of expression. He’d be a hard one to read. “I apologize for the inconvenience of rescheduling. I will admit, I don’t understand how I can be of assistance. I’ve fully cooperated with the police in finding a man who killed Josh.”
“A man?” Roxie asked. A man. Not the man? Did Dave not believe Ben was really the killer? “Not a woman?” she added as she covered up her surprise at his use of articles.
“A person. Obviously, the evidence shows Ben killed my client.” Dave’s eyes shuttered to slits.
“Evidence is actually few and far between,” Grant said.
“I understand you’re doing your job here. You’re representing your client. I respect that and will answer whatever questions you have for me. But make no mistake. I’m looking forward to the day when Ben will be punished for taking Josh from us.”
Grant had guessed that Dave was devastated at Josh’s funeral, and that perhaps he’d be too emotionally distraught to be up to answering questions from Ben’s defense. His client, maybe even his friend, had been killed. It had to be natural to want to see justice served. But wouldn’t Dave want to see the real killer punished? Not a killer. The killer?
“We aim to find the truth,” Grant said. He opened the notepad resting on Roxie’s lap under Lucy’s chunky thigh. “You arranged for Richelle and Josh to be seen together at the party that night.”
“It was a publicity stunt.” Dave smoothed down his tie and sat up straighter. “She is a new talent, a rising star. Gorgeous woman. Great voice. With a little help, she’s going places.”
“So gorgeous that Josh only pretended to be interested in her?”
“What do you mean?” Dave asked.
“Was it really a stunt? Or was Josh actually seeing her?” Grant asked.
Dave blew out a huff and looked to the ceiling. “No. There was no foundation to any kind of a relationship between Richelle and Josh. Though I’m flattered you’d ask. Only shows that I did my job well. Every paper and tweet proved the world believed they were together.”
Grant nodded. “Why was it so vital to show them as a couple?”
“PR. Keep them in the news. Solidify the fans’ interests in Josh, increase Richelle’s exposure to the public. Sex sells. There are too many people out there vying for the gold. Anyone can be a star on the Internet. Everyone wants their fifteen minutes of fame. It’s not enough to make music and hope people will like it enough to buy it. There’s the persona to project, the intrigue to want to know what they had for breakfast, who they’re fucking. To match them up for appearances, it gets tongues wagging and people hitting posts.
“It’s too easy to fall out of style. Just look at that moron Wayne. He was a god, an absolute fucking god in the nineties. Everyone wanted him for movies, cameos on TV. The Internet wasn’t what it was then, but he was a star. Give him a slight drug problem and a few years of rehab, and now he’s a nobody. Never caught up with the press. Never played the game of baiting the tabloids.”
“Even so. What makes you so sure Richelle and Josh weren’t the real thing?” Grant asked.
Dave grimaced. “Because she didn’t like him. Not her type.”
“And this supposed setup, it was for Richelle’s benefit, not Josh’s?” Roxie butted in.
“What?” Dave smirked.
Roxie shifted in her seat, Lucy still going to town on her abused thumb. Drool ran down her hand. “The setup was to benefit Richelle, not Josh?”
“Are you kidding me?” Dave laughed. “This i
s what you want to ask me about? Richelle was a new little thing. No one knew about her except her association with Josh. Josh, he was a star. Like another MJ. Grammies. VMAs. Movie contracts. His own shows on two different channels. Josh didn’t need any help getting people to know about him. He had more fame and star power than he knew what to do with.”
And you like to take credit for that success, I’m sure.
“Okay, I agree to disagree on the MJ idea.” Roxie scoffed. “I mean, yes, clearly people adored Josh. To each their own. His fans, followers, and likes on his pages attest to his popularity. But he wasn’t the only client you could have set up with Richelle.”
Grant edged forward in his seat. “If you wished to expand Richelle’s exposure, why not pair her up, for the purpose of setting tongues wagging, with Jumio?”
Dave paused for an answer, and Grant prodded on. “While Josh and Jumio were both celebrities in their own rights, why choose Josh? Jumio had more albums out, higher selling songs, far more fans online. Jumio would have been just as promising a catalyst for rumors, so why not him?”
“No. Jumio…” Dave shook his head. “It wouldn’t have worked.”
“You’re saying Jumio wasn’t as golden of a star?” Roxie asked.
“No,” Dave said. “It just wouldn’t have worked. He’s not Richelle’s type.”
“If it’s all pretend, why does it matter if he’s really her type or not? She could fake it with Josh but not Jumio?”
Dave exhaled through his nose slowly. “No. Jumio has a different fan base. She wouldn’t have gotten as far being matched up with him.”
“Jumio is a confirmed bachelor seen with many women. Josh was more or less tied to his girlfriend, Kylie. It would seem Jumio would have been an easier pick for a publicity stunt.”
“Exactly.” A smile began to break up Dave’s stoic mug. “Anyone would have believed Jumio would just pick up another girl and string her along for a week. It wouldn’t have shocked people all that much if Richelle was one of them. But everyone thought Josh and Kylie were the true thing. A couple. Never a good thing for the female fans. Josh was too wrapped up in that bitch.”
“You didn’t approve of Josh’s relationship with Kylie?” Grant asked. “Even for the purpose of enhancing Josh’s appeal?”
“No. Josh didn’t need Kylie’s help to fame. He already was famous when they met. He’d won Idol and asked her to go on a romantic getaway, probably to make sure he had her interest. She was too needy. Too controlling. All of those models are. Everything her fucking way. Kylie nearly killed Josh’s attraction to the other females out there.”
Nearly killed Josh’s… Yes, Roxie comprehended what Dave was alluding to. Kylie was a party pooper to Josh’s availability to the everyday woman. Like Yoko to John. But the choice of words in that statement seemed an awful coincidence.
“And that was what your last conversation with Josh was about?” Grant asked.
“Excuse me?” Dave frowned.
Grant consulted a list in Roxie’s notepad. “According to your statement to the police, the last time you spoke with Josh was at the bar before he went upstairs. You voiced your concerns with his refusal to stay away from Kylie.”
“Yes. The last time we spoke.” Dave shook his head. “Not even a chance to say goodbye.” He raised his gaze to a spot on the wall behind them and sighed. “He was neglecting his duty to stick to Richelle. A rumor will only work if he acts the part. But he was drunk. Not the easiest to control then. I came back from the bathroom and saw him arguing with Jaydon. Kylie was starting up something, probably trying to distract Josh from Richelle and get him back to her side. Like she always had him. Chained to her side.”
“You didn’t wonder where Richelle was?” Roxie asked.
Grant cleared his throat. Or perhaps it was a cough.
Ah. Do not tell Dave Richelle was with Paul. She could take a hint.
“What do you mean? Richelle was with Josh most of the night. Surprisingly. She took off when Kylie got nasty.” Dave rolled his eyes. “Kylie just couldn’t accept her loss of control over Josh and had to antagonize him. I was at the bar and saw it all. She went straight up to Jaydon, started working on him, and like that”—he snapped his fingers—“Josh was right there. ‘Defending his woman.’”
Roxie nodded, but he still didn’t answer the question. Maybe it didn’t matter if Dave knew his client was sleeping with the club owner when she was supposed to be pretending to be with Josh. Seemed neither of the participants of Dave’s so-called successful setup played their parts. Richelle was banging Paul upstairs in the owner’s loft, and Josh was maintaining his property rights of Kylie when she ruffled feathers with Jaydon.
No one spoke for a tense moment. Roxie was unconvinced. Grant seemed to stare at her notepad and Dave cracked his wrist with a flick, clearing his throat.
Well, that can’t be it.
“The video shows you breaking up the argument between Ben and Josh.”
Dave sighed. “The fight that pushed Ben to come back and kill Josh. When I came across Josh and Jaydon arguing, Ben just had to butt in to the fray, always so eager to start a fight.”
“A witness stated that Josh called Sheree ‘a fat-ass n-word baboon.’ Incinerating words that could provoke most husbands to defend their wives,” Grant said.
“Well, whoever said what, it set him on the warpath. Ben attacked Josh in the elevator on the way up,” Dave said.
“Speaking of elevators,” Roxie said, wishing to get away from the ‘but he started it’ scrimmage. “You activated the elevator at 11:50, but your key card didn’t activate your room until 11:56. What stalled you for six minutes?”
Dave tilted his head to the side, almost frowning. “Didn’t you read the police reports? I went to Wayne’s room. I wanted to continue speaking to him about Josh’s music video. We’d been negotiating a challenging contract for him to appear in the production, but Josh was stubborn. Although…if Kylie hadn’t been at the party to stir up trouble, we would have been able to discuss business further that night.”
“So you went to Wayne’s room…and waited?” Grant asked.
Dave nodded. “I knocked, but no answer. I waited outside his door, fooled around on my phone and then gave up.”
Damn shame there weren’t cameras in that hallway.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Dave said as he made a show of checking his watch, “I’m afraid I need to cut our time short. I have engagements to attend this afternoon.”
Grant held up a finger. “One last question, and we’ll be out of your way.”
Dave waved his hand in a gesture to proceed.
“How did you happen to become Josh’s manager?”
Roxie turned to raise her brows at her boss. It was a bit of an out-of-the-blue question. Nothing at all about the night Josh was killed.
Dave smiled. “He hired me.”
“Yes, Mr. Morris, he did. And he left you approximately eighteen percent of his estate in his will. But how did he come about hiring you? How does one go from a position of customer service at the downtown Hyatt in 2001 to the sole manager of one of the wealthiest pop stars in the country?”
Dave’s grin deepened. “Not in the country, Mr. Newland. Josh was a pop star of the world.”
“And he hired you?” Roxie asked.
As the manager’s expression slid into a stare, she proverbially bit her tongue. Perhaps now Grant would understand she really meant it when she said she wasn’t a people person. Can’t say two words without pissing someone off. And not caring whether she did or not.
“Yes. We were friends of acquaintances.”
She glanced at Grant. At his blank face that hinted at his lack of trust. Roxie took it in good faith that she wasn’t the only one calling bullshit. Friends of acquaintances? What friends or acquaintances would Dave and Josh have had to connect indirectly? Yeah, six degrees and all that, but Josh ultimately spent years under Dave. And left him a hefty sum.
“We sinc
erely appreciate your time, Mr. Morris,” Grant said as he stood, offering his hand.
Roxie merely tipped her chin at him in lieu of a proper wave or handshake, and hoisted Lucy higher on her hip. Lucy’s flailing arms and bouncing body prohibited a smooth collection of the diaper bag and tote, and Grant effortlessly gathered everything and led the way out of the office.
Once they stepped onto the sidewalk out front, Roxie deeply inhaled. For starters, she was relieved Lucy hadn’t picked a moment in the last half hour to have a teething tantrum. She kissed the top of her head as they walked.
“What’d you think?”
“About…?” she asked Grant.
He shook his head. “Him. That discussion. I want your thoughts.”
Elated that he was including her for the sake of her brain, instead of bitchwork, she let her lips turn up.
“Come on. Don’t get up on a pedestal. Normally you start spewing your thoughts and smartass comments about everyone we meet.”
She frowned. Leave it to him to twist a potential compliment into an insult.
He groaned. “Which, ironically, I welcome. I respect your thoughts and opinions. Don’t let it go to your head. All I mean is I usually have to sit back and simply wait for you to lose your patience and offer commentary. I’m not in a waiting mood, Roxie.”
Hut, hut, boss. “It’s probably something small, but did you notice he said ‘control Josh’ twice? About when he was drunk at the party and how Kylie controlled him.”
He hefted the straps of the bags higher on his shoulder. “I did. But what about it? Dave did have to ‘control’ his client, surely at least in the sense of managing his career. And Kylie, well, women can be known to control a man.”
Roxie stopped in her tracks and glared at him. When he turned to face her, he snorted. “Don’t start on a feminism roll. I was married to Tara, remember? Do you think there is anything in her life she doesn’t try to control? I had a front-row seat to witnessing a control-freak woman.”
Pacified, but still annoyed, she resumed walking next to him. “Does that mean she failed to control you?”
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