Murder of a Bookstore Babe

Skye took off at a brisk trot, but a few steps from her goal, she was stopped by a red plastic ribbon strung between several sawhorses. A large white sign hung in the center. Black lettering read: EMPLOYEES OF COUNTRY ROADS TOUR ONLY. TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED.

Crap! There was no time to come up with a plan C. If she didn’t get to a toilet soon, she was going to embarrass herself big-time. Skye looked around. A silver Airstream with COUNTRY ROADS TOUR stenciled on its side was pulled in front of the bathroom, but there wasn’t anyone in sight. She stopped and listened. It was completely quiet. Excellent. She’d be in and out with no one the wiser.

Skye ducked under the ribbon, paused for a nanosecond, then darted toward her objective. Arriving a little out of breath, she found that the trailer was parked so close to the building, she could barely get the screen door halfway open. She squeezed through the gap and sighed with relief when she saw the empty stalls.

A few relieved minutes later, Skye was washing her hands and wondering if Trixie and Owen had ever arrived when she heard angry voices coming from inside the RV. Yikes! She had to get out of here before she was discovered and arrested. Wouldn’t that be a delightful headline: CHIEF’S FIANCEÉ ARRESTED FOR USING A FORBIDDEN BATHROOM.

Skye plastered herself against the wall, willing herself to become invisible, which was quite a stretch, considering her opulent figure. She snuck a quick look through the doorway. A large open window was directly across from the bathroom’s entrance. Why in the heck didn’t they have the air-conditioning on and their windows closed like normal people?

While waiting for her hair appointment last week, she had read in Entertainment Weekly that some singers disliked AC because they claimed it was bad for their vocal chords, but this was ridiculous. It was close to ninety degrees and muggy; surely those conditions couldn’t be good for anyone, even a star’s delicate throat.

Skye shook her head. Why didn’t matter. The window was open, and if she tried to leave now, the suit-wearing guy from the stage who was talking heatedly to Flint James would see her and call the police.

Taking another peek, Skye noted that Flint’s usually handsome face was an ugly scarlet mask, his broad shoulders were rigid, and his hands were fisted. His previous air of indifference was gone, and it looked as if he was itching to punch the other man in the face.

The ex-quarterback had a good five inches and fifty pounds of muscle on Mr. Suit, and could easily cause some real damage to the other guy. Flint might even kill him if the blow landed in exactly the right spot.

Should she call Wally? Make her presence known? Skye wavered. Maybe it was a guy thing, and she would just get herself in trouble if she interfered. She’d promised herself she would stop rushing in to help people who hadn’t asked for her assistance. Then again, she didn’t want anyone to get hurt.

Before she could decide, Mr. Suit’s booming voice brought her attention back to the two men. “We have no choice. Suzette isn’t here and we can’t reach her. We have to get this show on the road.”

“That’s not my problem, Rex.” Flint jabbed Mr. Suit, aka Rex, in the chest. “The star does not go on first. And I’m the star.”

Obviously the opening act was MIA. Skye wrinkled her brow, trying to remember what she had heard about Suzette Neal. All she knew about the girl singer was her age—twenty-two—and that she had lived in the area as a child, although no one Skye had spoken to seemed to recognize Suzette’s name or claim her as kin.

“It’s more than half an hour since we were supposed to start the program.” Rex grabbed Flint’s shoulder. “I order you to get your ass on stage and sing.”

“No.” Flint shook off Rex’s hand as if it were an annoying insect. “Check my contract. You can’t force me to perform out of order.”

“Do it this one time and I’ll make it worth your while.” Rex’s tone turned cajoling. “This concert is no big deal. Just a freebie to get the locals on our side. I promise it will be good for us both.”

“That’s what Suzette wants. You already gave her one of my best songs—one I wanted to sing myself—and you forced me to do a duet with her.” Flint crossed his arms. “Don’t think I’m not onto her schemes.”

“You’re not the only one who’s onto her.” A blonde dressed in skintight jeans, a red sequined tank top, and crimson stilettos pushed her way between Flint and Rex.

Skye shrank back against the wall. She hadn’t realized there was anyone else in the Airstream.

Cocking her thumb at Rex, the woman said, “I warned him about that girl. I told him I didn’t trust her as far as I could run in high heels.”

“Kallista, sweetheart.” Rex sandwiched the blonde’s fingers between both of his palms, “I’m sure something terrible must have happened to keep Suzette away. You know she was dying to sing for her hometown and show everyone how far she’d come.”