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  After that …

  She held out going to bed with him. The twelve-year-age difference bothered her. His fame terrified her. His past history with women—especially with older women—left her leery.

  Stone had admitted the first night he’d “… been sleeping with this woman. Amber Watt’s her name. She’s the band’s back-up singer. Wants to write songs, but she sucks at it.”

  Two weeks later, he played Ryn like the strings of his guitar. “It’s over with Amber. I told her so the day Beau introduced us. I told her again today.”

  “And you’re not having any kind of service?”

  Ryn jumped. The past faded. No dreaming allowed when The Jughead skewered her with that guilty-as-hell tone of voice.

  Bathed in the golden sunshine, Beau didn’t glance up from dragging a string across the floor in front of Maj. Without warning, The Fanged Beast pounced, caught the string between her claws, and jerked it out of Beau’s hand.

  “Didja see that?” Beau opened his hands to Ryn. “She’s fast.”

  “She is fast.” Ryn smiled at him and spoke to Jericho, making no effort to be nice. “We’ll have a memorial service later—after all the notoriety dies down.”

  Across the room, Danny cleared his throat. She glanced up. Sure enough, he looked distressed. Bushy eyebrows knit together. Lips pursed. Before Jericho’s arrival at the hotel, Danny had restated that the evidence against her was purely circumstantial.

  “Because you are innocent, you must appear to bend over backwards to assist Jericho. Be polite. Answer him courteously.”

  Too often, Danny sounded like a law professor instead of an entertainment attorney. Ryn focused on Beau as he curled in a ball, nose to the floor, and extended his left hand slowly in front of him. It took all her energy to swivel her gaze to Jericho.

  “I need time to think about what kind of service Stone would like.” How long before she believed Stone was dead?

  Maj waited until Beau’s fingers almost touched the string before she grabbed it and tore into the bedroom with it streaming behind her like a victory banner.

  “Damn!” Beau snapped his stubby fingers and dropped his butt to the carpet. The coffee service jumped. He pulled the soles of his feet closer together, popped a strawberry in his mouth, and licked the ring of powdered sugar around his lips. “Have you found Stone’s killer yet, Lieutenant Jericho?”

  “We sure haven’t, Beau.” Jericho spoke in the loud voice a lot of people used with children, senior citizens, the hard of hearing, and mental patients.

  Beau stuck both index fingers in his ears. “I can hear you, you know.”

  Jericho tried to apologize, but Beau removed his fingers and shook one of them at The Jughead. “Why are you here? Ryn didn’t kill Stone, and she’s too sad to talk to you anymore.”

  Danny sputtered and set his coffee cup down hard. Brown liquid sloshed into the white china saucer and splashed onto the antique Queen Anne table. “The lieutenant’s doing his job, Beau. Why don’t you find Maj?”

  “Because I’m not leaving Ryn.” Beau stuck out his bottom lip, folded his arms across his massive chest, and scooted his butt across the carpet toward her chair. When he reached it, he sat ramrod straight in front of her knees, huffing from his exertion.

  A laugh bubbled in the back of Ryn’s throat. Danny flashed her a help-me-out-here glare, and Jericho’s dark lizard face turned a mottled red that clashed with his maroon silk tie. Ryn laid a hand on Beau’s shoulder. Electricity jolted through her fingertips from the heat radiating off his knit shirt. He took a deep breath like a small child and stopped scowling at the other men.

  He jutted his jaw at Jericho. “Ryn’s very tired. Can’t you ask her all these questions later?”

  “Later at the station—”

  “About three this afternoon? Here.” Danny interrupted, getting up and marching toward the door.

  Jericho remained seated. He tapped his gold pen like a drummer between his thumb and index finger. When Ryn didn’t drop her gaze from his head-on stare, he shrugged. “Sure, I can come back. After all, Miz Davis isn’t going anywhere. Right? Maybe she’ll even remember about that bottle of melatonin.”

  Chapter 6

  As soon as the door closed behind Jericho, Ryn leaned over Beau’s shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck. His muscles bulged like boulders. She kissed his cheek. “Thank you. You are a wonderful friend.”

  “You are a wonderful friend, too.” Eyes glowing, he rubbed the spot where she’d kissed him, reminding her of a five-year-old kid who had gotten his every wish at Christmas, including a chat with Santa under the tree at midnight.

  Ryn touched his scarlet cheek. God, she wished she knew how much Beau really understood. If nothing was real for her—even after seeing Stone’s body in their bed—how could Beau begin to comprehend the murder?

  “Why does Lieutenant Jericho think you killed Stone?” Beau’s knitted brows and squinted eyes reflected his bewilderment.

  “Good question, Beau.” Danny stood in the doorway, nodding up and down like Solomon making a judgment. “Has the lieutenant asked you if you think she killed Stone?”

  Caught by surprise, Ryn made a noise in the back of her throat. Her hand automatically went up to her heart. It beat high and hard enough to break a rib.

  Beau sighed. “He must’ve asked me a hundred times. Just like he asked me if Stone and Ryn argued a lot.”

  Silence roared in Ryn’s ears and took away her breath. She focused on the silver coffee pot on the low table in front of her. Was she Jericho’s only suspect?

  “What’d you tell him about how much they argued?” Danny asked.

  “I told him they argued sometimes.” Beau chewed the side of his thumb. Jerking it out of his mouth, he added, “I told him Stone was mean to everyone—but especially to Ryn—since Lavender died. I told him that Ryn would never hurt anyone—not even in her sleep. Mainly ’cuz she doesn’t sleep.”

  A surge of adrenaline poured into her and pooled in her whole being. Would she ever live without the impulse to run away after Stone’s murder? Had Jericho implied she’d murdered him in her sleep? Who was crazy—her or him? Danny’s smile was so tight she marveled his lips didn’t pop off.

  Seated at her knees, Beau twisted the upper half of his torso to see her better. “You okay?”

  “You don’t look okay.” Danny hesitated at her chair—as if waiting for her to declare she required CPR or a brain transplant.

  It took her a minute, but she finally managed to convince them that all she needed was more coffee. She didn’t bother mentioning sleep. For forty years, she’d chased sleep like an elusive lover. No reason to expect—under the present circumstances—the lover to seek her out.

  After the first year with Stone, he came to accept her nocturnal habits: sometimes roaming from room to room, sometimes reading in her study, and sometimes keeping a vigil till dawn when she’d crawl back into bed and occasionally sleep two or three hours.

  How in the hell had she slept through two gunshots?

  Where was that damn bottle of melatonin? Why couldn’t she at least visualize what the bottle looked like? Had she actually taken a pill?

  Beau insisted on pouring the coffee. He took so long to set a clean cup in the exact center of the saucer and then to make sure the top on the coffee pot was secure that Ryn had to take her tongue between her teeth to keep from screaming. As she watched Beau, she felt Danny’s sharp eyes watching her, and she fought a swell of panic in her chest while some fragment of her mind suggested reasonably that she was having a nightmare.

  “By the way,” Danny said, his tone slow and casual, “Amber wants to come by later this—”

  “Forget it,” Ryn snapped, her tone fast and curt. “I don’t want to talk with Amber. Later today or later any time.”

  “I think she wanted to talk about a song she’s writing for the memorial service.”

  Beau stopped, set the coffee pot down, and looked at her as if waiting fo
r her permission to finish filling the cups.

  “No way.” She fought to control her breathing. “I may not be playing with a full deck right now, but I know damned well I don’t want any songs composed by Amber at the memorial service.”

  Danny opened his mouth, but Beau interrupted. “Ryn doesn’t like Amber.” When he picked up the saucer, the cup rattled. “You should know that, Danny.”

  Out of the mouths of babes.

  “Thank you.” Ryn pushed her back into the chair and straightened her shoulders and took the half-filled coffee cup. “Tell Amber if she comes, I won’t see her. And tell her she won’t be singing at the memorial. Unless I’m in jail. In which case, I won’t be there and she can dance naked on his tombstone for all I give a damn.”

  Half an hour later, Ryn and Danny sat in the bright living room by themselves. The sun hurt her gritty eyes, but she was too tired to get up and close the drapes. Or to request Danny do it. As it was, she was barely holding onto the anger she wanted to spew out at him.

  He had sent Beau on a wild goose chase. He suggested Beau call room service—from one of the bedrooms—to collect the coffee and breakfast dishes. Beau’s eyes lit up at Danny’s confidence he could handle this mundane task—blissfully unaware of Danny’s manipulation. To ease her conscience, she told Beau he could order anything he wanted from the menu.

  The muffled flush of a toilet broke the silence. Danny said, “When Jericho comes back, I want to talk to him about you consulting with a friend of mine. He runs a sleep disorder clinic outside of San Francisco.

  Her mood swung instantly from fury to fear. “Maybe you should talk to me first.”

  “Exactly what I’m doing.”

  “I don’t agree.” Why would she want anyone poking around in the dark corners of her mind to find out why she couldn’t sleep?

  Legs wobbling, she managed to cross the room. She raised her arms—heavy as lead—and pulled the long plastic rod that opened and closed the sheer curtains behind the drapes. With her back to Danny, she announced, “Shrinks are down at the bottom of the food chain—along with slugs and other creepy things.”

  “Colin’s not. He’s a nice guy. We’ve known each other since we were kids in Chicago.”

  “Doesn’t change my mind. Forget pitching the idea to Jericho.”

  Beau skipped into the room. The paintings on the walls shifted and the room swayed.

  “I ordered a steak for me and strawberries for you, Ryn.” He started loading the service cart with the coffeepot, cups, and saucers. He held up the cream pitcher. “Can Maj have the rest?”

  A memory floated through Ryn’s head like a wispy cloud in a clear summer sky. She tried to grab the cloud, but Beau’s pleading claimed her attention.

  “Maj is awful hungry.”

  “Cream’s not good her, remember?” A touch of spite rode remember.

  Beau’s eyes lost their shine. His mouth drooped, but he stuck his thumb between his back teeth and chewed.

  Shiiit. Acid boiled in Ryn's stomach. Gnawing the edge of his thumb—a sure sign he was stressed to the max. She stroked the edge of one of the silk curtains and flashed on the silky, hand-made French sheets Stone had insisted they use on their king-sized bed. On concert tours, he always took along four or five sets of sheets. Ryn always expressed her open disdain.

  A thousand dollars for stupid sheets borders on the obscene.

  If you ever went to bed on them, you might sleep.

  Riiight. The cost keeps me awake at night.

  So sleep on the floor if it means you’ll stop bitching—

  “I forgot about the cream.” Beau hung his head

  Her anger evaporated. Beau was trying too hard to act like a grownup. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t pull that off with half the brain cells he was supposed to have. She forced a faux smile.

  “I’ve got an idea. Let’s go down to the lobby and ask Enrique to bring up some cat food.”

  “Yea. Yea.” Beau lumbered around the room like an excited elephant.

  “The lobby’s crawling with reporters,” Danny warned, getting to his feet.

  Ryn picked up her sunglasses, put them on, and tied her curly red hair in a knot at her neck. “Now I’m incognita.”

  “I’m telling you … gotta be at least twenty reporters and that many fans. You sure?”

  Beau stopped prancing, waiting, looking as if he expected Ryn to say they’d better forget her idea. On her own, she might blend in with the mob. With Beau next to her, she’d be as invisible as if they had a thousand-watt spotlight on them. Every kid with dreams of playing in a rock group dreamed of playing drums like Beau “Peep” Scott.

  “We don’t have to go …” Beau’s voice quavered. “I know you hate crowds.”

  Another point of contention between her and Stone. One he’d never accepted. He loved an audience. The bigger, the better. How did they ever get together?

  “Let’s go.” She opened the door. “Before Maj starves.”

  The presidential suite occupied the hotel’s top floor. A floor as wide and long as a football field separated the elevator from the door into the suite. A Waterford vase with roses, iris, and gladioli set under subdued lighting. Its reflection bounced off the elevator doors.

  Danny offered the penthouse key to Ryn. “The reporters watch the numbers over the elevator. They want to know who comes or goes from this floor. “They’ll be waiting …”

  “Forewarned.” Ryn stepped inside the vertical coffin—she hated elevators. The floor sank under Beau’s weight. Don’t be ridiculous.

  This elevator operated so efficiently she didn’t have time to feel the descent in the pit of her stomach. Beau nattered on about Maj. Danny stared at the control panel like a catatonic.

  The doors slid open. A hand stuck a mic in her face. A flashbulb blinded her.

  “Is it true you killed Stone while you were sleepwalking?”

  Chapter 7

  Jericho grilled Ryn for two hours that afternoon and left in disgust because she was uncooperative. He promised to return the next day. Which he did. And the next day, too. He kept pounding her about the melatonin. Amber denied giving it to her. That denial set her off.

  Amber hates me. She’d love to see me go to jail. She won’t admit to giving me the time of day … Round and round she and Jericho went. Neither giving an inch. Until she saw something in his craggy face that sent her heart vibrating between her ears, clanging so loud she was sure she’d teetered over the edge of a psychotic break.

  Jericho must’ve seen how close she was to becoming a basket case. A plea of insanity wouldn’t help his case against her. If she avoided a murder charge because she was crazy, all his expertise meant nothing. Abruptly, he stood and left, promising he’d return.

  I can hardly wait. She bit back the remark, went to her bedroom, and shut the door. Collapsing into a chair, she stared down at the lush and meticulous hotel garden and refused to answer. Danny knocked and called her name. She picked up a small vase of white roses. If he opens the door, I’ll deck him.

  After a while—ten minutes by her watch—he announced in a loud voice that he was going for a walk. Without Beau. She laughed. Beau made Danny big-time uncomfortable. Expecting Beau to tap on the door, she tensed. Her neck muscles were bunching, and her fingers curled involuntarily into two tight fists. When Beau didn’t knock at the end of another ten minutes, she exhaled through her mouth. Stuffing her thoughts into the pit under her heart, she flexed her fingers and massaged the muscles in her neck. She closed her eyes and exhaled again. Sleep didn’t come, but little by little, the intensity of her impatience with Danny and Jericho dropped from boil to simmer.

  Her watch chimed. Life goes on.

  For me at least. She opened her eyes. The sun had moved farther toward the ocean. She imagined the late afternoon rays bouncing off the water. She and Stone owned a place at Malibu. Maybe she should ask—tell—Jericho she wanted to move out of the hotel. Go with Beau to the beach. Rest. Remember what h
appened that night after she allegedly took the melatonin.

  She picked up the photo of her and Stone grinning into the camera—silly and happy and confident of the future. He seemed to wink and then say, “Oh, Jericho’s going to jump right on that idea.”

  An hour later, after a long shower and too much time dressing, Ryn returned to the living room. Beau, dressed in a clean white shirt and good black pants, was waiting. Disappointed, she pasted on a smile. Since she hadn’t reminded him, she’d hoped he’d forget their appointment. Nice, Ryn.

  “Do I look okay?” he asked, a slight quaver in his voice.

  “You look perfect.”

  “I won’t say a word.” He placed his hand over his heart. “I promise.”

  Feeling small and mean from her earlier frustration, she took his warm hand. “You can say whatever you want. You were Stone’s best friend.”

  Beau’s pink bottom lip trembled. “He loved you, Ryn.”

  The memory of those days when she’d been so sure of his love clawed at her throat. What happened? What happened to our life together?

  Beau stuck his thumb between his teeth, and she quickly let the questions go. Now wasn’t the time. She hooked her arm through Beau’s.

  “I have a clean handkerchief,” he said.

  “Don’t worry. I have a whole purse full of tissues,” she said.

  Forty-five minutes later, long, purple shadows filled the sheltered entrance into the Burbank Neptune Society. More than the approach of nightfall, half a dozen media vultures ratcheted Ryn’s melancholy up to depression. Who had tipped them off she’d be here after regular hours?

  “Maybe I should get out and keep those guys away from you,” Beau volunteered, rolling down his window. Behind a police cordon, the throng of reporters pushed and shoved each other.