The Song Never Dies Page 6

  “But, at the very least, it would be the end of the music biz for both of you? And probably end of the road for Sarinda B and her YouTube channels and her millions of fans around the world. No?”

  Jack looked at them — his grim words making both of their faces fall.

  Not something they’d like to happen … that was for sure.

  And with that, he turned and headed out of the smoky room, and down the hallway and out into the bright sunshine and Cotswold stone of Bourton-on-the-Hill.

  As he passed through the gate, he saw the Dominos pizza man turn up on his little bike. The guy climbed off and pushed up his visor.

  “This number 48?” he said.

  “It is,” said Jack. “They’re waiting for you. But I’ve got a feeling they may have lost their appetite.”

  He walked on down the High Street, leaving the pizza guy standing bemused outside Nick Taylor’s rented house.

  And thinking … is there anybody involved in this case who isn’t lying?

  10. The Drummer’s Wife

  Sarah heard her phone ring; this week’s ringtone, a fanfare.

  Sometimes she wished the thing just ‘rang’, the way phones used to. Now phones chirped, trilled, sang, and replicated every sound — musical or not — known to humanity.

  Her phone, as was often the case these days, sat on her desk, getting a recharge. Between calls to Jack, checking up on the kids, emergencies from Grace on a project — its battery seemed unmatched for her busy life.

  Must look into an upgrade, she thought.

  Grace was still out to lunch.

  In fact, Sarah suspected that Grace might have a new beau; for now, she hadn’t asked her about that.

  Though with Grace being a good friend as well as an employee Sarah knew ultimately she would ask — if Grace didn’t volunteer the information.

  Grace was well overdue for something serious.

  Or even something not so serious.

  Listen to me! Sarah thought.

  Full of romantic advice for Grace when maybe I should be doing something about that in my own life.

  Still, something in her said she herself still wasn’t ready for that.

  But she also felt, it would have to be soon.

  Enough time had passed to forget the pain of what her ex-husband had done.

  Time to move on.

  Sarah caught her phone on the fourth ‘ta-da’, seeing it was Jack.

  “So how’d it go with the rock star?” she said.

  She listened as Jack described the house, the loud music, the laconic Nick and an impulsive, flighty Sarinda.

  “He got mad? Just by you asking him about the issue with song?”

  “Very,” Jack said. “Not an accusation that he wanted to deal with.”

  “But it’s still only an accusation. No evidence that Nick might have done something to Alex?”

  Jack hesitated a moment. “Guess not. I still need to track down Chris Wickes. He’s staying at the hotel. Think I’ll pop over there. Catch him off-guard.”

  “Right. Reminds me, I’ve got the Dumfords’ address. Little house just off the main road.”

  “Thinking of going there now?”

  “Why not? This time of day Will must be at the country store. I do vaguely know Lauren. Could get her alone.”

  “Ask her if she heard any of the fighting?”

  “Will do. Either way — though I doubt she’s the party type — she was there that night. Another pair of eyes …”

  “Good. And I’ll let you know how it goes with Wickes.”

  Then Sarah heard footsteps on the stairs, Grace coming back.

  “Ah, gotta dash. Speak later.”

  Then she plugged the phone back into the charger.

  Grace came in breathlessly. Just a nod, and she raced to her computer.

  “Nice lunch?” Sarah asked.

  Grace smiled, but kept her eyes on her monitor as the computer came back to life.

  “Bit late.” Another look. “Sorry.”

  “Are you kidding? Grace — with all the extra time you’ve given our little business here …”

  She intentionally used the word ‘our’. That was another discussion she’d have to have with Grace soon.

  For now though she wanted to talk about something else.

  “Lunch … on your own?”

  Sarah smiled, as Grace slowly turned. “Um, no actually.”

  “Good. I want to hear all about it — your lunch companion. But I have to head out for a bit. Can you hold the fort?”

  Grace smiled back, “No problem.”

  Sarah unplugged her phone and headed down the stairs and to her RAV-4.

  *

  Sarah looked through one of the small windows of the front door into the Dumford house.

  And what a modest home it was. More of a cottage. A little garden at the back. Maybe three tiny bedrooms? The place looked well kept though.

  But her knock brought no answer.

  Maybe Lauren was out?

  Maybe she’d have to try later.

  But then a silver Vauxhall came around the corner, and slid into the space in front of the house.

  The driver — Lauren Dumford — got out, walked back to the boot, popped it open and hauled out two large bags of groceries.

  She hadn’t seen Sarah at all.

  Until she had walked up the narrow gravel path to the front door.

  “Oh, I didn’t see you …”

  “Can I help you with those, Lauren?”

  “Sarah, right? You run that shop, doing printing, that right?”

  Sarah smiled. “Among other things.”

  Sarah extended a hand to take one overfilled bag of groceries.

  But Lauren said: “Thanks. Maybe just open the door for me. It’s never locked. If I give you one of these, I’m sure the other will fall!”

  Sarah turned to the door handle and opened the way for Lauren.

  As she walked through the open door, Lauren asked the obvious.

  “How exactly can I help you, Sarah?”

  Sarah waited at the doorway until Lauren had deposited the two bags back on the kitchen table and came back out.

  “Well, Lauren … I was wondering if I could talk to you? About the party at Alex King’s. What happened that night.”

  Sarah guessed that as a ‘local’, Lauren would have heard of what she and Jack did as a side line.

  Lauren chewed her lower lip.

  Was that little gesture revealing something?

  “Um, to be honest, I was about to put the groceries away and get the kids’ dinner on.”

  “I can talk while you work.” Then a small smile. “Maybe even help. I’ve got two of my own, I know the drill.”

  No quick smile back from the woman.

  And then Lauren managed the smallest of nods: “Okay. I suppose. I’m not sure I can tell you much though.”

  Sarah stepped in, shutting the door behind her.

  *

  Lauren had peeled carrots and now was dicing them.

  Conveniently keeping her eyes looking down.

  Though Sarah had offered to help — a Shepherd’s pie was on the menu for this evening — the cramped kitchen’s counter space only allowed one person the space to work.

  Still, she could stand there and ask questions, all accompanied by the clacking of the knife blade on the cutting board.

  *

  “Still not back?” Jack said to the young woman behind the front desk at the Bell Hotel.

  “No, Mr. Wickes’s room key is still here. And I’d know anyway if he was back.”

  “Really, Sally? Why is that?”

  The girl smiled.

  “Haven’t you heard that thing he rides? That motorcycle …”

  In fact, Jack had — just yesterday — heard a throaty bike racing through the streets.

  So that was Wickes.

  Hard man to track down.

  Looked like trying to casually bump into him might be no ea
sy matter.

  “I’ll keep checking,” Jack said with a smile.

  Which is when he heard a rattling roar from outside.

  Not exactly a Cherringham-like sound, Jack knew.

  From outside the hotel’s small car park, the vibrations of the motorcycle’s engine rumbled right into the lobby.

  “Guess that must be the elusive Mr. Wickes …”

  Sally smiled and nodded while Jack turned and walked away from the front desk, out of the lobby to the ornate doors that led outside.

  *

  Lauren had moved on to mushrooms, now using a smaller paring knife to quarter the small mushroom caps.

  Far cry from the glamorous life of a rock star’s wife, Sarah thought.

  It must have been strange for her to be at Alex King’s, then return to her sleepy, suburban life here.

  And still — Lauren kept her head down as she chopped.

  Keeping her head … a little too low.

  Sarah took a step closer and decided to dig a bit deeper.

  “That night — you heard the fighting, the arguments?”

  Again — no glance from the chef.

  “Hmm?”

  “The fighting. Between Alex, Nick. Chris. Over the band’s plans and that song?”

  “I don’t think—”

  “You weren’t there? Your husband says he was?”

  That made Lauren look up fast.

  “You talked to Will?”

  So Will didn’t tell Lauren about me and Jack, thought Sarah.

  That in itself was interesting.

  Her instinct told her to play down Will’s involvement.

  “We’ve talked to a couple of people who were there.”

  Lauren finished her last mushroom, put down the short knife and wiped her hands on her apron.

  “All right. Yes. I knew they were arguing. They’ve always argued. I just didn’t see it myself. So I really don’t know what was said.”

  “I see,” said Sarah.

  How convenient.

  But suggesting an even more important question.

  “Then, just let me get this straight. Where were you? At the party, I mean. By yourself somewhere? Some place where you couldn’t hear a thing?”

  For a moment, it seemed as if Lauren was considering that as a reasonable answer.

  Her eyes looked away.

  If ever Sarah had met someone hiding something, it was this woman trying to cower behind her dinner preparations.

  Then — maybe realising that if she had been with others at the party Sarah might already know who that was.

  Instead, Lauren said, “Um, no. When they were all arguing, I wasn’t really in the house. I went out … for some air.”

  She left the big fancy party? Walked out to the gardens?

  For air? And she expects me to buy that?

  *

  Jack watched Chris Wickes pull off his helmet, a silver full-face model, then give his long dark hair a shake.

  Quite the entrance, Jack thought.

  Biker. Rock star. Still has his hair. Though Jack could see lines of grey in it.

  Jack walked over as Wickes killed the engine on the big Harley.

  “That a CVO?” Jack asked.

  There had been a time that — along with his interest in sports cars, Jack thought of getting a Harley.

  But when a good friend — off duty cop, riding from NYC to Adirondacks, got rear-ended and killed by a hyped-up trucker, Jack thought better of it.

  Four wheels are better than two.

  And a doctor he knew hit the nail on the head, calling them ‘donor cycles’.

  Still, this was one impressive machine.

  “Yeah. The limited version,” Wickes said.

  The cycle was a brilliant gold and black, with the chrome-plated engine gleaming in the sunlight.

  And the motorcycle featured a raised passenger seat, perfect for whatever female Wickes wowed as he roared into town.

  “You ride?” Wickes said, now sliding off the bike.

  “Oh, no. Still, got to admire the craftsmanship. Set you back a pretty penny?”

  “Penny? You from the States?”

  Jack nodded and smiled.

  Wickes obviously liked having this expensive machine being fawned over.

  But after another slow glance, from front to rear, Jack turned to Wickes, who was standing next to him, enjoying all that appreciation.

  “Say. Been wanting to bump into you.”

  Wickes smile faded.

  “Had some questions to ask.”

  The smile turned into scowl.

  And Jack knew — this would not be easy.

  11. Liar, Liars ….

  Sarah forced herself to wait. Another technique she had learned from Jack.

  Slow things down.

  If someone was lying or hiding something, it’s good to let it all hang a bit.

  Let those bits of doubt and self-questioning creep in.

  Then: “For air? Walked out. By yourself?”

  The quickest of nods.

  “How long were you out there. A minute? A few minutes? Longer?”

  The difficulty of making something up was closing in on Lauren Dumford.

  Sarah had to admit it, this part always felt like fun.

  Bit of a hunt to it all …

  Lauren had turned back to her worktop now — unfortunately — empty of any task that she could use to occupy herself.

  “I — er — I’m not sure. Just went out. Walked around.”

  Another trap she just walked into. If you give a bit of what sounds like a detail then you’d better know exactly what that detail is.

  “Where exactly did you ‘walk’ around? Down to the pool house maybe?”

  And now fully boxed in … cornered, she saw Lauren shift her tone.

  “The pool house? No. I don’t … know where. And where I went walking that night can’t have anything to do with their stupid arguing. And anyway I have to get back to this. My family is going to be home any minute and they like their dinner served on time.”

  Sarah smiled.

  Though Lauren hadn’t really told her anything much.

  She did get one thing.

  That inside this little kitchen, Lauren Dumford had told her anything but the truth ….

  The drummer’s wife had a secret.

  The big question: what kind of secret?

  “Thanks,” Sarah said, turning, while she felt the now-shaken Lauren’s eyes boring into the back of her skull.

  *

  “A Yank with questions. I’m kinda busy, Mr.—”

  “Jack.”

  “And what would your questions be about … Jack?”

  “Alex Kings’ party, his death. The fighting. All the band. Threats Alex made towards Nick.”

  “Crazy Alex … Sad when someone loses it, hmm, Jack? Alex thinking that was his song. Yeah, sad to see really, all drugged up, accusations flying.”

  Wickes held his giant helmet in his right hand as if he might use it as a battering ram to get Jack out of his face.

  “I’ve heard that Alex said he had evidence the song was his. Sounds like more than an accusation.”

  “Really? Then where the hell is that bloody evidence? I don’t remember Alex ever playing it. Besides, Nick knows his way around building a song. Then he got lucky with that little floozy of his. That’s the music business. And our dear old leader couldn’t handle it.”

  Jack nodded.

  An elderly couple — the hotel’s normal patrons for its rather old school dinner — walked past the two men. The dapper old man in a waistcoat and jacket, his wife in a crisp dress and pink hat.

  Jack waited until they passed out of earshot.

  “But what — Chris … what if there was evidence?”

  Jack realised that even though Wickes had no interest in answering questions, here he was …

  Answering anyway.

  “Hmm?”

  “You think someone, say Nick, might be
a bit worried about that?”

  Wickes licked his lips.

  Good guitarist — or so it was rumoured. Killer with the ladies.

  But the bulbs in his brain — after all the years of partying — might be running a bit slow in turning on.

  “Think someone might want Alex gone?”

  “Gone?”

  “Dead. Tell me — how angry, how upset was Nick?”

  Wickes said nothing.

  “I—” then Wickes stopped himself. Looked away. “I got plans, Jack. And talking to you is making me late.”

  He gave his helmet a heft.

  Did Wickes have a short fuse? Jack had felt him getting more taut by the moment.

  Jack smiled.

  “Just asking questions.”

  “Yeah. Right.” Wickes took a breath. “Sure.”

  Then he turned and walked back into the Bell Hotel.

  And Jack looked down at the now rider-less Harley.

  What a beauty.

  Then looking back Wickes disappeared into the tweedy hotel …

  And thinking: What a liar.

  *

  Sarah walked up the plank to the deck of Jack’s boat.

  The smell of fish drifted up from the open door that led down into the saloon of the Grey Goose.

  And the sound of Sarinda’s hit was coming from the depths of the boat.

  She went through the wheelhouse, then down the steps into the galley and saw Jack at the small gas stove, while Riley, squatted close by.

  “Bit early for dinner, isn’t it?”

  Jack turned around, big smile on his face.

  “Hey, didn’t expect you. I’ll get another plate.”

  “No, I just thought I’d stop by, touch base on this case … that is, if it is a case. Sounds like you’re taking it seriously though, Jack.”

  She gestured to Jack’s iPod on its speaker cradle.

  “Thought I’d better hear this damned song that everyone’s talking about.”

  “And?”

  “First I thought it was no big deal. But — second time I played it, I was joining in. And now …”

  “You like it?”

  “Kid’s got a cute voice. And let’s just say … I appreciate the art that’s gone into the song.”

  “Praise indeed.”

  “Hey, ‘La Boheme’ it ain’t. But it’s one helluva ballad. Kinda sad too, when you listen to the words.”

  “First love always is.”

  “Aha! You know the words too.”