Murder at The Blues Stop Read online

  He hadn’t said a word on the way back and waited outside while I changed for work. I’m not going to lie, his silence made me a little anxious. And the sudden quiet between us weighed on me. “You seem distracted, like you should be someplace else.”

  Shane slowly shook his head before looking at me. “Maybe you should go back to Florida. I’m afraid you might get…”

  I shook my head. “Please.” Suddenly, I had an urgent need to stay right here, and it had nothing to do with the potential scorn of my family. Okay, maybe a tiny bit. “I have nothing to do with any of this.”

  “But you might end up as collateral damage just by being close to me if things heat up.”

  I chuckled. “Nobody would call us close. Let’s be honest. We barely tolerate each other most days.”

  “True.” He smiled and stopped in front of The Blues Stop. “I’ll be in later. I’ve got some things to take care of.” He came around to help me out of the car. When he grasped my arm, I had this weird sensation that he was going to kiss me. Which took the absurdity of the day to a whole other level.

  I turned to look at him as I walked to the door. “Okay...hmm…I guess I’ll see you then.”

  ***

  When Shane arrived some time later, I sensed sadness in his slouched posture along with the defeated expression on his face as he walked inside. “What’s going on?” Call me crazy, but I needed to know what had him so preoccupied.

  “Tony Marcos was stabbed in prison. They’re not sure if he’s going to make it.”

  I let out a sound that resembled a combination of a squeak and a moan. A shiver raced up and down my arms, and an eerie sensation rattled my bones. I felt a sudden urge to sit and gather my thoughts.

  Shane nodded in a distracted kind of way as if he were trying to think through a solution in his head. “Tony didn’t want me to testify on his behalf. I’d stake my life that he or his family were being threatened. I should have paid attention.” He blew out a breath.

  I gulped, knowing the answer before I even asked the question. “Do you think that’s why he was attacked?”

  He nodded. “I have to figure out a way to prove it.”

  Okay, that sounded pretty darn dangerous, even for Shane. But I wanted him to keep talking. I wanted to know what he was thinking. “Are you sure getting shot at earlier isn’t also connected? Those cops seemed awfully angry.”

  He gave me a slight smile. “You think those who are supposed to serve and protect might have taken matters into their own hands? I thought I was the one who didn’t trust cops.”

  “I’m just saying...well...I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess that it seems awfully coincidental.”

  “We’ll never know. It’s not like any of the boys in blue are going to admit it.”

  “But maybe if you filed a report about the incident—”

  “That’ll only give them satisfaction. The way I see it, no harm no foul.” He shrugged. “Besides, I already had the window fixed—A-1 Auto Glass Company. Good as new.”

  “But—” Why couldn’t he see that not every cop on the force was bad, or that going through channels might be a good option?

  “Forget it, Princess. Not going to happen.”

  Considering that for once he was in the mood to talk, I thought I’d try another tactic instead of arguing with him. “Do you often work with a defense lawyer?”

  It took him a couple of beats to respond. “Sometimes. Garrett and I did investigative work for Vince when we got out of the Army and were working on getting our degrees. He works with the Innocence Project out of Northwestern Law School so he takes in a few pro bono cases. Most of the time, he’ll ask us to track down some potential witnesses, that kind of thing.”

  I nodded as I tried to think of something else to say. He looked as if he wanted to keep talking, but I felt way out of my league. I didn’t know where to go with my questions. As it turned out, I didn’t need to go anywhere with the conversation. For once, he was the blabby one.

  “Something’s been off about the evidence from the beginning. Everything is too neat and tidy, like it was planted. Crime scenes never work that way. And the deeper I dug, the more confusing the whole thing got. The person supplying the iron-clad alibi for the defendant suddenly turned up missing. Then Tony gets attacked in prison.” Lost in thought, Shane stared into space.

  “Maybe I could help you.” All right, I was stretching my luck, but it seemed like a noble gesture. Caught up in the moment, I wanted to help out. But then he laughed. And suddenly, choking him seemed like a viable alternative.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Shane struggled to keep his laughter contained. The guy barely knew how to crack a smile but found the idea of me playing the part of a detective oh-so-amusing.

  “Why?” Though I could think of a hundred different reasons why I’d be the last person anyone would want help from, I didn’t need him to agree with my assessment.

  “This isn’t like singing or flirting or shopping.”

  “Duh.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m not an idiot.”

  “I never said you were. But sometimes these things can get dangerous.” He spoke in that patronizing tone my brother Enrique used, and since I felt some kind of lecture coming on, I decided the sliver of peace between us must have come and gone.

  “Singing at a blues club can get dangerous, but you don’t see me running away.” Except for now. I grabbed my usual water with lemon from behind the bar, along with one for Donna, and went in search of her. Right now, I needed a friendly face to soothe my bruised ego.

  Before I made it to the back, two men came inside. At five forty-five, the place wasn’t technically open for business even though the door was unlocked.

  I suspected Shane was about to tell them that when he stopped short, a scowl on his face. “What can I do for you, Officers?” He gave me a quick glance that said, ‘Didn’t I tell you this would happen?’

  I felt guilty, especially when I remembered I had left a message for Patrick a few hours earlier. Suspecting it might be the reason for their visit and hoping to circumvent even more trouble, I walked to the front. “Good evening. May I help you?”

  The rounder of the two men studied me for a second or two with the patented I-don’t-need-to-be-bothered-with-you cop look. He chewed on a piece of gum for emphasis. “Doubt it.”

  The other didn’t acknowledge my presence, instead zoning in on Shane.

  Rather than leave, I hung around to see what they wanted. It couldn’t hurt. And maybe I might be able to diffuse some of the testosterone floating around.

  They plunked their substantial behinds on two stools along the bar and unfolded a piece of paper. Their faces impassive, one of them slid the note in front of Shane. Curious, I slipped around the back of the bar to stand next to him.

  “Know her?” The men didn’t bother to put up a pretext of being nice.

  Even more curious, I peeked at the photo. A woman was lying spread-eagled, her clothes ripped and torn, her face a battered mass of bruises, with what must have once been blonde hair caked in blood. “Oh my God.” My breath hitched. “That woman must be dead.” Stating the obvious once again.

  Shane’s jaw locked, and his eyes went half-mast. “That’s Annie Taylor. She used to sing here.”

  My stomach churned while my mind raced. This was the drug addict/singer, the one who went missing. And now she was dead. Holy crapola.

  One of the cops took out a pad of paper and started to jot down notes. “When did you last see her?”

  Shane crossed his arms and leaned against the counter in back of the bar. From his relaxed posture, you would have thought this kind of thing happened to him every day. It was his ever-so-tight jaw that gave him away. “The last night she worked was toward the end of July. I’d have to get a calendar and her last pay stub to tell you the exact date.”

  “That’s a long time. You didn’t report her missing?”

  Shane put a bar straw in his mouth and ch
ewed on it. No doubt it kept his jaw from popping out of the socket. “I’m not family. She didn’t show up for work. I moved on.”

  “Did you have an argument with her?”

  Shane placed his hands onto the bartop and leaned over toward the cops. To my way of thinking, his body language, even without his general attitude, was going to get him brought down to the station. “You know damn well I did. The woman was higher than a kite. She couldn’t perform to save her soul most of the time.”

  “Probably made you angry,” one said.

  “Angry enough to kill her,” the other followed with.

  They weren’t even playing good cop/bad cop. They were just playing bad cop/bad cop.

  “Sure. That makes a lot of sense. Because the woman had marginal talent, was a drug addict, and couldn’t stand upright, let alone remember the words to a song, I killed her because that would...hmmm...what exactly would that do for me, Officers?” Shane’s voice actually got quieter but somehow managed to become even more forceful.

  “You were in Special Forces in the Army. You know how to kill people.”

  “It doesn’t take Special Forces training to know how to kill. Any idiot with a gun or a knife can do that.” His smirk made his inference clear. “Where did you find her?”

  While I didn’t know Shane well, I knew he wasn’t going to back down, and from the look of things, neither were they.

  “The Westside.”

  “Shocking. A drug addict turns up dead in the middle of drug central. Gee, I wonder what happened.”

  “Maybe you killed her and dumped the body there so we’d come to the obvious conclusion.”

  “Even in this picture I can see the fresh needle marks. It doesn’t take a genius to figure this one out. So back off or arrest me.”

  The cops glanced at each other as if calculating their next move. Finally, one of them looked at me. I wasn’t sure if it was for a specific reason or simply gave him time to think.

  “Did you know the deceased?”

  Relieved they’d shifted their attention from Shane, I didn’t even mind they were focused on me. “Never met her. I’m her replacement.”

  “How bad did you want this job?”

  I rubbed my fingertips along the side of the glass filled with water. “Let me put it this way. They’re paying me a thousand bucks a week plus expenses. I’ve made twice that before. I’ve made half that before. I’m a singer. It’s what I do. I don’t have a whole lot of trouble finding jobs.” That part was kind of a fib, but I didn’t want them to think I was desperate.

  “What’s your name?”

  I gave him the information. After he took it down, they went in search of Mack and Donna.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I was beginning to believe Shane’s prediction of trouble, especially when Patrick strolled in later, surrounded by a posse of friends. Based on their raucous behavior, I’d bet they’d all had a couple rounds of beer and came here spoiling for a fight.

  Shane seemed more withdrawn than usual as he manned his station behind the bar. I could tell Annie’s death bothered him more than he’d let on earlier. Either that or he was still plagued by thoughts of Tony.

  Mack was being Mack, but a little more anxious than normal. Donna spent a lot of time crying, having known Annie personally.

  On the other hand, I tried to maintain the status quo and hope all hell didn’t break loose even though it felt as if it might at any second. While I sat at the bar trying to worm more than simple one-word answers from Shane, Patrick came up and grabbed my hand.

  “Come on, Gabriella. Let’s dance. We can talk about why you need me.”

  Rather than watch Shane’s reaction, I ushered a slightly inebriated Patrick onto the dance floor. My personal breathalyzer test on Patrick was holding at about a six point five, making him close to obnoxiously drunk.

  He chose a slow dance, probably because he couldn’t stand upright without me to lean on. I wore a short, tight, black leather skirt that hugged my hips just below my belly button. Lengths of gold chain linked around the top like a belt and a black Lycra t-shirt stopped two or three inches above the skirt, exposing my midriff.

  His fingertips tickled the length of my exposed spine as he moved. It didn’t feel icky, but it also wasn’t something I welcomed.

  “You call because you’re sick and tired of putting up with an asshole like Shane?” His breath whispered against the column of my neck as a combined smell of beer and whiskey wafted between us.

  “No...I mean yes. Not about Shane…necessarily.” I shook my head and pushed back to get some space. Getting him involved in a purse-snatching incident now seemed frivolous so I stuck with something more important. “This gig will be over soon, and you mentioned you had some connections. I was wondering if you could help me line up some interviews.”

  While I didn’t necessarily want to stay in Chicago, I felt a need to not only see this gig to completion but to explore other opportunities here as well. Plus, it was wicked hot in Miami this time of year…and yeah, this thing between Shane and me needed a little exploration.

  “I could get you a job tomorrow. One a hell of a lot better than this. Why do you stay here? Shane’s a prick.”

  I ignored his comment. “Why didn’t you tell me he was your brother?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t think of him as my brother. Never did really. We’re not blood.” His narrow definition of family was sad for both of them.

  “Why?”

  “Loved to show how much better he was than me at everything from sports to women.”

  “Shouldn’t you have outgrown the sibling rivalry thing by now?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re falling for him? He’s an ass, always out for himself, never caring about anybody else. Killed the only mom I ever knew just as sure as I’m standing here.”

  The crazy notion that Shane had been responsible somehow for his mother’s death seemed ludicrous. From experience, I knew most people had a tendency to point the finger at others when something went wrong rather than admit there wasn’t anyone to blame. That remained my own personal go-to when things went to hell. I blamed everything from the wrong outfit to the stars being misaligned when things went off the rails.

  “Are you saying he took out a gun and shot her? Or maybe wielded a knife and stabbed her?” I couldn’t help noticing there was a whole lot of anger behind my words, although I couldn’t pinpoint why.

  He slowly shook his head. “But that doesn’t mean he didn’t cause it.”

  “You’re a cop. You should know there’s no waffling in murder. He either did the deed and should be in jail, or it was an unfortunate accident, something that just happened and was nobody’s fault.”

  “His soulful looks and war wounds have gotten to you too.” He pulled away, seeming much more sober than he had minutes earlier.

  “I’m saying brothers should act like brothers. They should be there when they need each other, not be each other’s worst enemy.”

  “And I don’t need a lecture from you.”

  “Tough.”

  He glanced at Shane, then came in close, giving me a soft kiss on the cheek along with a cocky smile. “Thanks for the dance, Gabriella. I’ll get back to you on the other stuff.”

  “Anytime, Patrick.”

  I mumbled thanks before making my way off the floor. Anxious to have some breathing space, I stumbled through the poorly lit hallway and out the back door.

  Once I got outside, I sucked in the sultry night air and leaned against the brick. Between the news of Annie’s death, the attack on Tony, and a group of drunken police officers showing up and looking for trouble, a weird vibe had permeated the club. A mix of emotions tumbled through my thoughts, turning my mood even more somber as I struggled to distance myself from reality.

  While I collected my thoughts, a black Cadillac slowly made its way down the alley. I didn’t pay much attention until it stopped on the other side of the dumpster. While I thought it was a little strang
e, I didn’t think much about it until I heard Mack along with another man’s voice coming from that direction. While I couldn’t catch the words, the underlying tone raised the hackles on the back of my neck. While there wasn’t outright shouting, there seemed to be an undercurrent of hostility or anger laced in the tone. After everything else that had happened today, thinking Mack could have got himself in deep with a loan shark would be the icing on this shitshow of an evening.

  As I thought about the possibility, I remembered Mack being AWOL for stretches of time during certain evenings for no apparent reason. The scenario followed a familiar pattern where Shane would get pissed and ask Donna and me if we knew where Mack had gone. We wouldn’t, and he’d grumble and walk away. I never thought about it much before as I’d always thought Shane was being controlling, or Mack was being lazy, or some combination of the two, but now I had to wonder.

  I glanced at my watch to pinpoint the time and figure out a pattern to his disappearances. As I tried to put two and two together, a car door slammed, and Mack came around the dumpster, heading toward the back door.

  “Gabriella, what are you doing back here? You should be inside.” He pushed me toward the door, but I resisted and moved out of his grasp.

  “I needed air. Who were you talking with?” The unmistakable guilt he displayed made me curious. Maybe Shane wasn’t so paranoid after all.

  He shrugged but still looked guilty as hell. “Just some guy looking for directions.”

  Mack clearly couldn’t lie well. But I didn’t have the energy to press him on it. Not then. And not later as it turned out as the tension inside the club seemed to go from bad to worse during the course of the evening.

  An undercurrent of restlessness seemed to have invaded the audience. I couldn’t help but wonder if my distractedness had impacted my performance. Between song four and five of the set, voices escalated in the corner of the room. It just so happened to be the table of cops. Coincidence? Nope. They’d been angling for a fight all evening. Pretty soon, chairs tumbled back, and a glass or two shattered to the floor. Before I knew it, two men were trading punches.