Gateman continued. “According to the sheriff, Capleoni says he was told to check on you and had authority. I’m waiting for verification on that.”
“On whose authority?” she said. “I hired him to guard my daughter, and I’m the only one who can change his job.” She plunked down on the couch and unsuccessfully tried to picture the nice man she knew as Dwayne, writing scathing letters about torturing her.
The stalkers she’d known over the years always had a deranged look, and Dwayne didn’t fit the bill. Yellow, the girl who killed herself, had appeared desperate and breathless, more possessed as the obsession grew over the year she followed the band. She had alternated between threatening to kill Goldy and professing her love—something that turned vulgar and evil in time. Unfortunately, the FBI couldn’t find her. She’d been tricky, staying out of sight in the last few months. Until the final night. The stadium had long emptied but one audience member remained seated in the top corner of the last row. Security found her slumped in her seat, dead, pumped full of sleeping pills, drained of blood. If the pills hadn’t kill her, the blood loss would.
Three hours after his capture, Dwayne’s story checked out. He’d been convinced by Quinn to drive to the lake to check on her mother. Hearing the confirmation from Quinn, Nikki was furious that her daughter would do that. And that Dwayne would agree to such a scheme.
“I didn’t just want to get him out of my hair, Mom. I’m worried about you.” Quinn was in tears over the confusion and embarrassment she’d caused. “Mom, why did you call the FBI on Dwayne?” She was still blissfully ignorant of Shakespeare.
“Harold summoned them according to protocol.”
“I think it’s unsafe for you to be out there on your own. Please, Mom, get a bodyguard.”
A bodyguard would ruin everything. “No, sweetie. We’ve been through this. Don’t start with me.”
“Why me and not you? It makes no sense.” Quinn’s voice had risen to a squeak that Nikki recognized from childhood. If she didn’t redirect the conversation, it might not end well.
“You are amongst people. I’m living in a secluded, wilderness cabin. It’s different. Anyhow, I’m planning on coming to Seattle soon and I might get a bodyguard for that.”
“Dwayne?”
“Probably not. I’m sending him home, but you have to let me know if the press bothers you again. And in the future, don’t ever go over my head to change the plan.”
“I’m sorry.” Quinn’s voice was tiny and full of regret.
****
After the FBI cleared Dwayne, Nikki told Steve to send him home without stopping at Quinn’s. He’d insisted that his run through the woods was simply to verify Nikki was fine and then report back to Quinn without detection. Steve wanted to fire him, but Nikki vetoed that idea. Although Dwayne had made a serious mistake by disobeying orders, she could only imagine how persuasive Quinn had been in getting him to drive five hours to the lake for one glimpse of her mother. Nikki didn’t want to add to his problems by having him fired.
“Just put him on a time-out or something. I mean it.”
Steve sighed. “If that’s what you want.”
“He’s a good guy.” Even though he’d joined the tour late, Dwayne had been one of her favorites, always there when she needed him and never complaining about late nights, early mornings. She’d heard on tour that Dwayne had his share of personal problems and Nikki liked to take care of her family of people. “Just swear him to secrecy, will you. I don’t want my location known.”
****
The next day the sun rose in full force, and it was once again summer. While making breakfast, Nikki glanced out the kitchen window and saw Pete walking along the road toward her house. Her heart did a little dance at the sight of him. His body moved like a panther, with every muscle firing perfectly with minimum effort. The morning sun hit him from behind, giving him an ethereal look. God, he was handsome.
Nikki’s face flushed as she waited for his knock. When she didn’t hear one, she ran to the kitchen. When he disappeared around the bend in the road, disappointment hit her like a two-by-four.
Nikki opened the back door. Burn’s old plaid jacket hung from the doorknob, and a note was taped to the edge of the window.
“
Can’t do dinner. Connie.”
Before hanging the coat on the hook, Nikki absently held it to her face and breathed deeply. It smelled like Pete. Realizing what she’d done, and how his scent made her feel, she held the coat at arm’s length. “No, no, no,” she admonished herself, but Elvis heard and cowered at her feet, thinking he’d done something wrong. “Not you, big guy. Me. I gotta stop this crush I have on the crazy, married neighbor.” She tossed the coat into the dirty laundry hamper. It was best that the Bayers turned down her offer.
It was a perfect October day. The lake was too cold for swimming now. Yesterday’s rain had left a glistening on everything, bringing out the deepest green from the surrounding foliage. Little birds chirped as they flew from tree to bush and darted to the sandy beach in search of food.
Standing on the deck with a cup of tea, Nikki watched her boat bob alongside the dock as if nodding a good morning. Elvis’s ears rose and fell with the movement of the birds in front of him, his interest only heightened if they flew too close to his post on the grass.
Nikki brought her keyboard out to the deck’s table. Planting herself in front, she played randomly, drifting and flowing through a lilting melody, her fingers dancing across the keys. It was a pretty tune, and as she began to hum, she closed her eyes. It felt so good to make music, to take the tune into her heart and free it. She loved being able to put notes together, decide on a tempo, redirect the melody, change the tone of the piece to suit her mood. The gift of just being able to do this was something she never took for granted. Other people found their passion in running, gardening, but Nikki’s voice gave her such pleasure, it didn’t seem fair to all the women over the years who’d told her they wished they could sing. Singing had always been Nikki’s release and her joy. The fact that she sounded as good as she did and had been able to sustain a career doing what she loved, was the true gift. Nikki never wanted to forget that.
She’d loved the piano since she was a child, though she’d eventually become famous for playing the electric guitar. Years after debuting as the guitar-playing singer with the band Goldy, she started to resent that instrument for its inability to make her as happy as the piano. But the guitar suited her rock image better in the beginning, allowing her emergence from behind the confines of the piano. Strutting and dancing eventually became more important than the guitar, and in the last few years, she’d only picked it up for a song or two in her show.
Nikki watched Half Moon Bay as she played the little keyboard. A group of ducks headed to the cattails at the bottom of the bay. She switched tunes, launching into a song she’d written months before but had forgotten about.
“Have you ever been alone?
Have you ever been afraid?
When no one left would talk to you,
Because of what you had to do,
Have you ever been alone?”
She’d written the song in Houston, knowing that soon she would announce her retirement and quit the life she’d known. When it was time to board the bus to Dallas, she made everyone wait while she finished the song. It had never been recorded.
When she saw Pete across the bay, sitting on his front steps, Nikki softened her voice, wondering if he knew she was Goldy. Probably.
“They avoid your eyes,
They avoid your path,
They can’t be part of what you do
And in their way they’re damning you
They avoid your eyes.
And baby, you’ll have to get me through,
Cause maybe, they’ll need to know the truth
And you know, I cannot run and hide.
Someday, in the years ahead, they’ll see my side.”
He was still listening, his head resting in his hands. He wouldn’t hear the words, only a fuzzy melody from that distance.
“Have you ever felt alone?
Have you ever felt afraid?
When no one else would talk to you,
Because of what you had to do.
Have you ever felt alone?”
She looked up, and Pete was gone. It was wrong to sing with hopes of impressing him, but her feelings for Pete were strangely exciting and as long as she avoided him, Nikki figured it was harmless.
“He doesn’t like my music, Elvis.” Getting up from the keyboard, she called Harold Gaines for her daily check-in while Elvis frantically raced around looking for his favorite squeaky toy. After leaving a message on the sheriff’s voicemail, Nikki picked up Elvis’s well-chewed plastic alligator and threw it across the room.
Next, she phoned Phyllis to ask what the world was saying about her. According to Phyllis’s report, the media fire had been freshly fanned by the fact that Burn was openly dating Rebecca Raven, barely old enough to go clubbing with him. Phyllis didn’t have the luxury of ignoring Burn since he’d rehired her as his publicist. “He’s gone public with the teenager.” Hollywood’s most talented publicist did not waste words. “Someone else will take the spotlight soon. We just need someone to get a DUI or enter rehab…”
“Watch it,” Nikki warned. Quinn was only eighteen months out of rehab.
“Oh, sorry, hon, but you know what I mean. If someone else has a disaster, you’ll be old news.”
“Yes, Phyllis.” Nikki’s weary tone matched her energy level. “Okay, we’ll ride it out. If only Burn would attach his name to a cause or start dating someone who did charitable work for the homeless, he’d look so much better in the press.” She smirked at the thought.
Over the years, Goldy had been asked to support many causes and did her share of charity work. Eventually she’d formed a foundation, hired trustworthy people to run it, and donated part of all her proceeds to the charities it supported. This became Nikki’s sole reason to make such shameful truckloads of money over the last decade. One day, Quinn hoped to run it when her education was complete and she had some experience under her belt.
“If the Foundation rebuilds a school damaged by the recent hurricane,” Phyllis said, “and we put Burn’s name on it, his public likeability would increase.”
Nikki agreed. But the idea of him taking time to work on something like this would have to be delivered to him on a silver platter. She’d do the initial ground work, as usual, then, once they needed photos, Nikki would slide Burn in behind the helm. She’d email the Foundation team.
Happy to be involved in a project again, Nikki hummed around the house all day until her mood was broken by a call from Agent Gateman.
“Sorry, Nikki, but we got a letter today.”
Her eyes flew to the computer screen beside her. “Send it.” Nikki needed to read it to determine her level of fear. In the time it took to tap a key, the letter was in front of her, cryptic as usual.
My beauteous flower, Goldy,
I am getting weary waiting for you and may have to act sooner than later.
My love is changing daily with disuse.
I tell myself that “Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but Love.”
However I feel my love for you is evolving into something more sweetly evil, if that’s possible. Why a remote lake?
I wait for your return but cannot love without a promise.
Give me a sign.
Tell me you know me.
I am nearer than you think.
Signed,
The one you call “Shakespeare”
Oh, God. He knew she was at a lake. He hadn’t identified the lake though. The words were not hideous. No descriptions of torture. It was almost a love letter. “Postmark?”
“L.A., two days ago,” Gateman said.
“I think he might be backing off. What do you guys think?”
“Possible.”
“I’m thinking he doesn’t know exactly where I am.”
“Hard to say, but I think it’s time to tell you that I haven’t wanted to take any chances with this guy.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that I have a man watching you.”
“What? Where?” Nikki hadn’t seen anyone suspicious.
“You’ll never see our agent, I assure you.”
Being a rock star and mega-celebrity, she was used to people watching her but still felt disappointment at the news. “Is he watching me now?”
“No one’s looking in the windows or anything.”
“His name isn’t Pete Bayer is it?”
“The guy next door? No.”
She detected a pause. “How do you know the name of the guy next door?”
“The arrest of Dwayne Capleoni. Nikki, we only want you to be safe.” Gateman paused. “We had to clear Pete Bayer.”
What did that mean? Nikki couldn’t get any more information from Gateman but knew he wouldn’t let her flail unprotected in the wilderness. Was Pete Bayer the agent? If so, what was he doing kissing her? Regardless of all the unanswered questions, it didn’t feel intrusive to know someone was close. But if Pete was the agent, why would he bring his wife and child on the job and then act so strangely? No. That didn’t fit at all.
****
Harold Gaines called early the next morning to warn Nikki that there were suspicious-looking characters lurking around town, asking questions about Goldy. Nikki groaned at the possibility of who they might be.
“What do you want me to do?” Harold snapped his gum.
“Oh geez, Harold…let me think…how many?”
“Two.”
“Asking where I live?”
“Yup.”
She wasn’t sure someone in town wouldn’t sell her privacy for a hundred dollar bill or a five-year subscription to People magazine but knew it wouldn’t be Harold. She imagined the sheriff sitting in his chair, staring out the window just waiting to run someone out of his town.