in him, so I showed up at Brookeâs with time to spare. I walked through the bar. No Stu. I went through the same door as last time and stepped into the hall. I knocked on the office door where Iâd found Brooke before. No one home. I headed back the other way and opened the wide door toward the stage. Lexy and a few other guys were setting up for the show.
Without looking up, Lexy said, âShowâs in an hour. Come back then.â
I walked in, all confident. He was just a kid. âI was talking to your mom the other day, remember? Old family friend.â
He looked up and blinked, some curly bangs in his face. âOh. Yeah, sure.â
âIâm looking for Stu.â
âUpstairs,â he said, giving me another quick look before going back to work. Probably wondering why his mom had never mentioned me.
I climbed the stairs, past the Private sign. I hesitated at the door. Maybe this wasnât such a smart idea. Stu was a big guy. If he didnât like what I had to say, he could knock me flat without trying. I took my cell phone out of my bag and held on to it. He might think twice if he thought the cops were on speed dial.
I wasnât going to wimp out. I could do this. I knocked.
Stu opened the door, blond hair freshly spiked. âHey, babe. Glad you could make it. Come on in.â
I took a breath and followed him, holding my cell in my hand. The place was decorated in expensive modern. White leather sofa. Abstract blue and white rug on the dark wood floor. Big-screen tv. Snazzy. Royalty money.
âDrink?â he asked, pouring one for himself at the bar. âVodka? Tequila?â
I shook my head. Now that I was here, it was awkward. He was the star. I was the kid who cut hair for a living.
âTake a load off,â he said, sitting down on the sofa. He looked at my hand. âExpecting a call?â
Good. He noticed. I reached into my handbag and brought out the folded photocopy of âBest Girl.â I walked toward him and handed it over.
âWhatâs this?â he said, unraveling it. He sat still, his eyes taking it in. âWow! This is ancient. Whereâd you dig it up?â
âMy mother kept it.â
âNo shit.â
âRead the words,â I said, sitting down on the edge of the sofa, nervous.
He stared at the page. His face went white.
âLook familiar?â
âWellâ¦â
âItâs âPlaygirl.â Everythingâs the same but a couple of lines.â
âNo, it canât beâ¦â
ââPlaygirlâ is âBest Girl.ââ
âItâs probably a coincidence. Freddy and me were close. On the same wavelength, you know?â
âYou stole his song!â
âNo! Iââ
âYou killed him for that song!â
Stuâs mouth opened, then closed. He shook his head. âNo! You got it all wrong.â He closed his eyes. âHe was already dead when I found it.â
He rubbed his forehead as if it hurt. âFreddy kept a stash of songs in our van, and I was cleaning it out after heâ¦you know. Then I saw this piece and it was good. Not great, mind you. I gave it style. I rocked it out, man! I put my own stamp on it. This song wouldâve gone nowhere without me .â
He was so full of himself I wanted to smack him. âHereâs what I think. You wanted the song so bad, you killed Freddy when he wouldnât give it to you.â
He shook his big blond head. âIf Iâd sung it for him and he liked it, he wouldâve played backup guitar for me. He wasnât stupid.â
âWhy should I believe you?â
âBecause youâre not stupid either. Look, how much do you want?â
I stared at him. âWhat do you mean?â
âHow much will make you happy?â
âAre you trying to pay me off so I donât go to the cops?â
He laughed. His face went bright, made him look years younger. â Go