They’d been together.
He winced. They’d been darlings on stage together, beloved by the group and by the crowds. So young and sweet in their puppy love, and how perfect that the grandson of the drummer and the daughter of the vocalist and lead guitarist should fall in love.
It wasn’t their time together on stage that he remembered.
It was her laughter, her smile, her eyes when she looked at him. Her way of making sure that she tipped any musician they ever saw playing on the street—and there were plenty. It was the spring break when they’d escaped their families and everyone to head to St. Augustine Beach. Days in the sun, nights spent on history and ghost tours and just being together.
And then Jake had died. And she’d never said another word to him; she’d stepped away. And when he’d tried to reach her after the funeral, she had told him that she couldn’t, just couldn’t, see him again. Ever.
After today, he thought, leaning back and stretching in his desk chair, he knew why.
To the best of his knowledge, she’d never taken any courses in criminology. And she hadn’t been near the stage when her father had died.
She couldn’t have heard her father’s last words—spoken just to Chase as he’d taken over for Hank on a number—so she couldn’t have his reasons for suspecting that something more than an accident had been involved.
But she thought that someone in the band had killed her father. And she had surely had him on that list along with Hank.
He was convinced himself that whoever Jake had been talking about had realized that Jake was going to blow the whistle on them.
Who it was and what they had done, Chase didn’t know for sure. But he suspected that it was selling drugs, that they were responsible for the contaminated drugs that had killed several people, young people among them, in the areas where the band had played.
Jake’s last words had echoed in his head through the years.
“I know what’s going on, and I saw... I’m going to put an end to it as soon as this gig is over!”
Then his showman’s smile had taken over his face, and he’d stepped into the spotlight.
He’d seen something. Someone. And he’d meant to call the cops when the lights were down and the music and applause and screams in the crowds had ended. Whoever had been selling drugs would have known that if Jake had seen them, it was all over. He’d cleaned up the hard way himself; he’d seen too many people die who had lost their grip.
And he had known whatever he knew before the show started...
Chris Wiley, Joe Garcia, Mark Reynolds, and, of course, Chase’s own grandfather, Hank McCoy.
He knew his grandfather didn’t do drugs. No one could hide drug use that well, especially on the rock trail. In his time getting to meet or know about some of the most famous musicians out there, he’d seen too many who had been lost to addictions. He’d also seen those who had started out with some hard partying—something easy to fall into when you were young and suddenly rich and famous—but totally cleaned up their acts and were still performing at the ages when many people were ready to hang up their hats.
But Skyhawk...
He shook his head. Joe Garcia had never done drugs, but he still enjoyed a few beers. Mark Reynolds was known to chill with a little marijuana.
To his knowledge, none of them did cocaine, heroin or any of the hard stuff. Then again, the best dealers probably never touched the stuff themselves.
They were the four surviving original members of Skyhawk. He sat in sometimes, Sky had come with her dad, and Brandon Wiley sat in for Chris.
Sometimes, Sky’s mom had come up as well.
Joe Garcia was married. Mark’s one son was the CEO of a major tech company, one he had created himself. His name was David. He always seemed to be a great guy, proud of his dad who was, in turn, proud of him. Mark had shrugged when people had asked him if he hadn’t wanted his only child following in his footsteps. “Just glad I could pay for the education that helped him get where he is today!” Mark said.
Then, of course, there were the roadies. The band had three that were on their payroll. Justin West, Charlie Bentley and Nathan Harrison. They were in their forties, men who had started with Skywalk at least twenty years ago when they’d been in their twenties themselves, young and eager to be with such a prestigious band.
So...
That was his suspect pool. Four surviving band members—their family members at the stage that night—himself, Sky and Brandon—and the roadies.
He was forgetting one person. Kenneth Malcolm.
Malcolm. Malcolm worked the venue. But...
The effects of the strange drug sales that seemed to follow Skyhawk had been found in various places, not just New Orleans. So that should eliminate Malcolm, but...
Sky.
He bit his lower lip, shaking his head.
She had been so loyal to her father, and he understood why. Jake had been amazing; he’d been amazing to Chase as well, all of his life. A man who truly believed in the human family and in his responsibility to give when giving was needed. The band had begun in a garage in New Orleans, but Jake had been there not just for the aftermath of Katrina, but for any other disaster hitting the country as well. He encouraged the young. He was dedicated to education for everyone. He could joke and laugh and somehow be a kind human being with the strength of steel.
That show...
He could close his eyes and still see the massive concert. The seats and floor filled, people watching and waiting, the light show beginning, the display of the colors over the crowd, over the stage, blues, pinks, reds, more.
The venue host welcoming “the amazing Skyhawk” to the stage, the band members heading out and Jake at the mic, welcoming and thanking the crowd, the beat of the drums, the chords of the guitar as Jake strummed the first notes, and the bass and rhythm and the keyboards coming in...
The crowd screaming as they began, the vibrancy, the excitement in the arena...
The first hour had gone brilliantly. Jake had called out for Hank’s drum solo, he had highlighted Chris on bass, Joe on the keyboards, and Mark on the rhythm guitar. All the solos had ended with the group coming in together again, setting off into a medley of several songs. Then Jake had announced that a family member was stepping in, and Chase would be drumming. He’d walked off to escort Chase to the drums as Hank had bowed and taken off to the side. Chase had heard Jake muttering those last words, then Mark had warned there was something wrong with the amp and then...
Jake had exclaimed to the audience, “Give me a sec here, my friends... Don’t want anything missed for my hometown crowd!”
They had applauded and screeched out their appreciation, and Jake had walked over to the amp and there had been a spark, a small spark, and then a sizzle that had seemed to burst through the entire massive arena before the explosion at the amp, the burst of flames...
