“And?”
“They had a death down by the river,” he said. “A kid...it was just marijuana. College kid, with friends, took a few puffs...seized and was dead. The only good thing is that watching him freaked out his friends and none of them touched the stuff after that... It’s headed to a lab. But sounds like the weed had been contaminated with fentanyl. Apparently, it’s a huge problem now, pills, uppers, downers, weed, cocaine...tons of drugs contaminated.”
“Wow. That’s horrible. And your friend called you?”
“It’s all over the news.”
“Right. But the friend called you,” she pressed.
He turned to look at her briefly and then quickly returned his attention to the road. He didn’t have to look at Sky to see her face in his mind’s eye. Eyes bluer than the bluest sky, hair like her dad’s, dark as ink, flowing around her shoulders. He’d fallen in love with her when he was young. And in all the years that had gone by...
He’d been practical. She was gone. He’d met people. But he hadn’t had a real relationship since they’d been together. Young Chase had believed they’d eventually marry, that some people were lucky in life and they met someone who was there for them for the rest of their lives.
“Chase?”
“Yeah?”
She let out a loud sigh of exasperation. “Chase! Friends call you to report the news? Why? What is going on?”
He shrugged. “Hey. We’re with a rock band. Everyone knows rock and roll may lead us all to some kind of excess,” he said sarcastically.
“Chase—”
“Oh, come on! You know what? I’m scared to death for you, and I need to trust you right now. And I’m not really sure how to deal with either.”
“Why wouldn’t you trust me?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Never returning a call, email or text. Pretending as if I’d fallen off the face of the earth—”
“Chase, I couldn’t deal! I just couldn’t deal, and I... Look, I’m sorry! But you’re the one scared to death for me, so please, let me in on whatever the hell it is that’s going on,” she pleaded.
“You know what’s going on,” he said quietly. “This whole thing has to do with drugs. And I think someone involved—close, at the very least—has been involved with some very bad drugs that have been going around. Yeah, I have friends. You do, too. The old couple next to you with the dog—Tim Hanson and his wife, Liz. I know you are friends with them. Oh, I also know you like to sing sometimes at Jazz Mass.”
“What? Wait! Have you been—”
“Did I try to follow you a bit and make sure you were moving on all right with your life? Yeah, I did. I cared. Sue me. But now...”
“Now, yeah, I got it. Bad drugs are out there. My father might have known something. And so he died, because he wouldn’t let innocent people be harmed by others. And despite being clean, he didn’t care if someone had a joint or a beer, but he would have been furious if—”
“If,” Chase finished, “someone was out there purposely trying to addict the youth of America or, worse, to kill innocents, your dad would have acted. Because the big players out there up the profits in drugs by cutting them big-time. As in with fentanyl.”
“So,” she said slowly, “someone out there knows you believe someone in or around Skyhawk is doing this? You have some interesting friends.”
“Well, of course I do!” he said. “You know I’ve worked in labs, and I’ve taken all kinds of classes in criminology.”
“Are you sure they are all friends?” she asked.
He groaned. “I got a call from a friend, yes. A trusted friend.”
“How do you know them?” she asked.
He was going to have to tell her at least something of the truth. But first, they had reached the bar where they were supposed to meet the others. He found street parking, turned off the car and sat for a minute.
“Because my friend is someone I met at a lecture. And he’s with the FBI.”
“Oh,” she said simply. “Well, that’s good, right? Is this friend going to be coming to the concert?”
“Yes,” he admitted.
“That’s cool,” she murmured, looking down at her hands. Then she turned to him. “Though, neither of us is going to be electrocuted. The guys made a point of saying anything to do with electric or sound or even lights, they’d be handling it.”
He nodded and turned and said fiercely, “And that’s for real. You don’t touch anything. Anything at all. Promise!”
“Of course. But you have to promise me the same.”
“I do, of course. But the drummer isn’t the front man—or woman. You are.”
“I promise. Should we go in?” Sky asked.
He nodded. “Yeah. But...”
“But?”
“You don’t drink anything that I don’t give you, okay?”
“Now you want me to worry about drinks? In a bar that’s been here forever?”
Chase didn’t get a chance to answer. He saw Joe Garcia was on the sidewalk, hurrying toward them and tapping at Sky’s window.
