“I got a couple of bruises, but at least Karl broke my fall. He thought I was flirting, so I had to put a kibosh on that.” Kate rubbed her elbow.

  “Anyway, he really was one hot mess. He’d had a bit too much to drink, and he said he needed to head up the road to see someone. He was fumbling around in his pockets for car keys. Well, we couldn’t let him drive, so we went with him.” Aileen picked up her cup for a sip, realizing too late it was empty. She set it back on the table.

  “Who was he going to see?” Cassidy was still trying to picture Kate elbowing an amorous Karl to get him off her.

  “We never found out,” Roxie said.

  “Huh?” Cassidy shook her head. All of that, and they didn’t even know who it was Karl met? “And whose car was it? Do we need to go back and get the car? Where is it?”

  “It’s a long and complicated story.” Kate shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Karl told us it belonged to one of the roadies, and he gave Karl the keys. And it was okay to borrow it, so off we went with Ruthanne driving since she only had a ginger ale at the party.”

  Ruthanne nodded primly before Kate resumed the story. “He gave us some address near northern Virginia. If we had known it was going to be an all-night road trip, we may have talked him out of it. Anyway, it was too late, and we were already in the car and on the road. When we got to Harrisonburg, we pulled off because we needed a tinkle break, and Karl needed some coffee to sober up.”

  “We went into a McDonald’s,” Aileen added. “We all needed a break from Karl and his constant chatter, and I wanted a Coke. He talked nonstop for two hours. He rivaled the motormouth skills of the preteens in my eighth-grade English classes. Mr. Chatterbox.”

  “And he didn’t even say anything worthwhile.” Ruthanne scrunched up her nose and whispered as if it was some big secret. “He whines and complains a lot.”

  Aileen nodded her agreement. “After we all took turns in the bathroom and we got our drinks and Roxie’s french fries, we couldn’t find Karl. I mean, the restaurant wasn’t big, and he had just disappeared. We all went outside, and still no Karl. There were some police cars in the lot, and a couple more pulled in. We didn’t think much about it. We were trying to remember if anyone had Karl’s phone number.”

  “And when we climbed in the car to wait on Karl, the police swooped in on us like a flock of vultures.” Roxie threw her hands up for dramatic effect.

  Cassidy’s eyes widened. “Where is Karl?”

  “We don’t know. We got busted with a stolen car and thrown in the pokey.” Ruthanne’s voice quaked. “He disappeared into thin air. And he never came back to help us. Sheesh. He’s definitely on my bad list now.”

  “I bet he saw all the police presence and skedaddled,” Kate said.

  “How am I going to tell my kids I was arrested and spent the night in jail?” Ruthanne whimpered, her lips pulled down in a childish frown. “We have records now.”

  “Ask Roxie. I’m sure she’s got lots of stories from her run-ins with the law by now. She’s a pro with police relations.” Kate shrugged, lifting her chin as if to declare it was all Roxie’s fault for having lived a more cavalier life.

  Roxie glared at her over her sunglasses. “Go big or go home, I always say.” She waved her hand dismissively. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

  Aileen squirmed like a kid in the front row of class who had the answer. “The car was impounded, and we were hauled in for hours of questioning. We didn’t see each other again until they put us in the tank to cool off. We didn’t even get a phone call until this morning. They didn’t give us much direction about what’s next. Only a bunch of papers and a court date.”

  “I didn’t have a chance to call my lawyer.” Roxie stared at a chipped nail, apparently unfazed by her latest run-in with the law.

  “Okay.” Cassidy picked up her trash. “We need to get on the road. We’ve got a concert to host tonight. And you all probably need a hot shower and a nap.”

  “Jail wasn’t what I thought it would be like.” Ruthanne frowned. “The bench was hard. There were no pillows or blankets, and we had to share a bathroom, if you could call it that. I don’t think any of us got any sleep.”

  “But they did have a TV. We watched ESPN all night.” Aileen threw up her arms. “Oh joy.”

  Kate rolled her eyes and started gathering the trash.

  Confession lightened the mood. The gals chatted like nothing had happened all the way back to the van.

  “Cassidy, here. You forgot this.” Roxie waved the day planner at her. “This may make this whole fiasco worthwhile. It could be the break you need.”

  THURSDAY AFTERNOON

  Cassidy pulled into the front lot of her property. The gals’ cars were parked nearby. As they climbed out, she remembered something she’d wanted to ask them before all their legal troubles. “Hey, have any of you heard of a BJ Taylor?”

  “No. Who is that?” Aileen hopped out onto the asphalt.

  “Should we have heard of him? Her?” Kate extended a hand to help Ruthanne out of the back.

  “I came across the name in some research on the Weathermen. I couldn’t find anything on him. He has some writing credits on their songs. It piqued my interest when I couldn’t find anything on him or her. So, no BJ Taylor that you know of affiliated with the band?” Cassidy frowned. She’d really hoped they’d know something about the mysterious BJ.

  Kate flipped her purse strap over her shoulder. “Nope. I have no clue.”

  “I’ll look through my scrapbooks,” Ruthanne offered. “I kept every bit of stuff I could find on them from the early days. I’ll let you know what I have. But the name doesn’t ring a bell with me either.”

  Before finally climbing into their own cars, the gals waved, hugged, chatted in the parking lot, and promised to be back in time for tonight’s show.

  Cassidy headed to the office to spring Elvis for some R and R. The beautiful afternoon and the buzz of activity drew the pair like a magnet to the amphitheater where staff in all black moved equipment and lights around on the stage. “Be on the lookout for black hoodies and Karl,” she whispered to Elvis.

  They watched the beehive of activity for about twenty minutes until the pile of uncompleted work tickled at her thoughts and demanded her attention. “Come on, pup. We have to finish our work before we can play anymore today. And I’m kinda already behind because of the unexpected road trip.” With a reluctant-sounding whimper, Elvis followed her toward the farmhouse.

  As they rounded the corner of the stage, Karl approached and froze in his tracks when he spotted her. She opened her mouth to ask him how he was doing, but he turned and bolted in the other direction.

  Stunned, Cassidy wondered what had provoked that reaction. Ignoring the impulse to chase after him, she led Elvis back to the office. Suspicious or maybe guilty? What is Karl’s story? How did he get back from Harrisonburg? And why did he run out on the gals and away from me?

  Cassidy hadn’t been at her desk for more than fifteen minutes before the front door opened.

  “Hello!” she yelled from the back. “I’ll be right there.”

  Not hearing a response, she hustled to the front, trying not to trip over Elvis, to discover Beau standing there, his gaze ricocheting around her waiting area like he was casing the joint.

  “Good afternoon. Do you have a minute? I need to straighten some things out, and Karl owes an apology to your team.” He stared at the sea glass in the vase on the coffee table.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s say when Karl gets an idea, he tends to fixate on it. When it’s music or song lyrics, he’s pretty successful. But some of his real-world ideas haven’t turned out as well. Harebrained is how his bandmates describe most of his brainstorms. Let’s just say he’s impulsive. And it often causes trouble for him and those around him.”

  “I’m not sure I follow you.” Cassidy stepped closer to the sofas and guest chairs, wondering if this had anything to do with Karl’s erratic behavior earlier.

  “The other night, Karl got it in his head to meet someone he met online who was this superfan with a podcast and a music studio. This guy had some get-rich-quick scheme Karl had to get in on. One thing led to another, and he decided since we didn’t have a show he was going to meet this person and see where it led. Did I mention the guy was two or three hours away? Anyway, your friends came to his rescue when he was not able to drive. He borrowed one of our roadie’s cars. And by borrowing, I mean he lifted the keys out of the guy’s jacket.”

  Cassidy pursed her lips but remained silent.

  Beau cleared his throat a few times and stared at his feet before continuing. “Lizard, the car owner, didn’t know your friends were with Karl. When he realized Karl and his car had disappeared, he reported it stolen to teach him a lesson. Lizard feels really bad. And now he has to figure out how to get his car out of an impound lot. He had no idea the police would arrest four seniors in a McDonald’s parking lot and hold them overnight in the lockup for stealing a car and taking it on a joyride.”

  She tried to stifle a smile. The Pearly Girls had a knack for being in the middle of some strange adventures, worthy of a sitcom. “I had to drive up and get them this morning.”

  “I’m so sorry Karl caused all this trouble. With the mess with Johnny and Jack, I haven’t been paying much attention to him. He needs more supervision than a seventy-three-year-old man should. I talked to Lizard and our lawyers, and they contacted the police. All charges have been dropped against the ladies. Again, I apologize for this misunderstanding. If there’s any other fallout, please let me know. We don’t want anything to happen to their reputations, especially when they were only trying to help Karl. We’ll take care of what we can.”

  Best I don’t mention they climbed in the window of Johnny’s bus and stole his day planner. They’re not as sweet and innocent as they look. “Thank you so much. I’m sure they will be thrilled to hear the news.” She flashed him what she hoped came off as a reassuring smile.

  “And I’ll have Karl apologize to them when he feels better,” Beau said.

  “Where did he go? Ruthanne said they couldn’t find him when they stopped in Harrisonburg. I ran into him a little bit ago, but he didn’t speak. He must have been in a big hurry.”

  The manager’s cheeks flashed a tinge of pink. “When they stopped in Harrisonburg, he went outside to smoke. He saw all the police vehicles around the borrowed car. And since Lizard had blown up his phone with texts that escalated from warnings to mild threats, he figured he should get out of there before causing another incident. He didn’t want another arrest on his record. He slipped out the back of the restaurant and walked to a bus station where he bought a ticket to Staunton. I had to pick him up from there. Again, my most sincere apologies for any misunderstandings. Please tell the ladies we’ll make it right at the concert tomorrow. Karl and the guys want them to be the band’s special guests. And you can come, too.”

  “Thank you. That is very nice. I’m sure the Pearly Girls will love it. How is Jack doing?”

  “Better. He still has a slight headache, but he’s determined to finish the tour. See you all tomorrow at the show. We’ll have reserved seats up front for you. The guys will definitely make it up to you, especially Karl.”

  Before Beau could scoot out, she decided to take advantage of his chattiness to see if she could pull any other information out of him. Plus, if he was still apologizing for Karl, then maybe he’d be more inclined to answer some questions. “Uh, do you mind if I ask you a question before you leave?”

  Beau flashed a toothy grin. “Of course, what can I do for you?”

  “I’m curious. I was reading some of the Weathermen’s history last night, and I came across some names. Maybe you could tell me who they are. One was a Phillip Peters, and another was an Eddie Merritt, and the last one was a BJ Taylor.”

  Beau cleared his throat. His smile faded. “Eddie was one of the earlier members of the band. He was a darn good guitar player, but he couldn’t cut it. Phil was also an early member of the band who caused more trouble than he was worth. I’ve never heard of a BJ Taylor. Where’d you hear that name?”

  “I don’t remember. I looked at so many articles and fan pages. I thought I saw somewhere where someone credited him with writing a lot of their songs.”

  “Nope. Sorry, can’t help you. Johnny wrote most of the songs. Dirk and Jack—well, and even Karl—wrote a couple of the others. Not the big hits. Those were all Johnny’s. I’m not sure who said someone else wrote them, but if you find it, let me know. We should get that corrected. I’ve got to go check on the guys. See ya.” He rushed out, not bothering to properly close the door behind him.

  “Well, Elvis, that wasn’t helpful. Did you notice he went from Mr. Nice and Smiley to Mr. Serious in less than three seconds? And if this guy has writing credits on their songs, shouldn’t the manager know about it? I mean, isn’t protecting the clients’ rights the top priority of a manager? His response was a little weird,” she said, closing the door.

  Elvis stood and did several yoga-like stretches.

  “Okay, let me go check on a couple of things, and then we can go for a long walk.”

  Before she could get to her desk, her phone pinged several times in quick succession with a group text alert.

  Ruthanne: Woo hoo! I’m not a criminal. Glad I didn’t tell the kids I was part of a ring of car thieves. No police record. No life of crime for me.

  Aileen: Ruthanne, you weren’t in the ring, you were the driver of a stolen car.

  Roxie: Drive it like you stole it. Despite the ending, it was kind of a fun adventure.

  Kate: How so? We spent the night in jail, and we weren’t guilty.

  Roxie: We were all in it together.

  Aileen: We were all involved. You can’t claim innocence.

  Ruthanne: Like The Fast and the Furious. I can always use an adventure.

  Roxie: You need a nickname now. You drove a stolen car.

  Kate: I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough excitement today. I may skip the shows tonight. I need some me time.

  Aileen: You have to go to the funkadelic one. Come on, you can head to bed after that. Don’t be an old fogy.

  Roxie: I’m staying for the B-52s’s cover band. But suit yourselves. See y’all tonight. Off to get a mani-pedi. Cassidy, did you find anything interesting in the planner?

  Cassidy: See you all tonight. Still working on my research.

  Ruthanne: I hope the purloined book provides a clue to this whole mess. Ciao.

  “Elvis, why didn’t you remind me about Johnny Storm’s planner?” She rummaged through her bag and pulled out the leather-bound volume. “Let’s see what’s in here.”

  After hours of scouring through the notes, and two coffees later, she didn’t have much to show for her efforts. She flipped through the current month’s calendar and stepped back month by month to January. Lots of dates and meetings. Johnny neatly printed the name and time of each in the little squares.

  At first glance, most meetings were with Beau or someone in Beau’s office. Coming in second, she counted forty-two entries with different women’s names since January for evening or weekend appointments. All of these were in red ink. This would keep the police busy for days if they followed up with all these women.

  The only appointment that seemed different said, “Call AE.” The message appeared in January, April, twice in May, and the week before the tour. And all of these entries were in blue ink. Who was AE? This was the only entry with initials and no name anywhere. It could be nothing, but why did it seem so odd next to the other ones? Because it was different from all the rest. It was the only one with initials. Cassidy flipped through the addresses in the back of the book. No AE in the “E” section. That would have been too easy.

  “Aha!” She nearly jumped out of her chair. “Maybe this isn’t a dead end yet.” Johnny Storm had entered his contacts by first name, and then he jotted notes about the connection next to each listing. She cringed when she read comments like, “hot redhead,” “smoking body,” and “always ready for a good time.”

  “Elvis, there are four names with the initials AE.” The dog lifted his head and snorted, apparently unimpressed with her discovery.

  After photocopying the pages, she pulled out her phone and dialed the first number. Both it and the second number had been disconnected. Feeling slightly dejected, she moved on to the next one.

  A young woman with a soft voice answered on the second ring. “Carlson, Emerson, and Hollis. How may I direct your call?”

  “Uh…uh, Avery Emerson, please,” Cassidy sputtered, hoping this was the right AE.

  “Ms. Emerson is unavailable today. Would you like to leave a message?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll try back in a few days.” Cassidy disconnected and sank back in her chair.

  A quick Google search led her to the law firm’s website. Avery Emerson, a graduate of Stanford, specialized in media rights and public relations. Cassidy guessed the attorney was in her mid-forties. She dressed lawyerly in her tailored gray suit and pearls. Flipping back to Johnny’s calendar, she noticed the “AE” entries had no notes like most of the other appointments and no comments about appearance or interests.

  Taking a deep breath, she punched in the last number for Amber Ellis. Just as Cassidy was about to hang up, she heard a clipped female voice. “It’s me. Speak.”

  “Ms. Ellis? This is Karen Baker. I’m a freelance reporter, and I wanted to talk to you about Johnny Storm.” Cassidy cringed at her own lie.

  “Not much to tell.” Her words were slurred like she was chewing on something. “He’s dead. I saw it on TV.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss. How did you know Mr. Storm?”

  “What do you think you know?”

  “I’m checking with some of his past connections to see if I can get a different angle for a story on his life. You know, like a special interest story no one else has.”