“Cassidy, wanna come with us?” Ruthanne asked.

  “We’re going to have a blast.” Kate pulled out a flask from her giant bag and wiggled it in the air. “We’re prepared this time.”

  “I brought mine, too,” Roxie jiggled her oversized bag. “Ten dollars for a watered-down beer was outrageous. Skunky beer was all we could afford in the seventies. And we didn’t know any better. We have refined our tastes over the years. And we’ve all learned we don’t have to settle.”

  “I have some peanuts and Junior Mints if anyone wants any. I wasn’t sure what food trucks were coming, so I brought emergency snacks.” Ruthanne rummaged through her bag and held up an assortment of junk food.

  Observing all of this, Cassidy was reminded of her days of sneaking candy and drinks into the movie theaters. She smiled fondly at the memory and these women reliving their own youth. “I’ll be over in a bit. I want to check on a few things here and get Elvis tucked in at home. Save me a seat.”

  The Pearly Girls stashed the snacks and flasks in their bags. The chatter increased as they headed toward the door with a chorus of goodbyes and giggles.

  After the door shut, the silence in the room was overwhelming. It seemed to fill the void with a pressing immediacy that was stifling. Cassidy found a streaming station on her phone and played some smooth jazz to keep her company. She scanned her social media sites for comments about the festival. Most of what she found were tags from attendees who’d had a great time. Nothing negative, thank goodness. Cassidy let out a long stream of air. She did a couple of quick Google searches about Johnny Storm. Nothing new popped up. I guess that’s good news for now.

  On a whim, she searched for Xander and pored over a variety of articles about Britney Spears, Chris Pine, Dave Chappell, and some older ones about Michael Jackson’s doctor and Lindsay Lohan. Xander’s been around a while. All his articles focused on scandals and sudden falls from grace. “What an interesting way to make a living. Elvis, maybe we should get his book when it comes out to see what he says about the Weathermen. And to see if he mentions any of us. All right, that’s enough. Let’s get you fed and settled in for the evening. I need you to guard the house while I’m gone.”

  The pair made their way upstairs to the residence. She refilled Elvis’s food and water bowls, giving him a new focus.

  Resisting the urge to create a quick costume, Cassidy decided it would pale in comparison to what the Pearly Girls had on anyway. She pocketed her keys, phone, and wallet; kissed Elvis on top of his head; and jogged down the stairs. Realizing she had forgotten her all-access lanyard, she retraced her steps and grabbed the pass.

  Outside, the crowd noise echoed across the property. Glad for a good turnout again, she walked to the gate, where the guard waved her around the ticket-check line.

  The smell of deep-fried food made her stomach rumble. With all that had been going on, she’d forgotten to go to the grocery store—again. And she hadn’t eaten all day. Cassidy walked the lengthy line of colorful food trucks and checked out all the offerings before settling on a Coney dog with mustard, a side of onion rings, and a root beer.

  After paying the hot dog vendor, she wandered over to a quiet spot near the sound booth to people watch. She sat against the wall and dug into her meal. As she reached for a napkin in her pocket to wipe off a stray glob of mustard from her top lip, someone touched her shoulder, and she almost dropped her drink. Letting out a little squeak, she grasped her cup tight enough to pop off the plastic lid.

  “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to startle you. You’re a bit jumpy today.” Deputy Turner stepped back. Cassidy could see her reflection in his mirrored sunglasses. Snapping the cup lid back in place, she wiped the glob of mustard off her face.

  How embarrassing.

  “I didn’t hear you approach.” She desperately hoped there wasn’t any stray mustard smeared across her face. “So how are things going with your investigation, Deputy Turner?”

  “It’s Zac. And the investigation continues. The task force is fully staffed and operational, so we have lots of folks working on it.”

  I guess we’re on a first-name basis now. Maybe he’s offering an olive branch. I guess it’s better than his normal bull-in-a-china-shop routine that tends to set me off. Cassidy was embarrassed to realize she hadn’t replied as he stared at her. “Oh, good. I’m glad to see you’re looking at lots of suspects, besides Roxie.”

  His lips formed a straight line for a moment. “Like I said, we have lots of resources dedicated to finding the killer and bringing him or her to justice. We follow every lead, wherever it takes us. It’s a long and exhaustive process.”

  “Good to hear that, and I’m sure Roxie and her lawyer will be happy about it, too.” When he didn’t reply, she sensed he was preoccupied. “Let me know if my team can do anything for you.”

  He scanned the crowd. “Enjoy your evening.” He turned and blended into a sea of spectators.

  Cassidy stared after him. It had been a strange encounter. But then again, most of her conversations with the deputy up to this point had either turned into one of his lectures, a scolding session, or some heated discussion that made her blood pressure rise. He could be so annoying, and he always turned up whenever she wasn’t expecting him. And calling him Zac felt weird, too. Every time Cassidy thought they’d turned a corner, he did something to aggravate her.

  Shaking off the odd feeling from their conversation, Cassidy focused on enjoying some classics from the era of the Rubik’s Cube, Live Aid, and Hands Across America. She tossed her plate and napkins in the nearest can and headed toward the stage to find the gals.

  Making her way through the crowd was like swimming upstream. She finally found a break in the throng and jogged across the path to the benches near the stage.

  A sharp wolf whistle echoed from the VIP area. Turning, she found the Pearly Girls waving their arms and pointing to the empty seat at the end of the row.

  “We saved you a seat.” Kate gathered her beach bag to make room for Cassidy.

  “That nice promoter guy, Steve, moved us here after Roxie worked her flirty magic,” Ruthanne gushed. “We’re so close. We can see every detail. It feels like they’re singing to us.”

  Roxie raised her perfectly manicured hand in a lacy, fingerless glove and waved off the comment. “It was nothing. He was being friendly.”

  Kate and Aileen both rolled their eyes.

  Before they could chat further, Rocky Parker, a local DJ, rushed out on stage and introduced the members of the Purple Dragon. Laser lights pulsated in sync with the sounds of drums and a synthesizer. The band stormed the stage and launched into a Prince tribute.

  Cassidy settled in her seat, waving off the offer of Kate’s flask. She closed her eyes. The young lead singer did sound a lot like the Purple One. “Little Red Corvette” and “Let’s Go Crazy” would always be her favorites. The eighties definitely had great songs and interesting clothes—even if they did look like costumes.

  After the fun pop hits from the Purple Dragon and the louder heavy metal vibes from Abracadaver, Cassidy stood and stretched to ease the kinks in her back.

  “I’m going for dessert.” Ruthanne hopped up. “Anyone else wanna join me?”

  “No,” Roxie said, “but bring me a Diet Coke, will you?”

  Ruthanne nodded as Aileen followed her toward the food trucks.

  The local DJ popped out on stage again as Dirk pounded out a slow beat on his drums. “Who’s ready for our headliners this evening?”

  The crowd noise increased.

  Karl stumbled out on stage and tried several times to pull the microphone out of its stand. Giving up, he slurred, “Maybe I’ll play drums this time.” Teetering back toward the risers where Dirk pounded out the beat, he tried to step onto the platform and slipped.

  Dirk struggled to continue the rhythmic drumming and scowled at Karl. “What are you doing? Get it together. Now!”

  The audience couldn’t hear the unsteady Karl’s reply as he tried to wrestle Dirk for the drumsticks.

  Then the mic picked up Karl’s voice. “Come on, it’s my turn. Don’t be a jerk.” The cymbal stand teetered and crashed onto the stage.

  Beau and a burly guy in all black rushed out and guided Karl backstage.

  Dirk ignored the interruption and continued to pound on his drums like he was doing some big solo. Jack jumped in with matching chords. They acted like Karl hadn’t caused a scene. They continued to play a long interlude with seemingly no end.

  By the time the audience started getting restless, Rocky jogged back out on stage. “Hey, guys. Sorry for the technical difficulties there. We seem to have them under control now.” Peering over his shoulder, he nodded at someone backstage. “So, without further ado, here is Karl Schultz, Jack Simon, and Dirk Lawrence—the Weathermen!”

  That didn’t look like technical difficulties. What else is going to happen with this band? First Dirk’s dustup and now Karl’s antics. I’m sure Xander’s having a field day snapping photos.

  A few boos emanated from the back. Cassidy looked around. The lines at the food truck were almost nonexistent. She sucked in a bit of air when she realized the crowds were filing out the front gates. Beau and the promoter aren’t going to like this. Has the interest worn off already? Or is it not the same without Johnny Storm?

  SUNDAY EVENING

  Cassidy hurried home where Elvis waited for his evening walk. Mateo’s security team had made quick work of the crowd control and the almost-empty parking lot. She’d have to check with the Pearly Girls to see if anything else happened after the Weathermen’s performance. Hopefully, there were no other dustups or technical difficulties. Cassidy crossed her fingers the concert went off without a hitch. But if anything did happen, the gals would know the scoop.

  The crowd size hadn’t been as large this evening.

  I wonder if the Weathermen have maxed out on the nostalgia craze and interest is waning. Trying to push worries of bad publicity and lost revenue out of her head, Cassidy ticked off the list of possible suspects in Johnny’s murder as Elvis breathed in every scent on every blade of grass they passed. Thinking of their crew, family, and friends, her list grew to twenty-five names before Elvis finished his sniffing quest.

  She tugged lightly on the leash and led the little dog back home. Somehow, the walk energized him, and he zoomed around the apartment while Cassidy poured a glass of peach tea and settled with her laptop on the couch. First she had fretted because she had no suspects, and now she was overwhelmed with a list of too many. Time for a different tactic.

  Not finding anything on the local or national news about Johnny Storm, she landed on an entertainment channel in hopes they were still covering the story. But the gossip channels had moved on to the next hottest celebrity scandal, too. It looks like the band’s fifteen minutes of fame are already over.

  Cassidy opened her spreadsheet and listed everyone she perceived could be a potential suspect, including Roxie. She quickly deleted Roxie’s entry. There was no way Roxie had anything to do with Johnny Storm’s murder. Absolutely no way.

  She added the reporter, Xander, in the spot where Roxie’s name had been. He was on the mission to find a story, but maybe he was more involved than he let on.

  Girl, you are grasping at every little possibility. It could have been aliens or Bigfoot, too, for that matter.

  She added four question marks next to Xander’s name. He’d probably get scratched off the list later.

  Cassidy racked her brain for anyone from the festival who could be involved in the crime. What if it was some random person? They could be anywhere by now, or they could be hanging around, waiting to find another victim. A shiver slid down Cassidy’s spine. Wait a minute. Your imagination is running wild. You’ve watched way too many stalker and true crime shows. Who has a motive?

  Most of the band members seemed to have blown through their earnings quickly and needed this tour as a source of revenue. Beau made his money on the band’s success. Those sounded like solid reasons and dollar signs for them not to kill the lead singer. Could it be something other than money? Drugs? Jealously? Revenge?

  “Elvis, I need more information, and since Asa and my pal Zac aren’t sharing, it’s going to be up to me and my contacts to see what we can uncover. There has to be a reason behind all of this.” Cassidy returned to her online searches, in hopes of finding even a scrap of new information. Changing tactics, Cassidy googled the term garrote.

  “Interesting.” She tapped her bottom lip with her pen. “This was originally used as a method of execution. Elvis, it’s called a silent execution. One could kill someone with it in as little as fifteen or twenty seconds. It was usually death by strangulation, but it could also cause a broken neck or decapitation. Hmm.” Cassidy learned that special forces trained with these for years and often used them behind enemy lines because it was a stealthy weapon that didn’t make noise or attract attention.

  Elvis looked at her and turned around several times in his bed. He faced the wall and buried his head under his blanket.

  “I know. I know. It sounds like a horrible way to die,” she muttered to the dog’s back.

  Cassidy read more about the process of making and using a garrote. “Elvis, it’s really kind of simple. It’s a strong wire wrapped around two things that can serve as handles or grips.” She stared at the pictures ranging from sticks to pieces of pipe. She closed her browser and her eyes for a few minutes to try to wipe the gruesome images from her memory.

  “Oh, puppy. That’s what the police found in my serenity garden. Drumsticks and a guitar string. What did Johnny Storm do to make someone kill him that way? Or was it a crime of passion, and someone used what was nearby? That would seem to point to someone with access to the band’s equipment. But Johnny seemed to be worth more to the band alive than dead. Okay. Here’s my theory. It’s someone who wanted it to look like one of the bandmates. Or it happened in a fit of rage. Or maybe it was some lunatic fan or ex-girlfriend. Great. Now I’m back to aliens, Bigfoot, or a crazy maniac running around.” The little dog turned his head but offered no suggestions.

  Cassidy laughed at her dog’s response. “This is harder than it looks. There are so many people with opportunities. I’ve got to narrow this down. I know the sheriff’s team doesn’t want me involved, but who else is this close to the band every day? I’m going to keep asking questions and looking for possibilities.”

  She opened her browser again, determined to find something in the band’s past to explain Johnny’s murder.

  A shrill whine resounded through the apartment. Cassidy sat up and winced when her laptop jabbed her in the ribcage. “What’s up, Elvis? I must have drifted off. Surprise, surprise. I didn’t find anything new. I guess I’m not the greatest sleuth. But we have to keep trying. This business is all I have.” The brown and tan dog continued to whimper at the door. “Okay, let’s go out one more time.” She stood and slipped on her shoes.

  Elvis continued to dance until she led him downstairs and out near the patio. He paused and listened for a second then darted toward the barn. Neither the early morning chill nor the woodland sounds seem to bother him. He heard something and led the charge to see what it was. Maybe Elvis should be my model for success. If you want something, go for it. Step out of your comfort zone, girl. You need to protect your business and your reputation. Stop worrying about what others think. Follow your nose or your instincts.

  Two male voices echoed in the stillness of the mountain air. Cassidy picked up Elvis to try to keep him from barking as she crept closer to the barn. “Shhh. Let’s see what’s going on,” she whispered. Still in the darkness away from the barn’s floodlights, she tiptoed to the corner of the building and peeked around.

  Under the barn’s exterior lights, Dirk stood against the wall with one foot propped on the wooden siding. Jack, standing in a patch of gravel, faced the drummer. He blew on his hands and stuffed them in the pockets of his jeans. “Man, it got cold fast. I’ll be glad when we’re done here. After this tour, I’m taking a break and heading somewhere warm to recuperate. I’ve had enough. We’re getting too old for all of this.”

  “Speak for yourself. I’m as good as I ever was. And things were going fine until Karl started pulling his stunts again. I thought he had kicked all that after his seventh or eighth stint in rehab. He knows better than to get messed up before a show. I know Johnny and the promoters laid down the law before we all signed on. What was he thinking?” Dirk asked.

  “It’s not the same anymore. I know we were all a part of creating the sound and recording the songs, but the energy and the soul aren’t there without Johnny. I miss him.” Jack shifted his weight from one foot to the other and kicked rocks with the toe of his biker boot. “We may have reached the end of this journey. Maybe we should have a band meeting and talk through what we want to do. It’s probably time to call it. People’ll understand after what happened to Johnny. I don’t know if any of our hearts are truly in it anymore.”

  “Karl won’t understand, and real rockers don’t retire,” Dirk argued. “What are we going to do after music? It’s all we’ve ever done. None of us are going to be good retirees. And none of us can remember our last real job.”

  “I think Karl’s taking Johnny’s death harder than we anticipated. We may need to check on him. I mean, have a real convo with him. Something’s not right. He’s not right.” Jack shook his head then stared down at his feet.

  “Like an intervention?”

  “If he needs it.” Jack continued to fidget.

  “What if it isn’t grief? What if it’s guilt?” Dirk’s voice trailed off with that last word. “What do we do if we find out something we don’t want to know?”

  Cassidy sucked in a mouthful of chilly air, and Elvis decided at that moment to let out a series of yips. Thinking fast, she put him on the ground and let him zip around the corner toward the two men, whose faces reflected surprise as they approached. The little dog distracted Dirk and Jack, while Cassidy made a lot of noise as she drew closer to the duo. “Good evening, gentlemen. We’re out for his evening stroll. How are you all doing?”