“Hey, Ash, what’s wrong?”
“Your neighbor Teddy called the main line. He’s been trying to reach you.”
Maybe he’d seen the black Jeep. “What did he say?”
“Somebody broke into your apartment and he got knocked unconscious when he was sussing it out. He said he just came to and he sounds freaked out.”
Melody felt the blood drain from her face, leaving it cold. The roses had been disturbing enough, but it had been easy to imagine Ryan as the perpetrator in spite of his denial. But Ryan wasn’t in a position to mess with her head anymore. Teddy had been hurt, and what would have happened if she’d been home? “Ash, I need to go. Can someone cover for me?”
“I’ll cover. Go, girl. And be careful.”
Chapter Forty-six
MELODY RAN OUT THE BACK DOOR of Pearl Club and almost collided with Detectives Nolan and Crawford. She was panting, on the verge of hyperventilating, and she bent over and tried to catch her breath. It wasn’t helping. She felt a gentle hand on her back.
“Cup your hands and put them over your mouth and nose,” Nolan said calmly. “Try to breathe from your diaphragm slowly. Hold your breath for a few seconds if you can.”
Melody obeyed and eventually felt her breathing slow. Sweat dripped from her face onto her sneakers. She tried to focus on the spreading circles of dampness on the yellow canvas.
“Okay?”
Melody rose slowly. “Thank you.”
“What’s wrong, Ms. Traeger?”
“Someone broke into my apartment and knocked out my neighbor.”
Nolan held out her hand. “Give me your keys.”
“Why?”
“I’m driving you home. I don’t want you having a panic attack on the road. Detective Crawford will follow us there. Get in, please.”
Melody obeyed, leaned back in the seat, and closed her eyes. She’d never been a passenger in her own car and it felt strange; almost as strange as her life suddenly turning into a gigantic maelstrom of shit. “I have a stalker, don’t I? Somebody’s obsessed with me. Or somebody wants to ruin my life. Or kill me.”
“It could have just been a break-in.”
“You don’t believe that and neither do I.”
“You’ve had some time to think. Are you sure nobody comes to mind?”
She sighed heavily and opened her eyes. They were stuck at a light on La Cienega. Markus Ellenbeck was the only person who was aggressively flirtatious with her, but he didn’t make her uncomfortable. No way—it couldn’t be him. She’d known him for two years and he was a sweetheart, a solid citizen who was esteemed in music circles as a producer and for his drum work on some of the greatest rock albums of the past thirty years. Famous people didn’t stalk bartenders.
But rabid fans sometimes stalked musicians.
“The only thing I can think of is that I was in a rock band a few years ago. We had a small following, very loyal. But nothing crazy ever happened back then, and I went by a pseudonym, so nobody knew who I really was. I didn’t even know who I was, I was so messed up all the time.”
“What band?”
“Poke.”
Nolan nodded, giving no indication whether the name was familiar or not. “What was your stage name?”
“Roxy Codone,” she said bitterly. “It seemed so funny back then.”
“That’s your past.”
“My future’s not looking so great right now, either.”
“You’re sober and smart. I’d say your future is wide open.”
Melody fixed a brooding gaze at the dashboard. The last thing she’d expected from a homicide cop was optimism.
Nolan took a call, then shoved the phone in her blazer pocket. “Detective Crawford just arrived at your apartment. The police are already there. They’ll get your neighbor’s statement and then they’ll speak with you.”
Melody felt her eyes stinging and she turned toward the side window, furious that the fear was back. “I’m never going to feel safe there again. And that really pisses me off because I love my place.”
“We’ll make sure you feel safe there again.”
Melody looked at Nolan. She was a pretty woman, she realized. Imposing, rigid, but pretty. She couldn’t imagine her smiling, but of course she did. Everybody smiled, didn’t they? “Why were you and Detective Crawford at Pearl? Do you know something about Ryan?”
“We’re still investigating. But no, we don’t have anything new to share with you.”
“So why were you at Pearl?”
“To ask you some questions.”
“Go ahead.”
“We don’t have to do this now.”
“No. Please. It’ll keep my mind occupied. I don’t like where it’s at right now.”
“Were you with Sam Easton this morning?”
“Yes. Until about ten-thirty or so, and then I went home to get ready for work.” Nascent coils of panic began to unfurl in her stomach. “Why?”
“How long have you known him?”
“Six months, I guess.”
“And you’re friends.”
“Friends and coworkers, yes.”
“Close friends?”
“We’re not sleeping together, if that’s what you mean,” she said tartly.
“Did you know Mrs. Easton?”
“No.”
“Did he ever mention anything about his wife being unfaithful?”
Melody’s thoughts slammed to an abrupt halt. No wonder Nolan had been so anxious to chauffeur her to a B and E; she had a captive audience and a perfect environment for interrogation. For what reason, she wasn’t sure, but she didn’t like the direction the conversation was taking. “He found out this morning.”
“Has he ever talked about someone named Dawson Lightner?”
“No. What is this about?”
Nolan kept her eyes on the road ahead. “Yukiko Easton was murdered.”
The world seemed to fall away, and Melody was certain that if she hadn’t been sitting down she would have passed out. “Oh my God. What the hell is happening?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“He didn’t kill her. Yuki was his world. Poor Sam.” Her voice cracked as she punched in a call to him that went to voice mail. “Take me there.”
“We need to check out your apartment, and you need to file a report first.”
“No. Detective, I’m worried about Sam. He’s going through a hard time.”
Nolan finally looked at her, but her eyes were covered with large sunglasses. Ray-Bans. “Are you concerned about his welfare?”
“Hell, yes, I’m concerned about his welfare. His wife was just murdered. If you won’t take me there, I’ll get out and walk.”
Chapter Forty-seven
SAM WENT TO THE BATHROOM, TURNED on the faucet for background noise, and leaned against the vanity for a long time. It was a nice vanity, zebrawood with a marble top and basin. Yuki had designed it; a carpenter she knew had built it; and he’d installed it. Nice work all around.
The mirror he hadn’t looked into for two years had been part of the upgrade, too, a vintage Hollywood Regency Yuki had proudly acquired for too much money. It was a sunburst monstrosity with wicked, writhing, gilt tongues manically licking an escape from an oval of silvered glass. He called it the Exploding Porcupine.