“I’m really sorry this is happening,” she told her. “It must be torture for you.” She paused before asking, “How did you meet him?”
The girl brightened. “I grew up in a small town outside Spartanburg,” she explained. “I moved to Savannah the day I turned seventeen. Packed everything I could fit in the car and drove straight down here. Got a job waiting tables.” She leaned against the wall. “I had no money but I loved music and I thought I could find a band to join in a town like this. I saw a notice at a coffee shop one day for a backup singer, so I went and auditioned.” She smiled at the memory. “I was scared to death—it was my first real audition. But when I walked in Xavier was sitting at the piano playing a song and Hunter was there, messing around on the guitar. They were so nice I forgot to stay scared. And, well. We started singing and we never stopped.”
“What’s going on?” Hunter’s voice made them both jump. They hadn’t heard him walking up the stairs. But now he stood in the hallway, watching the two of them through the open door.
Allegra stiffened. “We’re just talking.” She sounded defensive.
Hunter’s accusing gaze swung to Harper, who felt instantly guilty.
“She was showing me around,” she explained, heat rising to her face.
He walked into the room, his eyes dark with grief and anger. “I suppose if you’re going to write about him, you might as well see it all,” he said, with some bitterness. “The police have already stomped all over it. You might as well do the same.”
She’d pushed things too far. She’d lost them. She retreated to the door. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have come up here. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Hunter let out a long breath and looked around Xavier’s room, as if ensuring nothing had moved.
“It’s so hard,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “We’re so tired. We keep answering questions from the police. The same questions over and over. And they don’t have any answers for us. All we want to know is where he is and what happened. We tell them everything and they tell us nothing.”
Pivoting, he pounded one fist hard against the wall with a sound like a piece of meat hitting the floor.
Caught completely by surprise, Harper and Allegra stared at him, openmouthed.
He raised his fist as if to punch it again.
“Stop it, Hunter!” Allegra ran to his side, grabbing his wrist in both her hands. “Stop hurting yourself.”
All his muscles tensed as he tried to free his arm. He looked so angry and lost, for a split second Harper thought he might punch her.
“Allegra?” Cara’s voice rose from downstairs. “What’s going on?”
All the fight left him. Dazed, he cradled his hand. His knuckles were torn and bleeding.
“You idiot,” Allegra said, still holding his wrist gently. “Look what you’ve done.”
Cara raced into the room, her face white. “What happened? Hunter?”
“It’s nothing,” he told her, calming down. “I decided the wall was my enemy.”
Cara glanced from the blood on his hand to the faint, red mark he’d left on the pristine wall. She gave him a long searching look, but all she said was, “We should put ice on this.”
Hunter didn’t argue. They trooped down the stairs, Cara and Allegra both talking at the same time about whether he should go to the doctor, or wait and see if it started to swell. The scene was, in its own way, a glimpse of what life had been like in this house before Xavier walked out to the beach on Wednesday night.
Harper trailed behind. She was conscious she shouldn’t stay much longer. She wanted them to see her as someone they could call on when they needed her. Not someone who hung around and got in the way.
As the three of them made their way into the kitchen, she stopped in the doorway.
“Look, I should probably go,” she said. “You need your space.”
They looked up at her with surprise, and something like disappointment.
“Could you come back with more food?” Allegra asked.
“Allegra…” Cara chided.
She didn’t back down. “We’re out of food. I’m starving.”
Harper pulled three business cards from her pocket and set them on the table by the door. “I’ll come back later if you want,” she promised. “I don’t mind bringing you anything you need. Give me a call.”
Hunter walked over to her, his wounded hand wrapped in a towel. The scattering of freckles on his nose gave him a boyish look that was nothing like the angry man she’d glimpsed a few seconds ago.
“I’m sorry about this.” He held up his hand. “I’m just tired and frustrated. You’re the only person telling us what’s really going on. Thank you for coming over.”
“You’re welcome,” she said. “I’m glad I could help.” She looked past him to the other two. “I can show myself out.”
Leaving the three of them in the kitchen, she walked down the grand hallway. She was nearly to the door when someone knocked on it, hard.
“Who is it?” Allegra called from the kitchen.
“I don’t know,” she called back.
The knocking came again, harder this time.
“Hunter, are you in there?” an angry male voice demanded. “Cara? Wake up.”
Bang, bang, bang.
Hunter appeared behind her. “Oh crap. It’s Stu.”
It took Harper a second to figure out who he was talking about. Stuart Dillon—the band’s manager, who’d flown back from Paris.
Hunter moved past her to the door, letting out a breath before grasping the handle with his good hand and opening it.
“Stuart,” he said, without enthusiasm. “You’re back.”
On the porch stood a tall, athletic man, with a tanned face and suspicious eyes. The sun gleamed on his smooth head. He wore jeans with glossy, expensive-looking boots, and a dark cashmere sweater. “I came straight from the airport,” he said, pushing his way in without waiting for an invitation. “Tell me he’s back.”
“He’s not,” Hunter said.
“Well, where the hell is he? He’s supposed to be on tour tomorrow. The record company’s asking questions I can’t answer.” Stuart’s eyes skimmed the hallway, stopping on Harper. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m—” she began to explain, but Cara stepped between them before she could get the words out.
“Stuart,” she exclaimed, holding out her arms. “Thank God. We’ve been desperate for you to get here.”
Harper had a feeling every word was a lie. But Stuart didn’t appear to have the same sense as he gave her a tight, emotionless hug. “Cara, how are you holding up? You must be losing your mind.”
While Cara distracted him, Hunter motioned urgently for Harper to go out the open door. Clearly, none of them wanted the manager to figure out that they’d invited a reporter into their house.
“We don’t know what to do,” Cara was saying as Harper slipped outside. “The police are useless.”
“Don’t worry,” Stuart assured her, something threatening in his tone. “I’m here now. I’ll get their asses in gear.”