Clay moved to sit on the arm of the comfy chair she was in, his hand resting close to her shoulder. Plunging directly into the story, she said, “The investigation by the FBI is still ongoing, but what I can tell you is that Steven became involved with someone in the drug-trafficking trade.”
The gasps from Mike, Jamie, and Dunk were audible, their eyes growing wide in unison.
“Jerry Kincaid, the man you knew as a benefactor for our band, had been embezzling from Congressman Bennett for several years. A drug cartel became aware of his thefts and convinced him that working for them would be in his best interests. All he had to do was provide a place where the drug-runners could recharge their craft and they would assist with laundering the money.”
“Oh, fuck,” Mike breathed, shaking his head slowly, then jerking his gaze back to Clay. “Steven?”
Nodding, Clay replied, “Yes. I’m not sure how Kincaid and Steven struck up a partnership. It seems to have occurred right after he heard your band and saw it as a way to move money through your books. I have no idea if Steven was aware of the full extent of Kincaid’s illegal dealings, but he was very aware that the band’s books were being cooked to hide money.”
“That fuckin’ moron!” Jamie bit out.
“Do we actually have any money left?” Mike asked.
“While the money that Steven allowed Kincaid to siphon through the band’s accounting is now being held, he did have another account that appears to have most of our actual earnings in it,” Christina said.
The gathering was quiet for a moment, the three visitors seeming to take in the information, lost in their thoughts.
“He pushed it.”
Dunk’s voice cut through the silence, drawing everyone’s attention to him. He lifted anguished eyes toward Christina and said, “I take full responsibility, but he pushed it.”
“Dunk, what do you mean?” she asked, her brow furrowed as she watched him carefully.
He scrubbed his hand over his face and cast his gaze around the others before settling it on her. “Steven kept telling me that tossing back the whiskey during our performances made the crowd go wilder. Kinda like when they go nuts when you’re dancing around, Tiny. I knew I was losing control. My dad was an alcoholic, so you’d think I’d know better. But he was right. We’d finish a song, I’d slam back a beer or whiskey, the crowd would scream and shout. We’d finish a set, and I’d let the fans buy me drinks. Where we were playing, we’d often get a cut of the house, so it was more money.” Shaking his head, he added, “The fucker was using the band to launder drug money and pushing me to drink just so we could get more.”
“Oh, Dunk, I’m so sorry,” Christina said. She stood and walked closer, sitting on the coffee table, reaching over to place her hand on Dunk’s arm. “How can we help?”
He shook his head, wincing. “Damn, Tiny, you don’t need to worry about me. How the hell you can even sit here with me is a miracle after what I did.”
“I want you to get help. What happened was awful, but it’s over and we can move past it.”
“Even him?” Dunk asked, inclining his head toward Clay.
Clay sucked in a deep breath and replied, “I’ll have my eye on you. She’s more forgiving than I am, but I’m willing to be led by her example… but you’ve got an alcohol problem and need to take care of it.”
Dunk nodded emphatically. “I’ve entered AA. My driver’s license is suspended, and I have community service to perform. But I entered AA on my own.”
“Then that’s a good start,” Clay said.
“What about the band?” Jamie asked. He ducked his head and said, “With everything going on, I guess it seems ridiculous to ask about the band, but… well, I just wondered.”
Standing, Christina walked back over to Clay’s side and smiled at him. He wrapped his arm around her waist and squeezed. She knew what she had to say might not be met with gladness, but with Clay’s support, it made it easier to face her bandmates. Facing them again, she said, “I love playing my violin. Whether I’m in the symphonic orchestra or with Amhrán M'anama, I love touching other people with the music I create. But I have a life here in Maine. A life that’s important to me, and while an occasional trip is fine, I have no desire to be part of a group that requires a circuit of national or international travel and touring. So, this is where the four of us have to come to a decision. Steven is out, so there’s no lead singer at this time.”
Cocking his head to the side, Mike asked, “So, exactly what decision do we need to make?”
“At this point, any one of the four of us can walk away. Or any combination of us can stay in and create a new version of Amhrán M'anama. We can audition for a new lead singer, one who has our same goals and values. Or we can just stay instrumental. And if the three of you want to continue without me, that’s fine too.”
Dunk immediately said, “I’m just honored that you're offering this invitation to me as well. I’ve got some family in this area, and I need the support from them and friends to make sure I stay on the AA path. So, I’m willing to continue to be the drummer with the same goals that you have, Tiny.”
Nodding, Mike said, “I love the bagpipes, but my vocation is my shop. Like Dunk, I’ve got family in the area and have no problem continuing this being our part-time gig.”
Jamie rubbed his chin and grinned. “I couldn’t have said it better. I’m in.”
“Well, all right, boys. It looks like Amhrán M'anama is still in business.”
Clay squeezed her hip slightly and reminded, “Contract, babe.”
“Yes,” she nodded. “I’d like for us to have a contract that spells out what we want as a band, including how we handle the money through a reliable accountant, payments given to each of us, and agreements on travel and recordings.”
“God, yes!” Jamie enthused, nodding emphatically.
“Absolutely,” Mike and Dunk agreed with equal enthusiasm.
After warmer goodbye hugs, she closed the door as the three left. Turning back to Clay, she walked over and slid her arms around his waist. Leaning her head back, she held his gaze. “Thank you for not pounding Dunk into the ground.”
He snorted. “It was hard. But I’ll have my eye on him. One step out of line, and he’s out.”
“I love you, you know,” she said. Smiling, she lifted on her toes. Bending, he closed the distance, taking her lips in a deep, heartfelt kiss.
Two Months Later
All the Keepers and their women were filling one side of the bar. Laughter and chatting amongst friends had him wish Christina was sitting with him. They had searched for a house together, still near the coast but convenient to both. Not too large, but big enough for a family one day. Finding one they both loved, they’d closed on the property the week before. Their friends helped them move and then Christina delighted in hosting their first Lighthouse party.
She would still drive into Portland for the practices and symphonies during the orchestra season, but with the other members of Amhrán M'anama living just to the north of Portland, they’d found a practice site that was nearby to cut down on her commute.