Bananas Foster and a Dead Mobster (19 page)

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DECEPTION AT CASTLE ROCK

by

ANNE MARIE STODDARD

CHAPTER ONE

"Flight Five-Four-Two from Los Angeles." I squinted at the screen mounted to the nearby wall. It was a warm spring Friday in mid-June, and I was standing in the middle of Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson Airport. "It looks like the plane arrived twenty minutes ago," I called over the noise of the bustling baggage claim area.

My best friend, Kat Taylor, was perched on the edge of an aluminum bench a few feet away, flipping through a discarded copy of
SkyMall
. "What is it about these catalogs that makes me want the most random junk?" She scrunched her nose and held up the magazine so I could see the page she'd been reading. "Like, who knew that glow-in-the-dark toilet seats were a thing?" She giggled. "No, wait. I get it—so you don't have to blind yourself with the bathroom light if you get up in the middle of the night to pee. Why didn't I ever think of that?"

"Maybe we should get those for Castle Rock's bathrooms. They'd be perfect for the Black Light Rave Night in the Dungeon next month." I smirked. "Anyway, the guys should be walking up any minute."

Kat set the magazine on the bench and came to stand next to me. "Can you believe it's been five years?" she asked. The last time we'd seen Jack Pearson, Mickey Ward, and Chad Egan, they were just three college dropouts dreaming of recording an indie-rock album. Our pals left Georgia State senior year and moved to L.A. to try to land a record deal. Half a decade later, they were three-fifths of the mega-famous rock outfit, Royal Flush.

"Shouldn't be hard to spot 'em," Kat said, surveying the crowd. "Just look for the throng of swooning girls." Her light brown hair bounced as she dubiously shook her head. "You'd think they were freakin' One Direction the way women get their panties wet over them." She rolled her eyes. "It's kind of ridiculous."

"Be nice," I scolded, though I was smiling. "They're still the same old goofball stoners from down the hall in the dorm freshman year. Plus they hooked us up with exclusive booking rights for all of their shows in Atlanta."

Kat rested her hands on her hips. "Which would be great if they played here even once in the past five years. It's like they've been shunning ATL until now. Where's the hometown love?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, well, that's part of what made the tickets for tomorrow night sell out so fast." I patted her arm. "Come on. It'll be fun to see them—like a mini college reunion."

"Yeah." Kat nodded, her lips twisting in a goofy grin. "I can't wait to see if Chad can still throw down on some Mario Kart like the old days. My Xbox is on the top shelf in my closet, just in case."

"You bet your skinny butt I can, Taylor," called a voice from behind us. Kat and I exchanged excited looks and turned to find a lanky, red-haired man strutting toward us. "Hey there, strangers." His freckled face stretched in a wide smile as he set down his luggage and wrapped one arm around Kat.

"Chad!" Kat squealed, returning his hug.

Chad pulled me close with his other arm. "Hey, Amelia. Long time no see."

When he'd released us both, Kat stepped back and sized him up. "Dude, you haven't changed a bit."

Chad Egan arched a bushy, red eyebrow. "Not true. I didn't have these before." He pointed to the quarter-sized black discs plugging his gauged earlobes. "Or this," he added, lifting his shirt. Tattooed on his pale chest were five playing cards—the ace, king, queen, jack, and ten of hearts. The bottom half of each card was missing, and bright red-and-orange flames licked at what remained. Beneath the burning cards was a pile of black ash that spelled the letters
R
and
F
for Royal Flush. "So, what do you think?" Chad shifted his gaze back and forth from his ink to Kat and me, trying to read our reactions. "Pretty wicked, huh?"

"Very," I said, giving him a high five.

"Badass!" Kat reached out and poked at the tat with one finger and then tickled Chad's ribs.

"Cut it out, K." He laughed and grabbed her shoulders, holding her at arm's length as he looked her up and down. "
You've
definitely changed—you went and got hot while I was away." He gave an appreciative whistle.

"Please!" Kat scoffed. "I was always hot, and you know it." That was true—my best friend had looked like a Victoria's Secret model since high school. She had wavy light brown hair that tumbled down past her shoulders, eyes like blue chips of ice, full heart-shaped lips, and legs for days. Though I didn't look half-bad myself, hanging around Kat had sealed my fate as the perpetually single sidekick up until college.

"Yeah, yeah." Chad rolled his eyes. "So, about this Mario Kart face-off—"

"I hate to break up the love fest, y'all," I interrupted. "But where is the rest of the band?"

Chad aimed a sly grin my way. "Yo, slow your roll, Ame," he said, using the old nickname Kat gave me when we were kids, like
Amy
without the
y
. "I beat the rest of the guys off the plane. I know you're dying to see your old lover boy, but chill. He'll be along in a minute."

Heat rushed to my cheeks. "I wasn't just talking about Mickey," I protested. Royal Flush's drummer, Mickey Ward, was my first serious boyfriend. We'd dated for about a year and a half in college that ended in a messy breakup right before the guys skipped town. I hadn't spoken to him since. Five years was a long time to go without official closure, but I'd moved on a long time ago. That's what I kept telling myself, anyway. Still, the thought of seeing Mickey again after so long filled my stomach with butterflies—something I wasn't about to admit to Chad.

"Oh, come on." Kat eyed me pointedly. "That hot outfit you're rockin' has nothing to do with the fact that you're about to see Mickey for the first time since college—seriously?"

"What?" I glanced down at my tight-fitting, knee-length, blue wrap dress with a plunging neckline, which I'd paired with a cute pair of black leather ankle boots. It was a far cry from my normal work wear: the first thing from my laundry pile that wasn't too wrinkled and smelled clean enough. "I was just trying to look more professional." I smoothed a wrinkle in the fabric near my waistline. "We are technically working right now, after all—picking up tomorrow night's performers."

Kat wagged a finger at me. "Don't give me that, Missy. I see the way you dress on a daily basis, remember? And that includes the occasional chauffeur duty from the airport." She reached out and lightly tugged a strand of my shoulder-length auburn locks. "You don't straighten your hair and break out the mascara for just anyone. When's the last time you came to work not sporting jeans and a ponytail?"
Damn.
The downside to having a best friend who's known me since we were in diapers is that she's mastered Amelia Grace Psychology 101. I can't get anything past her.

"Busted!" Chad cried gleefully.

I shot Kat an arctic look. "Traitor," I muttered. So, I dressed a little fancier than usual today. There's no rule that says a girl can't look her best when seeing an ex again for the first time post-breakup, even if she no longer has feelings for him. "Is it a crime to try to look nice for my friends?" I asked indignantly. "And besides, I'm seeing someone—you know that, Kat." My cold expression thawed a little at the thought of Emmett, my boyfriend of the past seven months.

"Hey, good for you, Ame." Chad grinned, holding out his fist so I could bump it with my own. "Get you some!"

"Get some what?" The familiar masculine voice made my insides flutter. Keeping my breathing even, I raised my eyes toward the man walking up to meet us. "Hey," Mickey Ward said, his lips pulled wide in a brilliant smile. The noise of the busy airport fell away when we locked gazes. My mind ran through a gag-worthy montage of our college romance that was one sappy Paula Cole song away from being an episode of
Dawson's Creek:
meeting Mickey in our music management class, sharing our first kiss on the quad after a Georgia State basketball game, the look on his face when he'd spot me in the crowd at one of his gigs—and the devastation in his eyes when I handed back the engagement ring he'd just placed on my finger.
Stop that,
I chided myself.
This isn't some made-for-TV movie. Don't make things weird.
So what if I hadn't seen him since the day I'd turned down his proposal? We could still be normal around each other, right? Of course,
normal
for Mickey and me was being attached at the lips
…
and maybe a few other parts
. Crap.

"Hi, stranger," I said, trying to sound casual as I looked him over. "Long time no see." The extra five years looked good on Mickey—he was tall and broad-shouldered, not quite as trim as he'd been in college, but still in great shape. His brown hair had grown down to his shoulders and was tied loosely behind his neck. Mickey's face was round with a soft jaw line, and there was still a little white scar on his chin from a shaving accident when he was seventeen. He'd never been conventionally handsome, but in all honesty, that was part of why I was attracted to him to begin with. That, and his eyes. Mickey had the sweetest eyes I'd ever seen—warm and golden brown, like two drops of wild honey. Even staring into them now made me want to melt.

"And you," Mickey began and then paused, as if not sure what to say. "Amelia, you look…wow." I glanced down at my own slightly slimmer figure, giving myself a mental high five for shaving off about ten pounds this year doing yoga. I looked back up just as Mickey's face broke into that charming boyish grin that I fell in love with in college. Despite my best effort to keep cool, my insides turned to mush. "I can't believe you're really standing in front of me right now," he said. Mickey slid his carry-on bag off his shoulder and dropped it at his feet, holding his arms open wide. "Get over here!"

I stepped forward to accept Mickey's hug. The smell of his Burberry cologne sent even more memories spiraling through me.
He still wears the same scent I bought him for Valentine's Day junior year.
I gulped, pulling away from his embrace before he seemed ready to release me. I cast a glance at Chad and Kat, who were huddled close together, staring at our interaction and whispering to each other like a pair of gossiping housewives.

Chad caught my eye and broke away from Kat to join us. He slung a casual arm around my shoulder. "Ame was just telling us about her new man," he said to Mickey, his mouth quirking at the corners. Chad really hadn't changed a bit since our Georgia State days—he always liked to stir the pot. For once I was relieved that he was a sucker for drama: he'd broken the news to Mickey so that I wouldn't have to. Still, I hated seeing the glint of pain in Mickey's eyes. Maybe I wasn't the only one looking for closure.

"Oh." Mickey quickly recovered from the look of regret that flashed across his handsome face. "Good," he said warmly. "I'm happy for you."

"Thanks." I suddenly felt self-conscious in my tight dress. I slipped out from under Chad's arm and adjusted the purse strap on my shoulder. "Hey, there's Jack!" I pointed toward the mob of women, young and old, who were crowded around our college buddy and his entourage. The Royal Flush front man was signing autographs and flashing his signature half-smile as fans shoved in front of each other to snap photos with him. Standing behind Jack and his flock of lusty ladies were two men who I recognized as the newest members of Royal Flush, Sid Malone and Zane Calloway. Sid joined the guys right before they left Atlanta, and they'd met Zane out in L.A.

A curvy woman with fiery red hair ushered Jack and the others through the throng of women, shooing more fans away with her over-sized rolling suitcase. "We've gotta go," she commanded as they reached us. "If we don't lose these broads now Jack will be signing autographs in this freakin' airport until next Easter."

"That's why we should've sprung for a private jet," Chad quipped from beside me.

The woman rolled her eyes at him. "It would've been a waste of money considering Jack's the only one the ladies are flipping out for. I don't see a flock of girls knocking over luggage carts to get to
you
, Egan."

Chad stuck out his bottom lip. "I'm incognito," he said, pulling his shades down over his eyes.

"I'd knock down a cart to meet you," Kat said, bumping him with her shoulder. Chad's cheeks turned pink.

"You must be Ginger," I said, stepping forward and extending my hand to the red-haired woman.

She shook my hand. "Yes. I'm Ginger Robbins." Her tone was professional yet polite. She squinted at me. "Amelia, right? I believe we spoke on the phone a few times."

"That's right." As both the booking agent and general manager for Castle Rock, I handled all of the paperwork and dealt with tour managers like Ginger for each concert we produced. "We've rented an Escalade so that Kat can take you and the band over to the hotel. I've also got my car parked nearby to transport luggage if needed."