Chapter 13

Thirteen

D ane

I tried smoking. I tried pacing. I almost jumped back in the pool, but I didn't want to hassle with clothes, drying off, none of that nonsense. But this house, these walls, the assault of memories, the terror of the killer's face, all of it had me in a state of agitation.

Then I walked by the piano. I didn't think it was the same one Tess had, but it could have been. I lifted the lid and tapped a couple of keys.

1970

"Oh hey, Dee Dee. I'm just going to fix breakfast."

It was the morning after I'd had a huge fight with Mom, and I'd told her I was leaving for good. I'd probably go back, but Tess's house was the only place I wanted to be, the only place where I felt like I could be myself. Mom would argue that was because I spent all my time there instead of with kids my own age, and I would be better off not spending my days with a bunch of drugged-out hippies. I retorted that they were drugged out off of her weed, and she didn't have a lot to say about that. We both knew her herbal deliveries kept a roof over our head when her art wasn't selling as well.

"Hey kid, if you're going to start playing that thing, you should bring me coffee first."

His voice startled me. I hadn't noticed that Gram Parsons had crashed on Tess's couch in a low-cut pair of pants unbuttoned at the waist, and nothing else.

"Sorry," I said, closing the lid.

He sat up, and his dark hair fell in his face as he reached for a beer bottle on the coffee table."I didn't say not to play, only that you should bring me coffee first." He gulped down what was left of the beer, made a face, and then put the empty bottle back with the vast number of dead soldiers.

"It's okay," I said. "I haven't played in a long time. I can get you some coffee, though." He'd never talked to me before. Or not just me. I was a little tongue tied. He was so handsome. Smart, too. And there was so much skin on display. I'd never really liked country music, but if he was playing it, I'd listen for hours. I couldn't deny his genius. His lyrics were the level I aspired to write someday.

"Bring me some coffee and I'll teach you a song." He grinned up at me with his dark hair falling over his big blue eyes that always had that lazy way about them.

I scurried into the kitchen and watched the pot fill way too slowly for my liking.

"Here, taste this," Tess said, holding up a spoonful of oatmeal.

"Oh, that's good," I said. "It's sweet."

"Maple syrup! Nat brought some back from New England. Thought I'd give it a try."

"It's really good." I accepted the bowl she'd scooped for me and then reached up for a coffee cup. As much as Tess protested being involved with anyone, Nat seemed to be extra nice to her, and it seemed like maybe he was wearing her down.

"You don't drink coffee," she teased me.

"It's for Gram," I said, my back to her. I knew she'd have that pitying look in her eyes when I turned around. She knew I had a crush on him, and she always told me to be careful.

I'd had enough of careful. I knew better than to get my hopes up, but if he was going to teach me anything on the piano, I was going to learn whatever I could from him.

I turned and grinned at her, then I carried the bowl and the mug into the living room. I found Gram sitting at the piano, his low-slung brown corduroy pants barely covering his ass as he sat on the bench. He played a few bars of "Hot Burrito #1," his body swaying side to side as he played.

I set the mug down on the table nearest the piano and stood behind him, watching his fingers dance over the keys.

"Here," he said, shifting on the bench. "Sit."

He demonstrated a few things, but I was mesmerized being so close to him, watching him speak, watching his long fingers stretch and curl, watching his dark hair brush the sides of his throat.

Poetry in motion.

"How 'bout you try?"

I put my hands on the keys and I tried to do what he showed me, making it painfully clear that I hadn't been paying attention to his instructions. I faked it well enough and caught up as he played beside me.

"You know the words?" When I nodded, he smiled. "Let's hear you sing it."

His smile was so genuine, so encouraging. I understood how he'd come to town and was instantly tight with most everyone in the canyon. He just made you feel like you mattered, and he chattered on about how he learned to play as a kid in Florida, how he'd started a band when he was at Harvard, and how he couldn't wait to leave in a couple of weeks for London to hang out with the Stones. Him and Keith had become good friends.

"You've got a great voice. You sound older," he said with a laugh. "Play me something you've written. Sing for me."

We played for a couple hours more, my oatmeal and his coffee long forgotten. Tess eventually came out and sat on the couch, listening.

"We gotta get you a gig at the Troubadour. You need to play live. Tess, he's great. You should have him play for you."

She raised her eyebrows. "I could use another touring musician. I've got bass and drums covered, but if I play piano, I can't play guitar, and vice versa. What do you think?"

She was offering me a job. A way to stay with her and my friends when they were on the road. A chance to make music, which was increasingly all I wanted to do, all I cared about.

"I think my mom will hate it." And she would, but she had no room to talk. Since I'd turned 16, almost three years ago, she'd been traveling a lot more, leaving me to watch the house… and hang out at Tess's. "But I'd love it."

"Me too!" Tess gave me a big hug.

Gram patted my back and smiled at me. "Greatest life ever, man. Come on, let's teach you some of Tess's songs."

I'd have agreed to just about anything with Gram playing piano beside me. I learned that he'd actually written two songs for Tess previously, and she planned to have him produce her next album. That had me thinking about possibly playing with her in the studio—under Gram's spell. I'd love it indeed.

"We start our next tour in about six weeks," she said. "Gives you plenty of time to learn."

"Thanks," I said.

"Don't thank me! I wasn't looking forward to auditioning people. You're helping me out, and it will be so fun to have you with me on the road! You make everything better, Dane."

That tour was my first time away from home, the longest I'd ever been away from Mom, and the best time of my young life. It was also the start of my musical journey. I learned so much, and every night that I performed and met new people, I was more determined than ever to figure out how to keep doing this forever. I started writing in earnest, and by the time the summer was over, I was ready to start recording my own music and play my own shows.

I owed it all to Tess, and to Gram, and everyone else who'd ever talked to me at Tess's.

I felt fortunate. Hopeful. I was ready to take on the world.

2019

I felt fortunate once again—getting a second chance at life, meeting good people like Ryan and Kal, and of course Walter, who kissed me like there was no yesterday, no tomorrow. However, this situation was too scary to feel hopeful, and I definitely didn't feel ready to take on the world. Although, with Walter watching over me, things were starting to feel doable.

"Hey," Kal said quietly. "I made you some food. I thought maybe things would feel a little better after a meal."

"Thank you," I said, looking over the tray. There were cut-up strawberries, carrots and celery, and cheeses, along with some crackers. "Food really does make things better, doesn't it? My friend Tess, who used to live here, taught me that."

"She sounds like a wonderful person."

"She is, was… I wish I knew what happened to her."

Kal's big blue eyes widened. "I'm sure we can find out." He reached for a flat silver rectangle, bigger than the thing they called a smartphone.

"When I left the carnival, I had to learn fast what all of this new technology was. I didn't want to stick out more than I already did. This is a laptop computer. It's connected to a system called the internet, which uses some sort of waves to send infinite amounts of data anywhere around the world with a connection. I can find just about any information I need, send messages, listen to music. Would you like me to look up what happened to her?"

"I have no idea what that means, but yes." I needed to know, and though everything felt raw, perhaps getting the pain out of the way now might allow me to feel hopeful again.

Kal gestured for me to sit down with him on the couch. He opened the lid and a screen came to life.

"How do you spell her given name? And do you know the year and date of her birth?"

I gave him the information he asked for and he typed it in.

"So there are typewriters, only they're fancy too."

He chuckled. "I understand. I'm still surprised daily by things that exist today." The screen displayed a picture of Tess from her biggest-selling album, Laurel Lady . "She's beautiful."

"Yeah."

"It says she… oh, no. It says her cause of death was a homicide, which means it wasn't accidental. The police arrested a man named Virgil Evans and charged him with manslaughter. He spent twenty years in prison."

The images on the screen began to move up until they were replaced by a picture of a man?—

"Hey, I know him! He was here a few times but Tess didn't like him. He brought a bad vibe, you know what I mean? I remember she threatened to call the cops if he didn't leave. He wouldn't, so she did, but they wouldn't do anything except make him go home that night. He came back a few times, even came in once while she was sleeping. She never wanted to stay alone in the house after that. I remember…" Oh, God! "What's the date on that?"

"December fifteenth, nineteen eighty-two."

"Three years to the date after I went missing? What if…"

"What if, what?" Ryan asked, as he and Walter returned to the room.

Walter came to my side and knelt beside the couch."What's wrong?"

"Look," I said, pointing to the screen. "Did you know?"

Walter read over the details, and he frowned. "I did."

"What if he's the one? He was really creepy. She told her manager several times, and some of the other guys, but they'd just tell him to leave when he came around. They thought he was harmless. What if…?"

Walter studied the picture of the guy. "My father interviewed her after your disappearance. She was distraught. She swore you'd never go off alone."

I was glad she'd stuck up for me.

Kal continued reading from the fancy screen. "It says she quit the music business abruptly in early 1980 and became a recluse, no longer having parties or allowing friends to come around. There was talk that it was because of you… and there were even rumors she'd had a baby."

I frowned at that. "She'd told me at the end of the tour, the night before that last show, that she wanted to take a break but wasn't sure her manager would be okay with it. She joked to more than one person that she should just get pregnant like Cass did, so everyone would leave her alone." I felt my cheeks get hot. "She had a lot of crazy ideas, including me getting her pregnant." I shook my head. That had been a ridiculous conversation. I'd told her she should ask Nat, but they'd broken it off and she said he would never let her go again if she went back to him. She thought I'd be perfect because I'd make a great uncle, and because I didn't want her as a wife to try to control.

Oh, Tess. What did you do?

If I'd thought she was serious, would I have given her a child? If I hadn't been nearly killed?

I made room for Walter to sit between me and Kal so he could see the screen better. "She did tell my father that there were some people who'd hung around her circle that she didn't trust, but I don't think my dad put it together that you could have been attacked by someone you knew. Did this guy ever go to shows? Did you ever see him anywhere other than Tess's?"

"One time that I remember for sure. He tried to get backstage at a show in Phoenix, and I told him that Tess didn't feel up to company. He didn't take it well." My hands were shaking out of control again as I suddenly recalled what happened next. "He said, ‘All right. I'll see you again.'"

Walter stared at me for a few beats, then he pulled out his phone.

"Gene, hey. It's Walt. I sent you… yeah, you got it? I also have another lead I need to check out. You got someone with LAPD I can call? No. You don't have to— No, I'm fine. You don't need to— Fine . I'll text you the address. See you soon." He tapped the screen and sighed. "That was my partner, Gene Ochoa. He's already on his way down."

Everyone looked at each other.

"What are you going to tell him? About me?"

"Yeah. We need to decide." Walter frowned and tapped his thumb on his thigh for a few moments. Then he stilled. "Back up. You said Tess joked about having a baby. With you."

"Yeah, but it was a joke. Everyone knew we were like brother and sister."

"But you weren't brother and sister. Dane… what if she did have a child no one knew about? That would have been… eighty? That would make the child thirty-seven? Thirty-eight by now?" Walter looked at Ryan and then at Kal, and then he turned his gaze on me.

Ryan's eyebrows went up. "Could work. A young-looking thirty-eight maybe, but possible."

"Hold it. You want me to say I'm Tess's kid ?"

"Tess and Dane's kid."

My head twinged at this new information. Too much. There was too much to think about.

"Are you serious? You want me to lie ?" My heart was pounding in my chest. This was outrageous!

"I want to come up with a story that isn't going to make this situation worse," Walter said. "I can't believe I'm even considering this, but it makes sense. Tess and Dane had a son, Tess has the baby after Dane disappears, and she's distraught. She leaves the child with relatives, and eventually, the child grows up, goes looking for his father, and finds the carnival, and he goes to work."

Ryan blew out a breath. "I mean, for some wackadoo made-up shit, it makes sense?"

"But I would never… me ? Have a child?"

"It also means my father's story about seeing Dane's body at the rest area will also be assumed to be part of his mental illness." Walter looked down at his feet and put his hands on his hips, taking a moment to breathe.

That added an uncomfortable weight to the room, an oppressive force that felt strong enough to push me into the couch until I was no more.

If Walter was willing to tell this story, even when I could tell it would hurt him to do so, I could lie. Say I was someone I wasn't. There would still be questions, but I wouldn't be a freak of nature.

"The strangest things usually have a simple explanation," Walter said, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

"Okay," I whispered. "How do we make it so?"

Kal hopped off the couch and pulled on the chain hooked to his belt loop, and out came his wallet—billfold, as he called it. He took everything out of it and carefully lay the cards and cash out on the coffee table. When it was empty, he unhooked the chain and held the wallet out to me.

"You need this more than I do," he said.

I stared at his outstretched hand. An empty billfold? "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but how is this supposed to help?"

"Babe?" Ryan reached for Kal's free hand. "Are you sure?"

Kal smiled. "I'll be okay. I have my work with Hush, and I can find other places that need me if?—"

"Don't be silly, babe. We're married now. What's mine is yours. I'm going to take care of you for the rest of our lives. I just mean, that's your last tie to your old life."

Kal smiled down at him. "I don't need it anymore."

Ryan stood, and the two men embraced tightly for several long moments. I felt like I was intruding on their privacy.

I caught Walter's gaze, and I saw there what I'd felt my whole life.

Longing.

The desire to love and be loved.

To belong.

We had more in common than just being broken.

We were both lonely.

Ryan and Kal broke apart, and both Walter and I breathed in at the same time. I noted the shadows under his eyes and thought, I need to save him, too .

"Here, Dee Dee. Take this."

I took the wallet from Kal and looked up at him. "I don't understand."

That crinkle between his brows was back. "Mr. Ame gave it to me so I would have everything I needed. I have that now. You're in need now, so I give it to you. I think he would approve."

I had a glimmer of a memory, but I couldn't make it out completely. I was in a tent on a cot, I was cold. Everything hurt. Someone brushed my hair back from my face, a gentle hand followed by a gentle voice.

"You shall have all you need to recover here, my friend. You are among friends. Welcome, Traveler."

"Thank you." My voice came out hoarse as I took the wallet from Kal. I ran a thumb over the soft brown leather and looked up at him. I clipped the chain to my belt loop like Kal had done and tucked the wallet into my back pocket, unsure what else to do with it. It wasn't like I had any money or anything. Not even a picture.

Kal nodded at me, and then he sat beside Ryan and folded his hands between his knees.

I had no idea what was supposed to happen. We all exchanged glances for several moments, and then Walter rubbed his hands together.

"Let me see what else I can find out about this Virgil Evans."

I nodded. "Okay."

Walter ran out to his truck and grabbed his own fancy typewriter. I took a moment to stand and shake out my hands. I needed a cigarette. I went out to the back patio but stood just outside the door so I could hear what was going on.

Walter returned and was doing something with his fancy typewriter. After a few moments and several screen changes, he started to speak.

"It says here that Virgil Evans did twenty years for manslaughter in a plea deal. He was released fifteen years ago, and it says… now this is interesting. His last known address is in Los Angeles—and his occupation? He's an assistant manager of a damn halfway house."

"How the fuck does that happen?" Ryan asked.

"What's a halfway house?" I asked Walter as I returned to the room. I placed my hand on his forearm as I sat down. I needed all this information to slow down and make some sense. My head throbbed from all the information that had been thrown at me the past hour and I was getting shakier by the minute. I didn't know how much more I could take.

"It's a house where people released from prison can stay for a limited time, until they have a job and a place to go. Sometimes parolees are mandated to stay at a halfway house, or a residential re-entry center, for a period of time so they're supervised. It's unusual for an ex-convict to be in any sort of supervisory position, though."

"This guy must have made a miraculous recovery." Ryan ran a hand through his hair. "Or he's a smooth operator."

"I'm thinking the second," Walter said. He tapped on the keyboard a few more times and then pulled up a mug shot. "Do you recognize him here?"

I looked at his computer and appreciated the feel of his hand on my back. "I do remember him, but I didn't see the person who attacked me. I might remember a voice, but I didn't see a face."

Walter rubbed his hand up and down and in gentle circles. I leaned into him, his touch keeping my shakes at a minimum.

"When Gene gets here, I'll see if we can get any video footage of him, maybe get a voice for you." He slid his hand around to my shoulders and pulled me against his side. "I hate putting you through this."

"Keep holding me like this and I won't mind." I smiled up at him, trying to look braver than I felt. I lowered my voice further. "If it gets me more of that mustache, I'll do it."

I loved his smile, his dimples, his kind eyes. I felt like I could handle anything if he'd keep looking at me like that.

"Whatever you want," he whispered back, and he gave my arm a squeeze.

"You know what else I want? Some more of that pizza."

He removed his arm. "I'll get you some."

"No, that's okay. I can get it." I needed some food, but I also needed a break from this heavy shit. I needed to get out of there, and the backyard wouldn't do. I knew it wasn't safe for me to just go traipsing around town, but I wanted to rip the Band-Aid off. I wanted to see what, if anything, was left of the city I remembered.

I'd gone from one mandated stay to another, and it was starting to chafe. I wouldn't be free until these killers were caught, and I knew a sure-fire way to get the information we needed.

"Well, it worked once," I thought to myself as I walked into the kitchen. I needed to use the board again.

And there it was, on the counter in the kitchen, waiting for me as I knew it would be.

I approached it cautiously, my heart pounding in my chest. I didn't want to see these awful things, experience these awful events again, but if it helped Walter and his friends catch both killers, I would do it. We had a face now for the guy at the carnival, but if the man who'd attacked me—who was also likely to be the man who'd killed my dear Tess—was still out there, still actively hurting people, he had to be stopped.

I took a deep breath, my shaking hands hovering over the planchette.

"Where is the man who hurt me?"

I heard a shout just as I lowered my fingers, and then another set dropped onto the planchette as I was yanked forward into the blackness.