Page 13 of Dead Rockstar

“Really?”

“Yeah. Just before I passed...god, that feels weird to say...I wasn't in a very good place. I don't actually remember a lot.” He looked at me. “Just curious, what was my cause of death?”

I looked at him, surprised. “A drug overdose,” I said slowly. “They never came right out and said what from, just that it was a 'concoction.' But everybody knows what that means.”

“And what does it mean?”

I thought for a moment that I'd offended him, but he was looking at me with actual curiosity. “I just always assumed it meant the person was on so much shit they didn't bother trying to find what actually did the job.”

He did wince that time. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-”

“No, I asked,” he said quietly.

“You don't...remember?” I questioned. “How it happened?”

“I remember,” he said quietly. “I just wondered what the official story was.” He looked around the kitchen. “This place suits you, but it's so small. I don't see how you ever shared it with someone. How long has your husband been gone?”

How the hell did he know about Tess? “A couple of months,” I answered. “How did you know-”

“There's someone at your front door,” he interrupted me. His rosebud mouth had turned into a hard line. He stood up and walked to the far corner of the kitchen, just out of sight. “I'll stay here, but if you need me -”

I hadn't heard anything. “Are you sure?” I asked, and just as I spoke, there was a knock at the door. I stood up and went to answer it, looking curiously at Phillip. He was standing there straight as an arrow, his dark features lined with tension. How had he known someone was there before they ever knocked?

It was probably just Sloan. Despite how disoriented and downright weird the whole thing was, I was incredibly excited to bring her in her and show her Phillip Deville, in all his gorgeous flesh, standing in my kitchen. “You owe me, like, a thousand apologies, you beyotch-” I began as I opened the door with a flourish. But it wasn't Sloan.

The man standing there was tall, though not nearly as tall as Phillip, with a face covered in freckles, pale blue eyes, and sandy blond hair. His eyes were partially hidden by a ball cap, but they were light, almost like glass, and somewhat unnerving, in an other-worldly kind of way. I looked at him for a moment, then remembered. “You're the guy I ran into at the farmers market,” I said, puzzled. “What are you doing here?”

“Yeah, sorry about that. We didn't meet formally,” he said, holding out his hand. “I'm Lee Courtenay.”

I extended my own reluctantly and gave a limp shake. “Stormy.” I didn't give my last name. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so,” he said, taking off his ball cap and holding it over his chest, a move that seemed both weirdly gallant and boyish. “I'm a detective. Me and my partner here -” He gestured over his shoulder; a man suddenly came out from behind the shadows to his left. He was tall, tanned, with closely shorn dark brown hair and very dark eyes. He barely nodded at me. There was something menacing about him. “Shank's his name. Yeah, it's really his name.” He rolled his eyes. “Anyway, we're investigating some things going on in this neck of the woods – pranks and stuff, a little light burglary – and I wondered if you'd had anything weird happen recently, or any strange visitors come out this way?”

My heart started to thump. I looked at him for a moment. He didn't look old enough to be a detective. He looked barely old enough to be out of college. “What kind of pranks?”

“Oh, anything. Strange people sniffing around, maybe you noticed something missing...?” I didn't say anything, and he went on. “Maybe a stranger knocking on the door...”

“Other than yourself? I can't say that I have, Mr. Courtenay,” I replied. I felt sure that I didn't want to tell him about the weird knocks Sloan and I had heard the night before, and I definitely didn't want to tell him about the man standing in my kitchen. “Thanks for coming by to check, though.”

I expected him to turn and go, but he lingered, making me uncomfortable. My voice came out harsher than I meant it to when I asked, “So why did you run into me at the farmers market? What's up with that?”

He gave a short laugh. “Oh, I was bringing flowers to my aunt. She has a booth there. I was in a hurry because I wanted to get home in time for the Georgia game. Again, I'm sorry about that.”

I regarded him warily. Sounded like a line of BS to me – most men I knew these days barely brought flowers to their significant others or their own mothers, much less brought them to an aunt at work – but he was wearing an expensive UGA hat, and I wanted him gone, so I accepted the story with a shrug. “I see. Well, it was nice seeing you again. Goodbye.”

He leaned in closer to me before I could move away and make for the door. I could smell his aftershave. It was a nice scent, musky, but there was something amateur about it, like Axe Body Spray's slightly older cousin. His freckles were a dark splotch on his high cheekbones. I gripped the door handle. “Okay, I didn't want to alarm you, Ms...” He seemed to wait, but I didn't offer my last name. “Stormy. But the truth is, there's an escaped convict from the prison in Knoxville, and the authorities have reason to believe he might've come this way. Family on Jekyll, you understand. You live out here alone – and frankly, this is the boonies - with only one elderly man off to the side over there. We already talked to him and he didn't see or hear much, but I'm just concerned for your welfare.”

“I haven't seen or heard anything,” I repeated firmly. “And anyway, I'm not alone most of the time. My friend often stays over. And my husband will be here, too.” I felt safer telling the lie. Something about the dark man standing in the yard was giving me the heebies, even if Lee seemed genial enough. Genial or not, I didn't buy his story at all. It was too coincidental, that the same man I'd literally run into at the market was now at my well-secluded hole in the wall. Something else was up, and I'd find out what it was, but right now my main priority was getting these men off my property and away from the handsome, mysterious man lurking in my kitchen. I'd already been standing out here far longer than I wanted to. “I'll be sure to tell them both to be on the lookout.”

He seemed to want to say more but nodded. “Alright, then. You do that. Keep your doors locked, your phone charged up, and don't hesitate to call if you see or hear anything. Or if your, uh, husband does.” His expression suggested he didn't believe my story. He handed me a card and I stuck it in my pocket without looking at it. “That's my direct line. Call 911 or the sheriff's department and they'll take an hour to get out here. You call me, and I'll come right away. If you see anything, or anybody, at all, you understand?”

“Yeah. Sure.” I wished he'd leave; my entire body was tense with nerves.

He stood there for another minute, his eyes searching mine, and then finally he stepped backward and down from the porch, walking into the night with his partner in tow. I stood there watching as they got in a dark car and left. Weird, I hadn't noticed any headlights from the kitchen window when they'd pulled up.

I pulled the card out of my pocket and read it. “Detective Lee Courtenay.” There was a number and email address, but why didn’t it end in .gov? Even the font seemed unusual.

There was warm breath on the back of my neck suddenly, and I gasped. “He's gone, then?”

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