Page 53 of Endeavor

“Not fucking soon enough,” I grumble as I see a police car pull up along the curb. “Police are here. I’ll talk to you later.”

“OK. If you want to come stay here tonight, you have a key,” Rhett adds.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

I get out of my car where I’ve been sitting as the officers exit theirs. One looks to be about ten years older than me and one looks close to my age.

“Grady Daniels?” the older one says.

“Yes, sir.”

“Detective Benson will be here shortly. He wanted us to secure the crime scene.”

I motion to my front porch.

“Officer Davis will take your statement while I check the house out. Have you been inside yet?”

I shake my head and hand him my house key. He nods and walks up to the front steps.

The younger officer pulls out a notepad and looks me over. “Tell me what happened tonight.”

I begin the short explanation of my evening after arriving home from my mom’s house. But as I finish the story, the other officer walks out of my door holding a brick. His gloved hand covers it, but as he steps closer, I can see a sticky note, a yellow one. I shudder because I know it’s going to have a Shakespearean quote written on it.

“He that dies pays all debts,” he mutters a little confused. He glances up at me as though I will have all the answers.

“It’s a line from The Tempest,” a voice says from behind me. I turn, my gaze meeting that of Detective Benson.

“You find anything else?” he asks.

The officer shakes his head.

“Go write it up as vandalism, so Mr. Daniels can file a claim with his insurance company.”

The officer nods, grumbling something under his breath as he walks back to the car. “Bag that for evidence,” he says to the officer who just finished taking my statement. The officer goes to get the brick and note, and the detective turns to me.

“Still no idea who would do this?”

I glare at him. “If I had an idea, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Just checking. Pop stars have been known to do some crazy shit for attention.”

“I’m not a pop star, so I guess that solves that issue.”

We stare each other down for a moment until we are interrupted by another voice.

My manager.

“Hey, is everything OK? Rhett texted me and I was nearby,” Calvin says.

I roll my eyes. “Just a brick through my window,” I reply, my voice laced with sarcasm.

“Shit. Glad I have a call into the security firm.”

“You’re hiring security?” Detective Benson asks.

“Detective Benson, our band manager, Calvin Kratz.”

Calvin nods to the detective. “So, any leads yet? The record label is starting to get concerned. They are a hundred percent behind us hiring a full-time security agency in addition to the security they already have for you.”

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