Page 127 of The Oscar Escape
When the car arrived to take Aria Paige-Grant to her sound check for her final tour stop, hotel staff report she was nowhere to be found. Sources say she left a note for her manager. Will the singer make it to the stage tonight, or will a bout of cold feet keep her from performing?
He handed the tablet back to his sister.
“What is it?” Georgia asked.
“Aria’s missing.”
This was his fault.
His phone rang. He pulled it from his hoodie’s pocket and peered at the screen. It was Dom. Thank goodness. Her manager would be able to tell them what was going on.
He put the call on speakerphone.
“Is Aria with you?” Dom blurted, bypassing the usual pleasantries.
It wasn’t a hoax. He could hear the distress in the man’s voice.
“No, she’s not with me. I’m in Telluride.”
“Have you spoken to her?”
“I haven’t. We saw the news. It said she escaped?”
“She left her phone and took off with her notebook and a violin.”
“A violin?”
“Yeah, she found it in Bab’s attic. It was the first place she asked me to take her when we got to Denver. Whenever she’s had any downtime, she’s either been composing songs in her notebook or playing that Paganini piece on the violin.”
Paganini.
“At least she left a note this time,” Dom muttered.
“What did it say?” Oscar asked. Perhaps there was a clue—something to help drill down where she’d gone.
“I’ll read it to you. She injected her usual bright and sunny self into it. Dear Dom,” the man began, “Take a breath. I haven’t been kidnapped. I need to think, and I can only concentrate when I’m composing or playing the violin. I’ll let you know what I decide to do about tonight’s concert. Eat worms, sucker. Love, Aria.” Dom groaned. “Where would she go to play the violin? It’s not her aunt and uncle’s place. I already called them. And she didn’t go back to Bab’s house. I just checked. It’s empty.”
Oscar turned the question over in his mind. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Her career is riding on this show. It’s one thing to disappear. That got her some publicity. But if she blows off this concert, nobody will take her seriously. It won’t matter if she hits double platinum. She’ll tank her reputation.”
Oscar rubbed a kink in his neck. “She’ll be there.”
“I don’t know if she wants it, Oscar. She’s so close to hitting double platinum. But she’s been sleepwalking through rehearsals. Her mind is somewhere else.” He sighed. “She’s hurting,” he said, his tone softening.
Oscar flinched. Anguish tore through him. “I’ll find her.”
“I’m not sure she wants to be found. And there’s something else. Thank God the press hasn’t got wind of it yet. I think we’ll be able to keep it under wraps.”
“What is it?”
“She stole a delivery truck.”
“She stole a delivery truck?” Oscar echoed, gobsmacked.
“A Cupid Bakery delivery truck. It was parked behind the hotel, and now it’s gone.”
“You’re sure it was her?”
