Page 40 of Accidental Fire
She tossed her phone into the large tote bag. “So, you’re Nate’s nephew?”
“I am. I also haul the band’s equipment between venues. I’m a long-haul trucker by trade. Work for myself.”
“I was in Europe with Stella Rae. She was recording with the London Philharmonic for their upcoming holiday release. She’s a snippy little bitch.” Chevalier took off her sunglasses and put them in that big tote.
“Is Nate dating her?”
“No. She’s got a girlfriend in a nice flat in London. The pictures with Nate were merely publicity photos to slow down the runaway speculation. We were planning her coming-out journey while I was there. She’s not ready to swing open the closet door yet, and everyone should make that decision in their own time.
“You’ll learn that I wear many hats for Nate: tour manager, publicist, fixer. Sounds like I’ll be wearing all of them this time around. If you’re just hauling their equipment, how’d you get mucked up in this mess?”
I had the feeling that telling her I was involved with River was a bad idea. We weren’t on solid enough ground to make any declarations. “I’m supposed to be a mentor to them. Try to keep them from repeating some of the mistakes they’ve made in the past.”
She pulled a folder out of her tote and flipped through a few pages. “I see that’s going well. Seems they have a propensity for running amuck. They have security, right? Why weren’t they in the park with the band?”
I sighed. “Rowdy Wilder, the head of the detail, and his crew are really only needed at the venues, so Kensington gave them the time off until Saturday for the second date at The Van Buren.”
“A second performance? That’s not on the list. How’d that happen? Did Kensington orchestrate it?” Chevalier reached intoher bag and pulled out a pen, writing something on the paper in front of her.
“I’m not sure. I was surprised by it myself, but I’m not involved in the business end of anything. I’m just trying— Well, anyway. I’m going to try to find Kensington.”
I picked up my phone and scrolled until I found Kensington’s number and touched the screen. The phone rang once before it went to voicemail. “Kensington, you need to get back to the hotel. Three of the guys from the band are sitting at a police station. Where the fuck are you?”
I ended the call and texted Clancy.
Clancy, where are the boys being held by the police? Kit
Not ten seconds later, I got my answer.
Central City
I turned to Chevalier. “I’m dropping you off at the hotel, and then I’m going to the police station. Clancy will get everyone together for you in the restaurant off the lobby. Can you give me your number so I can update you after I find out what’s happening with the guys?” I handed my phone to Chevalier, and she pecked in her number and took a picture of herself—which was unexpected—and then handed it back.
“So, uh, Ms. Chevalier, when you’ve handled musicians who want to come out, has it gone well, or is it devastating to their careers?” That was something I hadn’t considered. Would River want to come out officially, and how would that affect the band?
“Please, call me Olive. Many musicians get outed because they’re not good at keeping things off the radar. One of the members of Murder of Crows was outed because a stagehand at The Troubadour saw him kissing a guy in the hallway after theband came off stage. No one’s impervious to scandal these days, and everyone has a cell phone camera and a price in mind to sell the pictures. If it’s planned properly, it doesn’t have to be career-ending, but when a popular musician keeps their private life private, it makes the fans want more information, and the gossip rags are relentless.”
That made sense. I needed to talk to River about what he wanted to do. I hadn’t seen anything that would have led me to believe he was gay, so maybe he wanted to stay under the radar? I’d respect his decision either way.
Bill took me to the Central City police station after dropping Olive at the hotel. Kensington still hadn’t called me back, and I was pissed about it. My main goal was to get River and Goldie out of custody and find out how much trouble Arlo was in.
I thought of calling River’s brother, but I didn’t have his number, and no way was I going to try to get in touch with Regal Ashe. The guy sounded like an asshole.
“Thanks, Bill. I’ll get a cab home. I appreciate your help today.” I handed him a fifty-dollar tip and went inside the police station.
The brick building was standard government issue, and the inside resembled every other police precinct I’d been in—not that I’d been inside too many. I went through the door into a gray room where a policeman was sitting at a desk, greeting visitors.
“How may I help you?” he asked as he studied me for possible threats.
“I’m here to check on three young men who were brought in a couple of hours ago.” I grabbed my wallet and handed over my ID without being asked.
“Are you their lawyer?” He had a snarky smirk I didn’t appreciate.
“No, but the lawyers are on the way. I wanted to be sure they hadn’t been moved to another precinct, so I could inform the lawyers they’d need to go elsewhere.”
He exhaled. “Names.”
“River Ashe, Arlo Timmons, and Goldie Robbins,” I answered. He jotted it down and then walked over to a computer, using his index fingers to peck in the names.
