Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
WILLIAM (NOW)
Watching Charlotte back out of my driveway shreds another layer of my heart because it’s a stark reminder that she’s free to leave whenever she wants. Last night changed things, I fucking felt it, and I know she did too. So why is she pushing me away again?
How much longer do I have before she drives away for good?
I run my hand through my hair and brace off the kitchen counter. Ollie trots over and leans against my thigh, gazing up at me.
Squatting down, I kiss her soft head and scratch her behind the ears. “How do I make her stay, girl?” I whisper.
Last night, I thought maybe I’d see that pendant I gave her all those years ago around her neck.
Some sign that she’s held a part of us close.
Maybe she still has it, but is afraid to wear it?
Maybe she lost it. I tell myself not to be disappointed.
It’s only a piece of jewelry. What matters is that she’s here now. And that she stays.
Because she’s still the sweet refrain I want to play over and over, again and again.
The front door opens and Theo walks in, gym bag over his shoulder. “Charlie heading to Thunder Mountain?”
“Later. She’s rehearsing at Crosby’s first.” Just saying his name is like an ice pick to my fucking skull. I still don’t have that story. What happened between them? Why does he end up getting to be her friend while she kept my number blocked for five fucking years?
Theo sets his gym bag on the floor and heads for the coffeemaker.
“You got up early,” I say to cut the tension.
He pulls down a mug and fills it. When he turns, his mouth is a tight line. “What the hell is going on between you two?”
I want to tell him everything, but Charlotte gets to hear it first. “I’m not letting her walk out of my life again.”
He grunts. “How’s she feel about that?”
Baby steps. I sigh.
“I don’t want her to leave, either, but…she gets to decide,” Theo says. “She really wants that Seattle Symphony spot. She’s worked really hard.”
“I know.” I just need her to want us just as much. Last night was a start, wasn’t it? There’s room for every single one of our dreams inside the circle we’d create. Does she not see that? Does she think I’d make her choose?
“Have you talked to your dad recently?” I ask. Ray’s been like a ghost this past week.
“Not since he left for his cabin on the Middle Fork.”
“Know when he’ll be back?”
“When it snows?” he says with a laugh. “I think he plans on taking retirement pretty seriously.”
“As he should.” Though it means I’m on my own for digging up the answers Special Agent Ballard wants.
Theo saunters toward the stairs, coffee in hand. “Later.”
I rinse my coffee cup and set it in the dishwasher.
To stave off the low-grade headache that’s been building behind my eyes, I grab my swim gear and head to the community pool.
An hour later, the headache has dialed back and my limbs buzz with a satisfying fatigue.
In college, swimming became a kind of escape for me.
Nobody knew me at the pool. I could just focus on the strokes and my breathing and let the pressure that came with leading a D1 football team melt away.
At The Limelight, I let myself into the front because we don’t open until five on Mondays and I feel like soaking up the ambiance of the empty club before I get stuck in that office.
Little changes I’ve made are already evident.
The now-clean windows have turned the light golden, and the row of brand-new pine booths to replace the mahogany ones Ray held onto from the dark ages look clean and sharp.
Though the hallway leading to the office is cast in shadow, the framed pictures give flashes of reflection as I pass. A young woman crooning into a microphone catches my eye. I stare at it while my pulse taps into my throat.
It’s Dagney Cole. The woman who just a week ago died of an overdose. The one Special Agent Ballard thinks is connected to his family friend’s disappearance, and maybe, somehow, to Morgan.
Something about this morning’s conversation with Charlotte isn’t sitting well with me.
Is she just anxious about speaking with an FBI agent?
The headache I left at the pool thickens inside my skull.
I brace against the wall and force my breathing to steady, using the imagery the neuroplasticity specialist taught me to dial back the pressure, but I know it’s just a matter of time before I’ll be out of commission.
Damn it. I have too much to do today. And Charlotte’s supposed to come help me with the booking software.
And I want to cook for her again tonight. And just…be with her.
We’ve wasted so much time. I don’t want to waste a single second of what we have left, even if I haven’t figured out how to make it last.
I huff a full breath, puffing my cheeks, then flip through my keyring to the office deadbolt.
Only, when I lift the key to the lock, the door creaks open.
What the hell?
The doorplate’s busted. The light coming from the office window illuminates the wood fragments littering the ground from where the door gave way.
My pulse kicks into my throat. Using the toe of my work boot to push the door open further, I peer inside, my ears throbbing in the silence.
Mike closed the bar last night like usual. My office stays locked when I’m not here.
I dial his number.
“Hey boss,” he says. There’s music in the background and the hum of an engine, like he’s driving.
“Hey, did you double check my office door last night?” I ask.
“Sure did. Why?” His tone sharpens.
“Looks like someone broke in.” I step inside. The new desk I ordered got delivered on Friday, but there’s an empty place beneath it. “The hard drive’s gone.”
“Shit, man. Check the safe. We used to keep it in the bar, in the floor. Until someone found a way to yank it out with chains and a Ford 350.”
The safe looks intact. I’ll open it and make sure the cash is still there from last night, waiting for our bookkeeper to come collect it for deposit. “It’s here. Looks undamaged.”
“The hard drive’s not exactly high value. The printer’s worth a helluva lot more.”
He’s right. If someone broke in here to steal shit they could pawn, why leave the printer/fax? It’s one of those fancy ones that can print playbills in every vibrant color possible. It’s bulky though, and heavy.
“Why didn’t the alarm go off?” I ask.
“Better check the system. It was armed when I left.”
After thanking him, I end the call then stare at the empty spot under the desk.
Zach leads me down the hall so the crime scene techs can get to work.
“Do you have a list of who was working last night?” he asks as the radio on his duty belt erupts with chatter. He spins the knob, quieting it.
“Mike Meekin’s my bar manager,” I say. “The kitchen staff would have left by ten or so.” I search up Mike and Oscar’s numbers in my phone and recite them to Zach.
“We had two bands last night too. One’s local, the other’s from Bozeman, but they would have cleared out by midnight or a little after that. I can get you their contact info.”
Zach scratches this down in his notebook. “Can you get me the security footage?”
“Probably.” I brought my laptop with me, though so far I’ve only accessed The Limelight’s email program. Everything else is in Dropbox folders Ray shared with me, but I’ve been focused on managing the budget, learning the payroll, and figuring out staffing.
“The alarm was set at 1:14 a.m., probably when Mike left. It was tripped at 1:44 by the back door.” He nods to the end of the hallway, open to give the crime scene team access. “When whoever had broken into the office left.”
I frown. “Why didn’t I get a call?”
His lips twist in a grimace. “Dispatch sent a car but there was no sign of a break in. We ruled it as a false alarm. You’d be surprised how many of those we get.”
“Understood.”
“Even if we’d gotten inside, our perp would have been long gone.”
“You’re probably right.” The security footage might give us something. “Wait, how did the guy get in?”
“I think he or she was already inside.”
I slump back against the wall. “What the fuck?”
“It’s likely they hid somewhere in the club until it closed, then broke into the office, grabbed the hard drive, and split.”
That’s a logical conclusion, yet it’s still not making sense .
“That or it’s an employee?” Zach asks, looking up from his notes.
“That doesn’t make sense either.”
“Who else has keys to the office?”
“Uh, Mike, our bookkeeper, Leslie...”
“How about Morgan?” he asks, his face impassive.
I rub the back of my neck. “I’d be surprised if she didn’t have a set.”
“It’s likely someone with access to the club, but not the office.”
I see what he’s getting at now. For a second I was imagining Morgan’s dealer in here looking for an easy score.
“We picked him up on Saturday, by the way,” he says, like he’s reading my mind.
“When Everett showed up with her guitar, I wondered.” Hopefully it means he and Everett can reclaim the other instruments too.
Zach rubs his chin with his thumb. “There’s probably twenty grand worth of liquor in that bar, and there’s some kitchen equipment worth even more than that. If someone was looking for stuff they could flip for cash, boosting the office hard drive doesn’t fit.”
“What’s the reason then?”
“Are you sure there’s nothing else missing?”
Frustrated, I force my brain to complete another mental inventory. “There’s barely anything in there now. I got rid of the shelves and junk.” My mind snags on a detail I overlooked. “Shit.”
He raises an eyebrow.
I take off for the office, squeezing past a guy dusting the doorknob with black powder to the desk.
There’s no fingerprint powder on the binders lined up against the wall, so I hold back from touching them. But I don’t need to. “I think a couple of these are missing.”
Zach steps around his crew, slipping on a pair of nitrile gloves. “Which ones?”
“They’re organized by fiscal year.”
“Some kind of record keeping system?”
“From what I can tell. I haven’t had a chance to dig into them yet.” Most of my free time since taking over the club has been spent with Charlotte.
Zach opens the closest binder and flips through its contents.
I peer over his shoulder. There are printed pages with each artist’s information, plus different types of marketing materials, and what looks like the original demos tucked into protective plastic sleeves.
If The Limelight had a scrapbook of its music venue history, these binders would be it.
“Damn,” Zach says. “It’s pretty clear where Ray’s passion is….or was.” He trades the current book for the next one and flips through it. “Did Ray keep digital copies of this stuff?”
“There’s some kind of booking software. Charlotte’s showing me how to use it today.”
He’s still focused on the pages leafing past his fingers, but he flashes me a side-eye. Meaning he’s for sure cataloguing this tidbit for later.
“What’s special about the years missing?” he asks just as an idea floats to the surface of my thoughts.
I slip back into the hallway. Each of the pictures Ray hung out here has a narrow gold plate at the bottom of the frame with the year the musician or band performed at The Limelight.
“Shit,” I whisper.
Zach joins me, a keen look in his eye. “What?”
“The book that corresponds to the year Dagney Cole played here is missing.”
“Huh,” he replies, hands on his hips.
I skim the other plaques, but they go back decades and not every musician who played here has a spot on Ray’s wall.
“Nic Salazar,” Zach says, nodding at frame of a younger Nic, crooning into a microphone, his sloppy signature splashed across the photo. “I remember that night. Boxcar’s first gig. I was on duty, and you got in that fight at the diner.”
“Those punks deserved it,” I say with a huff just as movement at the end of the hallway catches my attention. Charlotte stands just outside the door, her eyes wary.
“What’s going on?” she asks as I usher her inside.
“There was a break-in last night.”
“Oh no.” She glances inside the office, then at Zach standing behind me.
“Nothing of real value was taken,” I add. “A couple of record books are gone. And the hard drive.”
Zach and Charlotte exchange hellos, then he ducks into the office.
Charlotte’s gaze returns to me. “I can come back later?”
“Actually, I could use your help. I need into that booking software.”
Her tongue darts out to wet her top lip. “Okay.”
I lead Charlotte to the dining area, where I left my messenger bag.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. Her hair is clipped back in a twist, revealing the delicate slope of her neck. Her silver beaded earrings flash in the warm light coming through the windows.
Every fucking time I see her, she stops me in my tracks. Today, she looks almost regal. Poised and confident, her fair skin the perfect contrast to those tiny freckles across her nose and the raspberry pink of her lips.
“It looks different in here,” she says, scanning the room. “New windows?”
“A few, the rest just got a good cleaning.”
“The booths,” she says, smiling softly in approval. “Nice.”
I flick on the main lights in the dining room, then pull up a chair at one of the small circular tables and grab my laptop and reading glasses from my bag.
Her eyes brighten. “Since when do you wear glasses?”
I laugh. “Just for reading. They help with…not getting headaches. ”
She gives an appreciative hum. “They look good on you.”
I can’t help the smirk tugging at my lips. “Happy to leave them on anytime, sweetheart. Just say the word.”
She tries to frown but fails miserably. To my delight, she’s even blushing.
It takes everything in my power not to lean in and nibble on the edge of her ear, maybe make her a few more promises while I’m at it.
“Shall we?” she asks, nodding at my computer screen blinking to life.