Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
The next morning at breakfast, although Isabelle gives me questioning looks and I can tell that she’s dying to know where I went to, I don’t respond.
It’s none of her business where I was or who I met.
Right now, I’m doubting myself. After meeting my father and discovering my sibling might be murdering innocent women, I want to run away and forget all about this assignment.
The problem is, I signed a contract to write her memoirs.
I have no choice but to continue—but what if Isabelle discovers the truth about me?
Dammit—she was there at the hospital and met my mother.
If she discovers my birthdate and puts two and two together, my career will be over. No one will hire me—or trust me again.
Isabelle insists on continuing with her interview.
Today she is dressed in a period costume to depict the next movie in her career and can hardly breathe in the corset.
She insists her attire is to give me the feel of each movie and what she went through to create her part, so I ignore the panting as she inhales and take out my notepad and pen.
“I can make good mileage out of the night you gave birth in a hurricane but I need more. Do you have any skeletons in your closet that we could use to make this book more sensational? What about when you first met Linc? You haven’t mentioned him at any time and I know you met him at school.
What brought you together? Is there a story there we can use to spice up the book a little?
Because right now once people get through the first chapter it’s going to be a ‘did not finish’ from the reviewers and all our hard work will be in vain. ”
“He was already famous when I met him but insisted on finishing high school. We met at a party and it was instant attraction. Soon after, I was pregnant with Lucas and when I told Linc, he proposed, and we were married quietly in a little chapel. He cut his second album a couple of weeks later and when his manager discovered our secret they planned a massive publicity stunt.” Isabelle smiles and looks into the distance as if remembering.
“They arranged to have me and my girlfriends on the front row at one of his concerts and anyone sitting in the front row ends up getting crushed by the fans when they rush the stage.”
I look at her and raise one eyebrow. “Wasn’t that dangerous for the baby?”
“No, I was only two months and it was well-planned to get me out in time.” Isabelle gives me a dismissive wave. “Do you want to hear the story or not? It’s difficult when you keep interrupting.”
I say nothing but I recall reading about the heroic way Linc saved her from being crushed in the mosh pit during a concert. I nod, waiting to hear the story unfold.
“Well, halfway through one of his songs he stops singing, orders the crowd back and jumps from the stage, throws me over his shoulder and walks out. We took his limo to the airport and his private jet to Vegas where he married me again and we spent seven days locked inside a hotel room.”
I look at her and smile. “It was all a hoax, and it worked because nobody knew you had married in secret?”
“Yeah—I was always kept in the background before he became famous, so no one knew I existed. Linc might appear to the world as a drugged-out hippy but he’s very smart.
He runs the business and it’s true what he said about a prenup.
I don’t blame him; he was a shooting star and still is.
He made me sign one before he’d marry me. ”
I shake my head. “He didn’t trust you?”
“He didn’t trust me to remain faithful.” She raises both eyebrows. “He told me, one slip and the marriage would be over.”
The media coverage of Linc’s notorious affairs flash through my mind. “That sounds a little one-sided.”
“I’m suspicious, and very jealous. I admit that but he’s always sworn that he’s been faithful. There you go. You can splash that gem all over the front cover of the book.” Isabelle leans forward and gives me a cat-like smile. “Is that sensational enough for you?”
Revealing something like that could ruin Linc’s career.
I shrug. “Maybe telling everyone he’d tricked his fans would be something we need to run past Linc.
His bad boy image is what sells records but if I leave out the fact that Linc snatching you from the concert was a hoax, and go with the prenup details, it would work.
” I look at her amused expression. “Can you think of anything else we can use as a hook, to get the readers’ interest? ”
“Hmm, let me think.” Isabelle drums her long red fingernails on the table.
“Oh, I’m sure if you’ve researched us then you know that one of Linc’s biggest hits is ‘Black Valentine’?
The lyrics of the song are about a young woman found dead in a motel.
One week after the release, a woman was found murdered and the crime scene matched the lyrics. ”
I frown. “So, some crazy fan decided to murder somebody to get famous?”
“The thing is, they’ve never found the killer.” Isabelle stands suddenly. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
I follow her along the hallway and down the steps to the recording studio.
On the wall is a framed, handwritten copy of a song written on sheet music with Linc’s signature at the bottom and dated four years previously.
Slightly bewildered, I move closer. On the top of the sheet of paper is the name Rachel.
It’s been crossed out and replaced by the song title “Black Valentine.” The name sends shockwaves through me.
Rachel. My mom’s name is Rachel. Did Linc know the woman raped by my father?
Head reeling with the implications of what I’m seeing, I take a photograph of the song with my phone.
My mind is in overdrive as I head back to my room.
Did the song “Black Valentine” make one of Linc’s fans murder someone just to get famous—or was Linc involved?
Did Lucas have any part in writing the lyrics to the song—is this why he is so troubled?
These facts I need to discover. The mystery surrounding the death of the poor woman and the song could be a crucial hook for the book.
I don’t want to be disturbed and I shut my door and lock it before sitting down in front of my laptop.
I feed information into the search engine and wait.
To my surprise, there’s not as much media coverage as I imagined.
One report mentions the naked homicide victim had a heart carved into her chest and the bed was covered in red rose petals.
The room had been wiped clean and the cops had nothing to go on.
I need more information and scroll down the page of the dwindling news articles.
I find an article with the headline: Murder victim named.
My heart pounds as I read and re-read the name of the victim: Rachel Stackhouse.
It was my mother. Is it possible? Could it be her—if so, why would she be the person in Linc’s mind when he wrote the song?
I pull out my phone and enlarge the image to read the lyrics. My blood runs cold.
She lies so still now, not a hair out of place.
Her blood a crimson confession in satin decay.
A heart carved in silence, no scream, no goodbye,
Just rose petals spilled where the truth came to die.
I scroll back through the articles and search for the exact date of the murder. There’s no doubt Linc released the song a few days before she died—or was it a blueprint for murder?