Chapter Three
Malibu Beach, California
Her hands on her hips, Wren surveyed the damage that had been done inside the beach house. Someone had really done a number on the place, she realized, as her eyes searched the large airy space.
Although she didn’t usually leave too many personal things behind after her short breaks between tours, many of the paintings on the walls that had been slashed had been valuable, along with some of the strategically placed collections that had been arranged on the shelves on either side of the fireplace as well as inside the light up cabinets in the kitchen.
The police had come and gone last night, after taking prints and numerous pictures inside. But Wren was having a hard time believing that Vin could have done this much damage in the short amount of time that it had taken the cops to arrive after sounding the alarm last night. This attack appeared to be personal, she realized, and somehow, she felt that Vin didn’t carry enough hostility within to lash out by slashing sofa cushions and even the mattress on the bed.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Wren?” Marc asked softly.
“That maybe it was someone else who somehow got past all the new security earlier in the day and did all this?” she muttered, turning to Marc. “I got another one of those notes yesterday, Marc.”
He frowned. “Why in the hell didn’t you tell me, Wren? You know you’re supposed to let me know right away so I can turn the originals over to the cops.”
She snorted. “For whatever good that does.”
“I hear you,” he replied, heaving a sigh. “And I’ve been thinking about that. What we need is a top-notch investigator who can be discreet.”
“I agree.” Wren sighed. “But we’ve had such rotten luck. The last guy we used was obviously being compensated by the tabloids and not just me.”
“I’m sorry about that, Wren. I had no idea that Phil Denton was someone I couldn’t trust. I haven’t talked to him since I filed that complaint.”
“I understand,” Wren answered. “It’s hard to find people you can trust – that’s for sure. That’s why I’m so happy that it’s worked so well for us.”
“You can always count on me as a real friend, Wren. Abby told me that I needed to be more reassuring because of all the rotten luck we’ve had hiring personal assistants and investigators.”
“You’re so lucky to find someone as sweet as she is,” Wren observed.
“You don’t have to tell me that. Anyway, we’re getting off track here. Have you got the note?”
“I do,” she replied, pulling it from her purse. “Here you go. It came along with some black roses last night when I returned from my final encore.”
She knew the routine and had already stuck the note and envelope in separate baggies.
Reaching for the note, Marc scanned it briefly. “This person seems to be escalating, Wren, as far as these threats. But the flowers might have been sent to you from one of the local florists since the arrangement was apparently delivered and the note wasn’t left on your dressing table, as usual. We might be able to track who sent it.”
“ You don’t deserve to live,’ ” she recited from the card. “I wouldn’t count on it. But I’d say you’re right about checking into it. I’m glad I’m going to be taking a break from touring for a while to record that new album.”
“That’s all well and good, but how many people already know when and where you’re going to be recording? Plus, you’re still going to be living at your house, aren’t you?”
“If I didn’t already have the time and studio booked, I might have considered New York.”
Marc grimaced. “But still, you’d be working at your regular stomping ground. Everyone who’s ever worked for you knows that you own an apartment there.”
“You still think it’s someone I see regularly, even though multiple background checks have been done, and everyone’s even been cleared by the cops?”
“I do. We’ve got to be missing something.”
Wren frowned fiercely. She hated to think it could be someone she trusted. Plus, she had yet to figure out why someone had it in for her.
“Try not to worry. We’ll take on extra security. What time do you have to be at the studio tomorrow?”
“Originally, we were scheduled to begin at eight, but I called and talked to Barry about the break in. He made a few calls and switched with another artist so that I don’t have to be there until two.”
Marc patted her hand, glancing around the room. “I guess we’d better get started going through this mess. Hopefully, we can get it all done today. Supposedly, your insurance company was here earlier today too, taking pictures. They left some paperwork allowing you to list the value of the items that were damaged.”
“Good. That’s one less call I’ll need to make,” she said, starting to pick items up from the floor. “I’m glad I bought some paper to wrap things in as I box them up. I think I’ll try to find the undamaged items first.”
“Good idea,” he said. “I think I’ll clear your guest room and bathroom first to get that out of the way. I don’t have a clue what’s valuable here or not.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she replied, giving him a strained smile.
“I’ve got some extra security on the way, so they should be here shortly.”
“Thanks, Marc,” she replied, relieved when she found every piece of her Limoges vase collection intact.
“I’d better escort you to the studio on Monday,” Marc said.
“I promised you vacation time,” she answered.
He shrugged. “That was before all this happened. I want to keep a closer eye on you during your recording sessions. I’ll also have someone following your driver. I know you wouldn’t mind the expense, but I can’t see the point of having someone keeping an eye on everyone you’ve worked with during the past four years, when you first began getting those notes. If only we could find some kind of clue to narrow down suspects. Like you said, the cops haven’t been much help. They’ve got too many other things going on.”
“Whatever you think, Marc. I just can’t sit back and do nothing anymore. Who knows what’ll happen next if I do.”
He sighed. “I definitely agree.”
* * *
Early Monday morning, Wren’s cell phone began ringing from where it rested on the bedside table.
“Is this Wren Matthews?”
“It is,” she replied.
“I’m sorry to disturb you so early, but I’m Sarah, Barry’s assistant at the recording studio. There’s been a horrific fire this morning, in studio. The police aren’t exactly sure what caused it, but for now we’re blaming it on faulty equipment or wiring. Anyway, we have no idea how long it will take to get everything repaired. We’re just glad they were able to contain it rather quickly, since there are a lot of wildfires doing damage not too far from here.”
“ Oh, no . That’s just awful . I understand, Sarah. I won’t hold you up by asking questions. I’m sure you have dozens of calls to make. Be safe. Tell Barry that I’m sorry this has happened.”
“Thank you so much,” Sarah replied. “Hopefully, we’ll see you back in the studio soon.”
After glancing at the time on her sports watch, Wren sighed, getting out of bed. Nine a.m. was a little early to call Marc since they’d been at the beach house pretty late last night, cleaning up the damage, so she’d get some coffee started while trying to decide what to do next. She really needed to get this album recorded right away so that she’d have time to take a break before returning on tour in the fall.
Heading downstairs into the kitchen, she switched on the television before starting the coffee.
Pausing with her coffee mug in hand ten minutes later, she couldn’t believe her eyes, as she watched the studio on fire. Apparently, the fire had started in one of the larger recording rooms and had spread throughout the building.
But there’d been casualties, she was shocked to discover.
Wren’s cell phone suddenly rang and when she saw it was Marc, she switched it on.
“Did you hear about the fire at the studio, Wren? Two people are dead and another five are critically injured,” Marc muttered.
“I was going to give you a call shortly. Someone from the studio got in touch with me less than an hour ago but didn’t mention anything about casualties. They haven’t quite got the fire under control, I can see on TV. I’m watching the local news channel.”
“I’m switching on the television myself right now. Damn, it looks bad. Lots of damage.”
“I need to get this album recorded, so I suppose I’d better call Mike and see what he suggests.”
Mike Malone was her manager. Although he was pretty busy these days, somehow, he always managed to keep her on schedule.
“Let’s talk it out ourselves before you contact Mike. There’s something I’m kind of worried about. I’ll explain when I come over. Shall we make it noon?” Marc asked.
“I just need about ninety minutes to work out, shower, and get dressed. Feel free to come a little earlier if you’d like,” she said.
* * *
A few hours later, Wren was sitting with Marc in the kitchen, her mouth gaped open.
“I’m sorry, but it’s really true, Wren. I followed up with someone who does the scheduling at the recording studio. And then I talked to an investigator who was on the scene before heading into the police station to drop off that note you received last night. Arnett, the detective who’s supposedly on your case is taking the situation a lot more seriously now and is going to investigate further. The studio that was originally booked for you at eight a.m. this morning was where the fire originated. And the two artists who were set to record were the ones who were killed.”
Tears filled Wren’s eyes. They hadn’t released the names of the performers who’d booked the time slot to the public, but Barry had mentioned their names. They were a couple of up-and-coming country music vocalists.
Wiping away the tears, Wren turned to Marc. “I gather you have some suggestions about what my next move should be.”
“I’ve got a list of other studios that you’ve worked with before, but if someone really has it in for you, Wren, it would probably be better to cover your tracks. Maybe you should try somewhere new. Even Detective Arnett thought it was a good idea for you to get out of town for a while since they’re going to begin digging deeper.”
“Then I suppose I’d better get together a list of other studios, possibly in some more remote locations,” she decided.
Marc held up some pages. “As it just so happens…”
“Of course, you came prepared,” Wren said dryly.
“I had Abby print out a list at work. If someone is after you, Wren, they might have already found a way to tap into your phone or computer. How else would they know about your appointment at the studio in the first place?”
“I personally called and made the arrangements to switch up my studio time on my cell phone. Usually, I have one of Mike’s office assistants do it for me. The time was booked months ago.”
“We should still play it safe,” Marc muttered.
“Then they could be monitoring you and Abby too, Marc,” she answered, suddenly feeling panicked.
He nodded. “Yes. I’ve actually been wondering about that for a while now myself. But we could use it to our advantage if we want to sneak you out of town. As soon as the names of the people who were killed at the studio are released, if what we suspect is true, you could be in even more danger.”
“That means I should probably get out of here within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. I’d better decide on one of these studios. I suppose if I’m not happy with the first place I choose, I could move on after a couple weeks and try another,” she said.
“Or you can work remotely in conjunction with one of the studios here. But that might mean your location could get leaked.”
“No, I’d better not do that.” She sighed. “Even though I need to get this new album recorded before I go back on tour, I think I know enough about what works for me to be able to guide the technicians from whatever company I choose.”
“Well, why don’t you take a look at that list while I grab us some coffee.”
Another ten minutes later, Wren had narrowed down the list to a couple different places before she suddenly noticed one in the upper Midwest.
“Dragonfly Studios. Crystal Rock, Wisconsin,” she muttered. “Why does that sound familiar?”
“Eve Loughlin owns the place. She opened it up about a year ago.”
“I’ve always liked Eve. But why in the heck is she running a recording studio instead of performing?”
“I have no idea, although Abby would probably know since she keeps up with all the fan magazines. But you know, Crystal Rock might be the perfect place for you to hide out, Wren. You know who else is based there? Marielle McKinnon along with her mentor, Emily Richardson.”
“That’s right. She runs a music camp in Crystal Rock, doesn’t she? That’s how Marielle got her start. I remember her telling me. You might be right. It would be nice to go somewhere with a few familiar faces.”
“Okay. One problem solved. We’ll get you a burner phone this afternoon and you can use that to book studio time with them. We’ll need to figure out how you’re going to travel,” Marc said, becoming thoughtful. “Even taking a private plane these days requires a lot of verification for security. We’ve never had to worry about hiding your itinerary before.”
She shrugged. “I could just drive. I used to do it all the time when Dad was ill. We could get out the word that I’m going to be recording in New York instead, and maybe you could head out of town as a distraction by using our regular charter service and booking the flight in my name.”
“I’m not sure I like the idea of you driving cross country all on your own, Wren, without any security. Especially after what happened today.”
She frowned. “In a weird way, I think I might be safer, Marc. I could wear a wig and sunglasses and dress down in jeans. Maybe even go with a slightly frumpy look.”
“What would you drive?” he asked.
“I can use cash to purchase an SUV,” she said. “If I trade in that van that I rarely use in the garage, I’d also be able to transfer the plates right away.”
“I think I know a dealer who’d remain discreet. Driving that van is like driving a tank, so either way, that would be a practical move, I suppose. And there’d be a lot less chance of you having trouble on the road in a brand-new vehicle. But it’s a thirty-hour drive. What about hotels? Even those require an ID when you’re checking in, even when you pay cash.”
“I’m thinking if I book rooms in some small-town hotels, no one will even know who I am, even when I show an ID. But first things first. I don’t want to make any arrangements without a new phone.”
Marc sighed. “I should have one too. I suppose it would be better if you only communicated with me, although we should probably think of one other person we can trust, in case there’s trouble.”
“Okay. I’ll start packing so that’s out of the way.”
“And I’ll go purchase some burner phones,” Marc said, finishing his coffee. “I’ll meet you back here at about three.”
“I’ll be here.” Wren nodded firmly. “Let’s get this show on the road.”