The Day Will Come Read online

  “Yeah,” I said. “Not real wedding-like.”

  Tess pouted. “But it’s pretty.”

  “Well, then,” Lucy said, “we’ll let Stella wear it for her wedding. But oh, no, she’s not having a wedding.”

  I glanced into the back seat, giving Tess the finger-across-the-throat cue. I hoped she got it.

  When Lucy parked in the driveway, she stepped out of the car without saying another word. I took a deep breath and let it out. I truly didn’t mean to be a pain in the ass.

  Inside the house, Lucy went upstairs, shutting the door with excessive force, and I went into the kitchen, Tess skipping along behind.

  “Guess I didn’t deserve the pizza for lunch,” I said. “Sorry.”

  She shrugged. “You got any frozen ones?”

  I did, and we pulled it out, sprucing it up with some mushrooms and sweet peppers Lucy had put in the fridge. I hoped she wasn’t planning on using them for supper, or I’d be in even deeper doo-doo.

  We had just stuck it in the oven when Lucy stopped in the doorway. “I’m going out to work in the garden.”

  “You don’t want lunch?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “All right.”

  But she didn’t hear me, having already left the kitchen. The outside door shut—again, quite firmly—and she marched past the window toward the vegetable plot.

  While the pizza cooked Tess set the table and I checked the answering machine. Nothing from Jordan or any other Granger, and it was too soon for Nick to be home. The only messages were from Lenny, who had a question about food for Saturday, and Allison, from the bridal shop, saying she forgot to ask if we wanted to schedule another fitting time.

  Somehow that message ended up getting erased.

  After Tess and I inhaled all but one piece of the pizza we went out to the garden, where we found Lucy cutting some rhubarb into a bowl. Packets of seeds for zucchini and sweet corn lay on the ground, ready to be opened.

  “I’m going out to work on fences,” I said.

  She looked up. “I saw a nice hole over on the west side. Looks like a snow plow hit it good.”

  “Yeah, I’ll get that.”

  Lucy’s face had relaxed, the lines in her forehead smoother than during the ride home from Harleysville.

  “Sorry about the dresses,” I said. “I really will find something nice. You don’t have to worry.”

  The corners of her mouth twitched, like I’d said something funny. “I think I’ll just leave it up to you.”

  “No requests?”

  She did smile this time. “Like that would matter?”

  I swallowed. It did matter. But I had pretty much vetoed everything we’d just looked at. “Have you tried praying about it?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

  Lucy’s eyes widened. “Every day.”

  I managed a little laugh. The problem was, she was probably serious.

  After grabbing some fence-mending tools—wire cutters, a roll of heavy wire, and a bucket for scraps—I headed out across the pasture. The spring weather had dried off the grass, making for an easy walk. In fact, it hadn’t rained in about two weeks, a strange occurrence for April. Lucy would be watering her garden every day if this kept up.

  I’d mended one big hole on the north side—looked like some snowmobilers had gotten a bit aggressive—and was started on the second when two men came walking across the pasture. I straightened up, my wire cutter in my hand, until I recognized one of them. I dropped the tool into my bucket and stretched my shoulders.

  “Ms. Crown,” the bigger man said, his eyes looking straight into mine.

  So it was that kind of a visit.

  “Detective Willard,” I said, hoping I was following his cue correctly.

  He nodded briefly. “Ms. Lapp directed us this way after we talked with her. I hope it’s all right.”

  I stared at him, marveling at his behavior. The last I’d seen Willard was over a huge pot of chili Lucy had cooked, having invited the entire Willard family over for Sunday dinner. Now he was acting like we’d never exchanged more than a howdy-do. I figured there must be a reason.

  He gestured to the man beside him. A plump, smiling, gray-haired guy with a notebook. “This is Investigator Alexander from the Philadelphia police. He’s working on the incident from last night.”

  Ah.

  “Which incident?” I asked. “The bomb? Or Genna?”

  “Both,” Alexander said cheerfully. “I’m working on both.”

  I caught Willard’s eye, but his expression was unreadable.

  “Do you know how Genna died?” I asked. “Was she really trampled trying to get out?”

  Alexander shook his head sadly. “We have yet to receive answers. The autopsy has been put off until later today or tomorrow, because of a backlog.”

  I thought back to the morning news. “The Mafia killings?”

  “You are remarkably well-informed, Ms. Crown.” He smiled some more.

  “Okaaaay,” I said. “Why are you here? I gave the cops a statement about the concert last night.”

  “But you didn’t give me a statement,” Alexander said. “And I’d find that ever so much more helpful. Is there a place we could sit?”

  Was this guy for real?

  “Grab a fencepost,” I said. “They work great to lean on.”

  “Fine, fine.” He stayed where he was and pulled a little device from his pocket. It looked like a phone.

  “I like to record my interviews,” he said, holding up the thing. A Dictaphone. “Do you have any objections?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Wonderful. So, could you please recount your experiences last night at the concert?”

  “Well, when the music cut off in the middle of the song, I grabbed my friend Lenny and followed him toward—”

  “No, no,” Alexander said. “Forgive me. Could you please start at the beginning?”

  “The beginning? Of the concert?”

  “Of your time there. From when you arrived at Club Independence.”

  “You mean starting outside?”

  He showed me his incisors.

  “Well, all right. It was freaking cold, and we did our best—”

  “‘We’ being?”

  I sighed. “Lucy Lapp, who you just met. Lenny Spruce, her fiancé. And Nick Hathaway, my boyfriend.”

  He scribbled in his notebook. “Thank you. Please continue.”

  “We waited outside for close on an hour before finally getting inside.”

  “And while you were outside did you see anything out of the ordinary?”

  I thought back. Fred, the toothless beer-guzzler, was a bit unappetizing, but hardly unusual. The group of Harleys, the staff guy telling us we couldn’t take cameras inside…

  “Nope,” I said.

  “Thank you. Go on.”

  “We went through security, and Nick got to keep his phone even though it takes pictures.”

  Alexander stopped scribbling. “And did he take any?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t think so. I can ask him.”

  “He’s not here?”

  “He’s on his way home to Virginia.”

  “You can give us his phone number?”

  I recited it.

  “Thank you. And you were saying?”

  “I don’t know. What was I saying?”

  Willard cleared his throat. “You went through security.”

  “Right. Gave our tickets to the guy— Is he part of your investigation, too?”

  “To whom are you referring?” Alexander asked.

  “Robert Baronne. The missing Club Independence guy. He’s the one who took our tickets.”

  Alexander nodded. “I would be very interested in anything you have to say about him.”

  “I don’t really have anything to say. I was just asking.”

  “Okay. Continue.”

  “We gave Baronne
our tickets— Oh, I guess I do have something to say about him. After the bomb scare, when we were at the parking lot, the owner of the club came running up to another guy—” I held up my hand before he could interrupt. “Don’t know who he was. Anyway, he was asking if the other guy had seen ‘Bobby.’ When I saw the news this morning, I figured it was the same guy.” I waited until he finished scribbling and looked up at me again.

  “Anyway, after we got in the lobby—”

  “We’re back to before the concert?” Alexander asked.

  “Yes. Jordan took us—”

  “Jordan?” Alexander said.

  I gritted my teeth. Telling this guy a story was worse than pounding your finger with a hammer. Repeatedly. “Jordan Granger. He’s the band’s sound man, and a good friend of mine. He took Nick and me backstage to meet the band.”

  “Not your friends Lucy and Lenny?”

  “Didn’t she tell you?”

  He smiled. “I’m interested in your story.”

  I snuck another look at Willard. His eyes were focused on my tool bucket.

  “So Nick and I went backstage, without Lucy and Lenny, where we met the Tom Copper Band.”

  “All of them?”

  I felt a lightbulb go on above my head. Or perhaps I’d inadvertently shocked myself on the fence.

  “Actually, not quite all of them. We met Tom Copper, Donny, LeRoy, and Genna. Don’t know any of those last names. Met the old drummer, too. Parker Somebody. But we didn’t meet the new drummer, or not exactly.”

  Alexander looked at me with interest. “How can you ‘not exactly’ meet someone?”

  “Jordan took us on stage for a minute on our way back out. We were in the wings, where we couldn’t be seen by the audience, and we heard the drummer say he was going to wring someone’s neck.”

  Alexander and Willard both looked up at that.

  “You’re sure it was him?” Willard asked.

  “We heard his voice from the other side of the curtain, then he came stomping past. We didn’t see the other person. Jordan said there’s another way out.”

  Alexander scribbled energetically in his notebook. “Anyone else there?”

  “On the stage? Not that I know of. But we left right away.”

  “And did you see anyone else close by?”

  “The owner of the club passed us on our way out the backstage door. Oh, and two girls on our way in. What were their names?” I clicked my tongue, looking out over my newly planted cornfield. “A rock star.”

  “One of the girls was a rock star?” Alexander asked.

  “No, named for one. Marley. That’s it. And the other girl—the smaller one—was Annie. She helps Jordan with sound stuff, I guess. Anyway, then Jordan left us and we went out to find Lenny and Lucy.”

  “Okay. Fantastic. Now, why don’t you tell us about the concert.”

  I talked about finding Lenny and Lucy, the crowd’s wild response to the band, and Nick leaving during the first break. Then how the panic had started, how I’d almost gotten pushed over the railing, and how we’d stopped to help Norm and Cindy negotiate the stairs and get rid of their wheelchair. How I’d fought down the stairs and outside into the fresh air, where I couldn’t find my friends and got no help from the fresh-faced cop.

  They liked the method I used—Loader—for finding Lenny and Lucy in the parking lot.

  I described the ambulances, finding Nick, and repeated what I overheard Gary Mann say to the other guy about looking for Bobby. And how we’d found Lucy and Lenny again.

  “Then Jordan found us,” I said. “Bringing Marley and Annie, and Ricky got there quick after phoning Marley. None of them had seen Genna, and they were pretty worried.”

  Alexander watched my face. “You believed none of them had seen her?”

  “Sure. The guys were both a bit panicked, and the girls really didn’t seem to care.”

  “Hmmm.” He wrote something down. “Now Jordan Granger. You know him well?”

  “Real well. Like a brother.”

  “And he’s the sound man for the band? Is that his only occupation?”

  “When he’s not touring with the band he’s working at his brother’s welding shop. Granger’s Welding.”

  “And do you know anything about his relationships with members of the band?” Alexander asked.

  “No.” I didn’t know anything. Everything I thought I knew was completely my own imagination.

  “He’s never mentioned any problems he’s had? Anyone with whom he had disagreements? Tensions?”

  “What? No. He’s living a dream. All he’s ever mentioned to me is how much fun he’s having.”

  “He never said anything about a relationship with Genna, the female vocalist? Or her boyfriend, the drummer?”

  “No. He’s never said anything— Wait a minute. What are you trying to say here?” I’d been about three steps too slow. “Jordan would never hurt anyone. Especially not Genna.”

  Alexander raised his eyebrows. “No? Why ‘especially not Genna’?”

  Shit.

  “Because he’s a gentle guy. He’s a nice guy. He’s never said anything bad about anybody in the band. He’s never said anything at all about anybody in the band, except that he loves being with them.”

  Alexander wrote something down. “What would you say if I told you Jordan and Genna had an argument before the concert?”

  I stared at him. “Are you serious?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “What were they arguing about?”

  He smiled. “That’s not important. But did you know anything about it?”

  “Of course not.” But I remembered the tension. How Jordan barely looked at Genna backstage, and how she left the room so quickly after Jordan introduced Nick and me.

  “You’re not really looking at him as a suspect?” I asked. “Jordan wouldn’t hurt anyone, and he would definitely not set a bomb.”

  Alexander remained mute. Willard wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  My heart thudded in my chest, and my skin went cold at the thought of Jordan being the center of their investigation. “I at least hope you’re smart enough to be looking at other people? People like Ricky, who said he’d wring someone’s neck?”

  Alexander smiled at this.

  Willard didn’t.

  Chapter Seven

  After Willard and his sidekick left, my anger kept me so motivated I pounded around the fences for another hour and a half. The thought of Jordan masterminding a bomb scare and a murder—perhaps even the kidnapping of Bobby Baronne, if Alexander had his way—was so outrageous that twice I almost cut off my finger instead of a broken wire. Fortunately, I realized before it was too late that I’d better take a break. I made it back to the house without any missing body parts, and found Lucy sliding a loaf of bread into the oven.

  “They interrogate you, too?” I asked.

  Her brow furrowed. “Bunch of strange questions, asking about Jordan’s demeanor and anything I know about him and Genna. I had no idea there was anything to him and Genna, other than knowing each other, and him looking for her last night. Was there?”

  I slumped onto a kitchen chair and put my feet up on the one across from me. “Not that he told me. All I know is I felt the vibes when we saw her backstage. She did her best not to look at him, and he ignored her, except for telling us her name. Of course, after the bomb scare he was practically hysterical looking for her. But the biggest thing…” I stopped, trying to put my mind around it.

  “What?”

  “Jermaine told me Jordan had set himself up at the police station saying he was waiting for news on his fiancée.”

  “Fiancée? But wasn’t that drummer guy her boyfriend?”

  “Um-hmm.” I leaned back and studied my fingers, thankful they were all there. “I didn’t tell the annoying detective any of this, since it’s all stuff I don’t really know. I’ve never heard it from Jordan.” I glanced at the answeri
ng machine. “I take it none of the Grangers has called? Or Nick?”

  “Nope.”

  I checked the clock. Nick should’ve been home by now, but I supposed it could still be a while before he had any answers from his doctor.

  I leaned back on my chair, trying not to overbalance as I reached for the phone. Lucy, rolling her eyes, walked over, grabbed the phone, and handed it to me.

  I took it. “Thanks.”

  She went back to the counter and began cleaning out the breadmaker, where she’d let the dough rise before taking it out and putting it in a real bread pan.

  I tried calling Jordan at home, but had no luck. Then I called all the Grangers, but none of them had heard from him, either. Jermaine told me Ma was about ready to take off down to the city herself if she didn’t hear anything soon, and they were all trying to talk her out of it. I reminded him to let me know if he heard anything, and gave him a heads-up that the cops were looking at Jordan as a suspect. Needless to say, this didn’t go over well. He gave me Jordan’s cell phone number, and I called it without getting any response.

  I pushed myself off the chair and hung up the phone, realizing I’d better get back out to the fences if I wanted to finish them that day. “I’m headed out. Can you come get me if somebody calls?”

  “You bet.”

  I was more under control now, and fence mending went quickly enough that I was back in time to help Lucy with milking. She usually took the evenings, but it was a routine I enjoyed, and I wouldn’t have felt right sitting in the house doing nothing while she was putting in the hours. By the time we were done, though, I was ready for my supper and my bed. Lucy’s bread was warm and soft, and the roast chicken she’d cooked in the crock pot went down easy.

  My stomach and I would be in mourning once next Saturday arrived.

  By the time I’d taken a shower and put clean sheets on my bed, Nick still hadn’t called. I said goodnight to Lucy, who’d sent Tess upstairs an hour earlier, and picked up the phone in my room. Instead of Nick, I got a computerized message telling me the cellular phone customer I’d dialed was not available, along with some numerical code. I hung up and tried again, hearing the same recorded message. Strange. Nick never turned off his phone. Maybe the battery had died in all his traveling and fatigue. Or he’d been told to turn it off at the doctor’s office and had forgotten to turn it back on. Or it had fallen out of his pocket and gotten run over by a bus.