Brittany had to go home.
Her mother was adamant. She wasn’t going to have her daughter hounded and scared by the press. She never should have let Brittany come in the first place.
I curled up on my bed, worn and hungry, and listened to Brittany’s side of the conversation.
“I wasn’t that scared, Mom. It was really no big deal.”
“But they have bodyguards with us all the time.”
“So what! We didn’t think they’d notice Shaley in the wig. But now it doesn’t matter, because her mom already told us we’re not going anywhere. And we’re guarded.”
“I can’t leave her now; she needs me. I won’t go.”
I don’t know what’ll happen, Shaley, just … some danger.
“All the other people on tour don’t matter. I’m her best friend. I need to stay with her.”
“We’re leaving San Jose tomorrow, remember? We’ll be in Colorado, far away from whoever killed Tom.”
Let’s hope so.
“How am I supposed to get home anyway? Rayne’s already paid for all my plane tickets. I’ve already got one for Denver.”
Her mom had already figured that out. Brittany would ride in the limo with us to the airport in the morning. Instead of boarding the plane to Denver, she’d be catching one a half hour later bound for Southern California. End of story.
Brittany stomped back and forth across the room, begging and pleading and arguing until she was practically blue in the face. “Do I have to get Rayne to talk to you again? Is that what it’s going to take?”
“Mom, I can’t leave. I’m telling you, she needs me here.”
I pulled a pillow over my head, wishing I could shut out her voice. Her arguments wouldn’t matter, I knew that. Future lawyer or not, this time she wouldn’t be changing her mother’s mind.
In the end, Brittany smacked off the call, threw her phone across the room, and sank down on her bed. She lowered her head and started to cry silently. I sat up cross-legged, watching her shoulders shake. My tears had all dried up. I was just too tired.
Brittany sniffed. “I can’t believe this.”
“I can. After all that’s happened? I wouldn’t expect anything to go right.”
Brittany spread her fingers on the bedspread and bunched up the fabric. “Maybe you could come home with me.”
My stomach grumbled. I still hadn’t eaten anything. When we came back to the room, my dinner was too cold. We’d set our plates outside in the hall.
“Do you think you could?” Brittany looked at me, her face pinched.
“I wish. I can’t wait to go home. But I know what Mom would say. Here I’m close to her, plus we have the bodyguards. There I wouldn’t have any protection.”
“Maybe Bruce could come with you.”
Wouldn’t that be great? To go home and see all my friends again.
“But your mom wouldn’t want me staying with you. I’d just bring trouble.”
Brittany considered that. “You could stay at your own house. Your housekeeper’s there. Bruce or Wendell could even stay in one of your guest bedrooms.”
I fastened a look on her, feeling a twist in my belly. Brittany’s eyes held mine. Slowly her expression flattened.
“No. But how can I know for sure? Detective Furlow thinks Tom’s killer is one of us. How can I know it’s not Bruce or Wendell or Mick?”
“But you know them. You trust them.”
“I thought I knew Tom too. I didn’t.”
“But that’s diff —”
“Brittany, shut up.” My voice thinned to steel. I pushed off the bed, hands thrust in my hair. “You think I want to have these thoughts? That I want to distrust everyone around me? This is driving me crazy.”
She dropped her head, pressed thumb and forefinger between her eyes. I took a few aimless steps, then flopped back down on the mattress.
“Sorry.” I cast her a rueful look. “Didn’t mean to snap at you.” “I know.” She sighed. “At least ask your mom. Would you just do that?”
So I asked. I didn’t even want to drag myself to the connecting door. Instead I turned on my phone and called Mom’s cell. I told Mom Brittany had to leave and begged halfheartedly to go with her, knowing the answer.
“No. You need to stay near me. Near the bodyguards. No way am I letting you take off on your own.”
Depression weighing me down, I hung up. Brittany and I barely spoke. We hugged each other, then went about the business of packing. I wished I hadn’t bought any new clothes. Now I just had to work all the harder at fitting things in my suitcase.
We watched a movie. I hardly saw it.
Sometime after eleven we crawled into bed, craving sleep but dreading tomorrow.
We turned out the lights, and I stared upward, reliving the last twenty-four hours — finding Tom, the nightmare about my father. The rose, the photo, the crushing crowd.
Sweaty and trembling, I took a long time going to sleep.
Troubled dreams wove through my head, surreal scenes of the mall and flashing cameras, white roses raining down on me, walls covered with pictures materializing out of nowhere —
And a blasting sound in my ears, loud enough to wake the dead.
My eyes flew open.