Roxy was so deep in thought after leaving the interview that she nearly ran straight into the arms of someone who was standing a few meters away. It was Sam.
“Oh my God!” she said, stepping back and blushing again as she recalled the conversation she’d just had with Quick. She wondered how soundproof the door was.
“You okay?” He held onto her arms to keep her from toppling over.
“Yes, I’m ... I’m fine.” She tilted her head towards the office. “Just been given a grilling by Quick.” She tried to smile. “Your turn next is it?”
He nodded. “He still trying to pin it on me?”
“Afraid so. I don’t know what you did to him in a past life, but he’s gunning for you.”
Sam’s face broke into a wide smile. “Ah, but he’s no longer in charge. I’m not worried.”
You should be, she wanted to tell him, but instead she said, “Listen, they seem to think you and I ... well...”
“Well?” His smile had turned a little cheeky, he clearly knew where she was going with that and she frowned back at him.
“Can you just explain, please, very clearly to both detectives that you and I are just friends, that’s all.”
“So we are friends, then?”
“Of course.” Her expression lightened. “I don’t babysit just anyone’s dog, you know.”
The door creaked open again and Quick peered out, his eyes settling on the two of them and his smirk returned. “When you’re finished with Ms Parker, we’d like a word, Mr. Forrest.”
He disappeared back inside and Sam did a mock salute and made his way towards the office before turning back. “Speaking of Lunar, he misses you. Big time. Want to pop over for a barbeque tonight? It can be our thank you present. ”
Roxy went to say yes, then reconsidered. “Oh, I’m not sure, Gilda’s still around and...”
“Bring Gilda. Why not? We’re just friends, after all, right?” Then he gave her a cocky smile as he, too, disappeared into the office.
“Oh, there you are Roxy!” She swung around to find Houghton peering out from the living area, his scruffy hair flying about his face. “Got a sec?”
Roxy nodded, took a few calming breaths of air, then made her way through the room and out to the veranda. Houghton was taking a seat back at the long wooden table, which was now clear of debris except for his mobile phone and laptop. He pulled a chair out for her then clicked something on the screen and turned back with a grin.
“So, we have liftoff!”
“Sorry?” Roxy’s head was stuck somewhere between Jed Moody’s murder and Sam Forrest’s coy grin, and for a moment she had forgotten all about the book. She snapped out of it quickly and said, “Really?”
“Yep, it’s good news, Annika has seen the light and the lads are eager to get the book happening, too. So, can we get cracking straight away?”
“Sure, of course. You’ll have to speak with my agent—”
“Just did.” He tapped his mobile. “We’ve nutted out an agreement, which I’ll e-mail to him now, but he’s asked if you can give him another call if you can find the time. Maybe use the landline here, hey? He’s having a bit of trouble getting through to your mobile.”
She reached for her phone in the bottom of her bag. There was only one bar showing and even that disappeared as she stared at it. “I don’t know why I bother.”
“Try out in the car park near the studio, or the eastern corner of the veranda, just over there.” He waved his phone. “Seems to be the magic spot for most people. But as I say, feel free to use the landline again. There’s a bunch around the place, one by the bar, another in the kitchen. Annika won’t mind.” Roxy arched her eyebrows. She was whistling a different tune today then.
“Now, listen, here’s what we’re going to need. Not a huge amount, it’ll be mostly pictorial, but a chapter on each band member, some info on Jed’s background, some feel-good stuff about his marriage.”
“Oh? I’m allowed to discuss that now?”
He chuckled. “Well, his fans can’t hold it against him anymore.”
“And Annika really is fine with all of this?”
“Yeah, yeah, she came round, like I knew she would. She knows we’ve gotta strike while the iron’s hot.”
“Will she let me interview her?”
“Says she’s looking forward to it. She’s meeting with the detectives in about an hour, but you might be able to catch her before then if you’re lucky.”
Roxy glanced at her phone. It was just after 9:00 a.m. “I had better chat to Oliver before I do anything else,” she told him. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Returning inside, Roxy located the hand-held phone that was perched on the corner of the bar beside a cluster of liquor bottles, and picked it up. There was a man’s voice on the other end, which confused her for a split second before she realised someone else in the house was using the phone. She heard the words, “—not here! I told you, pigs are everywhere, we’ll get busted—” The voice stopped abruptly, sensing her on the other end, and said, “Who’s there?!”
She dropped the phone back onto its cradle as though it were made of burning lava, and felt a rush of guilt followed by a shot of anxiety. Was that Alistair? Doug? She couldn’t quite place the man’s voice, but he sounded stressed.
He also sounded shifty.
She glanced around furtively. Was the caller using the kitchen phone? Half of her wanted to stride in and see who was talking, the other half—the smarter half—told her to mind her own business and get the hell out of there, and so she did, dashing back out to where Houghton was still tapping away at his laptop. He blinked at her.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Roxy slipped into the chair beside him and tried to smile. “No, no, I’m fine.”
“Did you call Oliver?”
“Not yet.” She grappled for her mobile. “I think I’ll try my luck with my mobile.” She tried to warm her smile up. “So, who else is around today, apart from Annika?”
He shrugged. “The boys are out in the studio going through Jed’s files. Cook’s here, too, slapping together some brunch for Annie, I think, why?”
“Who’s the cook?” She tried to keep her tone nonchalant, wasn’t sure she’d pulled it off.
“Oh, just a guy from the shop, Hans someone-or-other.”
Roxy immediately remembered the man with the sinewy body and the black bun from the Goddess Cafe. “Come here often, does he?”
He shrugged. “Comes in occasionally and whips up a few meals to keep Annie happy. She was going to let him go, actually, she doesn’t really have the budget for that kind of extravagance anymore but, well, now that Jed’s gone ... I guess she’s not up to pulling dishes together at this stage. Plus she’s got us buggers to feed, hey?” His eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”
Roxy shook her head. “Just curious. So where’s this magic spot then?”
Two minutes later, Roxy was leaning out across the veranda balustrade, her iPhone in one hand, the other holding onto the railing for dear life. “Olie? Is that you?” The signal kept cutting in and out.
“Oh ... (crackle, crackle) the great ... (crackle) Parker finally ... (crackle, crackle) call!”
It might have been a bad line, but Oliver’s sarcasm was clear as a bell. “Sorry, Olie. I’ve been busy with Gilda.”
“Gilda? Tell me ... (crackle crackle) there.”
“What?”
“She’s there?”
“Yes! She came to see if I was all right and is now staying to do some investigating work.”
“What?!”
Roxy leaned out even farther to get a better signal. “She’s looking into Sam’s sister’s drowning! The one I told you about yesterday!”
“Don’t yell, I can hear you perfectly well.” Roxy relaxed a little. “You two,” Oliver continued. “You’re like Tintin and his fluffy white dog.”
“I’m hoping in this analogy of yours that I’m Tintin and not the dog.”
He laughed. “Hey, you’re the one with the canine fixation at the moment. Speaking of which, how is our friendly murder suspect? Still behind bars?”
“No, he is not.” Although she wondered how long that would last. Would Sam even be free for a barbecue at his place tonight? Not if Quick had anything to do with it, she decided, then shrugged the thought away and changed the subject. “So, Houghton tells me the book is back on.”
“Yep, great news for you, I have to say. I’m finalising the deets with him this morning and we should have a proper contract to you to sign by lunchtime. I’ll get Shazza to e-mail it to you when it’s done. Read through and let me know if you’re happy with the terms and conditions. I negotiated a better word rate, but they seem to want fewer words now than the original book, so it evens out in the end, I’m sorry to say. Still, it’s a pretty sum for a few days work.”
“It’ll be fine, Olie.” She was happy to hang around.
“How’s the investigation into the poor bugger’s murder going? It’s all over the press here. All anyone wants to talk about. In fact, your friend Maria called.”
“Maria Constantinople, from Glossy?” Roxy pictured the overweight, over-cursing magazine editor and shuddered a little. “What did she want?”
“She wants you to write a story about Jed Moody and his murder, of course.”
“Great! I could do with the extra money, although I don’t exactly know the full story yet.”
“I told her as much. Plus there is the small matter of the confidentiality agreement you signed before you flew up.”
Roxy deflated. That’s right. It seemed a lifetime ago now, but she recalled signing the contract in her agent’s office the week before. It was standard stuff. Every ghostwriting contract included a confidentiality clause to ensure that anything seen or heard during client interviews remained at the client’s discretion. And it made sense. As a ghostwriter you were invited into a person’s inner sanctum and often saw and heard things that the client wished you hadn’t. As they were footing the bill for the book, you abided by their wishes and promptly “unsaw” and “unheard” whatever they asked. This was not a biography. It was an authorised autobiography, and that’s how the process worked.
Now she wished it didn’t.
“Surely that doesn’t cover Jed’s death? I mean, there were loads of people there. It was practically a public event.”
“Doesn’t matter. The agreement covers everything that happens during the time you were employed to ghostwrite the book. His death included.”
Fair enough. “It’s not like I would have written anything awful,” she said, but let it drop. Glossy magazine would have plenty more stories where that came from. She hoped. “Okay, I’d better fly. I want to see if I can grab Annika before she disappears again.”
Roxy had just spotted the widow walking around the side of the house, from the direction of the stables, her dog Coco nipping at her heels.
“Okay, but before you go,” said Olie and she stiffened, afraid she’d lose the line again.
“Yes?”
“Be careful around that Sam guy. You may think he’s innocent but ... well ... just keep a wide berth, okay?”
Why do people keep saying that? She thought moodily. “I’ll be fine,” Roxy told him, knowing she would be doing exactly the opposite of what he was advising, and not caring in the slightest.