Page 15

DEAN

From the steps of the BnB, I watched the limo cross Main Street Bridge before pulling up in front of us, looking as out of place as a giraffe in a chicken coop. If I’d thought their arrival in town might go unnoticed, I was sadly mistaken.

“These are your friends?” Benji asked on one side of me.

“My manager. And…” Don’t say bodyguard. “Her boyfriend. Yes.”

On the other side of me, Bastian said to Benji, “Should we ask Connie to run over to your Mom’s and get the good china? I think we need the good china.”

“Oh my God, stop turning into my mother,” Benji replied. “Besides, I sent Connie to Eau Claire to pick up a bunch of refills of Great Nan’s medication. And thank God for that. I’m happy to have Connie change the sheets and dust the lamps, God knows she needs something to keep her busy. But the last guest she greeted at check-in ended up filing a restraining order against her. The last thing we need is for her to get on the wrong side of some bigwig from LA. Those people know how to sue!” He patted me on the shoulder and added, “No offence, Dean. I don’t think of you as an out-of-towner. You’re one of us. You always will be.”

The comment warmed my nervous heart. “Thanks, Benji.”

The driver exited the limo first, hurrying around to open the back passenger door, but Bogdan had already shouldered it open and squeezed his hulking frame out of the vehicle, before offering his hand to help Astrid out of the car.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, I don’t need your bloody hand,” came Astrid’s voice, her British accent sharply clipping each word. “I don’t need any help, I need a fucking cigarette! Had I known it would take three planes and a moth-eaten 1978 Limousine to get me from Beverly Hills to Bumfuck Alabama I might have thought twice about it. Just tell me where Dean is so I can convince him to return to civilization.”

Bogdan pointed up the stairs to me, but Astrid had already spotted me. “Oh, thank God, you’re still alive,” she exhaled.

“Yes, I’m alive. And you’re in Wisconsin, not Alabama.”

“You know what I mean,” Astrid said, snatching a cigarette out of the open pack that Bogdan offered her before he lit it.

A plume of relief billowed from her lungs as she climbed the steps to the BnB where I stood with Benji and Bastian. She looked the old building up and down and said to me, “Well, doesn’t this place look quaint. I hope you’ve booked me a massage at the day spa. After that journey, I’m going to need to decompress before I tell you about my brilliant new plan to solve this whole debacle.”

“Um… I’m sorry but we don’t have a day spa,” said Benji, followed by an overly cordial, “Please let me introduce myself. My name’s Benji, and this is my partner Bastian. Welcome to our BnB.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” she said, ignoring his hand and pulling her phone from her pocket and trying to check her messages. “It’d be even more of a pleasure if I could get a fucking signal anywhere in this town. Please tell me you have Wi-Fi.”

“Of course,” said Bastian. “All of our rooms come with Wi-Fi, as well as air-conditioning, a minibar, coffee and tea facilities, not to mention—”

“Enough said. You had me at minibar. Just promise me you have Grey Goose.”

Benji glanced sideways at Bastian and said uncertainly, “Actually, I don’t think goose hunting season starts till September.”

“Oh my God,” said Astrid, blowing out the last puff of her cigarette. “I don’t need a rifle, I need a drink. Someone get me a bloody drink!”

* * *

Astrid unpacked her suitcase like a gust of wind plucking clothes off a clothesline and hurling them in all directions. Some landed haphazardly on the dresser, some flopped at the foot of the antique closet, others landed on the bed until she found what she was looking for.

“I always bring my own,” she said, holding up a bottle of vodka. “In case of emergency, smash glass.”

“Please don’t break the bottle,” I said, taking it from her and opening the lid. “There are less dramatic ways to get a drink around here.”

“Chin chin, darling. Just please don’t tell me I have to drink it out of a teacup.”

“Relax. Benji and Bastian provide tumblers for their guests. They’re not neanderthals, you know.” I poured us each a drink, then turned to see her lighting another cigarette. “Astrid, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m lighting a ciggie.”

“You can’t smoke in here.”

“Oh please, darling. Nobody’s ever going to know. Do you see a smoke detector anywhere? No, that’s because this place is older than Mick Jagger’s dance moves, and that’s saying something. At least if I die in a fire, I know I’ll only have myself to blame.” She reached into her bag and pulled out one last item… an envelope. “Speaking of threats to one’s life…”

She handed it to me.

I opened it, and there pasted onto a piece of paper—each letter a different size, a different font, from a different magazine or newspaper—was the message Astrid had read to me over the phone.

Sing one more note and die. Release one more record and die. Leave LA. or die.

I sat on the bed and stared at the words, unable to take my eyes off them until Astrid sat beside me, wrapping one arm around my shoulders.

“You know we can beat this bastard, don’t you? You know we can beat him at his own game.”

I looked at her. “We can? How?”

“Rats like this, they need to be flushed out. So… we flush him out.”

“How?”

“We hold a concert. We lure him to us. And we catch him at his own game.”

“What do you mean, we lure him to us? How?”

“By using you as the bait.”

“Bait?” I freaked out. “But I don’t wanna be bait!”

“Dean, darling, listen to me. I’ll hire an army of security personnel to make sure you’re safe. I will do everything in my power to protect you. But until we try to flush this fucker out, this twisted game of his is never going to end. You need to trust me on this.”

I huffed for air.

My head was spinning.

My eyes were welling with tears.

“I never signed up for this,” I panted. “I never wanted this. All I ever wanted to do was write songs that people liked.”

Astrid took her arm off my shoulder and took my chin in her hand, turning my face to hers. “The moment you try to do something that people like, that’s the moment the haters come for you. My darling boy, let’s stop this hater before he does something we’ll all regret. Let me put on a concert and flush this fucker out.”

“But I’m not ready to go back to LA yet.”

Astrid shook her head. “I’m not talking about holding a concert in LA. Whoever your stalker is, they’ve already seen your LA shows. They’ve been watching your every move on the West Coast, and I have no doubt they’ve seen the tabloids. They know you’re here. Darling, the only way to bring this scum to the surface is to lure them right… to… you.”

I caught my breath. “You mean…?”

Astrid nodded. “Uh-huh. The only way to catch this bastard, is to hold a concert right here, in Bumpkin Bayou.”

“It’s Mulligan’s Mill. Astrid, there’s not a swamp in sight.”

“Darling, I don’t even know what a bayou is, and I’m quite certain I never want to know. But I do know that holding a concert here in…” she waved her cigarette-holding hand as though trying to summon the name of the town by magic.

I helped her out. “Mulligan’s Mill.”

“Yes, Mulligan’s Mill. That’s the place. By holding a concert here, I’m certain we’ll draw your stalker out and end this reign of fear forever.”

“But… but…”

“But what?”

“But Mulligan’s Mill doesn’t know how to put on a concert. Nobody in this town wants to put on a concert. I don’t think anybody in this town has ever been to a concert before.”

“You know what they say; there’s a first time for everything. I’ll call in the marketing and events team immediately. I saw the park across the way as we drove into town. It’s perfect for an outdoor concert. It’ll be just like Coachella, but in the woods of Montana.”

“We’re in Wisconsin.”

“You know what I mean.” Astrid gasped excitedly. “Oh my God, I think Benson Boone has an opening later this week. He can do a guest appearance. I’m calling his manager right now.”

“You want to bring Benson Boone to my stalker concert?”

“Darling, at the first sign of danger we’ll get Benson to sweep you up into his arms and carry you to safety, stage left. Just imagine! The cameras of the paparazzi flashing, the crowds screaming, and you in Benson’s arms. Money can’t buy that kind of publicity! Who do I need to talk to in this town to get an event up and running? Who organizes all of your town parades and Christmas festivities and whatever cornball carousels you put on here?”

I tried to breathe. I tried to act as calm as possible. “That would be… Harry.”

“I need his number. Where’s my phone? Oh my God, I was promised Wi-Fi!”

And all I could utter to myself was, “What have I done?”