Page 14 of What She Saw

Friday, May 20, 1994, 10:00 a.m.

8 Hours Until

The festival was going to be a shit show.

Briggs had told him, again, not to worry. It would all be fine.Fine.Taggart hated that word. It always foreshadowed disaster.

He took the turnoff to the Nelson farm and wound his way up the road toward the venue. He’d been out to the farm a few days earlier. He’d walked the site and surveyed the entrance and exit locations. Beyond the main road, a rough-cut dirt service lane arrowed up the back of the property. It had been built for firefighting crews but hadn’t been used in years. According to the farm’s owner, fallen trees had made it impassable to vehicles. If there was an emergency, this site was a bottleneck. Taggart had ordered two guys from public works to clear a path yesterday. This new escape route was rough, but it was better than nothing.

Trucks and crews had arrived, and a large center stage had been constructed with the green mountains behind it. Workers hoisted lights up onto the rigging as other crews off-loaded large speakers. Trucks with trailers were parked at angles to make room for others coming andgoing. Even with the limited number of vehicles present, it was difficult to maneuver. His worries doubled.

Colton had picked this location for its spectacular Woodstock-type views. And right now, it looked stunning and reinforced all Colton’s promises.

A split rail fence ringed the farm, and beyond it stood a thick stand of trees. There was no security fencing to control anyone ready to slip in unnoticed. Five hundred people. Why did that number sound like Colton had pulled it out of his ass?

Taggart drove over grass crushed flat by a dozen other vehicles. He passed the first aid trailer and parked near the Depot’s food tent. Inside the Depot tent were prep tables, grills, and boxes of buns and condiments. The gal setting up the stations, Patty, worked the counter most breakfasts at the Depot. She was tall and lean and had tied back her ink-black hair in a ponytail. She couldn’t be more than nineteen and already had a kid. In the last week, the Depot had become a regular stop for him before work. Always friendly, Patty would fill his coffee cup before he settled on a counter stool.

Another gal worked beside Patty in the tent. He didn’t recognize her. She was young and blond and wore her hair in braids woven with strands of beads. She listened as Patty pointed to all the stations in the tent. No doubt she was here for the festival.

A rumbling multicolored VW van pulled in behind his car. The van hearkened back to the summer of ’60, right before he shipped out to Saigon. During that long, hot summer, he’d yet to enter the marines, and he’d been dating a girl who’d driven a VW van. Kelly. She hadn’t been his first, but she’d made him feel things he never dreamed possible. He still looked back on their weekend fondly.

A tall man rose out of this van. He had long dark hair that skimmed his shoulders, and a dark-blue Mountain Music Festival T-shirt stretched over his muscled chest. His jeans and boots were worn, and his deeply tanned skin looked more suited for sunny beaches than cloudy mountains. Rafe Colton, the festival promoter.

Taggart moved toward Colton. “Mr. Colton.”

Colton’s lips spread into a wide, disarming grin. His eyes twinkled with excitement. “Sheriff, call me Rafe.” He made a grimace. “My dad is Mr. Colton.”

“Right.”

“How’s your day so far?”

“Well, it was good until I walked up here.”

Colton’s smile remained warm as his gaze turned curious. “Why is that? It’s all coming together perfectly.” He surveyed the stage. “This place is going to be alive with people, music, and love in less than eight hours.”

“How are ticket sales going?” Taggart asked.

“Steady. About half sold.”

“Which means two hundred and fifty bodies?”

“Exactly right. We’ll sell more at the gate, but I doubt we’ll move all five hundred tickets. This concert won’t make anyone rich, but it’s going to be beautiful, spiritual. The music, the open air, and good energy. It never gets better.”

“I’m less worried about energy than I am the bodies.” Taggart glanced toward the overcast sky.

“I appreciate your concern,” Colton said. “You’re a man who knows his job.” Black beads rattled on his wrist as he pressed his hand to his heart. “I’ll be on-site during the entire event, and I’m here to help you. Stop worrying.”

Taggart had known a supply officer on Okinawa who had been a carbon copy of Colton. A wheeler-dealer, Sergeant Ken Jefferson could find anything for anyone—for a price. Everyone loved Sarge. Taggart had busted him for cocaine distribution, a move that was not popular with many. “It’s supposed to rain this weekend.”

Colton’s grin widened. “Maybe. Maybe not. It’s still fifty-fifty. Be positive.” He leaned forward a fraction. “I’m a glass-half-full kind of guy, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Taggart had known a lot of soldiers who’d been convinced they were bulletproof. Most were dead now. “How much extra security have you hired?”

“We’ve got twenty guys showing up before we open the gates. Also, their team is installing a few cameras.”

“That security proposal never hit my desk. What’s the name of the company?”

“Sorry. I forgot. Security will be handled by Woodward Security. They’re a solid firm. I’ve used them before.”