Page 4 of What She Saw

Chapter One

Joe Keller

Friday, May 20, 1994, 8:00 a.m.

10 Hours Until the Festival

Stardom. Joe Keller knew the young woman beside him spent her days dreaming of fame. She was a sweet little thing with blond hair and big brown eyes. Had tits a man could get lost in.

Like all the others, she saw herself standing on a stage with bright lights shining down as she strummed long fingers over her guitar. Her kind went to bed at night hearing the cheering crowds. He’d crossed paths with a lot of girls like her in his days as a guitarist and roadie.

Joe took a right off the main road. Once he’d dreamed of having assistants who’d take care of his needs. They’d drive him everywhere, stock his dressing room with his favorite hamburgers and lines of coke. And they’d shine his collection of guitars. Everyone kissed your ass at the top. That’s what he’d wanted when he was her age.

“You with one of the bands?” he asked.

She shifted, balancing her blue guitar case between her legs. “No. But I’m hoping to get some playing time onstage. Are you in a band?”

“I used to play guitar.” It was hard not to stare at her face. “You’re dreaming about being a star?”

“Yeah. Who doesn’t?” She wanted new outfits, hair and makeup assistants, and costumes that glittered with rhinestones. She wanted everyone to know—know—she was a star. One day, she’d be impossible to ignore. If he had a nickel for all the girls like this one.

She gripped her guitar case again as he took another turn onto a smaller mountain road. He downshifted, knowing the hills required the engine to grip harder.

Her blue guitar case was beat-up and covered with stickers naming cities that he’d bet she’d never seen.

“Nice case,” he said, hoping to draw her out. The bright-blue case had caught his attention as she walked down the road by Dawson’s bus station. Didn’t take a detective to know she had her sights set on the big music festival scheduled to kick off later today. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen. “You’re too young to have a history like that.”

She glanced at a tattered Nashville sticker. “I bought it used. I like its history.”

“You hear any stories about the case?”

She tucked a blond curl behind her ear. “The pawn shop owner told me the woman who’d owned it played with the Rolling Stones in the sixties. I hope to have those kinds of experiences.”

“Don’t hurry your life.” He’d done his share of rushing, and he’d made a lot of mistakes. “I’m Joe, by the way.”

“Laurie.”

The truck’s engine groaned loudly as he drove up the steepening hill. The split plastic seat crackled under his ass as he shifted. A fine sheen of cigarette ash covered his dashboard. When he was alone, he didn’t care, but with Laurie, he wished it were cleaner.

“What brings you here?” Joe asked.

“I was working in a diner in Waynesboro. Then a guy came in for coffee. He had a Kurt Cobain vibe. He was lean, and his dark glasses accentuated his chiseled features. After his coffee, he asked if he could hang a few posters. My boss said yes, and ‘Kurt’ taped flyers in thefront window as well as the men’s and women’s bathrooms. I offered him a soda. He said yes, and he told me about the festival. He made it sound so huge.”

She’d described the festival promoter, Rafe Colton. Rafe had always been fast and loose with the truth. “It’s going to be something.”

“What are you doing at the festival?”

“Delivering equipment. Stages, lighting, and rigging. All the unsexy stuff that makes a show work. And I’ll play a few sets with the Terrible Tuesdays.”

Her eyes brightened with interest. “So, you’re going to get onstage.”

“No guarantees. Right now, I’m a delivery driver with a guitar. I drop my deliveries, and I might get to play a few sets. Nothing fancy.”

“The promoter is looking for new artists. They have these kinds of events in the big cities, like Nashville, but never in Dawson. I’m lucky.”

“And you took the bus to Dawson?”

“I’d planned to drive, but my car gave out three days ago. I hoped the bus would drop me off closer. More walking than I figured.”