What She Saw - 16

Sloane

The café in Waynesboro was on Main Street near the South River. Once a junction between two railroads, the city was now a tourist stop along I-81 south and home to a few factories.

The bar was trimmed in shiplap siding and a rough-edge laminated wooden top. Behind the bar was a collection of liquor bottles, beer taps, and an opening to a small kitchen in the back. The floor area was packed with twenty small cocktail rounds, each stocked with four chairs. All were full.

The center stage was small, covered with an Oriental rug and an empty barstool. An acoustic guitar leaned next to a microphone. The entire setup took up almost all the stage’s space. I glanced around the crowd, looking for an older musician.

When I didn’t see him, I caught the bartender’s attention. In her early twenties, she had swept up her purple-streaked dark hair into a thick ponytail. An intricate tattooed sleeve covered her right arm from her bicep down to the middle of her forearm.

“What can I get you?” she asked.

“Ginger ale. Is there going to be live music tonight?”

She popped the top of a ginger ale can and poured it over a glass filled with ice. “Yeah, he’s on break. Back in the alley having a cigarette.”

“I hear he’s pretty good.” I fished a ten-dollar bill from my back pocket.

She set the soda in front of me. “He’s decent. I hear back in the day he was on the rise.”

And now he was here. “There’s got to be a story there.”

She grinned. “Always is.”

I took a long sip. “How long before the set begins?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Excellent. Thanks.”

I drained the soda. Lying in that field had made me so thirsty. I headed to the back exit. Outside, the warm air rushed me as I stepped out under a back porch light. I looked around but didn’t see anyone, and then by a dumpster, I spotted a lean guy with long gray hair bound into a ponytail. He stepped out from behind the dumpster and checked his zipper to make sure he was put back together.

When he looked up and saw me, he stopped midstep and looked startled.

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“I’ve pissed behind my share of dumpsters, trees, and bushes in my career. You won’t be the first to surprise me.”

“The bartender said you were on a break.”

He fished a rumpled pack of cigarettes and red plastic lighter from his back pocket. “That’s right.”

“I’m Sloane Grayson. In full disclosure, I’m a writer working on a piece about the Mountain Music Festival.”

“Haven’t heard about the festival in over a decade.” The lighter flared, and he pressed it to the tip of his cigarette. Smoke rose past his squinting gaze. “I’m Joe Keller.”

“Most people see it as ancient history. They don’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t mind talking.” He inhaled and allowed the smoke to trickle over his lips. As he stepped forward into the light, shadows deepened the lines of his face. He looked like a thinner version of Bob Dylan.

I edged a little closer. “Do you remember Laurie Carr?”

“Blue Guitar. Sweet kid. I told her to be careful. We sang a duet onstage.”

“How did you end up driving her to the venue?”

“She was walking along the side of a dirt road with her blue guitar case slung over her shoulder. The sunlight was hitting her blond hair and her tanned body. I offered her a ride, and she was glad to have it. She told me right off she wanted on the stage.”

“And you helped her get her shot.”

“When I saw her serving burgers, I told her to meet me at the stage about eleven. Right on the dot, she was there, so I waved her onstage. I wasn’t sure how it would go, but I had to give the kid her due. She delivered. I got chills.”

“I was listening to the tape tonight. She was good.”

“She had talent, looks, and the ‘it’ factor.”

“You had some strong vocal chops yourself.”

“I had moves back in the day.”

It was hard to accept that Laurie was dead when her voice hit and held such high notes like a pro. “No one saw her vanish.”

“The world eats up good people all the time,” he said. “If she’d lived, she’d have had a hard road ahead of her. The music industry destroys girls like her.”

“She deserved the chance.”

“I didn’t say she didn’t. Look at me. I was an experienced singer and guitar player, and it ate me up and spit me out.”

“How?”

“Signed my rights away. I was so hungry for the short-term gain I didn’t see the future. I never would’ve saw myself here now.”

His career path didn’t interest me, but for the sake of bonding, I asked, “So why keep at it?”

“It’s in the blood. Won’t let me go.”

“The café looks packed. You must still have some moves.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t good. Had the business sense of a rock.”

“After Laurie’s set, it was the end of the Terrible Tuesdays’ performance, right?”

“Yep.”

“She must have been jazzed and not ready to leave.”

“The bug bit her good. Euphoria is high when a set goes well. It was the band’s ninth show in eight days, but they were juiced. I had to hustle to keep up.”

“What did you and the guys do after your set?”

“Broke down the equipment with the road crew and loaded up the van. Laurie stuck around to help.”

“And after?”

“I saw her walk off toward the toilets by the woods.”

“And then what?”

“I would’ve followed her if I could. She was amazing.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I had to pack up so the next band could get onstage. I didn’t think about her for several more hours. And by then she was gone.”

“But you stayed at the festival?”

“Everyone could see getting out was going to be tough. The main and fire roads, even to foot traffic, approached gridlock. We found a small clearing near the farmhouse. Most guys in the bands pitched tents and spent the rest of the night partying. I hoped Laurie would find us, but she didn’t.”

“This was about one a.m.?”

“Yes.”

“Was it raining then?”

“It had been most of the evening.”

The farmhouse fields were ringed with woods. If a young woman had gotten too close to the trees, someone could have lured her into those woods. Darkness and rain would’ve made it even harder to find them. Later Taggart and others searched those woods. They’d found Laurie’s blue guitar case.

“Anyone else show interest in Laurie?”

“We all thought she was hot. Any one of us would’ve tapped that. That’s half the reason most of those guys were in the band. If she’d offered, I’d have gone for it.” A bitter smile twisted his lips. “I have a picture of Laurie and me taken backstage after our set.”

“Do you still have it?”

He reached in his wallet and removed a rumpled picture. He handed it to me.

I studied the smiling faces, barely recognizing Joe. Laurie was radiant. “A great moment. Can I take a picture of this?”

“Keep it. I’ve carried it long enough.”

“Why did you?”

“Someone needed to remember her. Now you can.”

I understood the obsession to remember. “You’re performing so close to the concert location. Do you ever go back to the festival site?”

“I went back about fifteen years ago. I tried to remember the large crowds and the cheers. But you can’t catch lightning in a bottle.”

“Any theories about the whereabouts of the victims?”

“A million places to hide a body in this area. And once these mountains swallow you up, it’s next to impossible to find you.”

“The mountain didn’t swallow them up. A human disposed of them.”

“Yeah.”

“What did you think about Rafe Colton?”

“Smooth as silk,” he said. “I met a lot of guys like him in the industry, but he was one of the best salesmen I ever met. He believed his bullshit.”

“The commonwealth’s attorney got his murder conviction against Colton without the bodies. No one in court stepped up and said they saw Colton grabbing one of the women, driving a truck off-site, or digging a hole. That led some to believe he was working with someone else. Someone who helped him hide the bodies.”

“I heard that.”

“Any theories?”

“He could convince anyone to do anything. He had a million-dollar smile. His festivals had their own tribe of groupies.”

“Any one of his followers stand out?”

“Why don’t you talk to Rafe Colton? I hear he’s easy to find.”

“He’s insisted he’s innocent for thirty-one years. And without the bodies, he’ll make parole next month.”

“Like I said, he can make anyone believe anything.” His tone was filled with bitterness.

“Okay, thanks, Joe.”

Smoke circled around his head. “You going to see him?”

“Eventually.”

“And why are you so special? Why will he talk to you?”

“Men like Colton hate to be ignored. And I can be entertaining when I try.”

His lips twisted with a crooked smile. “And you think your showing up is fun for him?”

“I do.”

“And he’ll string you along with empty phrases and leads, like the music executives did with me.”

“That’s a risk. But I’m betting his upcoming parole hearing will put him on edge. Freedom is almost in his grasp, and he’s getting cocky. Pride is steps ahead of a fall, right?”

He shook his head. “He was a slippery son of a bitch.”

“Any angle I can use with him?”

“He still owes me five hundred dollars for that concert. Stiffed everybody who worked that event.” A long ash dangled from the edge of his cigarette. “Rafe Colton was all talk. And that couldn’t have changed.”

“Good to know, Joe. Thanks for talking to me.”

“For what it’s worth, I hope you find them. Laurie deserved better.”

“Thanks.” I walked down the back alley, bypassing the crowded bar. I wasn’t in the mood for people or loud noises. Already I craved the quiet darkness that surrounded Taggart’s cabin.

As I moved toward my car, I spotted Grant McKenna walking toward me. “The show is inside, not in the alley,” he said.

“I went inside. Joe Keller was out back taking a smoke break.”

“And?”

“He was happy to talk. But I still have a lot of random pieces, and the full picture escapes me.” I handed him the old photo of Joe and Laurie.

He studied it, shaking his head, before he handed it back to me. “Did you dig up any leads on possible accomplices for Colton? Taggart didn’t spend much time on the theory after Colton’s arrest.”

“I’ve looked. There were plenty who loved and followed Colton like a religious leader,” I said.

“The concert music was loud, and the sound would’ve given him cover to subdue and kill the women.”

“But no one heard or saw anything. Feels like a stretch. Unless another person lured them to a secluded location.”

The shadows deepened beneath his unshaven jaw. “Makes sense. But what happened to the bodies? The entire concert area was searched multiple times.”

“Maybe that same person loaded the bodies into a truck or trailer and drove it off the property after the concert ended.”

A restless pause, saturated with curiosity, settled between us. “How is it up at Taggart’s cabin?”

“Quiet. The man lived like a monk.”

“Cell service is for shit up there.”

“You’ve been there before?”

“Once or twice.”

I could imagine him in the living room, small kitchen, or bedroom. The area suited him. “Are you going to renovate the farmhouse?” I asked.

“Or tear it down. I’m more interested in the land.”

“It’s a couple of hundred acres, right?”

“Give or take.”

What we’d shared six weeks ago added some weight to the space around us. We’d had sex, but we weren’t lovers or friends. As tempting as it was to invite him back to the cabin, I didn’t need the distraction. “Stay out of trouble.”

“Watch the trespassing.” He paused. “I’ll be in the motel in Dawson.”

“Good to know.”

I slid behind the wheel. As I drove off, it wasn’t quite 11:00 p.m. It felt too early to go home. I wasn’t into the bar crowds these days, but I wasn’t ready to self-isolate at the cabin. I’d not yet seen the inside of the Nelson farmhouse. And I wanted to.