The Virgin Mistress

Still, Austin had no intention of giving up so easily. There was still security to check, as well as the band. Someone must have seen something!

“The band was about to break into ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,’ weren’t you?” he asked Ramon, the band’s drummer, when he finally tracked him down at Tucker’s Grocery, where he worked as a stock boy during the day. “You were just waiting for everyone to finish the toasts. Right?”

“No!” The long-haired drummer frowned. “Mrs. Colton had told us she’d warn us when the toasts were going to start, but she didn’t, and we’d taken a break. Suddenly, the toasts were starting, and we were all over the place. I’d just rushed up on stage when Mr. Colton lifted his glass for the toast. The next thing I knew, a shot rang out and everybody was screaming.”

“Did you see where the shot came from?”

“Are you kidding? I was looking for my drumsticks!”

“And your buddies? Where were they?”

“Grabbing something to eat and drink,” he answered promptly. “Or in the bathroom. I went for a smoke. I don’t know what the others did.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to check with them.” Pulling out the list Joe had given him his first day in town, Austin quickly checked to make sure he had the rest of the band members’ names and addresses, then offered his hand. “Thanks for your help. I appreciate it.”

“No problem,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t do anything.”

He had to get back to work or Austin would have told him that every person he eliminated from the list of possible suspects led him that much closer to the shooter. It was part of the job, and, unfortunately, the most tedious part. Still, it had to be done. Resigned, he checked the list again and headed for the opposite side of town.

The address was classy. There was no other way to describe the gated condominium on the beach where Chester Phillips lived. Conservative and sophisticated, in an area of town that appealed to old money, it wasn’t the kind of place Austin had expected the bass player of a rock band to be living.

“I’m looking for Chester Phillips,” he told the security guard at the gate. “I need to talk to him about a party he worked last weekend.”

“He’s not home.”

“I could wait.”

When the guard just looked at him, Austin sighed. He should have known it wasn’t going to be that easy. “Never mind. I’ll come back later.”

Disgusted, he went looking for Luke and Greg, the two other band members, but he didn’t get very far there, either. It took most of the afternoon to track down Luke on the golf course at a nearby country club. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much to offer about the night of the shooting. He was inside at the buffet line when the shot rang out. By the time he made his way outside, all he saw was most of the crowd on the ground with their heads covered.