Part 26 (2/2)

”Gross, look at how much he drooled on his pillow,” the voice said again. This time I recognized the bemused irony.

”Ellen,” I said. My throat felt like 60-grit sandpaper.

”Yeah?”

”Shut up,” I managed.

”Oh, come on,” she said. ”I let you saw logs all night. I know how much you need your beauty sleep, but it's time to make your statement.”

”I already did. I said shut up. That's my statement.”

She sighed and I heard the sc.r.a.pe of a chair across the floor. Now the voice was next to me. I opened my eyes and she was handing me a gla.s.s with orange juice in it.

”Drink up, Gilligan,” she said.

I took a drink and tried to sit up. My ribs ached and I had a few thousand sore spots on my body. I took another drink and turned a small corner toward feeling human again.

”Start with when you left the scene of Molly's murder,” she said.

It took me the better part of a half hour, with plenty of breaks, to describe the shootout with Erma and Freda, the connection I made between Rufus Coltraine and Memphis Bornais and then my decision to meet Shannon on my boat.

When I got to the part about Teddy and his hired killer showing up, I said, ”It was him, Ellen.”

”Who?”

”The guy with Teddy. It was him. The guy who killed Benjamin Collins.”

”Come again?” she said.

”I haven't lost my mind, Ellen.”

”You need to rest,” she said.

”No, I don't. It was him, Ellen. The guy I turned Benjamin Collins over to. The guy who cut him up and tossed him in the lake.”

She held up her hands. ”Okay, okay, let's finish talking about this later.”

”But-”

”Shannon Sparrow showed up at the station this morning,” Ellen said. ”She has a little tape recorder she carries around for song ideas. She recorded her manager admitting to orchestrating the murders of Memphis and the others.”

”And Teddy?”

She shook her head. ”Gone.”

That made sense to me. If he was connected, whether to the Mob or just the criminal underground in general, he'd probably have a way to hide. Who knew how much of Shannon's money he had squirreled away?

Ellen left, then, and I retreated into my favorite hobby.

Sleeping.

Forty-seven.

People from across the border in Canada, people from Ohio, Indiana and as far away as Chicago began to show up as early as eight hours before the concert. Everyone was talking about the event on the radio. 'Shannon Sparrow's free concert!' they boomed across the airwaves.

Coupled with the media attention the murders had created, Shannon's name had been splashed across the public's eye more times than could be counted. Some had even put forth a conspiracy theory that it was all a giant publicity stunt.

The show was being put on in the middle of the village. There were cop cars everywhere, roads had been blocked off, and the village was swarming with people.

I took Anna and the girls, and picked up Clarence Barre on the way. Shannon had given us all v.i.p. pa.s.ses so we could watch the concert from off to the side of the stage.

One of Shannon's roadies provided us with five chairs and we sat down, at least the adults did. The girls were singing and dancing around, too keyed up to sit.

”Is this what your shows were like?” I asked Clarence.

”Yeah,” he said. ”I gave a lot of free shows, too but only because no one would pay me.”

I had never really seen a happy Clarence before. Not that I would call him 'happy' per se, but it did seem that a giant weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He'd taken the news well when I told him that a songwriter, Memphis Bornais, had arranged to have Jesse killed. And that, ultimately, Shannon's manager had tried to cover it all up.

He shook his head. It upset him that Jesse hadn't told him she was beginning to write songs. It made sense to me, from what I'd learned about her through Nevada Hornsby. Jesse was independent. She didn't want to tread on her father's name. And knowing that if she told him, he'd probably call up producers and performers he knew, using his contacts to give her a break, she had decided to go her own way.

”Gosh, they're beautiful,” he said, gesturing toward my daughters. Isabel and Nina now had their arms around each other and were doing some kind of chorus line. Christ, what a couple of hams. Take after their mother, obviously.

Anna put an arm around Clarence's shoulders.

”I'm glad John could help you,” she said. ”I can't imagine what you've been through, but I can guess that it feels good to have it resolved.”

He nodded, his big silvery mane flowing like expensive silk. d.a.m.n, Kenny Rogers was back.

A local disc jockey appeared on stage and did the usual big introduction for Shannon, and then amid thunderous applause and a few pyrotechnics, she appeared.

Shannon wore a short skirt, cowboy boots, and a white blouse. I recognized her bandmates even though most of them now looked sober. I'd only seen them when they were drunk or getting stoned.

Anna, Clarence and I all applauded.

She slung the guitar over her shoulders.

It was a beautiful instrument, handmade by Jesse Barre. The cops eventually found it at Memphis Bornais' farmhouse, in her music room. On public display. The cops actually gave it to Clarence, but he felt that it was intended all along for Shannon, so it was hers now.

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