Coming Undone

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"YOU'RE WHISTLING AGAIN." P.J. looked across the room at Nell as they cleared the dressing room of her belongings after the Fort Collins concert. "You've been whistling a lot lately. Is that the tune for your new song?"

"Mmm-hmm." But color rose in her cheeks.

P.J. paused in the midst of removing her tinfoil star from outside the door to stare at her. "Oh my God." She lifted the star off the nail then stepped back into the room and kicked the door shut behind her. "Nell Husner. You hussy. You've been fiddling with my fiddler." She pointed a finger at her friend. "You and Hank have been doing the deed!"

More color flared in Nell's cheeks but she pointed right back at P.J. "And you and Jared haven't?"

P.J. carefully placed the cheesy star Hank had made her to commemorate their first contract into a box atop the other items she used to personalize every dressing room. Then she looked up at her friend. And grinned. "Oh, God, we have been. Doing it anddoing it! And I gotta tell you, it's been so:my God, it's just been so:" She shook her head. "Wow. I don't even have the words. This is probably just plain pitiful to admit at my age, but I had no idea it could be like this." And okay, Jared's insistence on holding himself back to the very last minute might render it not quite perfect. But she had high hopes that he'd start loosening up a little and allowing more reciprocation on her part. And sex with him was still so far above anything she'd ever known with anyone else it wasn't even funny.

Nell grinned back. "I've had a couple of pretty good lovers, but Hank-" Her eyes went dreamy. "Well, he's in a class all his own. That man loves me up so well, I feel the need of a cigarette just talking about it."

"And you don't even smoke."

"I know." Her lips curled up in a secret smile. "Which just goes to show you how good he is."

"I'VE MADE SOME PROGRESSon our stalker." Jared looked up from the pages he was gathering from the printer he'd plugged into the galley's outlet. Everyone's attention was riveted on him.

He'd worked like a dog on this project for the past couple days, squeezing it in wherever he could snatch a moment between his regular duties. The information he'd culled today felt like the payoff for all his hard work and a slight smile tugged up the corner of his mouth. "Anyone care to see a photo of the guy?"

"Yes!" Everyone except Eddie, who was out, gathered around the table. He handed the first photo, a black-and-white head shot from a JPEG he'd gotten from the security firm that employed Menks, to P.J. "It's not the best quality," He warned her. "But it's a start." He looked past her to Marvin, who was peering over her shoulder. "It looks a lot like the guy in the sketch you and the police artist made, but you're the only one who's actually seen him face-to-face. What do you think? Is this the man who delivered the box?"

Marvin studied the photo P.J. passed to him then nodded. "Yes, sir. Like you said, it's not the best picture. But I remember the shape of those ears."

"Good. I'll make copies to hand out to Security at every venue we play. And I'll mention the ears. Anytime there's a single feature to home in on instead of having to make mental adjustments for a total look that may have been altered, the chances for success go up. Best-case scenario, we detain Menks for the police to question. Failing that, it should at least keep him from getting into the concerts. And every opportunity we have to shut him down makes P.J. that much safer."

Glancing at the next item in his notes gave him an additional spurt of satisfaction. "We caught another break. Menks has a daughter named Mary who lives in Amarillo. I'm going to have you drop me off there on our way down to Lubbock. I'll rent a car and catch up with the rest of you as soon as I can." He caught P.J.'s eye. "Don't think I'm abandoning you," he said, "because I'm not. I'm going to give John a call and have him hop a flight out here to stand guard."

"Don't bother," she said. "I'm going with you."

He stilled for a moment, then plastered his besttrust me expression on his kisser. "That's really not necessary."

"The hell it's not. This is my life we're talking about. If the daughter has something to say I'd like to hear it firsthand, not in some dry report after the fact."

Crap.He still hadn't gotten around to having The Talk with her. Every day he woke up intending to, thinking today was the day. But other matters kept getting in his way. He'd been looking forward to the pit stop in Amarillo as a little time on his own to draw a deep breath and catch a respite from feeling torn between what he should be doing and what he actually was doing to define their relationship. Which he admitted was not a hell of a lot.

Well, sometimes you don't get what you want, and he knew she had every right to be present when he talked to Menks's daughter. "Okay. I was vacillating between whether to arrive unannounced or make an appointment. I guess I'll see if I can set up the latter. That way we can be sure to get you back to Lubbock in time for your concert."

TWENTY-SIX HOURS LATERfound them on a street in front of an Enterprise dealership in Amarillo, Texas. P.J. watched her tour bus pull away from the curb, then let Jared escort her into the agency where he made arrangements for a car.

They had passed a community with large houses and lush green lawns coming into town. After leaving the rental shack a short while later, they passed another that was less opulent but still very nice. But the neighborhoods lost all pretension to affluence the farther they drove, until they had degenerated to the kind of area with which P.J. was far too familiar. Eventually they turned off a paved street onto a rutted gravel road between two stunted cottonwood trees. When Jared brought the car to a halt in front of three trailers that looked as if they hadn't seen a lick of maintenance since the Carter Administration, P.J. took one look and felt as if she was thirteen:fifteen:eighteen years old again.

Then she took a deep breath and got a grip. This was no longer her life; she'd pulled herself out of the desolation of trailer parks like this and she was never going back. Squaring her shoulders, she climbed out of the car.

A Wal-Mart ad skittered on the hot, arid wind across the packed-dirt lot as she preceded Jared up rickety stairs to the sagging porch of the middle dwelling. She turned to stare at the dusty cottonwoods, the only source of green in this dun-colored landscape, while he rapped his knuckles against the door.

Turning back when it opened, P.J. saw a woman around her own age. The sun pouring through the doorway highlighted teased bottle-red hair, manmade breasts showcased in a tight tank top and a small tattoo of a laughing devil on the woman's right ankle. She looked at Jared, ignoring P.J. altogether. "You Hamilton?"

"Yes, and this is Priscilla Jayne. Thank you for agreeing to see us."

She shrugged and stepped aside, waving them in. "I dunno what you think I can tell you. I ain't seen the old man in more'n ten years."

The interior of the singlewide had the familiar stench of cigarette smoke embedded in imitation wood paneling. But it was decorated with bright gold and beige brocade-upholstered furniture, gilt-edged lamps and tasseled pillows. It might be garish but it still showed a lot more care than any of the trailers P.J. had ever lived in.

Mary caught her looking around and gave her a narrow-eyed stare. "So you're some big-deal singer, huh? I suppose you think this here's a dump."

"No. I grew up in trailers just like this, and I was actually thinking what a nice job you've done with the place."

"Yeah? Oh:well, then. Thanks." For the first time Mary's defensive attitude lessened. "The club pays pretty good. I'm savin' up my tips for a real apartment. Maybe even one of them townhouses."

"What kind of club do you work for?" Jared asked. "Perhaps we'll stop in before we leave town."

"I doubt it's your thing-it's a gentlemen's club." Her eyes narrowed again as if waiting for him to make something of it.

"Then perhaps not," he commented mildly. "Do you like working there?"

She shrugged. "It's okay. I got me my GED a coupla years back, but so far it ain't been all that good at scorin' me a job that pays better'n the one I already got. So are you a country singer?" She turned back to P.J. "'Cause I don't know nothin' about country music. That's what the old man always listened to."

"Yeah, I am," she said and smiled. "I take it you and your dad didn't get along."

Mary made a rude noise, lit up a cigarette and sank into an armchair, waving them to seats on the couch facing her. "You could say that."

"I sure know how that goes," P.J. said. "Only with me it's my mother."

"My mom was great-right up 'til the day the old man drove her away with his preachin' and moralizing and that freaky cleanliness shit of his. In the world accordin' to Luther Menks, she shouldn't oughtta be doin' this and wasn't supposta do that. Well, she finally had enough, I guess, and flew the coop with another man. And from that day on he said she was dead to us and wouldn't let me see her." She sucked hard on her cigarette. "I'll never forgive him for that, or for the fact that she'd been dead two goddamnyears by the time I finally wised up and hit the road. The sonovabitch knew it, but he didn't bother telling me until the day I was leavin' and demanded her address." She glared at them through the smoke of her exhalation. "And I don't care what anyone says, she didn't go to hell!"

"Of course she didn't," P.J. agreed, feeling slightly sick. "If anyone deserves a special place in hell, it's a parent who would suggest such a thing to his kid."

"Fuckin' A." She exhaled smoke through her nostrils. "You want a soda or something?"

"Sure. That'd be nice."

Jared shifted quietly at her side when Mary left for the kitchenette, then reached over to stroke her knee. "It's a good thing you came along."

"Yeah, for all she works in a tittie bar and seems to have a good handle on playing men, I don't think your gender is at the top of her hit parade." She couldn't prevent the anxiety that seeped into her voice when she said, "Menks sounds like he's been a loose cannon for a long time, J."

He nodded, but gave her knee another comforting pat as Mary returned with three cans of Coke. Thanking the young woman as he accepted his, he popped the top, took a gulp, then said, "Do you think your father has it in him to be dangerous, Mary?"

She paused with her own can halfway to her lips to stare at him, then slowly lowered it without taking a drink. "I:jeez, I don't know. I never seen him do anything dangerous but he's sure got a screw loose. I watched the other parents at church when I was a kid, and none of them was fanatical like my old man. And like I said, it's been a long time since I seen him. Why? Has he done something?"

"He sent me a magazine article that had my eyes cut out of the photo," P.J. said. "Then he had a corn snake delivered to me care of my tour bus."

"Asnake? " She stared at P.J., goggle-eyed. "Why?"

"Apparently he feels I'm not honoring my mother."

"Shit." Her heavily made-up eyes hardened. "That sounds like him, all right. That honoring thy parents stuff was his main bitch with me, too. A snake." She shook her head. "Man. That's just plain freaky."

"He also seems to be stalking her," Jared added.

"As in he actually left Iowa?"

"Yes." He gave her an abbreviated rundown of the man who had delivered the snake and showed her the police artist's sketch.

"That's him, all right. Holy crap. It sounds like he's totally gone round the bend."

Jared asked her several more questions, but it was obvious that Mary didn't have a clue what her father was up to these days and was blown away to hear of his recent activities.

When they got up to go, P.J. shook Mary's hand. "I know you said country music's not your thing, not to mention that you're probably working tonight," she said. "But I'm playing down in Lubbock at the Municipal Coliseum and I'd love to have you come as my guest."

"Oh, I don't know." Mary shifted her weight onto one foot, standing hip-shot. "I got tonight off, but it really ain't my cup of tea."

She gave the other woman a crooked smile. "Believe me, if anyone understands that knee-jerk need to stay away from stuff her parent likes, it's me. But tell you what-I'll leave a couple of tickets at the will-call office under your name just in case you change your mind. If you don't wanna use them it's no biggie."

But in the car heading out of town a short while later, P.J. looked over at Jared. "Other than confirming Menks is every bit as loony tunes as we feared, I'm not sure what we gained from that."

"Me, either." He took his eyes off the road for a second to glance over at her. "Only time will tell if something comes of it or not." He shrugged as if it didn't matter one way or the other, but when he pinned her in his sights once again the intensity of his gaze told another story. "I'll tell you what, though. I'd rather take the time to track down each and every lead than let one slip by, only to find out later it was the one thing that we should have been looking into in order to keep you safe."

THE SUN HAD SET BUTa sliver of moon rode the eastern sky as Luther Menks clutched his concert ticket and tried to keep from touching anyone in the crush of people surrounding him-a goal that simply wasn't workable in a crowd that pressed and jostled as it surged forward, funneling down toward the entrances to the Lubbock Municipal Coliseum. He shuddered, hating all this sweat-and-perfume scented, unclean humanity. But taking deep breaths, he held on, for soon he would be seated in a darkened arena where an assigned seat would keep the concertgoers on either side from getting too close as he watched Priscilla Jayne perform.

Surely tonight would be the night she repented her sinful ways. The scalpers' tickets to the last three concerts had been astronomical-far too rich for his budget-so he'd had no way of judging if the impact of the lesson he'd tried to impart had improved her attitude since the Red Rocks concert. By now she'd had plenty of time to reconsider her behavior and adjust it to fit the confines of good Christian morality. Or that was his sincerest hope, at least.

Because only then would he be able to forgive her her trespasses.

He was still twenty feet away from the manned turnstile when he became aware of grumblings in the crowd around him.

"What the fuck's the hold-up, dude?" the youth tromping on his heels demanded of his circle of raucous foul-mouthed friends.

"I've never seen the lines move this slowly," said a woman in a pair of neatly pressed slacks and a prim blouse to a girl wearing a short denim skirt and a cowgirl hat.

"What they doin', looking for someone or something?" demanded a thuggish-looking fellow with a hoop earring and a bandana tied around his bald head.

The latter question made the short hairs on the back of Luther's neck stand up and bristle. Were they looking for someone?

Were they looking forhim?

That had better not be the case.

Because that would mean Priscilla Jayne hadn't repented her morally abhorrent ways at all. Just the thought was enough to dredge forth a rage that was startlingly close to the surface. Like a swarm of roused bees it began humming throughout his nervous system.

But he was putting the honey before the hive here. Blowing out a breath, he fisted and flexed the fingers of his free hand in an attempt to release some of his tension. He was definitely getting ahead of himself. There was no real reason to believe that A, the sentries manning the entrances were looking for anyone and B, that even if they were, it was him. The buzz of his wrath began to die.

He watched the security guard as he neared the entrance he'd be using. When he approached a point a few yards from the doorway, he saw the man's gaze drift to the group of complaining young men behind him. Suddenly it snapped back to make full eye contact with him and the other man's eyes widened. The guard immediately turned his attention to others in their line but Menks had been in the business for years and he knew when someone had been made.

And the only possible way he would ever be recognized was if Priscilla Jayne's soul was so far beyond salvation that she couldn't even recognize a helping hand when it was extended to her.

Suppressing his resurrected fury, Luther instinctively sidestepped through the line that was winnowing down from three and four people abreast to one or two the nearer they got to the individual entrances. He whirled to go against the widening flow behind him like a salmon fighting his way upstream.

Looking over his shoulder, he saw the security guard wave someone over to take his place at the turnstile then jump the gate to come after him. Barely registering the protests that followed in his wake, he zigzagged through the crowd, pushing and shoving, crouched as low as he could manage in order to fly beneath the radar as he prayed to his Maker that the guard had lost sight of him in the man's own efforts to get through the throng of concertgoers.

The mob eventually spit him out at the back of the lines. Shuddering, he slapped and brushed at himself, trying to dislodge the germ-infested filth from his hands, his arms, his hair. Then he made himself desist, knowing that he didn't have time for this now. As much as he detested the multitude of close-packed bodies, he was exposed out here in the open, so he wove through the more loosely packed crowds at the back of the gathering, working his way toward the parking lot.

He briefly considered trying another entrance, knowing from experience that some security employees were more diligent than others. But he decided against it.

He had been given a sign, and an intelligent man only ignored one of those at his own peril. Clearly it was time to withdraw to somewhere safer and reevaluate the situation. But cold anger filled him.

Priscilla Jayne didn't know who she was dealing with, and she had better beware. Because he had God on his side.

And she had just bought herself more trouble than she could imagine.