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He’d tell Mimi his decision right after the festival. Which meant he was going home with his wife tonight.
“What are you so happy about?” someone yelled at him. He spotted Pilar Diaz-Rothman and Kitty Burke over by one of the food booths. They were eating corn dogs, which reminded him he hadn’t had lunch today. It was almost dinnertime. He should find Mimi and see if she could take a break to get a quick bite to eat.
“Ladies,” Zeke said, jogging over to them. “What’s not to be happy about?” He glanced around the festival grounds. Every inch of downtown Whispering Bay was packed. “Everything seems to be going great, doesn’t it?”
“You don’t know, do you?” Pilar said in a low voice.
“Know what?”
Kitty and Pilar exchanged a look. “We promised we wouldn’t tell, but Mimi’s about to be in big trouble,” Kitty said. “Fatback Bubba isn’t going to show up tonight.”
Zeke felt his jaw clench. “Tell me everything you know.”
Zeke got the address of Fatback Bubba’s studio from a friend on the Panama City police force. He used his siren the whole drive over. Not exactly ethical, but fuck ethics. Mimi was about to be lynched in front of the whole town, and if Kitty and Pilar got the story right, Doug Wentworth and Bruce Bailey had their slimy fingerprints all over the scheme. He’d deal with them later.
He pulled into the studio parking lot. He didn’t bother knocking on the door. The place was in the process of some kind of turnover. Cardboard boxes littered the floor, making it impossible to strike a clear path. Male voices, lots of them from the sound of it, drifted from a backroom.
A bald guy, early thirties, neck tattoo, approximately six foot tall and one hundred and ninety pounds (no other distinguishing marks), walked out of the room. He looked surprised to see a cop.
“Officer, what can I do for you?”
“I need to see whoever’s in charge of the band called Fatback Bubba and the Rattlesnakes.”
He swallowed hard. “Is there some kind of problem? Because I know the boys can get a little rowdy from time to time but I promise you, they haven’t done anything to warrant a visit from the police.”
“Who are you?”
The man extended his hand. Zeke hesitated just long enough before he shook it to make him sweat a little. “Keith Calloway. I’m the manager for the band.”
Ah. So this was the fucker who winked at Mimi after telling her he was keeping the deposit. It was too bad Zeke was short on time, otherwise he’d teach the guy (in a non-violent way, of course) how to properly talk to his wife.
“Zeke Grant, chief of police for Whispering Bay.” At the last name, Calloway’s eyes flickered in recognition. Yeah. Now you’re gonna deal with me, buddy. “I believe my wife came to see you the other day.”
“Listen, man, I know she was probably upset, but my hands are tied. A contract is a contract. Not much I can do about that.”
Laughter spilled from the back room, making both of them turn their heads toward the sound.
“Who’s back there?” he asked in his best what-the-fuck’s-going-on police voice. He wasn’t here in an official capacity. Calloway could tell him to get the hell out and Zeke would have no recourse but to do what the prick said. But there was no harm in using a little friendly intimidation here.
“It’s just the boys doing some celebrating. Last night they opened for Billy Brenton in Tallahassee. We’re gettin’ ready to hit the road tomorrow morning to go on a national tour with the guy. It’s our big break.”
“Congratulations,” Zeke said. “So, they’re free tonight?”
Calloway immediately saw his error. “Technically, yes, but we got a whole lot of packing to do before tomorrow.”
Zeke made a show of slowly perusing all the sealed up cardboard boxes. “What’s in all these boxes?”
“Just a bunch of promotional stuff. And some personal stuff, too.”
“Musical equipment?”
“Ah, hell no. We wouldn’t box that. That goes in the tour bus with the boys.”
“I see. So, technically,” Zeke said, using Calloway’s own expression back at him, “The boys are free tonight.”
“Look,” Calloway said, starting to grow a pair, “I know what you’re getting at, but it’s impossible. We can’t do the festival and that’s that.”
“Calloway! Get your ass back here before the wings get cold!” someone shouted from the back room. A few seconds later, two men came out to investigate.
