Firebreak (Josie Gray Mysteries #4)(26)
Billy leaned across the desk and offered her a hand. She gave him a dry, small hand to shake and then wiped it down her pants, apparently wiping away his sweat, or maybe his germs. He tried not to allow his misery to show on his face. He had not wanted to come. Brenda had insisted. He was no good at small talk, no good at begging for work. Brenda was the manager, as far as he was concerned, and she was the one capable of landing work. Not him.
“Billy Nix, ma’am. I appreciate you seeing me.”
“Okay. I’ve seen you. Is that it?” She stared at him without a trace of humor.
“Actually, I was hoping to follow up on a performance my band gave a few months back.”
She raised her arm and pointed up and behind her head. Hanging on the wall was a small metal sign that read DON’T CALL US. WE’LL CALL YOU. IF WE WANT TO.
Billy’s face reddened and he smiled and nodded, trying to engage the woman on some level. “Sorry about that. I thought maybe there was a manager that took care of bookings. Maybe someone I could talk to about playing some dates this summer or fall.”
The woman slumped her shoulders and her expression softened. She looked more tired than angry. “Look, Billy. I remember you. You guys were fine. You did a good job. But I got fifty other bands that are fine and do a good job. And each one wants special consideration. It wears me out. Okay?”
He nodded.
She pointed again to the sign behind her head. Billy left the bar wishing he could retrieve the twenty he’d wasted in the tip jar.
*
Josie listened to Brenda’s story about traveling to Austin with Billy, and why the couple hadn’t returned the phone calls. Josie didn’t believe a word of it.
“So, you’re saying a wildfire is devouring our town, putting your home and all your possessions in danger, and you and Billy both turned your phones off because you needed to focus on your work?”
There was a pause on the line. “Well, yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t think I owe you or anyone else an explanation for when I turn my cell phone off or on.”
“Your house was burned in the fire, Ms. Nix. We’ve been trying to notify you.”
“I didn’t think the fire was coming our way. I thought it was moving east.” Brenda stumbled over her words, either shocked or playing the part. It was impossible to tell over the phone. “How bad is it?”
“It’s too soon to tell. We’re gathering information, talking to people. Is your husband there with you in Austin?”
“Of course he’s with me. Where else would he be?”
Josie sighed. It was a relief to hear he was alive. “How soon can you be here?”
“Was the house destroyed?” Brenda’s voice had grown louder.
“We don’t have all that information yet. Too many homes were affected.” Josie heard a door slam in the background and Brenda cover the phone to talk to someone for a moment.
“You want me to come home, but can’t tell me if I have a home to come home to?” Her voice was quieter now, but angry.
Josie ignored the sarcasm. “You’ll run into a roadblock outside of town. The area is too dangerous to allow residents back into their homes until we’ve had a chance to make sure they’re safe. Let the deputy know you have a meeting with me, and he’ll escort you to the police station. I’ll give you as much information as I can there.”
“This is outrageous! You tell me my house has been burned but won’t give me any details. What a terrible thing to do to someone!”
“I’ll see you tomorrow. Let’s make it one o’clock at the police department. That should give you time to drive from Austin.”
Josie hung up and called Otto with the news that both the Nixes had been located and would be in town the next afternoon. Josie decided to talk with Slim Jim, hoping to piece together a clearer picture of the couple before meeting them the next day.
NINE
The Arroyo County Junior/Senior High School was located on the outskirts of Artemis. Dry level desert spread for miles on either side of the school complex, which also housed the elementary school. A paved road provided access to the flat-roofed elementary school, and then wound around a dusty patch of land that served as a soccer field, and ended in the parking lot of the newer junior/senior high school. Some students spent close to four hours per day on a school bus. An education in this part of the country was something a kid worked for, and Josie respected the people who made the decision to locate their families in a place that traded the luxury of “things” for the luxury of peace and space. If she ever had kids of her own, which was beginning to feel more remote by the day, they would attend this school.
Driving with the windows down, she heard booming bass drums and the rapid-fire rhythm of snare drums a mile away from the school complex. With no vegetation to hinder the sound, the drums carried along the hot night air and reverberated against the school buildings along the access road.
The marching band stretched in ragged rows across the parking lot, instruments up but silent, the band director yelling, “One, two, three, four,” through his megaphone as the kids moved like an amoeba down the hot pavement.
She parked her jeep alongside the parking lot and got out. With the evacuation order she was surprised to see a practice taking place, but for the kids in the county that were left, she figured the practice was a safe place to forget about the drama going on all around them.