Pick up the Pieces Read online

  I quickly inquired, “I have to ask. Did Amber Oswald, or whatever her married name is, set this up? Did she put this wacky scheme in motion and send out embossed cards to get us back, like a good ex-sorority president going for cheap?”

  Nic shook his head. “It wasn’t Amber. My card had an extra note telling me to call her but when I asked her about it she was as confused as everyone in the band. She’d gotten a little missive suggesting she invite Pieces to the Beta Zeta reunion dance. Her note came with the invitations the band received, which she sent out per request of the anonymous author.”

  Cam’s voice chimed in from behind us. “No one knows who did it. The invite was too cryptic for me and I’m pretty sharp at solving puzzles. I remain clueless as to the sender’s identity.”

  I turned and shifted my gaze from Nic to Cam, grateful for the diversion, which might actually allow my heart to move from my throat back to my chest. “So who. . . ?”

  My words trailed to nothing the instant I saw the two gentlemen standing next to Cameron. I grabbed the man closest to me and hugged him, “Oh, wow. Dusty Sears. How ya been?” I pulled away and gave him a quick inspection, but my memories kept racing back ten years to that fight with Marigold. During the moments she’d been tossing out phrases like “scattering her wild oats,” she’d also been claiming she’d already started with the band, naming both Dusty and Glenn. If true, her deceit and disloyalty to Pieces and her fiancé had reached epic proportions even for someone as free-spirited as Marigold. For ten years I’d wondered if her own actions might even have led to her disappearance.

  Nic reached around me and began pumping Dusty’s hand. “Long time, man. I hear you bought a house over in Taylor. Or is it a farm? Doin’ the whole grown-up thing.”

  Dusty grinned at him. “You better believe it. Plus,I am now the father of ready? Twins.”

  Nic’s brows shot up. “Twins? Whoa. I guess since I missed the wedding it slipped my mind kids are often an outcome. Congrats, man.”

  A babble of “Ages? Names? How’s Jenny doing?” and other domestic topics issued from Cam and Nic.

  I turned my attention to the silent man who’d been standing next to Dusty. “Stone Blume. It’s so good seeing you. You look fantastic. Are you living in Austin?”

  Stone was Marigold’s younger brother by eight years. Both of them had been adopted by Juniper Blume. When I’d last seen Stone he’d been a thin, wiry, and not terribly confident kid of barely sixteen. Marigold had always bossed him around and he followed her like a puppy, grateful to be included in any and all of the band’s activities, including loading and unloading heavy band instruments, or playing gofer to and from various take-out joints for food we couldn’t live without during our rehearsals. Now Stone was a handsome, self-assured man of twenty-six. He smiled at me and I struggled to keep my composure. Even though he and Marigold weren’t biological siblings, he’d been gifted with her enchanting smile. It was like staring into a mirror straight to the past.

  “Hi, Bebe. Great seeing you, too. You’re still a knockout, girl. And the answer to Austin is no, but close by. I live out in Hudson Bend. It’s a short motorcycle distance from my auto shop.”

  “Very cool. Dare I ask how the shop is doing?”

  “It’s fantastic. You remember I’ve always had a knack for mechanical stuff, especially if the end result is a vehicle capable of hauling ass down a highway or a dirt road easily hitting a hundred in less than ten seconds.” He shook his head. “Do you realize I was eleven when I started working on Juniper’s old van and it was already older than I was? Junie still drives it. Sounds sort of like self horn tooting, but my customers call me the ‘Car Whisperer’.”

  I smiled. “I like it. You should put that on brochures for the shop. And yeah, I do recall quite well how talented you’ve always been with all cars and how much you always loved the more challenging vehicles. I wish you could take a look at the heap I’m driving around. I’m not sure why I’ve kept it. I’m on the bus half the time since it tends to die whenever it snows. Which meant every week this past winter. Maybe I should buy something new while I’m in Texas?”

  “Or stay here for good and ship the wreck down to me for some top-notch fixing.”

  “Now that’s an interesting idea.”

  I felt a tap on my shoulder. I jumped as I turned around, then smiled with both relief and pleasure when I recognized my favorite English professor from the one year I’d attended Southwestern.

  “Professor Black.”

  “Make it Clifford, Bebe. After all, I hear you’re teaching in Jersey these days, so we’re colleagues. Hi, Stone, how are you?”

  Stone and Clifford shook hands, then Stone noticed someone across the room. “Oh yeah. Uh. Sorry, y’all but I’m about to be rude. I just spotted a cute co-ed standing under a scary poster. Talk to you later.”

  “Go get ‘em, tiger.” I hugged Stone again before turning back to Clifford Black. “It’s so good to see you, although I must admit I’m mystified as to why you’re here at the sorority prep and decorating party for the upcoming dance.”

  “Pieces’ biggest fan, remember?” he replied with a huge smile that somehow failed to reach his eyes. There was a sadness in them that intuitively warned me to tread lightly. He added quietly but deliberately, “You know me, always around in case you need someone to . . . pick up the pieces.”

  I stared into Clifford’s eyes and spat out my words like a detective from a 1940s murder mystery, “Oh, my God! It was you. You set this in motion. You made up those invitations to us knowing we’d be so intrigued we’d come from the far corners of the earth to put Pieces back together. You and Marigold always loved playing with words. Metaphors and puns and similes.”

  The gray hairs of his moustache quivered. “Yes, I’m the culprit.”

  I wasn’t sure if I was annoyed, pleased, or shocked. “Forgive me for asking, but why do you care if Pieces is together again?”

  Dr. Black shut his eyes for a second, then opened them and looked beyond my shoulder as though seeing something far removed from the Halloween cartoon decor and the chattering college girls. He quietly stated, “I’m sorry. I should have called each of you instead of having Amber send the invitations. I should have eased into what I have to say and I apologize in advance.”

  “Why?”

  “I assume you never knew this since you left town the day after the dance, and from what I understood from the other members of Pieces, you stopped contact with nearly everyone down here. Consequently, you must never have heard.”

  “What?” I could feel steel spikes attacking the pit of my stomach.

  “As you might recall, the police originally didn’t take Marigold’s disappearance seriously. Thought she was just a wild singer who’d taken off and was probably having a literally high old time somewhere in Mexico. They allowed the sorority to come back to the ballroom to clear out the decorations and clean up about two days after Marigold vanished. My niece, Daria, was one of the pledges helping with the clean up.”

  I knew what he was going to say. I’d somehow known for ten years. I whispered, “Daria. She . . .?”

  “She disappeared during the first day the girls were working. No one has seen her since. The police questioned everyone they could but so many people were gone for the summer by then . . . they never had a clue as to what happened.”

  I placed my hand over his arm in sympathy, knowing no words could express how much my heart ached for him. Then my guilt spilled out and I gasped, “It should have been me.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I left Georgetown because I was terrified Marigold had been kidnapped and I was next. I was certain her disappearance had something to do with the band. I ran before someone insane could grab me too.”

  He shook his head, “Bebe, no. You mustn’t take this on. If I’m right, this person had no interest in you.”

  I swallowed, and then asked, “What makes you think I wasn’t next on his radar?”

 
“First, even if you had been, as you say, ‘on his radar,’ you can’t blame yourself for some maniac’s actions. But I truly believe Daria was specifically targeted. Consider this. She was a petite blonde soprano who badly wanted to sing with a band.”

  I inhaled sharply. “Damn. A perfect description of Marigold Blume. Except she already had her band.”

  He nodded. “Precisely. My theory is that Daria and Marigold were both kidnappedand probably killedby someone evil and uncaring enough to ruin so many lives with what has to have been one powerful, sick obsession.”

  “It’s why you brought Pieces back here. Searching for answers.”

  “It is. And I am. Because unless we can find the truth, I’m afraid what began ten years ago will never be resolved.”

  Chapter 3

  “Do the others know?” I asked Clifford. About Daria, I mean.”

  “I’m not sure. It’s one reason I wanted the whole band back in Georgetown. All of you scattered so quickly after Marigold disappeared. I still have no idea who heard about Daria and who didn’t. The only thing I’m certain of was that no one from Pieces was here during the days the pledges cleaned.”

  Before we could continue down a path I’d never wanted to trod, we were joined by Nic, Cam, Dusty, and Stone.

  Stone winked at me. “I’m back. Not my night. Struck out before I ever picked up the bat. The cute co-ed standing by the scary poster has a scarier boyfriend.”

  I laughed. “I’m devastated for you. The week is young, though. I gather the sorority pledges are here decorating until Saturday night.”

  Cam jumped in with, “Enough with romancing the co-eds. Bebe, do you have the demo cd with you?”

  “Yep. Juniper’s chauffeur, Roy, gave it to me when he picked me up in Austin. I managed to listen to a little of it on the ride up. It’s not bad. We produced some nice music on this sucker, even though we only managed to record about five songs.”

  I dug into my bag and brought out the practice cd Pieces had started recording ten years ago, and then held it out for everyone to view.

  Cam inhaled sharply as he stared at the photo of the band on the back cover. “Oh, man. This brings it back. It’s painful, but I’ll be honest. When we say Pieces, and when we think ten years ago, we remember Marigold.”

  I closed my eyes, unable to keep from picturing the way she’d looked that last night. Marigold’s recently permed hair had been frizzing out in all directions and she’d been grousing about it, along with whatever minutiae she’d been grousing about that entire dayand the weeks before. But, astonishingly and wonderfully, in a moment of ‘old’ Marigold/Bebe sisterhood, she’d persuaded me to do a leather and lace twin costume thing and we’d had a grand time shopping for vintage tiered skirts, leather belts, boots and peasant tops with lace sleeves. Blonde Marigold had stayed with her signature purple colors, while I opted for earth tones, which complimented my auburn hair. The guys in the band had whistled most appreciatively at the sight of both of us. Nic had even dropped to one knee and declared me the loveliest woman in the world. Life had been grand for the first hour of the dance.

  Nic broke into my memories by asking, “What do y’all think of this particular cover photo? In my humble opinion, it’s far better than the first one we took. Which, by the way, I still have. If we ever get famous it’ll be a huge seller for online auctions since there are only five copies in existence.”

  “I kept it, too,” I stated. “Honestly? We weren’t bad looking for a bunch of rowdy singers, were we? I can’t believe it’s been ten years.” I bit my lip. “I’m sorry, but, don’t you all see her everywhere? How the hell are we going to stand getting on that stage without her image blotting out the entire room?”

  Cam quietly responded, “Bebe, it’s okay to say her name. And we stand it because we want answers. We stand it by continuously convincing ourselves that coming back to a ridiculous college reunion dance just might provide those answers. I’m hoping something will turn up while we’re all here in Georgetown. We were all too traumatized back then to make any sense of what was happening.”

  I swallowed hard. “Some of us are still traumatized. Truthfully, some of us are convinced heading back to New Jersey and going the rest of our lives without answers is the only way to survive.”

  Silence from all the gentlemen.

  I smiled. “It’s fine, guys. Don’t freak out. I’m way too responsible to leave the band in the lurch.”

  As had been Marigold, even with all her wildness. It had taken something very, very bad happening to keep her from showing up for our second set ten years ago, yet what, who and why caused her to go missing remained the elephant in the room.

  Nic stared at the back of the cd, then remarked, “Slight change of subject but speaking of finethis photo is. Fine, I mean. It’s ironic because I also kept a copy of the original photo. I guess I held on to it hoping Marigold would magically reappear demanding to know why the album hadn’t gone platinum as a cult classic or something. This newer photo is . . . I don’t know . . . different. Not better or worse—just different. I like it. Look at us. We were . . . “

  “Young.”

  He smiled, looked at the photo again, then at me. “And some of us were beautiful. Some of us still are.”

  I could think of no good response. Was there a chance for us? Was I crazy to hope?

  Cam bowed, then poked Nic in the ribs. “Thank you, thank you.”

  Nic poked him back. Clifford Black intervened before the scuffle resulted in spilled punch on the floor. “Stop it, children. Settle down and listen.”

  Nic and Cam quit the mock combat. “Yes?”

  Clifford took the cd from Nic and held it up. “The photo says it all. You were young and happy and so talented.” He went on, “You need to complete the album. I must admit, I talked to Glenn Iverson about this before any of you arrived in Georgetown. He’s only waiting for an ‘okay’ before contacting several sound engineers who’d jump at the chance to finish production on Pieces Together.”

  My eyes widened. Clifford and I hadn’t reached the point in our conversation where he’d yet explained he had a plan for keeping the band in Georgetown longer than a week. Sneaky. Smart. Nic let out a whoosh of air. Dusty nodded. Cam bit his lip. Stone’s expression matched his name.

  Nic took the cd out of Clifford’s hand, then turned it over so the picture couldn’t be seen. “I’m not sure we’re up for completing this recording. It may be asking something we’re not ready to give. Evoking memories we’ve all tried to bury. After all, ten years ago things didn’t exactly go as planned. Not with doing the albumand definitely not with the dance.”

  Clifford nodded. “Precisely my point. Isn’t it time to face those memories? Share them and hopefully find some answers?”

  Knowing what I now knew about his niece, I was amazed he could speak so calmly about facing memories. Was it remotely possible someone in Pieces, had been responsible for Marigold and Daria Black vanishing? Clifford seemed to believe it. I prayed if that were the case the person was someone extremely peripherally involved with the band, like an obsessed fan.

  Cam hadn’t said a word. I stared at the floor. Cam and I also shared some very bad memories in terms of Marigold, with our “bad” in many ways coming down to one word. Betrayal.

  Nic hurried to fill the silence. “You’re kind, Clifford, but I don’t think any of us are ready to quit our day jobs and pick up our Grammys any time soon.”

  Dusty punched Nic’s shoulder as he exclaimed, “Hey, man, don’t be such a downer! We were good, y’all. Shoot. We’re already singing for this reunion dance. Why not finish the cd while we’re at it? I kept the original cover too, and I’d say I’m afairly decent designer as well as one amazing keyboardist.” He mused, “I’m sure I could merge the old with this oneor create a totally new one if we want to shove away more memories.”

  Cam sighed. “Since I started this evening being blunt with Bebe, I might as well stick with it. Guys, we’
re here to play a gig in an effort to remember Marigold, try and get past everything. Maybe even finally learn if Marigold Blume is alive or dead. Right?”

  He’d said it. The truth was we didn’t know. The truth was I believed not knowing continued to mean danger for someone. The truth was ten years ago I’d believed that someone would be me and I’d been horribly, tragically wrong.

  Cam smiled wanly at Nic and Dusty, who’d quietly echoed, “Right,” in unison. Cam continued. “Look, I loved Marigold. No big secret. I mean, I’m sure I’m making a mess of what I’m trying to express because I’m aware we allloved her when she wasn’t making us crazybut Marigold was going to be Mrs. Cameron Felsen. My wife. Part of me keeps screaming, ‘Cam, you bloody traitor, don’t do this!’ But then I see this cover and I swear I hear Marigold Blume yelling in her loudest and most obnoxious voice ‘Do it! Do it for me.’ The point is if I, personally, can seriously consider the idea of singing and finishing a cd which was so much a part of her, well, then everyone here can damned well do the same.”

  Stone didn’t say a word. After about ten seconds of solid silence, he turned and walked away. None of us attempted to stop him.

  Cam grimaced. “I understand his pain. But he’s not exactly putting the past behind and getting on with his life. D’ja’ll know he hasn’t been inside Junie's house in ten years? Claims Marigold’s ghost haunts the place.”

  I shared Stone’s angst. Hell, I’d be staying at Junie’s, and if Marigold had any say in the matter, I figured she’d delight in scaring the crap out of me using any mean possible to manage from “beyond.” I turned my focus back to the issue of the recording. Staying to work on it meant being around Nic. A lot. I wasn’t sure how I was even going to be able to handle closeness for a few nights of rehearsal and the dance. Finishing the cd would definitely take longer than a day or two.