Али Брэндон - Double Booked For Death

Moreover, a new wrinkle had been added to the festivities. The Lone Protester had abandoned her post across the street and was now walking up and down the line of Valerie’s fans, her sign held high. That one-woman demonstration was not going unnoticed by the faithful, for Darla could hear a few vulgarities being shouted over the general backdrop of noise.

She barely had time to tell herself, Trouble waiting to happen , when it did.

SIX

TWO OF THE FAN GIRLS REACHED OVER THE BARRICADE and grabbed at the Lone Protester’s poster. The tug-of-war that ensued was over almost before it began, however, for Jake was already headed in that direction.

As Darla watched in relief, the woman swooped down upon the girls and promptly broke up what might have turned into a small melee. Darla was too far away to hear what was said afterward, but from the resulting pantomime, it was clear that Jake was laying down the law to the two who’d instigated the incident. As for the protester, Jake didn’t let her off unscathed, either, but was pointing her back toward the opposite side of the street.

Let this night be over, and soon , Darla found herself praying to the gods of literature.

She waited awhile longer to see if any other disasters might befall the crowd. When relative peace seemed to be reigning, however, she went back inside, only to discover that the earlier snail-like pace of the line had slowed to positively glacial. The party atmosphere, however, had not abated. She noticed with an inner grin that Callie, who was now halfway through the line, was busy snapping a covert picture of her sister, who had bent to look at another fan’s tattooed ankle.

“Why did the line quit moving? Is everything okay?” Darla asked Mary Ann.

The older woman nodded. “Ms. Baylor said she needed a break.”

She glanced around to see if the girls nearby were paying attention; then, in an exaggerated stage whisper, she added, “I think she went out back to have a smoke.”

“She just had one!” Darla pointed out and shook her head. If Valerie was going to take a smoke break every hour, it would make an already long night longer.

She headed toward the back and found the signing table abandoned except for James. As for Lizzie, Darla thought she saw her at the front of the line, chatting with a couple of the teens. Of course, since everyone was cloaked and hooded, it was hard to know for sure. Neither Hillary nor Koji were anywhere to be seen. Probably on a bathroom break while the boss lady was doing her thing, she guessed. Mavis had vanished as well . . . hiding upstairs away from the crowds? Darla stood tapping her foot for a few minutes longer. Tempted as she was to head out to the courtyard and drag the author back inside, she knew that tactic would not go over well. Better she head out front again and let Jake and Reese know they might be in for a longer stint than they’d anticipated.

As she opened the door, another welcome breeze swept past her, carrying with it the familiar shrieks of laughter and waves of chatter. Passing traffic and the incessant flash of phone cameras lent a strobe effect to the scene. Darla was reminded of those horror movies deliberately filmed to look like home videos taken by someone with a bad case of the shakes. She could feel a headache coming on; fortunately, she had an almost full bottle of aspirin tucked under the counter.

Darla had just popped two tablets and squeezed her way past Everest, when over the ambient noise, she heard a single, earsplitting squeal of rubber.

It took her only a heartbeat to realize what that sound meant. By then, a small passenger van was stopped about halfway down the block on the side of the street closest to where Valerie’s fans were gathered. Behind it, half a dozen other cars had plowed to a halt, horns blaring. Reese was sprinting from one direction toward the van, while Jake was rushing from the other. Vaguely, Darla was aware that the crowd noise had faded to a murmur, while the sound of her heart beating double time seemed suddenly louder than even the honking horns. She was running toward the van now, while a frantic voice in her head cried, Don’t let it be that, dear God, don’t let it be that.

Some of the teens had spilled over the barricades, and Darla had to shove her way through them. Only then was she close enough to see what the light from the van’s one unbroken headlamp revealed upon the asphalt. Her step faltered. For a moment, she feared she might sag to the sidewalk.

She managed to keep her balance by focusing her attention on Jake, who had her cell phone to his ear and was shouting something into it. Darla noted that the van’s front two doors had sprung open, with the driver and several passengers now huddling behind the twin shields of steel as if warding off the sight before them. Darla didn’t blame them. Just like them, she didn’t want to gaze at the motionless figure tangled in a long black cape that lay sprawled a few feet in front of the van, one limp arm pointing toward a rectangle of white cardboard farther down the pavement.

A few girlish screams promptly rose from those closest to the scene. The cries echoed down the length of the line and were punctuated now by the repeated pulse of a police siren, no doubt courtesy of the traffic-control cop. One of the caped fans, more responsible than the others, had already leaped into the street to check on the fallen girl. Reese pushed the fan aside and knelt beneath the headlight’s harsh gleam. After a quick check, he glanced back up at Jake to give a swift shake of his head.

Darla stared in disbelief. Shouldn’t he be giving her mouth-to-mouth or chest compressions or something? But when Reese scrambled to his feet, she realized that the girl must already be past saving.

She watched as he stripped off his black denim shirt, revealing a tight black T-shirt printed with the words NYPD and POLICE, as well as a gold badge that dangled from a lanyard around his neck. The sight spurred her back to action. She shoved her way to the curb and caught his eye.

“Can I help?” she called in a tremulous voice, hoping she could be heard over the hubbub.

He shook his head but tossed his long-sleeved shirt in her direction. She caught it and tucked the garment under one arm, not sure whether to be insulted or relieved that apparently her only role in this catastrophe would be to serve as valet.

Reese, meanwhile, raised his badge at the crowd, the metal gleaming as it reflected the van’s single headlight beam.

“Quiet down!” he commanded, his free hand making the universal take-it-down-a-notch gesture. “This is now a police investigation. I need everyone to back up and take a seat on the sidewalk. No talking above a whisper, and remain in line until we say you can go. Anyone who saw the accident or what happened beforehand, we’ll be coming by in a bit to take your statements.”

He swiftly moved down the line repeating the same instructions, his voice all but drowned out by the shriek of still more sirens and the occasional blast of a horn from someone who hadn’t yet figured out that traffic wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Luckily, the majority of the fan girls appeared too stunned by what had just occurred to do anything other than obey orders. Sitting cross-legged and tightly wrapped in their cloaks—the evening had taken on a distinct chill now—they huddled in small groups.

Jake, meanwhile, was dragging some of the barricades from the sidewalk to block off the accident site. Tying Reese’s shirt around her waist, Darla rushed to help her.

“I can’t believe this happened,” the older woman exclaimed in a low tone as they maneuvered another sawhorse into place. “I sent that girl back across the street not ten minutes ago. What in the hell was she doing back on this side?”