JONATHAN KELLERMAN. A COLD HEART

“Nope.”

“Not a big enough fan?”

“I was at the Whiskey—showcase for a bunch of new bands—hey, what’re you saying?” Drummond’s voice had climbed even higher, and now he sounded twelve. Petra visualized some acne-plagued scarecrow in a slovenly room. The kind of creepazoid with too much leisure time who’d phone the local supermarket, clutching the phone with sweaty hands: “Excuse me, do you have pig’s feet?” “Yes, we do.” “Then wear shoes and no one’ll notice yuka yuka yuka.”

Drummond said, “If I knew what was gonna happen, I’d have been there. Absolutely.”

“Why’s that?”

“To see his last show. What do they call that—a swan song?”

“Yuri,” said Petra. “What is that, Russian?”

Drummond hung up.

On Friday, just after 6 P.M., the downstairs clerk beeped Petra’s extension. “There’s a Ms. Castagna here to see you.”

“I’ll be right down,” said Petra, surprised.

When she got to the ground floor, Robin was by herself in the lobby, staring at some Wanted posters, hands on hips, her back to Petra. Her hair was longer than Petra remembered it, the mass of auburn curls trailing down her back like a heap of grapes. Alex’s hair was curly, too. If the two of them had bred, they might’ve created another Shirley Temple.

Then Petra thought: all those years together, and they never had bred. Never tied the knot, either. Because of her own state, she found herself wondering about things like that.

She approached Robin, taking in Robin’s outfit the way women do with other women. Black corduroy overalls over a red T-shirt with high-cut sleeves, black suede tennis shoes. Red bandana hanging out of a rear pocket.

Kind of a rock ’n’ roll caj thing. On the wrong body the overalls could be deadly; Robin’s curves made them look fine.

When Petra was a few steps away, she said, “Hi, there,” and Robin turned and Petra saw that she’d been biting her lip and her dark eyes were moist.

“Petra,” she said. They hugged. “I just got back to town, picked up your message this morning. I had to be in Hollywood for a session, so I figured I’d stop by. This is terrible.”

“Sorry to tell you like that, but I didn’t know when you’d be back.”

Robin shook her head. “I heard about it yesterday, in Vancouver.”

“Local papers cover it?”

“Don’t know,” said Robin. “I got it backstage. The music grapevine. I was shocked. We all were, I had no idea you were involved.”

“I am, indeed,” said Petra. “Anything you can tell me?”

“What can I say? He was such a sweetie-pie.” Robin’s words quivered and faded. She held back tears. “A big old sweet guy and a supremely talented man.”

“Anything else on the grapevine buzz? Like who’d want to do this to him? Even the flimsiest rumor.”

Robin gave another headshake, rubbed a smooth, tan arm. “Baby was the last person I’d peg with any enemy, Petra. Everyone liked him.”

Not everyone, thought Petra. “As I said in the message, your name was in his book. What was it, an appointment to fix some guitars?”

“They’re fixed. He was coming by to pick them up.” Robin smiled. “I’m surprised he actually wrote it down. Time was a pretty plastic concept for Baby.”

“You’ve been working on his gear for a while.”

“Years. And often. Baby played so hard, his fingertips wore grooves in the fretboard. I was always planing boards down, refretting, doing neck-sets. These two were beyond that, needed complete new boards.”

“A Fender Telecaster. And a J-45,” said Petra. “Someone told me that’s a Gibson.”

Robin smiled. “Gibson acoustic. I’d already refinished it a couple of times because Baby let it get too dry and the lacquer cracked and flaked off and his pick nearly wore a hole in the top. This time I put in the second replacement fretboard. The Tele was simpler, just setup. I finished them both early, right before I left town, because I always tried to finish early for Baby.”

“Why’s that?” said Petra.

“Because Baby got sounds out of a guitar that no one else did, and I wanted to contribute my small bit. I knew I’d be traveling to Vancouver, so I left a message at his apartment to pick them up on Wednesday. He never got back to me, but that’s not unusual. As I said, Baby and punctuality were strangers. Most of them are like that.”

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