Page 61 of The Heartstrings of Harry
“What about Dean?” I dared to ask, trying to look as innocent and clueless as possible.
“You haven’t heard?”
I gulped my wine. “Heard what?”
“His manager turned up in town, seemingly out of the blue. She’s organizing a concert headlining Dean, right here in Mulligan’s Mill. Can you believe that?”
Soundlessly I let a long, even sigh leave my lungs. “Oh right. That! Yeah, I had heard. His manager called me, wants me to help with the logistics. Looking after the events in town is kinda my thing, although something this size? I have no experience with somethingthisbig.”
“How big is it?”
I joined her on the sofa. “They’re talking ten thousand.”
“Ten thousand! That’s how many fans Dean has?”
“That’s just the ones willing to travel to Mulligan’s Mill. I’m worried they’re gonna trample this town to the ground.”
“I thought Dean came back home to get away from all that?” she said.
“He did. I guess his manager has other ideas.”
“And Dean can’t just turn around and say ‘no, I’m not doing it?’”
I shrugged. “I don’t think you reach that level of fame by saying no. Maybe he thinks if he turns it down, it’ll be the beginning of the end for his career.” I didn’t want to mention the letters or the stalker or the real reason Astrid wanted to hold the concert. Instead, I just said, “I can’t imagine having to deal with that kind of pressure.”
Madeline shuffled her way along the sofa toward me. “I’m pretty sure you’re about to experience a whole lot of pressure yourself. Coping with ten thousand visitors to the town? Harry, you’ve really got your work cut out for you over the next few days.”
I took a deep breath. “Tell me about it.” I shut my eyes and gulped down more wine, and when I opened them again Madeline was right beside me.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
I smiled uncomfortably. “You keep asking me that.”
“That’s because I’m good at lending a hand. You need me to help round up volunteers or type up run sheets or just pass out bottles of water, I’ll do it. You’re gonna need everyone to pitch in and help, so don’t be afraid to ask. God, you look stressed already, I can practically see the knots in your shoulders.” She set both our wine glasses down on the coffee table and said, “You know, I happen to be great at massages too. Turn around and let me work some of that tension out of—”
Her hands fell on one of my shoulders and I flinched.
No, I didn’t just flinch.
I practically launched myself off the sofa as though somebody had just thrown a live rattlesnake at me.
My arms swept wide.
The vase on the side table went flying across the room and hit the floor.
Glass shattered and flowers went everywhere.
“Oh shit! Oh fuck! I’m sorry,” I stammered, quickly apologizing to Madeline before scrambling across the room to clean up the mess.
“Don’t do that, let me,” she said. “You’ve already sliced your hand on glass once this week. You’re clearly on edge about something. Step away before you hurt yourself and tell me where you keep the broom.”
“I’m okay, really I’m okay.”
I was already picking up shards of glass.
Madeline was already opening the door to the closet under the stairs.
“No! Please don’t open—”
