Page 131 of Love Me Steadfast
NIC SALAZAR AT CREEKSIDE OCTOBER 2ND
I slam on the brakes, my mind spinning.
Something about seeing his signed photo on The Limelight’s wall yesterday has been tugging at the corners of my mind.
Is it because Salazar’s show is tonight?
Or is it Creekside that is stirring everything up?
Not long after Boxcar played at Creekside, Charlotte broke things off. We were supposed to spend a weekend in Seattle together, but she got strep throat and said I shouldn’t come. My life was consumed with football and learning how to support my new team while also keeping my grades up, but I still would have come even if it was only to take care of her. But I also couldn’t get sick, not with our season opener against Texas looming. So we rescheduled for a few weeks after that. Charlotte was busy with school too, but I begged her to come down to Eugene. Even if I only got to see her for a short visit, it would be worth it. I had so much to show her. Share with her. And I was dying to hear about her new classes, her dorm, and whatwas happening with her music. And I needed to hold her. By then, it’d been almost a month since our last time together.
But before that rescheduled trip, she broke things off, and when I wouldn’t stop calling her, she blocked my number.
I stare at the billboard. Nic’s face is pinched mid-roar, both hands gripping the microphone, his black electric guitar hanging loose against his thigh, his dirty blonde hair falling across his eyes. That summer he played with Boxcar at Creekside, Nic was on the cusp of stardom. His songs were on the radio, he was about to go on tour to promote his first major album, and no doubt his poster graced many a teenaged girl’s bedroom wall. In short, by that summer, Nic Salazar had everything he probably ever dreamed of, and more.
I’ve passed this billboard dozens of times. Why is it snagging my focus now?
I pull back onto the road, my mind occupied by the questions I don’t have answers for.
When I get to The Limelight, the scents of garlic and grilling food waft past the hallway. The lunch rush is in full swing, so I tuck into my office. Besides a lingering metallic scent from the fingerprint chemicals, there’s no sign of the hours the crime scene crew spent here yesterday. Though I have several urgent admin tasks on my to-do list, I end up scrolling through the data sets I created for Luke.
What if the answer he’s looking for is in plain sight?
My phone chirps. It’s Zach.
“Give me good news, brother.” I set aside my glasses.
“Fingerprints are either yours, Mike’s, or Leslie’s. Whoever broke in was likely wearing gloves. And you aren’t gonna like this, but your camera went dark shortly after Mike closed up.”
“I saidgoodnews.”
“Sorry,” he says with a sigh. “Everett and I both agree this guy was a pro. He even evaded the bank’s surveillance camera in the alley. I’m waiting for Idaho DOT to send traffic cam footage from the light on Main. It’s a long shot, but it might give me a starting point.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“The bigger question is why someone would go to all that trouble to steal something of so little value.”
I pick up a pen and click it on, then off, thinking. “How much has Ballard told you about this case he’s working?”
“He believes someone might be targeting female artists. One of the cold cases he’s looking into is a personal one for him.”
I click the pen. “Why would Dagney Cole’s overdose be related though?”
“Ballard got a tip that Ms. Cole was sexually assaulted, and it’s since been confirmed, though she never filed charges. But even before that, Ballard had reason to believe that’s what links these women.”
Leaning back, I glance up at my window. The view from this angle only gives me a slice of the cloudy sky, but it doesn’t ground me. Or soften the anger beginning to burn up my chest.
I toss the pen onto the desk. “They were all assaulted by the same guy.” The words taste bitter on my tongue.
“And somehow, he’s covered his tracks because there’s very little evidence to go on. Not one of the women he’s looking at filed charges. I think Ballard has intel he’s not sharing, like maybe stuff Ari’s family revealed to him that’s not public. Something that links her to the others. Something that formed a pattern for him.”
“I told you yesterday that one of the missing books corresponded to the year Dagney played. Another was from the year Ari Pullman was here.”
“Huh,” Zach says, his tone thoughtful. “What about the third one?”
I shoot up in my chair. “Wait a minute.”
“What?”
