hobby. As technology got better, he’d go back and fiddle with them, convinced he could clean them up enough for release.”
“How many are there?”
“There were supposed to be twelve, but Micah lost one of them somewhere along the line.”
“How long are they?”
“Like two hours each.”
Twenty-two hours of unreleased Micah Crowley. I was salivating, and I was only a fan. If I’d been in a position to do something with the tapes or make money off them, would I be willing to kill for them?
I didn’t get a chance to think about that too long because Claire Crowley descended upon us at that moment, catching us completely by surprise, and it was hard to keep your focus on something else when Claire Crowley stormed into a room.
“What the hell are you doing in here? With a stranger, no less!” Claire demanded.
Momentarily taken aback by Claire’s vehemence, Olivia collected herself and turned the tables as best she could by asking why and how Claire could come barging in unannounced.
Claire held up a ring of keys. “We looked out for each other, your father and I. I thought I heard someone over here, and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t an intruder,” she said with a cold glance to me.
The fact that she had her own key didn’t surprise Olivia, though it gave me pause. Opportunity is always one of the first things you look at in a murder, and having your own key to someone’s place creates all kinds of opportunities. And cuts down on telltale signs of forced entry and other forensic footholds.
“This is Molly,” Olivia said, striving for decorum. “She’s writing an article about Dad.”
Claire, having acknowledged me as fully as she was going to, kept the frigid intensity of her glare focused on Olivia. “You self-serving little bitch,” she growled, fists clenched and blood pressure skyrocketing. Even with her face contorted by anger, Claire was amazing, lovelier in person than she was in press photos. Although she had to be close to fifty she didn’t seem that far removed from the dewy young woman on the cover of Subject to Change’s first album, Juiced. I knew more than one guy in high school who picked up the CD just because of the picture, which showed a shirtless Micah standing behind Claire—she, covered only by her long strawberry blond hair and Micah’s hands, eating a peach out of her juice-stained hands. Micah claimed it was an homage to the Allman Brothers and to T. S. Eliot before them. But more plainly, it was an homage to the fact that sex sells. So did the album, which went gold in three months.
“Self-serving?” Olivia exclaimed in the upper register between incredulity and offense.
“This isn’t about your father,” Claire spat. “It’s about your pathetic need to be the center of attention. Grow up, little girl, and stop wiping your tears all over the front page of every damn tabloid in town.”
It occurred to me to protest that Zeitgeist was not a tabloid, but it also occurred to me that remaining quiet would increase my chances of staying out of trouble and allow me to continue to observe from this intimate vantage point.
“Why do you care?” Olivia asked icily.
“You’re family, Olivia,” Claire replied with a viciousness that would make me run away from home at the earliest possible moment.
“Oh, of course.”
“And the boys will get dragged into it—”
“Screw the boys!”
“That was always your goal, wasn’t it.”
She might as well have slapped Olivia across the face. Clearly, this was hugely sensitive territory I’d have to explore more fully. Silent for only a moment, Olivia flushed with a combination of embarrassment and the effort to respond with equal viciousness. Claire didn’t give her the chance, turning to me to ask, “And why exactly are you here, again?”
I didn’t want to get in the middle, as sorry as I suddenly felt for Olivia; I’d need to interview Claire at some juncture, and alienating her now would only cause
“How many are there?”
“There were supposed to be twelve, but Micah lost one of them somewhere along the line.”
“How long are they?”
“Like two hours each.”
Twenty-two hours of unreleased Micah Crowley. I was salivating, and I was only a fan. If I’d been in a position to do something with the tapes or make money off them, would I be willing to kill for them?
I didn’t get a chance to think about that too long because Claire Crowley descended upon us at that moment, catching us completely by surprise, and it was hard to keep your focus on something else when Claire Crowley stormed into a room.
“What the hell are you doing in here? With a stranger, no less!” Claire demanded.
Momentarily taken aback by Claire’s vehemence, Olivia collected herself and turned the tables as best she could by asking why and how Claire could come barging in unannounced.
Claire held up a ring of keys. “We looked out for each other, your father and I. I thought I heard someone over here, and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t an intruder,” she said with a cold glance to me.
The fact that she had her own key didn’t surprise Olivia, though it gave me pause. Opportunity is always one of the first things you look at in a murder, and having your own key to someone’s place creates all kinds of opportunities. And cuts down on telltale signs of forced entry and other forensic footholds.
“This is Molly,” Olivia said, striving for decorum. “She’s writing an article about Dad.”
Claire, having acknowledged me as fully as she was going to, kept the frigid intensity of her glare focused on Olivia. “You self-serving little bitch,” she growled, fists clenched and blood pressure skyrocketing. Even with her face contorted by anger, Claire was amazing, lovelier in person than she was in press photos. Although she had to be close to fifty she didn’t seem that far removed from the dewy young woman on the cover of Subject to Change’s first album, Juiced. I knew more than one guy in high school who picked up the CD just because of the picture, which showed a shirtless Micah standing behind Claire—she, covered only by her long strawberry blond hair and Micah’s hands, eating a peach out of her juice-stained hands. Micah claimed it was an homage to the Allman Brothers and to T. S. Eliot before them. But more plainly, it was an homage to the fact that sex sells. So did the album, which went gold in three months.
“Self-serving?” Olivia exclaimed in the upper register between incredulity and offense.
“This isn’t about your father,” Claire spat. “It’s about your pathetic need to be the center of attention. Grow up, little girl, and stop wiping your tears all over the front page of every damn tabloid in town.”
It occurred to me to protest that Zeitgeist was not a tabloid, but it also occurred to me that remaining quiet would increase my chances of staying out of trouble and allow me to continue to observe from this intimate vantage point.
“Why do you care?” Olivia asked icily.
“You’re family, Olivia,” Claire replied with a viciousness that would make me run away from home at the earliest possible moment.
“Oh, of course.”
“And the boys will get dragged into it—”
“Screw the boys!”
“That was always your goal, wasn’t it.”
She might as well have slapped Olivia across the face. Clearly, this was hugely sensitive territory I’d have to explore more fully. Silent for only a moment, Olivia flushed with a combination of embarrassment and the effort to respond with equal viciousness. Claire didn’t give her the chance, turning to me to ask, “And why exactly are you here, again?”
I didn’t want to get in the middle, as sorry as I suddenly felt for Olivia; I’d need to interview Claire at some juncture, and alienating her now would only cause
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