A Murderer Among Us, page 1
Chase was there. Leaning against the front of her little SUV, arms crossed casually over his chest as he watched her approach.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
But he shook his head, staring at her curiously. “The question is this—what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
She angled her head and narrowed her eyes. “I’m taking my dad’s place. Just like you’re sitting in for Hank—”
“I’ve sat in before. You’ve avoided the band like it’s the plague.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
He walked over to her, not touching her, just standing a few bare inches from her. “I know you,” he said softly. “And I know how you felt about your father. I don’t know what you’re up to, but I do know this—you’ve got to be careful, Sky.”
“I’m not up to anything. Why should I be careful? My dad died because of a tragic accident, right?”
“Please, be careful.”
A Murderer Among Us
New York Times Bestselling Author
Heather Graham
New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Heather Graham has written more than two hundred novels. She is pleased to have been published in over twenty-five languages, with sixty million books in print. Heather is a proud recipient of the Silver Bullet from Thriller Writers and was awarded the prestigious Thriller Master Award in 2016. She is also a recipient of Lifetime Achievement Awards from RWA and The Strand and is the founder of The Slush Pile Players, an author band and theatrical group. An avid scuba diver, ballroom dancer and mother of five, she still enjoys her South Florida home but also loves to travel. Heather is grateful every day for a career she loves so very much.
For more information, check out her website, theoriginalheathergraham.com, or find Heather on Facebook.
Books by Heather Graham
Harlequin Intrigue
Undercover Connection
Out of the Darkness
Shadows in the Night
Law and Disorder
Tangled Threat
A Murderer Among Us
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Skylar “Sky” Ferguson—Daughter of Jake Ferguson. When Sky agrees to take her father’s place in Skyhawk’s “reunion” gig in 2024, she’s also looking for answers...and soon plummets into an old world of evil and deceit.
Chase McCoy—An old flame of Skylar’s, the FBI agent and grandson of Hank McCoy is seeking the truth of the past as well. But will he and Skylar rekindle the fire that raged between them as they risk everything together?
Jake Ferguson—Father of Skylar. A Vietnam veteran, Jake was the lead guitarist and vocalist of the band Skyhawk until 2017, when he died onstage under mysterious circumstances...
Hank McCoy—Original drummer for Skyhawk and Chase’s grandfather.
Skyhawk—Legendary band fronted by Jake Ferguson and formed in 1974. Their third album went platinum in 1980. Original members included Chris Wiley (bass), Joe Garcia (keyboards) and Mark Reynolds (rhythm guitar), along with Ferguson and McCoy.
Charlie Bentley, Justin West and Nathan Harrison—Regular roadies for Skyhawk over the years.
Kenneth Malcolm—Manager of the hometown arena where Skyhawk are set to play their “reunion” gig, with Skylar and Chase standing in for their famous relatives.
In loving memory of my mom. Born in Ireland, she embraced her new country, became a copy editor for an ad company and was my first before-I-dared-send-it-out editor. Strong, fierce and kind—but mostly fierce, when it came to the English language!
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Excerpt from Wyoming Mountain Investigation by Juno Rushdan
Prologue
1949
“Oh! He kicks and punches and—” Cindy Ferguson broke off with a gasp and a shriek “—he’s either a football player or a soccer star!” she finished. She shrugged through the pain and said softly, “Or a rock star, like his dad! You know, you’re supposed to be doing studio work right now—”
“Hardly a rock star—just a studio musician. There are other studio musicians,” Aidan Ferguson assured her. “This kid has one mom—and one dad. I’m a so-so musician. I intend to be a great dad!”
“You’re already a great husband,” Cindy assured him. “And don’t kid yourself, a great musician. You could play with so many groups, but you stay with me!”
“Pain meds are making me look good,” Aidan teased.
“If only I had some pain meds!”
Her water had broken; they’d rushed into the ER and were assured her doctor would be right there.
Aidan watched his wife in distress, trying to return her smile. He reminded himself that childbirth was a natural event.
The pain that came with it was natural, too. Cindy would be fine.
But he was worried. They had come to the hospital too late. Cindy was already in heavy labor, fighting the pain. The nurse had been in, but along with his worrying, he was growing nervous and angry—where the hell was the doctor?
As if on cue, Dr. Jamison walked in, wasting no time on small talk. He gave Cindy a lightning-quick examination and shouted, “Delivery room. Now!”
Cindy was whisked out.
Aidan was left to pace the room until a nurse showed him out and into the waiting room where it seemed he joined a cavalcade of marchers: fathers, others, just pacing in circles as they awaited news of the births of their children. He thought about how his phone was probably ringing: his world was a good one, and even though he was just a studio musician he knew that big names would be calling to congratulate him. That made him smile, and, of course, thinking about them helped make the time go by. And he’d been warned that even now, it could be a while.
He was stunned when the doctor who had so recently left with his wife appeared again almost immediately.
“Mr. Ferguson?”
“Yes, yes!” Aidan wasn’t sure why the mere mention of his name frightened him so much. He didn’t mean to be a pessimist. But...
“Something happened, something is wrong!” he said anxiously, reaching the doctor.
“Uh, no, Mr. Ferguson. They’re seeing to your wife and child now. A little boy, sir. Or, should I say, a big boy. He’s ten pounds one ounce. Mother and son are doing fine. You’ll be able to see them soon.”
Aidan thought he muttered a thanks—he wasn’t even sure. He sank into one of the chairs, his head falling into his hands.
Ten pounds. Kind of giant for a newborn? A boy. Every dad’s dream, ten pounds, big and strong, maybe he was going to be a star football player!
In thirty minutes, he was allowed to see Cindy and his newborn son.
And the baby was beautiful. He looked as if he was a few weeks old already, as if he could walk out of his bassinet. He had a full head of dark hair.
He kissed his wife, shaking his head as he sat next to her, stroking her hair, leaning over to give her a gentle kiss. “Thank you, thank you,” he told her. The emotion welling in him was almost unbearable.
“Thank you, Dad,” she teased. “I couldn’t have done it alone.”
He grinned. “Well, you had the hard part.”
“No, actually, you had the hard part!” she teased.
A nurse cleared her throat from the doorway and they both looked up, reddening.
“Um, sorry. I have papers here. Have you thought about a name yet?” she asked.
Aidan looked at his wife. She smiled. “Jake. For your dad,” she said.
“Jake. For my dad,” he agreed. And nurse or no nurse, he leaned over to kiss her again.
“Thank you. That boy is like...my life!”
“He is our lives,” she corrected. “Our beautiful boy.”
Jake Mallory Ferguson did become their lives. Cindy Ferguson was diagnosed with cervical cancer a year later; her life was saved, but their son was to be their only child.
And for years, he was their beautiful, beautiful boy. He had a thick thatch of dark hair, amazing, riveting blue eyes and a smile that could charm the coldest heart.
Through grade and middle schools, he was a wonderful student, popular and smart.
He did play football, even through his senior year, when he found two things: that he loved the guitar, which was great, and drugs—not so great.
In fact, the alcohol and drugs had gotten so bad that when he graduated, he knew his father was going to let him be drafted.
Aidan and Cindy were deeply distressed. A neighborhood boy had already been killed in Vietnam.
But a neighborhood girl had already died of an overdose as well.
And all their efforts, punishments, encouragements to get help...all had done nothing.
Aidan had served in World War II himself. Jake had been born as part of the baby boom that had come when the war had finally ended. Aidan had seen bad action: he knew the price of war. And he knew, too, he was still glad he had fought, that he had been privileged to help liberate one of the concentration camps.
And so, when Jake came to his father, begging for the money so he could opt out of college, Aidan hesitated just briefly in agony before giving his answer.
“Son, if you’re going to kill yourself, you might as well do so for your country.”
Of course, Jake hated him. But he went off and enlisted in the navy before he could be ordered into a different branch of the service.
And in the service, he found help rather than death. He found others who had suffered from his same addictions and an organization that helped in a way no lecture or punishment could.
He still loved his guitar. And when he emerged from the service, he decided to make it his focus.
A truly beautiful boy. And in time, well, in time he became something Aidan had never imagined for his son. Something wonderful, and scary, of course.
He followed his dad into music.
But he didn’t become a studio musician.
He somehow became a rock star.
Amazing. Terrifying.
But the lifestyle didn’t alter the joy he had learned with his group in the navy, it just put him in a great position to write songs, to handle the band’s business, to live...wonderfully.
He bought his parents a great new house in Palm Beach with a heated pool and a Jacuzzi. He lived down the street.
But Aidan continued to worry as the years passed.
Not because Jake fell back—miraculously, he never did. But neither did he fall in love. Oh, well, of course there were women in his life. Some stayed a while. But it seemed he was never really going to fall in love.
He’d never know what Aidan and Cindy had now been sharing all these years, through World War II, Korea, the sixties—being kind of flower children—the seventies, tragedy in the country, days of peace, days of faith...
The eighties, when Jake’s band became about the biggest thing in history—well, after the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, and a few others—maybe.
The nineties, the Gulf Wars...
And then, a bit before the millennium...
It was only then, when Jake Ferguson was about to turn fifty, that he found the love of his life. He and his group had been playing at Madison Square Garden and she had been with the backup singers for their opening group. They’d gone for coffee together, and in the days to come, they went to the Met, to the Museum of Natural History, for long walks in the park, to the zoo, to the theater...
He brought her home to Florida and announced to his parents he was going to be married at last. Her name was Mandy Mannix, and she wasn’t as old as Jake, but she was a respectable thirty-eight. They teased Aidan and Cindy about heading to Vegas to be married by an Elvis impersonator, but they were married at the church the family had gone to forever, even if it was a quiet affair for their families and closest friends. Jake hadn’t wanted a media frenzy.
He went on to write, play and perform with his band—with Mandy singing backup for his group, Skyhawk.
Then something that seemed miraculous happened. Jake and Mandy had their own baby.
A little girl, a beautiful little girl with dark hair and stunning blue eyes. Because of those eyes, and partially because of the name of Jake’s band as well, the baby was named Skylar and called Sky. Sometimes, Sky Blue.
She became everyone’s life, and Aidan was beyond grateful both he and Cindy were still alive and well—old as dirt, but alive and well—to see the birth of that baby. They both got to see her first toddling steps, hear her first words, hear themselves called Nana and Papa.
They both made it until their loving little granddaughter arrived at her fifth birthday.
Then, in Aidan’s arms, Cindy passed away, whispering her last words.
“I love you.”
He knew that he would follow her soon enough. In return Aidan whispered, “I will find you in clouds of peace and beauty.”
It was another six years before Aidan was to join her.
And while it broke Skylar’s heart to see her beloved grandfather die, she was almost grateful after another six years had passed because he didn’t have to witness what happened.
Because then, she lost her beloved father...
His father would have been devastated by the way it all happened.
When she received the strange call seven years after his death, she was reminded. And she was as angry as she had been devastated and determined that she would find out what had really happened, and she would clear his name for the ages.
Jake Ferguson had been an incredible man. A legend, a rock legend, and yet a wise man who had turned his life around and become an amazing human being as well. And he deserved to be remembered in all the best ways.
So...
Yes.
She would join Skyhawk for a special anniversary performance.
She would take her father’s place.
And maybe, just maybe, she could figure out what the hell had really happened.
Chapter One
2024
“Hey, our guys are young in comparison to a few of them out there!”
Sky smiled as she listened to Brandon Wiley, five years her senior and the son of Chris Wiley, bass guitarist for Skyhawk—not quite as late of a bloomer as her father. “Come on, now. My dad wasn’t even twenty when they put the band together,” Brandon continued. “He’s a mere sixty-nine!”
“And I take nothing away from your dad, for sure!” Sky promised. “He’s an incredible performer. And I’m betting that my dad still would have been incredible, even at seventy-five!”
“Agreed. Hey, Mick Jagger is over eighty and I saw one of his performances last year—the dude still rules the stage,” Brandon said. He paused, looking down. “Sky, I’m so sorry about your dad—”
“Thank you. I know.” Her smile was a constricted one. “And my mother would have insisted on an autopsy, even if the supposedly accidental death hadn’t called for one. There were no drugs in my father’s system. What happened was—”
“Truly a tragic accident,” Brandon said quickly. “We all know that. And, of course, we went over and over it all when it happened, and I didn’t say that to dredge up the past.”
They stood in the studio in the New Orleans Central Business District where Skyhawk had recorded their first album. Sky turned, wincing, because on the wall, there was a picture of the original band members of Skyhawk: her father, Jake Ferguson, vocalist and lead guitar; Brandon’s dad, Chris Wiley, bassist; Joe Garcia, keyboards; Mark Reynolds, rhythm guitar; and Hank McCoy, drummer.
Her dad—at the ripe old age of twenty-five when he’d started the band—had been the oldest in the group. And it was true—compared to some of the rockers still dancing their hearts out on stage, the remaining members of Skyhawk were just in their sixties. Back from the service and freshly graduated, her dad had been asked for help from Hank McCoy, a neighbor, and in helping out someone he saw as a little brother, Jake had wound up creating Skyhawk.
And the remaining members of the group could still rock the house—now sometimes with the help of children and grandchildren.
Sky had been asked to join with the group before. The band was still getting gigs—good ones. But not the instantly sold-out gigs they’d gotten when her father was alive.
For years, she’d politely refused any interaction with the group. Her mother had remained close friends with many of them and their assorted wives, ex-wives and children. But the publicity surrounding her father’s death still plagued her.
He’d been electrocuted by a faulty amp. The accident had been deemed user error.
She had never believed it. Her father had known how to set a stage, but, of course, once Skyhawk had gotten big—and then huge—they had roadies to handle all of that for them. But something had been wrong that night, and Jake Ferguson had gone to check the amp and...boom. Electricity had crackled, and the explosion of the equipment and the ensuing fire that might have engulfed the entire place had taken his life.
Drugs had immediately been suspected, and headlines had read different versions of Did Ferguson Crack after Nearly 50 Years of Clean Living?
