wearing identical costumes that night. It’s awful, but Jenny is hoping it’s the ex-husband, too.”
“But that’s not what you think?”
“Oh, I don’t know. With Jenny’s brother being killed, and everything else that’s happened, it’s hard to believe the ex-husband would coincidentally choose the same weekend to kill his wife.”
“It was a festival weekend, though,” Colm countered. “More than one person may have thought that having a crowd of strangers in town would provide good cover for whatever they wanted to do.”
“We’re a small community. We can’t go creeping around being afraid of our own shadows. I won’t live that way. We’ll figure out what happened.”
“Be careful,” he said and pointed to her arm. “Justice is one thing, but personal safety is as important.”
“No one is interested in me,” Harriet said, lifting her burned arm. “I’m convinced this is the result of one crazy woman and her own personal demons. It was just chance that I was standing on the stage with the quilt when she took action.”
“Do you think the local police have the resources to keep you safe with a killer on the loose?”
“They’re a small force, but diligent. I doubt they’d turn down any offers of money, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I’ve already brought in extra security, and giving your folks money won’t help the immediate problem.”
“How did you end up with those two ex-cons who attacked my friends?” Harriet asked.
“That’s my fault. Well, Sean’s and my fault. After all these years, and everything we’ve seen, we can still be naive at times,” Colm said. “I had this idea that folks who come out of prison end up offending again for simple lack of a job. The band and I decided we were going to take a leap of faith and hire nonviolent ex-offenders for our road crew. Most of the time, it works out—Skeeter’s evidence of that. But as your friend saw, sometimes we end up with people who aren’t ready to be rehabilitated.”
“At least you’re trying to make the world a better place,” Harriet said.
“I hope you and your friends will accept our apologies.”
“Dinner’s ready,” Mavis called from the kitchen, ending their discussion.
“This looks great,” Colm said as he sat down opposite Harriet and Mavis at the dining room table.
Mavis had heated some minestrone soup from a can and made grilled cheese sandwiches. She’d also cut up celery and carrots and put them on a plate with green olives and dill pickle spears.
“We have a cook, and with the exception of concert day, when they put on a show for the backstage guests, she only makes what our nutritional consultant tells her to. At our ages, it’s the only way we can stay in the game. Sometimes I think if I eat any more skinless chicken I’m going to start clucking.”
“I hear you. My aunt sort of plays that role for me.”
“I thought you rock stars got to dictate a long list of must-haves in your dressing room—blue Skittles, brown M-and-Ms, some exotic brand of bottled water that no one’s ever heard of,” Mavis said.
“I’m sure some bands take advantage of their hosts, but most people put those detailed snack requirements at the bottom of the contract so they can tell quickly if the right people read the whole thing. We all have very specialized electronics in order to produce all the effects we use on stage—video equipment, lifts in the middle of the stage, pyrotechnics, you name it. If you walk in the dressing room and see the big bowl of blue Skittles sitting next to the brown M-and-Ms, then you know they paid attention and probably did all the wiring correctly, too. We, of course, check it out, but it gives us a clue what we’ll be dealing with.”
“How very clever,” Mavis said.
“Can I help you wash the dishes?” Colm asked Mavis when they had all finished eating. “It’s hard to believe, but it really is nice to do ordinary tasks. It gets tiresome having people wanting to do everything for you. Not for who you are, but for who you are, if that makes any sense.”
“Help yourself,” Mavis said. “Harriet’s not going to be able to help you, if you were hoping to have some one-on-one time. She needs to lie down again.”
“I do want some one-on-one time, m’lady—with you,”
“I bet you tell that to all the girls,” Mavis answered, but Harriet noticed her cheeks were ever-so-slightly pink.
“Thanks for staying to have dinner with us,” Harriet said. She stood up and started toward