Unfortunately, both Port-a-Potties had lengthy lines, and Skye was fairly sure she couldn’t wait however long it would take to get to the front of the queue. On to plan B. There were bathrooms in the picnic area, located behind the grandstand at the far end of the park. With any luck no one would have thought of them.
Skye took off at a brisk trot, but a few steps from her goal, she was stopped by a red plastic ribbon strung between several sawhorses. A large white sign hung in the center. Black lettering read: EMPLOYEES OF COUNTRY ROADS TOUR ONLY. TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED.
Crap! There was no time to come up with a plan C. If she didn’t get to a toilet soon, she was going to embarrass herself big-time. Skye looked around. A silver Airstream with COUNTRY ROADS TOUR stenciled on its side was pulled in front of the bathroom, but there wasn’t anyone in sight. She stopped and listened. It was completely quiet. Excellent. She’d be in and out with no one the wiser.
Skye ducked under the ribbon, paused for a nanosecond, then darted toward her objective. Arriving a little out of breath, she found that the trailer was parked so close to the building, she could barely get the screen door halfway open. She squeezed through the gap and sighed with relief when she saw the empty stalls.
A few relieved minutes later, Skye was washing her hands and wondering if Trixie and Owen had ever arrived when she heard angry voices coming from inside the RV. Yikes! She had to get out of here before she was discovered and arrested. Wouldn’t that be a delightful headline: CHIEF’S FIANCEÉ ARRESTED FOR USING A FORBIDDEN BATHROOM.
Skye plastered herself against the wall, willing herself to become invisible, which was quite a stretch, considering her opulent figure. She snuck a quick look through the doorway. A large open window was directly across from the bathroom’s entrance. Why in the heck didn’t they have the air-conditioning on and their windows closed like normal people?
While waiting for her hair appointment last week, she had read in Entertainment Weekly that some singers disliked AC because they claimed it was bad for their vocal chords, but this was ridiculous. It was close to ninety degrees and muggy; surely those conditions couldn’t be good for anyone, even a star’s delicate throat.
Skye shook her head. Why didn’t matter. The window was open, and if she tried to leave now, the suit-wearing guy from the stage who was talking heatedly to Flint James would see her and call the police.
Taking another peek, Skye noted that Flint’s usually handsome face was an ugly scarlet mask, his broad shoulders were rigid, and his hands were fisted. His previous air of indifference was gone, and it looked as if he was itching to punch the other man in the face.
The ex-quarterback had a good five inches and fifty pounds of muscle on Mr. Suit, and could easily cause some real damage to the other guy. Flint might even kill him if the blow landed in exactly the right spot.
Should she call Wally? Make her presence known? Skye wavered. Maybe it was a guy thing, and she would just get herself in trouble if she interfered. She’d promised herself she would stop rushing in to help people who hadn’t asked for her assistance. Then again, she didn’t want anyone to get hurt.
Before she could decide, Mr. Suit’s booming voice brought her attention back to the two men. “We have no choice. Suzette isn’t here and we can’t reach her. We have to get this show on the road.”
“That’s not my problem, Rex.” Flint jabbed Mr. Suit, aka Rex, in the chest. “The star does not go on first. And I’m the star.”
Obviously the opening act was MIA. Skye wrinkled her brow, trying to remember what she had heard about Suzette Neal. All she knew about the girl singer was her age—twenty-two—and that she had lived in the area as a child, although no one Skye had spoken to seemed to recognize Suzette’s name or claim her as kin.
“It’s more than half an hour since we were supposed to start the program.” Rex grabbed Flint’s shoulder. “I order you to get your ass on stage and sing.”
“No.” Flint shook off Rex’s hand as if it were an annoying insect. “Check my contract. You can’t force me to perform out of order.”
“Do it this one time and I’ll make it worth your while.” Rex’s tone turned cajoling. “This concert is no big deal. Just a freebie to get the locals on our side. I promise it will be good for us both.”
“That’s what Suzette wants. You already gave her one of my best songs—one I wanted to sing myself—and you forced me to do a duet with her.” Flint crossed his arms. “Don’t think I’m not onto her schemes.”
“You’re not the only one who’s onto her.” A blonde dressed in skintight jeans, a red sequined tank top, and crimson stilettos pushed her way between Flint and Rex.
Skye shrank back against the wall. She hadn’t realized there was anyone else in the Airstream.
Cocking her thumb at Rex, the woman said, “I warned him about that girl. I told him I didn’t trust her as far as I could run in high heels.”
“Kallista, sweetheart.” Rex sandwiched the blonde’s fingers between both of his palms, “I’m sure something terrible must have happened to keep Suzette away. You know she was dying to sing for her hometown and show everyone how far she’d come.”
“She probably isn’t even really from this place.” Kallista blew an irritated breath through heavily glossed lips. “She only said she was after you told her you’d decided to open the new country music theater here.”
Skye blinked. A country music theater in Scumble River? How would people react to that? It was hard to tell. They generally didn’t like anything different, but this smacked of fame and glamour, so maybe they’d be more accepting than they’d been last month when the new bookstore had opened.
“Now, Baby Girl, how about you do your Big Daddy an itty-bitty favor and go back in the bedroom and try calling Suzette again? Then later tonight Big Daddy will do you just how you like.” Rex turned Kallista around and patted her on the rear until she started walking.
Ew. Ew. Ew. That was just icky. Why did men talk like that to grown women?
Skye squirmed, but focused back on the action when Rex said to Flint, “You have to help me out here. I thought you were a team player.”
“Right. And what did that get me last time? A blown knee and a ruined career.” Flint shook his head. “Now I’m looking out for number one.”
“With that attitude, I don’t know how you fool all your fans into thinking you’re such a nice guy.”
“Really?” Flint made a scornful noise. “You’re the one who taught me that sincerity is everything, and once you can fake that, you’ve got it made.”
Rex ignored Flint’s jab. “You seem to be forgetting that you’re my creation.” Rex snapped off each word as if they were bites of peanut brittle. “Without me you’d still be singing at a honky-tonk, living in your truck, and depending on the tips from a pickle jar to eat.”
“Don’t give me that crap. We both know you didn’t do me any favors.” Flint spat out the words contemptuously. “If I hadn’t been a damn good singer and songwriter, you wouldn’t have raised a finger to help me.”
“There’s more to success in this business than talent,” Rex retaliated, his voice rising.
“Bullshit!” Flint moved until he was nose to nose with the other man. “Now find that little whore, and get her out onstage before I really get mad.” He grasped Rex’s lapels and lifted him off his feet. “I’m not letting you or her ruin this career for me.”
Yikes! Skye whipped out her cell phone. It was time to call the cops.