Glenn grabbed Glory’s arm and pulled her aside. “What thehellare they doing?”
“They’rehooting.” Glory had read up on The Baby Owls in the internet version ofClangmagazine. “Apparently that’s what they do at The Baby Owls’ shows. You know, like owls do.”
Glenn’s eyes nearly disappeared into his head from rolling.
“How far does this owl thing go? If they riot will they roost in my rafters? Will they crap on my floor? Will they catch rodents and spit out the bones? Not that I have any rodents,” he hastily added. “Where the hellisthat damn band?”
And then suddenly his eyes widened and he seized his phone like a gunslinger. It must have buzzed. “Finally have a text.”
He jammed his reading glasses up onto his face. “It says, ‘Our bus broke down on I-5 in Bulgaria.’” He was still shouting at Glory.
She frowned. “...the hell?” They had a Nevada City in this part of California, which was rather confusing, but not a Bulgaria.
He scrolled. “Got another one. Oh wait. Not Bulgaria. ‘Bumfuck.’ Their bus broke down in Bumfuck. Autocorrect.”
Bumfuckmore or less accurately described huge swaths of forested Northern California, at least according to city folk. The Baby Owls were going to have to get more specific.
Another text came in. “Ah. They’ve determined that they’re just outside Prentiss.”
“Prentiss!” Glory was aghast. “They’ll be lucky if anyone drives by that patch of highway this time of night. Anyone who can haul a bunch of guys and their instruments, anyway. I’m amazed their texts are getting through at all.”
Prentiss was about an hour away, give or take. They could conceivably still make it to the show and play at least an hour, forty-five minutes.
“HOO! HOO! HOO! HOO!HOO!” The audience seemed to be getting more vehement.
“No one’s going to pick them up if they try hitchhiking. They look like they live in caves, with those beards. All they’re missing are axes to complete the murderous look,” Glenn fussed. Then he brightened. “Oh, look, there’s Eli. Maybe he can help.”
Glory’s heart lurched. Eli had two or three inches on most of the guys in the crowd, so he was painfully easy to see. He was taking golden-haired Bethany’s coat from her and draping it gallantly over the bar stool in the V.I.P. Section. Glory wondered if he’d spotted Franco Francone yet.
Franco’s presence ought to just about make Eli’s night. Then again, maybe he’d be too captivated by his “date” to notice him.
Glenn shot an arm up and waved until he caught Eli’s eye. Then he beckoned him over with a sweep of his hand. Glory was prepared to dart in another direction, but she really couldn’t see a way into the crowd at the moment. She was trapped by a sea of drinkers.
“Evening, Glenn,” Eli said, voice raised. “Great crowd.”
And then he saw her.
He paused a beat.
“Glory,” he said neutrally, by way of greeting. One would never dream she’d tried to mount him in his squad car last night.
“Eli,” she tried to say just as neutrally. She wasn’t nearly as good as inscrutability as he was. Her face was hot as a struck match head. She hoped he couldn’t see it in the dark.
Glenn put a chummy hand in the middle of Eli’s shoulder blades. “I know you’re not on duty tonight, Deputy, but do you think you can make a few calls to your professional buddies, see if they can find a band down on I-5 near Prentiss, help them get here? Their bus broke down and their cell reception is spotty.”
“So that’s what’s going on?” Eli scanned the place, reminding Glory of the Terminator. Eli really could read a room.
And then suddenly, Eli froze. Went absolutely still, like a spaniel pointing.
If Glory hadn’t known better, she would have thought an invisible lightbulb had clicked on over his head.
He pivoted back toward them slowly.
“I thought I saw your guitar in back, Glory, when I came through.”
He fixed her with a gaze so laser focused with meaning it instantly told her this wasn’t an idle observation.
“It is.”
