Free Emerald City by Chris Nickson Page A

strong. I guess I only broke away when I got serious with my own band. And it was Craig who made me believe I could do something. You know, seeing this guy I’d known for years looking like a star, someone totally different. I thought that could be me, too.” She smiled ruefully. “The only thing I don’t have is the talent.”
    â€œDid you see him after Snakeblood became more popular?”
    â€œNah, not really.” She took a sip of beer and toyed with the bottle. “We’d run into each other from time to time and catch up, but that was about it. Besides, he and Sandy were together by then, so he wasn’t hanging out as much as he did before.”
    â€œDo you know her well?” I asked, hoping she might have some insights into Craig’s girlfriend.
    â€œNot really, we never talked.” She paused and cocked her head. “To tell you the truth, I think she was a little jealous of me.”
    â€œJealous?” That surprised me.
    â€œYeah.” She drew the word out as she thought of what to say. “Craig and I went back such a long way, and we had all these things in common that she could never be a part of. We could talk about people we’d grown up with that she didn’t know, or make dumb jokes about high school, stuff like that. I often felt like she just wanted him to herself, so he wouldn’t have any friends except her.”
    â€œAnd the band.”
    â€œWell yeah,” she acknowledged with a shrug. “But I never saw her around them, so I don’t know what she was like.”
    â€œWhat about last year?” I said. “Did you see them when they were shooting up?”
    â€œNope.” Her denial was emphatic. “I didn’t even know until you told me. I wouldn’t have wanted to see Craig that way, I’d have felt really sad, like I’d lost him, somehow.”
    She was about to say more, but the door opened and Steve walked in. He smiled to see Carla, they hugged and began talking twenty to the dozen. I switched off the tape recorder. Once they began discussing guitars and performing I wasn’t going to get any more. Still, she’d given me good information, much of the early background I’d need for the article. I thought of one more thing and interrupted their conversation. “Do you think Craig’s parents would talk to me?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Carla answered after a little while. “I remember them being a pretty close family, him, his brother and his folks. If I were you I’d leave it.”
    â€œWhat about his brother, then?”
    She cocked her head and thought. “Yeah, I guess Jimmy might,” she said after a moment. “He still lives out on the island, he’s a mechanic at that garage in Winslow. You could go over and see if he’s willing to talk.”
    â€œOkay, thanks.”
    She leaned toward me.
    â€œI’ll warn you, though, he never grew out of redneck.”
    I left them to it, happy voices quickly filling the living room again, took a fresh beer and sat out on the deck. It was still drizzling, but under the eaves I could sit in comfortable dryness looking out at Lake Union and watching the seaplanes taking off and landing.
    I was beginning to see the story taking shape, the man who lived for music, who had it in him, believing he possessed something special. But then there was the ending – and the message on the machine. That made me sure someone had killed him, even if all the evidence said overdose. There was something I hadn’t discovered yet and it was gnawing at me. I needed the answer to complete the puzzle.

Eight
    The next morning brought more light rain, the return of the usual Seattle spring with cloudy skies and cool temperatures, the brief sunshine no more than a mocking memory. Once rush hour had passed I started the Pinto and drove into town and parked at Coleman dock on the waterfront, in line for the