Her best friend, Kit Mason, a well-known guitarist and singer, had been the starting point once Jackie had finally got hold of her in Los Angeles.
“Jackie! How the hell are you?”
“I got a job, Kit, a real live PI job.”
“Wow! I always knew you’d make it eventually. I’m so proud of you.”
“Well, maybe I’m jumping the gun a bit. I don’t really have the job yet, but I’m on an extended tryout, shall we say.”
“It’s still good news. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Actually, I called for another reason. I need some info for this job.”
“Fire away.”
Turned out Kit not only knew who Andrew Curran was, she’d sat in with his band back when she’d been knocking around the bar scene.
“They kicked butt, a really high octane funk band with a great horn section. After all this time, I don’t quite remember what he looks like, but I do remember he was pretty damn hot. All the girls went after him. He’s also a terrific drummer. What’s he up to now?”
“He plays jazz.”
“You’re kidding! He was always Mr. Funky Drummer.”
“He has a steady gig with an outfit called The Ronald Felton Trio at a club near Bathurst and King.”
“The Sal?”
“I guess someone hip might call it that,” Jackie replied sarcastically.
“I’m not going to rise to your bait, Jackie,” Kit laughed. “So why do you want to know about Andy Curran?”
Very concisely, Jackie relayed what she’d been told about Curran’s problems. “I want a gut reaction from you on this, Kit,” Jackie said at the end. “Is Curran a bad guy or a good guy?”
Her friend didn’t hesitate. “Unless something has radically changed, Andy’s a good guy with a big white hat. He had that reputation around town – both on and off the bandstand. What do you think?”
“I haven’t made his acquaintance yet, but I’m going down to the club tonight to hang.”
“Tell him I said hi.”
“He’s not going to know I’m there. I plan on casing out the client thoroughly. This company’s giving me a chance, and I don’t aim to screw things up like I usually do.”
Jackie’s next stop was the public library, where she did an extensive Internet search on anything concerning Curran. There was a surprising amount, much of it going back to his days as a rocker. She even found a photo of his band jamming with a very young Kit Mason, who looked to be around twenty.
For the past eight years, as Curran concentrated more on his jazz career, the hits on the search engines dropped dramatically – no surprise there.
Jackie’s pulse quickened when she found references to Curran and this Olivia person. The first were ads and listings stating that Miss Olivia Saint had joined the Felton Trio and would be appearing Tuesdays through Thursdays at the Green Salamander.
Now, following the Olivia trail through the Internet, things began to pick up again. Buzz was slow on her at first, but built quickly as the buzz got around through word of mouth and blogs. She couldn’t find any interviews with the girl, no bio information to speak of, so the references usually included the word “mysterious” when describing this rapidly ascending star. The only quote Jackie found that came directly from the girl was,“I only want to sing, and only at the Salamander. My private life is just that, private.” The members of Curran’s trio were equally protective of their amazing vocalist.
Photos were as hard to come by as information, and most seemed to be shots by members of the club’s audience, which they’d then posted on their blogs.
In short, as far as Jackie was concerned, the whole set-up stank. Curran certainly knew more than he had told, and she aimed to get that out of him.
She spent several more hours at the library, carefully collating her extensive notes and references into a binder she’d bought.
The first thing I’ll do if I get this job, she thought as she shook the cramps from her writing hand, is spring for a good laptop.
After grabbing a slice of pizza at a place on Queen near Bathurst, Jackie wandered down to King and hung a left for the short walk to Portland. Spring seemed to be back again, and the evening still held a hint of the day’s warmth. She left her jean jacket stowed in the backpack slung over her shoulder. Time to get her bike out of storage.
Hanging around the entrance for a few minutes, she heard several people grumbling as they left to find other entertainment because this Olivia girl wasn’t going to be singing that night. No wonder Curran wanted to find his little vocalist.
It didn’t take much skill in making small talk to get one of the waitresses blabbing. Obviously pissed that business had fallen off so sharply the past two nights, the woman was quick to admit the club’s owner was thinking of booking another steady act. She had only nice things to say about Olivia, obviously as smitten as everyone else by her vocal skills.
“That kid could sing the leaves off the trees. I’m not ashamed to say I had to wipe tears from my eyes more than once when she sang ‘Angel Eyes’. God, she made me love that song!”
“Yeah, but what was she like, you know, personally?” Jackie asked. “I find that talented people most often are creeps.”
“Listen, honey,” the waitress bristled, “don’t you start bad mouthing my girl. She was the sweetest thing you’d ever want to meet. Never said boo to nobody. It used to make my blood boil to hear the way Mr Highand-Mighty Felton used to talk to her.”
“He didn’t like her?”
“It wasn’t that. It’s just that Olivia is more like a child than an adult. Everyone knows that, but only Felton took advantage of it. I thought Andy was going to clobber him a couple of times. Felton mouthing off to her even got Dom going once – and that takes a lot of doing.”
Careful not to make herself obvious, Jackie moved over to the bar for a beer. During the course of the next set, she spoke to the bartender and two regulars, alcoholics who’d made the Salamander their home away from home. All three came across as having the hots to some degree for the missing singer. All three were old enough to be her father, if not her grandfather. More importantly, all three had been at the club the night before when Olivia had been whisked away by the two men who’d roughed up Curran.
“The big guy looked like trouble the moment he walked in,” a drunk named Charlie offered.
“If I’d known what they were up to,” the bartender growled,“I would have had something to say about it.”
He was big enough to be able to back that up, assuming he knew how to handle himself.
Marvin, the other drunk, looked up at Jackie with eyes that seemed to be having trouble focussing. “I really miss our little girl. I wish she’d come back and sing for us again.”
He looked as if he might start crying. The bartender suggested to Marvin that he should think about getting home and offered him some coffee, which was refused.
Watching Marvin weave towards the door, Jackie casually asked,“So these two guys and Olivia, what did you see?”
The bartender’s eyes narrowed. “Why you so interested?”
She shrugged. “Everybody in here is talking about her, that’s all. I came down to hear her sing tonight, and she ain’t around. Got me curious, I guess.”
“They stopped Olivia as she came offstage after the first set. They