So maybe I’d never been very original when it came to naming animals. Bob the bobcat, for example, was my ‘backyard pet’ when I was seven.
I took a small bag of peaches from the fridge and arranged them with vanilla beans and cinnamon sticks in a large metal bowl. The centerpiece filled the room with a spicy-sweet aroma, like freshly baked peach pie.
Things were looking up. Ivory was going to introduce me to someone who might help me find out more about Elizabeth Parsons.
But as anxious as I was to find answers, I would have called and cancelled if I’d known how the night would end.
Chapter 4
IVORY PICKED ME UP at eight. Trees rustled outside the car window as she navigated the wind-raked road. I wished I was home, curled up in bed, but Ivory insisted tonight would be fun. Stress-free. A chance to pick up some books that might solve the problems she didn’t know I had.
A blur of crimson and gold leaves and the occasional blip of yellow highway paint raced outside the passenger window. If only I could shed the haunting visions of dead animals and the layers of voices blotting out my enjoyment of the autumn scenery.
The sun disappeared behind a wall of trees, and I pushed away the lurid images, leaning forward to read a green and white road sign: DENVER 30 MILES.
“Where is this place?” I asked Ivory.
“You’ll see.” She hooked onto an exit ramp for Castle Rock then turned onto a side road miles before the city. This wasn’t the Castle Rock I was familiar with; this place was some run-down, off-the-map kind of place. “We’re almost there.”
Several blocks later, she turned down a narrow, garbage-strewn road. The street was a dead end, with a beat-up building backing up to a wooded area. A rickety billboard towered without anything to advertise. Ivory pulled into the lot and parked beside cars I hadn’t noticed from the road.
Soft whispers throttled through my mind. A chill prickled at my arms and goose bumps ran all the way up to my scalp, a tingle burning the back of my neck and along my ears. Taking a deep breath, I fought to push the voices away.
“Guess I’m overdressed?” I asked, motioning to my silk dress.
“You look good all decked out. Black suits you.”
She climbed out of the car and tugged the bottom of her charcoal gray sweater as she walked to my side, while I slicked on some iced-pink-champagne lip-gloss. When I stepped onto the sandy asphalt, my foot slid, but Ivory caught me by the arm.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, regaining my balance.
High heels—especially of the strappy variety—were not my forte, but Ivory had insisted the Eskimo boots stay parked in my closet tonight.
“I think you have the wrong address.” I waved a hand, indicating the lone warehouse and long-abandoned gas station on the other side of the parking lot.
“This is Club Flesh.” Amusement laced her voice. “You’ll love it, trust me.”
I would have loved anything indoors at this point. The air was far too cold for late September. I nodded toward a steel door lit by a lone, broken streetlamp. “We going in?”
Ivory grinned. “That door’s just for show.”
Turned out the real entrance was the storm cellar doors on the side of the building closest to the forest. Ivory pressed a brick jutting out from the wall, and the storm doors opened. Faint notes of music, seductive and enchanting, carried on the air. I peeked in, only able to make out the first few concrete steps descending into the subterranean depths.
Talk about an underground club. The design must have cost a fortune yet seemed like a lawsuit waiting to happen.
Ivory led me down the dark stairway. My nerves kicked up, but once the light source ahead revealed the last few steps, my heart rate slowed. When we reached the landing, the doors clanged shut, and I jumped.
“Door sensors,” Ivory said offhandedly. She sauntered through the dimly lit stone passage, heels clicking in an even, upbeat staccato.
The eerie dance music grew louder as we walked toward a distant, crimson door. An imposing figure emerged from the darkness, powerful arms folded across his chest and black hair slicked back from the high slope of his forehead.
Ivory’s hand slipped from mine as she bounced up on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Hey, Theron, busy night?”
“You vouchin’ for that one?” He nodded toward me.
“Sure am. Now, don’t give me a hard time. Let us through.”
Theron spoke in a low, unintelligible rumble, but he must have said, ‘Go on in,’ because he opened the door and stepped aside.
Ivory patted his shoulder. “Lighten up, will ya?”
Once inside, Ivory leaned close, her voice overpowering the thundering music. “Pretty neat, right?
‘Neat’ might not have been the word I would use for the wine-colored walls, stone flooring, and black tables. Gloomy, maybe, if a place can be gloomy and classy at the same time.