Road Trip (Glock Grannies Cozy Mystery Book 6) Read online

  We were sitting at the table eating and looking over some Branson brochures we had picked up in the hotel lobby when a woman approached our table and startled us. She smiled and moved her blond hair out of her face.

  “I’m sorry to bother you ladies, but I wanted to invite you to my show later tonight.” She put a flyer in the middle of the table. “My name is Crystal Star.” She paused, and her cheeks blushed a little. “Well, my real name is Amy Walters but that sounded boring, so I gave myself a stage name. I have no idea why I just told you that.”

  Grandma put her hand on Crystal’s . . . or Amy’s . . . arm. “Amy is a beautiful name, and you picked out a wonderful stage name. But if you’re going to be Crystal, you have to own it. If you don’t believe it, others won’t either.”

  The girl smiled and seemed to relax a little. “I’m just getting started here in the Branson area. I would do anything to be a big star. It’s been my dream since I was a little girl. I’d love to see you ladies in the audience. I’m playing all weekend.”

  Grandma looked at the flyer and then back up at her, surprised. “Your show starts at six o’clock. That’s in one hour! Shouldn’t you be at the theater getting ready?”

  Amy blushed again. “Well, if I don’t get an audience together, there won’t be a show.”

  Grandma nodded and smiled. “We’ll be there.”

  Amy’s face lit up. “Thank you so much! I’ll see you ladies soon!”

  “Wait!” Greta called after her. Amy came back to our table. “Why don’t you leave those flyers with us? We’ll hand them out here in the restaurant for you.”

  “Really?” Amy asked, surprised. “You would do that for me?”

  “Of course,” Grandma added. “Now get to that theater. You’re making me nervous with how close you’re cutting it.”

  Amy laughed and thanked the grannies, then she ran out of the restaurant. Greta held the stack of flyers in her hand. “Poor girl, I hope she can make it out here. I imagine it’s pretty cutthroat.”

  Before Greta could say anything else, another woman walked up to our table. She also had a stack of flyers in her hand, but she was completely different than Amy. This woman was confident as she slapped her flyer on the table. “You ladies look like you’re in the mood for some real southern fun!” Her accent and big smile immediately had us hooked. Her auburn hair was lightly curled as it hung down over her flannel-covered shoulders. She tipped her cowboy hat to us, and her blue eyes seemed to sparkle. “My name is Madison Paige,” she pointed to her professional looking flyer, a big upgrade from Amy’s simple, printed page. “I sing all the classic country songs, but I especially love anything by Barbara Mandrell.”

  “Oh, I just love her,” Greta crooned.

  “Well then, you’ll love me!” Madison declared. “I’ve got a show tomorrow and Sunday afternoon!”

  I wasn’t a fan of country music, but her southern accent and charismatic personality made me want to go see her show anyway.

  Grandma looked up at her. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who would need to go to restaurants to get a following.”

  Madison laughed. “It’s hard to get started in this town. Thankfully, I have a lot of fans already. But you can never have too many! Will I see you this weekend?”

  “We’ll be there!” Greta assured her.

  Madison flashed her winning smile, clicked her cowboy boots together, and tipped her hat. “Great! I’ll see you then!”

  As she walked away, Grandma looked over at us. “Let’s eat and get out of here before we agree to any more shows.”

  “Good idea,” Hattie said. “And now I’m hungry for steak . . . and for some reason, peach cobbler.”

  3

  We ate as quickly as we could, handed out Amy’s flyers, and then made our way to the theater.

  “This can’t be right,” Virginia said as she pulled into the parking lot. Overgrown grass waved in the breeze next to a building that looked like it had once been a restaurant.

  “This is the address,” Greta assured her, though she didn’t really sound that sure herself.

  We sat in the car a few minutes until Grandma unbuckled her seat belt. “Well, let’s go check it out.”

  As we walked up to the door, I couldn’t help but notice we were the only car in the parking lot. I got an uneasy feeling in my stomach. “You don’t think this is some sort of setup, do you? We’re not going to walk in and be ambushed . . . right?”

  Irene looked back at me. “Honestly, Nikki. You and your imagination. We’re twenty minutes early. I’m sure someone else will show up.

  Sadly, no one did. We were the only ones sitting on the folding chairs in front of a makeshift stage. But Amy Walters, well, Crystal Star, sang her heart out. When it was over, she stepped off the stage to talk to us.

  “You have the voice of an angel!” Greta said, shaking her hand.

  “Aw, thank you,” Amy answered, her cheeks blushing a little. “Thank you so much for coming.”

  “Do you have any more of those flyers?” Grandma Dean asked her. “We’d be happy to hand them out as we explore Branson. Everyone needs to hear your voice.”

  Amy looked excited. “I do, actually! I’ll go get them!”

  She disappeared through a door, and we watched the three guys in the band pack up their instruments. They didn’t seem very happy. One of them started bickering with another, but they managed to talk quietly enough so I couldn’t understand what they were saying.

  Amy came out carrying a leather computer bag, and when she got near, she noticed we were watching the argument unfold in front of us.

  “Pay no attention to them,” she said handing Grandma a stack of flyers. “It’s been stressful lately. We’ve tried and tried to get people in here, but we haven’t had any luck. Last night, no one showed up at all.”

  Grandma patted her on the shoulder. “We’ll see what we can do. Maybe we can get a few more people in here.”

  “You really should have a sign out front,” Virginia told her. “We didn’t even know we were in the right place.”

  Amy sighed. “We can’t afford one. I made one out of poster board, but it keeps blowing away.”

  As we walked to the parking lot, Grandma Dean looked somber.

  “Are you okay?” I asked her.

  “I just feel bad for that girl. I know what it’s like to struggle to make your dreams come true.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “But you didn’t give up, and you made it. She just needs to put in some more time, work a little harder, not give up, right?”

  Grandma shrugged. “Sometimes I wonder if I made it because of my talent or because I married a really good agent.”

  Grandma’s words hit me hard. I didn’t realize after all these years she was still questioning herself. I put my arm around her. “You made it because you were really talented, and you had a great agent. You and Grandpa Dean were a good team.”

  That made Grandma smile. “That we were.”

  As we drove out of the parking lot, Greta turned back to look at us. “So, what now? It’s only seven o’clock. It seems too early to go back to the hotel.”

  “We could see another show,” Virginia suggested. “Surely there’s something else happening tonight.”

  We drove down the strip and passed billboard after billboard. There was a show for everything—country, fifties music, comedians, acrobats, musicals.

  “Look at that one!” Irene said pointing out her window. “That’s the fifth time I’ve seen that since we turned onto this road. Let’s see if he has a show tonight.”

  I looked out my window and saw the big sign for Archer Nash—Branson’s hottest show. Of course, all the billboards said that, so who knew how great he really was.

  Greta grabbed her phone. “I’ll look him up!” She typed in a few things, then looked back at us. “He has a show at eight, and we can still get tickets! We have time to make it!”

  “Let’s do it!” we all yelled.

  E
ven though I had no idea what to expect, I had a feeling we were going to see what a true Branson show was really about.

  4

  “This is so fun!” Virginia said, looking around the large, round two-story room. And that’s what it was, a room. There was a round stage in the center that was surrounded by rows and rows of seats. Upstairs, there were more seats and a bar area. We were among the first people in, so we grabbed a seat in the front row. Of course, this wasn’t the main show, this was just the preshow. A group called Willie, Billie, and Lou would be performing any minute, getting the crowd ready for the main attraction, Archer Nash. At that point, we would be ushered into the theater and would sit in our assigned seats.

  “Let’s go grab some drinks!” Irene said, standing. “What do you gals want?”

  “A Diet Coke for me,” Greta answered.

  “Can you see if they have coffee?” Virginia asked.

  Irene rolled her eyes. “We’re not sitting in a cafe back home. We’re in Branson, Missouri! We’re going to live it up!”

  She and Hattie got up to get drinks, and I had no idea what they would come back with, but I was sure whatever it was would cause me to have a headache in the morning.

  Sure enough, they came back with colorful drinks in tall plastic cups that had Archer Nash’s name splashed across the front. Irene started handing them out. “They were a bit weak, so we added a little somethin’ somethin’ from Hattie’s purse.”

  That concerned me. A little “somethin’ somethin’” from Hattie’s purse could be anything from alcohol to that nasty liquid sour candy Hattie liked to pick up in the grocery store checkout line. I wasn’t sure which one I hoped it was. One sip, though, and it was obvious. It wasn’t sour.

  “Good grief, Irene,” Grandma said, pulling her drink away from her face. “Did you put gasoline in here?”

  Irene laughed. “No, but close.”

  Hattie and Irene sat down, and Irene flipped open the program that listed the guys in the group and their biographies. “I have dibs on Willie!” she said matter-of-factly.

  Greta looked over at her. “Why do you get dibs?”

  “Oh,” she said apologetically, “did you call it first?”

  Greta blushed. “No! I meant . . .”

  She didn’t get to finish because Hattie spoke up. “That’s not fair! You sat down before I did and opened the program before I could. I want Willie! You can have Billie or Lou.”

  “Girls,” Grandma said in a hushed yell, “people can hear you.”

  “Good,” Irene answered. “Then they’ll all hear that I have dibs on Willie.”

  Virginia took a sip of her drink and made a face. “You don’t even know what he’s like. He could be a terrible person.”

  Irene laughed. “I don’t care what kind of person he is. He plays the harmonica.”

  “What’s so great about that?” I asked. As soon as I said it, Hattie and Irene smiled wildly, and the other grannies groaned. I didn’t know how Irene would answer, but I knew it would make me regret asking.

  “Any man who can do that with his mouth is a man good enough for me. At least for one night.”

  “Irene!” Grandma said, not even bothering to keep her voice down. “You are so vulgar. One of these days, that is going to come back and bite you.”

  Irene’s smiled. “Let’s hope!”

  I slunk down into my chair, my stomach feeling sick from either the turpentine Irene put in my drink or from the visual I just had of Irene and poor Willie.

  Just then, colorful lights started flashing as the house lights dimmed. Three men in overalls jumped on the stage. One had a banjo, one a guitar, and one a harmonica.

  “Welcome, folks!” they rang out, and the large crowd cheered.

  The man with the guitar came to the front and spoke. “I’m Billie, and this here’s my brother Willie.” The man with the harmonica smiled and waved. “And this is our brother Lou.” Lou played a fast-paced ditty on his banjo, and we all clapped along.

  The crowd continued to laugh and clap their way through their act, and the few kids in the crowd loved their bluegrass rendition of “Baby Shark.”

  Then Willie pulled a fiddle out of a case and wowed us all with his talent as we clapped along to “Cotton-Eyed Joe.” After the applause, he addressed the audience.

  “We’ve been singin’ together since we were little tots, and for the last twenty-five years, we’ve been doin’ shows all over the country together. But no place is as great as Branson.” We all cheered, and there were several whistles from people in the crowd. “Hopefully, y’all are having fun on your vacation. There’s so much to see and do here.”

  Billie stepped forward, smiling. “Tell ’em what you did last week, Willie.”

  “Well,” Willie said, “I decided to go see a few shows myself, so I went to see the great Russian Comedian on the strip.”

  “Was he funny?” Billie asked, setting him up for his joke.

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t understand a single thing he said. He was talkin’ too fast. Everything he said he was rushin’.” He looked at his brother. “Get it, he was rushin’ . . . Russian.”

  Lou played a funny little song on his banjo, and the crowd groaned and laughed at Willie’s bad joke. Greta thought it was hilarious and erupted into a laughter I had never heard from her. She caught Willie’s eye, and he looked down and winked at her. To our surprise, Greta winked right back. I looked over at Irene, and she looked back at me, her mouth open in shock.

  “Did Greta just flirt with him?” she mouthed. All I could do was shrug. I wasn’t sure what was happening.

  Throughout the forty-five-minute show, Willie looked over at Greta several times, and I caught them smiling at each other. When the show ended, she was beaming. “I can’t imagine Archer Nash being any better than these guys. That show was great!”

  I wanted to ask her about all the little smiles between her and Willie, but before I had a chance, a man walked over to us and tapped Greta on the shoulder.

  “Excuse me, miss,” he said as Greta turned to face him. “I was asked to give you this.” He handed her a stack of cards with lanyards. “Willie asked me to give these to your group.”

  “What are they?” Greta asked, taking them.

  “They are backstage passes. Once the Archer Nash show is over, meet me by the stage with these, and I’ll take you back to meet the guys.”

  He walked away, and we all stood there in shock. Greta turned around, the cards dangling from her hand. “This doesn’t mean they want us to do drugs with them, does it? I’ve seen that MTV show. I know what those rock stars do backstage.”

  Grandma chuckled and took a lanyard and put it around her neck. “I have a feeling the only drugs those guys are on are for high blood pressure and cholesterol.”

  “And maybe Viagra,” Irene said with a wink.

  Greta grew flustered. “I don’t want anything to do with that either!”

  Irene laughed, reaching over and taking her own lanyard. “Don’t worry, Greta. I’m sure your virginity is safe tonight.”

  Greta looked hurt. “I’m not trying to be a prude. I just don’t want them to expect anything for this.”

  I patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Greta. We’ll watch out for you.”

  “No offense, Nikki, but between you and loose lips and loose hips over there,” she pointed to Hattie and Irene, “I’d rather have someone else watch out for me.”

  Hattie cackled. “Loose lips and loose hips! Which one am I?”

  “Come on,” Grandma said, passing me and Virginia our backstage passes. “Let’s take our seats.” She looked at Greta. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to any of us.”

  Greta took a breath, and the tension eased from her shoulders. We made our way to our seats in the large theater. The place definitely looked like a concert hall. The stage was huge, and the instruments were all set up. Lights were everywhere, and the speakers looked enormous.

  We didn’t have
great seats, but they weren’t bad either. We hadn’t been seated too long when the doors closed and the lights turned off, engulfing the theater in darkness. A purple glow shone on stage, and we all watched it in anticipation. The crowd was silent except for the occasional cough.

  Where was Archer Nash? Then I saw movement. Coming down from the ceiling above the stage was a man dressed in all black, holding a guitar. The crowd went wild as the sound of an acoustic guitar filled the theater. And then we heard his voice. So deep that it rumbled through me and gave me goose bumps. It was almost haunting. It was a slow song I had never heard before, but the grannies must have known it because each one clutched her chest, and I heard Virginia sigh and say that she loved that song.

  When the song was over, the applause was deafening. The stage lights came on, and I got a good look at Archer Nash. For a man in his mid to late sixties, he was very attractive. He looked fit, and his white hair made his tan skin look darker than it probably was. The grannies were mesmerized.

  He took a sip of water as the band walked onto the stage. They started playing, and the crowd must have recognized the song, because they started cheering. Once Archer Nash started singing, I recognized it too. It was a Willie Nelson song.

  Two hours later, Archer Nash took a bow and walked off stage. We stood up to stretch, and Virginia fanned herself. “Whoo whee! He is a hottie! And that man can entertain!”

  The other grannies agreed.

  “Come on!” Greta said, reaching up and grabbing at the card that hung around her neck. “Let’s go meet the guys!”

  “I thought you were worried about that!” Irene said, picking up her purse.

  “I’ve had two hours to get over it,” Greta said, smiling.

  We made our way to the stage, and sure enough, the man that had handed us the passes was standing there waiting for us. He ushered us backstage, and I felt like we were in the way. There was a flurry of activity as men and women were clearing the stage, and a large security team clogged the hall. Once we were finally past them, the man led us down one hall and to another.