Pecan Pie and Deadly Lies (An Adams Grove Novel) Read Free

in the zone, feeling the building excitement of their fans and getting ready to reenergize them one last time.
    Pete, the lead guitarist, walked up to Cody. “Did you see your little Georgia Peach out there?”
    Cody gave Pete an I-told-ya-so look. “Yeah. I told you she’d be back around as soon as we got close to Virginia.”
    “Guess I owe you that twenty bucks. I thought she’d have moved on since she got married last year.”
    “If she ever stops showing up, then something’s wrong.” Cody couldn’t recall her real name, although he’d known it once. They’d called her Georgia Peach for at least ten years running. That gal had been to every concert of theirs within day-trip drive of her home in Georgia since the year he cut his first number one song, “It’s a Tragedy.” When he released “A Mother’s Love” last year and it went straight to number one, everyone knew he’d written that song about Kasey and Jake, but Georgia Peach had sent him a note saying the words must have been from God to him just for her. Some said his Georgia Peach was crazy, but he knew she was just a superfan having a good time. For some reason his music connected with her in a special way. Fans came in all shapes and sizes and all attitudes, and even after all these years he still appreciated every single one of them. His security took care of the downright crazy ones.
    If there was one thing Momma had taught him well, it was that if he ever got the chance to make a living as a musician it would be because of something more than just talent. God had a plan and he’d been fortunate enough to be given a gift he loved, that he felt duty bound to share. Music was his vehicle, but the fans were his fuel.
    The homegrown rhythm of hands and feet stomped out a mantra for more. They had to know he’d be back for an encore. After all, he hadn’t sung his signature song yet. He wished he’d kept count of how many times he’d sung “It’s a Tragedy” over the years. That song never got old.
    The band was packed in the small backstage area like shoppers waiting to get in on Black Friday. Some of his peers wouldn’t dream of playing in a small joint like this, but it wasn’t about the money or the ego, it was about the people—sharing the music and making memories.
    Pete led the band members back on stage and hit those few well-known chords.
    Cody stood just offstage as the crowd grew louder in response to it, then gave the nod. The lights hit the stage at exactly the same moment he did. Sometimes the way that cheering swirled louder, it felt like they’d lift him right off his feet.
    He pushed past the lump in his throat to sing. The fans knew every word and when he pushed the microphone toward them, they filled in the blanks.
    “Come on, y’all.” He clapped his hands over his head and watched the audience turn into a human kaleidoscope as he sang. “That’s right, Maryland.” He sang, “Call it a legacy.” Then shouted, “Sing it with me.”
    He waved the microphone toward the crowd and they finished the verse.
    “You can call it heredity. But to the child caught in the middle…
it’s a tragedy
.”
    A woman to the far left of the crowd caught his eye. From a distance it looked like Lou, or maybe it was just the way she was standing. He stepped back as Pete moved to the spotlight for the guitar solo, but when Cody glanced over where the woman had been standing, she was gone.
Probably my imagination. Not likely she’d be in Maryland anyway.
Unlike some of the fans, Lou was more of a two-hour max kind of concert-goer, unless he flew her in.
    Georgia Peach swayed to the music with her arms overhead, offbeat from the rest of the folks and wearing a grin that said she didn’t really care.
    The song came to an end and she and the rest of the crowd exploded into applause.
    “Y’all keep that love in your heart. Thanks for coming out.” Cody jogged backstage, then straight to his bus.
    He knocked twice and the door