Read Online Rock Chick 01 by Kristen Ashley - Free Book Online Page A

isn’t as
pointy,” Ally put in.
    “I know no Kurt Cobain but I have seen a man
of this description with Tim. Is his name really Rosie?”
    “Nickname,” I said, “his name is
Ambrose.”
    “Ambrose is a perfectly fine name. Why does
he not call himself Ambrose?”
    Ally looked at me.
    I decided to ignore that one. Any answer
would have to span a generation and a culture gap. I didn’t
have it in me today, in less than twenty-four hours, I’d been shot
at, physically dragged out of bed and kissed by Lee Nightingale
three and a half times (yes, I was counting and the half was the
kiss he planted on my neck).
    I was a woman on a mission and I didn’t have
time to explain a dud name like Ambrose.
    “Have you seen him lately, like say, today?”
I asked as I paid for my purchase.
    “No, not today.”
    “Tim?” Ally asked.
    “Not Tim either.”
    He handed me the bag and I took it, at a loss
for what to do next.
    “Jeez, Indy. Don’t you read detective novels?
You own a bookstore for God’s sake,” Ally hissed and then turned to
the store owner.
    The counter man smiled huge. “You own a
bookstore? I love books. What bookstore do you own?”
    “Fortnum’s, on the corner of Bayaud and
Broadway,” I answered.
    “I know that. My wife goes there. Books are
cheap there and then you can sell them back and get cash
money.”
    “Yep, that’s it.” I nodded and smiled, happy
to meet a customer-by-proxy.
    Ally was busy scribbling my name and numbers
on a piece a paper she found in her purse and when she was done,
she handed him the paper. “Maybe you could give us a call if you
see Rosie or Tim. Would you do that?”
    “Of course. I’m an employer, only my wife
works for me but I understand how important it is to trust your
hired help. I will call you.”
    “Thanks.”
    We went out and sat in my car and stared at
Tim’s house while we thought about what to do next. We both were
new at this. Neither of us had tracked down a stoner-on-the-run
before. We’d stalked plenty of guys, but we’d known where to find
them.
    We both ate a cupcake to get the brain juices
flowing.
    “That was a nice guy,” I said through yellow
cake and cream.
    “Yep,” Ally replied, her mouth equally
full.
    Someone tapped on Ally’s window and we both
jumped and swiveled our heads to the side.
    I nearly spewed
better-living-through-chemistry cream on my windshield at what I
saw.
    It was Grizzly Adams, but the serial killer
version. He was enormous, had lots of wild, blond hair, a thick,
seriously overlong (we’re talking ZZ Top here) russet beard and was
wearing a flannel shirt even though it had to be nearly ninety
degrees.
    He was also carrying a shotgun and had some
kind of freaky-ass goggle apparatus on the top of his head.
    “You want somethin’?” he growled.
    “We’re looking for Tim Shubert,” Ally replied
calmly.
    “He’s not here,” Grizzly said, “move
along.”
    “Yep, yep. Going!” I shouted and started the
car, put it into gear and took off.
    “Where are we going?” Ally asked.
    “Hell if I know.”
    “We should have asked him some questions,”
Ally said, completely at ease
    “Right. No. We’re trying to avoid me
getting dead. Definitely you getting dead. I don’t talk to
people who carry shotguns around in broad daylight.”
    “He looked interesting,” Ally said
contemplatively.
    Shit.
    * * * * *
    It was just after four.
    After our introduction to Grizzly, we’d swung
back by Fortnum’s to help out Jane for awhile and ask if she’d
heard from Duke (answer: no).
    Now, Ally and I were in my dark blue VW
Beetle, windows down, sunroof back, sitting outside Rosie’s house
sipping leftover water and waiting.
    My Beetle wasn’t exactly a rock ‘n’
roll-mobile but it was cute. It had cream leather seats that were
great in the winter because they heated up. Now that it was summer,
the seats stuck to your legs and every time you got out, it felt
like three layers of skin tore off (another reason to