Record Store Reckoning Read online

  J. C. Kenney

  RECORD STORE RECKONING

  A Darcy Gaughan Mystery

  First published by Level Best Books 2022

  Copyright © 2022 by J. C. Kenney

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  J. C. Kenney asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Author Photo Credit: Amy Pangburn Photography

  First edition

  ISBN: 978-1-68512-071-9

  Cover art by Level Best Designs

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  This is for Aidan and Lorianne, who, to borrow a phrase, sure have the music in them. And to all members of the Ball State University School of Music, past, present, and future. Thanks for keeping the music alive!

  Praise for Record Store Reckoning

  “Record Store Reckoning is a rockstar debut for the Darcy Gaughan Mysteries.”—Sarah E. Burr, author of The Trending Topic Mysteries

  “A unique whodunit, with visually descriptive narrative, engaging dialogue and a small-town feel.”—Dru Ann Love, Dru’s Book Musings

  Chapter One

  When she was twenty-three and drumming for the all-girl punk band Pixie Dust, people said Darcy Gaughan wouldn’t live to see thirty. She didn’t care what they said. She was too busy pounding the skins hard and the bottle even harder. She was going to live forever.

  Then she got hurt.

  If someone had told her back then that tearing a ligament in her elbow would end her drumming career and save her life at the same time, she would have laughed in their face. Followed by a swig of whiskey and a few choice curse words directed at the commenter for good measure.

  And then thrown a drumstick at them.

  As present-day Darcy pulled on a T-shirt bearing the logo of the seminal, all-girl rock band The Runaways, she chuckled at how much things had changed in a decade. Instead of traveling the world to play for audiences from Anchorage, Alaska to Zagreb, Croatia, she was a general manager of a record store in Marysburg, Indiana. Instead of basking in the roar of an adoring crowd in the thousands, she was helping customers one by one discover music by artists from Audra McDonald to Warren Zevon, and everything in between. Instead of burning the candle at both ends with a bottle right beside it, she was stone-cold sober and living a simple, uncomplicated life.

  Her story had been filled with more twists and turns than a treacherous mountain road, but she’d managed to hold on tight enough to avoid careening off a cliff and plummeting into oblivion. Sometimes, like right after the band fired her, that connection had been little more than a fingernail. She’d never lost it, though. Now her handhold was steady and strong. The current gig was way different from what she’d imagined growing up, but she was still around and part of the show that was life.

  When the lights went down at the end of the night, that was what mattered. Still being part of the show.

  “Day one thousand, eight hundred and twenty-six, buddy.” She scratched the gnarled ear of her cat Ringo as she slipped the AA token into a jeans pocket. Today marked five years of sobriety. It would be an amazing day. One to remember. Darcy was sure of it.

  “My how time flies. Ready for a celebration breakfast?”

  Ringo jumped from the bed, landing on the hardwood floor with an ungraceful sounding thunk. After stopping long enough to lick a paw, he limped out of the room. He’d shown up on Darcy’s doorstep one stormy October night. Soaked to the skin and bleeding, it didn’t take a genius to know he wouldn’t last the next twenty-four hours without some help. So, she did what others had done for her. She took him under her wing, got him medical care, and gave him a safe place to stay.

  Three and a half years on from that memorable evening, Ringo was fat and happy, if not exactly fleet of foot, or paw, anymore. The rough-and-tumble tomcat had been through more than his fair share of close calls, but he was a survivor.

  Same as his adoptive mom.

  Darcy scooped some fancy food out of a can, tossed in a kitty treat in honor of the day, and got him fresh water. While the feline attacked his breakfast, his human glanced at the clock on her tiny microwave. It was a little after eight. That gave her plenty of time to stop for a doughnut and a cup of coffee before she had to be at work.

  “Later, skater. No wild parties while I’m gone,” Darcy opened her back door. She knew better to be hurt by her cat ignoring her while he ate.

  Once outside her tiny abode, she took a minute to soak in the surroundings while she pulled her sandy brown hair into a ponytail. Under a cloudless pale blue sky, the buds on the sycamore and maple trees were popping open. The grass was taking on a vibrant shade of green. A pair of red squirrels made a racket as they chased each other up and down and around an oak tree in the corner of her yard.

  Even though the house was small, only eight hundred square feet, the location was priceless. It was nestled at the confluence of Mary’s Creek and the White River, forming the southwestern tip of the community of Marysburg, Indiana. The triangle-shaped lot was ringed with trees, which gave Darcy a much-desired sense of privacy. The fifty feet of waterfront property served as a constant reminder that life is in a constant state of change. She couldn’t change the past, but the future held too many possibilities to count.

  Originally built as a fishing cabin, Darcy’s century-old home had been vacant for twenty years when she bought it. The roof leaked, the floorboards sagged, and the water heater belched forth as much rust as hot water, but the price had been right. Four years after buying the heap, much work still needed to be done, but the roof shingles were solid, the gleaming hardwood floors were level, and the tankless water heater made for endless long, hot showers.

  And she’d done all the renovation work herself.

  She hopped in her rusting, decades-old jeep and crossed her fingers before keying the engine. Rusty, as she lovingly called it, had been lacking in the reliability area in recent weeks.

  “Come on, dude. If you turn over, I promise to take you to Liam’s for a tune-up.” The engine fired up on the first try. In celebration, Darcy tossed a salute to the photo of Go-Go’s drummer Gina Schock taped to the dash, then did a little drumroll on the steering wheel with her fingers.

  It was another sign the day would be one to remember.

  She waved to Ringo, who’d moved to the kitchen windowsill, and rumbled out of the driveway, leaving a trail of gravel dust behind her. With the stereo blasting Joan Jett’s “Bad Reputation,” she headed for the heart of Marysburg for breakfast.

  Between the creek to the north, the river to the south, and a busy thoroughfare to the east, the town of Marysburg, like Darcy’s property, had a roughly triangular shape. Locals said it was shaped like one slice of a pizza that had been cut into eight equal pieces. The community had originally served as a wealthy suburb of Muncie, Indiana, the home of Ball State University, which lay ten miles to the northeast. Nowadays, Marysburg was home to funky shops, unique restaurants, and a handful of bars that thrived on the influx of dollars from the university crowd.

  Some members of the older generation didn’t care for the bohemian vibe Marysburg’s business district had. Darcy loved it. As she rolled to a s
top in front of Perfect Pastries, a bakery owned by her friend Jenna Washburn, there was no place on Earth she’d rather call home.

  When Darcy turned off the engine, it made an attention-grabbing bang. A cloud of acrid blue smoke then floated from the tailpipe. Recognizing fate should be tempted only so long, she called her buddy Liam Simmons at Marysburg AutoCare and scheduled a service appointment.

  Darcy was stubborn and took pride in living life on her own terms. She wasn’t foolish, though. Rusty needed help, not unlike like she had years ago. It was encouraging to have both her head and her heart in a good enough place to take care of other things besides herself.

  The bell above the bakery’s door rang when Darcy entered. The jingle, jangle was a happy sound, one that matched her mood.

  “Hey, girlfriend.” Jenna, bedecked in her signature blue and white checked apron, waved. “Welcome back. I’ve got a spot here at the counter with your name on it.”

  As Darcy settled onto a chrome stool with a red, vinyl seat, her blonde-haired friend put a ceramic mug, a brushed aluminum tea kettle, and a package of Constant Comment tea on the counter.

  “My fave. Yum. What’s the royal treatment for?” Darcy dropped the tea bag into the mug.

  Jenna grabbed the kettle’s handle and poured for her. “Today’s a big day. Thought you deserved to celebrate. Now, close your eyes.”

  Jenna had been there when Darcy hit rock bottom. She’d opened her spare bedroom, and her heart, when Darcy had nowhere else to go. She understood the day’s significance as well as anybody did.

  Darcy squeezed her eyes shut. In addition to following her friend’s directions, doing so helped keep the tears at bay.

  After a few seconds, Jenna took Darcy’s hand. “Okay, now open.”

  A lump formed in Darcy’s throat when her gaze landed upon a chocolate-covered croissant. Five birthday candles, each one a different color of the rainbow, had been stuck into the pastry. They had tiny, blinking lights at the top to simulate flames. Her vision became blurry with tears, but she managed a laugh, thanks to the adorable candles.

  “Happy birthday, anniversary, sobriety day, or whatever you want to call it.”

  “I like sobriety day. Let’s go with that.” Darcy laughed again and wiped tears from the corners of both eyes with a napkin. “Five years. Wow. Hard to believe it’s been that long. Some days it feels like yesterday that you and Eddie picked me up from rehab.”

  She removed the candles, one by one, turning each one off with a flourish, as if to signify the passage of the time.

  “You should be proud of yourself. It’s a huge accomplishment.” Jenna took a drink from an aluminum water bottle she always had close at hand.

  “Yeah. Not gonna lie. It does feel good.” Darcy tore off an end of the croissant and put it in her mouth. It practically melted on her tongue. “Oh my God. This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life.”

  “Thanks. It’s a new recipe. Thought I’d try it on you before I risked offering it to any customers.” Jenna winked and glided to the other end of the counter to fill a burly young man’s coffee cup.

  Darcy was halfway through the croissant when her friend returned. “I bet The Bahamas were amazing. I want to hear all about it.”

  Jenna never asked people to do things, she told them. In a friendly way, of course. She’d once informed Darcy it was a result of growing up with three younger brothers who were tougher to corral and a herd of cats. When Darcy asked her if she used the same approach to keep her husband, Bogie, in line, she declined to answer.

  She didn’t deny it, either.

  “Best vacation ever. Six days of nothing to do but sit on the beach all day, then go dining and dancing all night.” She weaved side to side on her stool to simulate a dance she’d learned.

  “Nice.” Jenna raised her eyebrows in appreciation. “I thought you didn’t like to dance, though.”

  “Well, the resort had a salsa dancing instructor with moves like Jagger and looks like Anthony Ramos.” Her cheeks pinked up at the mention of Dwayne, the instructor. “He made it easy to give it a try.”

  “Girl, I am proud of you. Mixing it up with a dude straight out of a romance novel. Well done.”

  Darcy laughed and they exchanged a high five. “Get your mind out of the gutter. He was professional at all times. A true gentleman.”

  “The way your brown eyes are sparkling right now, I’ll bet he was.” Jenna flashed a wicked smile.

  “Besides,” Darcy took a drink of her tea, “there were more than enough women lavishing him with attention. I had a deeper relationship with Pablo.”

  “Oh, really.” Jenna dragged out the words as she leaned closer. With her elbow on the counter, she propped her chin on her hand and raised her eyebrows. “Do tell.”

  “He was young, handsome, and had a smile that could light up a concert hall. He read poetry to me and tended to my every whim.”

  “Poetry. Wow.” The breathless response told Darcy all she needed to know about what Jenna thought.

  “Yep. He was the pool waiter who brought me lunch and my umbrella drinks. Nonalcoholic, of course. When I asked him about the daily specials, he read from the menu like he was reciting something from Stevie Nicks or Maya Angelou.” Darcy put her hand over her heart. “It took my breath away.”

  “Ugh You tease.” Jenna threw a napkin at Darcy as she straightened up. “Don’t lead me on like that.”

  “You walked right into it.” Darcy stuffed the last of the croissant into her mouth and washed it down with the remaining tea. “Duty calls. New inventory for Record Store Day should have started arriving last week. I can’t wait to see what we’ve gotten in so far.”

  Record Store Day was to independent record stores what Black Friday was to large retailers. Lots of special merchandise, tons of excitement, and customers lined up out the door. As the general manager of Marysburg Music, it was Darcy’s job to make sure store operations ran with the steady reliability of a Neal Peart drumbeat all year round, but especially on Record Store Day.

  It was the job of Eddie Maxwell, Darcy’s boss and the owner of Marysburg Music, to make sure the store had the inventory to keep customers coming through the doors all year round, even more so on Record Store Day. Together, they’d formed quite a power duo.

  “Stop by the house after work. I invited a few friends over for cake and ice cream in your honor,” Jenna said.

  When Darcy promised she would, Jenna pointed a finger at her. “If you got any new import or limited-edition ABBA records, let me know. Price is no object.”

  “Will do.” Darcy gave Jenna a fist bump and headed out the door.

  The record store was only three blocks from Jenna’s shop. While it seemed wasteful to drive the short distance, Darcy didn’t want to take up a prime spot in front of the bakery. Besides, from time to time, Eddie had asked her to take a drive to pick up someone’s personal record collection he’d purchased.

  Since she’d been gone for a week, it wouldn’t be a surprise that he had a few trips lined up for her. Darcy had learned, sometimes the hard way, it was important to expect the unexpected.

  A few minutes later, she was parked in her usual spot behind the store, right next to Eddie’s black Subaru Forrester. As she got out of the jeep, Darcy a long look at Rusty. It, too, had been black at one time. The years had taken their toll, leaving the vehicle in its current dull, sun-bleached gray condition. But, like her in so many ways, it was a reclamation project worthy of some TLC.

  “You’re a good set of wheels.” She gave it a friendly pat. “I’ll give you a nice, long wash this weekend. Pinky promise.”

  Darcy couldn’t deny the pang of disappointment that ran through her as she walked past Eddie’s car. She’d been hoping to get to work first to show him the week in the Caribbean sun hadn’t turned her into a slacker beach bum. They’d joked before the trip that he wouldn’t be surprised if she never came back, instead choosing to live the rest of her days in tank tops, cut-offs, an
d flip-flops, playing percussion instruments for tips.

  The thought had crossed her mind once or twice, but Darcy was happy with her life, and her job, in Marysburg. She was content. Besides, given all that Eddie had done for her, she owed the man. The thought of leaving him high and dry was a nonstarter. Not even for a carefree, island lifestyle right out of a Jimmy Buffett song.

  After all, he was the one who literally found her passed out in the gutter a stone’s throw from Champions Sports Bar on a frigid March night five years ago. He’d taken her home and made sure she didn’t die from hypothermia or from choking on her own vomit.

  The man had worked with Jenna to get Darcy into rehab, then made sure she had a job when she came out six weeks later. A few months after that, when Jenna needed Darcy’s room for a baby on the way, Eddie moved her right into his spare bedroom. Not a single time did he utter a harsh word at her. The only things he gave her were kindness and support.

  Darcy literally owed Eddie her life.

  And would do anything to repay him.

  She strolled to the front of the building, drumming a tune on her thigh as she passed a row of windows decorated with concert posters. Even though Eddie was inside, the door was unlocked only when the store was open for business. Marysburg was a safe community. But when it came to protecting the merchandise, especially the expensive collectibles, Eddie didn’t take chances.

  Which was why Darcy found it odd that the door was unlocked when she inserted her key. With a dash of trepidation niggling at her, she went inside.

  “Eddie? You back there?” The store was dark. A sliver of light came from under the office door in the back. Everything else was in shadow

  When no response came, the hair on the back of Darcy’s neck rose to attention. Eddie kept the door open when customers weren’t around. It was easier to move inventory in and out of the stock area that way.

  Something was off. Like listening to a 45 at 33 speed kind of off.