Return of the Song Read online

Page 3


  “You can’t always put a price tag on what’s yours,” Angel said. “Somebody else may own that piano, but it’ll always be yours, Caroline.”

  Sam walked over to Caroline and took both her hands in his. “Little one, you’ve had two great loves in your young life: that old piano and your David. Lord knows I wish I could bring both of them back, but I can’t. Just be grateful you had them. Loving’s always worth the pain.” He hugged her and held her at arm’s length. “You think finding that old piano will bring your music back, but it won’t. You’re playing another piano now, and when the time’s right someone’s going to walk right up to you and pluck your heartstrings again. You just remember ol’ Sam said that, okay?”

  Caroline choked back her tears and put on the smile she was accustomed to wearing. “You’re right. I have a very fine instrument, and I have some practicing to do this morning before the steady stream of students this afternoon.”

  Caroline retrieved her carafe from the kitchen and headed toward the door. “Chat later.” She paused in her tracks. “I know, Sam—don’t slam the door.” With a last wave, she walked the stone path, careful not to bruise the creeping thyme growing between the stones. She spied the pair of cardinals in the forsythia bush. She paused to watch the lovebirds.

  As she rounded the curve of the daylily bed, what she heard halted her steps. The sudden sound of her piano disturbed the morning’s silence.

  Who’s playing my piano? She stood rigid, not even wanting to breathe or bat her eyes. That . . . That’s “David’s Song.”

  Her thoughts tumbled. This cannot be. No one’s ever heard that piece. I’ve never played it for anyone. It’s not written down or recorded. This isn’t possible.

  But there was no mistaking what she heard. The melody abruptly stopped . . . and then a pounding and the melody started again.

  This is not happening. Should I go in . . . I have to know.

  She resumed breathing and walking, but more slowly and deliberately. The hinges squeaked as she opened the garden gate. She tiptoed to the back door and turned the knob slowly to enter the kitchen, wishing she could see around walls.

  She had taken two steps into the kitchen when the phone rang. Immediately the music stopped. She froze.

  Oh, no, does he know I’m here? Maybe I shouldn’t go any farther. Maybe I should just scream or run. For only a second she deliberated, hands clenched, before she mentally shook her head. No, I must see.

  She took a deep breath and two more steps. The phone continued to ring as she calculated every movement, slowly making her way through her kitchen into the great room.

  “Wha—”

  There was only the sudden slamming of the door to the terrace to assure her someone had been there.

  Unexpected Events

   The ring of the phone was the only thing that kept Caroline from running out the door for a glimpse of the intruder. Taking a shaky breath, she pulled herself together and answered. “Oh, hi, Mama.” I can’t let her know what just happened.

  “Good morning, sweetie. Just checking to see if you’re still coming home tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I finish teaching at five, and I’ll have the car packed.” She stretched to look out the alcove window for any sign of her intruder.

  “So, we should see you around seven?”

  “See you then. Got to go. The teakettle is whistling.” A white lie now will keep Mama from worrying.

  “Okay, sweetie. I love you.”

  “Love you, too, Mama. Bye.”

  She never cut her mother this short, but she needed to get off the phone before her mother’s sixth sense intuited her mood. She hung up the phone and sat down at her desk.

  The shock of hearing “David’s Song” had leeched the blood from her head. She was dizzy, and her hands felt cold. She dropped her head into her folded arms on her desktop to keep from fainting. She didn’t know what to do. She wanted to call the police but hesitated.

  What would I tell them? That someone sneaked into my house and was playing the piano but ran away when I came in? That someone was playing a song only I know? This makes no sense to me, let alone to the sheriff. Maybe I should tell Sam. But what would he do but worry?

  The blood returned to her head, and the room stopped spinning. She looked around. Her purse and keys lay undisturbed on the counter. Her computer was exactly as she had left it. She went into her bedroom. Nothing out of place. She opened her jewelry box to find her pearls, the engagement ring David had given her, and her blue topaz pieces.

  Neither robbery nor vandalism had been the intruder’s motive.

  Caroline returned to the great room. The terrace door swung wide open. She had unlocked the door when she went into the garden earlier, but she was certain she’d closed it before she left for breakfast. She turned and scanned the entire room once more.

  This room was the reason she had never looked for a place of her own. Sam’s design for this studio included a twelve-by-twelve alcove adjacent to the main room. Angel had painted in the natural light of this alcove, glassed in on three sides with double French doors opening to the garden. When Caroline moved in, this space had become the perfect spot for her baby grand. The view was picturesque, and the resonance in this room could be reproduced only in a recital hall. She often opened the doors when she played. Neighbors never complained, and Sam and Angel seemed to enjoy it.

  But someone else had been secretly listening to her. Listening very carefully.

  Caroline sat down at the piano and ran her hands across the keys, wondering whose hands had just played “David’s Song” exactly as she played it. No one in Moss Point can play the piano like that. Who could have heard enough to remember every note, including the unfinished phrase where I always stop?

  But then she remembered the rustling tea olives last night. Perhaps the creature had been of the two-legged kind . . .

  “What should I do?” she asked her piano. No answer was forthcoming.

  After a moment of reflection, Caroline shrugged. For the time being, she would tell no one until after her visit to Fernwood. As strange as it seemed, she did not feel threatened by what had just happened. Yes, someone had broken into her home. But something told her whoever had been there had been more interested in the piano than in harming her. And besides, she was looking forward to Friday’s two-hour drive. She had not seen her parents since their Valentine’s Day anniversary, and her visit meant a family gathering with her brothers and their families for dinner. Martha Carlyle was Fernwood’s finest cook, according to her pastor, and she still looked for every opportunity to have her children’s feet under her table.

  The real purpose of Caroline’s visit, of course, was to see the Whitmans. She was hopeful they would have information to launch her quest for her 1902 Hazelton Brothers piano.

  If she told anyone about what had just happened, she’d see neither her family nor the Whitmans. It was settled, then. She wasn’t saying a word. Not yet.

  The late breakfast with Sam and Angel and the unexpected intruder had robbed her of practice time before her meeting with Tandy Yarbrough. Caroline dreaded her ten o’clock appointment with Tandy and Gertie, the church organist. Mrs. Yarbrough was planning Moss Point’s next wedding of the century.

  She had alienated just about everyone in town at her oldest daughter’s marriage three years ago. As flawless as it was, the church wedding had played second fiddle to the lavish reception held in the east garden of the town’s library. Some ladies speculated that Tandy had wormed her way onto the library board just so the gardens could be designed for her daughter’s wedding reception. Those same ladies secretly prayed for rain on Rachel’s wedding day, but their prayers went unanswered. The day had been perfect and come close to fulfilling the dream of any doting mother trying to impress the town’s blue bloods—until time for the wedding ­couple’s getaway.

  The escape car had been parked on Townsend Street right outside the library gate. Tandy, still shouting instructions
to her now-married daughter, had led the brigade of guests following the bride and groom through the rose-covered gate to the street. In the excitement, no one noticed the two rear tires nestled in the plump flesh of two ripe July watermelon halves.

  Only fate could have placed Tandy where she stood when the groom cranked the car and floored the accelerator. Rear tires spun, and the flesh of that juicy melon flew. Tandy’s pink dress might as well have been the bull’s-eye for her son-in-law’s escape efforts. Dripping in watermelon seeds, she’d stood speechless while the whole town cheered.

  Tandy had had her comeuppance and the town mothers their vengeance. They were truly convinced God had given them even more than they asked for. If God had answered their prayers for rain, all the guests would have been wet. But instead—so they determined—God had provided one fresh, sufficient watermelon.

  Caroline’s recall of this event was a welcome distraction. As she carefully locked all the doors on her way out, she hoped this morning’s meeting would be more productive.

  Ned and Fred, back with the materials, pulled in the driveway as she was leaving. “I’ll be back after lunch.”

  Ned waved. “Well, thank goodness. We thought for a minute we’d missed that piano playin’ you do. You gonna play this afternoon?”

  Caroline nodded, smiled, and was glad someone, even if it was just Ned or Fred, enjoyed hearing her play.

  The twins had worked about half an hour when Ned, the older brother by only three minutes, called his younger twin. “Come here, Fred.”

  “What do you want? I’m trying to fit this board in this hole, and it don’t want to go.” Fred rose from his knees, squeezing his finger, freshly wounded by a rose thorn. He mumbled as he walked toward his brother. “Dadblasted roses! Dadburned thorns. I’ve got a mind to just—”

  “Who you cussin’ now, Fred?”

  “I ain’t cussin’ nobody, and if these bloomin’ roses was anybody’s but Miss Angel’s, I would already done cut ’em down. Can’t get to nothing, and the fence is fallin’ down.”

  “Well, look here, would you? Somebody ’round here don’t give a rip about Miss Angel’s roses. What do you make of this?”

  Fred looked to where Ned pointed at the base of the fence. Several boards had been torn loose and partly removed. Both recognized this was not just normal wear and tear on the old fence, not even with the climbing roses. Besides, several limbs of the rose bush had been broken around the opening so that someone could come through without even a scratch. This was deliberate.

  Ned pointed to the shrubbery. “And look over there. Somebody’s done made ’em a path through the tea olives.” They looked more closely as they walked single file down the well-worn space between the bushes and the outside studio wall. “Would you look at that?”

  “Why, it looks like a chicken done come in here and feathered her nest right here next to that window.”

  “Roosters don’t sit on nests, and this ain’t no hen’s doings.”

  Fred paused. “This is bad, Ned. I mean with that pretty Miss Caroline livin’ out here all by herself. Somebody’s been comin’ right through that fence and sittin’ right here in this spot for quite a spell. You better tell her what’s been goin’ on.”

  “We can’t do that. Come on. We gotta go tell Mr. Sam.”

  Ned and his brother lived peaceful, simple lives, and they usually ran from trouble. But this was trouble that couldn’t be avoided. They approached the back steps to the main house. Early afternoon sun warmed the back porch, and Sam, with an open book in his lap, napped in his wicker rocker.

  Ned didn’t want to embarrass Mr. Sam by catching him asleep, but neither did he want to do anything to bring Miss Angel to the porch. He tried clearing his throat, hoping Mr. Sam would wake up. It didn’t work, so he tried a muffled cough followed by more throat clearing. He was about to knock on the screen door when Sam roused.

  “Oh, good afternoon, gentlemen. Appears you’ve caught me asleep on the job.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Sam. Hate to bother you and all that.”

  Sam sat up and put the book on the side table. “No bother. Got to finish this book today so I’ll be ready to review it next week for Angel’s study club. Why, you can tell just how interesting it is.”

  Ned had no idea about how interesting or boring a book could be. The closest thing to a book he’d ever read was the stack of outdated Popular Mechanics magazines the librarian gave him years ago. No time for reading. He worked in the daytime and watched television with Fred every night. They never disagreed about books or the night’s TV lineup.

  Ned took off his John Deere cap and wiped the sweat from his brow with a white, freshly ironed handkerchief. He was anxious for Mr. Sam to know about their discovery, but he didn’t want to tell him.

  Fred nudged him.

  “Mr. Sam, I hate to bother you with this. I mean I hate it even happened so as I have to tell you this, but, uh . . .” Ned looked at his twin for help.

  Fred stood silent and sweating.

  Ned started again. “Mr. Sam, we was workin’ back there on the fence and uh . . . uh . . .”

  “Just spit it out, Ned. What did you do? Tear down the fence or disturb some of Angel’s roses?”

  “No, sir, we was mighty careful not to do that, but, uh . . .”

  “But somebody else did,” Fred blurted loudly, surprising his brother and Sam.

  Fred’s announcement bolstered Ned’s courage. “Yessiree, Mr. Sam. Somebody’s done taken some boards offen the fence, cut an openin’ in them roses, and they been comin’ through there what appears to be quite regular.”

  Sam stood up and walked to the door. “What are you saying, Ned?”

  “I’m sayin’ somebody’s been snoopin’, Mr. Sam. That snooper made ’im a path right behind them tea olives, and he’s been sittin’ next to that window where Miss Caroline’s piano is—sittin’ where nobody can see ’im.”

  “Are you sure?” Sam asked.

  “Yes, sir, just as sure as I am that Bobby Mayfield didn’t win that turkey shoot fair and square last year. They ain’t no mistakin’ what we found. You want to see for yourself?”

  “I think I do. Let me get my hat and cane.”

  “Oh, and, Mr. Sam? I wouldn’t bother Miss Angel with this if I was you.”

  “That’s a good idea. No need to frighten her.”

  Sam got his hat and walked with Ned and Fred down the stone path to the studio. They showed him the fence and where the climbing roses had been broken off in several places to allow a body to slip through. Then they showed him the well-worn trail behind the shrubs and the spot where someone had gathered a bed of pine needles.

  Sam cringed at what he saw, his protective instincts surfacing. Caroline was young, alone, beautiful, and trusting—not a good combination. Her gift of mercy made her especially kind to people who were shunned by most folks, and it also made her a target.

  And yet . . . nothing had happened. Her Peeping Tom had kept his distance, it seemed.

  He tapped on the fence with his cane. “Well, I’d appreciate it if you gentlemen would secure that fence so that our snooper can’t come back through. I’ll check it for the next few days to make certain it stays fixed.”

  Pondering when, what, and how much to tell Caroline, Sam surveyed the situation while the twins started to work. He made a split-second decision as Caroline pulled into the driveway: he’d hold off on mentioning anything. No harm had been done as far as he knew, other than to the fence and flowers. And her leaving town would give him the time he needed to thoroughly check the situation out. Best not to worry her unduly, he decided.

  Caroline smiled as she walked over. “I see your straw boss showed up to make sure you don’t disturb the roses,” she said to the twins.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ned said. Neither twin raised his eyes to look at her. They worked quietly, listening for what Sam would tell her. Instead he made small talk about her morning meeting and her upcoming trip to Fernwood before she went i
nside to prepare for her afternoon students. Then he started up the path to the main house. He needed to think and make a phone call.

  Caroline was setting up the computer and the tape recorder for her afternoon students when the phone rang.

  It was Betsy, her best friend since they’d first shared crayons in Mrs. Haylock’s kindergarten class. “Hi, Caroline. Your mom called and said you’d be home tomorrow.”

  “I will be, and please, pretty please, tell me you have some time for me Saturday afternoon. I’d love to see you and Josefina. Oh, and Mason if I have to.”

  “You know I’ll make time for you. Josefina just squealed when she overheard my conversation with your mother. That little one can put two and two together and come up with five.”

  “Well, you tell Josefina that her godmother is coming to visit her little princess.”

  “Oh, she’ll love that. She’s just about out of chocolate kisses.”

  Caroline always brought Josefina a bag of candy with instructions to eat one a day to help her count the days until Caroline returned. “On the drive, I’ll be listening to the Horowitz CD you sent me. I’ve been saving it for this trip. It’ll be the calm before the storm. The Carlyles are gathering for dinner tomorrow night.”

  “Hope you’ll recover before Saturday morning. There’ll be a tornado when you get to my house. I have a surprise for you.”

  “You do remember I love surprises like you love liver and onions, don’t you?”

  “Don’t remind me of liver and onions.”

  “Okay. Just remember I won’t be able to stay too long. I need to get back to Moss Point before dark.”

  “My surprise won’t take long. Later . . .”

  “See you Saturday about two, and hug the princess for me.”

  Caroline was grateful for Betsy. They could not have been more different, but their bond was tight, and their differences had matured with them. The normal growing-up, knickers-in-a-twist girlish disputes had never found a way into their friendship. The closest thing to a breach in relationship had come at thirteen when Betsy quickly outgrew Caroline by eight inches and refused to walk with her in the school hallways. They had been through life’s lulls and lessons together.