The Jewelry Case Page 11

  Ian shrugged, relaxing a little. "I dunno. He's a few years older than older than me, and I've never been close to him. He moved back east right out of high school and didn't come back until his dad died. I know the guy wants your land, but I don't see that it's any of his business what you do with it."

  "Me too." Paisley passed up the opportunity to remind Ian that it was none of his business either. She picked up the dusty box and headed toward the kitchen.

  He took the hint and started toward the back of the house. "As for that letter, I'll take it to my friend," he called over his shoulder "I'll let you know what it says later, okay?"

  "Thanks," she called back, turning on the kitchen faucet and rinsing the grit off her hands. She thought that Ian was like one of those genealogy enthusiasts one read about, fascinated by anything from the past. His interest in Esther, an old woman with whom he shared little in common, was touching.

  Now, thanks to Ian, Paisley was curious what that old letter said. Paisley was no historian, but she knew that 1939 was a year in which much had happened in Europe, little of it good.In this little old house, surrounded by Esther's possessions, it was impossible not to feel connected to the Perlemans' past.

  No doubt, was the reason for those disturbingly real dreams Paisley had experienced when she first arrived, the dreams about Esther's ancestress, Ruth Wegiel. Like Ruth, Esther had been interested in the theater, though as a supporter, not as a performer. According to Shirley, the old woman had dedicated her last years to launching the community theater, and had been active in it until her death.

  Paisley dried her hands and thoughtfully looked at her cell phone, poking out of her purse on the kitchen table. Then she reached for it and punched in the phone number of the red-haired book store owner. Shirley answered on the second ring.

  “Paisley! I was hoping to hear from you!”

  "Just called to tell you I'll attend rehearsal this afternoon after all." Paisley hesitated, then took the plunge. "And yes, I'll be happy to continue on as musical director, if you still want me." Was she crazy? she thought. What impulse had made her volunteer, when she had been so determined not to? Blame it on Esther's ghost, as usual.

  Shirley nearly fell all over herself thanking her, and Paisley hung up on gushing expressions of gratitude.

  She put away her cell phone, shaking her head. She’d come to River Bend expecting to withdraw from the world and feel sorry for herself. Instead, she had committed herself to a summer of stress and hard work. But the fact was, she had actually enjoyed working with the kids. It reminded her of the old days before she met Jonathan, back when she’d spent that summer working with those inner city youth. It had been so rewarding to see the difference music made in their lives.

  #

  The walk to town felt longer this afternoon, and this time Steve did not magically appear in his black Audi to give her a lift. As Paisley limped, sweating, up the long incline of the river bend, she wondered once again why she had agreed to help with the play instead of spending the summer lounging in the hammock in the cool, shady backyard. She had better things to do with her time than helping a bunch of adolescents pull together a third-rate show on a shoestring budget. Like ... like....

  Like listening to the head-ache inducing ring of hammers and the whine of a cement mixer. Maybe it was just as well that she had an excuse to get out of the house, she admitted grudgingly.

  Throwing open the door to the auditorium, she walked into the midst of pandemonium. She recognized most of the young actors from yesterday and was gratified to see several of them wave at her. Theater kids were a friendly bunch, she’d always found, quite a departure from the stereotypical moody teen-age thugs one heard about on the news or saw on Dr. Phil. Like her troubled young neighbor, Kevin.

  Her smile faltered a little, remembering his hunched-over shoulders and dark expression when his stepfather addressed him curtly, how quickly he had disappeared into his room, the loud, discordant music that had emerged, like a scream of anguish.

  She was too busy to worry about Kevin, though. This time, she got the actors into order with a little less difficulty and soon had them practicing their parts. The tall red-headed kid grinned ear to ear when he learned he had been given the part of the lead cop, and she didn't have the heart to tell him why. He'd be happy enough when the audience roared at his antics on opening night. That was all that mattered.

  Shirley came up looking, if anything, more harried than she had yesterday. Her short red hair stood on end, as if she had been pulling at it.

  "I can't wait until this darned thing is over," she muttered, contradicting her earlier assurances about how fun it would be to work on the play. "The Pirate King didn't even bother to show up today."

  "The Pirate King?" Paisley said blankly.

  "Nathan Greenblatt. You know, the chunky kid who ate all the donuts? His mom just called and told us he had a soccer tournament today. Naturally, he forgot to tell us about it." She shook her head mournfully. "Esther always said never to cast an athlete: their loyalty is always to the game."

  Paisley nodded sympathetically. "You should have had the cast sign a contract promising they wouldn't get involved in any competing activities. That would have helped."

  Shirley's head came up, and her round eyes blinked behind her glasses. "Hey, that's a good idea. I'll remember that next time. But what do I do now?"

  "Fire him."

  "Fire him?"

  Paisley nodded. "Replace him. You can't run a professional production if you can't rely on your star. He wasn't that good anyway."

  "I know, but he was the best I had. Who do I replace him with?" Shirley's voice rose to a wail.

  "You know your cast better than I do. Who has a decent voice and is a ham?"

  Shirley looked around the room vaguely. "Caleb can sing, but I need him in the part of Frederic. He's the only tenor who can reach the high notes." She wrung her hands. "We were already short on males. For some reason, it always seems to be girls who sign on for this kind of thing."

  Paisley sighed as she felt the weight of the production settling on her shoulders. Shirley meant well, but it was obvious she had little experience running an show. Esther must have done the major lifting, strange as it seemed for a woman who had been nearly ninety.

  "Why not have some girl pirates, too?" she suggested. "After all, the character of Ruth is a female pirate, isn't she? And Penelope Cruz played a pirate in one of those Pirates of the Caribbean movies."

  "Hmmm." Shirley looked thoughtful. "I don't see why not."

  "Another thing," Paisley went on. "Have you thought of recruiting an adult or two for the lead roles? You've billed this as a community theater, but it looks more like youth theater, since your cast is all kids."

  "We've had a few adults participate over the years. But most of them have moved away, or don't want to do it any more." Shirley looked thoughtful. "But you're right. There's got to be some untapped talent around here."

  Paisley cleared her throat. "What about that real estate agent, Ray Henderson?"

  "Ray?" Shirley's hazel eyes popped. "He's the last guy I can envision on stage."

  "It's not quite as ridiculous as it sounds. I actually heard him sing a few lines of a Broadway musical. " Paisley didn't say which one, Ray might kill her for telling. "It wasn't bad. He can carry a tune."

  Shirley drummed her bitten fingernails on the back of one of the auditorium seats. "Then go ahead and ask him. Now that I think of it, he'd make a great Major General, wouldn't he? He's already got the military bearing, and can't you just see him in a handle-bar mustache and mutton-chop sideburns?" She chuckled. "It would be an improvement on that gawd-awful buzz-cut."

  Paisley laughed. "I'll turn up the charm and hope for the best. But that still leaves us without a Pirate King. Is there anyone else in River Bend who can sing?"

  Shirley turned up her palms. "No other adults that I know of. And every kid who wants to be is already involved. We sent out flyers the last wee
k of school."

  "What about that new kid that moved here earlier this summer?" Chloe, the pretty blond girl with the ponytail, the one who played Mabel, had been listening in.

  "New kid?" Paisley asked, turning her head. "Do you mean Kevin Avery? Tall, thin, dark hair?"

  "Yeah, that's him. He's kinda shy, but he has an a-mazing voice." The girl tossed her mass of shining fair hair over her bare shoulder. "I heard him at open-mic night down at Starbucks. They're doing it again tonight. Maybe he'll be there. You really should check it out, if you're looking for another singer." Chloe wandered off to join her friends. Paisley stared after her.

  Kevin could sing? Well, that shouldn't be so surprising. He played the guitar, after all, so he must be at least somewhat musical. And as Shirley had pointed out, the play needed bodies to fill the stage. If by some stroke of luck it were true that her handsome young neighbor could carry a tune ... and if she could persuade him to take the role....

  She and Shirley spent a few minutes with their heads together, discussing other possible replacements for the Pirate King. After rehearsal, Paisley was sipping from her water bottle to soothe her raspy throat when the blond girl approached again.

  "Hey, um, Mrs. Perleman?" Chloe was twirling a strand of hair around her finger self-consciously. Her entourage of friends had already disappeared.

  "What is it, Chloe?" Paisley asked, impatient to leave.

  "I was wondering if you, um, offered singing lessons? I've got that big solo at the beginning of the play, but I'm having trouble with the high notes. Since you’re a professional opera singer and all, I thought you might have some tips. My mom will pay whatever your going rate is."

  Paisley was unsure how to respond. The final remnants of her free time threatened to slip from her grasp. Then she remembered her empty bank account. A letter had arrived just yesterday from one of her creditors, thoughtfully forwarded by Barry Klein. And although Ian was doing the repairs on the house for cheap, he certainly wasn't doing it for free.

  "Sure," she said, feigning enthusiasm. "Have your mother give me a call, and we'll arrange a time."

  "Great!" Chloe's face lit up. "A couple of my friends who are interested too. Would it be okay if they sign up?"

  Paisley saw the last of her long, lazy evenings evaporate. Count your blessings, she told herself sternly. This would put food on the table ... and delay the inevitability of accepting Nigel's offer for a full-time teaching position.

  Before the auditorium had cleared, several other students asked for her telephone number, and Paisley made a mental note to print up business cards. Without realizing it, she had started a home business as a vocal instructor.

  Well, why not? She could post a sign in the house's front window, she thought, smiling to herself: "Perleman Academy of Music." She could print up flyers and put them on the windshields of the cars in the parking lot tomorrow.

  Her smile disappeared. Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. It might bring in enough to keep her from worrying so much about her finances. She couldn’t stay unemployed forever.

  During the final break, she mentioned her idea to Shirley. Her friend was enthusiastic. "Great! Drop in at the chamber of commerce and they'll give you tips on starting a business. The folks around here would be willing to pay top dollar for someone like you to teach their kids."

  "Really?" Paisley thought again of her debts, and how much anxiety they had caused her. It would be nice to get everything paid off, finally. "How much do you think I should charge?"

  Shirley named a sum that made Paisley's eyes grow wide. "You're kidding! You really think I can ask that much?"

  "For private lessons? Why not? You're a big name. Besides, you should see how much parents plunk down every month for tutoring from national companies like Kumon and Mathnaseum. Don't worry, you won't get rich off teaching singing to the little darlings, but it could be a decent living."

  "Do you really think it would work?" Paisley asked slowly. Somehow this seemed less of an acknowledgment of failure than going back to teach at the conservatory. For one thing, she wouldn’t have to deal with Nigel’s pity or commiseration. Besides, she told herself, it would just be for the summer; she could quit any time she wanted.

  "Sure. I live off selling books, and my bookstore ain't exactly Amazon.com." Shirley grimaced. "Besides, you'll be teaching out of your house, so you won't have overhead. If I remember, there's a pretty decent Steinway in that living room. You probably need some source of income, unless Jonathan left you independently wealthy. He didn't? The louse." She paused with what was, for Shirley, a moment of delicacy. "I haven't asked your plans before, hon, because it's none of my business...."

  Paisley managed a wan smile.

  "...But what else were you planning to do if your voice doesn't come back?"

  Paisley tried not to wince at the thought. "I thought I might have to go back to the conservatory where I trained in Omaha," she admitted. "A friend has been encouraging me to take a teaching position there."

  Shirley saw the expression on her friend's face. "Or you can go into business for yourself here," she said gently. "At least think about it."

  #

  At the end of rehearsal, Shirley came over, pulling the strap of a colorful cloth patchwork handbag over her plump shoulder that looked like a bargain she had snagged at an arts and crafts fair, and surveyed Paisley sympathetically. "Hey, want a ride home? You look pretty beat."

  Paisley wearily opened her eyes, which she had been resting. "Thanks, but I don't want to keep taking advantage of you just because I still haven't found a car."

  "Geez, I'm the one who's been taking advantage of you! You came to River Bend to recuperate, and here I am working you like a draft horse. Hey, I forgot to tell you, I did think of someone who might be able to sell you a car cheap. You'll never guess who it is: that young guy who's working on your house."

  Paisley looked blank. "Ian McMurtry?"

  "Yeah, him. He's been storing an old VW bug in his garage for years, but I'd forgotten all about it. I'm not sure it still runs, but you should ask him about it."

  "Thanks, I will." Paisley wondered why Ian hadn't brought it up himself. But then, she remembered that she'd never mentioned to him that she was looking for a car. Somehow, with all the other things they had talked about, the subject had never come up. Maybe he thought she walked everywhere by choice. Or maybe he was just oblivious.

  As the two women walked outside, Shirley eyed Paisley thoughtfully. "That little Volkswagen will be quite a comedown for someone who's used to private jets and limos. Punch me if I'm being too personal, but why is someone like you looking for a used car, anyway? Why not pick out something nice, like that pretty Audi that belongs to your neighbor, Steve Lopez?"

  "Jonathan and I hardly lived on the level of private jets and Ferraris." Paisley rolled her eyes. "I don't know where people get this idea that all musicians are wealthy and famous. I wish it were true."

  "Oh yeah?" Shirley sounded skeptical. "That's interesting, because I have a copy of Time magazine with Jonathan's picture on the cover. And those look like gold cuff links he was wearing."

  "Jonathan was successful as far as conductors go," Paisley admitted. She remembered that magazine cover. Jonathan had been proud of it, even framed a copy. "But few people outside the opera world would recognize me. Besides," she added dryly, "fame and money are not the same thing."

  "Uh huh." Shirley did not look convinced. She turned on the engine of her battered Volvo and pulled into the road.

  "Really, I'm not a diva," Paisley said after they had driven in silence for a while. For some reason, it was important to her that Shirley realize this. She considered the woman a friend, and she didn't have many of those, not close ones, anyway. Her itinerant lifestyle hadn't allowed for it. "I don't have expensive tastes. And I like this town. I didn't expect to, really, at first, but it's growing on me. The people are friendly, and it's so ... so ... peaceful."

  "So boring, you mean," Shirley sn
orted. But she looked pleased. River Bend was, after all, her home. When Paisley asked if she could drop her off at the local Starbucks, the red-haired shopkeeper nodded, and pulled up to the curb.

  "Good luck getting that Kevin kid to join the play," she called as Paisley got out. "I hope he's as good a singer as Chloe claims. And hey, if you ever get bored, call me. We can go shopping or something, huh?"

  Paisley waved before pushing open the glass door of the coffee shop. Her heart beat a little faster, with hope and a bit of anxiety. This could be an answer to the play's problems, or it could be a waste of her time. She had no idea what to expect.

  /

  Chapter Seven

  A rush of loud noise and the overwhelming aroma of coffee assaulted her senses. In the back of the store, a stool had been set up behind a microphone, creating a makeshift stage. The rest of the small restaurant surged with young men and women sipping lattes and frappucinos and chatting loudly.

  Paisley squeezed through, feeling like a dowager next to the fresh-faced sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds. Several of them recognized her and greeted her enthusiastically. She smiled and returned their waves.

  She sat through three or four acts of varying quality, applauding politely, but Kevin did not appear. Just as she began to edge toward the door, however, a commotion started, and she turned her head to see a familiar thatch of dark hair and thin, slouching shoulders moving through the crowd. Kevin threaded his way to the stool, adjusted his guitar, and, when the audience settled down, strummed a few tentative notes. Then he raised his head and launched into a popular song by some alternative band she had heard a few times on the radio, but whose name she could not identify.

  His voice was unusually rich and deep coming from such a thin frame, and his slightly husky rasp suited the tone of the song. She found herself nodding and tapping her feet along with the rest of the crowd. Chloe was right. The kid could sing.