“At her soul,” I added flatly.
“Exactly. And she didn’t seem able to share any of her pain with anyone else.”
A small butterfly landed on my bare knee. I stared down at it and said, “I keep going over and over those last months and remembering her rants. They were stupid. They actually bordered on deranged.”
He agreed. “She did spend a lot of time not making sense. I do remember just before the dance I found her digging through her bag and talking to herself. She was blathering about mistakes she’d made and how she was going to show everyone ‘what a fool’ and how sick and evil someone was.”
“Who, ‘what a fool’? What did she mean by sick or evil?”
Nic shook his head. “Good questions. She could have been talking about herself or someone else. She never said. She kept chomping on sunflower seeds and throwing out these dire predictions of impending doom even when she realized I could hear her.”
We both fell silent.
Nic finally said, “She was right about the impending doom, at least. The Beta Zeta dance wrecked a lot of livesand loves. And it appears to have been the catalyst for Daria Black’s disappearance, along with Marigold’s.” He paused before adding, “It definitely destroyed you and me.”
I wanted desperately to ask him about the night before the dance when Marigold had been in his room. Wanted to ask him if his father had told him what he’d said to me the day before I left Georgetownfollowing Judge Adrian Jericho’s less-than-kind insistence I get out of town and not look back. But I couldn’t make the words come out of my mouth. It was as if I was eighteen again, stuck in a maze trying to fight my way out without a map or a key.
I softly said, “It doesn’t matter. Ten years is a long time. I’m over it. I just hope we can find a little justice for Marigold and honor her memory.”
One eyebrow lifted. “No offense, but I don’t believe you’re over anything. I’m also going to say something that will probably make you want to never speak to me again—but I should have said it long ago. You’ve let Marigold Blume overshadow your life for eleven years. Since the day you met her. Bebe, it’s past time to let go. She wasn’t the perfect friend and mentor you wanted her to be. She was talented, funny and brilliant but ultimately a severely flawed woman. Move out of her shadow and maybe then you can move on into your own wonderful light.”
He turned and walked off toward the parking lot. Stunned, I watched him as he strolled away with his air of total confidence; a teasing swagger which remained playful instead of arrogant. He could afford the air and the swagger. He didn’t have the demons chasing him I’d grown up with. Demons stemming from my dysfunctional family background leading to distrust wondering too often if all Nic’s talk of love was lies. Now, I was dealing with the awful possibility he could have beenthe one to dowhatever had been doneto Marigold, Daria, and now Arianna. I refused to believe my own suspicions, but I also was aware if I let myself completely trust in his innocence other young blonde girls could be placed in a dangerous situation.
I was curious to see if the hotshot attorney from Dallas was driving some kind of impressive sporty new convertible.
I let myself watch as he crossed the parking lot, and then open the door to a SUV even older, more battered and colorless than the one we’d ridden in years ago. I squinted and sharply inhaled the instant I recognized the sticker on the driver’s side. I’d personally attached it to the exact spot one late spring night ten years earlier.
The Capitol ClubAustin.
Chapter 11
“Bebe? You awake?” Junie’s voice accompanied a hesitant knock on the bedroom door.
“I am now. Oh damn. Please don’t tell me there’s more bad news. Wait. What time is it? I crashed when I crawled in this afternoon. My whole inner clock is way out of whack. Is it day or night?”
Junie peeked her head around the doorframe, noted I was semi-conscious and then entered the bedroom. “It’s late afternoon. A bunch of fine-looking men claiming they belong to a rockin’ great band called Pieces are downstairs in my dining room plotting something.” She chuckled. “I’ll bet it’s illegal but possibly quite exciting. Anyway, they want you. Another five minutes and they’re coming upstairs whether you’re awake or not. At least they look moderately happy and no police officers are with them so I’m assuming this is not a disastrous situation for a change.”
I groaned. “I’m not ready to face any men, especially fine-looking talented ones at . . . what time is it? Oh, geez, it’s six. I slept hard. Would you tell them I need at least ten minutes? I don’t want to scare anyone.”
Junie nodded. “I’ll hold ‘em off but honestly, your looks are not a problem. You have one of those truly great faces. It doesn’t have that ‘I was hit by a truck’ look after you crawl out of the bed, no matter the hour. I’m unabashedly envious but I’ll be nice and give you fifteen minutes while I ply the wolves with goodies so you can get totally gorgeous. I seem to remember this crew could be quite vicious when it came to women and beauty. They were picky beyond belief. Fortunately you and Marigold are very pretty girls. You’re total opposites, but both beautiful.” She whirled back around in a dramatic exit and, I assumed, headed for the stairs.
Terrific. Cam, Dusty, Glenn and Nic were apparently seated in the dining room sipping tea. Doubtless at Junie’s insistence. Tea was Junie’s remedy for all life’s ills as well as for celebrations. She claimed no crisis ever was resolved by avoiding teatime. A spot of brandy in the lemon zest or oat straw also helped make any situation better and added spice to any occasion. This evening I hoped there’d be coffee for the less civilizednamely me. Junie’s tea might be good for what ailed the troubled mind or soul, but it was always herbal and unleaded. I needed serious caffeine to wake up even if it kept me awake for the rest of the night.
Tennot fifteenminutes later, I sauntered into the dining room, using the opportunity to study the purported conspirators with a moderately objective eye which was ten years past heavy emotionswell, apart from Nic. There’d been so much angst and strife and strange things happening in the last two days. I hadn’t taken the time to look at the boys in the band as they were now.
Cameron Felsen. Light brown hair, blue eyes and the biggest nose this side of Cyrano. A master guitarist with a penchant for practical jokes, like baby powder in my tambourine, which had been mild compared to some of his tricks to Nic’s van or Dusty’s jackets. Fortunately for the band’s sanity, Cam hadn’t confined his gags and levity to those of us in Pieces, so we suffering musicians had taken advantage of those occasional breaks and recuperated in time for the next trick. One of Cam’s most famous pranks (which nearly resulted in his expulsion from Southwestern) had been driving a classic Model-T, which for some inexplicable reason belonged to a very snooty fraternity, up the steps of the Student Union building the evening before parents arrived for Visitors Week. Cam had added a few significant changes to the banner the guys had plastered on the windshield. Consequently, Sigma Tau Chi says Hello to our Guests! had morphed into Bubba’s Butchers says Jello Kills off Pests! It had been totally silly, totally innocent and had infuriated that particular Southwestern fraternity.
Paul ‘Dusty’ Sears. Rusty-brown hair that refused to stay combed or styled, snub nose and large grey-blue eyes. Dusty was the shortest of the boys. A whiz at the keyboards, possibly the most gifted of anyone in the band as far as his musicality. True perfect pitch. Quieter than Cam and Nic and Marigold (not much of a stretchthat particular trio used to make talk shows seem like silent movies), but very sure of himself and his opinions once he decided to speak. Dusty also held the record for most wins in the five-day Monopoly marathon Pieces had held at the Blume household during the only Christmas holiday I’d spent with the group.
Nicholas Jericho. One of the few people in the world to have black hair. Not dark brown—black. Deep brown eyes. Tall and wiry. Brilliant. A master at anything he put his mind to. Cam had called Nic ‘brilliant barrister bo
y’ because at the time I joined Pieces Nic was already in his third year of law school but had only reached his twenty-second birthday. His parents had determined from the day of his birth young Nicholas Montgomery Jericho would follow in dad Adrian’s tradition of becoming lawyer, then district attorney and finally federal judge. Nic had seemed amenable, if not passionate, about his parents’ wishes. He had a strong sense of justice and enjoyed the idea of a legal career. Since I’d been only seventeen to his twenty-two when we first met, he’d carefully avoided any romantic relationship. When I finally hit eighteen, he allowed himself to admit we were far more than friends.
Glenn Iverson. The manager of Pieces, currently sitting comfortably at the table across from the three musicians. Glenn had changed more than anyone. What was left of his mousy brown hair had turned grey at the temples and he’d added about fifty pounds to his five-foot eight-inch frame. But his hazel eyes crinkled when he spotted me and they held the same good humor he’d always managed to display under stress or bizarre predicaments.
Marigold told me she’d had an intimate relationship with every one of them. I had never knownstill didn’tif she’d been telling the truth or if her words were Marigold being outrageous.
Glenn was first to rise. “Bebe! You slept, girl. You look terrific and beautiful and I’m sure every dulcet tone is now back to top shape.”
“Uh. Thanks, I think. Ditto to the first observation and thanks for the rest, although I’m not sure if you were being complimentary.”
“I keep meaning to ask why you’ve let New Jersey keep you hiding your talents all these years. You should have been singing on Broadway or the Met or heading up a rock band. Teaching Music Appreciation to community college kids? Honestly, woman, it’s no way to make a living. Not for you. No money and you’re way too talented a performer to waste your time in a classroom.”
I had no good answer to this since I had no wish to get involved in issues of self-esteem tied to my family background. I’d been working for years to overcome all of it but I saw no reason to start a therapy session in Junie’s living room. I inadvertently glanced at Nic, then quickly smiled back at Glenn, who pulled a chair away from the table for me while I stated, “I’m a wimp who likes security better than starvation.”
Glenn, wisely, let it go.
Jorge appeared from the kitchen with a fresh pot of tea and what had to be hazelnut coffee in a mugmeant specifically for me.
I smiled, gratefully uttered, “Gracias,” took a swig, set the mug down, then launched right into the fray. “Okay. I haven’t seen this much collective guilt since the last Law and Order marathon I watched. Junie woke me out of a perfectly ridiculous dream to announce that you guys were here with malice on your minds. Obviously it’s now time to confess. What’s up?”
Nic looked slightly sheepish. “We were still able to work a great deal with Manny’s Mixes down in Round Rock. Remember I mentioned the possibility the other night? They’re doing some remodeling but they’re wired for sound and light and they’re letting us use the studio at one super cheap price, both for practices and for recording.”
I glanced around the table, puzzled. “Cool. So what’s with the air of secrecy? Oh, wait, I guess I haven’t talked to you guys since Junie gave me another special pep talk about doing the cd this afternoon. I’m on board. Now and forever. I’m aware that cheap studio space is tough to come, sothis is a good thingright? In any case, why the posse in the dead of night?”
Glenn took a slug of tea. Not a sip. A slurp. His cup clattered when he set it down. “No offense, but six o’clock does not qualify for dead of night status, and, well, um, I, we’ve well, we decided, um, how do I explain this . . .?”
Dusty took over. “Jeez guys, this is not a tragedy. Why all the angst? This is a plus. Bebe, we’re bringing in an extra singer.”
“Say what?”
Nic hurriedly took over. “Face it. We gentlemen are backup. Very male backup. We’ve been conferencing about it for the last couple of nightsespecially after rehearsal when Ariannawell, the other night. We didn’t talk seriously about it until a few hours ago because we weren’t sure if we were scrapping the idea for the cd, but then Junie texted Cam and told him you’d decided to go ahead. Cam called the rest of us. We went over the pros and cons, and fears and tears involved, and finally swallowed our pain and agreed we need a soprano for several of these songs. A good soprano. Pieces was never one singer. It was a blend.”
I looked directly into Nic’s eyes. “You hired someone to replace Marigold.” It was not a question.
Cam slammed his fist down onto the table. Tea spilled everywhere. Junie began to wipe up the liquid with careful strokes of her napkin. Cam glared at everyone. “Not replace. Marigold is irreplaceable.”
Nic nodded calmly. “Cam. We agree. And Bebe didn’t mean to imply anything else.” He turned back to me. “We merely thought to make the sound closer to the way Pieces used to be . . . oh nuts, there’s just no easy way to do this, is there? For any of us.” His voice trailed off.
Junie stood. “Well, I get it. Look, people, if I can deal with this, you can. Marigold had a soprano that made the angels weep when they heard it. You need someone close to her sound to finish this album. And Marigold would want you to do it. I remember how frustrated she was eleven years ago before you guys found Bebe and Marigold was the only girl because y’all kept firing every female singer you tried as soon as they played one gig with you. She kept saying Pieces shouldn’t be a soprano backed by testosterone. Now it’s an alto with the same issue. You need someone. Marigold will be pleased. She will.”
She rose. “Um, Nic, would you mind helping me with some updates on the Blume’s Bloom website in a few minutes? I’m completely hopeless with technology. Besides, I need the distraction right now. I’ll give you a check.”
Nic nodded and stated, “’Yes’ to the help. ‘No’ to the pay. No way now or ever for Juniper Blume.” He tried to lighten the atmosphere a bit. “I’ll have you know my friendship even comes with a get out of jail free card from Dallas’ most awesome attorney should you ever require a little legal assistance.”
Junie gave him a weak smile, then quietly left the table and headed toward the back of the house. The huge greenhouse was about an acre away from the mansion. It was Junie’s workspace for the shop, but also her solace, her comfort. And apparently it was also where she kept her computer.
I almost followed her. Spending some time with my hands in real dirt instead of the dirt associated with recording a cd and replacing my best friend after ten years sounded almost blissful.
Chapter 12
Junie didn’t bother to glance back to check if Nic followed. The rest of us stayed seated at the table, saying nothing. I stirred my coffee, which didn’t need stirring, and stared down into the cup. “Okay. Guys, I admit it. I do realize there’s a necessity for another girl. The truth has been grating into my mind from our first rehearsal. And when I was going through music upstairs I could hear the blend. But . . . ” I stood. I needed to get out of the room. Out of the house.
Nic had made it halfway to the back door to join Junie in her greenhouse. He stopped, and then quickly walked over to me. His arm came around my shoulders. I wanted to sink back against his chest forever. Nic gently said, “We all feel the same. But if you if decide we shouldn’t go ahead . . .?”
He smiled. Lord Byron’s smile without the purported maliciousness of the poet. Nic ended his sentence with “then we won’t go ahead. After all, no one’s been hired or even contacted yet and we can get by with keeping the other songs already on the cd from ages ago, then staying with alto solos for you for the new stuff.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s okay. I do want to finish Pieces Together and I want it done right. Most of those numbers were written for two girls. The mix won’t sound like us with one alto carrying the melody.” I took a deep breath. “So it’s settled. Yeah. I’m ready and rarin’ to go.”
Nic gave me
a quick hug. “Good. Okay. See y’all later.”
I couldn’t stop myself from watching him saunter toward the back of the Blume house. I inwardly sighed, sank back down onto my chair, then inquired,” Uh, any thoughts on who the soprano will be?”
Glenn said, “Yes. I’ve stayed on top of the Austin music scene throughout the years and I do have somebody in mind. Pieces need the best. I’d like to ask Saffron Baker.”
Dusty stared at him. “Saffron? Are you crazy?”
Cam’s eyebrows shot into his bangs. Nic had once stated Glenn could hear grass grow if it were in the proper key. Glenn had a genius for musical talent. I wondered what the problem was.
Cam added water and two extra tea bags to his cup, then fiercely squished them with his spoon. He didn’t speak. I tossed a wadded napkin at him. He didn’t move.
I flicked my hand in front of Glenn’s face. “Yo. Glenn? Is there a problem with this girl? Is she a major diva?”
Glenn smiled. “Ever met a soprano who wasn’t?”
I grinned. I’d always teased Marigold, saying the same thing, taking every opportunity to tell her all sopranos were born with a special diva gene and true mezzos didn’t need to flaunt those obnoxious tendencies because we were too talented to require creating chaos throughout concert halls, studios, and stages across the globe.
Dusty shook his head. “I’ve heard she is. A seriously major diva. Saffron, that is. Not to mention slightly nuts. Frankly, I’m starting not to care. Never worked with the woman. But I have heard her sing and she’s excellent.”
“Then what’s the big deal? Come on, Glenn, give it up. There’s something else, right? You’re making me nervous,” I stated.
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