“I . . . think it does.” She stopped twisting her hair and sat perfectly still. “Yes. Why, yes, it does.”
“Then it’s done. This plan satisfies your desire to play the piano and my delight in having guests over to hear it played. I understand you play Chopin, Debussy, Mendelssohn, and Brahms.”
“Yes.”
“And what about Rachmaninoff?”
Caroline stretched her fingers and looked at her hand. “Oh, I’m sorry. I have the heart but not the hands for Rachmaninoff.”
“That’s too bad. But I’m certain you’ll put together a fine program. How does sometime in June sound to you? The June nights in Kentucky are like none other.”
“June sounds just fine. I have a few commitments, but I will check my calendar.”
“Why don’t you talk with Liz? Give her some available dates. We’ll settle on one, and she’ll make all the travel arrangements. And please let her know what your fee is for such an engagement.”
“My goodness, this is moving so fast and is so much more than I expected. There’ll be no charge. I think I would pay you just for the opportunity to play this piano one more time. Now, who is Liz?”
“She’s the woman who answered the phone. She did not identify herself?”
Being friendly with Liz was more important than ever. “I’m sure she did and I just missed it. But I’ll check my calendar and get back with her in the next few days. Thank you so very much, Mr. Adair.”
“That’s Roderick, remember?”
“Yes, I do remember, Roderick. But you seemed to forget it’s Caroline.”
“You’re quite right. I look forward with great pleasure to meeting you, Caroline Carlyle. Good day, now.”
He was gone before Caroline could respond. She hung up the phone slowly and took a seat in her desk chair.
What did Patrick Verran tell him? What does Roderick Adair know about me, and how did he find out? Why would he ask me to perform a recital when he’s never heard me play?
One conversation and she was halfway to Kentucky. These things didn’t happen to her.
April, Caroline’s favorite month of the year, was history. But summer was coming with a recital in Kentucky, master classes, some journal writing assignments, and constructing her teaching schedule. May and her student recital were upon her.
Caroline lived to teach piano lessons, and nothing pleased her more than seeing the measurable progress of her students as they performed for recital. This May afternoon was different. At dusk she practically kicked her last student out the door and only waved at Ned and Fred as they carried their tools to the truck, which was probably glowing neon green in the twilight.
She made herself a cup of tea and stood at the kitchen sink drinking it while she watched the sun slide behind Angel and Sam’s rooftop. Then she went to the piano and sat down as if she’d been standing for days and could finally rest. She ran her fingers over the keyboard, closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and started to play. Her body became one with the instrument, and she moved into a familiar world, one of her soul’s homes, an inexplicable place where time stood still and all was well.
Caroline played for a while before remembering she was to call Betsy. On her way to the phone, she grabbed a box of crackers, an apple, and a cheese stick from the refrigerator, then dialed Betsy’s number.
“Hello,” growled Mason.
“Hi, Mason. It’s Caroline. What’s happening?”
“We’re having a baby.”
“I know, but what’s new?”
“Nothing. We’re having a baby.”
“You sound . . . well, focused.”
“I may be focused, but everybody else around here is obsessed. You’d think Betsy is the only woman in the world who ever gave birth. She’s obsessed. Her mother’s obsessed. My mother’s obsessed. Betsy’s hardly showing, and she’s buying maternity clothes, picking out paint, wallpaper, furniture . . . And she goes to bed every night poring over a book trying to come up with a name for this little booger.”
“You think I could speak to the little booger’s mother?”
“Sure, let me see if I can find her. I’m in the workshop studying plans for building a cradle.”
“The baby’s due in October, it’s Thursday evening in May, you’re in the shop looking at cradle plans, and you’re not obsessed?”
“No, it’s the only thing to get me out of the house before I’m attacked with the catalogs and the baby-names book again.” Mason hollered for Betsy. “It’s CC. Pick up the phone.” He held on until Betsy had connected, then said his goodbyes.
“Hey, CC.”
“Hey, yourself, little mama. Mason said you’re focused on getting ready for the baby. Oops, I mean this little booger.”
“Shut up, Caroline. Would you believe he had a red T-shirt made for me? A red shirt with HERE’S BOOGER on the front. Then he got mad when I wouldn’t wear it. He has the whole town calling our baby Booger.”
“Tell him he’d best be careful about this name. You know what they say about kids living up to labels. Hey, have you worked things out for a visit?”
“Yes, Josefina and I’ll be coming with your mom for the recital. I can’t wait to get out of this town and away from our parents and Mason for a few days. I don’t know if you can stand me, though. My moods blast from red to blue all in about five seconds.”
“I’ll put up with you. Not the first time in your life I’ve had to put up with your hormones. Hope you can stay a few days after the recital.”
“I’ll see. I’ll work that out with Miss Martha.”
Caroline never could keep anything significant from Betsy. “I have news about my piano. Just when I thought it was a dead issue, I got this call today from a man named Roderick Adair. He has this deep, luscious baritone voice, and his speech is very refined. We had quite a chat this afternoon. He’s been out of the country on business.”
“Is he the man at the piano store in Atlanta?”
“Nope. He’s the gentleman from Kentucky who purchased the piano for forty-two thousand dollars from the piano dealer in Atlanta. He paid cash, had it delivered to his home in Kentucky, and has had it ever since. And he doesn’t even play the piano.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“And . . . he’s invited me to come to Kentucky in June to do a recital for some of his friends.”
“Sounds very interesting. Does this Roderick Adair have a wife and children?”
“I don’t know. How would I know that? Why would I even want to know?”
“Sounds even more interesting. I haven’t heard that excited lilt in your voice in years.”
“What are you talking about?”
“ ‘A deep’ . . . Let’s see, I think ‘luscious’ is the word you used to describe his voice.”
“Oh, no. I know nothing about this man, and that’s exactly what you hear in my voice. Nothing.”
“You know nothing? Is that what you said? You know he lives in Kentucky, that he does business out of the country, that he has the money to spend on a grand piano he does not play, and that he must love music or have friends who do.”
“Well, that’s not much to know about someone.”
“Did you say yes?”
“Yes to what?”
“Why, Caroline Carlyle, you are befuzzled! Did you say yes to his invitation to do the recital?”
“Oh, that. Yes, I did.”
“Cautious Caroline accepting an invitation from a man she doesn’t even know? Sounds pretty intriguing to me.”
“You’re just way off base, Betsy. And besides, you seem to forget my interest is in the piano.”
“I don’t recall saying anything about your interest. I’ll ask you about your interest after the recital in Kentucky. But I’ll remind you: women fall in love with what they hear, and men fall in love with what they see. And I can imagine he’s been going through university archives of Caroline Carlyle recitals. A man like that? Oh, no—he’s not taking a chance on somethin
g like this.”
“Okay, that’s it. Time to say good night. I’ll see you next week. And give Josefina a hug from CC.”
“See you, friend, and sweet dreams.”
Caroline put down the phone. She was grateful for Betsy, a childhood friend who would grow old with her.
She finished her apple and went back to the piano. Sitting down, she closed her eyes and started to play again, back to her place where she was surrounded by music and good things. She played for a long time, hardly ever opening her eyes.
A solid loud thump followed by a crash and a distinct holler startled Caroline from her musical trance. She stopped playing and sat motionless. There was movement in the shrubbery near the fence.
The pendulum clock her father made for her had just chimed the midnight hour a few minutes ago. She slipped from the piano bench to the floor and crawled down the hallway to her bedroom where she could not be seen. She locked the door, checked the latch on the window, and grabbed the phone. Her hands trembled as she dialed Sam’s number.
The intruder is back, and he knows I heard him. What’ll I do if he breaks in? The window. Maybe I should climb out now.
Her heart palpitated as she waited for Sam to answer.
“Hello, who is this, and what do you want this time of the night?”
Caroline feared that his booming voice could be heard all the way from the big house. “Sam, it’s Caroline.”
“What? Speak up! I can’t hear you.”
“Sam, it’s me, Caroline.”
It took him a few seconds to speak. “Caroline, what’s wrong? Are you all right?”
“I’m all right, Sam, but I just heard some strange noises out by the fence. I was playing the piano. There was a loud thump and a crash, and then someone screamed. I’m in the bedroom now. The doors are locked, but I’m really scared.”
“Stay right there, Caroline. I’m calling Caleb, and I’m on my way.”
“No, Sam, don’t come. Just call Caleb and turn on your outside lights.”
He was no longer on the phone. She waited. Nothing. No sounds. Just Moss Point quiet.
She went to the bedroom door, quietly turned the lock, and tiptoed back out to the great room, where she stood silently listening. Still no sound. She went to the terrace door. A café curtain covered the window, and she pulled it slightly to the side, enabling her to peep out without being seen. She stood waiting, watching intently, still able to hear her own heart beating. If Sam was out there, he was moving quietly, and he wasn’t known to do anything quietly.
She strained her eyes as a faint light coming through the alcove window grew stronger. It had to be Sam coming down the stone path with a flashlight.
Why didn’t Sam wait for Caleb? He doesn’t need this, not at his age. And what’ll I do if something happens to Sam? I’ll never forgive myself. Why didn’t I just call Caleb?
In such thick silence, she heard the constant ticking of the clock on the table behind her. Streaks of light flashed in the room as the clock’s brass pendulum reflected the beams coming closer and closer through the window. Her pulse was like the pounding of a bass drum.
I just want to run, but where?
It all happened very fast. A bright shaft of light shone toward the shrubbery along the fence as Sam’s voice boomed. “I don’t know who you are, but my double-barreled shotgun is aimed just above your shoes.”
Another voice. “Don’t shoot! Please don’t shoot!” Bright lights revealed a male dressed in camouflage clothes stepping cautiously out of the shrubbery.
Yet another voice. “Sam, it’s Caleb over here. Don’t shoot. Keep your light shining on the suspect’s feet. I got him in my sight.”
“Mr. Sam, Mr. Sam, please don’t shoot.” Another man in camouflage clothes came out of the bushes.
A third man appeared out of nowhere right in front of Caroline’s eyes. Only the pane of glass on the terrace door separated their breaths. He knocked on the glass. “Miss Carlyle, you in there? You okay?” It was the deputy.
“Yes, I’m here, and I’m fine.”
“Would you mind turning on your porch lights?”
Caroline reached for the light switch and the doorknob at the same time. She came out onto the terrace, and the deputy grabbed her arm and pulled her behind him. Sam stood to her left with his flashlight and his shotgun aimed at the perpetrators. Caleb, poised with pistol ready to shoot, was to her right.
Before them, shaking like wet dogs, appeared Ned and Fred.
Sam growled. “What in the . . . ? Ned, what in tarnation are you and Fred doing out here in the middle of the night?” Sam propped his shotgun against the wrought-iron patio chair and scowled at his two handymen.
The deputy, paralyzed in his stance, kept Caroline behind him.
Caleb put his gun in its holster and pulled out his handcuffs. Just as he approached Ned and Fred, there came a jolting clunk followed by the loud blast of a gun and shattering glass.
Someone screamed.
“Angel! Is that you?” Caroline saw Angel running toward Sam. She freed herself from the deputy and ran toward her neighbors. The terrace lamps provided enough light for her to know they were both still standing.
Angel embraced Caroline. “Yes, child, I’m here. But I thought you were screaming.”
Sam bent over to pick up his gun. “It’s all right, Deputy. The shoot-out’s over. Everything’s under control. My gun just slipped off this chair and fired. Guess that hair trigger still works.”
Angel had to sit down in the chair. “Sam Meadows, I ought to shoot you myself. You have nearly scared us all to death.”
“Caroline, you take Angel back to the house. We’ll have this conversation later. I have other business to tend to right this minute.”
Angel pulled her robe around herself more tightly. “We’re not going anywhere. Why, the whole neighborhood will show up any moment, and I’ll not have them knowing things going on right here in my own backyard before I even know about them.”
“Then you sit quietly while Caleb and I take care of this matter.”
Caleb moved to handcuff Fred, who was whimpering like a scolded child.
“No need for handcuffs, boys,” Sam said.
The quivering deputy had put his gun away and walked over with his handcuffs for Ned, the talking twin who now stood utterly speechless. Both officers put their cuffs away as Sam turned to Ned.
“Ned, none of this makes any sense. You men would have been the last on my list. What in the world are you up to?”
“Mr. Sam, we just come back to take care of Miss Caroline.”
“What does that mean?” Caleb said.
“Well, today we was fixin’ the fence where somebody’s done come in ag’in, and we got to thinkin’ that we oughta just catch this feller and be done with it. That way Miss Caroline would be safe and we wouldn’t have to keep fixin’ this dadblasted fence.”
Caleb led the twins into the terrace light. “You mean you’re not the Peeping Toms?”
“You ought to know better than that,” Sam said. “There’s not a hurtful bone in these men’s bodies, but there’s a stupid one or two.”
Fred, the silent twin, whispered, “He was here.” Caroline was the only one aware that he had spoken, but she was too rattled to interrupt the interrogation.
Sam sat down in the chair next to Angel. “Ned, do you know that I could have very well shot the both of you and asked questions later?”
“Yessir, Mr. Sam. But we was plannin’ on doin’ the catchin’ ourselves, not gittin’ caught.”
“The snooper was here,” Fred said a bit louder this time. Caroline stared at him, wide-eyed.
“Well, you nearly scared Caroline to death and got your body parts full of buckshot. Why in the world didn’t you call me and let me know what you were doing?”
“Mr. Sam, we just wanted to do it ourselves, kinda like bein’ heroes,” Ned said sheepishly.
“I said he was here!” Fred shouted.
All eyes turned to the usually silent twin.
“What?” Sam rose from his chair. “What do you mean he was here?”
Fred stood now like the statue of the Confederate soldier in the town square, with his head down to avoid eye contact.
Ned stepped forward. “Mr. Sam, whoever’s been doin’ this was tryin’ to git back through the fence ag’in. You see, we finished our work and went home to eat. Fred just had this feelin’ that we ought to be heroes. We talked it over, and we decided to do it. He made us some banana sandwiches, and I rounded up our huntin’ stools and some rope. We got all dressed in our huntin’ clothes like Pa showed us when we was boys. You know they’re green and brown, and Pa said the animals couldn’t see if us if we would wear ’em.”
The sheriff took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. “Do you mind getting on with the story?”
“Well, we figgered nobody could see us in the bushes if we wore our huntin’ clothes. So we come back about nine o’clock. We just been sittin’ out here in the bushes waitin’.”
“You’ve been out here for the last three and a half hours?” Sam asked.
“Yessir. It was kinda nice. We missed the reruns of Hawaii Five-O, but it was worth it. Why, we ain’t had this kind of excitement since Pa caught them escaped convicts while we was coon huntin’.”
“Ned,” the sheriff said. “We don’t care about no coon huntin’ or escaped convicts. That was forty years ago.”
“Well, we was hidin’ over there in them bushes. And it was nice ’cause we could hear Miss Caroline playin’ that piano. She was just serenadin’ the whole neighborhood. And ’long about midnight—you know what they say about that midnight hour. Well, it was ’long about then that we heared somebody on the other side of the fence right down there where we fixed it today. We stayed real quiet. Pa taught us to do that when we was deer huntin’.”
Ned squirmed a bit and started again. “Well, then, whoever it was got real quiet, too, and we thought he was gone. But it wasn’t long before we heared somebody, what sounded like knockin’ on the fence. We knowed he was tryin’ to tear that fence down ag’in, so we was goin’ to follow our plan.
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