Monday morning’s visit to her closet for something to wear confirmed Betsy was right: her wardrobe was as bland as unsalted grits. She was glad for the shopping trip, even if Angel’s interest was in curtains to cover the studio windows. She couldn’t imagine looking at floral draperies instead of the light coming through the garden. Maybe she could distract Angel with clothes shopping and lunch until their time ran out.
Clothes had long lost their place on Caroline’s want list. Dress slacks and cotton blouses were her teaching uniform and her out-and-about clothes. Her black and navy suits clothed her for church services and funerals. Her black formal wear was standard for performances. A couple pairs of jeans and sweaters for the winter and some shorts and T-shirts for the summertime rounded out her wardrobe.
The time had come. After all, she couldn’t embarrass a man who would send her yellow irises, and she had no clothes for fishing in a trout stream. Her problem was she had no idea what to buy. Where was Betsy when she needed her?
Absurd. She didn’t need Betsy. After all, this wasn’t the prom.
Angel surveyed the mall parking lot. “Oh, let’s park at the south entrance.”
“But the fabric store and the other places where we can look at window coverings are at the other end of the mall.” Here was Caroline’s chance to avoid the dreaded drapes, and she was about to miss it.
“That’s okay. The walking will do us good.”
Caroline parked, and they walked to the entrance. They would pass at least ten dress shops walking through the mall. Game playing was against Caroline’s nature, and her guilt was growing.
“Let’s stop here. How convenient! A coffee shop next to the bathroom,” Angel said. “The cookies look good. Let’s get us a couple—energy for shopping. Shopping’s hard work, you know.”
“Oooo, those chocolate ones with the coconut look good. I can take or leave the pies and cakes, but cookies . . . no, ma’am.” Caroline purchased the cookies, and they found a table and sat down.
Angel took a bite. “It’s just not fair. You eat cookies, and you wear a six. I eat cookies? I wear a sixteen.”
“Oh, Angel, but that sixteen looks so good on you. I mean, you have style, flair. You still turn heads.”
“Muumuus with bright yellow parrots on a white-haired fire hydrant will make heads turn.” They both laughed. “I had so much fun buying clothes back when I was your size. And I truly was about your size until I hit fifty. Enjoy it, girl.”
“So, let’s see, you’re saying I’m good for another twenty years?” She licked the melted chocolate from her finger.
“Yep, after that you’d be on a fool’s errand to reach for leather belts and blue jeans. Elastic takes care of the belts, and large gray sweat suits replace the jeans. And muumuus are my favorite. You’d better get busy and enjoy it while you can.” Angel folded the tissue away from the rest of her cookie.
“You know, I think you’re right. Maybe we could dart into one of these dress shops.”
“Sounds like just what we ought to do. I think I could locate something that’s calling your name. Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
“Well, I have this trip to Kentucky coming up.” She wiped the last crumb from her mouth.
“Seems like I remember you saying something about that. A recital on your piano you haven’t seen in years. Well, now, that certainly calls for a new dress.”
“Among other things,” Caroline said under her breath, wading in a bit deeper.
“What did you say?”
“I said, ‘Among other things.’ ” Caroline paused. “Angel, I think I’ve lost my mind.”
“What in the world are you talking about, child? We’re just talking about buying a dress, and now you’ve lost your mind?”
“I think I have. I’ve been dying to tell someone, but the time hasn’t been right. Roderick Adair is sending his plane to get me. I’m doing the recital. Oh, and I’m staying at Rockwater and going trout fishing. And by the way, he sent yellow irises.”
“Whoa, slow down, now. Wait a minute. You’re right, either you’re losing your mind or I’m losing my hearing. Run that by me again, a bit slower this time.”
“Okay, I’ll start again. You know I called the Atlanta dealer who purchased my piano from Kelly Whitman. He sold the piano to a man who lives in Kentucky, but he couldn’t give me the man’s name and contact information because of privacy issues.”
“Aha, I get that part. Go on.”
“Well, the dealer offered to help by giving the purchaser my name and contact information and by telling him my story. I didn’t hear a word for a few weeks, and then I got a call from this Roderick Adair. He left a message and apologized for not calling sooner. He had been out of the country on business.”
“Out of the country?” Angel caught herself. “I’m sorry. I’m interrupting your story.”
“Well, I returned his call, and he invited me to come and play the piano. It’s sitting in the parlor of his home in Lexington, Kentucky, and no one plays it.”
“No one? Does that mean this Roderick Adair doesn’t have a family?”
“Don’t know. But anyway, he invited me to do a recital while I’m there, and I said I would. He asked me to call Liz back with some possible dates.”
“Liz? Who is this Liz?”
Caroline frowned. “I thought she might be his wife, but now I think it’s his secretary or assistant or housekeeper. Oh, Angel, I don’t know who she is, but she’s arrogant and unpleasant. And he instructed me to call her back to make the arrangements.”
“So, did you call?”
“Yes, but he answered the phone. And before I hung up, we had set a date, and he was making plans to send the plane after me.”
“What do you mean he’s sending a plane?”
“Yeah, my question too. At first I thought he meant plane tickets, but it’s his plane. And not only that, but he’s insisting I stay longer. Now my overnight trip has turned into a week.”
“A week? You mean seven days?”
“Yes, nearly. I’ll be staying in his house so that I’ll have adequate practice time. He said to bring riding clothes and that if I liked to fish, there was a trout stream on the property.”
“Horseback riding, trout fishing, a recital? Sounds like something I read in a romance novel. And you’re not kidding, are you, sweetie?”
“No, Angel, this is for real. He even called back and asked if he could make a couple of suggestions for my program, and of course I agreed.”
“Well, certainly, if the man is sending his plane, the least you can do is to play his favorite song.” Angel played with the corner of her napkin and smiled like a woman who’d lived a long time and knew things. “Let’s see. You’re going to fly to Kentucky in a private plane. You’re doing a recital on a piano you haven’t played in years. You’re spending a week with a man in his home, neither of which you’ve ever seen. You’ll be riding horses and trout fishing in a Kentucky stream. Why, Caroline, your adventurous streak is returning! I’m proud of you.”
“You don’t think I’m crazy?”
“Why, no, I don’t think you’re crazy. Especially after I get Sam to check him out.”
“Can Sam do that?” Caroline propped her elbows on the Formica tabletop.
“Of course, and he will. He’ll find out if what this man is telling you is the truth. Then we’ll all feel better that he’s not a pervert who lures beautiful pianists to his lair.”
“Oh, Angel, what in the world would Mama and Dad say?”
Angel shook her head. “You don’t want to hear it, so don’t tell them yet. Not until Sam checks him out. Besides, you are a full-grown woman, capable of making good choices.”
“You’re so wise.” Caroline was relieved that she might find out something about Mr. Adair and that she didn’t need to tell her parents yet. “Come to think of it, he knows about me. I wonder how he did that.”
“Haven’t you heard of the telephone and the inter
net?”
“Guess it’s not that hard.”
“Of course. If he is a man of means, as it appears that he is, he wouldn’t think of inviting you into his home and risking embarrassment in front of his friends if he didn’t know something about you. Only a fruitcake or a psychopath would do that. So that’s why we have to tell Sam.”
“No argument from me. Oh, I almost forgot. He called about half an hour before the recital. I explained it wasn’t a good time to talk because of arriving guests. Then just as the recital started, the yellow and purple irises arrived with a card that read ‘Music. . . when words aren’t enough.’ How did he get that done so quickly?”
“Girl, I know Moss Point is slightly south of a city, but there are ways.” Angel shook her head. “Polly.”
“Yes, but flowers within half an hour? And I don’t even want to consider what Polly thinks and what she’ll be telling everyone in town.”
“Too late for worrying about that. How old do you think this Roderick Adair is?”
“Can’t tell. But he has a baritone voice and speaks like a southern gentleman.”
“Well, I’ll assume he’s just the right age, single, loves music, handsome as the devil, and has his values, purpose in life, and priorities all lined up like my kitchen canisters.”
Caroline raised her right eyebrow. “And just what does that have to do with anything?”
“If all that’s true, then I think you need a recital gown that’ll make you look like you just floated in from some distant star, and a few new dresses for dinner in the evenings, maybe a red strapless with a sheer shawl. Come on, I know just the place to find a dress with your name on it.”
Undeterred, Angel was on a roll. “Let’s see, you’ll need a pair of jeans for riding, a pair of khaki shorts and a fishing vest, and maybe a department store makeup makeover, and—”
“Wait just a minute. I’m not so sure about all this. I do have clothes, remember.”
“Yes, I’ve seen them. Come on, Caroline; let’s go find the dress with your name on it.”
They walked arm in arm, chattering all the while, as Angel led them into her favorite shop. Angel stopped to greet a sales clerk. “So good to see you, Mrs. Kramer. You always knew exactly the dress I needed, whether it was for a ball or a political event or a cruise vacation.”
“Oh, I remember, Mrs. Meadows. I dressed you for years, and you were always a joy.”
“Thank you. Now my friend, Caroline, needs a showstopper of a dress for a piano recital.”
“Come with me. I have several for such an occasion.”
They followed Mrs. Kramer to the back room. The room’s furnishings communicated class: fresh flowers, peach-colored walls to warm pasty complexions, floral-patterned upholstered chairs, mirrored walls, and coffee and cookies served on a Queen Anne’s table.
Mrs. Kramer seated Angel. She took Caroline’s hand, led her up the riser in front of the mirror, and twirled her around studying her body shape and size.
“Six? Or six petite?”
“Six petite.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. I have just the gown for you, but it’s not a petite. Let me bring a few for you to see.” She disappeared through a rear door.
Angel grinned looking at Caroline’s raised right eyebrow. Caroline took the chair next to Angel and eyed the cookies.
Mrs. Kramer returned with a black gown that Angel quickly nixed, a blue gown with beading that was a possibility, a red gown Angel knew would be a knockout but Caroline dismissed, and an emerald green that got the let’s-try-on-the-blue-one-first response.
Caroline tried on the blue. “With this, I could wear the blue topaz necklace and earrings David gave me.”
“No, Caroline, this dress won’t do even if it is the color of your eyes.” She didn’t want Caroline thinking about jewelry that David had given her.
“What about the emerald-green one?”
Mrs. Kramer quickly stepped in. “Well, no doubt that color would be striking on you with your dark hair, but I think it’s one of those dresses that looks better on the hanger.”
“What she’s trying to say, sweetie, is that this dress is not one of those dresses you wear. It wears you.”
“Oh, Mrs. Meadows, you always did have that eye,” Mrs. Kramer said. Then turning to Caroline, she explained, “You really want the people to see you first, not the dress. You want people to say, ‘Isn’t she absolutely stunning?’ not ‘Would you look at that gorgeous dress?’ ”
“Oh.” Caroline stepped down from the riser feeling like a schoolgirl who had just been scolded.
“Mrs. Kramer, what about the first one that came to your mind, the perfect dress that’s not a petite? Do you still have that miracle-working alterations lady?”
“Oh, yes, she’s still here and still working miracles.”
“Lord knows she had to alter everything I ever bought in here. They don’t make gowns for five-foot barrels.”
Mrs. Kramer smiled and sailed through the rear door again. In moments she returned with the dress. It was icy pink, the color of cotton candy. The bodice, with a scooped neck, was fitted and covered with delicate swirls of tiny seed pearls. The long, full, and flowing sleeves of a sheer icy-pink georgette crepe fell to the pearl-laden cuffs. Multiple layers of the same sheer fabric oozed from the waistline and draped to perfection.
Angel broke the silence. “She’ll try it on.”
Caroline raised her right eyebrow again but followed Mrs. Kramer to the fitting room. In a few minutes she returned and stepped up on the riser in front of the mirrors.
“See, it’s just like I told you. You’ll look like you’ve floated into the room from some distant rosy star. I can only imagine what you’ll look like, sitting at the piano with puddles of pink rippling around you and those sleeves swaying as you play. It’s your dress, Caroline.”
“But, Angel, the sleeves, and it’s too long.”
“Mrs. Kramer, get the seamstress.”
The clerk slipped once again through the rear door and reappeared with Matilda. Matilda adjusted and pinned the sleeves and the skirt’s hem and commented on how lucky she was the bodice didn’t need altering.
Mrs. Kramer patted the seamstress on the back. “Hemming the sleeves and the skirt will be a snap for Matilda. Don’t worry.”
“This is it. The color is perfect. Shows off your blue eyes. Oh, and the contrast with your hair. Oh . . . hair. Why, we have to get Gracie to give you a new ’do, and we have to shop for a push-up bra.”
“Angel, this is all a bit much, don’t you think?” Caroline stepped down from the riser.
“Nope, I’d say it’s a bit perfect.”
Caroline started toward the dressing room.
“Caroline?”
Caroline stopped, turning her head to look at Angel over her left shoulder.
“Caroline, the dress truly is yours, just like your Hazelton Brothers piano.”
As Caroline went to change, she couldn’t help but wonder what Roderick Adair might think when he saw her sitting in this pink gown at her piano—his piano.
A Melody of Change in the Air
Caroline and Angel returned home with a car filled with boxes and bags, none of which contained window coverings. Caroline was secretly glad. But she noticed Angel was unusually tired and a bit winded as she climbed the porch steps. “Let me go to the studio and grab the pimiento cheese and toss a quick salad. You don’t need to be making supper.”
Angel gratefully accepted. She was pouring the iced tea when Caroline stepped through the kitchen door. Angel’s animated spirit returned during table conversation when she began to tell Sam about the upcoming trip to Kentucky.
Caroline couldn’t judge Sam’s reaction about Roderick Adair. Years on the courtroom bench had trained him to conceal his feelings. But he agreed to do a check on Mr. Adair and would start the process tomorrow.
“Caroline, we didn’t finish our conversation last night,” he said.
“Which
one?”
“We all laid our suspicions about your intruder on the table, and then we made no decisions about what to do with the information.”
“I don’t think we can do anything right now, Sam. I certainly can’t speak with Linda Johnson about this and imply that Jay may be involved.”
Sam nodded in agreement. “And it’s not wise to involve Caleb in that scenario either. We’re talking about a child here. I’ll just ask Caleb to continue keeping his eye on Bo. Maybe it’s time to consider clearing that land on the other side of the fence, Angel.”
Caroline wiped her mouth and spoke with the last bite of pimiento cheese sandwich in her mouth. “Oh, Sam, you don’t want to do that.” She quickly swallowed. “It’s a haven for birds and ducks and rabbits and an occasional deer and such beautiful trees. That land’s been in your family for nearly two centuries, and it’s the only wooded area left inside the city limits. I really hate to see you do that.”
“And it’s become a perfect hiding place for someone up to no good. Caleb looked over the area and found lots of beer cans and liquor bottles and a makeshift little shack down next to a ravine in the thickest part of the woods.”
Caroline raised both eyebrows. “A shack?”
“Yep, and the deputy found the remains of some campfires. Fires get to be dangerous.”
“Probably teenagers. They must have somewhere to do their mischief,” Angel said.
“We’ve thought for years about turning it into a park. Clean up the underbrush, create hiking and biking trails, put in some picnic tables, and turn it into a place for good use by good folks. Of course, it would have to be rezoned, and that process could take a while.”
“The surrounding neighbors would have to agree,” Angel said.
“I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Mrs. Hendricks would be elated. She’s been fussing about the deer wandering onto her property and eating her flowers for years. The Morgans wouldn’t mind. They’d probably be glad Eric could ride his bicycle through the park to his piano lessons. Old man Silva might give us a problem.”
Return of the Song Page 12