He shrugged. “It helps a bit—signing. Less than you’d imagine, though. Generally one signs a different word to express the precise meaning, so it helps to look at someone’s face while they sign. I wish my lip reading skills were better.”
“You seem amazing to me,” Miranda said.
He winked at her. “Now you’re just being kind. But thank you.” They smiled at each other before Russ added, “Did I tell you there’s more than one form of sign language? The majority of Americans who are hearing impaired learn American Sign Language. But I’ve run into folks who used British Sign Language and communicating with them feels like playing charades. Annoying and confusing.” He flashed another quick smile. “Wait. Speaking of sorry, should I apologize? Is my former teacher’s tendency to lecture popping out with all this talk about different ways of communicating?”
“Oh, no. Please, go on.” I could listen to you for hours, she thought.
“Okay. Tell me if I get too long-winded. Let’s take your example. If I said ‘I’m sorry’ but was being sarcastic, I might sign the word ‘mean’ then follow up with ‘I’m sorry.’ But if I wanted you to be sure I was being sarcastic I’d probably sign ‘I’m sorry’ while shaking my head furiously or jumping up and down and yelling ‘not!’”
Miranda laughed and Russ joined her. The tension that had existed between them during the hours they’d spent at Virginia’s eased another degree.
Russ gestured toward Silent Sunlight. “I still have a couple of pen and ink pieces Kam drew while we were in Kabul. Actually, I have one or two he did back when he took my Intro to Anthropology class. If you’d like I can bring them over to Miss Virginia’s sometime when we’re dealing with...all that.” He pulled a card from his pocket. “Which reminds me. Would you call with your schedule once you start your theater classes? My own hours with the furniture store can get pretty crazy, but it would help if I knew when you were free to work.” He paused for a long moment. Finally, he mumbled, “I have a phone that types out the messages.” His mouth turned down at the corners. “Or just let me know tomorrow night when we’re tearing through boxes again.”
“I’d very much like to see more of Kamyar’s work,” Miranda wrote. “And I’ll give you my schedule as soon as I know how much after-camp stuff needs doing. We’re in class from nine to two each day but I think Bonnie Hamil has some extra rehearsals planned.”
She was aware of Russ’s discomfort and his anger at being unable to hear, but she figured it was best to ignore it. He didn’t appear to dislike her, at least away from Virginia’s house. Miranda wasn’t sure where this tentative friendship might be headed, but as she and Russ left the tent together she was certain of one thing. She wanted to find out.
CHAPTER TEN
MIRANDA TURNED TO face the front of the empty warehouse, where an audience would eventually sit, and stuck her right arm straight out. “Stage right.” She dropped her arm, then stuck her left one straight out. “Stage left.” She pointed forward. “Downstage.” She turned and pointed behind the group of six-and seven-year-old eager wannabe actors, singers and dancers who were learning the basics of stage directions before graduating to dance steps. “Upstage. Got it?”
Heads nodded in understanding. Miranda smiled. She knew quite well the group no more had this than she had three heads. The ten-and eleven-year-old kids who’d been in the last class had been equally clueless. The junior high class hadn’t been much better. These younger kids could barely tell the difference between right and left, much less how those directions figured into where they needed to move when on stage. She gestured for her students to stand. “We’re going to drill it now, crew.”
Miranda spent the next four minutes calling out directions and watching excited kids run from one area of the stage to the other. When she was satisfied that the majority knew where they were going she introduced the children to the world of ball changes and heel stomps. She was absurdly proud of Jesse Castillo, who’d caught on to the directions faster than any of the other children even though he had to lip-read her words or follow her signing with intense concentration. Miranda had arranged a private lesson with Dr. Vinny to make sure she knew enough signing to indicate stage directions and the various words used to describe dance movements. Once the children had begun to learn actual steps and were practicing, Miranda let Jesse dance barefoot to feel the vibrations from the wooden stage, and she clapped in time to the music, standing where he could see her and follow those claps.
She grinned at her charges. “Okay. We’re going to learn how to do a three-step turn, go over it until y’all are perfect, then we’ll add some heel stomps and step ball changes. If you’re really wonderful, which I know you will be, in a week or two I’ll teach y’all the Most Extraordinary Super Duper Unbelievably Amazing Kick Line in the Universe and add it to whatever song we do for the camp show.”
Miranda was even prouder of Jesse when she demonstrated the step ball change and watched him understand the concept of the weight shift long before his fellow dancers, including many of the older children. He was having the time of his life and she was grateful to Bonnie for checking addresses and finding that two of the older students lived in the same apartment complex as Willow Terence. Their parents were more than happy to provide Jesse with a ride so he could be part of the camp. Miranda also blessed whatever divine inspiration had led her to The Cooper School.
Miranda was having the time of her own life, as well. She’d taught dance before when she was in high school and later, as part of her undergraduate work. She’d taught part-time at a community college in Queens one year. She’d choreographed for summer stock in Maine and New Hampshire, but she’d never experienced the kind of enthusiasm and sheer joy she saw on the face of nearly every child involved in the Masquerade Theater.
Camp was scheduled to end at 2:00 p.m., but since this was the first day, Bonnie had asked each of the instructors to come up with a short performance, starting at one-thirty. The kids loved having the chance to watch their teachers on stage and generally strived harder after seeing what advanced performers were capable of. Miranda glanced at her watch. One twenty-five.
“Okay. Time for y’all to sit back down in the audience and chill, my awesome dancers. Just be nice and applaud for me, will you?” She grinned.
Heads bobbed in agreement. Two children yelled, “We love you, Miss Randi!”
Kids from all classes suddenly scurried in and plopped onto the floor of what passed as the theater house, then settled down to enjoy watching their teachers. First up was the music instructor, who shoved the old upright piano out of the wings and onto the stage and entertained with a medley of tunes from Mary Poppins. The two acting teachers followed, delighting the kids with a very funny scene from the Broadway version of Matilda.
Miranda had provided the music teacher with a copy of “Hold On” from the musical The Secret Garden. It was a piece she often used for auditions, so she felt comfortable singing without having had a chance to rehearse. Even though she’d probably sung the song more than a hundred times, she still loved it. She glanced into the audience. The kids apparently felt the same, since they were giving her a standing ovation midway through the second verse. Miranda almost laughed—the last time she’d sung onstage had been during the final night of Illumination, for a sophisticated Broadway crowd who’d paid over a hundred dollars a ticket. Now she was giving her all for one hundred kids wearing shorts and tees, their sweaty faces beaming with pride that this was their teacher!
She was about three measures into the third verse when she noticed a face that was definitely not smiling. Russ. He was staring at her with his jaw thrust forward. He looked at the children who were standing, then back at her. The theater was a small space and Miranda could see Russ’s slightest movements. He began to blink rapidly, then he swallowed hard, determinedly squared his shoulders, inhaled and whirled around so fast she half expecte
d the kids’ baseball caps that were hanging on pegs just inside the entrance to be blown out the door.
Miranda desperately tried to remember the words to a song she’d known since she’d been as young as the kids in the audience. She felt dizzy and disoriented. The song actually felt slower, as though she were singing through syrup. She was fighting for the high notes while experiencing the sensation that her voice and her body were being controlled by a sadistic ventriloquist who refused to let her off the stage. The theater was air-conditioned yet Miranda could feel rivulets of perspiration inching down her spine.
She made it through the last chorus, barely registered the applause and cheers from the campers and faculty, then politely but impatiently waited for the remaining acts to finish. After the design teacher wrapped up a five-minute demonstration on how to build a “flat,” Miranda waved to the kids who were lining up to get their belongings and catch their rides and pulled herself together enough to receive the fist bumps from the older kids and the hugs from the younger crowd. Only then was she able to race down the hall to the makeshift office used by Bonnie and the theater’s administrator, Mrs. Cassidy, a tall woman with perfect posture, iron-gray hair pulled into a bun and an iron will to match. Seventy-odd years ago one of her parents had given her the unlikely first name of Candy.
“Candy. Uh, hi. Weird question, but was there a delivery made here earlier? Like maybe twenty minutes ago?”
Candy threw her a sharp look. “There was. I’m sitting on half of that delivery and happily filling out a database on top of the other.”
“Ah. I see. That very lovely desk-and-chair set.”
“Yes, indeed. Rocky Ridge Furniture was having a sale and Bonnie and I have always done business with them. Mind if I ask why you’re interested?”
“Oh. No reason. Just curious,” Miranda said.
“Right. Curious spelled R-U-S-S-E-L-L?”
Miranda chewed her lower lip. “That obvious?”
“Only to me, hon. And perhaps I’m more observant because Mr. Gerik asked where you were when he was setting up the desk and chair for me. I told him dance classes were in the new theater space and if he wanted to pop in he could check it out and say howdy.”
“Well, he did—but he didn’t stay long.”
“He did have work to do,” Candy said. “Then again, he did tear out of here like he was the fox and the hounds were after him. He didn’t look happy. What did you do to him?”
“Nothing! I didn’t even know he was in the building until I was halfway through the third verse of ‘Hold On’ and then I saw him and next thing you know, poof! Gone.”
“Well, shoot. If I’d realized you were as crazy about him as he is for you, I’d have hog-tied him and kept him here for you!”
“What? Crazy about me?”
Candy snorted. “Honey, I may look like a prison warden, but I’m a romantic to the core and I’m telling you, that boy has more than a passing interest in you. Even with the great estate rivalry of the century.”
Miranda shook her head. “I’m not buying it. I mean, it hasn’t been pistols at dawn but he’s normally pretty standoffish. Although we did have a very nice conversation this past weekend at the Trussville Fair. Neutral territory and all. Neither of us mentioned Virginia’s name or anything to do with wills.” She smiled. “I really enjoyed talking with him, though I’m not as certain he felt the same.”
“Well, Russ was always a tough nut to crack—even before he lost his hearing. He’s not the most trusting guy in the world. I’ve known him since he was a teenager.”
“Really? I had no idea. How and where?”
“Russ attended the high school where I was the principal’s secretary. He was and is smart as a whip. He was in the band, he ran track, played tennis, loved art classes and did very well on the debate team—I seem to recall a trophy or two. All that. But he was never terribly happy.”
“Why?”
“His mother left his dad when Russ was twelve. Took off to Nashville intent on becoming a county-singing star. Nice, huh? Just that age when a kid is about to enter adolescence and needs a mom to help him figure out the female species. What’s really crazy is that Nashville isn’t all that far. But I don’t think Russ has seen the woman in twenty years. His dad died about six years ago so he really doesn’t have family.”
Miranda winced. “That’s awful.”
“I agree. Now go away and let me get some work done. I’m a fast typist but I’m not superhuman, and I’d like to have this database finished by tomorrow morning. By the way—break Russ Gerik’s heart and I’ll break your legs.”
“Well...I’m off, then. I actually have to meet the man at Virginia’s in about forty minutes.” She winked. “Enjoy the new desk and chair.”
Miranda quickly headed for the exit, waving at the kids who were piling into cars in the parking lot or waiting inside the glass doors of the theater for their rides to arrive. She drove to her dad’s so she could grab Phoebe and walk the dog over to Virginia’s to give the pup the minimum exercise required for a Border collie.
Miranda and Phoebe made it to Virginia’s in record time but Russ was already there, sitting on the porch. The door behind him was open.
“The cops should be here in approximately one minute,” he said.
She signed, I seem to remember we set the alarm the other day.
“We did. I’m assuming someone either knew the code or figured it out.”
Miranda nodded. This doesn’t make me happy. Who the heck is breaking in and what is he looking for? An original Auttenberg maybe?
“I got about half of that,” Russ growled. “I thought your signing was better. But I did glean enough to know that something needs to be done before this joker gets bold and decides to break in while we’re here working.”
Miranda started to respond but was interrupted by the arrival of two police cars. She was glad to see that Officer Hernandez was driving one of them. After he’d introduced Miranda and Russ to the other three responding officers, Hernandez suggested the group head inside for a check of the premises. Russ took a moment to reassure Spero and Phoebe that the visitors were friends and they could relax.
Once the pertinent question of “What time do you think this happened?” had been asked and unanswered—neither Russ nor Miranda had the slightest idea—Hernandez signed, I assume y’all have had a bit more time to figure out what all’s in the house. Maybe you’ll have some idea if anything was stolen?
Russ shrugged. She shook her head. “Yes and no. We’ve been able to do some inventory of Virginia’s belongings but nothing valuable has turned up. I mean her recipe books are nice but not exactly worth all this effort to break in. And we haven’t found any priceless paintings or expensive antiques. Of course someone else obviously believes that something valuable is here but they apparently aren’t aware of where it’s hidden, either. Assuming it exists. And the only thing of value I can think of would be artwork. Which we’re not totally sure even exists, either.”
Four police officers stared at her. Hernandez chuckled. “That was the most convoluted answer I’ve heard since the guy cooking meth in his basement tried to explain he was frying bacon in the kitchen and that’s why his entire house, except the kitchen, blew up.”
Miranda tried to explain. “Well, yeah, it is somewhat complicated but no one is really sure that Miss Virginia even had any of her husband’s paintings. If she did, she hid them and no one knows where, including Russ and me. And I’m probably not doing the best job of explaining since I’m still feeling a bit sketchy about this whole breaking-in business. Scratch that. Let’s say extremely sketchy. My knees are weak and my stomach isn’t exactly stable.”
There were nods all around. “Very understandable,” Hernandez said gently. He turned to Russ and signed, Ideas?
Russ answered, “Your guess is a
s good as mine. I was at this house at least once a month before I went to Afghanistan and although I wasn’t able to visit as often later, I’m sure if Virginia had kept anything worth stealing, she would have mentioned it to me.”
Miranda took a deep breath. “Okay. Now that explanations or guesses are over, why don’t we give y’all the guided tour? It should be a bit easier now that most of Virginia’s things are in the living room. Well, some stuff is in the attic. We haven’t started up there yet.”
“Did she have any electronics?” Officer Burroughs asked. “High-tech computer or sound equipment? That’s usually what thieves are after since it’s easy to sell. Or drugs. Oxy is a big draw for kids breaking in and lots of elderly folks have a cabinet full of major pain meds.”
Miranda turned to Russ and mimed popping pills then asked, “Virginia?”
He shook his head. “The only pain meds were specifically for the cancer. And the hospice team was here when she died so they would have cleared out any old medications.”
Miranda’s throat tightened, lost for a moment as she imagined Virginia’s last months on earth. Had she wished for more time than her ninety-five years? Or had she simply hoped to meet her husband and child again after losing them both nearly seventy years earlier. With some effort, Miranda brought her attention back to the officers. “She did have a new laptop but that wouldn’t get a thief more than a couple hundred bucks at best. And Miss Virginia’s lawyer told me her jewelry is in a safe-deposit box, and she had very little anyway.” She paused. “Oh! Dave Brennan!”
“Who?” asked Hernandez.
“Miss Virginia’s attorney. Well, one of them anyway. Dave is handling my part of the contested estate. He needs to know about this latest break-in and he also might have some idea of where she hid her stuff. Plus he needs to know...”
“What?”
She hesitated for a moment. “I hate to accuse people. Really.”
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