Jazzed

  Kate had had a turbulent marriage to Vanessa’s father, but the unassuming woman had come out of her shell when she was around the warm and friendly musician. Annie was determined to get her back to the club to see him. “I’m fine. Really, I am. And you will be too. The club is a short walk from here.” Fear was not going to rule her!

  Everything seemed normal now. Nobody seemed to notice the three shaken women. Annie tried to shrug off her sense of foreboding. Who was trying to keep them away from the club? And why?

  14

  Kate stood in the back of the dark club, immobilized by the sight of Cole standing alone on the stage, his trumpet pointed upward and gleaming in the yellow spotlight. Her fear dissipated—the incident on the subway forgotten—as she listened to note after note float into the air.

  “That’s beautiful.” She just wanted to watch him unnoticed and burn the memory in her mind forever.

  She felt Alice lean against her shoulder. “Do you mean the man or the music?”

  A smile tugged at Kate’s lips. “Both. They are both beautiful.”

  “Can’t argue with you there,” Alice said with a soft laugh.

  “Me either,” Annie whispered in Kate’s other ear.

  They stayed in the shadows, wordlessly listening to the music, until Annie sneezed at the same time Cole took a breath after a long run of notes. He looked up and squinted into the darkness. “Hello?”

  Kate stumbled as Alice pushed her forward with a whisper. “Go on, answer him.”

  “Hi, Cole. We got here a little early.” Kate hesitated and searched for the right words to say. “We’ve been enjoying your music. Um, we didn’t mean to spy on you.”

  He put his trumpet on its stand and stepped off the stage. “Kate! I didn’t see you come in. Welcome back, ladies. And I know you weren’t spying.”

  The club was quiet, absent of clientele and musicians—except for Cole. The women had once again gained admission via the ticket taker who by now recognized them immediately. Though the room was dim, and Kate couldn’t see the portraits, she felt the eyes of long-dead musicians peering from the walls. They lived on in the music played by a new generation of musicians. “Do you ever feel like they are watching you, the old jazz musicians?”

  Cole turned his head toward the smiling Louis Armstrong. “They listen too. I play better in this room than I do anywhere else, even the recording studio at the university.” He paused. “I’m glad you made it here early. I have time to take you to dinner at Marvin’s, my favorite local café. It’s right around the corner.” He led them back upstairs to the club’s entrance and pulled a key ring from his pocket. “Mitchell gave me a key to the place a long time ago,” he explained. With that, the group stepped back out into the night, and Cole locked the front entrance to The Avant-Garde.

  ****

  Fifteen minutes later, the four of them were sitting around a table, sharing a nook with an old pay phone from the days when it cost a dime to make a call. The walls were lined with old photos, vintage plates, and Greenwich Village memorabilia.

  “This place is lovely,” said Annie, studying several miniature bronze busts sitting atop a small wooden shelf on the wall opposite the phone.

  Alice, sitting next to Annie, was amazed to see a pay phone on the wall. “Wow, what a relic! I’m glad they kept it, though. There aren’t many of those around anymore. This place sort of reminds me of Grey Gables with all of the old stuff here.”

  The women laughed, and Annie quickly gave Cole an abbreviated history of Grey Gables and the never-ending mysteries provided by the attic. “We are definitely history buffs.”

  Cole pointed out a series of photos displayed near the entrance of the café. “It’s been owned by the same family since 1919. Each generation is represented on that wall. History lives here just like it does at The Avant-Garde.”

  Alice excused herself and left the table. By the time she returned, the server had left several plates of food.

  “Annie, I need you to see something. It won’t take long. Your food won’t get cold.”

  “Alice, this isn’t a spy game, is it?” Annie asked with a smile while refolding her napkin and putting it by her plate. She looked at Cole and Kate. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll indulge Alice a minute. Please go ahead and start eating.”

  Annie followed her friend as they threaded their way through the tables toward the back of the café. “The restroom is rather small, and I had to wait my turn, which gave me time to find this.” Alice led Annie through a set of tied-back burgundy curtains into a small hallway lined with framed snapshots of days gone by. She pulled a section of the curtain from the wall and there, between portraits of Charlton Heston and Grace Kelly, was a black-and-white photo of Asta between two young men, one tall and the other rather short. “Isn’t this Asta? Who are these guys with her?”

  Leaning closer to the photo, Annie breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, it’s Asta. But neither of them is Grandpa. I never really thought he had been interested in anyone but Gram. You know, this looks like the photos of Leo Harmon that I found online. But if it is Leo, I wonder who took the photo?” The man was too tall to be Grandpa, although his hair was also dark, and while his smile was pleasant, it just didn’t have the Holden family look. The other man was too short, his grin too wide. “Maybe the shorter man is Mitchell. He has that toothy-smile thing going.”

  “Maybe. No telling.” Alice stuck her head through the doorway and looked around. “The coast is clear. Let’s take a picture of it!”

  “You are incorrigible,” Annie replied, holding back the curtain for her friend.

  Alice chuckled. “Yes, and you love that about me.” She snapped several photos of the print using her cellphone. “I suppose we should get back to the table,” she said. “We don’t want Kate and Cole to think we are on a spying expedition!”

  Annie took one more peek at the photo before returning the curtain to its place. “Well, I suppose we can sneak back to the table and see if we catch those two making goo-goo eyes at each other.”

  “Mission accomplished,” said Alice, brushing her hands together in an all-finished signal. “I’m glad you are getting into this matchmaker thing.”

  Annie raised her eyebrows. “Oh, is that what we’re doing?”

  Kate and Cole were engrossed in conversation when Annie and Alice returned to the table.

  “We’re back!” Alice announced as she plopped down in her chair. “I was right. There is a photographic treasure right here in this restaurant!”

  Cole put down his fork. “There are lots of photos in this place, many of them taken at The Avant-Garde over the years. What did you find?”

  Alice shifted in her chair as if about to explode with information, reminding Annie of Peggy when she was about to pop from keeping a secret. “I peeked behind the tieback curtains in the hallway—I always look behind curtains because you never know what you’ll find. There was a photo of Asta and Leo. At least, Annie thinks it’s Leo, based on pictures she found of him online. He was one tall, lanky dude. Handsome in a quirky sort of way.”

  Reaching for a slice of bread and dipping it into a small bowl of olive oil, Annie thought it was time to bring up the handsome ruffian on the subway. “Cole, do you have any idea why someone would not want you to get to know Kate?”

  “Of course not,” Cole said, his ravioli-laden fork stopped midway to his mouth, “but that’s a strange question. Why?”

  The women told him about the phone message left in the hotel room and described the incident on the subway.

  “That’s odd. I didn’t leave a message on the hotel-room phone. I called Kate’s cellphone,” Cole said. “The man on the subway, did he try to hurt you?”

  Annie shook her head and rubbed her hand over the spot where the ruffian grabbed it. “No, not really. I mean, he shoved me a little, and I probably have a nasty-looking bruise on my arm.”

  “Did you call 911?”

  “No, we didn’t, because nothing was stolen,
and I wasn’t badly hurt. It scared us though.” Annie looked at Cole. “Are there any jealous exes lurking around?”

  “I hate to admit this, but I’ve not had a serious girlfriend in ages. No worries in the jealous ex department.” He glanced at Kate before addressing Annie. “Do you think all of this could have anything to do with the photos you unearthed?”

  “Maybe,” Annie said. “Anything is possible. But why would photos from over fifty years ago cause someone to go to these lengths to scare us away?”

  Cole shrugged. “Beats me. I didn’t know Asta existed until you showed up with Leo Harmon’s photos of her. My only connection is Ernst Michaels. Mitchell told me you had some photos printed by him. Ernst and I met at Columbia years ago.”

  Alice whipped out her cellphone and signed onto the Internet. “I wonder whatever happened to Asta.” Her fingers punched keys with rapid speed. The words Asta and jazz singers didn’t turn up anything. Neither did Asta and obituary. “Strange. I don’t remember Mitchell giving us her last name, do you?”

  Kate pushed her plate away. “Now that you mention it—no, he didn’t. Maybe she started the one-name thing long before Cher or Madonna. But how many jazz singers named Asta can there be? How do you suppose someone disappeared in the 1940s? Did she take her own life? Have children? Move to Paris?”

  Growling with irritation, Alice stuffed the cellphone in her purse. “What good is technology when it doesn’t give you the answers you need?”

  After kicking around several possible reasons for the phone message and the incident on the subway and their possible connection to Asta, the conversation ceased. Four half-finished meals were left on the table. Cole signaled the server for the check and took his wallet from his pocket. “This is on me, a thank-you for coming to hear me play tonight. And I intend to escort you back to the hotel after the show. I want to make sure you’re safe. I’m only playing in the first set, so it won’t be too late.”

  ****

  Cole had just finished his set when Mitchell Grants stopped by the table to see Annie, Alice, and Kate. “You came back to see us. You’ve been bitten by the jazz bug.” He kissed each of them on the cheek as they rose to greet him.

  Alice snickered. “Jazz bug, love bug. Lots of bugs buzzing around this club these days.”

  Giving Alice a light swat on the arm, Kate interrupted before more could be said. “We’ve enjoyed meeting you, Mr. Grants. Thank you for everything.”

  Recorded music filtered through the speakers as the band members stepped from the stage. Mitchell looked around the club before turning to Annie. “Thank you for sharing your photos with me. You really took me down memory lane. Those were the glory days of jazz.”

  Removing the napkin from beneath her empty glass, Annie neatly printed her name and phone number before handing it to Grants. “If you remember anything else about Asta or hear from her family, please give me a call.”

  He stuffed the napkin in the inside pocket of his sports coat, his gnarled fingers shaking a bit. “When Asta stepped down from that stage after her last show here, we never saw her in The Avant-Garde again. It was like she just vanished. But if I hear of anything, I’ll let you know.”

  Club patrons were streaming in for the next set by the time Cole led Kate and her friends from the building. “I’m springing for a cab. It’s safer.”

  “You won’t get any complaints from us,” Kate said with a sigh. “I was dreading getting back on that subway.”

  Cole pointed out places of interest on the way to the convention center and took Kate’s hand in his about five minutes into the trip, which went much faster than the trek on the subway. She dreaded saying goodbye and wondered if she would ever see him again.

  When the cab pulled under the portico at the convention center, Cole read the fare total, selected a twenty-percent tip, and swiped his credit card in the machine anchored in the backseat.

  “Thank you for seeing us home, Cole, but you don’t need to walk us to the room. We’ll be fine.” Annie was already digging her room key out of her purse.

  He walked ahead to the door and held it open for them. “I’ll just feel better if I actually hear that door lock behind you. Besides, I’m not quite ready to say goodbye yet.”

  Although it was after eleven o’clock, the hotel lobby was filled with people arriving to visit one of the several restaurants and clubs in the center. Kate couldn’t imagine starting a night out so close to midnight, but she was glad Cole didn’t want to say goodbye.

  She squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  The elevator darted to the forty-sixth floor. When the doors opened, Cole held Kate’s hand tightly and held her back a moment to allow Annie and Alice to walk ahead of them toward the room.

  Annie slid her room key into the slot on the door and opened the door before looking back at Cole. “Thank you for dinner and the escort. We’ve had an exciting weekend.”

  Stepping one foot in the room, Alice looked back with a grin. “Don’t stay out too late, kids! And thanks for everything, Cole.”

  When the door closed, Cole traced Kate’s cheek and pressed a business card into her hand before lightly kissing her lips. “I’d like to see you again.”

  Heart pounding and a bit flustered, Kate opened her mouth to respond, but before the words would come out, the hotel room door flew open.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Alice said, as Cole and Kate jumped apart, “but you both need to come inside. There’s a problem!”

  15

  Annie, Alice, and Kate stood speechless, taking in the shocking scene inside the hotel room. Their suitcases had been thrown open and tossed aside, the contents strewn all over the room. Sheets had been torn from the bed, and mattresses were askew on the box springs. Contents of three cosmetic cases had been emptied onto the bathroom floor.

  Cole put an arm around a trembling Kate while Annie picked up the phone to call the front desk. Yanking her trusty cellphone from her bag, an uncharacteristically quiet Alice began snapping photos, working from the door of the room toward the window and then backtracking to the bathroom.

  Replacing the receiver on the phone, Annie turned around and slowly surveyed the disarray. “They said to not touch anything in the room. Hotel security will contact NYPD, and both will be here soon.”

  She watched Kate struggle to maintain composure and was impressed when Cole casually suggested the couple wait outside the room for the authorities to arrive. The door had just closed behind them when Alice growled from the bathroom.

  “Really? Was it really necessary for them to break my brand-new bottle of perfume and empty a brand-new jar of makeup into the sink?” She continued snapping away, the camera’s flash bouncing off the mirror. “Do you suppose the hotel will reimburse us for damages?”

  A tap at the door interrupted Alice’s tirade. Annie reached for the doorknob. “Maybe this is someone who can answer that question for you.”

  She opened the door to find a New York Police Department police officer presenting his badge and a uniformed hotel security guard holding a clipboard. Kate and Cole entered the room behind them. “I’m Annie Dawson. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

  Annie introduced Alice and Kate and explained their reason for being at the hotel. “We are a bit unnerved, as you can imagine,” she said. “Oh, this is Cole Cutchins. He was nice enough to escort us back to our room after an evening at The Avant-Garde.”

  The police officer, a small man with piercing eyes and a thin nose, nodded and handed Annie a business card. “I’m Officer Frank Fox, NYPD, and this is Hal Bassett, the hotel security chief.”

  Alice tittered nervously and whispered, “Cool, we have the Fox and the Hound, a regular Disney movie!”

  Neither Fox nor Bassett looked amused. While Bassett checked the closet and dressers, Fox walked to the far side of the room and jotted notes on a pad. “Someone really did a number on your room. Were any of you here when the intruders entered?”

  The thre
e women and Cutchins shook their heads.

  Fox scribbled on his pad. “Who discovered the room had been ransacked?”

  “Alice and I came in the room first. Kate and Cole were in the hallway,” Annie said.

  Each woman took turns describing the evening from the time they left The Avant-Garde to the minute Annie picked up the phone to call the hotel’s security office.

  When they finished, Fox walked through the room, taking care to step over the items scattered on the floor. “Can you tell if anything is missing?”

  Kate, who had been quietly clinging to Cole during questioning and speaking only when directly addressed, finally found her voice. “That’s what is so weird. It doesn’t look like anything was taken. Annie’s jewelry case was untouched, and I had a few gas-station gift cards tucked in my bag. None of them was missing.”

  “Any idea who would have done this?” Fox looked at each of the women before settling his eyes on Cole. “What about you?”

  The musician squeezed Kate’s hand. “I think you need to tell him everything that’s happened today.” He looked at Officer Fox. “Someone has been trying to keep us apart.”

  Kate described the two conflicting phone messages received earlier in the day, and Annie gave a blow-by-blow description of the subway incident.

  While Bassett and Fox completed their reports, the crime-scene squad arrived to take fingerprints, and the hotel manager, Bradley Ford, stopped in to offer the women a different room and assure them they’d be safe for the duration of their stay. Bassett, he said, would have a security guard posted outside their room all night.

  “I sincerely apologize for what happened here tonight,” Ford said. “Our security is second to none, and I assure you this type of thing rarely happens. I’ll have an incident report for you to sign before you check out in the morning.” He referred to his notes before addressing Kate. “I understand you signed for the room representing the business A Stitch in Time. Is that correct?”