Stolen Hearts

by Jane Tesh

“I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, so you’re a music expert now?”

  “Ashford, you’re what we call an also-ran. Nobody knows your stuff. You may have a small band of fans in academic circles, but your music’s been out of style for decades.”

  “That’s not true.”

  I turned the motor on and switched on the radio. “Okay, listen up.” I moved across the dial, letting him hear pieces of what passed for music these days. There was some indecipherable noise off Rock Ninety-Two, some R & B yearning and moaning, a little bit of orchestra stuff on public radio, and a lot of talk.

  “That’s it,” I said. “That’s what people listen to. They’re more concerned with airing their views than singing a song. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.”

  For once, he had no angry comeback, his expression, lost. On the radio, a loud woman’s voice demanded free abortions for everyone and an equally strident man’s voice told her she was a moron and a murderer.

  “Turn it off,” Ashford said.

  I turned off the engine. Silence filled the car.

  “I wonder if any of this matters,” he said. Then he was gone. Camden looked at me, bemused, like a kid that’s fallen asleep in the car and has no idea where he is.

  I held my thumb and forefinger a few inches apart. “You came this close to being a TV star.”

  His eyes clouded over a moment, and then he said, “Don’t let anyone have the notebook.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “For My Love Has a Roving Eye”

  I was already debating what to do about the notebook, and with Camden’s warning—or possibly Ashford’s—I decided not to call Melanie right away. Saturday morning, I tried the fourth Denise Baker’s number again. She still wasn’t home. I left another message and then I drove out to Greenleaf Forest. Nick Vincent met me at the door.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s find this thing. What does it look like?”

  “It’s platinum with a chain band. I’m going to check the living room. Why don’t you look in my study? I’ve already checked, but you may see what I’ve overlooked.”

  His study was on the second floor, across the hall from the bedroom. It was not the mess I expected. It looked like every other study: a desk with a computer, swivel chair, bookshelves, and file cabinets. The walls were covered with photos. Not surprisingly, all the photos were of Pamela. Pamela as a child, all eyes and red curls. Pamela as a teenager, hair down past the waist of her low-cut jeans. Pamela with a group of people who were obviously her family, huge red-haired brothers and model-tall red-haired sisters, all mugging for the camera.

  But no watch.

  Nick came in. “Find anything?”

  “No, sorry.”

  “Does Pamela have a study?”

  “I’ve looked in there, too, but come see for yourself.”

  Pamela’s study was also neat, neat and plain. Cream-colored file cabinets flanked an oak desk. On the wall were two large paintings of flowers, a framed photo of Nick looking very poetic, and a large white calendar with appointments written in black marker.

  “Hers doesn’t look quite as lived in.”

  “That’s because she’s rarely in it,” Nick said. “She prefers to be on the porch.”

  “Have you checked outside?”

  “Yes, all around the house.”

  “Let’s look again.”

  Pamela came home while we were rooting through the trashcans. “Oh, hello, David. I thought you weren’t going to look for the locket anymore.”

  Nick froze. She must have been an expert at reading his expressions, because she put her hands on her hips.

  “Okay, what have you lost now?”

  “It’s nothing, Honey, really.”

  “Nick.”

  He gave me an imploring look, but I didn’t think Pamela would appreciate any more lies. “Tell her, Nick. She might know where it is.”

  Pamela continued to glare. “Where what is?”

  “My watch.”

  “The one I gave you for your birthday?” He nodded. “The platinum one?” He took several steps back before she exploded. “Nicholas Harold Vincent, I don’t believe this! Your brand new watch? The very expensive brand new watch?”

  “Please don’t be upset. David is helping me look.”

  “You’re impossible.” She held up both her hands as if distancing herself from both of us. “I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

  “Pam, Honey, please—”

  “No, you two keep playing in the garbage. I’ve got things to do.”

  Nick watched as she stalked back into the house. “Oh, brother.”

  “I’ll go talk to her.”

  He slumped down on the ground and leaned against the trash cans. “She has every right to be angry. I can’t keep up with anything. There’s no telling what I’ll lose next, possibly my mind.”

  “Look around,” I said. “You’re surrounded by forest. Two expensive pieces of jewelry are missing from your house. I think you have burglars. It would be very easy for someone to sneak in through the woods and steal from your house. Get a good security system and stop blaming yourself.”

  That was Nick’s pep talk. Next, I went into the house to try to cheer Pamela. I found her pacing her kitchen.

  “I’m not very happy about this, David.”

  “I can tell.”

  “I’m beginning to believe Nick has a serious problem, one that needs therapy.”

  “I don’t think it’s that bad.”

  She stopped pacing and leaned against the counter, arms folded. “I thought once we were married and he’d settled down, this problem would go away, but now I’m thinking he needs professional help. He needs constant supervision.”

  I was beginning to see why Pamela had married this guy. He was husband and child all in one convenient package. Did I see Kary that way? Loving wife and sweet innocent child, a replacement for—I didn’t allow that thought to go any further.

  “Before you call in the guys in white coats, will you give me a chance to find the watch? As I told Nick, you’re out here in the woods, no alarm system, no close neighbors. Valuable jewelry is missing. I think it’s burglars.”

  “I think it’s Nick.”

  “Then you don’t need me.”

  She looked down at the floor. I saw her lower lip tremble and was immediately chagrined.

  “Hey, I’m sorry. That sounded a little harsh.”

  She looked at me, tears brimming. “No, I do need you, David. I’m so worried about him. Whatever it costs, please prove it’s burglars, or aliens, or whatever. I don’t want it to be Nick.”

  “Me, either.”

  Nick and I took another walk around the house. He gave me a complete description of the watch. I said I’d check with him later and left. My cell phone rang just as I got into my car. It was Melanie Gentry.

  “Any luck?” Her voice was eager.

  “Sort of,” I said. “Mr. Lassiter does have a notebook. I had a friend play through the songs. The tunes are copies of the ones in the book you gave me. No new ones, I’m afraid.”

  “Do you have it?”

  I would have been suspicious even without Camden’s warning. “No, Lassiter wants to hang onto it. It has some of his music in it, too.”

  I could almost see her beaming. “It could be very helpful in establishing exactly when she wrote some of the songs. Perhaps it could prove that she came up with the tunes, not Ashford.”

  “Or it could prove she didn’t.”

  “I want to see it. As soon as you have it, call me.”

  I closed my phone and sat for a while. Something didn’t make sense. Neither John Ashford nor Laura Gentry were famous enough to merit such intensity.

  *
**

  The first Saturday afternoon of the Falling Leaves Festival is not the time to be walking downtown, but I managed to swim upstream against the tide of ambling tourists to Fairbanks and Blum. People were three deep at the booth, checking out the merchandise. Apparently, Tommy had brought enough chains. The shelves and display cases were full, and plenty of money was exchanging hands. This hadn’t improved Annie Blum’s disposition. She still looked like a witch whose Halloween had been canceled.

  Tommy handed a package to a man, took his money, and thanked him. He turned to me. “Can I help you?”

  “Just a little information, please. You know anyone who deals in heart-shaped lockets?”

  “What kind you looking for?”

  I described Pamela’s necklace. He shook his head. Annie gave me a sour look.

  “Told you he wouldn’t be much help.”

  “Just shut up,” Tommy said.

  “You said I could take a break. That was half an hour ago.”

  “So go. What’s keeping you?”

  She gestured to the crowd. “You think you can handle this by yourself? I’ve got to keep an eye on things. Didn’t that policeman tell us to be on the lookout? No telling how many thieves are in this crowd.”

  Tommy turned to her in exasperation. “Why the hell do you even come to the festival?” he asked, which was exactly what I was wondering. “You never have any fun, and you drag me down. Why don’t you go home?”

  “I don’t trust you. You could tell me you made five thousand when really it was six. I do half the work. I want half the money. I’m staying here to keep you honest.”

  “You’re staying here to drive me crazy.” He turned back to me. “Sorry, Mister, I don’t know anything about heart-shaped lockets.”

  Annie was busy with a customer. I lowered my voice. “You’ve got yourself an ornery partner there.”

  “Yeah, the only reason I put up with her is because she’s a great designer. Before we teamed up, my stuff was going nowhere. Now people can’t get enough of it. Trouble is, she can’t put the links together like I can. It’s one of those—what do you call it? Symbolic relationships?”

  “Symbiotic, maybe.”

  “Huh? Yeah, that’s it. Like those fish who live in those poisonous plants under the sea. I’m the fish. She’s the poisonous plant.”

  I thanked him for his time and started the struggle back up the street. I almost ran into the solid square bulk of Jordan Finley.

  “Excuse me, Mister Policeman. I’m lost.”

  Jordan’s sharp blue eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, but I could guess his expression. “The town dump is five miles straight ahead.”

  “Are you the cop warning everyone about pickpockets?”

  “That’s my job, that and keeping the Low Rock element sober.”

  Low Rock is a community just over the state line known for its moonshiners. Low Rockers love the festival. They see it as an occasion to put on their shoes and come to town. “I thought I saw America’s Most Toothless wandering around.”

  Jordan’s blank sunglasses surveyed the crowd. “What are you doing here, Randall?”

  “I had a hankering for a corn dog.”

  We stepped back for a woman pushing a stroller. Two babies rode inside while a third child clung to her skirt. Their faces were smeared with chocolate ice cream. Balloons bobbed from their wrists. A harried-looking father followed, carrying a fourth child and a plastic bag full of stuffed animals. For a moment, I envisioned Kary as the mother, Donnie trailing obediently behind.

  “You on a case or just slumming?”

  “Trying to locate a missing locket, a missing watch, and some missing songs—oh, and Camden’s possessed by the spirit of the dead songwriter.”

  Jordan’s blank stare swung my way. “I don’t recall him having too much trouble until you moved in.”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m a lightning rod for the paranormal.” I prepared myself for a lecture from Jordan about my work habits, my choice of clients, and general endangerment of the tenants of 302 Grace.

  He surprised me. “You need my help with anything, let me know, Randall. I’m on duty till eight.”

  “Thanks. That’s the best offer I’ve had all week.”

  “What’s this about some missing songs and a dead songwriter?”

  “Don’t worry. He’s been dead for a long time.”

  “And he just popped in to say hello?”

  “There’s some question about the authorship of his songs.”

  Jordan readjusted his sunglasses. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with Albert Bennett, would it?”

  “Maybe.”

  Jordan lowered the sunglasses to give me the full intensity of his gaze.

  Time to steer the conversation in another direction. “Have you had any problems in the Greenleaf Forest area? I think my client’s house has been broken into twice.”

  “Has your client reported this to the police?”

  “I’m going to find out what happened.”

  Jordan’s snort was just this side of sarcastic. “Tell him to buy himself a good burglar alarm system.” A scuffle near the corn dog stand caught his attention. “Hey! None of that. You boys move along.”

  As he went to separate the teenagers, I wedged myself through the crowd and down the street to Lily’s booth, which fortunately had a crowd. Lily saw me and waved.

  “We’ve sold twenty crystals!”

  “That’s great.” I moved to one side so she could help her next customer, a wispy-looking woman with a bow in her hair. I really think sixty is too old to be wearing hair bows, but I wasn’t going to point this out. “Where are your helpers?”

  “Margery went back to my house for more crystals, and Clark got too hot. He’s used to being indoors.”

  Hiding out from those pesky aliens. “Need a hand?”

  “Gosh, yes, if you’ve got time.”

  It wasn’t hard to hand people crystals and make sure nobody carried one off. If anyone asked me a question, I made up an answer. “Yes, the blue has good soothing rays. No, if you’re Aquarius, you ought to stick to amethyst. The best one for healing properties? Rose quartz cures all.”

  Lily was too busy with her end of the table to pay attention to me. After a while, we had a lull in the action. We plopped in the folding chairs.

  Lily carefully folded the money into her cash box. “We’re doing extremely well, David. Thanks so much for your help.”

  “No problem.”

  “Did you find out anything about the missing locket?”

  “No. That’s okay. I’ve got plenty of other things to think about.”

  “I really want to help. Maybe the crystals can tell us.” She took some spears and made a circle. “The yellow ones often point toward the truth.”

  I let her play with her rocks. “Well, see what they say about Albert Bennett.”

  She looked up. “Susie Bennett’s great uncle? That was so sad.”

  “You know a member of his family?”

  “Susie comes to my herb drying class.”

  “Where does she live? Do you think she’d talk to me?”

  “I don’t see why not. She lives on Brookbank Avenue near the drugstore.”

  I gave her a hug. “Lily, you amaze me.”

  She looked startled and blushed. “It’s the crystals.”

  I didn’t care what it was. I was just happy to have a lead.

  ***

  After fighting my way through the crowds to the Fury, I drove the backstreets to get to Brookbank Avenue. Susie Bennett lived in a modest brick house with a landscaped yard and a big pot of yellow chrysanthemums on the front porch. She was a trim woman with short graying hair and blue eyes that looked me up and down and decided I was worth
talking to.

  “Ms. Bennett, I’m David Randall. I’d first like to offer my sympathies.”

  “Thank you. Albert Bennett and I weren’t close, but it was still a shock. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m a private investigator, and I’m working on another case that may be connected to your great uncle’s murder. I understand his notebook of musical notation was the only thing taken and it was left behind?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I don’t know anything about music, but apparently, somebody thought this notebook was important. It belonged to Albert’s father, Horatio. I never knew him. He lived in New York City for most of his life. The police said it was some experimental thing. I can’t see how it would be valuable, except to other musicians.”

  “Can you tell me exactly what happened?”

  She bent down to pluck the dead leaves off the chrysanthemum. “Albert must have surprised the thief. He was struck over the head, and when he fell, he hit the corner of a table.” She straightened and tossed the dead leaves behind a bush. She dusted her hands. “He was a very wealthy man, not that I’ll ever see any of it. He always had cash and jewelry in the house, but nothing else was taken. Whoever broke in was after that notebook. Your guess is as good as mine why anybody would want a notebook full of scribblings no one else can read.”

  Kind of like the notebook I had—almost. “Were there any witnesses? Any clues at all?”

  “No.”

  “Ms. Bennett, would you mind if I had a look in your uncle’s house?”

  “I don’t mind, but I don’t have a key. I guess you could ask the police.”

  ***

  Jordan had given me strict orders to keep out of Albert Bennett’s house. Nothing was said, however, about walking around the outside. I kept away from the yellow tape and cautiously made my way around the large stone house. Huge bushes made a barrier between Bennett’s house and the neighbor’s. A series of broken branches and scattered twigs suggested the intruder had made his escape through these bushes, but as I walked along, I noticed several rents where someone might have pushed through. Had the police checked every one? Maybe the neighborhood kids liked to play in these bushes. Maybe there was more than one way through.