The Jewelry Case (15 page)

She frowned. "That's interesting. Steve told me
—
"

"Steve?"

"Steve Lopez, my neighbor. Do you know him?"

"As you've noted, this is a small town." Ian sounded grim. "Everybody knows everybody. Yeah, I know Steve. He tends to keep to himself. Good looking, reserved type. Likes the finer things. You and he should get along real well."

She thought about telling him that Steve had invited her to dinner, and discarded the idea. It was none of Ian’s business.

"He didn't sound too happy to hear you were working on my house," she admitted. "I understand the professional rivalry between Ray and your dad, but what does Steve have against you?"

Ian shrugged, relaxing a little. "I dunno. He's a few years older than older than me, and I've never been close to him. He moved back east right out of high school and didn't come back until his dad died. I know the guy wants your land, but I don't see that it's any of his business what you do with it."

"Me too." Paisley passed up the opportunity to remind Ian that it was none of his business either. She picked up the dusty box and headed toward the kitchen.

He took the hint and started toward the back of the house. "As for that letter, I'll take it to my friend," he called over his shoulder "I'll let you know what it says later, okay?"

"Thanks," she called back, turning on the kitchen faucet and rinsing the grit off her hands. She thought that Ian was like one of those genealogy enthusiasts one read about, fascinated by anything from the past. His interest in Esther, an old woman with whom he shared little in common, was touching.

Now, thanks to Ian, Paisley was curious what that old letter said. Paisley was no historian, but she knew that 1939 was a year in which much had happened in Europe, little of it good.In this little old house, surrounded by Esther's possessions, it was impossible not to feel connected to the Perlemans' past.

No doubt, was the reason for those disturbingly real dreams Paisley had experienced when she first arrived, the dreams about Esther's ancestress, Ruth Wegiel. Like Ruth, Esther had been interested in the theater, though as a supporter, not as a performer. According to Shirley, the old woman had dedicated her last years to launching the community theater, and had been active in it until her death.

Paisley dried her hands and thoughtfully looked at her cell phone, poking out of her purse on the kitchen table. Then she reached for it and punched in the phone number of the red-haired book store owner. Shirley answered on the second ring.

“
Paisley! I was hoping to hear from you!”

"Just called to tell you I'll attend rehearsal this afternoon after all." Paisley hesitated, then took the plunge. "And yes, I'll be happy to continue on as musical director, if you still want me."
Was she crazy?
she thought. What impulse had made her volunteer, when she had been so determined not to? Blame it on Esther's ghost, as usual.

Shirley nearly fell all over herself thanking her, and Paisley hung up on gushing expressions of gratitude.

She put away her cell phone, shaking her head. She’d come to River Bend expecting to withdraw from the world and feel sorry for herself. Instead, she had committed herself to a summer of stress and hard work. But the fact was, she had actually enjoyed working with the kids. It reminded her of the old days before she met Jonathan, back when she’d spent that summer working with those inner city youth. It had been so rewarding to see the difference music made in their lives.

#

The walk to town felt longer this afternoon, and this time Steve did not magically appear in his black Audi to give her a lift. As Paisley limped, sweating, up the long incline of the river bend, she wondered once again why she had agreed to help with the play instead of spending the summer lounging in the hammock in the cool, shady backyard. She had better things to do with her time than helping a bunch of adolescents pull together a third-rate show on a shoestring budget. Like ... like....

Like listening to the head-ache inducing ring of hammers and the whine of a cement mixer. Maybe it was just as well that she had an excuse to get out of the house, she admitted grudgingly.

Throwing open the door to the auditorium, she walked into the midst of pandemonium. She recognized most of the young actors from yesterday and was gratified to see several of them wave at her. Theater kids were a friendly bunch, she’d always found, quite a departure from the stereotypical moody teen-age thugs one heard about on the news or saw on Dr. Phil. Like her troubled young neighbor, Kevin.

Her smile faltered a little, remembering his hunched-over shoulders and dark expression when his stepfather addressed him curtly, how quickly he had disappeared into his room, the loud, discordant music that had emerged, like a scream of anguish.

She was too busy to worry about Kevin, though. This time, she got the actors into order with a little less difficulty and soon had them practicing their parts. The tall red-headed kid grinned ear to ear when he learned he had been given the part of the lead cop, and she didn't have the heart to tell him why. He'd be happy enough when the audience roared at his antics on opening night. That was all that mattered.

Shirley came up looking, if anything, more harried than she had yesterday. Her short red hair stood on end, as if she had been pulling at it.

"I can't wait until this darned thing is over," she muttered, contradicting her earlier assurances about how fun it would be to work on the play. "The Pirate King didn't even bother to show up today."

"The Pirate King?" Paisley said blankly.

"Nathan Greenblatt. You know, the chunky kid who ate all the donuts? His mom just called and told us he had a soccer tournament today. Naturally, he forgot to tell us about it." She shook her head mournfully. "Esther always said never to cast an athlete: their loyalty is always to the game."

Paisley nodded sympathetically. "You should have had the cast sign a contract promising they wouldn't get involved in any competing activities. That would have helped."

Shirley's head came up, and her round eyes blinked behind her glasses. "Hey, that's a good idea. I'll remember that next time. But what do I do now?"

"Fire him."

"Fire him?"

Paisley nodded. "Replace him. You can't run a professional production if you can't rely on your star. He wasn't that good anyway."

"I know, but he was the best I had. Who do I replace him with?" Shirley's voice rose to a wail.

"You know your cast better than I do. Who has a decent voice and is a ham?"

Shirley looked around the room vaguely. "Caleb can sing, but I need him in the part of Frederic. He's the only tenor who can reach the high notes." She wrung her hands. "We were already short on males. For some reason, it always seems to be girls who sign on for this kind of thing."

Paisley sighed as she felt the weight of the production settling on her shoulders. Shirley meant well, but it was obvious she had little experience running an show. Esther must have done the major lifting, strange as it seemed for a woman who had been nearly ninety.

"Why not have some girl pirates, too?" she suggested. "After all, the character of Ruth is a female pirate, isn't she? And Penelope Cruz played a pirate in one of those
Pirates of the Caribbean
movies."
"Hmmm." Shirley looked thoughtful. "I don't see why not."

"Another thing," Paisley went on. "Have you thought of recruiting an adult or two for the lead roles? You've billed this as a community theater, but it looks more like youth theater, since your cast is all kids."

"We've had a few adults participate over the years. But most of them have moved away, or don't want to do it any more." Shirley looked thoughtful. "But you're right. There's got to be some untapped talent around here."

Paisley cleared her throat. "What about that real estate agent, Ray Henderson?"

"Ray?" Shirley's hazel eyes popped. "He's the last guy I can envision on stage."

"It's not quite as ridiculous as it sounds. I actually heard him sing a few lines of a Broadway musical. " Paisley didn't say which one, Ray might kill her for telling. "It wasn't bad. He can carry a tune."

Shirley drummed her bitten fingernails on the back of one of the auditorium seats. "Then go ahead and ask him. Now that I think of it, he'd make a great Major General, wouldn't he? He's already got the military bearing, and can't you just see him in a handle-bar mustache and mutton-chop sideburns?" She chuckled. "It would be an improvement on that gawd-awful buzz-cut."

Paisley laughed. "I'll turn up the charm and hope for the best. But that still leaves us without a Pirate King. Is there anyone else in River Bend who can sing?"

Shirley turned up her palms. "No other adults that I know of. And every kid who wants to be is already involved. We sent out flyers the last week of school."

"What about that new kid that moved here earlier this summer?" Chloe, the pretty blond girl with the ponytail, the one who played Mabel, had been listening in.

"New kid?" Paisley asked, turning her head. "Do you mean Kevin Avery? Tall, thin, dark hair?"

"Yeah, that's him. He's kinda shy, but he has an
a-mazing
voice." The girl tossed her mass of shining fair hair over her bare shoulder. "I heard him at open-mic night down at Starbucks. They're doing it again tonight. Maybe he'll be there. You really should check it out, if you're looking for another singer." Chloe wandered off to join her friends. Paisley stared after her.

Kevin could sing? Well, that shouldn't be so surprising. He played the guitar, after all, so he must be at least somewhat musical. And as Shirley had pointed out, the play needed bodies to fill the stage. If by some stroke of luck it were true that her handsome young neighbor could carry a tune ... and
if
she could persuade him to take the role....

She and Shirley spent a few minutes with their heads together, discussing other possible replacements for the Pirate King. After rehearsal, Paisley was sipping from her water bottle to soothe her raspy throat when the blond girl approached again.

"Hey, um, Mrs. Perleman?" Chloe was twirling a strand of hair around her finger self-consciously. Her entourage of friends had already disappeared.

"What is it, Chloe?" Paisley asked, impatient to leave.

"I was wondering if you, um, offered singing lessons? I've got that big solo at the beginning of the play, but I'm having trouble with the high notes. Since you’re a professional opera singer and all, I thought you might have some tips. My mom will pay whatever your going rate is."

Paisley was unsure how to respond. The final remnants of her free time threatened to slip from her grasp. Then she remembered her empty bank account. A letter had arrived just yesterday from one of her creditors, thoughtfully forwarded by Barry Klein. And although Ian was doing the repairs on the house for cheap, he certainly wasn't doing it for free.

"Sure," she said, feigning enthusiasm. "Have your mother give me a call, and we'll arrange a time."

"Great!" Chloe's face lit up. "A couple of my friends who are interested too. Would it be okay if they sign up?"

Paisley saw the last of her long, lazy evenings evaporate. Count your blessings, she told herself sternly. This would put food on the table ... and delay the inevitability of accepting Nigel's offer for a full-time teaching position.

Before the auditorium had cleared, several other students asked for her telephone number, and Paisley made a mental note to print up business cards. Without realizing it, she had started a home business as a vocal instructor.

Well, why not? She could post a sign in the house's front window, she thought, smiling to herself: "Perleman Academy of Music." She could print up flyers and put them on the windshields of the cars in the parking lot tomorrow.

Her smile disappeared. Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. It might bring in enough to keep her from worrying so much about her finances. She couldn’t stay unemployed forever.

During the final break, she mentioned her idea to Shirley. Her friend was enthusiastic. "Great! Drop in at the chamber of commerce and they'll give you tips on starting a business. The folks around here would be willing to pay top dollar for someone like you to teach their kids."

"Really?" Paisley thought again of her debts, and how much anxiety they had caused her. It would be nice to get everything paid off, finally. "How much do you think I should charge?"

Shirley named a sum that made Paisley's eyes grow wide. "You're kidding! You really think I can ask that much?"

"For private lessons? Why not? You're a big name. Besides, you should see how much parents plunk down every month for tutoring from national companies like Kumon and Mathnaseum. Don't worry, you won't get rich off teaching singing to the little darlings, but it could be a decent living."

"Do you really think it would work?" Paisley asked slowly. Somehow this seemed less of an acknowledgment of failure than going back to teach at the conservatory. For one thing, she wouldn’t have to deal with Nigel’s pity or commiseration. Besides, she told herself, it would just be for the summer; she could quit any time she wanted.