Lost Melody (18 page)

The music didn’t stop, but a few seconds later the door opened. The pleasant expression of inquiry on Becky’s face faded. “Jill. Uh, hello. What are you doing here?” No sign of the flighty, friendly smile from last week.

“I was in the neighborhood, and I thought I’d stop by to
deliver Kaylee’s piano lesson book.” She held up the bag. “She missed her lesson this morning.”

Becky shot a quick glance over her shoulder before slipping outside. She shut the door, but kept her hand on the knob behind her. “Didn’t my mother-in-law tell you?”

She hadn’t seen Alice Fontaine since Thursday, when they finished painting the rest of the signs. “Tell me what?”

“We’ve decided to hold off on the piano lessons for now.” An awkward smile flitted across her lips. “We have so much going on already, you know? You have to draw the line somewhere.”

Stunned, Jill took a backward step. “You can’t let her quit.” She pointed toward the closed door, the piano music coming from inside. “Surely you know how talented she is. She has to be encouraged.”

“We’re not saying she can’t play, but lessons aren’t going to work out right now.” Becky’s gaze shifted away.

Realization hit Jill with the strength of a boxer’s punch. This wasn’t Kaylee’s decision. Her parents were forcing her to quit piano lessons, not because of a busy schedule, but because of
Jill.
They didn’t want their daughter spending time with the town loon.

“I see.” Her mouth felt like someone had stuffed it with cotton balls. “I bought this for her. She might as well have it.”

She thrust the bag toward Becky and didn’t wait for her to take it. The book fell to the concrete as Jill whirled and made her escape without looking to see if Becky picked it up. She put her car in Reverse and zoomed into the street, wiping tears from her eyes so she could see to drive.

T
HE CAFÉ ALWAYS PACKED A
good lunchtime crowd on Saturdays, and today was no different. Even at two o’clock, every table was occupied. Greg made for the only empty stool at the high counter, nodding at the diners as he wound through the room. He had avoided his favorite haunt yesterday, not certain of his reception after the confrontation between Jill and Rowena on Thursday. When Rowe turned and caught sight of him, her welcoming smile dismissed any hesitation he might have felt.

“Welcome, Councillor.” She swiped at the counter with a wet rag and slapped down a clean paper placemat. “Missed seeing you yesterday.”

“Busy day.” Greg slid into the chair and smiled an absent greeting at the man seated next to him.

Rowe waved the young waitress away, planted her elbow on the counter in front of him, and rested her chin in her hand. “How about a bowl of my special beef stew to warm you up?”

“Tempting, but I’ve been thinking about one of your thick, juicy cheeseburgers all day.”

She grinned and asked with a saucy southern twang, “Ya want fries with that?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Her eyebrows arched. “Calorie splurge, huh? Not that you need to worry about that.” Her admiring gaze dropped toward his chest and continued down to his waist, then cut back up with a flirtatious twinkle. “Not like me. Everything I eat goes straight to my thighs.”

She turned toward the grill with an exaggerated wiggle of her hips. The man next to Greg laughed. “No evidence of that, Rowe.”

Greg busied himself by peeling a napkin from the dispenser, for the first time uncomfortable with Rowena’s boisterous flirting. Jill’s accusations echoed in his mind. Could there be any truth to them? He didn’t think so. Like he’d explained the other day, that was Rowe’s way. She treated everybody the same.

A hamburger patty hit the grill with a sizzle, and Rowena returned to set a glass of ice water in front of him.

“I’ve been scheming for you, honey.”

Startled, Greg looked up into her face. “Huh?”

“You know. Campaign stuff.”

“Oh.” He gave a weak laugh. “Yeah. The campaign.”

“We need to decide on a slogan and logo pretty soon.”

“You think I need a logo?”

“Definitely. Not a cutesy cartoon picture or anything like that. Just a certain color scheme and font that people will come to associate with your name. And the slogan should be something catchy, but still make a statement about what you stand for.” She sketched in the air with a hand.
“Say Yes to Greg Bradford. Say Yes to the future.”

The man next to him nodded. “That’s not bad.”

“Not bad?” Greg shook his head admiringly. “It’s good. I like it.”

“I’ve got some more ideas, too. I figured you and I could talk on Monday, when it’s quieter around here. Say around ten in the morning. That work for you?”

“Sure. Thanks, Rowe. Look forward to it.”

Dimples creased her cheeks. “Stick with me, darlin’, and this election’s in the bag.”

She winked again before disappearing into the back room. A nagging disquiet made Greg shift in his chair.
Say ‘Yes’ to the future.

He picked up his water glass. With all the turmoil of the past week, the future seemed pretty uncertain right about now. Oh, not the future of the Cove. His future. Jill’s future. What would happen on Tuesday, and how would that affect their future? She’d asked him to stick with her until Wednesday, when all this mess would be behind them, one way or another. He’d agreed.

So why was he sitting here, when she clearly wanted his support during this interview with CBC?

Because my father will have a heart attack if he sees me on the news, acting like I support this crazy scheme.

Not to mention what it would do to his campaign. The message of the bananas sat like a two-ton anchor in his mind, pulling his thoughts to depths he didn’t want to visit.

I could go and stay in the background. Nothing says I have to appear on camera. Just be there for Jill.

Whatever Jill was going through, he couldn’t leave her to do it alone. Because when Tuesday came and nothing happened, he wanted her to know he’d still be there. She’d need a strong shoulder to cry on, someone she trusted. Ruth would be no help, because she was too deeply involved in this mess.

Yeah. That’s what he’d do. Stay quietly in the background, off camera, and support Jill.

He jumped off the stool. “Hey, Rowe, cancel the cheeseburger. I just realized I’ve got to be somewhere.”

She appeared in the doorway from the back room, holding
a bag of frozen fries. “You want me to wrap it up for you? It’ll be done in a minute.”

“No time.” He dug a ten out of his pocket and tossed it on the counter. “Sorry for the trouble.”

His watch read ten minutes past two. If he wanted to get there before the reporter arrived, he needed to hurry.

The Sign Brigade, as they’d decided to call themselves, clustered around the kitchen table, laying out their plans for Jill. Mrs. Fontaine had been embarrassed at the fact that her daughter-in-law pulled Kaylee from her piano lessons with Jill, and promised to work on Becky as soon as the dream disaster was over. Her certainty that Kaylee would return did little to soothe Jill’s raw feelings, but at least she intended to try. Even if Kaylee studied under another piano teacher, the important thing was for her to continue developing her gift.

“Now, be sure to mention the time and place to load the buses.” Nana slid a scrawled note across the table to Jill. “I’ve written it all down in case you get nervous and forget.”

“Nana, I’m not nervous. I’ve performed on stage in front of thousands, and I’ve never had a single case of stage fright.”

“Don’t say that, honey,” Mrs. Tolliver warned, her features alarmed. “You’ll jinx yourself.”

“It’s just one reporter.” Jill poured confidence into her smile and bestowed it on the ladies around the table. “I’ll be fine.”

Mrs. Cramer didn’t appear convinced. “I’ve heard people say when the light goes on that television camera, words fly right out of their heads and they end up babbling like idiots.”

A comforting thought.

Nana turned a reproving stare on Mrs. Cramer. “Jill is not going to babble like an idiot.” She glanced at Jill. “You do have your notes written down, though? Just in case?”

“Nothing formal. Just a few bullet points of things I don’t want to forget to mention.”

Beside her, old Mrs. Mattingly studied her profile with the intensity of a bird dog eyeing a quail. “I think you need more makeup,” she announced. “They say those reporters wear heavy makeup, and if you don’t have much on you’ll look washed out standing beside them. You were so pale and wan last time you were on the TV.”

Five pairs of critical eyes inspected her face.

Mrs. Fontaine agreed. “Definitely a darker shade of lipstick. That one makes you look a tad sickly.”

Sickly? A flutter erupted in Jill’s stomach. Okay, maybe she was a
little
nervous.

Nana twisted around in the chair to glance at the clock on the microwave. “Shouldn’t they be here by now? I thought they’d arrive a few minutes early to set up their camera or something.”

A tap sounded on the back door. Oh, no. Who could that be? A reporter would come to the front. The flutter in Jill’s stomach became full-blown nausea.

“I’ll get it.” Nana rose and approached the door with the determination of a barroom bouncer. She cracked open the mini blinds and turned toward Jill with a pleased smile. “Look who’s here.”

When she opened the door, the last person in the world Jill expected to see stepped into the kitchen. The nausea evaporated as she jumped out of her chair and flew into Greg’s arms.

“Hey, beautiful.” His whisper tickled the hair above one ear.

“I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.” The shoulder of his heavy coat muffled her words.

Strong arms tightened around her. “I couldn’t let you face this alone.”

“Thank you.” The telltale stinging of tears threatened. She stepped away, sniffing, and grabbed for a napkin to stop them before they ruined her mascara.

“You look terrific.” His admiring gaze swept her from head to toe.

She stood a little straighter at the obviously heartfelt compliment. Agonizing hours of indecision had gone into selecting her wardrobe for today’s interview. Jill finally settled on a dark blue suit with an attractive lime-green blouse that created the professional, competent air she hoped to project.

“She’s going to darken her lipstick,” Mrs. Tolliver informed him from her chair.

“I think she’s perfect.” Greg’s expression became hesitant. “I want to be here to support you, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be part of the interview because of the campaign and all. I hope you’re okay with that.”

In other words, he still didn’t believe in her dream, and didn’t want to appear as though he did. Jill’s pleasure in his presence slipped a notch, but she steeled her expression not to show it. She raised up on her tiptoes and planted a lipstick kiss on his cheek.

“I understand. You can stay here in the kitchen, and you’ll probably be able to hear everything.”

His forehead wrinkled. “From all the way outside?”

Nana crossed to the sink to rinse her empty coffee cup. “No, from the living room. We thought Jill and the reporter could sit in the wing chairs. The fireplace will make a cozy backdrop. Sort of like a Barbara Walters interview.”

Greg’s shoulders heaved with a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”

“You don’t think that’s a good idea?” Jill asked.

“I don’t think it’s possible.” His gaze circled the ladies in the room, and realization cleared his features. “You haven’t looked outside, have you?”

An apprehensive chill zipped up Jill’s spine and throbbed at the base of her skull. She raced out of the kitchen toward the living room window, the Sign Brigade close on her heels. With trembling hands, she pulled back the drawn curtain.

The front yard was packed with people, and two police officers hovered nearby, anxiously watching the crowd. Parked at the curb in front of the house was not one television truck, but three. The logos on the side panels announced the presence of CBC, Global Maritimes evening news, and CTV Halifax. Several of the people clustered closest to the porch steps were familiar to her from the various news programs, including the newscaster who had run the story on CBC a few days ago. Others jockeyed for position holding microphones and elaborate cameras.

Greg pointed to a woman in jeans and a navy peacoat. “That’s Brenda Osborne from the
Metro News.
I met her outside the courthouse when I was defending a case a few months ago. I’m not sure, but I think the guy next to her is from
The Chronicle Herald.”

Stunned, Jill could only stare, slack-jawed, at the mob who overflowed the boundaries of the yard.

“Look at all those cars.” Awe made Mrs. Fontaine’s voice come out in a whisper. “They’re lined up and down the street.”

Greg nodded. “That’s why I came to the back door. I had to park on the next street over and cut through the yard behind here.”

“Look at all those people tromping my lawn into mud.” Nana shut her eyes, a grimace twisting her features. “I hope the grass comes up in the spring.”

Jill let the curtain fall back into place. Panic churned in the depths of her stomach now. This interview had gotten out of hand. Had all those people come to scoff at her, or were they like the ones yesterday morning who only wanted more information? Either way, this thing had exploded beyond her control.

“It was supposed to be one reporter.” She shook her head disbelievingly. “One.”

Greg slipped an arm around her waist. “Well, now you have a full-blown press conference, complete with spectators.”

Mrs. Montgomery rubbed her hands together, her eyes gleaming. “Think of all the people who will hear your warning.”

Nana placed a finger against her lips, thinking. “I wonder if it’s too late to hire more buses.”

Jill searched Greg’s face and saw resignation there. He didn’t believe her, didn’t want to be associated with her. Was probably embarrassed for her. But at least he was here. Even though he wouldn’t be at her side during the interview, just knowing he would be on the other side of the door gave her a strength she hadn’t realized she would need until now.

She straightened, gathering that strength around her like donning a mackintosh before a rainstorm. “I think I’ll go put on some darker lipstick.”