Lost Melody (14 page)

A smile illuminated Faye’s face. “I’m so glad. But before you make up your mind, I want to show you a picture of the giant wreath we sometimes hang above the fireplace.” She bustled over to the settee that had been pushed against a wall to make room for the tree, and picked up a thick scrapbook. “We have it stored
in the attic, but I usually only get it down every other year. It’s so big it tends to overshadow the tree, but it is lovely above the mantle. Take a look at it.”

Jill seated herself close to Faye so the open scrapbook lay across both their laps. Christmas stickers decorated the pages, and each picture had been bordered with brightly colored embellishments. She inspected the wreath in the photo Faye pointed out. It was beautifully ornate, but gigantic. It would definitely become the centerpiece of any room in which it hung.

“No, I think I prefer the decorations you have up now.” Jill smiled at her. “You certainly have a gift for decorating.”

A becoming blush colored her cheeks. “Oh, no. It’s just something I enjoy, especially at Christmas.”

Jill looked at the other pictures on the page. Family shots, mostly of Ryan and Dawn, the children of Greg’s brother who lived in California. She’d met them for the first time two years ago. They looked older in this photo, which meant it was probably taken last year, while she’d been in the hospital in New York. She turned a page backward. There stood Greg beside his brother Ted. Greg had left her side only long enough to spend a day with his family and take care of a few things for his clients.

She touched a finger to his face. His smile looked painted on, his expression strained. “He looks so tired.”

“Oh, he was. He was very worried about you.” Faye placed an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “We all were.”

Jill flipped backward through a few more pages. The children opening gifts, seated at a loaded dinner table, grinning at the camera in crisp new pajamas. Greg was only in a small number of them.

She turned another few pages, then received a start. “That’s me.” “Yes. This is my Christmas scrapbook, and that section is
from two years ago. Remember? You joined us for dinner Christmas Eve.”

The Jill in the photo looked like a different woman than the one who peered at her from her mirror every morning. Much, much younger, for one thing. The past two years had taken more of a toll than she realized. She looked closer and decided the younger Jill looked happier, too. Well, that was to be expected. That Jill had a hip that didn’t ache, a whole hand, and a promising career as a concert pianist.

“Just look at that.” A tender smiled curved Faye’s lips, her eyes on the photo. “He loves you so much.”

It was true. The picture depicted Jill and Greg standing on the front porch, bundled in jackets with gloved hands clasped, smiling into one another’s faces. No strain marred the love apparent in Greg’s face as he gazed at Jill. And her own eyes practically glowed with joy as she looked up at him. If she remembered correctly, he kissed her right after his mother snapped this shot.

“You know,” Faye spoke slowly, giving each word the weight of wisdom, “two people who love each other that much can overcome anything.” She glanced up at Jill. “Don’t you think so?”

Jill couldn’t tear her eyes away from the picture. They looked so happy.

“I hope so,” she whispered.

The first part of the drive back to Seaside Cove was almost as silent as the outbound trip. Snow had started to fall from the dark sky. Scanning the roads for treacherous icy patches required all of Greg’s attention, but he watched Jill out of the corner of his eye. Her thoughts were focused somewhere far away. Heat blowing
from the vents kept the interior of the car toasty, while outside the wipers put forth a valiant effort to keep the windshield clear with a noisy
slap, slap, slap.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about my father. He didn’t mean to be insulting. He’s just worried about me.”

“I know. And he did apologize nicely.”

Yeah, Greg had never heard Dad refer to himself as a “socially inept idiot” before. The sight of Mom’s serious nod of agreement would keep Greg smiling for days.

Jill stretched the boundaries of her shoulder strap to twist in the seat so she faced him. “Greg, do you think I’m crazy? I mean, really insane?”

“No, I don’t.” He blurted the reply instantly, but saw disbelief etched on her brow. He took a breath and spoke more slowly. “I don’t know what I think about all this, Jill, but I know for sure you’re not insane.”

She studied him for a moment, then gave a nod. “Thank you. I guess if you don’t believe my dream is true, at least you aren’t ready to have me committed.”

He smiled. “You committed is exactly what I want. Committed to a future with me. To us.”

The bad pun failed to elicit a response. “Sometimes I can’t imagine why you want to marry me. I don’t have anything to offer you. I’m nothing but a broken down has-been-who-never-was.”

Her head bowed forward and her eyes lowered to her hands resting in her lap. For a moment he thought she was staring at the engagement ring, but then noticed her right thumb tracing the scar on her left hand.

He reached across the console and gently entwined her fingers in his. “You are not a has-been. You’re an amazing woman with incredible intelligence and wit, a tremendous capacity to love, and
a talent most people only dream of having.” He paused. “I have a confession. For the first year we dated, I was the tiniest bit intimidated by your talent. I’d think,
How could someone with her passion and ability ever fall for a musical dunce like me?”

That brought the whisper of a grin to her face. “You’re not a musical dunce. You have talent, too. Your singing voice is amazing. You just don’t use it.”

He shook his head. “I don’t have your gift.”

The grin faded, and her gaze dropped again. “Neither do I. Not anymore.”

“Don’t say that. You have many gifts.” He squeezed her hand. “God doesn’t give gifts and then take them back, you know.”

Her head jerked up, and she speared him with a startled look. “What did you say?”

“I said God doesn’t take gifts back.”

She studied his face for what seemed like forever, then spoke slowly. “Someone else told me that last year.”

“Well, there you go. You’ll find a way to use your gifts. I’m sure of it.”

Tears glittered in her eyes. “Thank you, Greg. I love you.”

Her words, spoken so softly, lodged in his chest. If he wasn’t careful he’d start tearing up himself. “I love you too.”

Her smile lingered as she faced forward again. Greg drew in a satisfied breath. They hadn’t really resolved anything about this dream business, but at least the atmosphere between them no longer held that uncomfortable icy sharpness. For tonight, that was enough. Time enough to tackle the issue of the yard signs tomorrow.

Thursday, December 1

As Jill descended the stairs the next morning, the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” she called down the hallway.

She’d barely opened the front door when Mrs. Tolliver and Mrs. Montgomery pushed their way inside.

“Good morning, dear. How did you sleep?” Mrs. Montgomery peered up at her, as though studying her for signs of sleep deprivation.

“I slept well, thank you.” Jill shut the door behind them.

“No more dreams?” Mrs. Tolliver paused in the act of unwinding a long wool scarf from her neck, her expression disappointed.

“No, ma’am. The dream hasn’t returned since Monday.” Jill didn’t know whether to be relieved or not. She definitely felt fit after two good nights’ sleep, but now that she was committed to delivering the warning, why had the dream disappeared?

Both ladies paused in the act of hanging their coats.

“Is the fire still coming?” Mrs. Montgomery asked.

Jill didn’t hesitate to nod. Even without the dream’s return,
the weight of its message still lay heavily on her. Her father’s letters compelled her to act. “Yes. It’s still coming.”

Relieved smiles lit both wrinkled faces.

“Look what I have.” Mrs. Tolliver opened a shopping bag and extracted two books. “I got them at the library yesterday afternoon.”

She held them out for Jill’s inspection. Yellow sticky notes stuck out from the pages of both. Jill almost groaned when she read the title of the one on top:
Dream Dictionary for Dummies.

Mrs. Tolliver opened the second book to a marked page as they walked into the living room. “They both have alphabetized listings of dream symbols, and this one says the time on the clock may have special significance. What time did the clock say in your dream, Jill?”

Jill shuddered. The image was burned into her mind. “Five after ten.”

“Ah. Not
exactly
ten, then.” The elderly head bobbed up and down, as though that observation explained everything.

Nana bustled into the room. “There you are, girls. Tea’s steeping in the pot, so that will be ready in a minute.” She rubbed her hands together and looked toward the stack of unpainted signs. “We have a lot to get done today.”

Mrs. Mattingly took possession of the Dummy book and seated herself in a wing chair. She opened it and began flipping through the pages. “What does it say about fire?”

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Mrs. Tolliver answered. “Fire can be several things, but this book says it might mean a change is coming, some sort of transformation. Or it could stand for repressed sexual passion.” Sparse gray eyebrows waggled in Jill’s direction.

Heat smoldered in Jill’s face.

“Don’t be foolish, Edna.” Though the smaller and more shriveled
of the two, Mrs. Montgomery’s disapproving frown gave her an air of authority. She snapped the book closed. “Did you ever stop to think the fire might be a
real
fire, and the clock might actually mean something’s going to happen at 10:05? Otherwise, what’s the point of all this?” She waved a vein-lined hand toward the signs.

Mrs. Tolliver inspected the book doubtfully. “Well, I suppose that’s possible.” Her expression cleared. “Or it could be both. Maybe a real fire is going to happen, and that’ll be the beginning of a transformation for the Cove.”

The shrill ringing of the phone rescued Jill from what was proving to be an extremely uncomfortable conversation. She hurried toward Nana’s desk and picked up the old-fashioned corded phone there. “Hello?”

“Oh, Jill, it’s you.” She recognized the breathless voice.

“Mrs. Cramer,” she told the others.

Mrs. Cramer rushed on. “I was just getting ready to leave, and I went to turn off the television. Jill, you’re going to be on the news right after the commercial break!”

The words didn’t immediately register. Then their import struck Jill. She stabbed at the television set in the corner of Nana’s living room. “Turn it on. Hurry.”

Nana dove for the remote control and pointed it at the old console. After a moment, the picture flared to life. Jill clutched the receiver and waited, breathless, through two commercials before the CBC newscaster’s face filled the screen.

“And now we have an interesting story from the harbor community of Seaside Cove, where a local celebrity took over a political meeting Monday night to announce —” a smirk twisted the man’s mouth. “— the end of the world.”

The man’s face disappeared. Jill’s head went light when she
saw herself holding a microphone, Greg at her side. She looked awful. No makeup. Dark pouches under her eyes. Why hadn’t she taken the time to run a brush through her hair?

“I support everything Greg said, and I think his plan is vital for the future of Seaside Cove. I hope you’ll vote for him to represent you on the council. But that’s not what I want to say. I want — no, I
have
to tell you something that’s going to sound really crazy. I’ve had these dreams. Well, only one dream, but I’ve had it several times.”

A groan sounded loud in the room. It took a moment for Jill to realize it came from her. Horror crept over her as she watched her own pronouncement of disaster, saw the stunned expression on Greg’s face, the rush of people who surrounded her chair. Blindly, she felt for the desk chair behind her, scooted it out, and sank into it.

The television reporter returned to the screen. “That was Jillian Elizabeth King, formerly a professional classical pianist who has now become, apparently, a local prophet of doom.” The smirk deepened. “Whether or not the residents of Seaside Cove accept her prediction remains to be seen.” The camera angle switched. “In other local news, a Halifax swimmer has announced his decision to —”

The television screen went black. Nana set the remote control on the coffee table. Jill realized she was still holding the telephone receiver, and replaced it without a word. Nobody looked in her direction. Blood roared through her ears as numbness crept over her. Had Greg’s father seen that? She gulped against a suddenly dry throat. Had Greg?

“Well,” Nana said after the silence stretched on long enough to be embarrassing. “We said we wanted to get the word out. I think we got our wish.”

The other two ladies made encouraging sounds, but Jill paid no attention. Her fingers tapped on the phone receiver while thoughts turned over in her mind. One by one they fell into place. The quality of the video the news had just broadcast wasn’t professional. More like a home movie. And it had been taken from close range. Like, from the front row of chairs in the gymnasium. The thought ignited a white, hot fury. She slapped her hands on the surface of the desk and propelled herself to her feet.

Nana peered at her anxiously. “What’s wrong, dear?”

Jill was pleased that her voice sounded far calmer than she felt. “I’ll be back later, after I’ve taken care of something.”

Correction. Someone.

“His shed is in my yard.” Mr. Rice thrust his jaw forward in Greg’s direction. “I want you to make him tear it down.”

Greg nodded in an understanding manner. “If we can verify that your neighbor’s new shed does, indeed, cross the property line, then you’re within your rights to ask him to move it.”

“I know where the property line is. I’ve lived there longer than him. It runs smack-dab between the tree in the back and the light pole out front.”

“So step one is to get a copy of —”

A tap on the door interrupted. Greg looked up to see the door crack open and Teresa’s head peek through.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m afraid this might be important.” She held up a pink square of paper, the ones on which she recorded phone messages for him.

Teresa had been with him since he opened his practice, and he’d come to rely on her professionalism and discretion. If this
message was important enough to interrupt a client consultation, then it probably required his attention. He extended his hand, and she slipped into the room to bring it to him.

“I’m sorry for the interruption, Mr. Rice,” he told the man. “This will only take a …”

Words evaporated from his mind as he scanned the note. It was from Jill.

“I wrote exactly what she told me,” Teresa said.

Tell him I am going to need a lawyer soon, because I’m on my way over to assault my fiancé’s girlfriend.

Her fiancé’s girlfriend? What did that mean?

Last night’s conversation in the car came back to him.

He catapulted out of the chair and rounded the desk toward the door. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rice. An emergency’s come up. Teresa will schedule you for another appointment. No charge for today.”

He ran out the door, and when he reached the sidewalk remembered that his car keys were in his coat pocket in his office. No time to go back for them now. He could run the five blocks to the café faster.

Jill’s fiery anger had cooled to a slow burn by the time she marched through the café’s front door. Only half the tables were occupied today, but at her entrance, every head turned her way. No fifties music today. Instead, the sound of the CBC newscaster’s voice projected from a television screen suspended from the back corner and angled so it could be seen in the entire room. The slimy snake didn’t want to miss the results of her handiwork.

The customers’ voices fell silent. Some stared openly, but most averted their faces as though afraid she might speak to
them. A wave of embarrassment threatened to send heat rushing to her face. She was accustomed to getting attention when she entered a room, but not like this. Usually people were happy to see her.

Behind the counter stood the busty Judas, pretending like she hadn’t noticed Jill’s arrival. Jill marched through the dining room and made her way to the counter, where old Mr. Towers sat in the chair beside the wall, sipping coffee. She ignored him and stood at the opposite end of the counter, her hands clutching the back of a tall stool.

Rowena glanced up, but her gaze didn’t connect with Jill’s. “Hi, Jill. Can I pour you a cup of coffee?”

Jill gave a sarcastic blast of laughter. “I don’t think so. I’d be afraid to drink it.”

Rowena’s eyebrows inched up and disappeared beneath fluffy bangs. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t try that innocent act on me.” Jill put steel in her voice. “At least have the courage to admit what you did.”

Rowena’s head tilted upward, her nose high in the air. “You’re obviously upset about something, though what that has to do with me I have no idea.”

“Oh?” Jill pointed toward the television screen. “And I suppose you didn’t see the news report a few minutes ago.”

The woman’s glance circled the room behind Jill. “We saw it. But you can’t seriously think I had anything to do with that.”

Jill inflated her lungs with an outraged breath, ready to let go with a verbal blast that would knock this Jezebel on her well-padded behind, but the bell mounted on the top of the door jangled, and a shout stopped her.

“Jill!”

She turned to see Greg striding toward her, his face bright
red, his chest heaving to draw in noisy gulps of air. Good. This concerned him, too, so he needed to be here.

“I see you got my message.”

He reached her side and stopped for a moment, doubled over with his hands resting on his thighs, and drew in huge breaths. When he could speak, he straightened.

“What is going on here?”

“That double-crossing snake,” Jill pointed at Rowena, “sold the video of Monday night’s meeting to CBC in order to make me look like a lunatic.”

“I did no such thing.” The glare Rowena shot at her melted into an endearing plea when she turned toward Greg. “She’s obviously not thinking clearly.”

“CBC?” Greg raked fingers through his hair, his expression confused. “What video?”

“You didn’t see the news about twenty minutes ago?”

“No, I was meeting with a client.”

“Well, don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll be able to catch it again this evening.” She folded her arms across her chest with a jerk and glared at Rowena. “Compliments of your campaign manager.”

Rowena didn’t answer, but her expression shouted denial louder than words.

Not a sound came from anyone else in the room as the women commanded the attention of everyone. The table of fishermen in the far corner actually turned their seats around so they could watch the show without craning their necks.