Death in Castle Dark, page 9
He nodded. “I doubt he thought of it. No one ever plays it, and Derek thinks of it as a prop. But I think it’s tuned. It’s a gorgeous thing, a big old Steinway that he got at an estate auction. He told me he paid more to move it than he did for the piano itself.”
Now I was almost drooling. To have my hands on a keyboard again! It had been so long. . . . “Where is it?”
“It’s in the second-floor lounge—do you know where that is?”
“No—I thought the second floor was kind of off-limits. The owners’ bedrooms and stuff.”
“Get Derek to give you a tour. It’s terrific. Some of my favorite spots in the castle are up there.” He adjusted his helmet strap and sent me a charming smile. “Anyway, you seem like someone who could de-stress through music. Just ask Derek if it’s okay.”
“I will. Thank you, Tim.”
He waved and disappeared through the kitchen.
Zana poked her face in a moment later. “I eavesdropped,” she said. “I didn’t know you were a singer! And a pianist! Do you take requests?”
She was serious. I laughed, embarrassed. “I—I never played that way. I just grew up playing the piano, and it’s been like second nature to me. When I was preparing to audition for shows, I could be my own accompanist and it helped me to be less nervous. Sometimes they let me play the piano in the audition, too.”
“Seriously, will you play for me? This sounds weird, but I’ve never known a musician. I’ve always admired it, the ability to just pull a song out of an instrument, especially something as big as that piano he has up there.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“Oh, yes. It’s gorgeous.”
“I have to find this piano.” I stood up and wiped some crumbs off the tablecloth and into my hand. I transferred these to my plate and carried it into the kitchen. Zana followed and took it out of my hands. “Just go. I’ll do this. But I’m serious. I want a song.”
“Okay, you’ve got it,” I said. “Do you know where Derek is?”
She shook her head. “Not sure. Mostly at this time of day he’s either in his office on the first floor or his office in his apartment. I’d check one of those.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
I left the dining room and turned left in the main hallway, moving past the drawing room, the conservatory, and the library. At the south end of the hall, across from the sunroom, where I had been caught in the act by Detective Dashiell, there was a small room with big windows on two sides and a floor-to-ceiling white bookshelf on another. The only furniture in the room was a giant wooden desk that faced the door, on which was a placard that read: Castle Office. The room was empty.
I went to the large staircase and ascended to the second floor, an unknown territory. I knew which room was Derek’s, because Connie had pointed it out. It was at the other end of the hall. Meanwhile I passed intriguing-looking rooms: in one I glimpsed a pool table; in another what looked like a giant birdcage; in still another what must have been a little theater. How had Derek paid for all of this?
Halfway down the hall was a marble-floored anteroom to what looked like a little ballroom. There sat the piano. I gasped and moved forward without conscious thought. I reached the instrument and touched its polished surface. It was a Steinway, a very old one that had obviously been refinished. The rosewood glowed a brownish red, and the ivory keys, though slightly dusty, made a beautiful sound when I played a chord. “Oh, exquisite,” I said.
Then I backed away. I couldn’t play it without permission, and suddenly it was imperative that I find Derek.
I went back to the hall, though the piano felt like a magnet that wanted to pull me into the marble foyer. I marched down the red-carpeted runner until I reached the room that was Derek’s. My visit here felt like an intrusion—what if he was sitting on his bed or taking a personal call?
But I needn’t have worried; Derek’s door was open, and when I peered inside, I saw what looked like another office: a plush one with maroon-colored walls and an expensive-looking Persian rug on the floor. Hamlet lay on the carpet, flat as a black crocodile. Derek was studying some papers on his desk; he lifted what looked like a large photograph. I thought I caught a glimpse of a man with reddish hair, and then I knocked.
“Derek?”
His face smiled and looked pleased, but his hands gathered the papers hastily and shoved them into a manila envelope, which he then slid hastily into a drawer. The disconnect between his placid features and his urgent gestures disoriented me for a moment. “Nora! What a nice surprise. What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you—”
“Don’t be silly! Come in. You’ve never seen my apartment, have you?”
I had not. Derek led me on an impromptu tour, and I realized that Connie was right—the second-floor residences were not like the “dorms” on the third floor. These were actual apartments, and Derek took me down a hallway that branched off into a small kitchen, two bedrooms, a full bath, and his office/living area, which he had wisely located at the entrance. It was an attractive space that was adorned with the antiques that he loved so well and that looked so perfect in the setting of a castle wing.
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “You have such an eye for good things.” I stood admiring a beaded Victorian lamp, brilliant with color and adorned at its center with a bright blue peacock. “And you have a flair for decorating. Really, Derek.”
I smiled into his handsome face, and he gave me a casual one-armed hug. “Thank you. I appreciate that. And may I say that you fit in very nicely here in the castle.”
“Thanks. Until yesterday evening, I was really having a lot of fun.”
He grew solemn. “You will again. Time heals.”
“I don’t feel bad for me. Just for Garrett and the people who loved him.”
“Yes.” We had reached his living area again, and Derek gestured to a plump cocoa-colored couch. “Have a seat. What was it that brought you here today?”
I sat down, and he sat beside me. Hamlet left his spot on the carpet and strolled over to set his giant head on the couch between us. I laughed and scratched his ears. “Someone told me I should ask how Hamlet came to live here.”
Derek pointed at the dog. “Look at him! He wears all black. His name is Hamlet—where does he belong but in a castle?”
“True.” I kept watching Derek, and he finally relented.
“Well, there is a story. About three years ago I was dating a woman who loved animals. Her old dog had died, and I thought it would be a great surprise to get her a dog for her birthday.”
“Ooh. Always a risk.”
Derek hmmphed, then said, “I went to the Animal Care Center in town. They had quite a few puppies, and there was one enclosure that held Hamlet there and a couple of his siblings. Little black Lab puppies or a black Lab mix—we never have quite figured out ol’ Ham’s parentage.”
“And you picked Hamlet.”
“Oh, no. Hamlet picked me. He literally made eye contact with me, then walked to the glass partition and put his big paws on the divider. I swear he acted like he knew me.” He grabbed Hamlet’s jaw and shared a look of love with his dog. “I said I’d like to see him, the attendant took him out, and we bonded right away.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“So the plan was I would kind of socialize him for a while and then surprise Linda on the big day. I was still getting the castle ready back then, and I had a lot of work to do; Hamlet helped me with it all. He couldn’t have loved it more, even though he was so tiny. He just looked right at home in this place from the start.”
“So when her birthday came?”
He shrugged and smoothed the sleeves of his blue cotton shirt. “I gave her a necklace.”
I laughed.
“We had started to cool toward each other, anyway,” he admitted. “I realized that I couldn’t necessarily see Linda as part of my future, but I could definitely see Hamlet there.”
I patted Hamlet’s head with new affection. “Derek, that is beautiful. Thank you for telling me the story.”
“Sure.” He leaned forward and looked into my face. “But there’s something else that brought you here.”
“Why do you—?”
“There’s a certain gleam in your eye. You look like a woman on a mission.”
I straightened in my seat. “You’re intuitive.” I paused. “Tim happened to tell me that you have a piano. I don’t think you ever mentioned that.”
His brows rose and his face grew bright. “That’s right, you play! I never thought of that Steinway as an actual musical instrument—more like a gorgeous antique, which it is, and a perfect prop for visitors to gawk over. But it works, Nora. It’s in tune. I would love to hear you play it!”
I smiled. “I have to admit, since Tim mentioned it to me, I’ve been dying to get my hands on it.”
“Let’s go!” Derek said. He jumped up again and took my hand, practically dragging me off the couch in his enthusiasm. “This way,” he said as we left his apartment and began jogging down the main hall in the direction that I had come.
We reached the piano, which seemed to glow even more than it had before.
Derek gestured. “Go ahead. What would you like to play?”
I sat down on the green-velvet-padded bench and ran my fingers lightly across the keys. I thought of what Zana had asked me. “Do you have any requests?”
He grinned at me; like Tim, he looked very youthful when he smiled. Perhaps everyone did. “I’ll be making a list—you can count on that. I’m trying to think of something for Garrett. Something in his memory.” He paused, looking at his feet, then snapped his fingers. “Got it. He loved that song ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone.’ It was from some musical—”
“Carousel,” I said.
“But he also liked it because he follows this British football club, Liverpool FC. It’s their theme song. It got him really choked up when he heard it.”
“I know the song. I did Carousel in high school.”
“Sing it, Nora. I’d love to hear it.”
I bowed my head, already excited at the idea. “Let me find some sheet music for it on my phone.” I did a quick search, found the music, and did some sight-reading, letting the melody come back to me. I played some introductory chords to warm up, and Derek ran to the lounge and brought out a chair so that he could be my audience of one. “This is perfect,” he said. “Music in the castle! Never mind the royalty idea. I’m going to write this into the next script. You’ll be an eccentric Broadway star or an itinerant musician.”
I laughed. “Okay, here goes.” I played the introduction, and my fingers began to feel the music while my voice ventured into song. The piece began tentatively, quietly, offering hope to the listener and comfort to the unquiet heart. Then the volume increased, the intensity escalated, as the message became one of courage while facing the storm. As I always did, I became lost in the song, sailing into the high notes while keeping control of the overall message.
Innocently or intuitively, Derek had positioned the piano for the most perfect acoustics—in a spot that allowed melody to fill the entire main hallway, where it bounced off the marble walls and created a full, powerful sound.
I closed my eyes after a while, sure of the chords and invested in the tune, until I soared into the final high note and the hushed last word.
My eyes had filled with tears; I opened them to see not only Derek but John Dashiell, who stood at his side. Both men were staring at me with stunned expressions. I wiped the wetness from my cheeks and said, “I got a little carried away.”
Derek shook his head. “It was amazing, Nora. Just beautiful. I hope Garrett heard it, wherever he is.”
Dashiell said nothing, but his eyes hadn’t left my face. I sent him a tentative smile, and he sent a brief smile back. Then he turned to Derek. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve had an incident.”
Derek stiffened and looked fearfully at Dashiell. “Is this regarding Garrett—?”
Dashiell shook his head. “No. Something else.”
Derek stood. “Nora, thank you so much. Play as often and as much as you want. I’ll catch up with you later.” The two men walked away, talking in low voices.
I stared at the piano, still emotional from the song and shaken by the expression on Dashiell’s face. What had happened? Had someone else been murdered? But he had said it had nothing to do with Garrett. That it was “something else.”
It was none of my business. Yet my mind darted here and there, examining possibilities. Did it have something to do with the “private matter” that Derek said Dashiell had been investigating before Garrett’s death? Why in the world would he need a police presence at the castle?
Despite my affection for my new residence, I felt mildly resentful that Derek hadn’t hinted at my interview that police were on the premises. But of course then I wouldn’t have taken the job. . . .
Connie’s face suddenly appeared before mine. She sat down next to me on the piano stool and hugged me. “Elspeth and I heard you upstairs. I didn’t know you could sing like that, Nora! We should be singing show tunes together every day!”
I grinned. As usual, Connie’s irrepressible excitement was impossible to resist. “We could sing a show tune now if you want.”
“I want!” she yelled up at the ceiling. “But how to decide? I guess we should pick a duet. You know what I did in high school? Annie. You know that song “I Don’t Need Anyone but You?”
“Oh, it’s just perfect. Let me find the music. That one’s certainly a more up-tempo choice and happier, too.”
“But that song you sang, Nora—it was inspiring. Elspeth and I were crying, and we were a floor away.”
I swiped around on my phone. “Well, thanks. Here we go. Ooh—let me practice for a minute, Connie.”
I set my phone on the music stand and limbered up my fingers on the introduction. “You can peer at my screen and see the lyrics, too,” I said. “Which part are you?”
“You be Daddy Warbucks. I was Annie, and I still remember the part.”
I turned to look into her blue eyes. “You were Annie? That’s so cute.”
She shrugged and smiled. “I think it was my favorite part ever.”
“Okay, here we go.”
We stumbled through the song, harmonizing perfectly in parts, falling apart in others, and enjoying ourselves throughout. At the end we faced each other with folded arms, pretending to be Annie and her new father, and then we burst into laughter. Connie wiped at her eyes. “I think we need some practice.”
“I’m happy to practice every day! Look at this piano, Constance.”
“Constance, huh? Playing a Steinway made you feel all formal.”
I sighed, my hands still on the keys. “I should go check on the Brontës.”
“Yeah. Make sure they’re not tearing up your room with their tiny claws.”
“Absolutely. So why can’t I move?”
She slung an arm around me. “Because you need to play one more song for Connie. Derek told us all about your great Evita audition. That’s why I was so excited to see you on the day you came out. We knew in advance that you were super talented.”
“You are all doing wonders for my wounded ego.”
“So would it hurt too much? Or will you play me that song ‘Don’t Cry for Me Argentina’?”
“I did grow to love that number, getting ready for my audition. But it hurts, I have to admit, knowing another woman will be singing it onstage every night in just a few weeks.”
Connie confronted me with a frank blue gaze. “How many does the theater seat?”
“Hmm? Uh—I don’t know. About three hundred?”
She sniffed. “Not that special. Will that woman ever get to sing the song in a castle?”
I grinned. “No, she won’t. Okay, you’ve convinced me.”
“Good.” She got up and walked to the chair Derek had vacated, then closed her eyes. “I’m ready.”
After a deep, calming breath, I began to play and sing. Once again, I closed my eyes and felt my way into the music, and once again, I finished with tears on my face.
I opened my eyes and looked at Connie, who was also crying. “Did I mention that I get emotional when I sing?” I joked.
She shook her head. “If you can’t feel the song, you can’t do it justice. It was perfect.”
“Thank you, Connie. This was really nice. Tim said it would be good therapy, and he was absolutely right.”
I turned on the stool and saw that I had one more audience member: Hamlet sat like a sphinx in the shadow of a hallway pillar, staring at us with his dark eyes. I wondered if he had been there for the entire concert and whether he had followed Derek and me from the start or if he had been drawn by the sound of music.
He turned and blended into the shadows, and despite Connie’s happy chattering beside me on the bench, I felt a sudden chill of loneliness.
8
Subplots
The Brontës were not on the bed, nor were they immediately apparent anywhere else. Nervous, I checked my kitchen, bathroom, and closet. I looked under my dresser and desk; I was starting to fear that they had somehow gotten out when I glanced at the long red curtains that flanked my windows. The one on the right was twitching slightly. I moved swiftly to the curtain and pulled it back to find Emily halfway up, stuck on like Velcro with her sharp kitten claws, and Charlotte stuck on in a similar fashion about six inches from the floor. Only little Annie remained on the carpet, but she looked up admiringly at her sisters and meowed some encouragement.
“Now, see, this is what I was afraid my boss would object to if he found out I had kittens—shenanigans like this could get us all kicked out, Emily Brontë.” I removed the tiny claws one by one and succeeded in detaching fluffy Emily from the thick drape. I set her on the floor, then removed Charlotte, giving her a similar sermon. I scooped all three of them up and brought them to the bed, where I let them leap around in quest of one of Elspeth’s feathery cat toys.
