Songs without Words (24 page)

“Sure.”

“By the way, I’m glad to finally meet you. I’ve seen you play with the symphony. I usually go, if I’m not working. Wouldn’t normally be my cup of tea, you know, but it’s important to Roxie. I can usually get a half hour nap in, if I’m lucky.”

Elaine grinned to let Harper know that was a joke, but Harper suspected there was some truth in it.

“About your niece,” Elaine said, “no idea where she might have gone?”

“Besides Disneyland, you mean?”

“Yes. We got that. Of course, we’ve alerted the Anaheim police. Any friends or relatives nearby? Or in Southern California?”

“The entire family is back east. Other than me, I mean. As far as her friends go, I really wouldn’t know.”

“Can I see the note?”

Harper retrieved it and handed it to Elaine, who read it slowly. “She knows about Chelsea, I see.”

“Not really. I mean, her information is out of date.”

“A couple of years out of date. I guess they don’t talk that much about your love life back there.”

“Not as much as you and Roxie, apparently.”

Elaine smiled, then handed the note back to Harper. “Sorry.”

“No, that’s okay,” Harper said, waving at the air. “Of course she’s told you about that.”

Elaine nodded sympathetically.

She must know a lot about me
, Harper thought.
And until a week ago I didn’t even know she existed.
As they sat down at the kitchen table to go over the facts of the case, Harper couldn’t help thinking about how bizarre this whole situation was.

Once Elaine had the information she’d come for, she made her way to the front door. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing one another again, Harper. Hopefully when it isn’t business. Meanwhile, we’ll see if we can find your niece.”

“Thank you. Tell Roxie hi for me.”

Elaine winked and let herself out.

Chapter 20

SUMMER, THREE YEARS AGO

As a cellist, Harper was primarily interested in the Baroque masters. She was particularly fond of Corelli. So when she found out that the summer concert series included two Corelli works, one a cello concerto, she decided to sign up for it. Normally, she only played the regular season because there were so many summer conflicts. She hesitated briefly—she and Eliot had plans to go hiking and camping in Olympic National Park in Washington—but chances didn’t come that often for a solo, as she explained to him when she called with the change of plans. He was irritated at first but then agreed to come down so he would be there for the performance, something that wasn’t practical during the school year.

On the Sunday afternoon of the concert, Eliot was seated in the fourth row of the center section. She waved to him before the performance began, then adjusted her blouse collar and took her seat with the other cellos. Eliot had already had to endure endless rehearsals at home during the week he had been in town. He was good-humored about it, though, and even hummed along some of the time.

The entire program was inspired, with the overture to Rossini’s
The Italian Girl in Algiers,
Haydn’s
101st Symphony
and Corelli’s
Concerto Grosso no. 4
to finish. When the time came for her solo, Harper took a chair at the front of the stage next to the violin section. “Knock ’em dead,” she heard Roxie whisper. Maestro Guthrie stood on his platform, tall and tuxedoed, sweat glistening on his forehead. It was his custom to give a brief introduction to each piece, especially during the summer series when the audience often contained people new to classical music.

“Arcangelo Corelli,” he said in a commanding voice, “was a major Baroque composer who was hugely popular in his time and died a rich man. He was also an accomplished violinist. As a composer, one of his greatest contributions is a group of twelve concerti grosso. This is a form for a small group of soloists and a larger orchestra.”

Harper was grateful that she didn’t have to speak. Her mouth was dry, and her mind was racing in incoherent circles.

“Tonight we will be playing
Concerto Grosso no. 4 in D Major,
” Guthrie continued. “You might keep in mind as you listen that Corelli had a profound influence on Vivaldi. You will also hear something reminiscent of Bach’s
Brandenburg Concertos
here. Those came later, and were based on a similar form. Our own Ms. Harper Sheridan will be performing on the cello.”

Guthrie turned to face the orchestra, giving Harper a brief smile of reassurance as the lights went down. As he stood there stiffly, his baton at attention but motionless, it felt to Harper as if time were standing still. The musicians held their breath, then as a unit began to play.

After that, there was nothing but the music. Harper no longer saw the audience, but only the sheets on her stand and the conductor, whose violent motions occasionally sent beads of perspiration flying her way. Then, after a few seconds, she saw nothing but the music itself. Playing the cello wasn’t like playing the piano. It wasn’t like any other instrument she had played. She adored its voice, so rich and deep, full-bodied like dark chocolate. She also liked the way it felt, its shape and intimate physical presence. Playing the cello was not an activity of the hands alone. It was a whole body experience. Cradled in her arms like a dance partner, its body between her legs like a lover, it responded to her embrace by sending its chords deep inside her. As she played, she imagined that there was music coming out of her own body too, an echo from her instrument.

By the time the music ended and the conductor waved his baton at her to take a bow, Harper was completely spent. There had been no mistakes, which was all she had really hoped for. But beyond that, the performance had been magical. She couldn’t have been happier, and the wide grin on Guthrie’s face suggested that he felt the same way. He stepped off his podium and hugged her, whispering next to her ear, “Magnificent, Harper.” Roxie grinned proudly at her.

The applause continued, giving Harper the opportunity to focus again on individuals. Eliot was standing, clapping like a lunatic. Mary and Chelsea, seven rows back as usual, were smiling and clapping. Harper was glad to see them, glad that they had shared her special moment.

In the lobby, Harper shook the hands of the patrons as they filed out, waiting for Eliot to appear. Before he did, though, Mary and Chelsea edged through the crowd to her side.

“Glorious!” Mary pronounced. “Congratulations, Harper.”

“Thank you.” Harper felt flushed and vibrant.

Chelsea beamed at her. “It was the best piece,” she said. “That Haydn thing was just boring by comparison.”

Mary looked shocked. “Boring? You’re calling Haydn’s
Clock Symphony
boring? Chelsea, you’re simply hopeless when it comes to music. I don’t know why I waste my money on your ticket.”

Chelsea frowned and looked embarrassed.

“If you’re going to criticize a masterpiece,” Mary continued, “and one assumes that you’re calling the performance into question, not the composition, then at least choose more evocative words. Wearisome, perhaps, or lackluster.”

“I don’t see any reason to be pretentious,” Chelsea said. “Boring is a perfectly good word. Everyone knows what it means and it describes my feelings precisely.”

Mary looked exasperated. “Well, then, have it your way.”

After five years of mindless adoration, it appeared that Chelsea had developed a mind of her own. Harper couldn’t help but feel slightly amused.

“I think they call it the
Clock Symphony
because you’re looking at the clock the whole way through.” Chelsea chuckled shortly at her quip. “My point, though, was that I really enjoyed Harper’s performance.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” Harper said, still euphoric.

“It was such a happy tune,” Chelsea elaborated.

“Happy tune!” Mary repeated with disbelief and then, realizing that Chelsea was goading her, frowned and said no more.

Harper and Chelsea grinned at one another in a moment of collusion. Then Harper caught sight of Eliot about thirty feet away, looming above a sea of silver hair. She waved to catch his attention. She turned back to Mary and Chelsea, saying, “Sorry. I just wanted to let my boyfriend know where I was.”

“Your what?” Mary asked loudly, crinkling her nose.

“My boyfriend,” Harper repeated, wondering if Mary was getting hard of hearing or it was simply the din of the room. Mary and Chelsea looked at one another with perplexed expressions.

Chelsea looked in the direction Harper had waved. “That one there?” she asked. “The tall guy with the long brown hair?”

“Yes,” Harper said. “That’s Eliot.”

As he reached her side, he kissed her cheek and said, “You were fantastic, honey. Just fantastic. I hope you know how good you are.”

“Oh, God, I was so nervous,” Harper replied, then made the introductions. “Oh, I know you,” Eliot said, shaking Mary’s hand. “I mean, I’ve seen Harper’s film. You’re the painter.”

“That’s right,” Mary said with a beatific smile. “And that reminds me, Harper. I’d like to use that film at my gallery exhibit. I want to have it playing continuously on a television monitor. I’ll need your permission for that. We’ll be glad to pay whatever fee you’d like to charge.”

“Oh, no,” Harper said. “You can consider the film yours, really. I’m just glad you think it’s good enough to use.”

“Well, you know that I never tire of listening to people talk about me or my work, so of course I love it.” Mary beamed in that mock-innocent way she had.

“So how long have you two been together?” Chelsea asked.

“Oh, wow, about sixteen years,” Eliot said. “Is that right, hon?”

He slipped an arm around her waist. For some reason, the gesture made Harper uncomfortable. It was just a bit too possessive.

“Since college, yes,” she said.

Chelsea looked astonished. “Oh, then quite serious, I guess.”

“Eliot teaches at Washington State,” Harper explained, as she was accustomed to doing. “We only see each other in the summer.”

“What an interesting arrangement,” Mary exclaimed. “Even I might be willing to have a boyfriend under those circumstances.” She laughed.

Chelsea rolled her eyes, then said, “Congratulations again, Harper. It was really special.”

When Mary and Chelsea had gone, Eliot turned to Harper and asked, “Are those two a couple?”

Harper nodded. “It’s a teacher-student thing.”

“Ah. Now, that, I understand.”

“I guess you’ve been around that block, haven’t you?”

He smiled tactfully and didn’t answer. Harper didn’t care what he did or with whom when he wasn’t with her, as long as he was safe and responsible. Generally speaking, they got along smoothly. Eliot was easygoing and agreeable. They hadn’t had a fight in years, but the last time they did it was over his need to have her to himself. His inclinations were toward ownership, and she was adamantly against that. He was always trying to corral her, but so far she’d managed to sidestep his attempts. Harper had arranged her entire summer this year around the symphony schedule. That meant making a late July visit to Cape Cod that was just twelve days long, a little shorter than usual. A week after her solo, Eliot went to visit his sister and Harper settled into her parents’ home, relishing the peace and comfort that she always found there.

Coming to visit really felt like coming home, not just to a place, but to a state of mind. She and her brothers had been born and had grown up in this house. The moment she caught sight of it each summer, its white wood exterior, brick red shutters and dormer-style second-story windows exerted on her a calming effect that was almost mystical. Sleeping in her childhood bedroom was soothing too, even though almost everything there had been changed in the intervening years. Just two things remained from her childhood—the white dresser with its gold accents and curvy legs and a wooden plaque on the wall next to the closet. The plaque contained a Biblical quotation from Job that Harper still considered valid advice: