Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
“You’re right. I did.” Memories rose up within, painful and confusing.
“Of course I did. I told him my piano teacher thought I should apply there, and he never said a word about having gone there himself. Y’know, come to think of it, he didn’t even write my recommendation.
Both my piano teachers did, and I asked him as well, but he said he was on a composition deadline and didn’t have a moment to spare. ”
“I remember how upset you were when you came home.” Dad patted Blair’s hand. “You’d been counting on a recommendation from him.”
“It never occurred to me that he’d say no.” Blair tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I wondered if I’d done something to upset him.”
“But if Vic got accepted and didn’t go, or went but didn’t graduate . . .” Callum leaned forward.
Keira nodded. “Then he might have had a very good reason for not telling you he had connections there.”
Dad tilted his head. “Maybe the best thing Vic could’ve done for you in that moment was not associating his name with yours.”
Wow. She’d never thought about it as possible protection. What would have happened if she’d gone to Whitehall? Maybe she didn’t truly want to know.
But what had happened with Vic and Whitehall? Why wouldn’t he have mentioned being accepted there?
Callum cleared his throat. “This isn’t the first time we’ve caught Vic in—well, maybe not a lie, but definitely an omission of truth.”
Keira perked up. “Oh?”
“He told me he didn’t know Iris at all,” Callum continued. “But the yearbook showed them together. When I asked him about it later, he said they’d dated briefly.”
“And my grandmother caught them kissing in the library.” Keira pursed her lips, then turned to Seth. “Are we rolling right now?”
“We don’t have to be,” Seth replied. “Want me to shut it off?”
“Would you, please?” Keira smiled her thanks, then turned back to the group. “Okay, here’s the deal. My reporter instinct is going crazy right now. Vic Nelson knows more about Iris than he’s letting on, and I think the two of you especially should be on your guard.”
Blair glanced toward Callum in alarm. “Are we in danger?”
“I don’t know,” Keira replied. “They ruled Iris’s death a suicide.
The police officer who responded to the call passed away in 1992, and his report is pretty bare-bones.
Iris’s parents said she’d always been a little odd, and she was being treated for ‘anxiety,’ which was what they called depression back in the 1960s.
But while having depression raises one’s risk of dying by suicide, it’s obviously no guarantee. ”
“Iris’s work doesn’t seem like that of a suicidal person.” Callum leaned forward, hands on his knees. “From a compositional perspective, it seems hopeful. Like it’s striving for something. Heading toward something.”
“Maybe there’s a chance it wasn’t suicide,” Keira said.
“Wait, do you think Iris was murdered?” Callum asked.
Blair’s head spun. “And that Vic did it?”
Keira held up her hands. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s just a theory. But I am a little suspicious.”
“Do you think we need to call the police?” Dad asked.
“Unless someone does or says something threatening, there’s nothing they can do,” Keira replied. “But just to be on the safe side, until we know for sure what’s going on, I’m not going to air this story yet.”
“What are you gonna tell the boss?” Seth asked.
Keira waved a hand. “That if Iris was murdered, then this is a much bigger story than anyone thought.” She reached into her bag, pulled out two of her business cards, and handed them to Callum and Blair. “If you find anything else, or think of anything else, call me.”
Blair rose along with her. “I’ll walk you out. It’ll give Callum time to get ready for class.”
As soon as they were through the choir room door, Keira turned a conspiratorial glance toward Blair. “So . . . you and Callum, huh?”
“What about me and Callum?”
“Are you two just coworkers? Off the record, of course.”
“Off the record . . . I’m not quite sure what we are. We’re still figuring that out.”
Keira smiled. “I get that. But just between you and me, it looks like you’re really good together. Like you genuinely care about each other. Whether it ever develops into more or not, I think you’ve got a great thing going.”
“I’ll help with the chairs.” Blair’s father was already in motion.
“Thank you, sir,” Callum replied.
“Call me Mike,” he insisted. “And congratulations on the new job. I’m sure everyone has filled you in on what a great program this is and how happy we are to have you, so I’ll skip all that and just tell you I hope things are going well for you.”
A pleasant change, not to be reminded of the pressure that came with filling Vic Nelson’s shoes. “Thank you. I appreciate it. It’s . . . going.”
“The standard Midwest cry for help.” Mike grinned. “I’m sure my daughter isn’t making things much easier for you.”
What on earth could he say to that? “Well, she’s very talented, hardworking, cares about the kids . . .”
“And more than a little standoffish,” Mike finished. “It’s okay. You can say it. She’s been hurt, and she keeps people at arm’s length as a result. But I’ve got a good feeling about the two of you. I know she likes you, so you’ve got that going for you.”
Wait, how much did Mike know? Some girls were super close with their fathers. Was Blair one of them? She didn’t seem the gossipy type—at least, not when Joy wasn’t involved. But then again, Callum was discovering a side to Blair he hadn’t seen before. A side most people probably didn’t see.
“I planned to give these to her, but since she’s not here . . .” Mike retrieved his wallet from his pocket and fished out what looked like a ticket. “Any interest in going to a concert at the U of I tomorrow night?”
Callum glanced at the ticket, recognizing the name of a professional chorus from St. Paul, Minnesota. “Possibly . . .”
“With Blair, I mean. Not with me.” Mike winked. “That might sweeten the deal for you. Blair and I were supposed to go together, but I had a meeting rescheduled, and it’s one I can’t miss, unfortunately. Any chance you might like to go with her?”
Callum chuckled. “The question is, would she like to go with me?”
Mike leveled a no-nonsense gaze at Callum.
“Callum, I’ve been praying she’ll move on, that she’ll find someone who’ll help her get over that scuzzbag, but she seems buried in her work.
Like she’s stuck. Frozen. But ever since you arrived, and especially the last couple weeks, she’s got her old zip back.
There’s a light in her eyes that hasn’t been there for years, and I’d bet every dollar to my name that you’re the reason why.
I think there’s every chance in the world she’d like to go with you. ”
The door opened, and Blair walked in. “Who’d like to go with who to what?”
“That concert tomorrow night,” Mike said. “I had something come up. Can’t make it. But I think Callum here would love to take my place. If that’s okay with you, of course.”
Blair gave her father one of those inscrutable expressions Callum had come to know well. At least it wasn’t just him who got those. That was oddly comforting.
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
“Perfect,” Mike replied. “Just a meeting that’s already been rescheduled twice, and it really needs to happen, and tomorrow night was the only time everyone else could be there.”
Blair’s gaze slid toward Callum. “You don’t mind the time away from composing? I know you just got your muse back.”
“I could always use a break to get some more inspiration.” He couldn’t keep the smile off his face, and he was glad to see Blair return one of her own.
“Okay then.” The bell rang, and Blair immediately jerked back into business mode. “We’ll figure it out after school.”
“You kids have fun.” Mike gave Blair a kiss on the cheek, then slipped through the choir room door just as the first students trickled in.
Callum strode back into his office, set down the concert ticket, picked up his iPad, and tried to get his brain back in gear.
It had been a heck of a lunch break. Vic Nelson was untrustworthy at best and dangerous at worst. There might indeed be a solid reason Iris’s music didn’t communicate suicidality to Callum.
And perhaps most earth-shattering of all, he held in his hand a ticket to his first real date with Blair.