Chapter 6 #2
She managed to sputter out, “Thank you,” while her mind threatened to short-circuit with memories.
He was the only boy she’d dated in high school.
He’d asked her out the summer before his senior and her junior year and for a brief while, she’d felt part of something bigger than herself.
Then he’d gone off to college, and she’d stayed.
He was the last person she’d expected to run into today.
And yet here he was. She’d forgotten he and Mrs. Blunt were related.
“It’s been a long time,” he said, scratching two fingers against his forehead.
Frankie was about to agree when Mrs. Blunt continued. “Oh, everyone did so well today, but I had hoped to hear you play as well, my dear. You usually accompany an act or two.” She turned in her chair and patted one of Owen’s hands. “Such unbelievable talent.”
A tightness wove itself into Frankie’s smile. “It wasn’t needed today,” she said. “Maybe next month.”
“But Owen might not be here for that,” Mrs. Blunt said. “Perhaps something short right now? I’m sure everyone would love it.” She gestured to the piano.
Frankie eyed the instrument as if it had teeth. “These events are really more to spotlight our students. I’m sorry.”
Mrs. Blunt looked like she was about to push further, but thankfully, Owen placed a hand on her shoulder. “It’s not necessary, Grams. I’ve heard Frankie play before, remember?”
He’d been on the football team back in high school—an unlikely match for her, she’d thought when he first asked her out—but he’d come to every one of her recitals that year, always bringing flowers that he’d hand her afterward.
Frankie gave him a grateful smile, ignoring the scrutinizing squint Mrs. Blunt was leveraging on her.
“You probably perform at bigger venues nowadays,” Owen said, running a hand through his hair that made it stand even more on end. “Didn’t that place on 1st Street have live entertainment at one point?”
Frankie had played there one summer in college, and she’d loved it—the pendant lights above forming a bubble around her and the piano, separate from the patrons who were too busy eating to pay her direct attention.
She’d hoped to return the following summer, but by then Estelle had needed her for a summer intensive program at the school, so she’d turned it down.
“That place has been closed a long time,” she said.
“And there’s nowhere else?” Owen asked, bright blue eyes locked on her.
“No.” Frankie shook her head. “I don’t really perform. There’s no time.”
He bobbed his head in acknowledgement. “Bummer for me.”
Something in his voice made her unsure what to do with her hands. Was he teasing her? She forced her attention back to Mrs. Blunt for safer waters. “In fact, I still have… um… things waiting for me back at the office, so if you don’t mind…?”
“Of course, dear. You go. But I’ll see you next month and for any Starview performance after that. Such a joy. Such a joy.” She squeezed Frankie’s hand again, and then Owen rolled her away with a nod Frankie’s way.
Frankie watched them leave, vaguely aware that the librarians were starting to put the chairs away.
“Was that who I think it was?” Kayla appeared at Frankie’s side as the crowd thinned. “What the heck is Owen Novak doing back here?”
“I don’t know,” Frankie responded without taking her eyes off the doorway.
“He looked a little rough, didn’t he? I almost didn’t recognize him.”
Frankie glanced at her, then shrugged. “He’s older. Like us.” How many years had passed since she’d last seen him? Eighteen? Nineteen?
“What did he say?”
You probably play at bigger venues nowadays. Frankie cleared her throat. “Not much.”
She spotted a leftover folder still sitting on the piano and that finally got her feet moving. Just as she suspected, it belonged to one of her second-year students who’d lose his head if it wasn’t stuck on.
“Oh well. Good riddance, am I right?” Kayla said behind her. “Anyway—I’m meeting Matt at Portside Tavern for dinner, so I wanted to see if you’d care to join us?”
The excuse was on the tip of Frankie’s tongue.
Sorry, I can’t. Too much to do. You guys go ahead.
It was second nature at this point, though she couldn’t remember when it had started.
Maybe when Estelle had made her partner and stressed the importance of professional boundaries.
Or was it when her friends got married? But standing there in the emptying room, with no one waiting for her elsewhere, the word that crossed her lips instead was, “Sure.” If nothing else, she did still need to get Matt’s take on the Starview documents she’d sent over for him to look at.
It would basically be a working dinner. No need for Estelle to think she was getting distracted.
Kayla lit up. “Really?”
An unexpected burst of warmth spread inside Frankie at her friend’s excitement. “I could eat.”
“All right.” Kayla gestured to the door. “Are you ready now or…?”
“Um…” Frankie’s gaze skimmed the Starview poster board by the door and the stack of leftover programs that sat on its ledge.
Then it skated across the makeshift stage, past the windows where cars were pulling out of the parking lot, and there, finally, was Orla.
“There’s actually one more person I need to talk to,” Frankie said.
“Can I meet you at Portside? I won’t be long. ”
Kayla smiled. “Sounds good. See you there.”
Frankie hurried out the door, determined not to let the reporter get away again, but she needn’t have worried. Orla was wrapping up a conversation with a few of Kayla’s ballet parents.
“Asking more questions?” Frankie asked when the parents left.
“Ah, there you are,” Orla said as if she was the one who’d been looking for Frankie. “Only chit-chatting.”
“About?”
“Oh, this and that.”
Frankie sighed. “I believe you were about to tell me why you’re here.”
“Right.” Orla lifted her chin. “It’s that card. I haven’t been able to let it go.”
You and me both, Frankie thought. Out loud, she said, “But it’s just a card. If you’ve been talking to people, you’ll know how much Estelle meant to Aspen Creek.”
Orla nodded. “True—the two are contradictory. But that’s what makes it curious, don’t you think?” She pulled out a small notebook from her purse and flipped a few pages. “Was there anything… unusual about her death?”
Frankie scoffed. “What?”
“I don’t know,” Orla said. “She was younger than me with no underlying health issues as far as I’ve discerned. Not the kind of person whose heart suddenly fails.”
“But it did,” Frankie said. “What are you insinuating?”
“Oh nothing, nothing.” Orla lifted her hands in a show of yielding. “I was simply curious if there might be a parent out there who was discontent on behalf of their child. An overlooked solo perhaps, or lackluster progress. Anything at all that could have triggered a confrontation.”
“A confrontation that led to her death?”
“Someone was unhappy with her,” Orla said. “Per the card.”
Was she right? Was it possible there was more to Estelle’s death than they’d all thought? “No, the parents loved her,” Frankie said.
“Doesn’t have to be a parent. Could be anyone. Could be a teacher. Could be you.” Her gaze remained steady on Frankie, but there was no telling if she was being serious.
“That’s ridiculous,” Frankie said, her voice thinner than she wanted. “You need to stop.”
Orla shrugged. “Only doing my due diligence for an old friend.”
Friend? Only if friendships were one-way streets. Frankie huffed but kept her thought to herself. “Well, can you do it away from the school please? It doesn’t look good.”
“And that’s important to you? That things look good?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean…” Frankie sighed. This woman was infuriating. “I’m trying my best to do right by Mom and the school, and I don’t have the bandwidth for whatever this is.” She gestured between them. “It’s hurtful. Mom died of a heart attack. I lost her.”
For the first time since they’d met, Orla shrank back a step. Then she averted her eyes and nodded to herself. “You’re right,” she said. “Work habit, I’m afraid. To be a good journalist, you have to embrace your inner shark. I got carried away, and I’m sorry. Retirement makes for long days.”
Frankie didn’t respond, unsure if the tone change was genuine.
“I should get on the road,” Orla said. “Head back to Charlotte. But here’s my card in case you think of… anything.”
“I have one already,” Frankie said. “But there’s nothing to think of, so I won’t be calling.”
Orla nodded. “Fair enough. Well, good luck to you.”
Frankie squinted after the older woman, watching her retreat to the far end of the parking lot. She was pretty sure she’d won that exchange, but it didn’t feel that way because somehow, she was certain she hadn’t seen the last of Orla Monroe.
Frankie joined Matt and Kayla in a booth near one of the front windows, and after they’d ordered beverages, Frankie asked Matt to please give her some good news. After her run-in with Orla, she sorely needed it.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to pick, Frankincense,” he said. “Do you want good news, or do you want the truth?”
“That bad, huh?”
“It’s like you said—the numbers don’t make sense.
I can’t tell if it’s because Aunt Estelle used her own system to track payables and receivables or there’s some creative accounting going on, but Starview is behind on nearly every single payment including the two mortgages.
Your best bet is getting into that private account, crosschecking every transaction over the last few years with the spreadsheet, and maybe talking to someone at the IRS. ”
“What do you mean by ‘creative accounting’?” Kayla asked.
“Like money going where it shouldn’t.” Matt hesitated. “Like illegally.”
What was it with people tonight? First Orla and now Matt. Frankie glared at him. “Yeah, right, because that was Mom.”
Matt shrugged. “She could have outsourced the books.”
“To a criminal?” Kayla gave him a scolding look. “I’m sure that’s not what’s going on.”