Chapter 2
“HAVE YOU SEEN THE Observer this morning?”
Piper Parish took a well-deserved two-minute break, dropping into a chair beside Shelby Abbott, the clinic office manager. They’d had a rush of stomach flu and the start of a scabies outbreak from the moment the doors opened at eight, and Piper’s dogs were starting to bark, even in the orthopedic shoes. “No, why?”
Shelby passed it over, tapping the front page.
Historic Madrigal Theater To Close?
“What?” Piper bent over the newspaper and devoured the article. “Oh, no no no no. This is terrible!”
The Madrigal was her second home. She’d grown up there. So many of her memories were tied up with that place, Piper couldn’t fathom it closing its doors or, worse, being turned into something else entirely.
“Looks like all hope isn’t lost. They’re doing a last-ditch show of White Christmas,” Shelby pointed out.
If they were going to save the theater from financial ruin with this one last production, they needed to pull out all the stops. “Tyler has to come out of retirement for auditions.”
Shelby stared Piper down over the rims of her glasses. “You can’t be serious.”
“You know nobody in town can dance like she can.”
“It’s been eight years.”
“Have you thought about what this could do to her?”
Piper felt a prick of guilt. There were very good reasons Tyler hadn’t set foot on stage in the better part of a decade. But it was the right thing. It had to be. Tyler needed this as much as the Madrigal did. For closure.
“It’s not going to be traumatic. I’ve got a heart, for God’s sake. It’ll be good for her to get back on the stage and remember how much fun we used to have. She’s moved on.” Or she would, if she went through with the show.
“I hope you’re right.” With some not insignificant side-eye, Shelby turned back to their next patient.
Another two hours and most of a bottle of hand sanitizer passed before Piper could shake free for her lunch break. She raced across town to Edison Hardware, buoyed by an optimism that Tyler wouldn’t let the specter of one Brody Jensen keep her from doing her part to save the theater. She could see Tyler through the door, ringing somebody up. Shoving inside, she announced, “Dust off your dancing shoes, we have a mission.”
Tyler didn’t even pause in giving her instructions to Mrs. Van Buren.
Okay, going to be a tough sell.
The older woman grinned. “This is going to look so good! I’ll be sure to take pictures.”
“You do that. Be sure to tag us on Facebook!” Tyler called.
“I will!”
As soon as Mrs. Van Buren was out of the shop, Piper hopped up on the counter and swung her legs. “Did you hear what I said?”
With a bland stare, Tyler began stocking cabinet hardware. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who remembers I ever wore dancing shoes.”
Piper hated that Tyler had given up something she loved so much. “Not the truth and so not the point.”
“And what is the point? You know I don’t dance anymore.”
“You will for this. The Madrigal is in danger.”
Tyler paused, a drawer pull in her hand. That hesitation gave Piper hope. “That’s terrible! But what does it have to do with me?”
“They’ve agreed to let us make one last effort to raise the money to save it. To prove that it can be a sound investment. Nate is directing a production of White Christmas. And you’re going to unearth your dancing shoes from whatever graveyard you left them in to audition for it with me.”
“You used to dance?” Norah Burke, the new city planner, spoke up from her seat at the project table.
“I haven’t danced or sung since college.”
Piper hopped down and pointed an accusatory finger. “You lie. You’ve sung and danced with me as recently as last month.”
“What we do in the privacy of my living room under the influence of a pitcher of margaritas is between you and me and no one else. And wipe that considering smirk off your face, Norah.”
“What smirk?”
“The one that says you’re trying to figure out how you can use that in your next community development scheme.” She shoved plastic-wrapped hardware into the Plexiglas bins.
“Oh, come on, Tyler,” Piper insisted. “It’s not like you’ve lost your chops. You’d be a shoe-in for Judy. And I would make the perfect Betty.”
“Give me one good reason why I should come out of retirement.”
Piper’s lips twitched. “Let’s just say, we’re doing it for a pal in the Army.”
One hand fisted on her hip, Tyler leveled a Look in her direction.
Unabashed, she shrugged. “What? It was appropriate. We’re doing it in the name of the good old days. Think of how many great memories we have of the Madrigal. Our first show. Our first lead roles. My first kiss with Robert Hudson in Meet Me in St. Louis. Where you first fell in love with—” Piper cut herself off. Nope, do not go there. “Okay, so maybe that one’s not good to remind you about, but you can’t hold his asshatishness against the Madrigal.”
“Whose asshatishness?” Norah wanted to know.
“He who will not be named.” Piper shot Norah a look that told her she’d tell all at the first opportunity. Away from Tyler.
“I’m not holding anything against the Madrigal.” Tyler’s expression shifted to resignation before Piper could say prove it. “When are auditions?”
“Tonight, at six.”
“Tonight! Piper, I’ve got to close. I’ve got nothing to wear here and no time to go home and get my shoes, not to mention I’ve got nothing prepared for an audition.”
“So tell me where your shoes are and what you want, and I’ll go by and pick everything up for you.”
“I still don’t have anything prepared.”
“Come on. As if you can’t sing every single number from the show in your sleep.” The pair of them had done sing-a-long viewings of the movie for the last twenty years.
“It’s not the singing part that has me worried.”
“Tyler,” Piper drew out the plea to five syllables and folded her hands in prayer, complete with the puppy dog eyes that had, over the years, successfully convinced her best friend to leap out of a plane, volunteer as a bachelorette in an auction for a hospital fundraiser, and let Piper add a set of very purple and—as it turned out—very tragic highlights to her blonde hair.
Tyler scowled. “You don’t fight fair.”
“It’s the Madrigal.”
“Fine. I’ll be there, but I’ll be a little late. We don’t close until six.”
Piper knew when to take her victory and run. “Fabulous! I’ll meet you there with your shoes and your outfit. Where are they?”
Tyler sighed. “Top shelf of my closet, in the blue box.”
Piper gave a squee and wrapped Tyler in a rib-cracking hug. “I’ll meet you there! Bye, Norah.” Without another word, she whirled and bounced out the door. She had just enough time to pick up Tyler’s shoes before heading back to work.