Chapter 8 #2
Caleb checked out the spines. A century-old commentary on the book of Daniel by H.A. Ironside. A historical novel called Savannah by someone named Eugenia Price. And Master Gambits by world chess champion Marco Accardi. A falling-apart King James Version Bible. Books as eclectic as Isaiah.
A light tap, barely audible, sounded on the door. “It’s me, Isaiah.”
Ariel.
If this room had a back door, Caleb would’ve run for it. Another window escapade, however, was out of the question.
“You want to face her or not?” Isaiah started for the door.
“Do I have a choice? I can’t exactly hide in the bathroom until she leaves, no matter how humiliated I feel.”
“Did it to yourself. Window’s over there.”
Right.
So he merely sat there, waiting to see the expression on that pretty face when she finally saw him hanging out here with Isaiah.
His friend opened the door. “I expected to see you still in your athletic clothes.”
So had Caleb. But instead, she wore a white, flowy dress that nearly touched the tops of her cowboy boots. Her hair down now, the loose waves framed her near-perfect face, her flower scent reaching out to him across the room.
And that pretty face showed no judgment about Caleb’s ridiculous decision to climb the tree.
He stood, cleared the lump in his throat.
He’d felt comfortable with Ariel in her exercise outfit. But now, as she stood there in a cute white dress and wearing pretty pink lipstick, he couldn’t find his voice.
Yes, his suspicions had been right. This hadn’t been a good idea at all.
“Caleb, I’m glad you’re here.” She came inside, and Isaiah stepped on the attached doorstop, propping open the door.
Always the gentleman, forever protecting her reputation.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t keep that crowd off the patio.
They didn’t recognize me with my sunglasses on and my hair up, and they insisted on coming outside and getting their lunch table. ”
Caleb pulled out the wooden desk chair and sat in it, leaving the upholstered armchair for her. “It’s not your fault. It was my stupid idea to climb the tree.”
Ariel took the chair he’d given her, then eyed the bed, made up with a burgundy bedspread that matched the chairs. “You found some sheets. I’m glad.” She turned to Isaiah. “Do you have everything you need?”
He patted her on top of the head. “Yes, missy. But remember, I’m here to take care of you, not the other way around. You’re not my maid.”
“I would be if you’d let me.”
“I know.” Isaiah took in her pretty dress as if he hadn’t noticed before. “Last I saw you, you had on sweaty running clothes. You didn’t dress up for rehearsal, did you? Because I don’t feel like putting on my tuxedo.”
She glanced at his camel linen trousers and white cotton shirt. “You look great, as always.”
Isaiah gave Caleb a shifty eye. “You’re not letting this woman pick you up for a date, are you? Because it’s supposed to be the other way around. Not that I’m going to let you do that. Besides, you’re not dressed fit for her.”
“Do I look that shabby?”
His dark chinos and white Island House polo looked fine to her. “You know Aunt Dahlia would never allow me a date, anyway.”
But if things were different…
“Like it or not, Ariel, I’m now a watchdog.” Isaiah sat in one of the chairs and propped his elbow on the armrest, elevating his hand. “Apparently, it’s okay for Miss Dahlia to run all over the island with her old boyfriend, but I’m supposed to keep you away from males aged sixteen to seventy.”
Would Isaiah keep as close an eye on her as Doreen did? Or closer?
“If you don’t have a date, and you haven’t started dressing up for rehearsal, then why are you wearing that?” Isaiah took a swig of his tea.
When had he ever cared what she wore? “I don’t have a date. I came to see if you needed anything. Like supper.”
“Come to think of it,” Caleb said, “this could be a good time for us to have that visit with Granddad.”
Isaiah cut a surly glance at Caleb. “You know I’m supposed to keep men away from her.”
Ariel touched the older man’s arm. “It’s just a visit with his grandpa. I promise it’s not a date.”
“I guess it’s okay, since it’s you. And since it’s not a date.” Isaiah still glared a warning Caleb’s way. “Bring me a Wagyu burger.”
“Fine, but first I have a problem,” Caleb said. “As you know, I used an…alternative entrance to get into my family’s third-floor apartment. Until I find its keys, I can’t lock it or get back in. So I have to find a way to secure it until the locksmith comes this afternoon, just to be safe.”
Isaiah stood. “I’ll roost up there.”
After traveling all day? “That would be the perfect solution, but are you sure you don’t want to crash in your room instead?”
He pointed to his tea glass and books. “This is my plan for the afternoon. I can do it anywhere.”
They climbed the stairs to the third floor, and Caleb swung open the unlocked door, stood back, and let Ariel and Isaiah go in first. “When I came barreling in here an hour ago, nothing on my mind except finding sheets and saving face, I didn’t stop to look around. Now I see nothing has changed.”
Ariel took in the beauty of the open, airy entry and living room beyond, with its antique tables and botanical paintings, warm hues and pastels, natural fibers and hand-painted tiles.
“How long has it been?” Isaiah carried his books into the next room and set them on a slender-legged console table with a patina of aged, painted wood.
“Twelve years.”
The apartment smelled of lavender and hospitality and love. Ariel felt instantly at ease.
“This room is stunning!” She wandered into the living room, where she turned in a full circle, taking in the home. “It reminds me of the little villa Aunt Dahlia and I rented in the South of France last year.”
“Mom called it country French. She designed the apartment.” Caleb followed her, clearly enjoying her appreciation of his mother’s work. “She and Dad lived in Paris and Avignon for five years before I was born.”
“Why so long?” Isaiah settled into the fringed, armless upholstered chair beside the table.
“Dad was concertmaster of the Philharmonie de Paris, and Mom was the conductor.”
“I can certainly think of worse places—” Ariel stopped as she caught sight of a violin case on an antique end table. She walked over to it and picked it up. “Caleb, is it your father’s violin?”
Eyes wide, he pulled in a deep, halting breath, inching toward her. “If it is, it’s one of the last things my father touched.”
He reached for the case. “It’s—this isn’t my father’s.”
The disappointment coloring his tone made her wish she hadn’t pointed it out, had let him discover it when he came here alone.
Caleb set the case on the coffee table and opened it. “My father had an unmistakable Musafia Enigma case. This violin and case belong to a beginner or hobbyist.”
Isaiah came over and checked it out. “You’re right—that’s not a professional musician’s instrument.”
“Whose do you think it is?” she asked.
“As far as I know, Granddad has the only key, so he’s the only one who could tell us.”
“Should we take it to him?”
“No, leave it here. I don’t want him to know we came in the apartment. Or how I got in. But I need to grab a guitar I left behind.” He strode to the back of the apartment and returned seconds later with a guitar case. “Let’s get our meeting with Granddad over with.”
Caleb started for the door, motioning for Ariel to go before him.
“Remember, I’m in charge,” Isaiah growled from the living room as they reached the foyer. “This is not a date, so don’t act like it is.”
Caleb held the door for her and gave Isaiah a mock scowl that made Ariel smile.
“Sorry about the date comment,” he said as they started down the stairs. “Why do so many older people think they’re comedians?”
“I guess they’ve learned not to take everything so seriously.”
“Maybe.”
Back in the parlor, he turned toward the original entrance. “I’m trying to remember what Dad did with his violin that night. He and Mom came in from outside earlier, so their coats hung over there.” He pointed to the carved hall tree near the door.
“Do you remember any other details?”
“Mostly just the words and emotions. But I think I’d have noticed him taking his violin.”
“It seems strange to take a violin out in the cold unnecessarily, since the humidity inside the case needs to stay at a certain level,” she said in a whisper when they approached his grandfather’s suite. “Do you have any idea where he put it?”
Caleb lowered his voice. “I don’t know. In our apartment, I guess.”
“Do you remember seeing it in the parlor after they left?”
Did he? “Not sure. He brought it downstairs, but that’s all I know.”
“Maybe someone took it.”
“I hope I don’t have to consider that possibility. They were all friends and family and church members.” He knocked on his grandfather’s door, then turned the knob. “Granddad?”
Ariel assumed the grunt from within was an invitation to enter. “Y’all let him leave his door unlocked?”
“He insists. Says he’s safer here than anywhere else in the world.” Caleb pushed open the door. “Getting sheets for Isaiah, even climbing the tree, was the easy part. This will be hard.”
“Where have you been? Staff’s looking all over for you,” Mr. Kennedy growled from his recliner as they entered the foyer. “Guess I have to get up and take care of things myself. I warned you what would happen if I had to get out of my chair.”
As grouchy as usual. More so.
The footrest motor kicked on. Ariel took a step toward the noise. “Sounds as if he’s trying to get up from his recliner.”
“Or pretending to,” Caleb whispered, motioning for Ariel to wait. “Granddad, I brought someone to see you.”
“No time for visitors. I have a hotel to run.”
“Wait here. I’ll see if it’s safe.” Caleb rolled his eyes, then stepped into the lion’s den.
An idea hit Ariel—one that might help soften his grandfather’s heart plus show him the wisdom of their plan. “Granddad? May I come in?”