Chapter 5
Five
Cadenza folded Canon’s jacket over her arm and headed out of the apartment.
She didn’t know what he’d run off to do last night, and this morning she didn’t care, but she planned to use returning the jacket as an excuse to check on Drostan.
She might get sacked for losing the Ferrari, but she still wanted to make sure he was ok. Halfway down the staircase she stopped.
“What the—”
The Ferrari was back.
Parked primly in its usual spot like it had never left. She bolted down the rest of the stairs with a cry and flung herself over the hood, hugging the car like she’d found a lost child.
The keys were in the glovebox where she’d left them, and the engine started on the first try.
“How did you get back?” She rubbed the dashboard. This made no sense. Why steal a Ferrari only to put it right back? She shoved the keys in her pocket—no more leaving them in the car—and marched down the hill to where Drostan’s cottage lay tucked in a stand of oaks.
“Drostan?” She knocked on the door. “Drostan, I need to talk to you.”
The door swung open, and he stepped out onto the porch. “Caddie, good morning!” He wore the same clothes as last night, and bags hung under his eyes like he hadn’t slept, but his face beamed. “Can I make you some tea?”
Cadenza grabbed his arm and pulled him to the porch swing. “Drostan, what happened last night? You only have two sons, so who is this guy? And the Ferrari is back this morning. Did you go to the police last night after all?”
Drostan patted her hand. “I have three sons, Caddie. You just never met my youngest.”
She frowned. “If he’s the youngest, he’d be closer to my age, so he would’ve been around. Why didn’t I ever see him here?”
“He’s…been away.”
“Away where?” she asked. Drostan’s wife passed away before her father ever met him, so this third son couldn’t have been off living with a different parent.
“Why in all that time didn’t you ever mention him?
Or have pictures of him around? If he’s been gone so long that I never met him, why did he come back now?
Is he asking you for money?” Her father, wherever he was, would never forgive her if she let his friend fall victim to elder abuse.
“Why now?” Drostan shrugged, still smiling. “I couldn’t say. But Cadenza.” His face sobered, and he held her eyes. “I thought I’d lost my son. And now I have him back. Can we not just leave it at that happy thought for now?”
She searched his face. The face of a man who found what he’d lost. How many times had she caught her father staring out the window, even after he’d remarried? Waiting for the one who would never come back.
She sighed. “For now.” A son who’d been absent her entire childhood, showing up, obviously not well, in the middle of the night. Perfetto. Two mysteries. Just what I need. “But we’re going to talk about it more later.”
“Aye, sure.” Drostan didn’t look her in the face.
“About the Ferrari.” Cadenza moved on to her next question. “I don’t know if you caught what I told you on the phone last night, but I was trying to fix it for you—or, I did fix it, I got it running—as a thank you, for all of this.” She gestured to the apartment up the hill.
“You got it running,” he chuckled to himself, as if at some private joke.
“Yes,” she said slowly, not sure what he meant.
“But then someone stole it. That’s my fault, I thought I locked up the garage, but I guess I thought wrong, and I had left the keys in the car.
But this morning it’s back, like nothing happened.
Did you call the police last night? Did they find it that fast? ”
“Och, no, I didn’t call the police,” he said, stroking his beard. “I told you, I figured it’d turn out alright.”
Cadenza stared at him. “A $300,000 plus car, and you ‘figured it’d turn out alright’?” A horrible thought dawned. Was Drostan after the insurance payout? No, that didn’t make sense. Then why bring it back? And she couldn’t imagine him pulling that kind of stunt. But something did not add up.
The cottage door banged open. Canon sauntered over to them, steaming mug in hand, button-up untucked.
“Morning,” he said, leaning against the porch railing. “Are you feeling better?”
“Your jacket,” she said flatly and tossed his sport coat at him. Her phone buzzed, Learmonth Country Club flashing across the screen. Her heart leaped, and she stepped to the far side of the porch to answer it. “Just a sec, Drostan.”
“Ms. Cavalieri?” the caller asked. “Mr. Learmonth has reviewed your application for the weekend position and would like you to come in for an audition. Can you come this afternoon at 4:30?”
“Yes!” Cadenza cleared her throat. “I mean, yes, that will be fine.” She got the rest of the details and hung up.
“Drostan, I need to go for an audition this afternoon. Will you be ok?” She balked at the idea of leaving him here after last night.
Clearly, he needed some emotional support, even if he didn’t think he did.
But if she didn’t have her ticket and the money inside of a month, she’d lose her shot at Venice. She had to land this gig.
“I’ll be fine, Caddie.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not some doddering old man. Go. And good luck.”
“Thanks.” She gave him a quick hug and headed up the hill, only to find Canon walking beside her.
“Where’s the audition?” he asked.
“A country club in Modesto.” She didn’t look at him.
“That’s great. That’ll help with getting to Italy, right?” He jumped ahead a few paces and turned to walk backwards, so she had to look at him. “How about breakfast before you go? For luck.”
“Are you sure you don’t have anything you need to take care of?” she asked pointedly.
He frowned. “You’re mad. Don’t be mad, Cadenza. I had to make an important call, and you’re a big girl. You can take care of yourself.”
Cadenza huffed. “Yeah, you know what? I can. I’ve been taking care of myself, by myself for years. Which is exactly why it would’ve been good to have someone else do it for a change.” She paused on the asphalt. “And honestly, I could’ve used a hug.”
Without a word Canon closed the space between them and wrapped his arms tight around her shoulders. Too surprised to move, Cadenza let him. He softened against her, like a barrier dropping.
“That’s for last night.” He stepped back. “And let’s talk now, over breakfast. It’s weird, his son just showing up like that. We can swap theories.”
The trees by Drostan’s cottage tinkled like wind chimes. Cadenza glanced back to see Drostan still sitting on the porch swing smiling to himself. Odd. His son hadn’t come outside yet.
Two mysteries.
“Ok. That’d be nice. But,” she added, unwilling to completely let him off the hook, “I pick where we go, and you’re paying.”
The Learmonth Country Club dining lounge was empty of patrons in honor of the audition, but hot lights shone on the small stage at the end of the hall as if it were a full performance. Cadenza handed her sheet music to the accompanist and took her place, exhaling slowly through her nose.
This is just another rehearsal. No one is watching. Her clammy hands said otherwise. Experience and talent didn’t matter. Stage fright never went away. Her financial deadline wasn’t helping either.
The lights illuminated a small circle of hardwood floor past the stage, showing just the shoes of Thomas Learmonth at the edge of the circle. She hated not being able to see her audience. People were hard enough to read as it was, stage lights made it impossible.
“My name is Cadenza Cavalieri, and I will be singing ‘When Did I Fall in Love’ from Fiorello.”
The first notes of the piano floated up, and she drew breath. Tried again to banish her mother’s deadline from her mind. Music wafted up from the earth under the building. It tangled about her ankles, wanting to add its own harmony to her performance.
Behave! Sweat prickled on her scalp. She didn’t need distractions right now.
The earthsong surged upwards again, and Cadenza allowed a few tendrils to mix with her voice. Just a few. She had to maintain control.
Mr. Learmonth leaned forward, elbows on knees, closer to the edge of the light. She could almost make out his face.
The music pushed up harder, trying to steer her song in a different direction.
Knock it off. She banished the tendrils from her voice as punishment. A singer controlled the music; the music didn’t control the singer.
Knees, elbows, and shoes slipped out of the light as her audience of one leaned back in his chair.
The piano finished, the music slipped back into the earth, and Cadenza took a step back. Heels rapped on the floor as Mr. Learmonth strode towards the stage.
Cadenza blinked once in surprise at her first sight of the club owner. He wore a knee-length, silver jacket patterned with sequined, orange flowers over powder-blue bell-bottoms and a yellow button-up. Tall and long faced, he looked in his early sixties.
“That was a delight, Ms. Cavalieri,” he said, extending a hand.
“Thank you.” She covered her surprise a second time. Mr. Learmonth spoke with an accent similar to Drostan’s.
“I am curious, however, as to why a classically trained opera performer is interested in a position as a country club entertainer.”
“Yes,” she said. Don’t blow it, Cadenza. “I know on paper my training might look a bit odd for this job, but I promise I can be versatile, and to be honest, I really need the work.” She didn’t mention Italy. Plenty of time for that later, if she got the job.
Mr. Learmonth adjusted a pair of pince-nez to recheck her resume. “I see your address as listed in Sonora. You don’t mind the commute every weekend?”
“The drive won’t be a problem, Mr. Learmonth.”
He nodded. “Brilliant. In that case, you’re hired, with the condition that in addition to rehearsal with the band, you meet with me once a week to work on your jazz styling. And please”—he smiled—“call me Thomas.”