“Hi, Mr. Gardner. Joe told me to come around to the back door.” He took his jacket off, threw it over the back of a kitchen chair. “They were unloading a piano out front. Wow! Is it yours?”
“Well, technically yes. It belonged to my wife, so now it’s mine. Is that what you were grinning about? Looks like I found someone to play it. You do play, right?”
“Not yet! But I’ve always wanted to learn. Do you think you could teach me? Do you know how to play?” He didn’t wait for Tom’s reply, “Mother won’t let me near her piano. She’s afraid I’ll scratch it or something.”
Tom laughed. Jimmy ignored him and went on to explain, “Once, when I was little, I put a tiny, little scratch on her precious piano. She says she can’t trust me with her damn, oops, darn old piano. It’s an heirloom, she says, and she doesn’t want me to go near it. How am I supposed to learn to play the stupid thing if she won’t let me near it? Mothers! How do you figure them?”
“Jimmy, my boy, women—mothers—are a phenomenon not meant to be understood by mere men. In my forty years, I have not been able to figure out even one of them. Once, I thought maybe I could, but well . . . never mind that. So, you’d like to learn to play the piano, huh? I’m a little bit rusty myself, be good for me to brush up. I’d be happy to teach you.”
“All right! Thanks. Can we keep it a secret, though? I want to be real good before anyone finds out. I don’t want anyone making fun of me. Okay?”
“It’s a deal. How about starting tomorrow afternoon? There’s too much going on today.”
“Okay, cool! Oh! I almost forgot why I came over. Mother wants to know if you’ll come to dinner tonight?”
“I don’t know. I’m not so sure I’m ready to meet your whole family quite yet. It’s been a long time since I’ve gone out socially, Jimmy. I know you don’t understand what I’m talking about, but—it might not be a good idea for me to come.”
“It’ll only be Mother, Billy and me. Dad’s still in . . . hmm, well I'm not sure where he is right now. Maybe New York. Anyway, Mother’s not as bad as I make her sound. She likes everything to be just right, that's all. Please come?” Jimmy flushed, his cheeks glowed as red as his hair. His freckles all but disappeared.
Tom reluctantly agreed. He found it hard say no to this kid! Jimmy promised to meet him on the beach a little before seven. When Jimmy had gone, Tom went looking for Joe.
The crew had almost finished unloading the furniture. Tom followed Joe to the second floor to see how things were going. It was comforting to have some of his own belongings in the house. “Everything’s looking great.” The crew had arranged the furniture in one of the bedrooms. “Works well. Let’s go see the other room.”
The bedroom furniture had been brought up but not arranged in the room across from the master bedroom. Joe and Tom began moving the furniture into place. Soon two of the crew came in and helped with the heavier pieces. All that was left to be done was to unload a dozen crates containing personal papers, books and etc. While the crew put them in the library, Tom went to his room to call Nate, who still hadn't returned his call. There was no answer. He no sooner hung up the phone when it rang.
“Tom,” John Atwood’s voice came through the line. “John here. I wanted to let you know Jim Wood has given the thumbs up for handling Harold’s case. I just got off the phone with him. He’s already been to the police station where they’re holding Harold. He hasn’t been charged yet. Jim doesn’t feel that the DA has much of a case. But he’s on it. Not a man to waste any time. Good man.” Tom could hear him drumming is pen on his desk. “I haven’t been able to reach Nate. Any idea where he might be?”
“I’ve been trying to reach him all morning myself, John. Doesn’t make sense. If he wasn’t at the police station, he should be home. I’d better call one of the neighbors and have them go by the house, make sure everything’s okay. I’m getting a little worried. I’ll let you go. Call you as soon as I hear anything,” Tom said.
“Likewise. Goodbye.”
As soon as Tom hung up, he called Clint Travis, one of the neighbors who lived down the street from his Jamestown home. He agreed to go right over. After telling him where he kept a spare key, they hung up. Tom hated waiting, found it excruciatingly difficult. He felt helpless as he sat and waited to hear back from Mr. Travis. What could possibly be wrong now? He had no choice, though but to wait it out. There was a knock at the door.
“Sorry to bother you, Tom. The moving crew’s about finished. Is there anything else you want them to do before they go? They put all the crates into the library. Did you want any of them hauled up to the attic?” Joe asked, peering around the edge of the door.
“No. They're fine. I’d like to go through them later. Unless you can think of something more, send the men on their way.” Tom pulled several bills from his wallet and told Joe to give the money to the crew.
As he crossed the room to take the cash, Joe stopped. “What the hell happened? There’s glass all over the carpet. Let me get the guys paid, then I'll clean it up. Back in a minute.”
Feeling a shard of glass splinter under his foot, Tom stepped back. Fragments of broken crystal glistened in the sunlight. He was on his hands and knees picking up the larger pieces of glass when Joe came into the room carrying the vacuum.
“Movers must’ve come in here. I told them to stay out of your room. Thought I was keeping my eyes on them most of the time, too. Damn. Probably one of the guys being nosey. Any idea what they broke? A vase or something?”
“Maybe. Not sure”
“Better look around and make sure nothing's missing, don't you think?”
“What? Missing? No. Not that I see, Joe. Don’t worry about it. It’s certainly not your fault.” Tom looked at an empty space on the bookshelf. He remembered now. In the back of his mind, Tom recalled the sound of shattering glass. When had he heard breaking glass? He knew. He paled, his brow knitted in worry. But that had been a dream. Hadn’t it? Tom brought his hand to his face, massaged his temple. Now he knew what the glass was from. It was a perfume bottle. His hands smelled of lavender. He quickly wiped them on his jeans.
A sense of dread spread its icy fingers around his heart. Cold shivers ran up his spine as he tried to remember last night's dream. Surely it had been only that, a nightmare that was still haunting him in his waking hours. Damn, enough of this! A clumsy, nosey mover had been in here. He accidently knocked a bottle off the shelf. That was the end of it. Not even worth the time it took to report it. Let it go. The telephone rang.
“Hello?”
“Tom, this is Clint Travis. I have some bad news,” he said, his voice tense with concern.
“What’s wrong, Clint?”
“Your damn fool friend took two sleeping pills last night. This morning he was disoriented and ended up falling. He’s been lying at the bottom of the stairs fading in and out of consciousness for hours. I called 911. They just took him to St. Andrew’s. It looked to me like he broke his leg, but I can’t be certain. Damn good thing you had me check on him. He was breathing okay and managed to talk a little. I’ll head over to the hospital if you want me to. Make sure he gets admitted and everything. Make sure they treat him right.”
“That’d be great. Thanks, Clint. You’re a good man. I’ll get in touch with his sister, Rosa. She lives close by; it won’t take her long to get to St. Andrews. Thanks again. I’ll call you later.”
Joe watched Tom. “Bad news?”
“Yeah, Nate fell down the stairs, might have broken his leg. My neighbor just called to let me know. He thinks he’ll be okay but still . . . I need to call Nate’s sister. I’ll be down in a minute. I'll grab a couple of beers and meet you on the front porch.” Tom sat on the top step and called Rosa.