French Polished Murder (33 page)

A month later, Cas and I had finished the piano,
which had been moved into his house. He’d invited me, and E, and Ben and Nick over for dinner to celebrate what he called the advent of the Steinway.

We’d had an excellent dinner, which Cas had cooked, and then he and Ben had played the piano, commenting on the sound in specialized terms I didn’t even begin to understand.

Then we’d just sat around, drinking coffee and talking. Except for E who was sitting in the middle of the floor playing with wood blocks that Cas had unearthed from somewhere and brought out for the occasion. E built towers while we talked.

“It was really stupid of me not to have thought that people recover from strokes. She might have been unable to walk at first, but later she could. I doubt even her nephew and niece knew.”

“I’m sure they didn’t,” Cas said. “What baffled me was the whole business with the key. I looked into it, even though the case is closed. But there was an off chance that the whole family was in on poisoning Ben. After all, it did come out that it was John who tried to put pressure on my boss to stop you. He was concerned about his grandfather’s reputation.”

Ben shuddered. “I had blisters. On my palms.”

Nick put his hand on Ben’s nearest knee. “A traumatic experience,” he said, and was, I think, only half teasing. “You’ll probably have flashbacks,” he added, that time fully teasing. “Good thing I’ll be around to console you.”

“So what did you find out?” I asked Cas, because when those two started they weren’t likely to stop, and they got very silly.

“Well, at her age, and with her very short hair, she could pass for a man. I showed her picture around to some of the people who had served at the tea and they all remembered seeing this old-geezer server and wondering how he’d got hired.” He shrugged. “Apparently as well as being a murderer, she was a good pick-pocket. She probably returned the key to your purse, when she sent you to get her mother’s picture.”

“I guess we’ll never know if she made those threatening phone calls, too,” I said.

Nick chimed in. “Probably not. Cas checked the phone records. I still think they had something to do with the animal poisonings.” He sounded frustrated. He still hadn’t gotten his man—unless you counted Ben.

“Poor Almeria and Jacinth,” I said. “To die just when they thought they were going to be happy.”

“She completely misjudged her precious little daughter,” Cas said. “But let’s leave sad subjects behind. E, have you thought of the offer I made you?”

“Uh?” I said.

E looked up from his towers. “E keep Peegrass . . . in your house?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it any other way,” Cas said.

E nodded. He considered things. “You be E’s dad?”

“Nah. You have a dad. You can call me Cas.”

“Castor Pollux Wolfe, what in heaven’s name are you asking my son? You can’t adopt him!”

“No. I asked him if I could marry his mother!”

“Well, I tried to ask you in various ways, and I thought you were refusing me, but Ben said you were just being obtuse, so I’m asking E for your hand, in the presence of witnesses.” He gestured toward Ben and Nick. “So, E, may I have the honor of marrying your mother?”

E looked from one of us to the other. “E needs electric car,” he said.

“No!” Cas and I said at the same time.

“ ’ Nothah cat?” E tried.

“Hmmm,” Cas said. “Pythagoras might not like that.”

“A rat?” E stilled missed the rats. They were happily residing elsewhere, some with Ben and some with Nick.

“Maybe. I hear that Rat Fink may be having babies.”

E sighed in that way that meant he had to give it a sporting try. Then he cocked his head sideways and said, “You want to marry Mommy?”

“More than anything in the world.”

E waved a little hand grandly. “Awright.”

“My son,” I said, speaking between my teeth, “is not my guardian. You can’t ask him for my hand. You—”

He dropped to one knee in front of the sofa and took hold of my hand. “Candyce Chocolat Dare, will you do me the very great honor of marrying me?”

I said yes.

Before I get to the how-tos, I should preface it with
this being based on my experience, which was mostly bad, and on research since then that has taught me to do it properly. French polishing is, however, more of an art than a science and your mileage may vary.

To begin with, I married a pianist. Married him with my eyes open, too, since, even though he was a mathematician by day, he composed a piece for me when we were courting. But then we found ourselves in the normal vicissitudes of a young couple starting out. We could weather most of the relative privation, except for one thing—the lack of a piano. This drove my husband insane and even the fancy keyboard he bought couldn’t make up for the lack of the Steinway he had played at his mother’s house.

In despair I set aside some money—let’s just say it was the type of sum that won’t buy you a key at most piano stores—and started looking high and low, through used stores, thrift shops, and want ads. I stopped just short of Dumpster diving, but not by much. Most of the pianos had a cracked soundboard, which I understand is normal in that this portion of the piano is very susceptible to temperature changes not to mention movers dropping it, but more on that later.

We finally found an upright with a whole soundboard in a price range we could afford. It was unbelievably dirty and covered in its sixth or seventh coat of very bad paint. Also when we opened it at home, there was a rat’s nest inside. Fortunately with no rats in it anymore. Also, though I regret to report it, there was no hundred-year-old letter.

My husband thought he could rebuild the inside of the piano, which amounted to buying anything that could have decayed, shrunk, or warped in the last hundred years. I thought I could French polish it. Turned out he wasn’t wrong.

My attempts at French polishing on the other hand, were less than successful. The oil “pasted” on the wood. The pumice stone refused to come clean and I couldn’t find shellac flakes in our small town to save my life. The piano ate up most of my life for six months. I did finally get it done, but my method being “mess up, clean it up, do it again,” is probably not replicable.

Since then I’ve found out how I should have done it and also some of the mistakes I made.

The piano looked great, by the way, and played wonderfully, but it got dropped by movers three houses ago and, wouldn’t you know it, the soundboard cracked. Fortunately by then we could afford a better—or, my husband says, just showier—instrument, in this case an early twentieth-century player piano.

As for French polishing . . . I might try it again if my husband finds that baby grand he’s been dreaming of, since the only way we’ll be able to afford it is covered in six layers of paint or currently on fire.

So, after my cautionary tale . . .

French polish started as a finish applied to guitars and other fine acoustic instruments. The reason for it was because, the wood being part of the resounding portion of the instrument, it was important not to change its properties with the finish. Finishes that went on top, creating a shell upon the instrument would change the resonance.

The shellac part of the French polish, though, gets pushed into the interstitial bits of the wood, so that it becomes part of it and doesn’t change it.

Now, I’m not sure how important this is for a piano, as opposed to the smaller instruments, but smarter minds and more acute hearing senses than mine say it’s essential.

If you’re not yourself well versed in the innards of pianos and what they should look like, find a friend who is and take him or her along. Ignore all the snide remarks about looking for pianos in all the wrong places, and about how it would be much easier to make an ox cart look like a piano than to make the wreck you’re contemplating presentable.

Make him or her concentrate on the essentials—soundboards, ivories, and what the replacement cost would be for these parts. Make notes. Do not convince yourself that everything can be fixed with five cents and elbow grease.

There will be crud on your piano. How much crud and which type of crud is open to discussion. If the original finish remains, you might simply be dealing with a lot of dirt and a finish in bad shape. If that’s the case thank your lucky stars.

French polish is very easy to damage. It is also, fortunately easy to repair. Wet a soft pad in denatured alcohol. Ring it. Rub it gently on the finish—after you’ve cleaned—in the direction of the grain. Do not rub so much you remove the finish. Just one or two gentle passes. If you’re lucky, that will fix the original finish and you can take credit for all the hard work.

So, you were unlucky. Whatever was on the piano was more dirt than finish, or perhaps it was covered in sick pink paint made from melting Saturday-morning cartoon horses.

I’m afraid, my friend, it is time to refinish. First you must remove as much of the paint off the piano as you can and as little of the wood—so as not to change the resonance.

Get your piano-connoisseur friend again and make him/her take out every portion of the piano that can be taken out and put in a safe place. Make them draw a diagram so they remember where it goes. Tell them it’s good practice for when they open their piano repair shop. Ignore protests that he/she is a surgeon by trade and a piano shop is not likely in his/her future. You’re only looking out for your friend’s best interests, after all.

Now this is one of the cases in which I’d recommend a commercial paint remover. Look for something with “no drip” in the name. If you absolutely can’t find anything, then mix equal parts mineral spirits and denatured alcohol, thicken with plenty of starch so it’s about the consistency of runny batter. Brush onto piano taking care that you don’t do more than an area you can scrape before it dries. Scrape. Repeat. If needed wash with mineral spirits /denatured alcohol afterward, using a very fine grade of steel wool. If needed sand lightly using your finest grade of sand paper.

You are now ready to French polish, may heaven have mercy on your soul.

When I tried to do it I was using a British book, which told me to buy some form of shellac on block that had to be melted over the fire. I couldn’t find it anywhere, so—being me—ordered it from England. Don’t do it. My kitchen cabinets were never the same again, even if I got out most of the scorch marks.

What I finally realized I needed was as follows: shellac flakes. These are usually available in fine woodworking shops, as well as online. Denatured alcohol. Several pads of very soft wool cloth. Olive oil. (I used mineral oil at first and it gummed things up something awful.) Pumice or rotten stone. (I’m not absolutely sure there is a difference, technically, but in our store the package labeled rotten stone is ground much finer than the pumice, so I tend to prefer it.) Elbow grease and plenty of it. If you have an enthusiastic male teenager, get them to do the actual work while you supervise for which you’ll need a sufficient quantity of your favorite alcoholic beverage.

The process for French polishing is very simple, just like the process for teaching your cat to waltz is very simple. It is the execution that might take trial and error and, in the case of your cat, Kevlar armor.

Depending on whether you want your shellac heavier or finer—and I believe for pianos the heavier is preferred—mix either two pounds of shellac flakes per gallon of alcohol, or one pound of flakes per gallon of alcohol. Mix only what you’re going to use immediately. Some people prefer to let the mix sit for twenty-four hours.

Dissolve shellac in a heat-proof glass jar—a canning jar will do—tighten the lid and place it in hot tap water—that is the water that comes out of your tap on the hot setting.

DO NOT—I can’t emphasize this enough—use boiling water and/or put your mixing jar on the stove. Not unless you really want an explosion in your kitchen. And if you do, find another way to do it.

Once dissolved, transfer your shellac to a cheap plastic bottle of the squeeze type.

Now, apply a layer of that shellac to the piano, using a cloth pad. Do it only one surface of the piano at a time, such as a leg, or the keyboard cover. This “wash” will protect the piano during the more lengthy process.

Let it dry. After half an hour, repeat the process. Then again. Perhaps another time for good measure.

Wait a few hours or overnight.

Now, take your cloth pad. Make sure it is 100 percent wool, since synthetics might act oddly.