The Jewelry Case (34 page)

Paisley stuffed some smoke-damaged cushions in the trash bag and dragged them to the curb, piling them with the rest. She wasn’t as sure as Shirley that her voice was coming back to stay. If it didn’t, should she remain in River Bend? And would she in fact be risking her life to do so? Her future was as hazy as it had been when she had arrived.

#

The investigator’s report came back: there was no evidence of arson. The fire, it stated, had likely started with a range burner that had been left on. Torn between relief and embarrassment, Paisley mocked herself for her melodramatic theorizing. No one was targeting her; the danger had all been in her mind. Never mind that Ian and Shirley had been equally melodramatic. That's what happened when people got together and let their imaginations carry them away, she told herself.

At least, she was now free to turn her attention to pulling the play together, while Ian’s crew returned to fix up the kitchen and repaint the walls and ceiling. Hell Week was living up to its name: long days of grueling rehearsal, broken only by breaks during which the cast devoured stacks of greasy pizza and sandwiches. The production was finally taking form together, although there were plenty of glitches to keep her and Shirley busy. Would the red-headed policeman ever remember his lines? Would the costumes be finished on time? Could the carpenter fix the ship's listing mast? Were the backdrops ready?

The backdrops! As the cast sang “Pour, oh Pour the Pirate Sherry,” Paisley sat up straighter in her usual front-row seat, belatedly realizing that the snowy-white canvas backdrops remained unpainted. How could they have been overlooked? Paisley punched Steve’s number into her cell phone, thinking he must have forgotten his promise.

As it rang, she cursed herself for not following up sooner. True, the fire had been distracting, and her last brief conversation with Steve had focused on the additional repairs to the house and how much longer she planned to stay in River Bend. She'd told him the truth: she’d likely move on as soon as the play was over. An odd expression had crossed his face. Impossible to tell if he had been relieved or disappointed.

Steve picked up, and she got right to the point. "You forget about the backdrops!"

"What backdrops?" he said blankly.

"Don’t you remember? For the play! You promised you'd paint them."

"Oh. That's right. I did." He spoke slowly, stupidly, as if from a distance. For a moment, she wondered if Steve was a secret pot smoker. He didn't strike her as the type to get high, but if there was one thing she had learned since marrying Jonathan, it was that you never really knew about people.

"Opening night is coming up fast” she reminded him. “I'll paint them myself if I have to, but they'll turn out better if done by someone with your talent."

There was a pause. "Okay," he said at last. "I'll try to get over there tonight."

"Great. The building's open until ten. You’ll find the paint and brushes in the supply room behind the stage."

Paisley felt relief. Another task checked off her list. She put the cell phone back in her purse and looked around with satisfaction. The chaos had taken on a sense of purpose, and everyone knew what needed to be done. Nor was it a room full of strangers: she now knew the names of all the young actors and those of most of their parents. She knew which kids had crushes on whom, which formerly best friends were on the outs, and who had mended their relationships.

In the center of them all was Kevin. He had lost his initial reserve, and now he was lunging about in his loose-sleeved, open-throated pirate shirt with the red sash around his waist, plying his cutlass as if born to it. His unexpectedly rich baritone brought out the irony in the lyrics, and when he finished his solo, the other actors burst into spontaneous applause.

Grinning, he strode to the front of the stage and swept a theatrical bow. With the kerchief tied around his black locks and the beginning of a mustache darkening his upper lip, he looked suave and sexy. At least the girls in the cast seemed to think so.

"Go, Kevin!" one of them screamed. Someone else gave an ear-splitting whistle. As he bowed again, a cluster of actresses rushed toward him, including Chloe, who managed to maneuver so she was standing closest to him. Kevin looked down at the pretty blond and returned her broad smile They looked like a couple. Paisley wondered when it had happened.

Paisley smiled as she remembered a similar interplay of relationships between cast members backstage at the Met. Then her smile wavered. At this moment, someone else was performing Mimi at the Met, no doubt to thunderous applause, the part that was to launch Paisley's career. And here she was, working an amateur production in the middle of nowhere.
La Boh
è
me
and the professional world of opera had moved on without her.

With an effort, she shoved aside her self-pity. There was no point denying that she had enjoyed this summer, far more than she had expected. It had been surprisingly satisfying to work with young actors, using her skills to give what could have been just another amateur production the polish of, well, perhaps not a
Broadway
show, but an off-off-Broadway show. All modesty aside, Paisley knew if the show was successful, as she had no doubt it would be, it would be largely due to her help.

And, the truth was, the experience had been good for her, too. It had been healing to feel the others' respect, to have them seek her advice and implement her suggestions. After the extreme competitiveness of the professional opera world, her self-confidence had gained a much-needed boost, especially after the devastating losses she had undergone.

But it was time to move on. Since that day when Ian had caught her singing, she’d suspected she could start practicing again without injuring her voice. Tomorrow, Paisley determined, she'd call her oto-laryngologist to schedule an appointment. If things went the way she hoped, she'd call Nigel immediately afterward and turn down that position at the conservatory. Then there would be other calls to make, professional relationships to renew, auditions to schedule. She may have missed out on the role of Mimi, but so what? There were always others. She wouldn't be totally forgotten by the opera world, not yet, and there would be other productions to try out for. Paisley's heart started beating faster as she directed her attention back to the stage.

#

Shirley's thick-rimmed glasses slipped down to the tip of her snub nose as she ran back and forth in the auditorium during rehearsal making sure everything was taken care of, but she took time to joke briefly with the members of the cast as she passed by. Finally she flopped into the seat next to Paisley.

"Okay, everyone! Break!" She took a bottle of Evian from her oversized patchwork handbag and took a long slug. "Best thing I ever did, bringing you aboard," she muttered to Paisley, pulling out a second bottle of water and passing it to her. "I never could have pulled this thing together without you. Have a drink. You must be thirsty."

Paisley gratefully unscrewed the cap and took a long swallow. The refreshing beverage felt healing as it coursed down her throat. "You're doing fine," she told Shirley, recapping the bottle. "And I haven't done anything any decent vocal coach wouldn't do."

"Don't give me that false modesty, honey, you're fantastic with those kids. If you had told me that a month ago this group would sound that good, I wouldn't have believed it. Now all we need is to get those backdrops painted. Dress rehearsal is tomorrow, and they're still not finished."

Paisley hid a start of guilt. "I just called Steve. He said he'd come paint them tonight."

"You
are
a miracle worker!" Shirley turned to her, amazed. "How on earth did you get Steve Lopez to agree? He's a fabulous artist, but he’s always turned me down when I asked him before."

"You knew Steve painted?" Paisley's eyes opened wide in suprise.

"Well of course! After high school he went back east to try to become an artist. That's when he married Kevin's mother. They apparently met up again in New York or thereabouts, where she was living at the time. Both former neighbors from River Bend, it was natural that they would seek each other out. But the marriage only lasted a couple of years. When his art career didn’t take off, he came back home, and he's been trying to make a go of that vineyard ever since."

"Then you must have known about
—
" Paisley stopped. She had never asked why Shirley hadn't mentioned that Steve’s wife was Jonathan's cousin, Sarah. But then, Shirley must have assumed Paisley already knew. It would have been natural for Jonathan to tell Paisley all about his family. But he hadn’t.

Shirley raised her voice, addressing the room in general, ""Five more minutes, then we'll do the graveyard scene!" She turned back to Paisley. "Have you given any thought to what I asked the other day?"

Paisley scanned her memory. "You mean…?"

Shirley nodded emphatically. "About your staying in River Bend. I was thinking about it some more, and I thought I gave up too easily last time. This community needs you, Paisley. And to be honest, I think you need us. We have a lot more to offer than you might think."

"Spoken like a true manager of the chamber of commerce," Paisley muttered under her breath, but she smiled.

Shirley leaned forward, her hazel eyes serious behind their frames. "No I mean it. Take your time and think about it, Paisley. Don't rush into a decision." Then she chuckled. "No pressure, of course."

Paisley hadn't planned to tell Shirley that she had already made up her mind to leave – and soon. She had found what she had come for. Not the jewelry, but healing and peace of mind. Of course, leaving River Bend wouldn't be easy. Ian's face popped into her mind, and she tried to thrust the image away. But it seemed fate had spoken, and it was time to go back to her old life.

Looking at Shirley's hopeful face, she found it hard to find the right words as she haltingly explained. "But don't tell anyone," she finished. "I don't want the kids to feel bad."

Shirley's expression reflected the disappointment Paisley had expected, but she nodded. "I understand. Of course. It's what we all expected. I just hoped...." Shirley sniffed and blinked twice. She pulled out a tissue and blew her nose. Then she opened her mouth and bellowed, "All right, everyone! Break's over! Take your places!"

#

As opening night neared, however, Paisley found no time to think about her future, or to send messages to New York. Hell Week consumed every drop of time and energy.

The afternoon before the dress rehearsal, Shirley gave the cast a much-needed break, and ordered Paisley home to rest. "And don't forget to eat dinner before you come back," she said sternly. "You're looking pale again.

Paisley nodded obediently. Half an hour later, she found herself swinging on the newly repainted front porch of the old house, eyelids drooping with fatigue. The smell of smoke had been banished by the sharp scents of paint and the varnish she and Shirley had applied to the vintage wicker furniture from the antique furniture store that replaced the ugly late-seventies furnishings Esther had inherited from Jonathan's parents.

Paisley had known it was silly to spend yet more of her meager funds on furnishing a house she would leave soon, but the house had looked so bare, so desolate,
so reproachful
, with all the water-damaged furniture removed. Now the place looked cozy under its fresh coat of buttercup-yellow paint and with its comfortable new furnishings that she could did not regret the expense. Besides, she told herself self-righteously, leasing the place furnished would likely bring in more rent.

The thought, however, brought a pang. It was hard to believe she would be leaving in a few more days. But there was a sense of peace that came from knowing she had done all she could this summer, both with the house
and
the play. From now on, the success or failure of
The Pirates of Penzance
depended solely on the cast and the crew. From now on, she was no longer a participant but a spectator.
It's no longer up to you. Your task is finished.

There
was
a certain restfulness in knowing there was nothing else to do. She was half-asleep in the porch swing, lulled by its slow, rhythmic motion like a baby in a cradle, before she realized she was not alone.

The gray cat had appeared out of nowhere, like smoke from the fire, and was hovering by the bushes, watching her from unblinking, golden eyes. Paisley met its stare, knowing from experience that any such effort to coax it closer would merely spook it away. Nevertheless, when the cat remained motionless, staring at her, she couldn't resist trying again.

"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty." She leaned forward and offered her hand, as if holding out a treat. Maybe she could trick it into coming over to the porch.

It stared at her for several long moments from round yellow eyes, as motionless as a child's stuffed toy. Then, gathering itself together, it launched itself upward and swarmed up the oak tree, as swiftly as a squirrel.

Standing up, Paisley moved to the edge of the steps and angled her head back, watching for the cat to come down again. The animal seemed to be gradually losing its fear of her, and it would be nice to make friends with it before she left. Maybe it would even let her pet it if she were patient enough.