A Moonlit Serenade Page 8

  “I met someone,” I said.

  “Good. That’s good. You’re young and need to share your life with a nice man. Now, if that’s all, we’re late.”

  The ache in my throat spread to my chest, causing my head to pound. “Bye, Mom.”

  She’d already hung up.

  Isaac hadn’t been outside my door or in the lobby when I left for my classes at seven thirty Monday morning, and I sighed with relief.

  The media attention freaked me out. Peoples’ comments hurt my feelings. But having a body guard? That was in a different galaxy than my world.

  A world Jake slammed into and shook so hard I still couldn’t get my footing.

  I stopped just short of my classroom, my heart jumping in my chest.

  The door was ajar.

  I’d locked it Friday after my last class. I remembered turning the key, jiggling the handle to double check.

  Reaching out, I pushed the door open with the tips of my fingers. A sob caught before it ripped its way up my chest and out my mouth.

  Pieces of wood littered the room. The strings were still attached to the head, shooting out in various directions like live electrical wires. The fretboard was broken into three chunks, the body smashed beyond recognition.

  My keys slid from my numb fingers.

  “Hey, Ryn! I’d ask how your weekend went, but I saw you splashed all over the papers with that sexy Aussie rocker. You could have told me you were going to sing at the Mercer Island event! I would have loved to hear you live. Though the recording was amazing.” Linda walked up to me waggling her eyebrows. The smile slipped from her lips as she looked past me into the room. “Oh. My. God. What happened here?”

  “I-I don’t know.”

  Linda pulled her cell phone from her purse, juggling the bag, a to-go coffee cup, her brief case, and her violin. “Don’t touch anything.”

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Calling the police. This is a crime scene.”

  My stomach lurched and the numbness from my fingers crept up my arms, into my chest. A crime scene. Smashing my guitar was intended to hurt me. Maybe send a message—of what?

  Linda spoke into her phone, her tone clipped. She thrust her violin case at me, and I clutched it to my chest, unable to do more than gape and shiver.

  “Come on.” Linda tugged at my free hand, her voice gentler now that she’d dropped her phone back into her large, purple tote. “We’ll get some coffee and wait for the police. I told them we’d be in my office.”

  “But. My class?” My voice ended on a higher note. Like it was a question.

  “I’ll talk to the secretary. We’ll sort something out. My first concern is you. Then the kids.”

  I shook my head, anger burning off the numbness. “No. The families are first. I can’t just cancel. That’s not fair to them.”

  “We’ll work something out, Ryn. Sit down.”

  In her office, Linda pushed me into the visitor chair in front of her desk. With a mournful look, she passed me the to-go cup she was holding. “Here.”

  “No. It’s yours. I can’t just take your coffee.”

  “Pfft. Drink it.”

  I put the plastic lid to my lips and pulled a big gulp of peppermint mocha into my mouth. My favorite part of the Christmas season, right here, in a cup. My vocal cords sang with approval. Swallowing, I took another mouthful. “Oh, that’s good,” I moaned.

  “Shut it. I only allow myself one of those.” Her eyes followed the cup.

  “Why? This is true love for my taste buds.”

  “I know,” Linda said with a sigh. “But there’s, like, a million calories per sip. It’s worse than cheesecake.”

  “How can coffee have more calories than a slice of cheesecake?” I asked, frowning at the white lid.

  “Not a slice. The whole damn thing. Or near enough. Feel a little more capable?”

  I nodded. “I can’t believe someone did that to my guitar.”

  Linda shook her head. “That was more than straight up vandalism. That was rage.” She cocked her head. “Which I don’t get. You’re the nicest person I know.”

  I set the cup on the edge of her desk, needing a moment to compose myself. “I don’t think it’s about my job,” I said quietly. “Something to do with me seeing Jake Etsam, maybe.”

  Linda clucked. “That man does exude sexy. I can understand some jealousy.” Her brows pinched together. “But breaking in and destroying your classroom? That’s a felony offense. Seems like more than what the typical fan would do no matter how much she—or he—wanted Jake for herself. Himself. Whatever.”

  I nodded, lacing my trembling hands together in my lap.

  “I don’t think it’s a fan.”

  After catching the K and six in Sam’s license plate, I was sure of it. That was a big part of why I sprinted from Jake’s car when he dropped me off and avoided all calls and texts from the world yesterday.

  I needed a plan, but I didn’t have the first clue how to handle this situation.

  “Finish the coffee. It’s teasing me,” Linda said, eyeing the cup longingly. “Who could it be if not a fan?”

  Picking up the cup, the warmth from the cardboard seeped into my hands. I downed most of the beverage in one gulp. My stomach gurgled and my eyes teared from the heat, but I sighed, my taste buds blossoming with happiness, souring only when I opened my mouth to tell Linda my fears.

  That’s what I needed to do—confide in someone, get another opinion.

  A knock at the door made me jump. Linda raised her brow and called out a terse, “Come in.”

  A uniformed officer pushed open the door, his face pale and beginning to sag. Creases faded out from the corners of his eyes and his jawline wobbled, the skin loosened by age. I closed my eyes, unable to believe the trajectory of my life.

  “Ms. Kelly?”

  “It’s Dr. Kelly. Thanks for coming.”

  “Sure. Right.” He stepped into the room. “You had a complaint, Dr. Kelly?”

  “She does,” Linda said, pointing to me.

  The officer dropped his gaze to me. A slow smile spread across his face. “Howdy-do, Ryn. Haven’t seen you in ages. Joyce’s wondering when you’d be by.”

  “Hi, Ted.” I stood and embraced my father-in-law. “I’ve been busy.”

  Ted patted my back in the gentle way of his. I inhaled his Old Spice aftershave and the starch Joyce insisted on in each of his uniforms. He’d smelled the same all the years I’d known him.

  “Saw your picture in the paper this weekend, which had Joyce calling Sam. She didn’t take it too good that you’re seeing a new man.” His eyes remained steady, the disappointment clear.

  “Why is it your business to decide what makes Ryn happy?” Linda snapped.

  Ted broke eye contact with me, leaving my legs shaky, to gaze at Linda. After thirty-three years in law enforcement, he had that deadpan face down. Unfortunately, he used it on the wrong person—Linda never backed down.

  “Linda, this is my father-in-law. Ted, Linda.”

  Linda dipped her head, not bothering to rise from her chair to shake his hand. Irritation dripped from her eyes, settled into the curl of her mouth.

  “I’m so glad you know Ryn. You can understand, doubly, how upset she is when you go see her classroom. The one someone trashed this weekend along with destroying a very expensive musical instrument.”

  Ted’s lips compressed. “Your guitar?” he asked. “The one Dez gave you when you graduated?”

  Ted understood how much that instrument meant to me. The guitar Dez had bought before he left was the only legacy of my dead husband I’d ever have. Joyce snatched the flag they’d laid over his coffin when they helped me move last year, adding to the shrine of the boy-barely-turned-man who’d left me alone not long after he promised to always be there for me.

  Not that I was bitter.

  Fine. I lived bitter. Partly because I missed being married as much as I missed Dez. I looked away, not wanting Ted to
read the shock and relief building with these thoughts.

  When had I gotten to this point? How had I begun to think of my relationship with Dez in such a way? Guilt ate at my stomach, turning the once-delicious coffee sour.

  “Aw, hell, honey. I’m sorry.”

  He patted my shoulder as his face screwed up, agitation mottling his dusky skin. His next words slid through my mind before he even spoke them. “Joyce isn’t going to take this well. Not at all.”

  Linda’s chair scraped back against the tiled floor. “I’d think you’d be more concerned about Ryn, considering that was her beloved, most prized instrument. The one she’s taught with every day for the last four years.” Linda’s voice was sharp, the irritation clear. “Why don’t you go have a look so that Ryn can start assessing the damage and figure out how she’s going to teach today.”

  Ted shuffled back, his slack jaw surprising me. Sure, dealing with Linda was like that—a complete whirlwind of opinion and sass—but Ted was married to Joyce, who wasn’t known for her easy-going personality. High-maintenance better described my mother-in-law.

  “You mind going back in there, Lauryn?” Ted asked.

  My shoulders clenched and my stomach twisted, but I answered as Ted expected. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You always have been a tough girl.” Ted patted my shoulder. “Much tougher than my own. Appreciate the lack of tears, you know.”

  I wasn’t sure I did. In fact, crying seemed like a damn fine idea right now.

  I led him back down the hall to my classroom where another man now stood.

  “Isaac?” I murmured.

  “Didn’t get to your place early enough to escort you, Ms. Hudson. Jake’ll ream my as—er, rear for that.” His dark skin reddened.

  “I’m not your responsibility.”

  He raised a brow. “Yes, you are. Jake said so.”

  I sighed, not willing to fight with Isaac—not while Ted looked on, avid interest burning in his eyes.

  After introducing the two men, I moved to the doorway of my classroom again.

  My stomach plummeted when I looked at the damage once more. Such a waste. Like so much that had happened these past few years, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the senseless destruction.

  “Well, I’ll be.” Ted rubbed his index finger over his lip—a gesture he made when he was contemplating a theory. “They didn’t even try to take the little stereo.”

  “Dock,” I said. At his blank look, I explained, “The stereo portion is a dock. It’s worth a few hundred dollars.”

  “Why didn’t the thieves take any of that?”

  Annoyance flashed quick and hot through my veins, leaving my hands shaking and my voice cold. “I don’t know. But trashing my guitar wasn’t just a senseless act of violence. It was premeditated. Look at the bits of wood—whoever did this smashed it many times. And ripped the kids’ scarves, cut the floor mats.” I sucked in a great gulp of air, trying to calm my frantic heart rate, ease the ache in my throat. “This was vicious.”

  Isaac stepped back, pulling his phone from his pocket. He turned away from me and spoke into it softly.

  Ted scratched the back of his neck, near his collar. “Mmm.”

  I gritted my teeth. After two deep breaths, I turned to face him, showing Ted my shaking hands and letting the tears that had threatened earlier fill my eyes. “Anyone who knows me knows I loved that guitar, that I love my job. This”—I gestured to the room—“was to hurt me.”

  “She wouldn’t, you know.” Ted’s voice was almost a whisper.

  My body shook with the building anger. “Oh, Sam would. We both know she loved Dez more than anything. And she’s already told me twice that I shouldn’t be dating.” I wrapped my arms around my waist and stared at the tiny pieces that had once been a beautiful sheet of highly polished wood. “She always blamed me for him leaving. She told me again on Friday and yelled at me on Saturday. That’s online if you don’t believe me. Half the world’s commented on how I’m a bad person because Sam’s tirade made it sound like I’m still married.”

  I took a deep breath, left my arms wrapped around my middle and met my father-in-law’s eyes. I’d promised Jake if something else happened, I’d talk to law enforcement.

  “And she drives a red sedan like the one that nearly mowed me down last week. She threatened me at my house and then screamed at me after the Mercer Island tree lighting. Now this. She’s escalating, and I’m scared.”

  The first class of the day passed in bouts of melancholy and myriad temper tantrums and tears. Toddlers liked routine. Moving to a different room without the brightly colored floor and the extensive variety of plastic instruments frustrated all the children. I spent the five minutes I had left before class started herding the parents and children to the temporary music room and searching for a guitar without success.

  More than the changed room, my lack of a guitar—the one I let them crawl over and strum—left the children downright angry. One little girl broke out in tears when I started clapping the “Hello Song” and didn’t stop until her nanny, completely frazzled, gathered her up about halfway through the class. By the end, I had a massive headache and even more tension building in my shoulders.

  “Sorry about today,” Ginny said. She grappled with her screaming two-year-old, deftly dodging his kicking feet. “Ugh. Boots were not a good choice. We’ll talk about the change some more. Now that Dylan knows, he’ll do better next time.”

  “Next week we’ll be back in my normal room. I’ll pick up a new guitar as soon as I can. I’m so sorry I didn’t have one for the kids today. I’ll see about a makeup class.”

  “That’s nice. Especially since the kids all acted like little monsters.”

  “Change isn’t fun. I get that.” Boy, did I. I blew out a breath, but it did nothing to ease the pressure in my skull.

  A hand settled on the back of my neck and began to rub. I moaned, closing my eyes.

  “Omigod. Don’t stop. That feels so good.”

  “Looks like.” Jake chuckled as he turned me to face him, his hand continuing to knead my neck. “And from the tension I’m feeling here, you need some relief.”

  “I’ll owe you forever if you can give me that,” I said. “I’m prepping for a killer headache.”

  “Anything, eh?” Jake continued to press his fingers into the sore spot and I hummed with pleasure, my head dropping forward and onto his chest.

  I popped open an eye. “Within reason.”

  “Will you stop avoiding me?”

  I sighed. He would realize that’s what I was doing. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  “Good. I want to take you to lunch. My shout.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “Fair dinkum, Ryn. You’ve had a morning of it. Least I can do is buy you a meal. It’ll offset the dinner you made me.”

  “That wasn’t a problem. And I enjoyed eating with you.”

  Jake leaned in, his nose brushing my hair. “I brought you a guitar.”

  I stared at him, mouth agape. His cheeks reddened and he cleared his throat, but thank goodness he didn’t stop rubbing my neck.

  “Isaac called me.” He hesitated, but added, “And I saw on the news.” His smile held sadness. “Since your name is linked to mine, that makes you newsworthy. The reporter mentioned the break-in, the destruction of your instrument. I know how much the kids liked it . . .”

  I threw my arms around his neck, trying hard not to sniffle into his dark Henley as I squeezed him tight. “Thank you. So much.”

  He returned the squeeze, his hands sliding up and down my rib cage. “My mum tells stories about Murphy. How much he hated any type of change.”

  I pulled back, needing to look in his eyes when I said, “This was the nicest thing you could have done for me. And I-I’m sorry I shut down on Saturday. Yes, I’d love to go to lunch after my next class.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck, mouth flattening into a line.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask
ed.

  “Would you—is it okay if I stick around?”

  I narrowed my eyes, trying to figure out what he was up to. “Why?”

  Jake Etsam wanted to hang out, here, in my class room. He’d been here before, but I’d been annoyed by his interruption. Now, it was like he expected me to teach him something. As if that was possible.

  “You’re a talented musician, Ryn.” His eyes narrowed to a squint. “Murphy agrees with me.”

  “What?” My voice squeaked. Holy sweet potatoes. This week was filled with crazy. And it was only ten thirty on Monday morning.

  “Right-o. Anyway, he suggested I bring his guitar.”

  I pointed a shaking finger at the case. “That’s Ets’s guitar?” I whispered, unable to force more sound out of my vocal cords.

  “One of them. The one you played on Friday.”

  Luck. A. Duck. Jake Etsam wanted to watch me do a children’s early music program without any preparation. With his brother’s expensive guitar. I couldn’t swallow past the lump building in my throat.

  “You can say no,” Jake stuttered, his voice a little shaky. Like he was nervous. Why would he be nervous? The flutters in my tummy were a roiling mass, and my neck cramped in a long, vicious clench.

  “No I can’t. But, jeez, Jake, give a girl a chance to prepare. You’re famous. Like, really.”

  His grin bloomed across his mouth, lighting up his whole face. “Nah. Not really.”

  “Shut it. I can’t take the joking right now.”

  “No teasing, then.” He set the guitar case to the side and pulled me back into his arms—almost as though he couldn’t stop touching me. “I won’t bother you.”

  I thumped my head against his chest twice. “I’m not worried about you bothering me. I’m worried about how bad I’ll mess up. How much the moms and other caregivers will rip me apart when they come in to find a superstar hanging in the room and they haven’t put on makeup or even clean clothes.”

  “That happens?”

  I snorted. “Ask your brother after his baby’s born.”

  “Why the hell would you give up on personal hygiene?”

  “You don’t give it up. You choose sleep and eating over showers and clean clothes. You know, priorities.”