by Sofie Kelly
Maggie’s green eyes narrowed. “Do you think there might be more of that fruit cobbler we had the other day at lunch?”
Roma smiled. “There’s only one way to find out for sure.”
Brady Chapman was standing next to Maggie. I saw her reach for his hand and raise a questioning eyebrow. The two of them were . . . I didn’t really know what they were. Maggie insisted they weren’t a couple but they spent all their free time together and neither of them was seeing anyone else. Mary Lowe liked to say they were “keeping company.”
“It works for me,” Brady said now.
Roma looked toward me again. I glanced up at Marcus, who nodded. “Let’s go,” I said.
Marcus grabbed our chairs. I looked around for Mary to say good night, but she’d already disappeared. We headed across the parking lot, all veering off in different directions because we’d all parked in different places. Roma and Eddie had gotten to the marina early to save a place for the rest of us and they’d managed to snag a spot close to the building. I’d parked my truck on a nearby side street. Based on the direction Brady and Maggie—who were already ahead of everyone else—were headed, they’d done the same thing.
When we got to Eric’s Place, the café wasn’t as busy as I’d expected. Nic, who generally worked nights, showed us to my favorite table in the front window. He was three or four inches taller than my five-six with a solid frame, deep brown eyes and light brown skin. “You just came from the Last Bash concert, didn’t you?” he asked. Like Maggie, Nic was an artist. He created assemblages with metal and paper—things most of us recycled or threw away—and he was also a very talented photographer.
“It was incredible,” Brady said.
“And it’s true the whole band was there?”
Roma nodded. “You wouldn’t believe how talented Harry Taylor is on guitar or Mike Bishop on bass.”
Nic stared at her. “Dr. B. plays bass with the Outlaws? No way. You’re kidding.”
“Uh-uh,” I said, taking one of the chairs closest to the window. “He’s really good, too.”
“He did my root canal last winter. Why didn’t I know he’d played with Johnny Rock?”
Roma smiled. “Probably because the last time Johnny and the Outlaws played together you were a baby.”
Nic grinned back at her. “Good point, but it doesn’t mean I’m not a little jealous that I didn’t get to see them tonight.”
“So you’ll get to see them next time,” Maggie said, looking down at the dessert menu Nic had handed her when she sat down.
“Next time?” I turned to look at her. So did everyone else.
“Do you know something the rest of us don’t?” Brady asked.
Maggie looked up at us. “What? No. No. It’s just that everyone who was there tonight could see how much fun the guys were having. I can’t believe they’re just going to do that once and then walk away.”
I thought about how often I’d noticed Harry smiling tonight and how Paul and Mike couldn’t stop grinning. “You might be right,” I said.
Nic was still smiling. “I hope you are.” He gestured at the menu Maggie still held in one hand. “So what can I get for you?”
“Is there any more of that cobbler you had on Wednesday?” she asked.
“The strawberry rhubarb?”
Maggie nodded.
Nic’s dark eyes sparkled. “Eric just took some out of the oven about twenty minutes ago. It’s still warm.”
“That would be perfect,” Maggie said.
He looked around the table. “For everyone?”
We all nodded our agreement, looking a little like a collection of bobblehead dolls. “Please,” I said.
Nic traced a circle in the air with one finger, working his way around the table. “Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee and tea?” He ended the circuit at Maggie.
“I think I’ll have tea, too,” Roma said.
“I’ll be right back,” Nic said, heading for the kitchen.
Across the table from me, Roma was swaying from side to side, the motion so small, it was almost unnoticeable.
“Okay, so what song are you still hearing in your head?” I asked.
Her cheeks turned pink. “ ‘Hold On,’ ” she said. “Hold On” was one of several songs the band had performed that had been written by Johnny and Mike. Johnny and the Outlaws had mostly been a cover band I knew, but they had performed some of their own songs as well. “I was remembering the first time I heard Johnny sing it. It was the very first time I saw them in concert. That was a long time ago.”
Roma was older than the rest of us, although it wasn’t something I ever thought about. I knew she’d seen Johnny and the Outlaws in concert more than once before the band had broken up.
A smile pulled at her mouth and there was a faraway look in her eyes. “I was sixteen. They were playing at the high school in Red Wing—opening for some other group, and for the life of me, I can’t remember who it was. What I do remember vividly is that Johnny had hair to his shoulders, Mike had a mullet and they were way better than the band they were opening for.”
I tried to picture Mike Bishop with a mullet but couldn’t get there. Then again, before tonight I would have never been able to picture him playing bass in a band, either.
“If they were that good, why did they break up?” Brady asked. Brady was a lawyer. He had a very practical, logical streak.
Roma frowned. “I don’t know. I just always assumed that real life got in the way. I don’t imagine any of their parents thought being in a band would be a good career choice.”
“I saw them in concert right before they broke up,” Maggie said. “I was maybe six.”
“What were you doing at a concert when you were six?” Roma asked.
She shrugged. “My dad was a big music fan. I don’t mean it was at a club or anything close to that. The show was in the daytime. I know we were outside somewhere and Dad bought me a caramel apple. I have no idea what songs they did but I do remember that caramel apple. It was good.”
Marcus leaned back in his chair. “I saw Johnny on his own in a little club in Minneapolis. I was eighteen. I had a fake ID. It was just Johnny and another guy playing guitar.”
Eddie gave him an incredulous look. “You had a fake ID? You? Mr. Law and Order?”
Marcus was a detective with the Mayville Heights Police Department. Pretty much everyone in town would have described him as a straight arrow. “It was during my bad-boy phase.”
Roma burst out laughing. She held up one hand and pressed the other against her chest. “I’m sorry, Marcus,” she said. “I just . . . I just can’t picture you having a bad-boy phase.”
“Hey, I had long hair and a couple of days of scruff, and I wore Docs with everything . . . and okay, so I probably wasn’t nearly as rebellious as I thought I was.”
“No, you weren’t,” Brady said emphatically. “Ever spend the night in jail?”
“Yes,” Marcus said. That got everyone’s attention. “It was during training.”
Brady shook his head. “Yeah. Doesn’t count. Ever been chased by the police?”
“Oh! I have.” Eddie waved one hand in the air.
Maggie didn’t say anything, but I noticed she nodded her head ever so slightly. Had she been chased by the police at some point in her past? It seemed about as likely as Marcus ever having been a “bad boy.”
“Who are you people?” Roma asked. “And why didn’t I know my own husband seems to have had a run-in with the law?”
“I told you that story,” Eddie said. “Back when I was playing. We were on the road in Chicago. Matts ended up naked. Remember?”
For a moment she still looked confused, then recognition dawned on her. “It was February. You were trying to snag the last playoff spot that year.”
Eddie nodded, leaning back and resting both wrists on the top of his head. “Though technically that might not count as the only time I was chased by the police. It depends on how you define ‘chased.�
�� ” He paused for a moment. “And ‘police.’ ”
Eddie was saved from having to explain himself any further by Nic arriving at the table with our food. The strawberry-rhubarb cobbler was as delicious as it had been when Maggie, Roma and I had enjoyed it on Wednesday. It was still slightly warm from the oven, with a small dollop of vanilla-flavored whipped cream.
No one spoke until we’d all eaten pretty much half of our desserts. Then Maggie turned to Roma, holding up her spoon as though it were a magic wand that she was about to grant a wish with. “This was such a good idea,” she said. “Thank you for suggesting we come here.”
Roma smiled at her. “I can’t believe Johnny got the band back together and no one figured it out.”
Marcus shrugged. “Maybe there were people who did, but just didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”
I set down my spoon and reached for my coffee. “I can’t get over how Harry didn’t give himself away.” I was pretty good at spotting subterfuge. My parents were actors and I’d learned a lot about the subtleties of body language from them. “I told him how much I was looking forward to hearing Johnny perform and all he said was so was he.”
“Which wasn’t a lie,” Roma said, licking whipped cream from the back of her spoon. “He just didn’t say he’d be performing as well.”
“Good point,” I said. “And it was an incredible surprise. I’m glad everyone who knew kept the secret.”
“You should tell Harry that,” Maggie said. She scooped up a piece of rhubarb and swirled it through the whipped cream in Brady’s bowl. She’d already eaten all of hers. His response was to nudge the dish a little closer to her without saying a word.
I took a sip of my coffee. “I will, the very next time I see him.”
Mags lifted the lid of her little teapot and peered inside, then closed it again, seemingly satisfied with what she’d seen. She looked at me and gestured over her shoulder. “Just look over at the door,” she said with a smile. “Harry just walked in.”
chapter 2
Harry, Johnny and the rest of the Outlaws had just come in. Nic walked over to them, looking around the room as he did so. He said something to Johnny, who nodded, and the group started in our direction. Ritchie had his arm around a tiny, dark-haired woman. His wife, I guessed. Paul was holding hands with his wife, Sonja, whom I knew from the library.
There were two smaller tables to our left. Nic pushed them together and quickly rearranged the chairs, grabbing a couple extra from a nearby table.
Mike was still wearing his fedora. He dropped it on the nearest chair. Roma was already on her feet. Mike grinned, raising one eyebrow at her. His face was flushed. She hugged him and then pulled back and slugged his left arm. “You are such a sneak,” she said. “I can’t believe you kept a secret like that.”
“Was it worth it?” Johnny asked.
Roma nodded. “Absolutely!”
“Your playing gave me goose bumps,” I said to Harry.
He smiled. “Thank you,” he said. He shifted from one foot to the other almost as though he was a bit uncomfortable hearing the praise.
Nic had come back with the coffeepot and was filling cups at the table.
“Do you think we could get breakfast sandwiches?” Johnny asked him.
Nic nodded. “Sure. Sourdough and fried tomatoes?”
“Sounds good,” Johnny said. “Thanks.”
Nic glanced at me and then dropped his gaze down to my mug for a moment. I nodded. He made his way over and topped up my cup and Brady’s. “It shouldn’t be too long,” he said to Johnny as he headed back toward the kitchen.
Johnny turned to me. “So?” he asked, holding up both hands. Johnny was what my mother would have called “one of the good ones.” It wasn’t common knowledge, but he was a big supporter of the elementary school’s brown-bag lunch program and Reading Buddies at the library.
“So ‘wow’ doesn’t seem anywhere near adequate,” I said.
He smiled. “Thank you. There was something magical about being up onstage with the guys again.” He rolled his eyes. “I know it probably sounds silly, talking like that.”
I shook my head. “Not to me. Both my parents are actors and I’ve seen firsthand that sometimes the whole really is more than the sum of its parts.”
Mike joined us then. “Hi, Kathleen. How’s your tooth?” he asked. He couldn’t seem to keep still. The fingers on his right hand were moving like they were still on the strings of his bass. He reminded me of my brother, Ethan.
“My tooth is fine and you were terrific,” I said.
“Thank you,” he said, giving me that little-boy grin.
“How did you manage to keep the reunion a secret?”
Johnny shifted from one foot to the other. Like Mike he still seemed to have that buzz of energy from the concert. “I still can’t believe that we did. Mostly it was just dumb luck. I figured someone would mess up and it would get out.”
“He means me,” Mike said. “Hey, Kathleen, you know those old World War Two posters you have down at the library?”
I nodded.
Roma’s husband, Eddie, had opened a hockey school in Mayville Heights. A cache of Second World War propaganda posters had been unearthed during renovations to the empty warehouse down by the river that was home to the school. Eddie had donated them to the library. I had an exhibit of the posters planned for November, and after that, they were going to be auctioned off with the proceeds going to our ongoing project to digitize all the old documents we had that were too fragile to be handled very often. The posters were in excellent shape and I was hoping they’d all sell.
Mike stuck out his lower lip and plucked at it several times with one finger like he was playing a guitar string. “ ‘Loose lips sink ships,’ ” he said, quoting one of the posters he’d seen in my office. Mike was working on researching his family tree and he’d spent a lot of time at the library recently, going though old records and documents. “Everyone thought I’d never be able to keep quiet. And you were all wrong.”
“I’m impressed by your secret-keeping skills,” I said.
Mike put one hand on his chest and gave a slight bow. “Thank you,” he said.
“Yeah, you did good,” Johnny said. He looked at me. There was a gleam in his blue eyes. I had the feeling Johnny just might have used Mike’s desire to prove everyone wrong to make sure their secret stayed secret.
Nic came from the kitchen then with a giant circular tray. I could smell Eric’s signature breakfast sandwich and I almost wished I had ordered one instead of the cobbler.
I sat down again and picked up my coffee. Eddie had shifted in his seat and was deep in conversation with Paul Whitewater, who had turned his own chair sideways, and Brady, who was standing by the end of our table, hands jammed in his pockets. They had to be talking about hockey, I realized, based on the way Eddie was moving his hands almost as though he were holding a stick.
After more than one setback, the Sweeney Center was finally finished. The former warehouse space had an ice surface and a conditioning room. Eddie would start working with his first class of summer hockey students on Monday. Roma had told me that he was also donating coaching time and space to both the boys’ and girls’ high school hockey teams. That didn’t surprise me. That was the type of person Eddie was.
Sonja Whitewater was sitting beside her husband. She leaned sideways into my line of vision and waved. I waved back; then I stood up again and made my way over to her, carrying my coffee.
“So did you enjoy the concert?” Sonja asked. She had ice-blue eyes and blond hair cut to her collarbone.
“I don’t know when I last had so much fun,” I said.
She grinned. “I’m glad. I’ve always been more nervous than Paul is when he performs.”
I nodded. “I know what you mean. My mom and dad are actors and Mom is always more anxious when Dad’s performing than she is when she’s the one onstage. And heaven help any critic who doesn’t like his work.”
Sonja laughed. “I think I’d like your mother. I’m exactly the same way. I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been wanting to thank you for the book recommendations last time I was in. They were all a big hit, especially the series about the talking hamster named Einstein.”
“It’s one of my favorites,” I said. “I’m glad you like it. And in case you’re interested, we have multiple copies of all the books in the series so far.”
“I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that,” she said. “I would never complain about my kids reading but we go through books the way other families go through boxes of Cheerios.”
“Kids who like to read,” I said with a smile. “Music to my ears.”
Sonja’s phone buzzed then and she reached for it. “I’ll see you Monday,” she said.
Harry was seated on the other side of the two pushed-together tables from Sonja and Paul. Ritchie Gonzalez and his wife were on his left and there was an empty seat to his right. I made my way over to Harry. There was something I wanted to do.
“Harry, I owe you an apology,” I said when I reached him.
He frowned. “Why? What did you do?” He indicated the chair beside him and I sat down.
“I kept you at the library, going on about my ideas for the cold frames this afternoon, and you had the concert to get to.”
Harry was shaking his head before I finished speaking. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. As I remember it, it was me who asked you to come out and show me where you want to put those boxes.”
Harry had built several raised beds so the kids in our summer program at the library could grow their own vegetables. The project had turned out to be more successful than I’d hoped. We’d made salads with the first harvest of lettuce and radishes and not one child had complained about eating vegetables. A couple of days ago, we’d sent each child home with a small bag of tomatoes and yellow beans. I wanted to extend the growing season with cold frames so the Reading Buddies kids could have the same experience.
