Changing of the Guard Dog

by Lane Stone

  “‘Are You Lonesome Tonight’?” The baritone voice came out of the dark. I opened my eyes. “It’s just me,” John said.

  “How about a different Elvis song? ‘Stranger in My Own Home Town’?”

  “May I join you?”

  “Sure.” I patted the concrete. “How long have you been here?”

  “Long enough.”

  The orchestra paused and when they began again, they were on to the new piece.

  “Isn’t that nice? I guess Georg Nielsen really was a genius,” I said.

  “So that’s The Ocean, Our Original Opus?” he said, taking my hand.

  “You mean Symphony by the Sea?”

  Chapter 25

  When the concrete became too uncomfortable, John and I sat in the police car. His mobile computer made intimacy a challenge, but we laughed and made the best of it. Since Sunday it had seemed that every time one of us zigged, the other zagged. Now we were close again.

  On the way home with Lady Anthea, I couldn’t take the smile off my face.

  “How was the rehearsal?” I asked.

  “Cordy was masterful! She knew Georg Nielsen’s work like the back of her hand.”

  “Symphony by the Sea?” I asked. She nodded, still dreamy. “Have you seen the sheet music?”

  “I peeked at the score and the parts,” she said, almost giddy.

  “And it was the same piece that they played this morning?” I asked. “After the 1812 Overture?”

  “Exactly,” she said, then she hummed a few bars of the opening. “They got farther along with it tonight. Lovely and smooth. Well, all but the ending. They stopped before the last movement. They’ll rehearse that tomorrow.”

  “Does the name of a classical music piece ever change?” I asked, not wanting to let the subject go.

  “If the composer is alive and makes a revision, it might. Why the interest?”

  “I saw the music score on the USB drive and—”

  “That would be silly. Why would you have a score on a USB drive?” she asked.

  That she would ask me was funny. “Is that a rhetorical question?”

  “Usually, the conductor tells the concertmaster the right set of marks to use on the score. Remember, that’s for every instrument needed for the piece. Then Cordy would mark the parts—those are the sheets for each section of the orchestra—for the bowings for the violins. That’s who usually has the job. You can hardly do that on a computer, now can you?” Again, rhetorical.

  “Isn’t there software to write music?”

  “Yes, but these marks indicate when the bow goes up and when it’s pulled down.”

  “Could you tell by looking at the USB drive if Symphony by the Sea is what they’re playing?”

  “I think so,” she said.

  “Let’s go to the police station tomorrow after the morning rehearsals,” I said as we turned onto Village Main Boulevard from Savannah Road. “How did the musicians seem? It’s been a long day for them.”

  “Some seemed tired by the end, but they’ll be fine.”

  “Elvis performed over seventeen hundred concerts,” I said.

  “I’ve missed hearing about your Elvis,” she said with a laugh.

  We drove through the night and when we reached West Batten, she spoke again. “I have a confession to make.”

  I realized I was holding my breath, not wanting her to say anything that would hurt our friendship.

  “When I saw how distant you treated Chief Turner on Sunday night, I began to harbor a hope that you and my brother could—uh, uh.”

  “Uh, what?’

  “Become a couple.”

  “I don’t think either of us want that,” I said tactfully. “And John and I are fine.” There. I had said it. And if it made Albert come after Buckingham’s, I would fight like a big dog.

  Chapter 26

  If Tuesday’s rehearsal with Albert was a skirmish, Wednesday’s was an out-and-out brawl. The furniture had been moved to make room for the musicians and I found a sofa to occupy and stay out of the way of any flying objects. Like, say, a triangle. On the short drive to the community center, Albert was relaxed and pleasant. Lady Anthea had gone next door to talk to him last night. I assumed his change in attitude was because he no longer saw me as a wily hunter with her sights set on a man with a title. Lady Anthea was at Buckingham’s greeting pet parents and giving refresher training, gratis. The world was brighter all around.

  They played the 1812 Overture, with little enthusiasm. They often talked to one another as they played. This annoyed their neighbors. The offenders’ shoulder shrugs said that it didn’t matter, but surely they knew the night rehearsals had to be kept secret from Albert.

  Cordy was back to calling the new piece Symphony by the Sea. While she seemed confident, it was hard going for the others. The first movement was a joy to listen to as the others in the string section watched Cordy’s bow with the focus of Labrador Retrievers. In the second movement, trouble erupted in the woodwind section almost immediately. The tempo varied from musician to musician. Some stopped and tried to rejoin. I moved to get a closer look at Albert. He was drawing an L in the air, oblivious to what he was causing.

  The oboist stopped playing and yelled out, “As it comes, people, as it comes!”

  “Look, a slur!” the triangle player yelled, pointing at her music. So many terms for Lady Anthea to define when I saw her again.

  Something about this was familiar. They were acting like Charles Andrews, So-Long and the others at the drivers’ class on Sunday!

  “I meant in the last movement!” the oboist responded.

  This time Cordy stood and intervened. “From the beginning of the third movement. Remember it’s DEE-pom-pom, not de-POM-POM.”

  The musicians nodded, understanding her perfectly. Some cleared their throats. They were ready for a fresh start. She sat and raised her violin to her shoulder and nodded once at Albert. This movement reminded me of romance. Then it began to slow, like it was winding down. Albert’s shoulders were slumped. The musicians looked at him more and their music less. He was slowing down. The L’s he drew stood for languid. His arm was getting tired and the musicians were responding accordingly.

  In the last movement, even Cordy seemed down, and I remembered Lady Anthea’s comment last night on her difficulty with the ending. Her brow furrowed. Once she glanced up at Albert and remembered there was no help to be had there, the way there would be with a real conductor. She looked at the rest of the orchestra and shook her head. They limped through and finally we were put out of our misery.

  Albert shook hands with Cordy. I’d seen this done at concerts but didn’t know if it was the tradition for rehearsals. He was smiling. She was smiling.

  I met him at the door and we walked to the Jeep,

  “I’ve heard about the outlet stores you have and I’d like to see what they’re like,” he said.

  I wanted to tell him that entire industries had been built on Americans trying to copy the way he and his sister dressed effortlessly, but I figured the irony would be lost on him. “Sure.”

  * * * *

  After a lunch of sandwiches, Lady Anthea, Albert and I went shopping at the outlets on Route 1. He was intrigued by something he saw in the window of Ralph Lauren and we went in.

  He led us to a fixture of navy blazers. “Anthea, what coat of arms is this?” he asked.

  “It’s no one’s,” I said.

  “But here’s the coronet,” he said.

  “It’s for marketing. I’m sorry.”

  He looked at me for elaboration. Pleeeease drop it. Maybe I could get him off the subject. “What’s a coronet?” I finally said.

  “It’s similar to a crown, but much smaller. And, of course, only a sovereign can wear a crown.”

  “Of course.”

  “
The coronet for a duke has eight strawberry leaves and is only worn for coronations.”

  “And you have one?”

  “Yes, I do. Many dukedoms do not because of the cost, and use the image on their coat of arms.” I could tell he enjoyed explaining this to me. There would be extraordinary costs involved with this way of life. “I don’t know why someone would…” He pointed to the blazer and waited.

  I looked to Lady Anthea for help, but she was looking out the store’s window. She understood my country’s Anglophile tendencies. Hell, we based Buckingham Pet Palace’s business theme on it. She was smiling, biting her lower lip, and patting her pearl choker. “Albert, look around. We’ll be right back.” She pulled my arm and we went outside. “Look!” She pointed to an electric-blue electric car with Virginia license plates. “Call Chief Turner!”

  I was already getting my phone out of my handbag, which is really a beach bag. “First I’ll take a photo of the tag.”

  * * * *

  Lady Anthea and I sat on a bench, keeping our eyes on the car and waiting for John. A woman, loaded down with shopping bags from Kate Spade and Tory Burch, walked toward the car.

  “Cordy Galligan!” I said in disbelief.

  “Cordy Galligan!” Lady Anthea said, with disappointment.

  She heard us call her name and turned. Then she opened the passenger door, flung her packages in and darted to the driver’s side. I stood and held up my phone for her to see. She looked inside the car and then back at me, knowing she had a decision to make. Two police cars turned in, sirens blaring. She hung her head and walked to us.

  Chapter 27

  “I would like for someone to tell me what this is about,” Cordy haughtily demanded of John when he entered the interrogation room and sat at the head of the six-foot table. She had been waiting there with Officer Statler, who had chauffeured her to the Lewes police station, gratis.

  Lady Anthea and I were crowded into the tiny viewing cubbyhole for the interrogation room, where we could watch and listen. We had dropped Albert off at his temporary digs and he was enjoying “American telly.”

  John turned his head and I saw him roll his eyes. “I’m curious. How did your car get to Lewes? Didn’t you come in on the bus with the rest of symphony orchestra on Monday?”

  From the window we could see her gulp. That was not a question she expected. “Do I need an attorney?”

  “I don’t know. Do you?” She didn’t answer so he asked another. “Do you still claim you never met Georg Nielsen?”

  “Tell the truth,” I whispered, “before this goes too far.”

  “I don’t believe she had the strength to hold Georg Nielsen under water, any more than Bess, and we know it was a man who killed Nick Knightley,” Lady Anthea said.

  “If she was driving the getaway car, she’s guilty of, uh, what would it be? Conspiracy or something like that?”

  Cordy looked up from her lap and spoke. “I knew of him.”

  And I knew what was coming next. John had evidence and was about to use it to catch her in a lie. “You telephoned the victim, Mr. Nielsen, eleven times last week.”

  She hesitated, startled. Maybe from the look on John’s face, she decided to be more forthcoming. “I saw him in New York City on Saturday morning.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I just thought since we were going to be performing together, we should meet.”

  “And you left Virginia to meet with him in Manhattan?”

  “Yes, that’s where he was,” she said.

  I shook my head. “She’s a really bad liar. I hope she sticks with the violin. Or goes back to it when she gets out of prison.”

  “Why do you assume she’s lying?” Lady Anthea said, looking at me.

  “Why would she go all the way to New York City to meet him on Saturday if she was going to see him here two days later?” I offered.

  John leaned over the table. “Though you were going to see him on Monday? Seems like a lot of trouble.” He waited for her response but there wasn’t to be one. “So you and your car were on the ferry with the victim on Saturday evening?”

  Cordy nodded.

  “And then what happened?”

  “He and I went to Lewes Beach and sat and talked. I left him there. Very much alive.”

  “What time?”

  “Around ten o’clock, maybe ten thirty.”

  “Any witnesses?” he asked.

  Cordy shook her head.

  “Who is Alexander Whittle?”

  “Alex?” she rasped. John nodded. “He’s the orchestra’s bus driver. He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

  “You telephoned him late Saturday night and again on Sunday morning. Why?”

  I leaned over to Lady Anthea. “He must have gotten her phone records after Dana sent the photo of her with Nielsen.” She nodded.

  “He works for the PSO,” she said, as if that moved things along.

  John ran his hand over the top of his head. Cordy Galligan had gone too far. “I have one more question. Who was the man you picked up on Sunday morning on Bayview Avenue?”

  “I, I didn’t pick anyone up!” she said.

  John stood. “I’m placing you under arrest. Maybe your memory will improve.” Then he spoke to Officer Statler. “Read her her rights.”

  Officer Statler rose and motioned for Cordy to get up.

  I had typed as fast as I could, but the text message seemed to take forever to arrive. Then as we watched, John took his phone out of his pocket and saw it was from me. He read it and turned so I could see the side of his face. He hadn’t understood the message, and his look said This better be good.

  “Ms. Galligan, who did you board your dog with on Saturday night?”

  “All right, I’ll tell you what you want to know,” she said.

  All three sat back down.

  “How did you get back to Virginia?” he asked.

  “I called Alex and he came.” Her voice had softened around the phrase and he came.

  “Where did he meet you?”

  “In the Home Depot parking lot.”

  “What time did he get to Lewes?”

  She looked at her hands, completely still, on the table. I had the impression she could sit there forever and not speak. I was wrong. John moved his chair back and that was all it took.

  “Sometime in the late morning. I’m not sure.”

  “I think she’s telling the truth. All he has to do is look at the store’s security camera footage and he can verify it,” Lady Anthea whispered.

  “Yeah, it sounds true. After all, she was still in Lewes in the morning since that’s when she picked the man up. Makes sense,” I said.

  John was speaking, “I’m going to release you on your own recognizance. I don’t think you’re a flight risk. I think you enjoy your position with the PSO and your reputation too much to put them in jeopardy. We’ve impounded your car. You’re not to leave town.”

  He told the recorder the session was ending. Officer Statler walked out with Cordy. John followed them.

  Lady Anthea said, “I’d rather Cordy not know we were here. She might feel uncomfortable. Can we give her time to leave?”

  “She might need a ride,” I said. “Or I guess she could just walk to the hotel.” I had to stop rambling and say what was on my mind. “Lady Anthea, she might have a more serious problem than being embarrassed.”

  I texted John. Is she gone?

  Coast is clear. He rapped on the door. It was just two quick knocks but we jumped.

  Lady Anthea was closest and she opened it. “You startled us.”

  “Were you standing out here?” I asked. “How long were you going to leave us in there?”

  He stood to the side and we walked out. “I had to tell someone to go pick up Alex Whittle.”

&n
bsp; “Why didn’t you tell me what you saw on the traffic cameras on Sunday morning?” I asked. He started to answer but I stopped him. “You’ve known all week she was the one driving that car!”

  Chapter 28

  “Chief?” Officer Statler stood in the doorway to the city hall building that housed the police station.

  John and I stood outside and Lady Anthea chose to wander off rather than listen to us argue. “Who was in the car with her?” I asked.

  “Chief?” Officer Statler could be a very determined woman.

  Finally he pulled his eyes off me and turned to her. “Yes?”

  “The dispatcher has Alexander Whittle on the phone. She transferred him to the nonemergency line. It’s patched through,” she said as she handed him a phone.

  I waved at Lady Anthea and my excitement brought her back. “Did you hear that?” I kept my voice down so Mr. Whittle wouldn’t hear. “The bus driver is calling. Cordy must have told him he was going to be brought in for questioning. Finally, we’re making progress!”

  “Do you mind if I ask why you want her present?” John asked.

  “Is he lawyering up?” I whispered to Officer Statler. She shrugged.

  “Because of how she feels about music. I see,” John said. “She’s here and I’ll ask her now.”

  “Music?” Lady Anthea asked. “Of course, I’ll sit in on his interview.”

  “Uh, actually he wants Sue there,” John said, apologetically.

  She stared at me in disbelief. I nodded that I would be happy to stay and John passed that along. Next, he told Statler to notify the two officers who had gone to bring the orchestra’s bus driver in that he would be coming under his own steam.

  “Maybe he’s in the Elvis army,” John said. I took their kidding and thought about how Alex Whittle had looked at me when he saw the solace I’d felt from Symphony by the Sea.

  “Chief Turner, I’m concerned about my brother being around the orchestra and their staff. Was this the man Cordy picked up?”

  “No,” I interrupted. “I’ve seen his hands and he wasn’t the man who attacked me.”