by Lane Stone
“Do people about to be released from prison or recently released ever get a mentor?” I asked.
“There are a few mentoring programs out there, but not enough. Are you wondering if Roman might have been Nick’s? That would be so unlikely.” He looked out the side window, then back at me. “But since I don’t have much else, I’ll call Jake and ask if Knightley had a billionaire business magnate for his mentor. I’ll ask when and how they met.”
“Roman recommended him for the job, so obviously he knew him before he went to work for the PSO,” Lady Anthea reminded him. “Think of this as the movements of a symphony. The four parts have been performed in a certain order for two hundred years. Over and over. Margo, Bess and Cordy changed the sequence of events and made a dog’s breakfast of it, and we knew the false notes when we heard them.”
“When did Cordy try to change history?” John asked.
“When she said she’d never met Georg Nielsen,” I reminded him. “The bus!”
They turned to look out Buckingham’s front doors. Alex Whittle parked facing our front doors, just as he had on Monday. I didn’t like it any more this time. When the pneumatic mechanism that opened the bus’s bifold doors gave an exhausted exhale I wanted to say that I was right there with it. “What fresh hell is he bringing us?”
Opening the double doors seemed almost too much for him. Alex Whittle climbed down and came in.
“Chief Turner, I wanted to personally thank you for allowing Cordy Galligan to conduct tonight.” John nodded. “I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but now she’ll be called Maestro.”
I began to cry.
Chapter 43
We had Cordy’s phone number on file and I had texted her an offer to bring Marin Alsop to the concert. She replied right away with a succinct, Yes. Her gratitude was obviously of the nonverbal variety.
Now the Pekingese squirmed on Dana’s lap in the front row of white, wooden folding chairs. The Lewes Beach sand made keeping her balance a challenge and the dog’s excitement added to the precariousness. The chairs were arranged perpendicular to the Bay so that the audience would face west. Charles Andrews sat protectively next to his attractive friend, who had proved to be a real trooper this week.
I was crowded into Shelby’s van with dogs and people. The demeanor of the latter was best described as overly solicitous. Word had gotten around the staff and their expressions said, she could blow any minute, though I had gotten control of myself right away. Lady Anthea, in the back seat, still looked at me with wariness, the way you would view a piece of recently unearthed dynamite. I had made it so clear that I did not intend to talk about my breakdown that no one wanted to ask me.
There was a knock on the passenger side rear door. “Let me in,” Mason said. Joey opened the door and scooted to the middle seat. Once he was inside he bowed to Lady Anthea from a seated position. Then he looked at me. “Why did you start crying when you saw that bus driver?”
Shelby yelled at him from the driver’s seat; Lady Anthea yelled over Joey; Joey punched him on the arm. There was only one way to end the pandemonium: I would tell them. “He thought he had lost everything, but he hadn’t. He was disheartened by what he learned about the symphony orchestra this week, but music is separate from the people who perform it. He still has the music to love. Now can we please do what we’re here to do?”
I leaned forward to be sure Bess’s white BMW was still parked in the driveway. It was.
“Here comes the bus,” Joey said, looking out the back window.
“You’re not going to cry again, are you?” Mason asked.
“Shut up!” Shelby and Joey yelled.
The chairs around Dana were filling up. I saw Jerry and Charlie, followed by Rick and Dayle and Kate Carter. Mayor Rivard milled around shaking hands and smiling. She looked at the Harper house and froze. I followed her gaze.
“Who are they?” Shelby asked, her forehead furrowed. She had been looking in her side mirror at the house. A group of four men and two women in thousand-dollar suits filed out of Roman and Bess’s home.
Lady Anthea, Mason and Joey craned in their seats.
“Lawyers,” Mason said.
“PR,” Joey said.
“I think it’s some of each,” I said. “I’ll text John.”
“Are they leaving?” Lady Anthea asked, nervously. “What if Roman Harper goes with them?”
“They’re all coming to the concert,” Shelby said.
We watched as Bess and Roman came out of the house next. Bess held her head high and Roman had her by the elbow.
“He’s hired a lot of firepower when you consider that John never even interviewed him,” I said. “Why would he do that if he’s not scared?”
“The police searched his house,” Shelby said, eyes darting around the growing crowd. “He knows what’s coming.”
“Shelby, are you okay?” I asked. “If you think Bernice might get hurt, we won’t go through with this.”
“Of course I’m worried. He shot at the dogs on Sunday. And they’re not trained guard dogs!” The image of the man turning and firing wildly at the two dogs, who had no idea what was happening, flashed in front of my eyes and I shook my head. “We have to see it through. He has to be stopped.”
I called Kate Carter. “Are you still okay with this?”
She looked around at the van and nodded.
“I’m glad Sophie’s not coming. She’s so allergic to dogs,” Joey said.
“I told Bess that a number of dogs would be here and to keep her inside,” I said.
“You softie,” Mason kidded. “You didn’t want her to see her father humiliated.”
“Maybe,” I answered.
“Lady Anthea, may I ask you a question?” Mason’s tone was reverential and I immediately became suspicious.
“I doubt I can stop you, so by all means, go ahead.”
“Where does the triangle rank as a musical instrument vis-à-vis the cowbell?”
She shook her head and we all tried not to laugh but failed.
“Get serious, everybody,” Shelby said. “Here’s the bus.”
The police moved the orange cones that had reserved the parking spots for the PSO and Alex pulled in. The parking lot was behind the chairs and as word spread that the musicians had arrived, people turned to watch. Cordy alighted first, carrying her violin and smiling sweetly. She wore a flowing black dress that skimmed the ground.
“It’s her,” someone yelled. The wave of joy this created rolled through the music fans, growing as it went. When they realized she would walk down the middle aisle, there was an immediate standing ovation. The oboist was next, carrying his instrument. He nodded and smiled. Everyone applauded. The volume grew until all fifty-one, once fifty-two, musicians walked through. The men wore black pants and black dress shirts. All the women wore either a black dress or a black skirt and top.
The Duke of Norwall was long forgotten.
“Look,” Lady Anthea said, “They’re wearing black armbands. I wonder if it’s for Maestro Nielsen?” I held back from reminding her that his was not the only death they might be mourning. Then she added, “I hope it’s also for Nick Knightley and Beaut Richards-Tinsman.” I turned to look back at her. “Sue, are you surprised that an old dog has learned a new trick?” She was smiling.
I laughed. “I’m just amazed how you can remember that double name.”
“It’s not hard when most of your friends have them,” she answered.
Roman’s team of professionals was sitting in the back row of chairs, on the side nearest us. He and Bess sat in the front row, the two end seats. He leaned out and looked back and one of his henchmen did the same. They smiled at one another. Alex Whittle climbed out of the bus and I got out of the van. We looked at one another and he nodded.
I called Dana. “Are you ready?”
> She looked back at the van and nodded. The musicians went to their seats and Cordy took her rightful place behind the conductor’s stand. The sun would set behind them. The audience went silent, but Marin could hardly control herself. Dana placed her on the ground and she ran to Cordy, who turned at the barking and the movement. She leaned down and petted her dog and the crowd cheered. Then she motioned for Marin to sit, and the dog did as commanded.
Cordy looked at the oboist and he played that all important and historic A440. The sound of the instruments being tuned only added to the excitement of the audience. Then she tapped her baton, creating music. We listened to the opening of the 1812 Overture. All five of us checked our watches. “Lady Anthea, can you tell yet if the pace they’re playing will make this a fifteen-minute piece or more like twenty?”
“Closer to fifteen. And I checked with Andrew on the pace she used during rehearsal, and that was pretty consistent.”
After eight minutes I looked at each of them, then I telephoned John. “Let’s go,” I said to him and to everyone in the van.
We went around to the back and waited. Shelby and I would keep Robber and Bernice calm for the finale of the 1812 Overture. They weren’t using cannons or fireworks, but the cymbals would be startling. Lady Anthea and I looked at one another, then we opened the doors.
Chapter 44
The first movement of Symphony by the Sea had begun. The sun was setting behind the orchestra. Robber and Bernice could hardly believe their luck. Were they really being allowed to walk off-leash with people around? There had to be a catch. No one was that lucky. “Heel,” I said to Robber.
Shelby gave the same command to Bernice and we walked toward the crowd. The dogs’ heads stayed next to our left legs. As the music played at its slow tempo, we walked beside the chairs on the end closest to the road and stopped at the midpoint. I snapped my fingers once and said, “Free.” And Shelby did the same. Bernice and Robber had the same release cue. The dogs continued to walk toward the stage, sniffing under the chairs at the end of the row. We had hidden kibble on the sand under the seats to ensure the dogs took their time. A few of the people asked us if they could pet our dogs and we nodded yes, trying to not distract from the music, but wanting just enough notice and from just the right person. Bernice and Robber obliged and their heads were stroked and petted as we worked our way up the aisle.
We came to the third row and both dogs stopped and sniffed. That change was enough to make the person seated at the end of the first row turn around. The first movement ended and in that pause, feigning casualness, Roman got up. Bess turned to watch as he walked straight ahead toward the parking lot and Savannah Road. She squeezed her eyes closed. Her brilliant husband was about to make the mistake that would identify him as my attacker and get him caught. He began to run.
Robber and Bernice looked at us for instructions. “Heel,” Shelby and I said.
Lady Anthea came up behind us. “Why aren’t you letting them chase him?”
“We don’t need to,” I answered. “You don’t see anyone else running from these dogs, do you? He knew to be afraid of them.”
Shelby, Lady Anthea and I watched and walked on a diagonal toward the beach parking lot and past the last row of chairs, closer to the excitement at the street.
When it became obvious that Roman was running to the white BMW rather than to his house, one unmarked police car pulled away from the curb and blocked the entrance to Savannah Road from Bayview Avenue. That part was for deniability. John knew the bus driver had disabled the starter. Roman could press the start button all he wanted, but the engine wasn’t going to turn over. The doors to the car parked farther down Bayview opened and John got out with two other officers. Officer Statler and two other police officers got out of the car that had been parked on Savannah Road and walked toward the BMW. Her team was there first and she looked at John. Without shifting his gaze to her he gave a quick nod as a go-ahead.
We were close enough to hear her say, “Mr. Harper, get out of the car.”
The door to the car opened and in slow motion Roman’s feet were on the ground and then his frame emerged. He held the gun, with the suppressor, pointed at Officer Statler. The beat of silence between the second and third movement of Symphony by the Sea mocked my stopped heart. Anyone in the audience looking to the left would have seen Officer Statler’s back, not that she had a gun pointed at her. From our vantage point I saw her chin jut out; I could attest that she never flinched.
I had Robber by his collar, as did Shelby with Bernice. She looked at me and said, “Should we?”
Before I could answer, John was talking. “Harper, take my car.” He held out a ring of keys and shook them. He walked closer. He barked to the officers, “Stand down. Give him an opening.”
The three officers took a step back. “More,” John continued. Officer Statler and the others took another step back, but Roman still had the gun pointed at her. “See, Roman, there’s no need for this.” He motioned with a jerk of his head to the car on Savannah Road, still holding the keys in his extended hand. He had placed himself in front of the killer and Roman turned a fraction of an inch so the gun was now aimed at John. “Take the car and drive away.” John made it sound tempting and logical. Like, who wouldn’t want to do that? I thought about how far and fast a billionaire could run. Roman wasn’t convinced.
Lady Anthea had her arm on my back. Shelby moved her hand back and forth over Bernice’s collar to let me know that was still an option. But was it? Wouldn’t the movement be just enough to make him squeeze the trigger? Someone, at some point, had hooked a leash to Robber’s collar. Mason and Joey were behind me with Robber between them.
“If he lives I’ll marry him.” Had I just said that out loud?
John jangled the keys once more and I realized all this time he had been holding them in his left hand. He was right-handed. And the keys weren’t for the car on offer. He was tempting him with the car on Savannah Road, but he had come from the one parked on Bayview. Roman relaxed the hand holding the gun and reached for the keys that meant freedom. The power of the punch John delivered to his body swiveled him one hundred and eighty degrees and now he faced the house. Personally, I don’t know a hook from a roundhouse punch, but Roman Harper went down. Out. Cold.
Chapter 45
With the competing beauties of Cordy’s music, the pink-and-orange sunset and the lights of the last ferry of the day in the Delaware Bay, the audience could be forgiven for being unaware of the drama unfolding on Bayview Avenue. The suits in the last row were immune to the music because they’d seen Roman’s dash across the beach. Now they were arguing. Each wanting the other to go to Roman’s aid and everyone giving reasons not to.
“Sue?” Shelby was touching my arm. “What now?”
“We’re coming to the end of the third movement,” Lady Anthea said, looking at the orchestra.
“Take care of the dogs,” I said. I walked to the back row. They seemed relieved to see me, like I was in charge or something—at least initially. Then they saw the look on my face. I wasn’t there to get them out of this uncomfortable situation. “Who’s a lawyer?”
Not a single person spoke up.
“At least one of you is an attorney,” I said.
They looked back and forth at one another sheepishly or accusingly.
Finally, one woman and one man raised their hands. I smiled and they smiled back because they didn’t know what I was thinking. Grow a pair. “Come with me.”
In the pause between the third and fourth movements Cordy turned to face the audience. “The last movement was composed by the late Maestro Georg Nielsen.” Then she turned and conducted the Potomac Symphony Orchestra in the finale.
The attorneys stood and followed me to the right side of the stage. Symphony by the Sea ended and the applause, bows, standing ovations and more bows began. The musicians began to clap, stomp their fe
et on the wooden boards of the stage and tap their instruments for Cordy. It was all for Cordy and her masterpiece. I waited with the two attorneys so that she could enjoy every minute of it. Then it was time. I climbed onto the stage and went to her. I took her arm. She nodded and followed me offstage.
“Cordy, they’re lawyers. They’ll handle your case pro bono.”
“What?” they sputtered.
“You’ll be charged with the murder of Georg Nielsen,” I continued.
“Wait.” John had walked up out of the dark and stood behind the lawyers.
I spoke quickly to let him know he hadn’t decked a guy for nothing. “Roman Harper killed Nick Knightley and tried to kill me, but you killed Georg Nielsen.”
She nodded.
“Don’t say a word,” one of her attorneys, the woman, said.
“You knew he was dead before anyone else,” I said.
“Bess told us at the Pet Palace on Monday,” Cordy said.
“But you knew he was dead before that. You had already completed the paperwork for Marin Alsop to stay with us. You filled out the forms online on Sunday. And you wanted an open-ended stay. Why not have her stay until Friday night after the concert? No, you already knew there was a chance the concert would be canceled.”
John radioed for Officer Statler or another female officer to join him. He walked around to stand in front of the concertmaster. “Cordy Galligan, I’m arresting you for the murder of Georg Nielsen.”
“Could you not handcuff her here?” the other attorney asked.
I couldn’t watch, so I reached down to pick up Marin Alsop and walk away. Abby was going to be very unhappy with me.
“You asked me why I never visited her this week,” Cordy called to me.
I stopped and walked back. She stretched out her arm to pet her dog’s head. “I didn’t deserve her. I saw the connection you and your dog had and I knew I didn’t deserve her love.”
