Page 35 of Unlocking Melodies

Ethan caught on immediately, his playing becoming comically intense. “I believe this calls for unnecessary flourishes.”

We launched into an over-the-top performance, complete with exaggerated hand movements and ridiculous runs up and down the keys. Our audience ate it up - I'm pretty sure I saw Officer Dawn recording on her phone.

“Your technique is horrible,” he commented, but he was fighting a smile.

“Your creativity is non-existent,” I shot back, adding a particularly flamboyant chord progression.

“I'll have you know I'm considered quite innovative in tech circles.”

“Yes, but can you improvise a jazz arrangement of 'Old MacDonald' while Mrs. Henderson pretends to check her empty mailbox again?”

He accepted the challenge, launching into a surprisingly sophisticated jazz interpretation while I added increasingly ridiculous farm animal themes. Our spectators had given up any pretense of subtlety - someone was selling popcorn.

“I think we've created a monster,” I observed as we finally wound down, both slightly breathless from laughing.

“Sky's going to need a bigger spreadsheet.”

“Nina's going to need more betting money.”

He turned to look at me then, his guard completely down for once. “This is nice,” he said simply.

“Yeah,” I agreed, surprised to find I meant it. “It is.”

The evening light was turning golden, painting everything in warm tones that made the moment feel somehow suspended in time. Outside, our audience was probably starting a whole new round of bets. Inside, two people who were technically strangers but felt anything but were finding their own rhythm.

“You know,” I said, surprising myself with what came next, “I'd like to get to know you better.”

Something flickered in his expression - hope maybe, or fear, or both. For a moment, I thought he might retreat behind that careful corporate mask again.

Instead, he turned back to the piano, fingers finding a gentler melody. “I'd like that too.”

We let the music fill the space between us, neither quite ready to voice the questions hanging in the air. Behind us, Mrs. Henderson's voice carried through the window: “This is better than Days of Our Lives!”

Given what I'd learned today about our history, she wasn't entirely wrong.

Chapter 8

Under Investigation

At precisely seven in the morning, someone knocked on my door with the kind of authority that suggested this wasn't a housekeeping visit. I quickly scanned my room - three laptops displaying different time zones (totally normal), a wall of color-coded sticky notes tracking Jimmy's schedule (slightly less normal), and my own reflection in the mirror looking far too guilty for someone who technically hadn't done anything wrong.

Officer Dawn stood in my doorway, her expression set to “professionally neutral” but her eyes missing nothing. “Mr. Cole? I'm Officer Dawn. Mind if I come in?”

My room suddenly felt very small as she took in every detail. Her gaze lingered on my sticky note collection, which I tried to casually block by leaning against the wall in what I hoped was a natural pose. Her raised eyebrow suggested I was about as subtle as Mrs. Henderson's surveillance operation.

“Interesting organizational system,” she commented, nodding toward the one sticky note I hadn't managed to cover - a detailed analysis of Jimmy's coffee schedule.

“I'm very... thorough in my research.”

“Yes, I've noticed.” She settled into the room's only chair, leaving me to either sit on the bed or remain awkwardly standing. “That's actually why I'm here.”

I chose standing. CEOs didn't sit on beds during interrogations. “Is there a problem, Officer?”

“You tell me.” Her tone was conversational but her eyes were steel. “A wealthy outsider shows up in our small town right after our local music manager loses his memory in a suspicious attack. Said outsider proceeds to watch said manager's every move, sends expensive gifts, and maintains what my grandmother would call a 'concerning level of interest.'”

She paused, letting that sink in. “Call me paranoid, but given recent events, we're a bit protective of our own.”

I appreciated her directness even as I recognized the threat beneath her professional demeanor. This wasn't just small-town law enforcement - this was someone who cared about Jimmy.

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