Page 33 of The Magical Bed & Breakfast

“I’m…staying at a Bed & Breakfast in town.” Before he could ask, Rory answered. “The family home is being remodeled, sort of. The historical society is getting it ready for tours.”

“Wait, what? Tours? Thehistoricalsociety?”

Rory could’ve kicked himself. He’d never shared much about his past with the band. They thought he was like the rest of them and had spent years practicing with buddies in garage bands. Not taking classical music lessons in a forty-room mansion on a literal grand piano.

“It’s ah…well, large, you know, like a mansion.” Rory cringed. A long silence ensued, and Rory tried to think of what to say to distract Kyler onto another topic, when his bandmate, sounding suspicious, drew out his words. “Like a mansion, or an actual mansion?”

Rory bit back a sigh, his mind scrabbling for the best way to downplay it.

“An art deco mansion?” Wishing it hadn’t come out as a question, Rory began to sweat. More silence.

“Like with flamingos painted on the walls, or like the Empire State Building?” asked Kyler.

“That’s right, I grew up in a miniature Empire State Building with flamingos painted all around the outside.”

Kyler laughed. “Like the Vegas casino New York-New York? Did you have a roller coaster?”

“Oh, sure, I used to cut class with all my emo friends just to ride it.” As Kyler chuckled at the ridiculousness, Rory relaxed. “The house is just old and hard to maintain, so the family is turning it into a non-profit with the Hazard Historical Society. We’re close to Newport. House tours are a tourist attraction. This way the house’ll be maintained,” Rory said, downplaying the truth as best he could.

“You really grew up in a big-ass house? I’m trying to picture this.”

“Me? No, I grew up in a three-bedroom with my dad. I only spent summers in the big-ass house.” Rory didn’t bother to mention the weekly piano lessons on the grand piano, nor the thousands of hours of practice. It’d made him weird enough as a kid, spending so much time taking music lessons in an art deco monstrosity. He didn’t need his band members to treat him differently just because his grandfather came from money and built a small fortune in the grocery business.

His family’s legacy came from hard work, just like his band’s would. Rory certainly wasn’t going to mention his mom’s hankering for grandeur, which led to her defection from their lives when his dad wouldn’t comply. In an effort to keep past baggage from crowding his current life, he changed the subject. “So give me the rest of the news. When’s the next interview? I could join in.”

“Nolan insists you lay low, and he’s the boss.”

Rory bit back his retort. He paid Nolan to boss his bandmates, so he didn’t have to. It was rough, though, to keep sitting on the sidelines. He loved being in the thick of it. A bit more chitchat and they hung up. Rory fidgeted before deciding he really did need to check in with the reputation management firm he’d hired to help alleviate any bad press from his stalker problem. He preferred being proactive, so he’d asked around and gotten recommendations for the best firm to use. He hadn’t heard a single bad report about the firm, which indicated one of two things. Either they were as good as he’d heard they were, or they knew how to alleviate any bad press about themselves. Since that essentially amounted to the same thing, he’d contracted with them.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t impressed by their customer service so far. He’d heard rave reviews about this firm, but apparently the PR manager who’d received those reviews no longer worked for them. Instead Rory had been working with the owner, Quin, who was brusque and businesslike.

Rory called to check in, and it rolled to voicemail. “You’ve reached Katrina at QHM Media, where discretion and acuity pave your path to success.” The voice, smooth and professional, struck Rory as oddly familiar, but he was certain he didn’t know anyone named Katrina. He did recall, though, that she was the employee who’d received the rave reviews. He could believe it. Her voice alone on the message inspired confidence.

Quin had recommended the small podcast interviews Kyler and Marco had recently completed, along with an interview with a prominent YouTuber. He advised scheduling with enthusiast outlets to keep the band popular with music fans. Articles in prominent music publications were to be avoided right now, as they had the budget to do deeper investigations into their subjects and would likely discover information on the problem Rory wanted to keep quiet. An interview with Billboard, Spin, or Fader, normally ideal, was inadvisable right now. And involving the most investigative music publications could lead to an unpleasant surprise. He didn’t need a scoop showcasing his obsessed fan. If they found and interviewed her, there was no telling what she would claim.

Rory arrived back at the inn. When he discovered the door locked, he circled around to the back courtyard. The corner maple’s leaves had transformed into the most beautiful array of colors. He paused to let the atmosphere soak into him. A few notes trailed through his head, the beginning of a melody he might coax into being later. He took a moment to settle into the blue Adirondack chair beneath the tree and took a deep breath as a gust of wind blasted through the courtyard and swirled the leaves in eddies around him. It occurred to him that he might rake them up later for Kate, but for now he relished the moment and let the melody dance through his head, as a gentle harmony came to join it. Just as it began to take shape, and he thought he might need to write it down, the wind died into stillness and the tune trailed away to nothing.

Rory let out a sigh. “It’ll come,” he murmured to himself. He needed to believe in his own process. It had always worked before. His genius kept them employed. And with Dustin starting a family, they were counting on him. Even Venkat needed their success, or he couldn’t afford his twice-yearly trips to India to check on his aging parents. Family was important.

Just as he was about to give up and go in, notes from the piano inside wafted out as a light breeze picked up. Kate must have left a window open. Rory settled back to listen to her play the score they had found. It was a sweet tune, and she was getting the hang of it.

It was clear to Rory, though, that it was only half of the piece. There were pauses, gaps in the phrasing that he almost wanted to fill in with his own ideas. The melody that had come to him moments before began to trail through his brain in accompaniment to Kate’s playing. The musical score really was a lovely classical piece, with slight baroque influences.

Rory closed his eyes, and the past came to visit. Whispers of conversations surrounded him. American rebels were plotting underneath snobby British noses. Plans for smuggling weapons. Plans for expanding the tunnels. Names of compatriots, curses on the redcoats, but all the words spoken soft and low and ending abruptly.

“Mr. Worthy,” a voice rang out. “A word, sir.”

The courtyard fell into uncomfortable silence as Franklin Worthy turned, stiff shouldered, toward his “guest” Major Cross. “Yes, of course, Major.” Dust kicked up in little bursts around black boots striding to the back entrance. “How can I be of service, major?”

“We require additional rooms on the second level, possibly the third.”

“The third level, sir, is where my family resides. My daughter’s room is on that floor.”

“Surely, you don’t doubt the integrity of my officers, Mr. Worthy.”

A long moment of silence, fraught with tension, followed. “Of course not. But I must protect her reputation. You know how easily a young lady’s reputation can be tarnished in times of strife and uncertainty.”

“Not uncertainly. Surely, sir, the British will retain their rule of the colonies.”

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