“It’s raw, it’s real, it’s powerful.” Caleb drew a deep breath, pushed it out hard, angled the pages between them on the table where they both could see them. “Ariel, it’s jazz. Very good jazz. But you’re a country band.”
He was beginning to get it. “I know a few artists who infuse jazz into their country. Some call it country jazz. I lean that way a little, vocally.”
“Your aunt does not.” He ran his finger down a page. “This is a deeper song than your usual lighthearted country. The faith message is a lot stronger, and it’s more complex. But I like it. A lot.”
“I think it’s what we need.”
“Not sure Miss Dahlia will agree.”
“Neither am I. But the more I think about it, I realize she’s right, and our band needs something new. Since she put me in charge, she’ll have to listen with an open mind. And maybe let someone else make a decision for a change.”
He raised his brows. “I’ve never heard of her giving anyone that kind of authority.”
“That’s what scares me. But she and I both have to find out whether I have what it takes to lead this band someday. Aunt Dahlia is sixty. In ten years, she might start to slow down, and if I’m to keep it going after she wants out, I have to get ready.”
Wow, after saying it out loud, she felt a little fatigued, as if this were a foreshadowing of things to come.
“What if she says no?”
Ariel thought a moment. “No to the song or no to changes I think we should make?” She debated saying the words out loud. “Let’s just say I’m also looking for more solo songs.”
Caleb’s lifted brows and wide eyes looked just like Aunt Dahlia’s would when she heard “Mercy Song.”
“Anyway, it’s keyboard driven, so I’d love to play it on a piano.”
“Then we need to find the parlor keys.”
For better or for worse, Ariel somehow sensed this new direction would either make their franchise explode or shut them down.
Either way, she knew that after she played “Mercy Song” for her aunt, nothing would ever be the same.
Chapter Seven
How could Caleb have gotten himself into this position?
Since Granddad had wheeled himself back to his rooms, Caleb and Ariel had spent the past two hours searching for the parlor suite keys in the office, reception desk, maintenance rooms, and every other area he could think of. He’d stopped short of searching Granddad’s suite, since he’d helped with its spring cleaning and hadn’t seen them.
Now, down on his hands and knees in the storage room that had once been the lobby’s cloak room, he looked for some out-of-the-way cubbyhole or secret sliding panel or hidden compartment that might reveal a big, heavy ring of brass keys.
“I know every hiding place on this property and used them all when I was a kid. The keys are not in this hotel.” He honestly hadn’t expected to find them. But Ariel had seemed so certain they would, he’d hated to dampen her enthusiasm. Now he stood and brushed off his knees.
“I still think you and Michelle might have missed them during spring cleaning in your grandfather’s suite.” Ariel turned from her place next to the shelves of shampoo, conditioner, and soap, where she’d shone a flashlight up into a dumbwaiter shaft.
“Maybe, but in this big building, I think he would have found a more obscure hiding place. If someone was looking for them, they’d search his rooms first.” If things had been different, Caleb could have simply asked his grandfather for the keys. But he hated to think of the fireworks that would set off.
“Mr. Caleb, you need me to find something?” Michelle stuck her head in the door, her eyes wide at the sight of her boss and a famous musician rooting around in a room that housed the less-glamorous side of hotel hospitality.
“Not unless you can tell me where to find the keys to the parlor wing.”
She reached into an oversized pocket on her blue scrubs and drew out a ring of brass keys. “You didn’t think to ask me before this?”
What? Michelle had them all along? “Since Granddad told both Uncle Augo and me that he hid them, no.”
“He did. In my pocket.” Michelle handed him the keys and started down the hall toward the elevator. “Even empty rooms need dusted and swept every week.”
Caleb glanced over at Ariel, her eyes wide. “So much for Granddad’s promise never to let anyone in the parlor wing.”
The old keys hadn’t changed, nor had his memory of the thirty-seven unlabeled keys of various shapes and sizes. Apparently Michelle had taken over Grandma’s job of polishing them, because they shone as brightly as he remembered.
