“It’s Caleb and Josie. Paxton is coming down the hall.” So was Lucy, who’d tagged along. She invited them in, dog included.
A half hour later, the five of them reviewed their new plan as the little dog lay on the floor at Ariel’s feet as if wanting to bring her comfort. She picked her up and set Lucy on her lap, ran her fingers through the silky fur.
The little dog was right. Petting her did make Ariel feel better.
“I’ll make a public statement, giving facts.” Paxton made notes in his iPad. “Then I’ll contact the choir members’ parents and ask for videos showing the context of the nasal singing.”
“I’ll start a social media blitz of positive posts and videos that will help bury the negative ones.” Josie made a note in her planner.
“Ariel, write a couple of posts every day for your fans,” her aunt said. “Let them know you still love them.”
Yes, she did. And she’d always known social media had a dark side, just like Nashville. But while this would eventually pass, what would it do for concert sales? For their band’s reputation?
“I’ll come back as soon as Uncle Clarence stabilizes. If he had kids, it’d be different. But he needs me here.”
Ariel groaned inside. Aunt Dahlia had left her in charge of the band, and this happened. She should have realized someone could take her actions out of context.
On the other hand, she’d done the same thing with Veronica, just trying to demonstrate how not to sing. How was she to know what would happen? Truth was, some people were just mean, and you never knew when someone would act “ugly,” as Aunt Dahlia would say.
Truth was, today proved the band couldn’t get along without Aunt Dahlia. Ariel would always live in her shadow.
At this moment, that shadow grew a little darker.
Failing to take care of his obligations—namely, this inn—was one thing. Bringing Ariel down with him was another.
Caleb stretched out his legs, sitting on the secret porch’s top step that afternoon, his guitar in his hands. He’d propped his framed land-grant document against the wall, wanting to hang it today. Caleb would have given this whole pathetic hotel for the chance to go back in time and stop Ariel from forming that teen choir. He’d add his white—make that all his guitars—if he hadn’t suggested she demonstrate a nasal tone.
He strummed a few chords and hummed an impromptu melody line. A dozen or so guests had checked in last night, and now he ignored them as they sat on the main porch, asking each other where the music came from.
What did it matter where it came from or who made it? For the first time, he wondered whether music truly was his friend.
The sun had warmed the island this afternoon and given them a summery day. The cloudless blue skies overhead reminded him of Coronado Island off the coast of San Diego, where he loved to relax in his vacation condo. He played a few measures of “Surfin’ Safari” and, for a moment, wished he was there. Wished he’d never left and come to this island that held on to winter as long as it could.
Maybe the problem was that winter had taken up residence in his heart.
He transitioned to the key of C-sharp minor and played the opening chords of “California Dreamin’.” It fit his mood better.
For that matter, why had he chosenArsenic and Old Lacefor their one and only date? Cary Grant’s Mortimer character in that movie just had to make a big deal about loving Elaine and wanting to marry her, but couldn’t because of his job.
With those lines, the long-ago actor had stolen every moment of peace Caleb might have had.
Footsteps sounded on the wooden floor inside, then the porch door opened behind him, interrupting his dreary song and drearier thoughts. He considered ignoring whoever it was, but he stopped playing and turned around, facing Josie. She wouldn’t have let him ignore her, anyway.
“I need you in your office, Caleb. Right now.”
Sounded like another catastrophe. At the rate this hotel was going, they’d soon run out of disasters. “I’ll come in a few minutes.”
“This could wait only if the hotel was on fire.”
“At this point, a fire might not be the worst thing to happen to this heap.”
“Look, I’m sorry to interrupt, but we can talk about it here, if you insist.” She pulled in a deep breath, lowered her voice to a whisper. “We have bedbugs.”
Bedbugs…
Caleb let out a groan. He’d never catch a break in this hotel gig.
He grabbed the land-grant document and gripped his guitar as the two all but ran through the lobby as if they were on the lam. And while they raced into his office, Caleb wasn’t sure which problem to think about first—Ariel’s dilemma or the bugs.
