outraging a young white girl, then escaping to Kansas, where the governor refused to extradite him without a guarantee he’d get a fair trial, and not be lynched.
The waitress’ smile faded. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
Brun nodded to the girl’s back. He slipped a hand into his pocket. What was he going to do with that locket and money-clip? Go out of town after dark and bury them in the woods? That wouldn’t help anyone, himself included. How about sneaking off to another town and pawning the things there? But when? Between his job and piano practice, his available daytime hours were pretty well spoken for. Maybe best right now to sit tight until they either catch the killer or get interested in something else and forget about the dead woman. Then, Brun could do as he pleased.
That afternoon, business was slow, so Stark set Brun to learning the stock, which the boy found slow and tedious. Much more fun to play piano or wait on customers, but remembering Mr. Utley’s pig troughs was more than enough for the boy to set himself hard to his task.
Toward midafternoon, he was standing before the mandolins on the wall, reading the manufacturers’ hype and hustle papers, when he heard a woman’s voice behind him. “Excuse me, sir. Can you please help me?”
The words came on a wave of gardenia. Brun turned around and found himself face to face with a vision in blue cotton and lace. Not much over twenty, curly ash-blonde cascades down over her shoulders and a smile he imagined he might see in his dreams that night and for nights to come. Gray eyes soft as velvet, white teeth, and blooming cheeks. The young woman’s lipstick and face powder were applied with more enthusiasm than was customary those days, and she wore eye shadow, a daring advance. Brun thought of a ripe juicy apple, just ready to be bitten into.
“Well, hello,” the vision said. “I haven’t seen you here before…oh, I hope I haven’t made a mistake. You do work here, don’t you?”
“My second day,” Brun said, and looked around. Stark was inside his little office back of the counter, and Isaac was nowhere to be seen. Probably delivering an organ or a piano, or out on a break. The boy worked to keep his pleasant smile from stretching into an idiot’s grin. “What can I help you with, Miss?”
She pointed toward the racks of piano folios and lesson books. “I’m looking for
Wiley’s First Piano Studies
, it’s usually right up in the rack over there. I have two new students starting this afternoon.”
“We ran out,” Brun said, then, before the young woman could do more than look concerned, he added, “but we have new copies, still in the carton. I’ll get them for you.”
Brun considered that knowing the stock might actually be a good idea. The books had just come in that morning’s mail, and he had intended to put them on the shelf once he’d finished looking over the stringed instruments. He hustled up behind the counter, grabbed a couple of books from a carton on the floor, laid them on the glass between the girl and himself. She smiled, flicking the tip of her tongue between her teeth. Brun’s knees shook. “I’m so glad you have them,” she said. “Imagine, my new students and their mothers coming in for their first lessons, and the teacher doesn’t even have the lesson books. I think first impressions are so important, don’t you, Mr. …”
“Campbell. Brun Campbell. Oh yes, of course. First impressions are very important.”
Just as it occurred to him that he was shamelessly dogeyeing the girl, Brun realized John Stark stood beside him at the counter. “Good afternoon, Miss McAllister,” Stark said. “I trust you’re finding what you need.”
“Why, yes, Mr. Stark, thank you.” Miss McAllister pointed at the books. “Your new young man has been so very helpful. Do you play, Mr. Campbell?”
Before Brun could do more than clear his throat, Stark said, “Brun is a fine pianist. You’ll
The waitress’ smile faded. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
Brun nodded to the girl’s back. He slipped a hand into his pocket. What was he going to do with that locket and money-clip? Go out of town after dark and bury them in the woods? That wouldn’t help anyone, himself included. How about sneaking off to another town and pawning the things there? But when? Between his job and piano practice, his available daytime hours were pretty well spoken for. Maybe best right now to sit tight until they either catch the killer or get interested in something else and forget about the dead woman. Then, Brun could do as he pleased.
That afternoon, business was slow, so Stark set Brun to learning the stock, which the boy found slow and tedious. Much more fun to play piano or wait on customers, but remembering Mr. Utley’s pig troughs was more than enough for the boy to set himself hard to his task.
Toward midafternoon, he was standing before the mandolins on the wall, reading the manufacturers’ hype and hustle papers, when he heard a woman’s voice behind him. “Excuse me, sir. Can you please help me?”
The words came on a wave of gardenia. Brun turned around and found himself face to face with a vision in blue cotton and lace. Not much over twenty, curly ash-blonde cascades down over her shoulders and a smile he imagined he might see in his dreams that night and for nights to come. Gray eyes soft as velvet, white teeth, and blooming cheeks. The young woman’s lipstick and face powder were applied with more enthusiasm than was customary those days, and she wore eye shadow, a daring advance. Brun thought of a ripe juicy apple, just ready to be bitten into.
“Well, hello,” the vision said. “I haven’t seen you here before…oh, I hope I haven’t made a mistake. You do work here, don’t you?”
“My second day,” Brun said, and looked around. Stark was inside his little office back of the counter, and Isaac was nowhere to be seen. Probably delivering an organ or a piano, or out on a break. The boy worked to keep his pleasant smile from stretching into an idiot’s grin. “What can I help you with, Miss?”
She pointed toward the racks of piano folios and lesson books. “I’m looking for
Wiley’s First Piano Studies
, it’s usually right up in the rack over there. I have two new students starting this afternoon.”
“We ran out,” Brun said, then, before the young woman could do more than look concerned, he added, “but we have new copies, still in the carton. I’ll get them for you.”
Brun considered that knowing the stock might actually be a good idea. The books had just come in that morning’s mail, and he had intended to put them on the shelf once he’d finished looking over the stringed instruments. He hustled up behind the counter, grabbed a couple of books from a carton on the floor, laid them on the glass between the girl and himself. She smiled, flicking the tip of her tongue between her teeth. Brun’s knees shook. “I’m so glad you have them,” she said. “Imagine, my new students and their mothers coming in for their first lessons, and the teacher doesn’t even have the lesson books. I think first impressions are so important, don’t you, Mr. …”
“Campbell. Brun Campbell. Oh yes, of course. First impressions are very important.”
Just as it occurred to him that he was shamelessly dogeyeing the girl, Brun realized John Stark stood beside him at the counter. “Good afternoon, Miss McAllister,” Stark said. “I trust you’re finding what you need.”
“Why, yes, Mr. Stark, thank you.” Miss McAllister pointed at the books. “Your new young man has been so very helpful. Do you play, Mr. Campbell?”
Before Brun could do more than clear his throat, Stark said, “Brun is a fine pianist. You’ll
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