Sunny and I raced across the short stretch of open field that separated the woods from Delbert’s rustic cabin. As we clattered up the rough steps to the front porch, I stared back at the trail, but saw no one. Apparently Dalbec had not seen us turn off the main path.
Which didn’t mean that he wouldn’t eventually figure that out and backtrack to follow us. I pounded on Delbert’s front door as Sunny leaned against one of the porch posts, her chest rising and falling under her Vista View Farms T-shirt.
The door opened a crack. “Amy Webber, what are you doing out here, girl?” said the grizzled older man who peered out at me.
“My friend Sunny and I were hiking the Twin Falls trail, but then we spied this man who seemed to be following us …”
The door flew open. “Get in, get in,” said Delbert Frye.
I rushed inside, Sunny on my heels. Delbert, a short, wiry man in his eighties, grabbed the shotgun from a gun rack right inside the door and stepped out onto the porch.
I crossed the main room of the cabin, which was almost as dim as the forest. There were no overhead fixtures, only standing lamps that cast yellow ovals of light over isolated areas, and the small windows cut into the exposed log walls didn’t provide much illumination.
“This is definitely rustic.” Sunny looked around, her gaze sweeping over the handcrafted furniture that filled the room and the faded rag rugs that covered the wooden plank floors. “I like it.”
I pointed up at the shelf that ran in a continuous track around all four walls. It was set far enough below the timbered ceiling to accommodate stringed instruments of all shapes and sizes. There were fiddles, banjos, and a variety of dulcimers. “There’s Delbert’s passion on display. Making those instruments and playing folk music.”
“Beautiful,” Sunny said, her eyes widening as she surveyed the shelves.
I motioned to a seating area near a stone fireplace. “We can have a seat, I think. Delbert will make sure that guy doesn’t try to approach the cabin.” I sat down on a pine settle draped in a woven wool blanket.
Sunny plopped down beside me. “I’ve heard plenty of stories about Mr. Frye. Some of them from you. I think you said he scares people off with his shotgun but has never fired at anyone?”
“Yeah, he can intimidate without actually doing any harm,” I said. “He’s a brilliant musician too. I think I mentioned that as well.”
“I’d love to hear him play,” Sunny said, examining the instruments filling the high shelves. “I bet the grands would as well.”
“Unfortunately, he’s very shy about performing,” I said, closing my lips over my next words as Delbert entered the cabin.
Closing and locking the front door, Delbert lifted the shotgun back onto the rack. “I spied some dark-haired fellow over by the entrance to the trail, but the minute he saw me, he skedaddled.”
“The minute he saw your gun, you mean,” I said.
Delbert Frye’s smile lit up his weathered face. “Most likely.”
“I think we should call Brad,” Sunny said. “Some stranger following two women on a mountain path is a bit suspicious.”
“More than you even know,” I said, as Delbert crossed the room and sat on a worn armchair whose springs visibly pressed against its floral-patterned upholstery. “I’ve encountered him a couple of times before,” I added, before describing my run-ins with the supposed art broker. “To be honest, I don’t think that’s his real career.”
“More likely some kind of criminal,” Delbert said, running his fingers through the fringe of white hair that encircled his bald pate. “He had the look of a con man.”
“I think you’re probably right,” I agreed, before turning to Sunny. “And you’re right too. We should call Brad about this.”
“I’ll give him a shout,” Sunny said, sliding her cell phone from the pocket of her yoga pants.
Delbert pointed to a larger window at the back of the house, over the sink. “Better reception over there.”
Sunny nodded and walked over to the kitchen area, punching in numbers she’d obviously memorized when she and Brad were a couple.
“So, Delbert”—I pressed my spine against the wooden back of the settle—“are you going to attend my wedding or not? You haven’t actually responded to my invitation. I thought maybe you were planning to escort Mary Gardener, who has sent word that she’ll be there.”
Delbert’s face reddened, a clue, like the cinnamon streaks in his beard, to what I suspected was his original russet hair color. “Not sure. Big crowd, isn’t it? And Mary has another date.”
“Kurt?” I smiled. Mary Gardener, an elderly woman who kept alive the oral tradition of the area’s mountain folktales, had been a housekeeper at the orphanage where Kurt lived as a child. They’d bonded there and remained friends ever since.
“Yep, that Kendrick fellow. Mary told me he asked her as soon as you and your fiancé set the date.” Delbert glanced up at the display of instruments. “Truth is, I wouldn’t mind coming, ’specially as my great-niece will be there with that man of hers. But I don’t really feel like I’d belong at such an event.”
“Nonsense,” I said. “Like you said, Mary will be there, as well as Alison, and probably a few other people you’ll know. And it isn’t going to be a really formal occasion, so you don’t have to worry about that. We’re getting married in my fiancé’s backyard, and the reception will simply spill over into my aunt’s garden.”
“All right then.” Delbert met my gaze with a wary smile. “But only if I can be there as a musician rather than a guest.” He pointed at the dulcimer leaning up against a stool near the hearth. “I’d feel more comfortable that way. I like to be doing something useful rather than just standing around.”
“I won’t argue with that,” I said, as Sunny walked back across the room. “I’d love for you to play something at the wedding or the reception. Whichever you prefer.”
“Really?” Sunny sat down beside me, her bright gaze fixed on Delbert’s face. “You’re going to play something at Amy’s wedding, Mr. Frye? That would be splendid.”
Delbert shrugged. “Good practice before my great-niece’s ceremony, I guess.”
Sunny’s elbow banged into my arm. “Are Alison and Brad getting married?” She shot me a sharp look. “I hadn’t heard that.”
“So I’m told. Didn’t think it was a secret,” Delbert said, his expression sobering as he obviously remembered that Sunny and Brad had been involved in a relationship before Brad started dating Alison.
“I think that’s wonderful.” Sunny’s beaming smile seemed to set Delbert at ease.
I shot her a sidelong look. I knew she didn’t care that Brad was marrying Alison but suspected that she didn’t like being the last to know about it.
“What did Brad have to say about our encounter in the woods?” I asked, hoping to divert her attention from this slight.
“He’s sending deputies out to search for Dalbec. They definitely want to question him. Apparently, the sheriff’s department has had some suspicions about the guy ever since he showed up in Taylorsford.”
Ever since I told them a slightly altered tale about some stranger matching his description running into me and then tracking me down at the library, I thought, but decided not to voice this thought aloud.
“He’s also sending someone to escort us to my car. They’ll drive us around to the parking lot at the trailhead so we won’t have to tramp back through the woods.” Sunny yanked the elastic band from around her hair, freeing it from its ponytail. She flipped the loose fall of golden locks behind her shoulders. “Now, to get back to more interesting matters—what do you think you’ll play at the wedding, Mr. Frye? Some real folk music, I hope.”
“That’s pretty much all I know,” Delbert said. “That and a few classical pieces my wife liked. She used to take me to concerts when we lived in the city, long time ago.” He rose to his feet to grab the dulcimer. “I can remember some of them, even though I don’t know all the titles.” Settling back in his chair, Delbert balanced the dulcimer in his arms. “Something like this.”
Haunting strains rose from under his deft fingers. I leaned forward.
“I know that,” I said. “It’s Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini.” I clapped my hands. “Please do play that at the wedding. That would be awesome.”
As Delbert lifted his head, his smile broadened. “I loved it when I heard it at a concert with the missus, but then couldn’t remember what it was called.” He rose to his feet. “There’s another one I also like to play, but it requires a little different instrument and technique.” He crossed over to a shadowy corner of the room, returning with another dulcimer that he set on a stand. He held up two pieces of wood that resembled drumsticks, but with open filigree circles carved into the flattened ends. “Hammered dulcimer,” he said, before launching into a piece I recognized almost immediately.
“Pachelbel’s Canon in D.” I sighed in delight as the beautiful music filled the cabin.
Sunny nudged me. “You haven’t been happy about having the band play the traditional wedding march, but they didn’t have anything else to offer. What if …”
I clasped her hands. “Great minds,” I told her, before turning back to Delbert, who’d just concluded the piece. “That is gorgeous. Would you consider playing that while I walk down the aisle? We might have to mic you, since we’ll be outside, but I think that would be so much better than the regular march that’s always played at weddings. More fitting to the setting too.”
Delbert’s face flushed, but he offered me a warm smile. “I’d be honored,” he said.
“You’ll need to attend the rehearsal on Friday evening so we can practice walking down the aisle to the song,” Sunny said. “But don’t worry—I’ll drive out here and personally escort you home.”
“And there’s a rehearsal dinner at Kurt Kendrick’s estate after. Of course you’d be invited. We could even ask Kurt to have Mary attend, if that would make you feel more comfortable.”
“Well.” Delbert tapped one of the sticks against his chest. “I guess that’d be all right.”
“Great,” I said, thinking how delighted Richard would be with this turn of events. He’d been working on a choreographic piece featuring mountain tales and folk music for some time, so I was sure he’d be happy to have Delbert involved in the wedding.
And maybe it would even give him an opportunity to ask Delbert to participate in his new piece, I thought, knowing that Richard wanted to record tunes played by true folk musicians for his choreographic suite.
A knock sent Delbert scurrying to the door. He peered out the door before swinging it wide open.
“Your ride’s here,” he said, motioning toward the deputy who stood, hat in hand, on the porch.
I followed Sunny out, but not before making sure to shake Delbert’s hand. “Thank you so much for sheltering us, and for agreeing to play at my wedding. I know your music will make the day extra special.”
Delbert gripped my hand for a moment and looked at me, a more peaceful expression on his face than I’d ever seen there before. “I ’spect it’s time I learned to rejoin the world,” he said. “And I can’t think of a better time than when two people in love pledge their lives to each other.”
Knowing his story—how he’d lost his beloved wife and unborn child in an accident so many years ago—I impulsively leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.
He dropped my hand and stepped back, but as Sunny and I left the porch and walked out to the deputy’s car, he called out a cheery “Good day” and a promise to see us Friday evening.