Saturday, November 27
Drayco had stayed at the bar with Brock longer than he’d planned as they worked through some of the ice between them. Fortified with steak, they’d got their relationship a little more back on track.
When he’d returned to his townhome, he took out his frustrations on his Steinway with Chopin’s B-flat minor nocturne. Deciding poor Chopin didn’t deserve the rough treatment, Drayco switched to his computer and sat up late using public records hunting for more clues about Tibbs and his friends and family.
It was one of those family members he was meeting this morning since Tibbs’s sister, Aria D’Angelo, wanted an update on the case. Ordinarily, he would get her up-to-date via a phone call. But she insisted he brief her in person because she didn’t enjoy talking on the phone. She’d added she used to have her manager do that for her and sighed. “I miss having Rowan take care of things.”
Before Drayco headed over, he cued up some online video recordings of Aria from her heyday. Even though he wasn’t a fan of opera per se, she was talented. He also called an opera-expert friend, Dirk Schlezinger, to ask why she hadn’t achieved the same level of success as the likes of a Renée Fleming or Joan Sutherland.
He practically heard his friend shrug over the phone. “Who knows why some singers break out, and others don’t? Tastes of the day, bad managers or good managers, lucky breaks, maybe someone’s harder to work with, the person isn’t a good schmoozer. I’ve known several singers who should have broken through to the big time and never made it, while some lesser talents did.”
“Same with the piano, I suppose.”
Dirk laughed, “It’s who you know sometimes. And maybe still a little bit of who you sleep with.”
Drayco winced at that. He’d been lucky to avoid such pressures when he was touring in his younger days. Mostly. He said, “I did some research on her. She has a post-career reputation for philanthropy.”
“And how. She’s tireless. I think she’s hit up just about everyone famous for funds for an opera house and scholarships. But I gather she wants it in her name, not theirs. Has maybe even been a little too demanding about that. An overriding passion kind of thing.”
“If you can’t get your legacy the way you’d hoped, you try for something else, right?” He felt defensive of Aria. She’d had her career cut short like he had. In fact, he was feeling sorry he might not be able to name his own smallish opera house after her, depending upon what his benefactor agreed to.
After Drayco hung up with Dirk, he warmed up some leftover rib eye from last night’s dinner at the bar with Brock. He chased that down with a Manhattan Special soda before heading up to Bethesda, eventually pulling into the familiar gated driveway where he made his way to the front entry.
Aria was in the Christmas-cheer camp, it seemed. The door had a giant wreath with gilded pine and eucalyptus plus some bronze and burgundy berries. Two matching topiaries flanked each side of the porch, each larger than the tiny holiday tree Drayco put on his coffee table—when he bothered putting anything up.
Aria greeted him with a big smile and offered him some espresso, which he accepted. They headed to the cavernous living room and sat on sparkling white chairs that made Drayco wish he weren’t drinking espresso.
She immediately pressed him on the case. “Have you solved that puzzle thing?”
“Unfortunately, not yet, but I’m getting closer. I know who was behind it.”
“Really? Who?”
“A man named Alistair Brisbane. Have you ever heard of him? More importantly, did Graham know him?”
She put her hand to her throat and frowned. “I don’t know of him, personally, no. And I’m afraid since I’d lost touch with my brother, I can’t really say if Graham knew this man or not.”
“Lost touch due to the estrangement?”
“That’s right.” She sighed. “Not knowing much about my brother—that’s as much a tragedy as anything. And it’s the main reason I want to make it up to him in death..”
“Family estrangements are a lot more common than you think.”
“I suppose so. But I still remember how much fun it was when we were children and how I do miss that. Some of my fondest memories. That was before we grew apart on account of his dangerous behavior.”
She picked at her pearl necklace. “That’s always how it is, isn’t it? You drift away from friends and family due to who knows what? Sometimes you can’t even remember why you drifted away. And then they’re gone, and you wonder why you let anything get in the way of reconnecting. That will haunt me for the rest of my life. Graham needed somebody, needed me, and I wasn’t there for him.”
“I think his problems were out of your league, so I wouldn’t beat yourself up. If he was involved in something shady—so much so he had to disappear— I doubt you could have helped him.”
“Ezra told me that, too.”
Drayco noticed the glass piece Graham’s friend, Ezra Layton, had given her was missing. He asked about it.
She replied, “Oh, clumsy me, I broke it the same day you were last here. And it was such a lovely piece, too. Of course, I’ve asked Ezra for a replacement, which I’ll pay for.”
“I chatted with Ezra at the track where he races his sports car, which is pretty expensive. He said there was an inheritance involved. I’ve done some checking into his background, but I can’t find any rich relatives who might have left him money.”
She waved her hand in the air. “I don’t want to pry. Who knows? Maybe it was me being too naggy and prying that pushed Graham away. If Ezra ever wants to tell me about it, he will. In his own time.”
She peered over at Drayco. “I did a bit of research on you, too. You were a promising young pianist years ago. Whatever happened?”
“A bad accident.” That was his stock response whenever he didn’t want to go into sordid details about the carjacking. Most people left it at that and didn’t press him further.
“Oh, that’s just awful. And what a terrible shame. Like something out of Hamlet. Or maybe Rigoletto. A real tragedy.”
“Perhaps. But it helps me know what it’s like not to be able to perform after an injury. Similar to your situation.”
She smiled at him. “You are a dear young man, Scott.”
“I listened to some of your recordings. I can understand how you got your stellar reputation.”
She straightened up and broke out into a snippet of “Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen” from the Queen of the Night aria.
“That’s amazing. And you still sound a lot like those recordings.”
“Alas, that’s about all I can do these days. Being on stage for hours is too much.”
Drayco nodded, knowing all too well. “You’re raising money for a scholarship?”
“A scholarship program for opera singers. And also an opera house. I’d be delighted to have it named after me, but I know that seems like hubris. It’s all about having to resist the tyranny of age and time. And being forgotten.”
“Yet, you have a far greater legacy than most.”
“I suppose I do. But the art world is filled with politics, something I’m not very good at. I wasn’t invited to sing at a royal wedding. Why? I didn’t ingratiate myself, even though I could have if I was that type. And somehow, ‘The Three Sopranos’ doesn’t sound as sexy as ‘The Three Tenors,’ does it? It’s all politics when you get right down to it.”
She looked away briefly before turning back to him with a glint of tears in her eyes. “But you didn’t come here to talk about me. It’s about Graham and this puzzle business. Have you found out how it all ties in with his death?”
“Not yet. But I’ve spoken with people who might know more about Graham’s disappearance and sudden reappearance. Since I have a personal stake in this, I won’t quit until I’ve pieced it all together. You can rest assured on that.”
Her face brightened. “You should talk with Christi Allingham, another friend who’s known Graham since he was a youth. And maybe more recently, or so I got the impression. She works for the government, I think.”
Aria frowned as she thought harder. “I believe it’s the Commerce Department. Yes, that sounds right. I suspected there might be a little spark between them. I guess it just never worked out.”
Drayco eyed the Bösendorfer piano in the far corner of the room, grateful no one expected him to perform “on command.” But it did remind him of one thing. He asked, “Did the song ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ have any special meaning to your brother?”
She stared at him. “Why, he had a record of it when he was a boy. One of those little sing-song things with those condescending baby voices adults make on such monstrosities. I think our mother gave it to him. They’d sing along together.”
“But he didn’t have a big band version?”
She looked puzzled. “I didn’t know there was such a thing. No, he never mentioned anything like that. Is it important?”
“I have no idea. But it might be.”
“After his death . . . ” She sighed again and then emphasized, “After the fire . . . they gave me all his personal belongings since Graham didn’t have a will. I think they’re stored in the attic. To be honest, I haven’t gone through them since. But perhaps I shall. And if I find anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”
As Drayco made his way down the long front sidewalk, he was intrigued Graham may have had a recent girlfriend no one else mentioned before. Christi Allingham was going on Drayco’s list to interview.
He was disappointed Aria wasn’t aware if Graham knew Alistair. The man’s former business partner certainly knew about that connection. And what about Ezra Layton’s sudden windfall to buy all those cars? What if, instead of an inheritance, it was really selling drugs? Or dealing in stolen goods? He had a rap sheet like his friend, Graham, from years ago. But in the records Drayco dug up, it wasn’t anything major. Petty theft, mostly.
He now had a good idea of who played that nursery song during Drayco’s captivity. So Graham’s mother got a children’s “Twinkle, Twinkle” recording for him, and they sang along with it together when he was a boy. Likely not long before her death in a car accident. That could explain its significance to Graham and his interest in other versions like the big band arrangement. Okay. But why choose it to play at the kidnapping house? That must be one serious obsession.
Deep in thought, he tripped over a pair of gardening shears on the sidewalk and did a little twirl on his heel to avoid falling down. The only witnesses to his near-disaster-dance were a couple of crows cawing out something that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
This case was resembling more of a circular hora type of dance. You end up chasing your own tail more than making progress toward your goal. Maybe so, but he wasn’t the type to give up on a case with his tail tucked between his legs.
Just then, he looked up and spied a cloud formation that looked exactly like a dog with a curled and tucked tail. He muttered up at the sky, “Thanks a lot.”