“IS THIS OKAY?” Hugh gestured to a small table by the window in Starbucks.
Geoff lifted his shoulders laconically. “Fine with me.”
Hugh figured that in addition to having alerted Isobel to his plans, sitting in full view of the street wasn’t a bad idea. Not that he thought he was in imminent danger. Even though he’d picked Geoff, imagining him to be a cold-blooded killer seemed as impossible as imagining himself capable of such an act. They were both artists: composers, conductors, pianists. Birds of a feather. Now, sitting across from him, Hugh decided there was no way Geoff had killed Arden and Thomas.
“Did you kill Arden and Thomas?”
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and he realized to his consternation that he was channeling Isobel.
Geoff paused with his coffee midway to his mouth. “You don’t mince words, do you?”
“I figured we’d bazooka the elephant in the room so we can talk about what really interests me,” Hugh punted, wondering what had possessed him to say such a thing.
“Which is what?”
“Excuse me?”
“What interests you? Why did you want to meet?”
Hugh took a long sip of his chai before answering. “I’ve been having a rather rotten time of it. Jethro is constantly putting in his oar. I prefer my writers dead. Present company and self excluded, of course,” he added quickly.
Geoff opened the plastic lid and tapped more sugar into his coffee. “What kind of stuff do you write?”
“Theater songs, art songs. Music and lyrics. I’m working on a musical.”
Geoff crumpled the empty sugar packet. “Everyone in New York is working on a musical.”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you about. I’ve got very little experience with getting a show produced. I know you had a bumpy road with Sousacal—”
Geoff snorted. “That’s the understatement of the century.”
“But I thought perhaps I could learn from your experience.”
“You mean how not to spend several years of your life collaborating on a piece and then having your contribution kicked to the curb?”
Hugh felt his face go warm. “Yeah, that.”
“Mmm.” Geoff sipped his coffee. “First piece of advice, choose your collaborators wisely.”
“What made you pick Jethro?”
“I was musical director for A Colonial Christmas Carol, and Felicity introduced us opening night. She wanted him to meet me because she knew I was a composer, and Jethro had been wanting to write a musical about John Philip Sousa for years.”
“And you honestly thought that sounded like a good idea?”
“Anything’s a good idea if you’re getting paid.”
“Wait, Jethro paid you to collaborate?”
“Not Jethro. Felicity.”
Hugh took another sip of tea and tried to look nonchalant. “I suppose you had to return the money when Jethro scrapped your score?”
“No chance! I did my job. I turned in a score—a damn good one, I’ll have you know.”
“So what happened?”
Geoff took the lid off his coffee again and to Hugh’s disgust tapped in another packet of sugar.
“We did a staged reading up here, and then a workshop in New York. Ezra had been recommended to me as a director, and I brought him on for that. He had a pal at the Donnelly Group and got some bigwig there to see it. Apparently, Donnelly, or whoever it was, made the mistake of commenting to Jethro afterward that it seemed strange to write a musical about Sousa without any of his music, so out went my score. I said no way was I going to MD what I was certain would turn out to be a disaster—no offense—and I walked away.”
“But Ezra stayed on. Why?”
Geoff shrugged. “A job’s a job? Who knows, maybe he has gambling debts or something.”
Hugh wondered briefly if this was more than a casual suggestion and filed it away to tell Isobel.
“Jethro must have pulled the score together pretty quickly, because I was brought on only a few weeks later, or so I was told.”
“They didn’t have a score in place when they were holding auditions,” Geoff said.
Hugh sat back. “Let me get this straight. Felicity paid you to write a score for Jethro’s Sousa musical, presumably because she didn’t think he had the talent, and then your score got scrapped because of an offhand comment by Donnelly, so Felicity held auditions for a show that had no music?”
“More or less. I mean, I don’t know for sure, but I would guess Jethro must have shown her something to reassure her that he was on the right track and would get it done.”
Hugh shook his head. “That’s almost worse. I mean, listening to any of it would send any sensible producer screaming for the hills. The idea of lyricizing Sousa marches is completely daft.”
“You still don’t get it,” Geoff said. “This was never about quality. Jethro is the son Felicity never had. I wouldn’t say she’s blind to his imperfections, but she’s certainly willing to make allowances.”
“Even if it goes against her best interests?” Hugh asked.
“If it does. More likely she has some interest in the show that nobody knows about.” They sat in silence for a moment. “Want something else? I’m craving a donut.”
“No, I’m good, thanks.”
Hugh watched him saunter up to the counter to increase his already shocking sugar intake. Geoff was so confident, so full of swagger. Hugh wondered how talented he was. Maybe his score wasn’t as good as he thought. On the other hand, it couldn’t possibly be worse than what they’d ended up with.
“You must have been pretty angry when you got cut loose,” Hugh observed when Geoff returned, glazed donut in hand.
“At first, yeah. But I calmed down. I mean it’s not like this was ever going to put me on the map.”
“It seems the Donnelly Group has lost interest now.” Hugh stirred his tea. “Any idea why they didn’t make it opening night?”
“Oh, probably a little birdie told them it wasn’t worth the gas.”
Hugh looked up. “You?”
“I hadn’t seen it yet. I didn’t know,” Geoff said innocently.
“Oliver must have told you.”
“Oh, he did. But I never make recommendations on someone else’s word. Even my brother’s.”
“Why did he stay on after what happened to you?”
Geoff’s expression softened. “Ollie’s young. He’s still building his resume, and this was his first contract with Livingston. I think you’ve been good for him. You’re a talented conductor.”
Hugh felt a rush of pleasure. “Thanks. You’ve seen it then?”
“I was there opening night. Pretty shocking.” Geoff took a longish sip of coffee as if it were a bracing whiskey.
“Did you know Arden well?”
Geoff smacked his lips. “Didn’t know her at all. She came on board after I was thrown over. I mean, I knew who she was. Miss New York and everything. But we never met.”
“Then who did the workshops?”
“Talia.”
“As Jennie, I mean.”
Geoff licked honey glaze off his fingers. “Yeah, as Jennie.”
“And she was bumped for Arden?”
For the first time, Geoff appeared uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat and glanced into his lap before he answered. “Arden was a draw, obviously, but beyond that, Talia isn’t much of an actress.”
“And she was willing to stay on in a smaller role after originating the lead?”
“I got Felicity to put her on an Equity contract. Talia wanted to join the union and get a solid theater credit on her resume. Thinks it’ll make her more marketable. I don’t have the heart to tell her it won’t make a difference unless she takes some acting classes.”
“And Felicity was willing?”
“She felt bad about drop-kicking me, so yeah.”
“Did you ask for anything else?”
Geoff laughed. “A royalty point. Didn’t get that, though.”
“So you and Talia, what’s the deal?”
“We went to grad school together. Dated a little, off and on. You know.”
“Are you on again or off again right now?” Hugh asked.
Geoff smiled cryptically. “Yes.”
“What does that mean?”
He took a bite of his donut and wiped a stray crumb from his chin. “Exactly what you think it means.”
Hugh sighed. “Yeah, that sort of sums up Isobel and me, I guess.”
“That girl’s got talent,” Geoff said appreciatively. “And sangfroid, the way she jumped into the fray. She must have been a Girl Scout.”
“I was proud of her.” Hugh consciously tamped down a twinge of sadness. “But listen, I have to ask you. If you don’t care about the show and what’s happened to it, why did you bother to come back to see it?”
Geoff’s face drew in on itself as if he’d sucked a lemon. “I don’t know what makes you think I don’t care. I put two years of my life into this show, and I wanted my work to see the light of day. That’s a lot of wasted time. Put yourself in my shoes. You’d feel the same way.” Geoff glanced at his phone and stood up abruptly.
“Actually, I have put myself in your shoes,” Hugh said. “If it were me, I wouldn’t go anywhere near it, especially if I was sure it would be a disaster. Let them fail on their own and good riddance.”
“Everyone’s different. That’s what makes horse racing, as my grandma used to say. I gotta run. It’s been nice chatting with you. Good luck with, um…everything.”
“Thanks. You, too.”
Hugh watched him swing through the door. On the sidewalk, Geoff flipped up the collar of his peacoat, ducked his head against the wind, and walked away.
It wasn’t a stretch for Hugh to understand Geoff’s seemingly contradictory response to the way he’d been treated on Sousacal. But he still didn’t have a sense of how far he was willing to go to get revenge for that lost time and opportunity. Sabotage? Murder?
And just like that, Hugh realized that Geoff had never answered his first question.