The next thing Maris knew, she was listening to a him play a walking bass with his left hand. After a few measures, he added the right hand, his touch light but sure. The song shuffled through one verse and then another, before he changed it up with what seemed like an improvised solo. Despite the few out of tune keys, the music was absolutely delightful, and George seemed as comfortable as though he’d been born playing the instrument—even an out of tune one.
She thought for a moment of how he’d talked about the album collection.
Would someone who’d stolen one draw attention to it? Would they even let themselves be seen looking at it?
Cookie appeared in the doorway, a rag in her gloved hand. She exchanged a smile with Maris, before turning her attention to George. In another few moments, Mojo appeared as well. He trotted directly over to the piano, sitting as close to George’s feet as he could, despite the fact that the big man was working one of the pedals.
The music was upbeat, though not cheery, and always expressive, and by the time George played the last notes, he’d won his audience over.
“Bravo,” Cookie said, as she clapped. “Bravo.”
“That was wonderful,” Maris exclaimed, as she clapped.
Even Mojo gave George his tiny, tinny meow.
The big man laughed and reached down to give the pudgy cat a scratch behind the ears. “Thank you, Mojo.” He twisted on the bench to see behind him. “Thank you, kind listeners.”
“You play wonderfully,” Cookie said. “It’s so nice to have music in the house again.”
George gazed around the room. “This is a great place for it too. Perfect acoustics.”
Maris looked around, appreciating the parlor anew. “Well, I think we can thank Aunt Glenda for that. I haven’t changed a thing.”
Cookie nodded in agreement. “I’ve got to get back to the kitchen,” she said. “But thanks very much for the musical interlude.”
George got up from the bench. “My pleasure.” He closed the keyboard cover.
“You don’t have to stop on my account,” the chef said.
As the big man put the bench back in place, he said, “It’s time to head into town.” When he was done, he looked at them. “But how about if I take a raincheck on that?”
Maris grinned at him. “You’ve got it.”
13
Back upstairs to do a bit of vacuuming, Maris happened to glance out the windows facing the front of the B&B. Although she’d been under the impression that Bowdie had left around the same time as George, his car was still parked in the gravel drive. More than that, she realized as she took a closer look, the hood was open and he was looking at the engine. Though the classic sixties era car might fit well with his blues player persona, it seemed that the older vehicle also came with some maintenance downsides.
“I wonder if I should call Jude?” she muttered.
The mechanic and owner of Flour Power Sandwiches & Gas was a wizard with all things auto related. He’d even gotten Maris her current car. If Bowdie was meant to perform today—which based on the poster and schedule he was—he might need to get some help.
But as she watched the musician duck his head under the hood, Bear’s truck appeared in the distance. It slowly approached, winding down the long drive from the coast highway. Though Bowdie must have heard the tires crunching on the gravel, he didn’t look up. He had his hands in the engine doing something. Bear parked next to him and got out.
Maris watched as their outsized handyman came over, hands in the pockets of his bib overalls, and looked at the engine. He and Bowdie seemed to exchange a few words, and the musician pointed at something. Bear stuck his head under the hood, close to where the guitarist had pointed. Then he too reached in to do something. For several moments it seemed as though the engine compartment had swallowed the two men up to the waist, but finally Bear stood up. They chatted for a while, still staring at the motor. She’d been about to stop watching and get back to cleaning, when Bear motioned to the steering wheel and said something to Bowdie.
The musician went to the driver’s side and got in, while Bear went to his truck.
“Oh,” she said. “Maybe he just needs a jump.”
But then Bear returned with a tool that Maris couldn’t make out.
“Maybe a screwdriver?” she said lowly. “Or a wrench?”
She had no clue about engines, let alone what tools were used on them.
Bear took up a position at the car’s engine where the musician had been. While he kept his eye on Bowdie, the handyman reached over to the motor with the tool. With his other hand, he gave Bowdie a signal. Even through the closed window, Maris could hear the engine fire up. Bear stood back for a few moments, just looking at the engine. Then he pocketed the tool, lifted the hood and stowed it’s support, then closed it.
By that time, Bowdie had gotten out and said something to Bear, reaching out his hand. But before the big man could grab it, the musician quickly took it back, looking at it. He rubbed his two hands together, but then shook his head.
Bear went to his truck and brought back a rag, which he handed to Bowdie, who wiped his hands. The handyman did the same, and the two men shook hands.
There was a brief exchange of words, and then Bowdie climbed in the classic car and backed away. As he made his three point turn, he gave Bear a wave and headed up the drive.
The handyman waved back, went to his truck, and got his tool bag.
Among all the other things that Bear managed to do around the lighthouse and B&B, Maris would now have to add the titles mechanic and Good Samaritan.
14
A
