The older drummer regarded Megan. “How’s your story about the festival coming?”
Though she hesitated for a moment and gave Maris a quick glance, the hawkish look turned softer as she smiled at Spats. “It turns out that it’s all about the personalities, past and present.” She was tentative at first, but gained some momentum. “From the woman who started the festival because of her love of the blues, to the people who actually play it; people from every walk of life brought together for one purpose–”
“Great music,” Maris interjected, smiling.
“Great wine,” Bowdie said, lifting his glass.
“Great digs,” Spats added, lifting his glass too.
“Great food,” George agreed, and lifted his plate. Everyone laughed with the big man.
Megan finally lifted her glass as well. “To the musicians who made it possible,” she said, and everyone drank with her.
Maris eyed her retired guest for a moment. “I wonder if everyone knows that George is a musician as well.”
“What?” Spats said. He turned to the big man. “You play?”
George seemed to shrink a little under the sudden attention. “I used to.”
Maris put down her wine, went to him, and put a hand on his shoulder. “False modesty, I’m afraid. George was kind enough to play for Cookie, Mojo, and I the other day.”
“So you’re holding out on us,” Bowdie said. “What do you play?”
George smiled a bit shyly. “Piano.”
“Blues piano,” Maris added.
Spats set down his plate. “Well let’s hear some.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to make you–”
Bowdie stepped forward. “We’ve been playing all day, man. It’d be great to listen.”
George looked around the room. “Well, if you insist…”
“We do,” Maris said.
In a few moments they had all moved to the parlor, where George sat down and began to play. It was an upbeat tune, quick and peppy, that Maris seemed to recognize. Spats immediately beamed at Bowdie and the two men stepped closer to the piano. Heads bopped and toes tapped as the brief intro led into the song.
“Got my mojo working,” the three men sang, “but it just won’t work on you. Got my mojo working but it just won’t work on you.”
Maris joined in as well. “Got my mojo working but it just won’t work on you.”
Just then Mojo appeared in the doorway, and Maris went to pick him up, singing, “I want to love you so bad.” She hugged the fluffy black cat close. “But I just don’t know what to do.”
Although Megan grinned at Mojo, the men hadn’t seen him, concentrating on the song. As they belted out the rest of the verse, Bowdie sang a harmony and Spats began to clap in time. George’s fingers flew over the keyboard, and it was over all too soon.
Applause erupted and Mojo meowed his signature sound in appreciation, making everyone laugh.
Bowdie and Spats patted George on the shoulders.
“We’ve got a natural here,” Spats said.
Bowdie nodded. “We make a good band,” he declared.
Spats thought for a moment, as George swiveled around. “You know what, I think we do.”
“I’d have to agree,” Megan said. “That was pretty nice.”
“A small band can be tight,” Bowdie said, the gears turning behind his eyes. He looked down at the still seated piano player. “You know what I mean?”
The big man nodded. “Oh, definitely. A band’s got to gel. If the magic isn’t there, it just isn’t.”
The younger guitarist nodded. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“Takes more than musicianship,” Spats agreed. He glanced at Maris. “We can all play our part, but it takes real teamwork to pull off a song that sounds so together.”
Maris smiled at him. “I never thought of that.”
“Say, George,” Bowdie said to him. “You wouldn’t be interested in maybe getting together with me and Spats for a little studio time, would you?”
George seemed to be bursting at the seams. “You bet I would. I haven’t seen the inside of a studio for decades.”
Megan had taken one of the napkins and clicked her pen. When Maris glanced at her, she said, “Just want to note the date, the time, and the place.” She lowered her voice. “I think we might just have seen the birth of something special.”
Mojo squirmed to be put down and trotted immediately over to George, who patted his lap. “Come on up, little fella.”
“Let’s do another,” Spats said. “George, you want to start us off?”
Mojo remained in the big man’s lap as he turned to the piano and started playing.
Maris had to smile. Megan could be right. They might be witnessing the start of the next big blues band.
But as she watched the trio, her thoughts went unexpectedly back to the thefts. Something in the back of her mind, suddenly jumped to the front, and she understood why the missing items had made no sense. More importantly, she knew who was responsible for the larceny. She smiled even wider. Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day.
30
The next morning was a whirlwind of activity. After breakfast, the guests had all departed, with fervent wishes for a return visit next year. Maris and Cookie worked until noon stripping the beds and bathrooms and putting on fresh linens. Though new guests weren’t expected for a couple of days, they both liked to see the B&B looking good.
“An unmade bed…” Cookie said, as she took up the fresh towels, passing Maris on the stairs.
“Is a messy bed,” Maris said, taking down the trash.
In her hospitality career, she had always been a stickler for having everything in readiness. Though their next guests might not be expected until later in the week, now they were ready for a traveler who might simply be stopping by. The bonus was knowing that everything was neat and tidy as well.
Once the upstairs was ready, they met in the kitchen.
“I think I’ll skip the dusting and vacuuming today,” Maris said, taking a seat at the butcher block.
Cookie was heating some water for tea. “Me too,” she
