A car pulled into the back parking lot just then. Gwen rolled her chair to the window and looked out. It was Peter, just arriving. A moment later, he appeared at her door. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” she replied, sitting forward. “How did you make out last night?”
“Good. I got some writing done. Then I spent the rest of the evening creating a Scarlett Fontaine playlist.”
Gwen’s eyebrows lifted. “A playlist?”
“Yes.” He sauntered into her office. “I was intrigued by that poem she wrote in the yearbook, which you said wasn’t a poem but song lyrics. So I was up until midnight, listening to all her songs in chronological order, according to when she wrote them.”
Gwen knew every song of Scarlett’s, but she’d never listened to the whole catalog in order. “And?”
He moved to the upholstered chair in front of her desk and sat down. “It was enlightening. You could see changes in her way of thinking, her moods, and what seemed to matter to her on a grander scale as time went on. I don’t think I truly understood Scarlett Fontaine before. But now, looking at the music ... I don’t know how to explain it, but listening to everything she wrote for hours on end was like some kind of spiritual experience.”
“I know the feeling,” Gwen told him. The music Scarlett had written at the end of her life had been Gwen’s saving grace in her darkest moments after losing Lily and then Eric. It was the only time when Gwen had felt glimmers of hope that there might be light in her life again, one day.
“I don’t think I was on the right track with my book before,” Peter continued. “I wouldn’t have been able to do it justice. And it’s not just the lyrics, which I want to talk to you about. It was the way she married the lyrics with the melodies. No wonder those songs are classics. She should be up there with the greats like Cole Porter or Andrew Lloyd Webber. Or the Beatles.”
“I’ve always thought that,” Gwen replied, feeling somewhat electrified. “Her fans come here, and they remark about how gorgeous she was or what a wonderful sense of style she had. I have a whole display about the songs she wrote, but people are more interested in the superficial things—like her ball gowns and the characters she played in her films.” Gwen drummed her fingers on the armrest. “It’s because she’s a woman, you know. That’s why she didn’t receive proper recognition for contributing to the soundtracks of her films. The studios only wanted to promote her beauty.”
Peter slowly nodded.
“If you ask me,” Gwen added, “her music is her greatest achievement. That should be her true legacy—or at least be equal to everything else.”
“I agree.” Peter sat forward. “So I want to talk to you about the lyrics. I took notes last night, and I think there might be some clues about Alaska. If you have a few minutes this morning, come upstairs, and we can talk about it.”
“I’ll do that,” Gwen replied. “But I have something to share with you as well.” She reached for her mouse and clicked to open her email program. “I heard back from the museum curator in Alaska. His name is Douglas Warren, and he said he would reach out to some local residents who survived the quake and still live in Valdez. Someone might be able to identify the man in the photograph.”
“That would be amazing,” Peter replied.
They looked across the desk at each other. Neither of them seemed to have anything more to say, but the air between them seemed alive with exhilaration.
It became awkward suddenly, so Gwen dropped her gaze, and Peter glanced at his watch. “Is now a good time for you to come upstairs?”
“I just have a few things to finish up here first.” Feeling oddly flustered, Gwen reached for her purse. “Susie’s not in today, so I’m going to trust you with the key.” She removed it from her key ring and handed it across the desk. “You can give it back to me later.”
“Thanks,” he replied as he stood. He picked up his laptop case and gave her a friendly smile. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
“For sure.” She nodded, then sat back and watched him walk out of her office.
“Come and see this,” Peter said as soon as Gwen entered the archive room.
She moved closer to a coiled notebook on the table that was full of handwritten notes, scrawled hurriedly.
“This is the theme song from the filmLast Look at You, which came out in 1969. Read the third verse, after the bridge.”
Rivers of ice from mountains to sea
Thunder resounds without rain
The eagle will soar, and the earth will roar
And always, love will remain
“Those images sound like Alaska,” Gwen said. “The earth will roar.That could be an earthquake.”
He flipped forward a few pages. “And how about this one? This was a song she wrote in 1974. It was recorded by a female jazz singer who turned it into a mainstream hit. Almost no one is aware that Scarlett wrote it.”
Gwen bent over the notebook. “She wrote a lot of songs that were sold to popular recording artists. That’s the bulk of her estate—theroyalties from her original songs that are still recorded by new artists today.”
