Chapter Twenty-One
Clara was alone. Blessedly alone. Apart from Zane, everyone had left the inn for the day. She sat at the piano, sipping her hot cranberry-apple cider and thinking about the composition she’d labelled Zane, even though the song only existed in her head. She’d played for an hour last night. First for Zane, then quietly in her suite with headphones and her keyboard. She was looking forward to practicing on the piano now that she was alone.
Zane was upstairs working on his novel. He’d mentioned downloading a Zen music writing app and was going to work with headphones on. With him occupied, she was safe to practice her newest piece and maybe create something else to sell. She still had to finish the piece she was composing for her grand opening Christmas party, an event that still existed only in her head. She really needed to invite people.
Half of her wished Zane would come down. She was giddy with excitement and wanted to share her news. This morning, she’d received a contract from a major Hollywood producer for the rights to use one of her scores in an upcoming sci-fi movie. She hadn’t considered it a fantasy piece, but they liked it. Sales of her scores, and of the pieces she’d recorded in a sound studio, were selling well lately. She needed to find a local studio to record more pieces. She was making enough that she didn’t have to worry about not booking every room every single night.
The freedom from pressure felt incredible and was fueling her creative muse. Time to create something new. But first, a playthrough of the piece dedicated to the man who had sparked the muse stolen away by a pouting rock star. Zane’s piece marked the rebirth of her musical creativity.
She started at the beginning, with the notes she’d found the day he arrived, and played it through to the results of last night’s kiss. She made a small modification, altering eight bars, and then played it again. The song was finally right. Unfortunately, it felt unfinished. Worse than that, it reminded her of the musical score for a romance movie. She hadn’t intended that.
“That sounds good. It reminds me of rolling emotions. I heard fear, joy and sorrow and half a dozen other emotions.”
Zane’s comment didn’t startle her. Somehow, she’d known the second he entered the room. His insight into the composition surprised her. Many people didn’t pick up music’s emotion without vocal accompaniment. They were often oblivious to the way a musical score upped the emotions in a movie. “Shouldn’t you be writing?” She started playing the piece from the first chords.
“Should be. I’ve been stalled for days. Are you busy?”
She looked up at him without ceasing to play. The melody sounded better when he was right there. It felt more emotional, less technical. “I’ve got time. What can I do for you?”
He walked over and leaned on the piano, looking down at her. Dang, he smelled incredible. Like soap, sandalwood, and man. He seemed embarrassed. He kept glancing at the ceiling and then back at her. “Can I bounce a few ideas off you? I need to work out some details with my book and I can’t seem to do it alone. I was thinking another mind might help. I need to find a writing group and a critique partner.”
Her hands fell still. “A critique partner?”What in the world was that?
“Someone to discuss ideas. To brainstorm. I’ve read about it, but there doesn’t seem to be a writing group here, at least not one that I can find. Maybe, if I shared my issue with you, I might find some insight. If you don’t mind.”
“Sure. I’m not sure I’m critique partner material, but I’ll listen. Let’s grab some coffee.”
“Can you play and talk?”
“I can. Do you want me to?” Playing from memory and talking wasn’t difficult but composing required complete focus. “Anything special you want to hear?”
“Not really. I like listening to you. It relaxes me.”
“What’s your book about?” She started playing some simple scales.
“It’s a murder mystery. In the style of Lee Child’sJack Reacherseries. It starts when a homeless woman stumbles on a dead body in an alley.”
Clara played some discordant minor chords. Zane laughed. “Yeah, like that.” He went on, explaining his plot, and she played random bits of songs and classical music to fit what he was saying. “Then, I’m stuck.”
A deep frown furrowed his brow. Leaning against the piano’s enormous Christmas floral arrangement, the frown made her think of the Grinch. She was careful not to grin at the mental image. She wouldn’t want him to think she was laughing at his idea.
She played a snippet with a sorrowful, questioning tone. “What’s your killer’s motivation? Why did he kill the rich guy and why is he stalking the medical examiner? I’m not seeing the connection.” His story was intriguing. She wasn’t one for mysteries, but she’d read this one. He had her hooked.
“That’s just it. I don’t know.” He sighed heavily.
“He must have a reason for killing. Did the killer work for the dead man? Was the dead guy cheating with the killer’s wife? Does he have a wife? What if the victim ran over the killer’s dog? What made his brain snap hard enough that he’d kill? People don’t kill without a reason. Even if we don’t understand their reason, they have one. Is the businessman ethical? A mob boss?” She threw out question after question. Anything that came to her mind, she asked.
“I like the way you think,” Zane praised. “You’ve given me a dozen ideas. What if the killer murdered the businessman because something he did caused the killer’s wife to die?”
“That’s a great idea. You could run with that and see where it goes.” She played an exciting snippet fromThe Sorcerer’s Apprenticeby Paul Dukas. They discussed half a dozen options but kept returning to faulty business practices leading to anger and death.
“Thanks, you really helped clear things up for me. I loved the musical flourishes too. They really added mood to the story. I should have recorded you so I could play back the music while working.”
Clara laughed. “What on earth for?” Why would he want random snippets of music?
“The music inspires me. If I knew what the bits were and where to find them, I’d make myself a playlist to write by.”
“I can create a list for you. I know what I played. It’s not difficult.”
