Page 1

Chapter 1

As the final strains of “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” rang through the recreation room of the Shelter Inn retirement apartments, Hannah Goodwin did her best to maintain a cheerful smile, despite a few discordant notes.

“That was excellent,” she said. “I love your enthusiasm.”

“We sound fantastic.” Jonas Littlebear beamed at her. “Like a choir of freaking angels.”

Well, Hannah wouldn’t exactly go that far but she wasn’t about to argue with an eighty-year-old man wielding a cane.

“Not bad for a bunch of old people,” Sylvester Reid, Jonas’s best friend and partner in crime, said as he nudged the other man with his shoulder.

“Not bad at all,” she agreed. “You and the other tenors came in right on key during the second chorus.”

The rest of the song, not so much, but she wasn’t going to burst their bubble. This little impromptu group was practicing for a good cause. Nobody was expecting the Tabernacle Choir.

“This was only our first practice,” Mabel Mulcahy said. “We have almost a month before the benefit concert. We’ll get better.”

Hannah could only hope. “Thank you all for showing up,” she said to the group of twenty or so senior citizens. “I know how busy everyone is, getting items ready to sell in your booth at the holiday market.”

“We’re old,” Kano Ipo said with his trademark mischievous smile. “We’ve got nothing but time.”

She knew that wasn’t precisely true. The Shelter Inn sponsored many activities to keep their residents active and engaged in the world around them, from sewing classes to water aerobics to a pretty fierce regular Bunco night. One of those activities was music therapy, her particular specialty. Once a week, she had open sessions at the Shelter Inn, aimed at fostering socialization, triggering happy memories and helping support cognitive health.

It was one of her favorite sessions of her busy schedule as an independent music therapist. She never left the place without a smile on her face.

“Great job, as always,” Birdie Lovell said, giving her a hug as the woman left the room on the arm of her longtime beau, Paulo Arredondo.

“Thanks, Birdie.”

The Shelter Inn retirement apartment complex was filled with feisty characters and strong personalities. Hannah adored them all. Even Mabel Mulcahy, who seemed to have a PhD in know-it-all opinions.

“Those tenors were flat,” Mabel said, true to form, frowning as she watched Hannah return the bells used on the last number they had practiced to her rolling cart.

“A little,” she agreed. What was the point in arguing? “We still have time to work on it.”

“I hope we’re not getting scammed. Are you sure this Morgan person really has cancer? I listened to a podcast about somebody who scammed hundreds of thousands of dollars from people by claiming she had cancer. I wouldn’t want you to look like a fool in front of the whole town.”

“Thanks, Mabel. I appreciate that. But I can promise you Morgan has cancer.”

“I’m just saying. Anybody can claim they have cancer,” Mabel muttered on her way out the door. “Doesn’t mean they do.”

Hannah knew without question that Morgan was in the early stages of a tough battle. She had been chatting with Morgan in the school library at the elementary school where Morgan worked after another music therapy session there when the other woman received the phone call from her doctor asking her to come in right away.

Her friend had looked so terrified that Hannah had offered to go with her. The widowed mother of two school-age children was all alone. She had only lived in their small town of Shelter Springs, Idaho, six months and didn’t have much of a support system except her fellow teachers and her new circle of friends.

Hannah, part of a big, loving family and a resident of Shelter Springs most of her life, couldn’t even imagine it.

She had heard the diagnosis herself and had witnessed Morgan’s shock and fear. That’s why she had decided that the annual benefit concert she organized would still support the local food bank as planned but that some of the proceeds would go to help Morgan.

She had no regrets whatsoever about that decision.

After she finished collecting all the other instruments, she wheeled her cart out of the recreation room. She was passing the office when her friend McKenna Dodd, who owned and managed the Shelter Inn along with her aunt, poked her head out.

“How did practice go?” McKenna asked.

“Really great. The bell choir number sounds fantastic and the other choir is . . . coming along.”

McKenna laughed. “I heard some of it from here. They don’t sound terrible.”