Chapter 2 - The Woman in the Old Photograph
No one moved.
Victor Langford stood several feet from the piano, staring at Daniel as though the young waiter had stepped out of a nightmare.
“What did you say?” he asked.
Daniel remained seated.
“My mother taught me that song when I was six.”
Victor’s voice became quieter.
“What was her name?”
Before Daniel could answer, the elderly woman near the stage hurried forward. Her name was Eleanor Price, a former concert director who had organized some of the most prestigious musical events in the country.
She reached Daniel and gently took his wrist.
The guitar tattoo was old and uneven, clearly copied from another image.
“Where did you get this?” Eleanor asked.
Daniel looked at her with uncertainty.
“My mother had the same one. Before she died, she asked me to have it copied.”
Eleanor’s eyes filled with tears.
“What was her name?”
“Lydia Reed.”
A shocked murmur spread through the ballroom.
Eleanor released his wrist and covered her mouth.
Victor took another step backward.
“That’s impossible.”
Daniel stood.
“You knew her.”
Victor shook his head.
“No.”
“You recognized the song.”
“I recognize many songs.”
“That one was never released.”
Victor looked around the ballroom, suddenly aware that every guest was watching him.
He forced a laugh, but it sounded weak.
“This is some kind of performance. Someone arranged this.”
Daniel reached into the inside pocket of his waiter’s jacket.
Security guards near the entrance shifted immediately, but Eleanor raised one hand.
“Let him speak.”
Daniel removed a worn photograph.
It showed a much younger Lydia standing outside a small music studio. Beside her was Victor, nearly twenty years younger, holding a guitar case and smiling toward the camera.
Daniel placed the photograph on the piano.
The guests closest to him leaned forward.
Victor did not need to look.
He already knew the picture.
He had believed it had been destroyed.
“Where did you find that?” he demanded.
“In my mother’s belongings.”
Victor’s expression hardened.
“What do you want?”
Daniel looked directly at him.
“I came here to work.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the truth. I didn’t know you would be here until I saw your name on the event program.”
Eleanor picked up the photograph with trembling fingers.
“There were three people in the original group,” she said. “Lydia, Victor, and a composer named Samuel Vale.”
Victor turned toward her.
“This has nothing to do with tonight.”
Eleanor’s gaze sharpened.
“It has everything to do with tonight. That melody was Samuel’s unfinished concerto.”
Daniel frowned.
“My mother said she wrote it.”
Eleanor looked at him, then at Victor.
“Then your mother lied to protect someone.”
The ballroom doors suddenly opened.
An older man in a dark coat entered, carrying a narrow wooden case.
When Victor saw him, fear replaced anger.
The newcomer stopped beneath the chandelier.
“You should have let the boy finish the piece,” he said.
Daniel stared at him.
“Who are you?”
May you like
The man placed the wooden case on the nearest table.
“My name is Samuel Vale.”
