How to Score (42 page)

“After you,” Ms. Arnette said.

“No, no.” Mr. Landry swept his hand in front of him. “Ladies first.”

Arlene fingered her necklace. Sammi realized she wasn’t wearing her customary pearls, but a narrow gold chain with a something on it that looked like a star-shaped leaf. Sammi looked at her quizzically. She’d never seen the woman look anything less than completely self-composed, but right now she looked unsure of herself. Nervous, even.

Arlene stroked the leaf pendant that Walter had given her, drew a deep breath, and looked at Sammi. “I want to apologize. I know I’ve been resistant to the changes you want to make at the museum, and I know I’ve made things difficult for you. And I’m sorry.”

Sammi stared at her, her hazel eyes wide and surprised.

“I haven’t been fair to you.” Walter gave her hand an encouraging little squeeze. Arlene drew a steadying breath. “The truth is, ever since you arrived, Sammi, I’ve felt, well… threatened. I thought that if you changed things at the museum, your changes would cancel out all my work. And my work had been my life.”

She glanced over at the man beside her. He winked, and she smiled. “And then I met Walter, and, well, he’s helped me see things differently.”

Walter’s arm settled around her, warm and reassuring. His arm made her feel different than Chandler’s arm used to make her feel. When Chandler had put his arm around her, she’d felt as though she belonged to him. When Walter put his arm around her, she felt like she belonged to herself.

And she did. She knew that now. She was whole and complete, all on her own. She wasn’t second-best or less than anyone else. It was high time she learned to love and accept herself just as she was. Maybe even time to let someone else love and accept her, too.

Arlene smiled at Sammi. “You’re going to be a wonderful head curator, Sammi. First thing Monday morning, I’m telling the board that I’m retiring, effective immediately, and that they should look to you for leadership.”

Sammi’s mouth fell open.

Arlene grinned. That hadn’t hurt a bit. In fact, she felt lighter and freer than she had in decades.

Walter rubbed his hand up and down Arlene’s arm and smiled down at her, his chest filled with pride. She’d handled that like a champ. Now it was his turn.

He turned to Sammi. “I owe you an apology, as well,” he told her. “You were right about this house being special. Truth is, my late wife thought so, too, and I—well, I just didn’t want to listen. That’s always been my Achilles’ heel, not being willing to listen to anyone who has ideas that run contrary to mine.”

Arlene pressed his hand. He pressed hers back.

“I can think of no better person to have this house than you, Sammi—so if you still want to buy it, why, I’d be more than happy to sell it to you for a price you can afford.”

Sammi blinked. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s simple. Say yes. And there’s no hurry; I’ve decided to indefinitely postpone my move to Arizona.”

Sammi scooted to the edge of her chair. “That’s very kind, Mr. Landry—not to mention generous—but the truth is, this house should be shared with the public. I would love to see the museum buy it and move it.”

“Move it?”

“Yes.” Sammi leaned forward. “I checked into the possibility of having it relocated, and I found a company that specializes in that. They came out and looked at it, and they said this place is small enough and sturdy enough to be moved.”

“Where would you put it?” Walter asked.

Sammi shot an anxious glance at Arlene. “I was thinking that the grounds behind the carriage house at the Phelps Mansion would be perfect.”

Walter tensed as he looked down at Arlene. It was one thing for her to turn over the reins to Sammi; it was quite another to be hit with a drastic change right off the bat.

But Arlene rose to the occasion. “What an interesting idea.”

Sammi’s face grew animated. “It could be a whole separate exhibit, showcasing the different interpretations of art deco.”

Arlene turned to Walter. “And you could still sell the lot.”

“That’s true.” He didn’t really need the money, but he was sure he could think of ways to spend it on Arlene.

Maybe he would take her to Paris.

Arlene smiled at Sammi. “That’s an absolutely, positively marvelous idea.”

Sammi jumped from her chair, dashed across the room, and threw her arms around them both. “You two are wonderful!”

They were wonderful together, Walter thought as he smiled at Arlene. And if things worked out as he hoped, the house wasn’t the only thing that would soon be relocated.

“Sammi? This is Horace.”

“Oh, Horace!” Sammi grinned as she held the phone to her ear with one hand and filled Joe’s enormous bowl with dog food with the other. The dog’s entire backside wiggled as he wagged his stump of a tail. “How are you? How’s your hip?”

“Oh, it’s fine. Nearly all healed. It’s made me something of a celebrity at work.”

“I imagine so! Are things going better there?” On the trip back to Tulsa from the hospital, Horace had spilled out the story of his life.

“Much better. I’ve started eating lunch with some people from Escrow.”

“That’s wonderful. How’s the apartment?”

“Oh, it’s great! And I owe it all to you and Luke.”

“I didn’t do anything but help you move some boxes. You and Luke did all the real work.”

“Yeah. Without his coaching, I never would have found the courage.”

That wasn’t Luke; that had been Chase. And as much as she wanted to fault him for impersonating his brother, she couldn’t deny that he’d been a big help to Horace. “How is your mother taking it?”

“Oh, she says I’m giving her a stroke. But I keep my head in the game and my eye on the goal, just like Luke says.”

“Good for you!”

“I bought her one of those necklaces people wear that will call 911 in case of an emergency. And I call her every day, but I don’t let her run my life anymore.”

“I’m so proud of you, Horace!”

“Thanks.” He sounded proud of himself. “Listen—I called to tell you that I’m performing at the outdoor coffee shop on Riverside Drive on Saturday.”

“That’s wonderful!”

“Yeah. And I wanted to ask if you’d come. I figured that if Luke can be a secret agent as well as a life coach, well, I can be an accordion rapper as well as an accountant.”

“That’s terrific, Horace.” Sammi hesitated. “Is he going to be there?”

“Luke? No. He’ll be out of town, doing his secret-agent stuff. That’s why I’m calling you. I’ve never performed in public before, and I’m terrified. It would help a whole lot to see a friendly face in the crowd.”

How could she refuse? “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Horace.”

The scent of coffee wafted across Java Hut’s outdoor courtyard as a long-faced man leaned toward the microphone, intoning each word like Lincoln delivering the Gettysburg Address.

Dropping like mouse turds,

Your harsh words,

Soiled my soul.

The wretched retchings of your rant

Left me feeling like an unwatered plant—

Shriveled, dry, and ready to crack.

“His poetry’s doing that to me,” Chloe muttered.

Sammi elbowed her. “Behave. It was your idea to come with me, remember?”

Beneath the table, Joe twitched his tail. It had also been Chloe’s idea to bring the dog along on the outing.

The craggy-faced poet leaned toward the mike again.

Your anger dripped like blood from vampire’s fangs

Or Vitalis from Elvis’s bangs.

“Wow. He’s really deep,” Horace whispered, his eyes wide with awe.

“Yeah. Makes me wish I’d worn hip boots,” Chloe said.

“Maybe I should try to put more angst into my rap,” Horace worried.

Sammi patted his arm. “The world has enough angst, Horace. It needs more people who’ll lighten the load.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I do.”

The poet continued:

You ground my dreams

Like coffee beans,

And cracked the eggs of my tomorrows

Into a rancid omelette of sorrows.

The man gazed dramatically at the back wall like a basset hound in mourning, then bent in a deep bow.

The few scattered patrons offered up limp applause—except for Horace, who jumped to his feet, clapping loudly. He looked around and then promptly sat back down.

A jeans-clad brunette with long hair whose name tag identified her as the coffee shop manager stepped up to the microphone. “Thank you, Mark, for that insightful and thought-provoking piece.” She looked at a list in her hand. “Next up is Horace Mann, who’s going to treat us to his unique blend of accordion rap.”

Horace’s moon-pie face creased anxiously. “Oh, dear—that’s me!”

Sammi patted his arm. “You’re going to be great,” she reassured him.

Horace opened the case on the table, pulled out his accordion and put it around his neck, then awkwardly lumbered from his chair. He shot Sammi a pleading glance. “Would you do me a favor and come sit closer?”

Sympathy surged through her. “Sure.”

She and Chloe picked up their lattes and Joe’s leash and moved to the wrought-iron table closest to the stage. Horace sat on the barstool and adjusted the microphone.

He played a reedy caterwaul of accordion chords, then leaned tentatively toward the mike. “Hi there.” He tapped the mike. “I’m, uh, really nervous, so I have a friend who’s going to help me out on the first song.”

Sammi looked at Chloe, her eyebrows drawn in confusion. What was going on? Chloe refused to meet her gaze.

She was wondering if Horace was going to call her up to join him, when a tall man emerged from the shadows. Her heart stopped, then beat double time as the light hit his face.
Chase
. And he was headed toward Horace. Sammi’s mouth fell open as he picked the microphone off the stand. Horace played several rhythmic accordion chords. As Sammi watched in shock, Chase held the mike close to his mouth.

My brother’s life was threatened and he wouldn’t leave town

’Cause his life-coach clients needed him around.

So I offered to coach them while he was away

And a woman called up on the very first day.