Lure of Song and Magic (26 page)

Conan didn't even acknowledge them when they entered. He was going through a PDA checklist with a burly guy who kept nodding and barking into his headset.

Pippa peered around the curtain to the empty auditorium, with chairs stretching movie-theater style to the back. This was a better school than the one she'd attended. There was even a small light and sound system overhead. Oz's crew was already playing with it.

The set under construction was simple—they'd decided on an ocean theme to go with the seal story and song. Rocks adorned by big purple cardboard seals filled the background. Oz was hoping that advertising the theme and song would be enough for the Librarian to get the significance of their arrival, along with Conan's implanted messages. They'd debated putting Pippa in a lifeguard's stand but decided she could escape faster from a beach chair stationed on what was supposed to be a grassy hillock on the side of the stage. Most of the stage was left open for the real performers.

The lunch truck and its catering wagons arrived. Pippa stood in the shadows, straining to recognize faces of the local catering staff, but it had been too long, she realized in relief. Elementary school kids changed too much. She'd left Bakersfield when she was ten.

While Oz signed off on invoices, Conan cornered her, stuffing a packet into her shoulder bag. “I can find you, wherever you go. Don't do anything stupid.”

He walked off, leaving Pippa chilled to the bone.

Chapter 33

Oz watched Pippa turn pale and cursed Conan. His brother, the geek, had never learned to employ a modicum of finesse. What the hell had he said to her?

The caterer shoved an invoice in front of him, and Oz quickly perused it while listening to Nick, the director, shouting through his headset about a dancer who'd flaked out. It was impossible to rush to Pippa's side. She wouldn't want him to.

Oz's assistant signaled from the sidelines, where she stood beside a woman who looked very much like a school principal in neat navy blazer, dumpy blue dress, and comfortable shoes.

He didn't dare believe the Librarian would actually make an appearance, but he wouldn't take chances. He cut off Nick, signed the invoice, and worked his way through the tangle of cords and crew milling around the buffet tables.

“Mrs. Lillian Thompson, the principal,” his assistant said as Oz strode up.

“It's a delight to have Ms. James here today. The children are all excited,” the principal said with a good-natured twinkle in her eye. “I'm hoping most of them will be able to stay after school for the show. Anything to encourage them to read has my approval.”

Harmless and most likely not the Librarian was Oz's instant appraisal. His headset buzzed, and he ignored it to shake the lady's hand. “I appreciate your willingness to lend a stage on such short notice. If this experiment works, we may be able to travel from school to school, encouraging reading. And of course, your library will receive a substantial donation from our sponsors. Would you like to meet Ms. James?”

Silly question. But Oz figured Pippa would be more relaxed if she knew someone here and was more connected to the good they could do. He signaled his assistant to lead Pippa from her hiding place, but a problem with security had him saying farewell before she arrived.

Vowing to make it a point to know every damned person on the set or anywhere near it, Oz jogged down the steps and into the auditorium. This might be his last chance to find his son, and he wouldn't risk blowing it.

***

Pippa invited the principal to join the crew for lunch. They discussed children's literature, which was a cathartic experience. She'd never had an opportunity to actually talk books with readers, to learn what children outside the day care liked or what their parents wanted. Mrs. Thompson told her of a local writers group that included several children's book authors, and Pippa wondered what it would be like to discuss writing with them.

She'd been isolated for so long…

For good reason. Driving into L.A. for intellectual discussions would have been dangerous, especially before she had control of her Voice. Maybe now that Oz had shown her she could achieve some normality, she'd look for a town with other writers in it.

After lunch, the musicians and dancers began warming up, and Mrs. Thompson excused herself and departed. Pippa slipped into the restroom that had been cordoned off for the day and checked the papers Conan had shoved into her purse.

An Oklahoma driver's license in the name of Sarah Wright—borrowing from her mother's maiden name of Wainwright. The license he'd had delivered to Gloria last night had given her name as Jean Wright. He'd provided identical addresses in Oklahoma for both of them.

Conan knew she was leaving. Oz's brother might be blunt and rude, but he understood security. Maybe she wouldn't throw him in the pool the next time she ran into him. If there ever was a next time.

Shoving the knifing pain of departure deep down inside her as she'd eventually learned to do after she'd left the music business, Pippa breathed deeply and evenly and regained some of her Zen calm. Oz had bent over backward to make this easy for her. He didn't need her to fall apart at this crucial moment.

She found the makeup person and submitted to being plastered with a foundation color darker than her natural vampire pale, one that would look better in TV lights. She wanted to suggest purple teardrops and bright green eye shadow, but the cosmetician was trying to make her look like a lovable author, not a clown. Pippa's only insistence was that the lip color be kept to a bright red. Platinum Syrene had been known for pale pink.

Not that Pippa had any intention of revealing her face on camera if it could be avoided. She'd discussed this with Oz and the director, and they'd found a solution that suited her.

She met the costume technician who had a loose linen beach shirt and pants ready for her. Fit wasn't a problem with the drawstring waist. A huge gaudy necklace of bright-colored beads and shells added sparkle to the neutral vanilla of the shirt. The pièce de résistance was the big floppy beach hat with a band dripping with beads and shells to match the necklace. The bright red straw matched some of the bigger beads. Best of all, the broad brim could be drawn down and tilted to conceal most of Pippa's face.

Oz came over to check on her as the set director arranged her in the beach chair, and Nick Townsend ordered the light crew to make adjustments.

“Are you okay?” he asked in low tones so the people rushing around them couldn't hear.

“Not totally centered, but as close as I can get,” she replied, trying to reassure him. “Does Conan's security team all have pictures of Donal?”

“Age-enhanced,” Oz said grimly. “They've been on this case for a while. They're so jazzed, I can only pray they don't grab the wrong kid.”

“Praying is all there's left for us to do.” She squeezed his hand—she wouldn't acknowledge that it might be the last time—and then returned to professional mode, adjusting her hat according to someone's shouted command.

Oz stalked off to settle another crisis while the sound crew adjusted her microphone and cursed the floppy shirt and the beaded necklace. With the ease of experience, she clipped the mic to her necklace and shirt to avoid rattling noises and anchor the clip's weight.

Frightening that even after all these years she had as much experience as the technicians here today. It made her feel like an old wise woman before her time.

She slipped into her zone to pray that she would do the right thing when the time came—whether that time was failure or triumph.

***

Trying for Pippa's Zen calm and failing, Oz paced at the end of the stage behind her, where he could peer from behind the curtain at the audience and keep an eye on Pippa and the performance at the same time. It wasn't a big stage. He should be able to react quickly at the first sign of trouble.

He told himself that the production would move smoothly and there would be no revelations, but hope had wiggled its way out of the steel box he'd hidden it in for so long. He blamed Pippa for that. Despite her laconic attitude, her magical talent had given him reason to believe that there was a greater plan behind the void that had become his life.

He had Donal's favorite Transformer figure in his pocket. Would a kid remember his favorite toy after a year?

Oz's brother slipped out of the shadows and jerked the curtain back to observe the empty auditorium. “They're about to let the crowd in,” Conan said. “The crew has checked everyone in line against the photos of the nanny and Donal. We're not finding matches. I have people stationed at every entrance.”

Okay, so his son wasn't here. Oz tried to breathe and couldn't. He nodded and double-checked on Pippa. At least he had Pippa. He hoped. He wasn't sure if he could keep her, but he wanted to. That might be the wrong part of his brain talking. He'd straighten out his thinking later, but he was pretty damned sure Pippa with her eager kisses, creative mood swings, and blunt honesty was exactly what he needed to stay sane.

He held onto that thought as the audience filtered in, chattering happily. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the kids to look back at Pippa, but he knew she was stationed in her chair yards away, waiting for the curtain to open. She'd been trained well. No last-minute hysterics from his star.

The auditorium wasn't well lit. He could see dozens of towheaded children, but the kidnappers could have dyed Donal's hair. He needed to see faces, eye color, his son's determined little chin. His animated expression when he tore apart his Transformer toy.

Maybe Donal had outgrown Transformers and children's songs.

Maybe he was dead.

Oz clutched the curtain and continued to scan the audience, this time looking for the nanny. The place was filled with young women and their children. Heidi had been in her twenties, with long blonde hair, blue eyes, and a kind face. She could have cut and dyed her hair, so he stuck to faces. Most twenty-somethings had kind faces. Or bland ones. None of them had Pippa's character. He was obsessing. He clutched the curtain tighter and focused.

As the last of the audience wandered about, looking for seats, Oz cast a glance over his shoulder to Pippa. She was watching him. Even he could scarcely recognize her in that boringly neutral loose outfit. She could be eighty in that thing for all anyone could tell. He leered at her anyway, and her lips tilted upward in acknowledgment before she turned back to watch Nick's signals.

She was nervous. She wouldn't be paying so much attention to orders if she wasn't unsure of herself.
Breathe, Oz.

Announcer. Greetings. Lights down. He couldn't see faces at all now, only movement. A few stragglers located seats. Kids giggled, parents murmured, until the curtains opened and the magic began.

Dancing purple seals caught their interest.
Stick
to
business
, Oz reminded himself
.
The mechanical gulls caused a wave of laughter. Excellent.

He glanced back at Pippa, but she faced the stage, and he couldn't tell if she was enjoying the production based on her story. They probably needed her reading throughout the show, but for this attempt, they'd decided to let her read the whole story last. Right now, she was merely a shadow on the sidelines. The dancers and singers had the spotlight.

Latecomers began lining up along the walls and crouching down in front. Bad for fire safety, Oz suspected. If they did take the production on the road, he'd have to add an audience limit. Today, he wanted everyone here who wanted to be here.

There had to be five hundred people out there. Donal could have slipped past Conan's crew. Wiggling, giggling kids weren't easily identified in mob scenes, not by strangers, anyway. Oz wanted to walk down there with a flashlight and scan every face. After all this effort, his son had to be out there, if only he could get close enough to see him.

He couldn't believe he was actually trusting a text message—as Alys had. He had to forgive her for that. He had to let it all go and simply hope.

The production was scaled to a half-hour television format, which meant it was less than twenty-five minutes long. The spotlight fell on Pippa before Oz was prepared.

Calm and crystal clear, her voice captured the audience from the first line: “Ronan was a lonely seal who only wanted a friend.”

Straight to the heart. The purple seals on stage turned their back on the speckled one—the newcomer just appearing on stage. As Pippa read her story, the dancers formed circles, excluding the speckled seal, who retreated to his lonely rock.

The audience fell into a trancelike silence. He'd seen this happen before, back on the mountain when she'd hypnotized her listeners until she'd lured an autistic little boy out of the chaparral. He knew the spell would end a few minutes after Pippa's voice halted. She wasn't applying any emphasis, didn't do character accents or raise or lower her voice for the different animals. She simply entranced with what she called the hypnotic sound of her Voice.

Conan's crew was trying to circulate, but the crowd filling the aisles prevented it. They should have gone for a larger stadium, but Bakersfield didn't offer a lot of last-minute choices. Oz fretted, but he couldn't change anything now.

Pippa was reaching the end of the story. Several of the kids sobbed, and a couple of mothers wiped their eyes.

The musicians struck up their tune as the speckled seal barked. Pippa had updated “The Silly Seal Song” to start out as a rap tune, with lots of rhythm. The seal pounded his flippers on the rock as if it were a drum. The dancer was really getting into the gig, and Oz almost smiled. Even without Pippa's voice, the song was a winner.

The other seals turned to watch the smaller, speckled one dancing on the rocks. Pippa closed the cardboard mock-up of a book, and the Syrene soundtrack began. The live musicians toned down to accompany the CD. Syrene's voice soared through the auditorium—and the seals began to dance together.

Silent now, Pippa didn't leave her post but stared over the audience, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

Oz turned, too, praying a small boy would magically tumble out of the audience and run up to the stage, not knowing what to expect as the song played through its verses and the seals danced.

The ensuing silence wasn't the reaction they wanted.