Lady Blues Read online

  I slid the blue glass cookware into the oven and turned to him. “Hey, Oscar.”

  I guess something in my tone must have alerted him. His eyes narrowed and he touched my shoulder. “You okay?”

  I avoided his eyes and smiled. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Problems with memories popping up?” he asked, peeking under the lid of the homemade applesauce.

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  He knew precisely how I felt, having lost a son in the war years ago, and recently having buried their beloved collie, Jasper. We didn’t need to speak the words. He just understood.

  “You did a fine job this week. Lily really needed you. I’m proud of you, son.”

  An embarrassed laugh puffed from my lips. “It wasn’t much. Camille and Maddy made a lot of the arrangements.”

  “Well, be that as it may…”

  I checked the pork loin sizzling in the oven, allowing a spicy aroma to fill the air.

  Oscar started poking around in the shelves by the wall phone. “Where’s your phone book, Gus?”

  I pointed. “Bottom shelf, behind the recipe box.”

  He grabbed the phone book and set it on the table, flipping through pages. “Aha.”

  I stirred the Bavarian cabbage, looking over my shoulder at him. “What’d you find?”

  He grabbed a pencil and started circling entries. “Kip said Arabella’s family relocated to Rochester when they moved up from Baton Rouge.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “There are twelve entries for Dubois in here. Some are spelled Du Bois, with a space. A few with a capital B. But any one of them might be related to Arabella, and might remember Kip.”

  A grin spread across my face. “Oscar. Leave it to you. We’ve been searching the Internet for days now, with no luck. And here you find leads galore, right in the old-fashioned phone book.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Sometimes the old ways are the best, don’t-you-know? Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been using the Net to find historical links for the past few years. But sometimes, picking up a telephone book is just the ticket.”

  I leaned down to embrace him and impulsively kissed his cheek, noting the scent of his Old Spice aftershave. “Thanks.”

  He blushed and laughed. “Well, you don’t have to get all mushy on me.”

  I smiled and leaned over to check the names he’d circled.

  ***

  Later, I sat in our bedroom in the blue silk wing chair that was Elsbeth’s favorite. The phone, warm from overuse, lay between my neck and shoulder. My fingers tapped nervously on the pad of paper in my lap. Two more numbers to try.

  Dinner was a success, doused with uproarious laughter, peppered with the squeals of toddlers. Nahum had generously offered to return Kip to Bello Mondo a few hours after we finished eating. Before he left, I showed Kip the phone book with Oscar’s circled entries. His eyebrows had risen with anticipation, and he quickly scribbled his room phone number in the margin of the book.

  “If you find anyone who knew Arabella, I want to meet with them. Be sure to call me.” He pointed emphatically at his phone number. Strangely, the nests of wrinkles through which he smiled had seemed to recede as his memory returned. I knew it must be just my imagination, but he looked and acted years younger.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll call you if I find anyone.”

  He’d walked out slowly, using a cane and leaning on Nahum’s arm.

  “Okay,” I muttered to myself, “just a few more.”

  I dialed.

  “Yes?”

  I started in on the spiel that by now seemed like a recording. “Hello, I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’m looking for relatives of a lady named Arabella Mae Dubois. She was a blues singer, and we believe she got her start in New York City.”

  “May I ask who’s calling?” The man’s cultured voice articulated with care, as if he had studied elocution at some time. A thrill of excitement raced through me. He hadn’t shut me down on the first question.

  “Uh, yes, of course. My name is Gus LeGarde, I’m a professor of music at Conaroga University.”

  “Ah. A fellow professor. My name is Curtis Dubois, recently retired from the University of Rochester Mathematics.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Curtis.” I took a deep breath and forged ahead. “So, did you know Arabella?”

  “Yes, indeed. But, could you please elaborate? Why are you interested?”

  I explained about Kip, his lack of identity, and his desire to speak to anyone who might have known Arabella. I suggested that perhaps old papers or photos, even a diary, might reveal his name.

  When I finished, Curtis didn’t say anything. The pause lasted too long, and I wondered what had pushed him to such stillness.

  “Curtis? Are you still there?”

  He cleared his throat, but the words came thick with emotion. “I’d like to meet this gentleman,” he said. “Where is he?”

  I explained about Bello Mondo and Kip’s residency there.

  “I’m in Conesus, on the other side of the lake from you. We probably could wave to each other on a clear day.”

  “So close?” I said. “Amazing. When do you think you could visit? I’d like to be there, if you don’t mind. I’ve sort of befriended Kip and would like to help him. I’ll be there tomorrow around ten. Any chance—”

  “That will be fine. I’ll meet you at ten.”

  He hung up abruptly, and didn’t elaborate about his relationship with Arabella.

  Was he a cousin? Nephew? Grandson?

  It didn’t matter. Here was a living person who knew Kip’s Arabella, and who seemed willing to talk about her. I called Kip, shared the news, and agreed to meet him in the morning.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  I rose early Monday morning, excited about meeting Curtis Dubois.

  After breakfasting with Camille, I hurried to the college and labored through my eight o’clock class. The minutes crawled and my mind wandered several times during the lecture. Much to my students’ surprise, I let them go ten minutes early and headed back to my office.

  Maddy sat at her computer, frowning at the screen. Without turning her head, she spoke to me as if we’d been in a conversation for the past hour.

  “So, you’re meeting this Dubois fellow today?” Her brow wrinkled. “Camille called last night to tell me.”

  I sat behind my desk and woke up my computer. “Yep. He’s coming to the nursing home at ten.”

  She moved her mouse sporadically, then lifted it up and banged it on the desk. “Stupid mouse. It’s not working, Gus.”

  “Hold on a sec. Let me see it.” I wheeled my office chair to her desk and opened my hand. “Give it here.”

  She pushed up a dozen silver bracelets clinking on her wrist and almost threw the mouse at me. “It’s useless. I need a new one.”

  I twisted the plate covering the ball and popped it out. Just as I thought, fuzz was wrapped around the roller shafts. “Give me your tweezers,” I said without looking up. I held out my hand, and after a second of rummaging, she found them.

  “Here. Good luck.” She still sounded furious.

  I poked and pulled at the fuzzy lumps, making slow progress. “So, what’s really bugging you, Maddy?”

  She harrumphed and stood, striding to the window. “Why should I tell you? You’re just a… man.”

  She said the word “man” as if it were a curse. I laughed in spite of myself. “Just a man? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She leaned against the window and sighed.

  “Is something wrong between you and Joe?” I asked.

  She stalled, twirling a silver medallion glistening on her bodice. “Well, nothing serious. He just infuriates me sometimes.”

  I chuckled and popped the mouse ball back into its housing. “Is this about setting the wedding date again?”

  Her silence informed me I was getting warm. “I want to do a double wedding with Freddie and Adam. Joe thinks that’s tacky.” She huffed and used
air quotes. “Tacky! Of all things!”

  I didn’t tell her I agreed with Joe, but concentrated on the mouse. When the screen saver blinked off, photos of wedding gowns filled the page. “Aha. Well, that’s between you two, of course.”

  She returned to her desk and quickly clicked out of the wedding website. “Sorry. I just finished entering those grades for you and was checking the price on this gown I like.”

  “Not a problem, Maddy.” I wheeled back to my desk, checked my email, and logged off. It was almost ten.

  “Listen, I may not be back for lunch. If anyone needs me, tell them I’ll hold office hours from three to four this afternoon.”

  The wedding gowns flickered back on the monitor. She smoothed her red crepe dress and crossed her legs, already engrossed in dreams. “Okay. But don’t be late.”

  ***

  Kip and I sat in heightened anticipation in his room, our backs to the window, facing the doorway. Dressed to the nines, he wore his red suspenders and a black bow tie. His freshly combed silver hair covered the bald spot in the back. The clock on the wall ticked and tripped forward. Two minutes past ten. We exchanged smiles and small talk.

  Kip held the photo of Bella, smoothing its surface with his gnarled hand. “He said ten o’clock?”

  I nodded. “Yup.”

  “Maybe he’s had trouble at the front desk. The ice princess isn’t the most friendly receptionist,” he said.

  I laughed and was about to get up to check when Debbie entered with a light-skinned black gentleman. He looked to be somewhere between late sixties to early seventies, stood tall and thin, and wore his curly white-gray hair stylishly long.

  Debbie touched the arm of his navy blue blazer and made introductions. “Kip. Gus. This is Curtis Dubois.”

  I stood and shook his hand. He nodded politely to me, removing his golf cap and tucking it under his arm. He approached Kip’s chair, clasping Kip’s hand with both of his. “It’s a great honor to meet you, Kip.”

  Kip looked at the man curiously. “Really? Well, thank you.”

  Curtis pulled up a chair. “Anyone who was a friend of my mother’s is a friend of mine.”

  Kip and I stared at Curtis with open mouths. He gently took the photo from Kip’s hand.

  “Your mother?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He held the photo to the light. “I’ve never seen this one. It’s a beauty.”

  Kip recovered before I did. “Er, yes. It is. I’ve cherished it for seventy years. Along with that bundle of letters over there.”

  Curtis looked at the pile. “My. That’s quite a stack. I hope you don’t mind me asking, but were they…love letters?”

  Kip blushed. “This might be awkward for you, my boy. I’m sure I knew her before she married your father. But, to put it bluntly, your mother and I had a love affair. I don’t remember my own name, or the circumstances in which we parted, but I do remember my dear Arabella.”

  Curtis whistled, hands in his pockets, looking out the window. “My mother never married. That’s why I bear her family name.”

  Kip frowned and sighed. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard on you.”

  Curtis smiled. “Oh, it wasn’t so bad. My mother always spoke of my father with great affection. She still has a picture of him on her mantle. He died overseas, in the war. On the coast of France, so she tells me.”

  My heart stopped, then started beating again rapidly. Curtis was speaking in the present tense.

  “Are you saying…” Kip faltered.

  Curtis stood and took Kip’s hands again. “I’m saying I think you look like the man in the picture, Kip. But perhaps it would be best if my mother sees you in person. I’m sure she’ll know the instant she sees you.”

  She’s alive?

  Arabella’s alive!

  I sat back in my seat and compared the two men. The aquiline nose, the high forehead…

  Is it possible?

  Curtis seemed overcome with emotion. “One more thing, Kip. My mother named me Curtis after my uncle. But she always referred to me with a nickname. She thought Curtis was too formal for a boy, I guess.”

  Kip leaned forward and asked, as if he already knew the answer. “A nickname?”

  Curtis’s hand shook, he looked at me, then back at Kip. “Yes, sir. She still calls me… Kipper.”

  Kip’s jaw dropped and abruptly closed. He leaned forward to scrutinize Curtis’s features. His eyes widened. Exhaling loudly, he slumped back against the chair, his hands resting on his heart. “My Lord in Heaven.” He couldn’t go on. His eyes filled and his mouth trembled.

  With empathy in his gaze, Curtis offered Kip his hand. “This must be an awful shock to you. I’m sorry to drop it on you all at once. Yes, I’m quite sure you’re my father.” His voice thickened. “And yes, my mother’s alive and well. She’s eighty-eight now. She’s in Florida right now, visiting her cousin Corrina. She’ll be back in a month. She’ll scarcely believe what I have to tell her. We both thought you died that night, in the plane crash.”

  Kip and I spoke as one. “Plane crash?”

  “You don’t remember?” Curtis asked.

  Kip shook his head. “I remember nothing about my past, except your mother. And a few scenes from my childhood. They say I experienced head trauma, and I came to them with bandages wrapped around my head. They assumed it was a war injury and that I’d fallen through the cracks of the system. My records, if there were any, were lost.”

  “The story I was told,” Curtis began, “is that you boarded the C-64 Noorduyn Norseman with Glenn, Colonel Norman Baessell and pilot John Morgan, December 15th, 1944. It was just after Paris was freed. You were headed to Paris to arrange a celebratory concert for the troops at the SHAEF Headquarters at Versailles, which was being moved from London to Paris. The fog was terrible, and nobody else was flying. Mom was waiting for you on the Left Bank, she was supposed to sing in the show. You boarded at the last minute. There were no records of you being on board because of the last minute decision, but you were definitely on that plane. And then it disappeared, en route to Paris.”

  He said the words as if he’d repeated them to himself every day of his life, in a singsong voice with a faraway look in his eyes.

  A memory tickled at the back of my brain. The Norseman? December 15th, 1944? I closed my eyes for a second and concentrated, then held a finger in the air. “Wait a minute. You’re not talking about Glenn Miller, are you?”

  Curtis nodded with pride. “Of course. My father was Glenn’s pet understudy. He was grooming him to start up a second air force band. Kip was going to be the youngest bandleader in the military. That’s how my mom met him. They all performed together in New York City just before Glenn and Kip joined up.”

  A curtain seemed to draw back from Kip’s eyes. “Glenn?” he said. “Why, yes. Glenn was my mentor. A great teacher, and what an inspiration.” He scratched his head as if he’d just remembered a doctor’s appointment. “I don’t know why I forgot about him.”

  I stared at father and son.

  Arabella is alive.

  Curtis is Kip’s son.

  And Kip, my dear friend Kip, may hold the secret of Glenn Miller’s mysterious disappearance locked in his brain.

  Years of speculation, conspiracy theories, and rumors abounded over the past seventy years concerning the final fate of Glenn Miller on that foggy day in 1944. Various reports had arisen from supposed eyewitnesses from a crashed plane and dead bodies—repudiated by the officials—to absurd rumors that Miller had been a spy or died in some ignoble fashion.

  I stood. “Gentlemen. I think I should leave you alone. You have a lot to catch up on.”

  Kip touched my sleeve as I started to leave. “Wait.”

  I paused and he continued, addressing Curtis. “I have one question to ask, and I want Gus to hear the answer.”

  I perched on the heating unit beneath the windows. Curtis sat up straighter, looking intensely at his father. “Go ahead. Ask me anything.”

&
nbsp; Kip cleared his throat, then forged ahead. “I’d like to know… my name.”

  A broad smile creased Curtis’s face and the skin around his eyes crinkled. “Why, that’s easy,” he said. “Your name is Sterling. Mr. Richard Sterling. But of course, everyone called you Kip.”

  Another film seemed to evaporate from Kip’s eyes. “Why yes. Yes. Richard Sterling. That’s my name. That’s who I am, Gus.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I leaned down and hugged Kip’s thin shoulders, then straightened and shook his hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Sterling.”

  He smiled, but seemed weakened by the excitement.

  “He’ll probably need to rest soon,” I whispered to Curtis, feeling protective of my friend.

  Curtis nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of him.”

  I backed out of the room, leaving father and son side-by-side in the golden morning light.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  After returning to school and slogging through my afternoon classes and office hours, I headed home to find Freddie and Adam waiting for me, seated at the kitchen table with strained expressions. The sound of children’s laughter was conspicuously absent, and no aromas of cooking wafted from the kitchen.

  My stomach tightened. I set my briefcase on the counter and faced them.

  They sat silently, holding hands.

  My instinct was to brace for horrible news. “Who died?” I asked, surprised I said it out loud. “And where are the kids?”

  Freddie began. “Nobody died. And the kids are fine, they’re with Adam’s parents. They love Abel and Nina. They’re gonna stay there for a little while.”

  I plunked down on the chair opposite them and noticed the suitcase beneath the table. “Why? Are you going somewhere?”

  Adam cleared his throat. “Er, sir. We just wanted to tell you—”

  Freddie interrupted. “Let me tell him, honey.”

  Adam gave in, lowering his head in a slow nod.

  “Tell me what? Come on, you’re making me nervous,” I said. Wild thoughts swirled out of control in my brain. Freddie’s pregnant. Worse, she has cancer. Her clinic is closing. Or…Adam’s been called up for the reserves and is off to Iraq.