Lost Melody Read Free

scarf and gloves. The guilt evaporated, replaced with lethargy that hung like heavy weights from her limbs. Join all those people that crowded the shopping malls this time of year? Not yet. Maybe tomorrow, or next week. She still had time before Christmas.
    She opened the curtains in the big picture window in an effort to coax some light from the cloud-covered sky into the room, and stood for a moment looking out over the small town that had been her home as long as she could remember. Narrow streets. Rows of tightly clustered buildings. Wooden plank docks lined with moored boats that pitched with the motion of the dark water. In the distance, the lighthouse stood sentinel over the rocky shoreline. A ship’s horn blasted, a huge tanker. She sipped tea and followed its progress as it sliced through the narrow channel on its way to Halifax Harbor a few miles away. On the docks below, people paused to watch the ship’s passage. A few waved at the crew standing on the deck.
    When the tanker had moved past the lighthouse, beyond the edges of Seaside Cove, the gawkers below continued going about their business. The oppressive silence returned. Jill positioned herself on the sofa facing the window, her back to the shrouded object in the corner. From beneath the padded cover, she heardthe piano’s call. It tugged at the edges of her mind, the lonely, desolate cry of a forsaken lover.
    Kind, dark eyes smiling into hers.
What composer do you favor? Liszt. Definitely Liszt.
    What was with her today? Everything seemed to remind her of the accident. She needed to think about something else. With a savage gesture, Jill seized the remote control and jabbed the Power button. Thank goodness for the mind-numbing distraction of daytime television.

    “Listen, Bradford, I hear what you’re saying. I just don’t know if this town can handle a whole flock of tourists.” Mr. Allen, owner of the Midshipman’s Inn, picked up the last of the cookies from the tray his wife had placed between them and ate half of it in a single bite.
    Greg Bradford leaned toward the polished maple coffee table and set his china cup on the matching saucer. He remained on the edge of the chenille sofa, his arms resting on his knees, and held the older man’s eyes. “It’ll take some work, but I think it’s a vital move. We have to take action to establish a solid tourist trade here in Seaside Cove. If we’re going to survive, we need an influx of money in the town’s economy. Outside money.”
    Mr. Allen puckered his lips and leaned against the chair back. “What do we have to offer tourists? We’re just plain folks in these parts.”
    “We have the Atlantic Ocean, and charter fishing, and a lighthouse, and unique shops, and several great locally run restaurants.” Greg opened his arms wide to indicate the Inn’s tastefully decorated front room, complete with a bay windowoverlooking the harbor. “We have local charm, including your place here. The Midshipman’s Inn is a terrific B&B, one of the best in Nova Scotia. It will play an important part in our new tourism program.”
    Interest sparked in the older man’s eyes. “A friend of mine runs a B&B over in Peggy’s Cove. His place is full every day of the summer. Raking in the money, he is.”
    “That’s exactly what I mean.” Greg folded his hands and rested them on his legs. “Seaside Cove has every bit as much to offer tourists as Peggy’s Cove. There’s no reason we shouldn’t have as big a tourist industry as they do.”
    “Our wharf’s looking a bit shabby, though. Have to spend some money fixing that up.” Mr. Allen’s eyes narrowed. “That’s what Samuels is going on about. Says you’ll drive the town to bankruptcy, and all the business owners with it.”
    Greg steeled his features against the grimace that threatened to appear at the mention of Richard Samuels, a current councilman on the Halifax Regional Council, and an outspoken opponent to Greg’s tourism development plan.