We Found The Missing Piano Behind A Music Room Curtain

I called Mara from the diner instead of from the warehouse.

"He moved my things," I said.

"Did he threaten you again?"

"He broke a cup. He'll say it was an accident."

"Take a picture. Write down what he said. Don't argue over what you can't prove."

I could do that. I had spent years learning to tell a cracked flange from a loose screw. Each needed its own repair.

Elias met me at the music room the next afternoon. He had spoken to its director, Ruth Bell, who had saved the donation note and the hallway camera footage.

The room occupied the ground floor of a narrow brick building. A bus sighed at the corner. Someone upstairs was frying onions. Through a wall, children counted a beat and lost it together.

Ruth had gray braids and a bunch of keys on a red cord.

"We thought we got lucky," she said. "A free piano. Delivery included."

"What name did he give?" Elias asked.

"Noel Finch. Said the owner wanted it somewhere people would play it."

She folded her arms.

"Was that a lie?"

"We need to check the ownership," he said.

Behind a green curtain stood the upright from Vincent's photograph. The new hinges were mine. Noel had used both of them on the lower panel.

"It won't make a sound," Ruth said. "Your card came with it."

My business card had been taped beneath the lid.

Ruth had called the warehouse first. Vincent's office had told her to put her request in writing. That explained the envelope he had left on my bench.

He had known the address when he ordered me to find the piano.

My skin went cold beneath my coat.

"He wanted to see what I'd do," I said.

Elias asked Ruth whether we could speak in her office. He did not touch my arm or herd me toward the door.

"You can stop here," he said once we were alone.

"I can stop working for him. I can't stop knowing."

"Those are different decisions."

I liked him for saying it plainly.

Mara had already told Vincent in writing that I would do no more work until the pay dispute was settled. I had brought home my tools in two bags. The eggcups were wrapped in old felt.

For the first time in eleven years, my Thursday had no bench waiting for me.

I went back to Ruth.

"May I look at the action? Just the normal service opening."

She agreed. Elias stood where he could see my hands.

I lifted the top and removed the front board. The action was there, but a heavy felt strip lay between the hammers and strings. That was why the keys made no music.

The old leather nuts were dry. Several hammer heads leaned like tired men on a bus.

"Poor thing," Elias said.

I looked over at him.

"The piano," he added.

"I knew what you meant."

He smiled, just enough to change his whole face.

"My aunt had one nobody tuned after she died. The family argued over her dishes. I kept thinking about the piano."

"Did you get it?"

"Eventually. I paid $240 to move it and spent a year saving for the work."

"Worth it?"

"Every Sunday."

I wanted to ask whether he played alone. I checked a hammer instead.

Through the gap beside the loose lower panel, I saw a pale curve wrapped in gray cloth. It was not part of any piano I had repaired.

I stepped back.

"There. Left side."

Elias looked without reaching inside. Then he asked Ruth to keep everyone out of the room while he called his office.

The warrant came that evening. I waited in Ruth's office while a team photographed the instrument and removed its lower panel.

The sculpture sat inside a wood frame bolted to the piano floor. No strings had been cut on this one. A new false back had made space behind them.

I saw the seated woman only after the team brought her into the light. Her empty bowl rested on her knees.

Ruth pressed her lips together.

"He used our kids as a hiding place."

"I think Noel used your room to stop a delivery," I said. "I don't know why he didn't call the police."

Elias looked at me, and I heard my own lesson.

"That's a guess," I added.

He nodded.

Before I left, I put the felt strip in an evidence bag at the team's request. Someday, when the hold was lifted, the piano might still play.

Elias carried my tool bag to the sidewalk.

"You said you'd tell me before contacting Vincent."

"We will contact his lawyer tomorrow. I'm telling you now."

My phone rang before I could answer him. Mara's number filled the screen.

"Corinne," she said, "Noel Finch is here, and he's asking whether you found his papers."