Backfire

“The marshals didn’t see him?”

“You know how many ways there are to sneak close to our house. He may have climbed up the cliff, and there’d be no one to see him unless he went around to the front of the house. It will be much easier for everyone in the house we’re moving to.”

Emma squeezed her mother tightly to her. “It’s all right, Mom. We’ll get through. The boys will think it’s a cool game. I’ll help.”

Molly had hugged this precious human being tightly in return, whispered against her hair, “We’re bringing your piano.”

Those few words had earned her a quick smile from her daughter.

Molly watched the men maneuver Emma’s piano to the base of the three front steps of the large Mediterranean house.

Savich looked at Harry, and they tried to join them in carrying the piano up the steps, but the foreman held them back. “Thanks, gentlemen, but we can’t have you hurting yourselves. We’ve got this.”

One of his young assistants, who had a tall red Mohawk, said between grunts, “It’s the insurance he’s worried about. You’re right, though, this freakin’ sucker’s heavy.”

Emma hung back, ever watchful. Molly was standing inside the doorway, one eye on the twins, who were examining every inch of the living room, and the other on Emma. The Steinway had never been moved an inch since it was reverently placed in their home in Sea Cliff five years before. This was a huge deal for Emma, and on top of everything else. How could Emma function? How would she react? Could she still see herself playing in front of a huge audience at Davies Hall in nine days? Molly saw her smile at Red Mohawk, who was grunting big-time, just for her, and hoped.

Once they carried the piano into the entrance hall, Red Mohawk grinned down at Emma. “Your mama said you’re a big deal, that you’re so good you even play with the San Francisco Symphony. That true?”

Emma never knew what to say to this sort of question. She was aware her mother was watching her, ready to speak for her, but she knew she was old enough to answer for herself. “I’m not playing with the orchestra this time. I’m playing by myself—George Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue, a week from Wednesday. I don’t know if there are still tickets left, but you could ask. What’s your name?”

The young man laughed and touched his bush of hair. “You can call me Mohawk. Let me see the size of your hands.” Emma held up her hands. The young guy studied them, placed them palm to palm. “Unbelievable,” he said.

The foreman said, “Do you know what my name is? I’m Sam Davis, but there’s no relation.”

Emma stared at him. She didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.

“Sammy Davis Jr.; he was one of the Rat Pack,” he said, but Emma was still in the dark.

He grinned at her. “Ask your dad or maybe your granddad; one of them will know.”

Once they lifted the piano back onto the roller board, Emma trailed behind them as they steered the Steinway through the doorway into the long living room.

“Here,” she said, “in this corner, wide part of the case out.”

When the piano was placed exactly, Red Mohawk brought in her piano bench and set it just so in front of the keyboard.

Emma looked at each man in turn. “Thank you for taking such good care of my piano.”

Red Mohawk said, “Play us something if you really want to thank us.”

Gage, whose hand was now being firmly held by his mother, shouted, “Emmie, play them the theme from Star Wars.”

Cal shouted louder, “No, the theme from Jaws!”

Emma grinned at her little brothers, sat down, and played “Nobody Does It Better.” There were whistles and applause, and a couple of boos from Cal and Gage.

When the movers left, Emma took Gage and Cal upstairs to show them their new bedroom, the twins chattering away in the twin talk they spoke when they didn’t want anyone to know what they were saying.

Molly waved her hand around the living room. “This is very nice. However did you manage to get us this beautiful house on such short notice?”

Savich said, “The house is for sale. When the owner found out Judge Dredd needed it as a safe house for his family, he offered it to us immediately.”

“It has some of the feel of our home,” Molly said. “Built a long time ago and beautifully remodeled.” Her voice hitched, and she added quickly, “Come along, I’ll make us all coffee. Tea, Dillon?” She motioned away Sherlock. “No, let me do this. At least I still have control over making coffee.”