“Well.” Audrey took her keys out of her handbag. “I wouldn’t be telling anyone a monkey gave it to me. It’s just…”

“What?”

“I never knew Cecile to keep a diary.”

“From the looks of this, she was a young woman when she wrote it.”

“To me, she just wasn’t particularly reflective in that way. I lived with her a long time and I never once heard her mention a journal,” said Audrey with a shrug, “but who knows. Maybe she was a different person when she was younger. See if you can translate it, then you’ll know for sure. Anyway, it’s a nice gesture; a piece of history that someone thought you should have.”

As they walked out of the big top, Lara held the cloth spine of the book in her palm. A sense of dread tugged at her. She wasn’t so convinced this had been a nice gesture at all.

Chapter 11

There was a slow drizzle falling and the air was cool. Lara was sure there would be fog in the rest of the valley. The June morning breeze had a lingering smoky scent from plants and trees that had been cooking for days in the heat before finally getting relief from a cool, hard rain. These were the kind of mornings when people stayed in, so the streets were spare, allowing the rain to gently wash the cobblestones. By noon, the sun would beat down and the place would feel like a swamp.

In the past few days, her father had been out touring with the Dangerous Tendencies reunion band. The first show had been last week in Charlottesville, followed by Durham then Clemson, but last night they did a practice concert in Winchester.

Lara placed the journal on her desk and sat back in her chair. “How’d it go?” She was settled in for an hour of the play-by-play on the set changes, troubles with the new drummer, and crowd size and energy. She’d toured with him for a year, playing rhythm guitar, but she’d nearly been electrocuted by a faulty wire on a guitar and Jason never invited her back on the road. For years now, his taste had been shifting toward blues and he was seeking out musicians who shared his vision. To the dismay of old fans, his concerts only played a few old Dangerous Tendencies tracks, allowing them to focus on new material. All his Son House, Bukka White, and Hound Dog Taylor records were out in prime positions near his phone.

Jason sat on the edge of his desk. He was all movement, his face flushed, fingers tapping. “I loved it.” He’d even gotten a haircut for the gig, his auburn curls clipped tightly to his scalp.

“Really?” She cocked her head. “You never love it.”

“It was perfect,” he said, looking away with a smile, like he was savoring a memory.