Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

Tappety-ting-ting-clatter-clang-ching.

My eyes shot open to see a large pair of eyes, an inch from my face, staring straight at me, pupils and irises black as night, the whites of the eyes like fields of snow.

I gasped and scrambled up the bed, onto my pillow, scared nearly to death.

The boy Maybelle had called Iggy Spoons erupted with laughter. “Oh, mister! You oughtta see the look on your face. Should we’s check the sheets cause you mighta just shit yourself.”

I looked around.

I was in my room at the manor.

There was no sign of Lovesong or his acoustic guitar, just me in my bed, Chet sitting at the foot of it wagging his tail, and Iggy standing beside it laughing.

No, he wasn’t just standing there. He was doing that little shuffle dance of his as he continued playing the spoons with one hand. With his other hand he shoved a biscuit in his mouth which eventually stifled the laughter.

“You make these?” he asked through a mouthful of crumbs, gesturing to the biscuit in his hand and another lying on a napkin on the floor.

“What are you doing here? How’d you get in here?”

He looked at me like I was kinda crazy. “Through the door. How did you get in here?”

I didn’t answer, I felt like I should be the one asking the questions. “What do you want? Were you here last night, on the balcony? No, it couldn’t have been you, you’re too small.” I looked down at his shuffling feet, the oversized black shoes slipping back and forth on the boards. “No, it wasn’t you.”

“No, it weren’t.”

“Then who was it? And what are you doing here?”

“I got somethin’ to tell you. Somethin’ ’bout Lovesong.”

“Where is he?” my voice was urgent.

Iggy pointed to the closed French doors. “He be out there. He thinks he be lookin’ for the Flim-Flam Man… but he be lookin’ for you .”

“Me? What’s he doing out there looking for me? I’m right here.”

“Not for long.”

“What does that mean?”

Iggy didn’t give an answer. He just took the last biscuit, opened the door and headed out into the darkened hallway.

I jumped out of bed, wrapping the sheet around my waist to cover myself. I hurried out the door after him…

But he was nowhere in sight.

“Iggy?” I said in a hushed voice. “Iggy!”

I listened for his shoes on the stairs.

I listened for the sound of the elevator moving.

But I heard nothing.

The cold shiver that ran through me defied my intense body heat. I stepped back into the room and closed the door, then walked over to the French doors and gently opened them.

From across the cotton fields, the distant sound of a harmonica played on the night wind, the notes floating up and down through the sky with every inhalation and exhalation of breath.

Of Lovesong’s breath.

I knew all too well it was him out there playing, who else would it be?

And I knew exactly where to find him.

The crossroads.