“Well, what do you think?” she asked.
Perlman broke out into applause and said, “Exquisite. Absolutely exquisite. Bra-vo.”
If he hadn’t seen it himself, he wouldn’t have believed it. It was impossible. Her natural ability was far beyond that of her father’s. He had no idea his goddaughter had started playing again after she had graduated from university. He had been immensely proud of her valedictorian speech and, until now, hadn’t thought she could have made him any prouder than he was that day.
“Your father was right, Victoria,” he said as he looked out the window at the hustle and bustle on M Street. “You have a gift that transcends the instrument.” He met her eyes. “You are the instrument. The violin is merely a vehicle for your passion to be heard.” He smiled at his words and kissed her on the cheek.
“I know it must be hard for you with my father being gone, but you mustn’t overreact—”
“Victoria. Never in my life have I heard anything as beautiful,” he demanded. “It’s not because I love you like a daughter.” He shook his head. “No, no, no. What I’m telling you is true. Can’t you see the tears in my eyes when I tell you this?”
Tears of joy streaked down the wrinkles on his face, and her eyes began to well up.
“Do you think they would be proud?” she asked softly, thinking of her parents.
“Do not put those tragedies on your shoulders, my dear,” he said. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Your father was a very difficult man. I loved him like a son, but he…well, he had a certain way about him that could be very abrasive. You had every right to choose to do what made you happy. It hurt him, yes, but everything that happened was because of the choices he made. It was of his own doing.”
She had rebelled rather than follow in her father’s footsteps, and turned herself into a tomboy. Anything to get away.
“I always loved playing the violin, but he made it very difficult to enjoy,” she admitted.
“I know. Pushing you too hard was your father’s biggest regret. He was a perfectionist, and early on in his career he was ripped apart by the critics in the press. It was part of what drove him to excel, but it is also something he didn’t want to happen to you.” He put his arm around her shoulder. “Especially given his — shall we say — attitude. There would be no punches pulled for the daughter of Valentino D’Angelo — that you could count on.”
She had always wondered how different life would have been if her mother had been around. Even after all these years, her death still left unanswered questions that she wasn’t sure she wanted answered.
“How about Victoria Eden?” she asked with raised eyebrows. “Will the world accept her?”
“Victoria Eden’s talent cannot be denied,” he said emphatically. “You will take the music world by storm, and they won’t know what hit them.” He gave her an adoring smile. “Truly, Victoria, I am at a loss for words. Your father tried to tell me how special you were, but I dismissed it as the ramblings of someone who had consumed one too many bottles of Cabernet. For the life of me, I cannot see how you were able to advance your playing on your own.”
“Don’t forget, Uncle Nevin, from the time I was a child I listened to my father play every day. I have every warm-up, practice routine, and piece he played permanently etched in my memory. It was a simple matter of practicing,” she said as if the answer should have been obvious.
She began to play her father’s favorite warm-up sequence, and Perlman beamed with recognition.
“My dear, it is more than just practice to play the way you do, but that would certainly explain a lot. I cannot wait for you to tell me about your first audition.”
She gave him a hug and said, “Thank you so much for setting it up.”
Chapter 15
Cathy Turner considered her son’s last question, trying to connect the dots as the memory began to surface. Silly, she thought.
“Well, there was a nurse who came in and woke me,” she said. “He looked ridiculous. His clothes were really tight, and he certainly wasn’t from around here. He had a strange accent.”
Trent Turner’s expression was tense. “What sort of accent was it?”
“It sounded — I don’t know — kind of Eastern Bloc, but it was strange.”
“Go on.”
“His words took on a British enunciation.”
“Excuse me, nurse,” Trent called out, and waved his hand.
The nurse walked over.
“Could you please tell me if there are any foreign nurses working this evening?” Trent asked her. “Someone with an accent.”
She creased her brow and replied, “Sure, we have two on duty right now.”
“See, honey, it’s okay,” his mother said. “We’re both having trouble thinking straight.”
“Would you mind giving me their names?” Trent asked the nurse.
“It’s okay, honey. I’ll call your father, and we can go to the chapel to say a prayer. It will make us both feel better,” his mother insisted.
The nurse turned to Trent. His expression demanded an answer. “Sure, it’s no problem at all. Sam and Chris are on duty now.” She gestured toward the nurse’s station. “If it’s any help, they’re both standing over there.”
They turned their heads in unison to see a pair of nurses discussing a patient’s chart.
“They’re women?” Trent’s mother said with complete surprise.
“Yes,” she said, laughing. “They certainly are. We don’t have any male nurses on this floor.”
Cathy Turner’s heart began to race. Anger churned inside as she considered the evil that would possess someone to murder a defenseless man under his mother’s nose. “Oh my God,” was all she could say as the nurse walked off.
“Mom. Mom. It’s okay,” Trent said. He held her hands tightly in his. “There’s no way you could have known. Now, Mom, I really need you to focus.” He dipped down to make eye contact and snap her out of the shock. “What did you see him do? I need you to replay every detail back to me. I’ll find him, don’t you worry. I promise you I’ll find him.”
“No, honey,” she fired back, and shook her head. “I’ve already lost one son, and I won’t lose the only one I have left.”
“You don’t understand, Mom. He was coming for me,” Trent said flatly. “Right now I have an advantage. He thinks I’m dead. If he realizes I’m alive, then he’ll just come after me to finish the job. It’s what he does. Concentrate, Mom. I need you to concentrate.”
She looked down, overwhelmed with emotion. After a long moment she met his eyes and he continued.
“Now what did he do while he was in the room? Did he open the door?”
“I don’t know. I was sleeping when he came in. He moved my arm to give Ryan some medication.”
“So he touched your arm?”
“No. He never touched me.”
“Then how did he move your arm?”
“I was holding my book. He pushed my arm aside using my book.”
“Was he wearing gloves?”
“No. I don’t know.” She struggled to remember. “I don’t think so.”
“What did he do next?”
“He gave Ryan a shot through the port in his IV. Then he said good-bye and left.”
“Did he touch the IV?”
“No. I’m pretty sure he didn’t. Only my book.”
He pulled out his XHD3 and said, “Point to the part of the book he touched, Mom. Let’s hope he was sloppy since you were in here alone.”
“Right there,” she said, pointing to a spot on the book.