Page 101 of Night Songs

“What was her real name?”

The twinkle in his eye dimmed, and his brow furrowed again. “Well, it was Lulabelle Powers, of course. That’s widely known.” He caught my gaze across the table.

“I mean herrealname. The one on her birth certificate.”

His expression deepened, and the lines on his face finally emerged. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Lulabelle Powers was a fake name.” I watched him closely. “Did you really not know that?”

He bristled. “I was not aware.”

“You weremarriedto her.”

I watched his body still and his face flatten to something unreadable. “Pardon me, miss, but I’m not going to be interrogated.”

“Okay, I’m sorry—”

“It might be best if you leave.”

“Please,” I begged softly. “I’m sorry.”

We sat in silence for a moment, and I felt like a child awaitingpunishment. Finally, he said, “I was not aware, but… I’m not surprised. She had her secrets, and I had mine.” It seemed like he wanted to say more, but he left it at that.

“Do you know where she grew up?” I asked gently. “The name of the town?”

“No, not the name. I think it was close to Amos, where I’m from, but there are lots of little communities in the mountains. Some so small they don’t show up on maps.”

Here was something. “Do you know anything about a town with a cave church in that area?”

“A cave church?”

“Like a church where they held services in a cave? I don’t know if they held all their services in the cave, or just special ones.”

He looked out over the land and squinted with one eye. “No, I don’t think so.”

I wondered if he was telling the truth, or if he was still keeping her secrets after all these years.

“Did she record any songs before she died? Anything that was never released, that she might have left unfinished or kept private for some reason?”

He shifted his gaze back to me. “Why do you ask?”

“Hess mentioned something about secret songs, and I thought you might know, being her producer.”

He paused, running his lips over his knuckles. “Are you sure you want to go down this road?”

“Yes.”

He was silent for a moment, giving away nothing. “All right. I have something to show you.”

We made our way to the east wing where the walls were lined with gold and platinum records in frames. At the end of the hall, there was a studio with a professional soundboard and a vocal booth with instruments scattered about. He went to a safe the size of a refrigerator in the corner,pressed in a code, and the thick door popped open. I could see from across the room that it contained rows of glossy tapes with tiny, illegible labels on the sides.

He pulled one from its slot, closed the safe, and sat at the soundboard. He stared down at the tape in his hand as if it were a haunted relic.

“A few months before she died, Lou and I started recording this project she calledNight Songsthat she didn’t want anyone to know about. Not even Martha or Hess. Usually, Martha was part of the composing, and Hess weighed in on the songs as they were coming together. But this time they weren’t allowed in the studio. Only me and Lou.”

He looked up at the microphone dangling behind the glass in front of us. “She would show up at my place in the evening, and she’d want to record all night. Lou could be impulsive and didn’t sleep very much, so that part didn’t seem too strange. But themusic—that had a different feel.”

He pulled the tape from its case and popped it into a machine to the right of the soundboard. “Lou made me promise never to show this tape to anyone, and I’ve kept my word all these years. It was the least I could do for her. But I don’t think she’d mind if I played it for you.”