Time Signature

By Rick Ellrod

Celtic fiddler Trina Kellander is excited to play at a local festival in Willow Springs, Vermont. While settling into her room at the Deerbourne Inn, she admires an old painting of a handsome kilted Scot. Then a man who looks exactly like the artwork turns up at a jam session to play with her.

Trina is smitten with the charming, old-fashioned Malcolm Blaine and he with her. She has never fallen so hard before. After her concert, he wants her to leave with him. But Malcolm is oddly mysterious about aspects of his life. And how is he connected with the picture in Trina's room?

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: May 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781509235292

Rick Ellrod

Rick Ellrod (Frederick E. Ellrod III) has been a storyteller, and a lover of stories, from childhood. He has two short stories in print, and is submitting a science fiction novel called House of Stars for publication. He is also an amateur musician with more enthusiasm than talent. Professionally, Rick is Director of the Communications Policy and Regulation Division of Fairfax County’s Department of Cable and Consumer Services. From 1992-2009, he worked as an attorney in a law firm representing local governments on cable and telecommunications issues. Earlier, he taught philosophy for several years at the Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C. Rick graduated from Harvard Law School cum laude in 1986 and holds a Ph.D. in philosophy from Boston University (1979). He is a member of the Washington Science Fiction Association (WSFA).

Book preview

Press

Seeing them together, the painting and the real man, the resemblance—identity—was undeniable. Malcolm might just as well have stepped right out of some bygone era, some windswept moor, into the present. He’d be a perfect fit for one of Ruby’s sweep-me-away romances.

So, explain! What is your face doing on an old picture in my room?

He raised one eyebrow. Why is it up to me to explain? It’s your picture.

Not mine, the inn’s.

Then let them explain it, he said reasonably.

The confrontation was turning out to be harder to manage than I’d expected. Also, he seemed to be enjoying it too much; his casual pose, leaning against the wall, was a little too studied.

Malcolm, tell me where this picture came from!

He cocked his head. What do you think is the explanation?

Time Signature

by

Rick Ellrod

Deerbourne Inn Series

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Time Signature

COPYRIGHT © 2021 by Frederick E. Ellrod III

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Debbie Taylor

The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

PO Box 708

Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

Publishing History

First Rose Edition, 2021

Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-3529-2

Deerbourne Inn Series

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To Nikki Andrews

Chapter 1

The hearty June sun glowed on the Deerbourne Inn’s Federal-style façade, making the shade on the wide porch welcome. I maneuvered suitcase, backpack, and violin case through the front door, past the parlor, and onward to the reception desk.

Checking in? The blue-eyed clerk looked up cheerfully from his computer. His nameplate read Jared Langford.

Yep. You’ll find me under Kellander. K-E-L-

Oh, yeah. Katrina Kellander?

Trina, please.

He glanced at my violin case. Oh, yeah! Hey, I’ve heard your music online. Great stuff. Are you here for the Mad River Garden Party?

You got it. And thanks. I swung around the pack to fish out my wallet.

Good. The Party is the big summer kickoff in this town. I’m looking forward to hearing you live! You’re staying with us all week, right?

I nodded. Getting in a little early. I’ve got a friend in the area.

"Nice. Who’s that?

Ruby Haynes, uh, Emerson. She should be coming by in a few minutes. I called to tell her I was here. You can give her my room number.

Okay. And speaking of your room… After some back-and-forth with a credit card and the computer, he handed me an elaborate brass key and pointed me upstairs. It’ll be on the left.

I let myself in, set down my violin, and tossed my luggage on a convenient loveseat, eager to get a first look at my base of operations for the week. The room’s wallpaper—pink cabbage roses on trellises—and antique furnishings bore out the entrance’s nostalgic charm. But these old-timey features were either new reproductions or meticulously cleaned and polished, exhibiting the recent renovations Ruby had talked about.

This homey décor isn’t my native environment. As a lifelong science fiction fan, I could be just as happy with glass and chrome, but I wasn’t immune to its charm.

I bounced once on the queen bed, admired the view of the town through the sash windows, and returned to the wall opposite the couch. Then I took a close look at the painting hanging there.

The picture fit the overall theme. It was a stock scene someone might have painted a hundred years ago: storm coming in over a scrubby heath, ominous clouds filling the sky, with a fully lit man featured in the foreground, leaning casually on a short Greek column. So far, so cliché. But the man, he was delectable. Tall and wiry, powerful shoulders, dense black hair swept back from a high forehead. His jaw was square, his nose Roman, his eyes light brown. A Scottish kilt revealed strong, well-formed legs. All in all, I was perfectly happy to have him in my bedroom, even in pictorial form.

Footsteps sounded outside, then rat-tat-tat. Ruby, of course. As soon as I opened the door, we threw ourselves into a hug.

Trina! It’s been a million years. You look great!

Tens of millions. I led her into the room. My humble abode. But you probably know this place by heart. It’s your town.

Not every room. I don’t think I’ve been in this one, at least not since Nate remodeled the place. Ruby wandered around, inspecting the crown molding, running her hand over the bedspread. Nice. And even a little something for the art department. As a painter, she gravitated to the picture, naturally. Now there’s a guy to give you something to dream about at night.

I may have to turn him around to face the wall, so he doesn’t keep me awake at night. I joined her in front of the painting.

If aliens had happened to scoop Ruby and me up as samples of Earth-humans, we’d have made quite a contrast. Ruby’s tall and willowy, looking even taller in her cutoff shorts. I’m short and curvier. We’re both dark-haired, but her hair is long and brown while mine is jet black, just to my shoulders. In college, we both played in the orchestra. We’ve kept in touch ever since, though I travel around so much that we haven’t spent a lot of time together.

Ruby’s lips curled