Free Lost Melody by Roz Lee Page A

it all appeared very professional.
However, she couldn’t help but wonder what really went on here.
Wild parties? Drugs? Alcohol? Did the farm and the whole town fill
with groupies willing to do anything for the musicians they
idolized?
    “I had it built after our first CD
went Platinum. We’ve recorded here ever since.”
    “Why spend so much money on your own
studio? Wouldn’t it be cheaper to rent space somewhere?”
    “Probably, but the guys are away from
their families for months at a time. I have the farmhouse. It
doubles as a resort of sorts. They all move in here for the
duration. It’s worked so far.”
    “They bring their families?” She
couldn’t keep the skepticism out of her voice.
    “Yeah. It’s great. You should see it.
The house is full of kids. It takes about a month to clean the
place up after they leave, but I love having them here.”
    “Who else comes?”
    “Technicians, back-up
musicians.”
    “That’s it?”
    “Pretty much, why?”
    “No reason. I was just wondering.” He
sounded like he was telling the truth, but it didn’t jive with the
lifestyle her mother said rock musicians lived. And if anyone
should know, it would be her mother, Diane Harper
Ravenswood.

 
     
     
     
     

Chapter Six

    Hank dropped her at her house,
promising to have her Jeep delivered later. She collapsed on the
sofa, grateful for the peace and quiet. Hank Travis could talk the
bark off a tree. Eventually, she got up and made herself a cup of
tea.
    Thinking back over her day, she was
both appalled and intrigued. Appalled at his proposal—if that’s
what it was—and intrigued by the prospect of writing a book about
him.
    There were several unauthorized
biographies of her father’s life, and the estate had been
approached countless times over the years with requests to pen an
authorized version—complete with interviews with her and her
mother. Her mother declined them all, choosing instead to remain
out of the public eye. And other than her father’s best friend and
the executor of his estate, Jonathan Youngblood, they’d had no
contact over the years with the people from her father’s
life.
    Anytime the subject came up, Diane
would admonish her daughter, “Stay away from musicians. They’ll
break your heart.” She’d heard the mantra her entire life, and her
parent’s marriage was evidence of the wisdom of the
statement.
    Late in the afternoon, a couple of
farmhands returned her Jeep, along with a note from
Hank.
    Come for breakfast. Eight
a.m.? I’ll cook.
    H.T. Jr.
    Her mother’s words echoed in her ears
as she turned into his driveway promptly at eight o’clock the next
morning. Only twenty-nine days to go, and she would walk away, get
the heck out of Dodge. Maybe write a book. She could write
anywhere—use a pseudonym, remain completely off the grid. By the
time word got around town that Melody Ravenswood was in
Willowbrook, she would have the material she needed and be long
gone.
    The smell of bacon cooking drew her
around to the back of the house where Betty Boop, ever the vigilant
watchdog, greeted her enthusiastically on the porch. She followed
her nose and found Hank in the kitchen looking nothing like the
serious rocker she imagined he was on stage.
    He stood in front of the stove
juggling a variety of cast iron cookery. Instead of drumsticks, he
wielded a greasy spatula. Barefoot, he wore a bib apron adorned
with red apples and ruffles trimmed with red crochet work. The
apron protected a blue oxford-style shirt and tan
chinos.
    A smile tugged at her lips.
“Hi.”
    “Oh, hi.” He waved the spatula at her.
“I didn’t hear you drive up.”
    “I’m not too early, am I?”
    “Right on time.” He slid two pancakes
from the griddle to a plate and poured two more from the bowl of
batter on the counter. “Make yourself at home. Breakfast is almost
ready.”
    “Do you cook often?” she asked,
admiring the way he made it appear easy. If she’d been cooking that
many things at