Samson glanced at Ivan and knew by the big grin on his face that he’d heard them, too.
Another guest in the crowd said, rather loudly, “I hope she plans to record that.”
Presley Ann kept craning her neck, and when she spotted them, she excused herself from her table and came over with her cell phone. During the break between songs, she drew close and whispered, “Rudy said she’s a songwriter. Does she have many that she’s written?”
“A whole slew of them,” Ivan answered just as quietly.
She grinned. “I have a couple of acquaintances who would love what she’s writing and might be interested in having her write some songs for them. Did she plan to go into the studio herself?”
He’d expected that question, but not so quickly, and gave the reply she’d already given when they’d discussed recording with her. “Cassie is more interested in writing, for now. She’s got her hands pretty full these days.”
Presley Ann grinned, and a twinkle came into her eyes. “I’ll bet. Do you mind if I record some video on my phone so they can give a listen?”
“Not at all.”
“Thanks, guys. I have a great feeling about this.”
She’d already slipped back through the crowd before Samson thought to ask her who it was she wanted to listen to the songs. He shrugged, thinking if it panned out he’d know eventually.
Rudy said, “Excuse me, gentlemen. I need to go check the bar.”
Samson nodded and paid attention as Cassie’s fingertips flew over the strings in the opening notes of the next song. She swayed with the music, keeping the beat with a tapping foot and her inner metronome. He glanced out at the audience as she eased into the first chorus. Many of them smiled and nodded with the beat. One of her aunts had tears running down her cheeks as she swayed with the music, pride for her niece obvious in her eyes.
Ivan nudged him and pointed at the rear of the crowd. Samson frowned when he spotted Bill Resendez coming down the steps to the patio. Before he could react, Rudy was already stopping him. Rudy held up an index finger to Bill, and his body language was making it clear Bill was welcome only so long as he behaved himself.
Bill held up his hands in surrender, nodded, and then stepped to the side, evidently content to stand in the back of the crowd that was now standing room only. Disgruntled that he’d been sidetracked from Cassie’s performance, Samson gave her all his attention, grateful Rudy was on the ball.
She shared the song with her audience, but it was obvious she was caught up in the words, her gaze on some point in the past. There was silence for a beat as the last note resounded. Then everyone was out of their chairs, clapping. Cassie’s friends, including Grace, Leah, Violet, and Bunny were all whistling. Kendry, one of Presley Ann’s men, kissed his wife’s cheek and swiped her tears as she held her camera up, still shooting video.
Bill stood in the shadows, his arms crossed over his chest. Samson couldn’t understand why he’d come that night. Maybe he’d planned to heckle, maybe he was curious. Maybe he’d come expecting her to flop. But right in that moment, Samson hoped he was internalizing the lyrics of her song. Judging by the furrowed brow and frown on his face, he knew she was singing about getting free not just from some metaphorical cage she’d been kept in. She was free from him and her father.
Jorge Villalobos had been admitted permanently to a nursing home, his mental state having decayed rapidly since the fire. His rage and hatred preyed on his own mind until he was impossible to be around. After the last time Cassie had come home in tears from visiting him, Samson, Ivan, Delicia, and the kids had intervened, and now Cassie visited him only in the company of at least one of them.
Samson admired her for continuing to visit but knew it weighed on her, which was why she’d been spending more time with Rudy, finding in him a positive father figure she regretted not depending on more while she was younger.
The evidence in the fire pointed to Jorge from the get-go, and Cassie wasn’t held responsible in any way. The claim had been paid by the insurance company, and Ivan and Joseph were eating up the challenge of recreating Divine Drip, quite literally, from the ashes.
She was midway through the last song in her first set when Rudy came forward with a tall glass of iced tea. She smiled and nodded her thanks. Over the applause, she told the crowd she was taking a short break. She headed in Samson and Ivan’s direction, but the crowd swarmed her.
“I knew it,” Ivan said, a big sappy grin splitting his face. “They loved it. They love her.”
“Many of them already loved her. They’ve just discovered something new to love about her. Think we should rescue her?”