“Mmmm. Work, mostly.” She walked her fingers along the plastic record sleeves of the B section. B.B. King, the Beatles, Ben Folds, Black Sabbath. But her head came up when Lana’s voice faded out and a series of notes opened the next song—were those fiddles? Followed by the ominous pound of a drum. Then came the voice. The gravelly female call to attention that made the hair on Hannah’s arms stand up.
“Who is this?”
Shauna pointed to the speaker questioningly, and Hannah nodded. “This is the Unreliables. My cousin’s girlfriend is the lead singer.”
“They’re local?”
“Seattle.”
Now this music would be perfect for Glory Daze. Replacing the industrial sound with the dramatic pound of the drum, the rush of emotion in the singer’s voice, the folk element of the fiddles. It would bring the small-town story to life. Give the film more than just texture—this sound would give it character.
Only when Shauna came up beside Hannah did she realize she’d been staring into space. “What’s in the folder?”
“Huh?” In confusion, she looked down to find Henry’s collection of shanties beneath her arm. She’d brought them along to show Brinley, one music lover to another, hoping it might be a way to bond with the music coordinator. “Oh. These are, um . . . sea shanties. Original ones that were written by my father when he was still alive. Most of them are just words on the page. I’d have to go digging with the locals to learn the tunes, but I’m guessing it would sound something like this.” She pointed at the ceiling. “Like the Unreliables . . .”
Hannah murmured that last part, because a light bulb had started flashing in her brain. She looked down at the folder, flipping it open and leafing through page after page of lyrics with no music. But what if . . . music could be added? The lyrics were deep and heartfelt and poetic. Compelling. They’d made Henry feel real to Hannah. What if she could take it one step further and bring his music to life?
Was that a crazy idea?
“Weird question for you,” she said to Shauna. “How well do you know the Unreliables? Would they be willing to”—what did she even call this?—“collaborate? I have these songs from my father, and I’d love to add music like theirs, add a voice—and they would be perfect. I only have the words, obviously, so they’d have a lot of creative input . . .”
Oh boy.
Now that one light bulb had gone off, her whole head looked like Hollywood Boulevard at night. She’d gone days without inspiration, and now it was pouring in, all because of the faded blue folder in her hands.
Glory Daze took place in Westport.
Westport was Henry Cross.
How many times had she been told that?
Currently, the music soundtrack was made up of songs that already existed and that never felt right to Hannah. Music for another time and place that dulled the magic of this location. It dulled the impact of Westport as the backdrop. But what if the score was made up of songs written by the man who defined this place?
“You want to record them? Intriguing,” Shauna said, pursing her lips. “So you’d want them to add their own spin to the shanties. Lay down some tracks . . .”
“Yes. I mean, if they’re in Seattle, I could meet with them myself. Compensate them.” If there was ever a time to give in and use the family money available to her, this was it. And wow. All of this felt like leading-lady moves. But they felt good, so she took them one step further. “I’d like to have some input as well.”
Shauna nodded, seeming kind of impressed. “Let me reach out to my cousin to see if they’re available. But don’t count on them. It could be a dead end. They’re not called the Unreliables for nothing.”
“Right,” Hannah said wryly, closing the folder and running her hand over the front cover, getting more and more caught up in the idea, something telling her this was it. This was big. She’d only had the idea a minute ago and already ached to get started. To dive into the process she’d always watched from the wings. She could be a part of it. With her father. “Thanks.”
Shauna shuffled across the ancient floor and plopped herself down on a stool behind the counter. “Where have you been staying while you’re in town? With Brendan and Piper?”
“Not this time. Brendan’s parents are in town, so”—she swallowed, thinking about her temporary roommate’s face relaxed in sleep—“I’m staying with Fox up on the harbor.”