His cabin did not have a piano. Nor did his apartments. His friends’ and associates’ pianos were, well, inappropriate for him to touch lest he be judged.

He did not give a damn what the Appletons thought of his piano playing – especially after what key murder he had heard last time he was here.

Surreptitiously, he cast a look over his shoulder. Then, he slipped his left glove off, flexed his hands, and ran his bare hand down the entire row to check for off keys.