One Tuesday, a burgundy Rolls-Royce Silver Shadow floated into the lot like a ghost. It idled with a cough. The woman who stepped out wore heels that cost more than Prince’s toolbox.
“Why’d you stop?”
“I know who you are,” she said. “I have a piano. A Steinway. It’s been in a basement for fifteen years. Needs someone who remembers how to touch keys.” prince richardson