BLUE WEDDING (Melody The Librarian Mysteries Book 3) (3 page)

At band practice that night, Gary was incredulous as he viewed the contents of Tiffany’s thumb drive. “And she couldn’t pick out any particular songs she wanted us to play?”

“Nope. Not a one.”

“Well, what are we supposed to do with this?” he asked, exasperated. “Play them all?”

“Maybe you could gather them up and create the longest medley known to man. We could contact the folks at the Guinness World Records. Think of the publicity!” Tommy Blaine looked up from his guitar noodling, as if he were up for the challenge. “Seriously, Gary, our bride-to-be couldn’t care less, but if you want to throw a dart at any of that mess, we can knock one of ‘em out, though I’d be willing to bet she wouldn’t even realize that we had.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” he said. “Let’s just continue what we’re doing. Here are a couple of tunes I’d like to try.”

As Gary passed out the sheet music, his father came down the steps to the basement. “Hello, all,” he called out. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

“Oh, a couple of Jimmy Giuffre tunes,” Gary said, picking up his clarinet.

“Jimmy Giuffre!” Mr. Van Dyke repeated in an excited voice. “Say, someone must have raised you right. You know, Giuffre made his mark during the big band era with Woody Herman, but he was a hard guy to pigeonhole. His trio with Paul Bley was so far ahead of its time, it’s still unique.”

“I like the stuff he did with Bob Brookmeyer and Jim Hall, personally,” Gary said.

“’Time and the River,’ sure,” Mr. Van Dyke nodded, slipping into a recliner. “Well, don’t mind me, kids. I want to hear this!”

“Okay,” Gary said, “Tommy and I are going to play the intro, then Melody and Tommy will play rhythm while I solo, then Tommy, then Melody. When we get back to the head, all three of us will play the intro theme. Just before that, though, you’ll see where we stop while the drummer gets to throw down some flash. Since we don’t have our drummer tonight, we’ll see if we can hold it together during the pauses. Ready? One, two, one, two, three, four….”

Gary and Tommy locked into a nice harmony as they played through the intro. Again, I was amazed by Tommy’s reading and playing abilities. A fourteen-year-old monster, he was. No matter what Gary threw at him, he managed to not only navigate the notes, but to provide just the right shade of tone and volume, whether soloing or comping behind us. What can I say? He was a natural!

It was a peppy little piece, but the blend of clarinet, electric guitar and accordion had a light, airy blend that I guessed would work as either background music or a focal point for the wedding guests. The best of both worlds. When my turn to solo came around, I just tried to maintain the bounciness of the piece, playing variations on the melody and concluding by leading back to where the other instruments would pick up.

Mr. Van Dyke nodded approvingly at the end of my solo. His feet wiggled back and forth on the footrest of the recliner. That was the true measure of our playing:  if the toes are tapping, you’re doing something right. When the drum fill breaks came, we came to an abrupt halt, counting the beats until we came in again. Then there was another break and more counting, although this time, looking around at the others, I couldn’t help giggling. Were they, like me, imagining the rhythmic flailing of our phantom drummer? Again, we started with one more break to go, and this time the others chuckled along with me. Then, the three of us blew through the intro one more time, pretty much flawlessly, and ended.

“Bravo!” Mr. Van Dyke shouted, clapping his hands. Gary looked first at Tommy, as if to ask, ‘Did that sound okay with you? Are you comfortable with the song now?’ Tommy nodded, and slugged down a can of Red Bull. Gary looked at me.

“I thought it sounded great!” I said. “That was fun! Good choice!” Gary directed us to the next piece, a ballad, and picked up his tenor saxophone. Tommy pretty much stuck with rhythm on this one, keeping up a steady strum. I patterned my playing on a piano accompaniment, with spare bass notes, some chord accents, and the occasional fill between Gary’s breaths. But this was Gary’s showpiece, and he channeled a rich, languid, Ben Webster-ish tone. It was so soothing, as if a calm voice was whispering in my ear.

Mr. Van Dyke went around the practice area, dimming the lights to match the mood of the song, swaying as he flitted about as unobtrusively as possible. Fortunately, there were no major changes that necessitated us referencing the sheet music in the faint light.

“Very nice, Gary,” I said. “Very nice.” Tommy nodded his approval.

“Well, I don’t know if Saturday’s crowd will appreciate something like that, but it’s nice to have a few of those chestnuts in reserve, just in case.”

“Oh, sure,” Mr. Van Dyke agreed. “You can always count on a couple of old farts like me to show up at these things!”

Tommy held up his empty can. “I’m gonna get another drink, okay?”

“Melody,” Mr. Van Dyke said, following Tommy toward the stairs. “I put on the kettle. Would you care to join me in an Earl Gray?”

“That would be lovely!”

“Make it three, Dad. Would you like some help?” Gary asked.

“Tommy will help. Be right back.”

Gary smiled at me and collected the sheets from the stands. He stopped and looked toward the stairs, as if checking to make sure they’d gone up. Then he stepped closer to me.

“Melody, I-I hope I didn’t make you feel awkward last night when I asked about staying at a motel.”

“Oh, no,” I lied. “You were being very considerate, and I appreciated it.”

“Because I wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize our friendship. Or our musical partnership. I mean, if you weren’t comfortable going out on a gig with me because you thought I was going to…that I….”

“What? Make a
move
on me?” I asked, as if the possibility were unthinkable. “Never!”

Gary nodded, somewhat uncertainly, I thought, as if he realized he might have phrased things better.

“Having said that,” I continued, “I think I’m a good judge of when a friend is concerned about a friend’s welfare, or whether that friend would like to, perhaps, be
more
than just friends with that friend. But nobody’s infallible, right? ESP isn’t one of my strengths. So if a friend
were
to want to take the relationship into another realm, he might preface a proposal for an overnight stay by discussing his feelings for her, or if he’s not particularly
verbally-oriented
, then he might opt to express those feelings by such traditional gestures as bestowing flowers or candy, or just asking her out on a non-work-related night on the town. Does that help?”

Part of me wanted to run screaming and laughing up the stairs until I fled the house, but I just fixed him with raised eyebrows and a steady stare, as if to ask, “Any questions?”

I thought I could almost smell his synapses sizzling and shorting, but soon he recovered.

“I like what you said,” he said. “I mean, I’m not sure what you said, but I liked it.”

“Naturally.”

Tommy descended the stairs carrying a tray with a teapot and three cups, along with a conspicuous can of Red Bull, with Mr. Van Dyke following behind.

“What say we all take five and enjoy some tea?” Mr. Van Dyke said, pointing us toward the sofa. Tommy deposited the tray on the coffee table.

Picking up his cue, Gary began playing the opening melody of the Dave Brubeck classic, ‘Take Five.’ Although the composer, Paul Desmond, played alto sax on the original, it sounded quite cool in the tenor’s lower register.

“I’ve got to learn how to play that,” I said, “although I’m not sure how it would sound on accordion.”

“It would probably lose all sense of coolness,” Gary deadpanned.

“Don’t be so sure,” his father countered. “I would have never imagined that Ives’ ‘America’ could have been adapted for accordion, but Melody certainly set me straight. That was absolutely brilliant, my dear. Brilliant. By the way, if you missed the review they published in the Crawford Caller, I bought several copies and you’re welcome to one. I even framed one to hang by the accordion display in the store; unfortunately, at present, it’s hanging above empty shelves!”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I said, shaking off the nagging voice of my mother echoing in my head.

“And Melody, I know we never discussed it, but I do plan on showing my appreciation for your efforts. The ‘Accordion Extravaganza’ promotion could not have been more successful. I’ve had to invest the money from our sales into more product, but once those come in….”

“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Van Dyke. It was my pleasure. And, yes, I did get a copy of the Caller’s review. I think Mom bought out the newsstand at the drug store!”

“Well, just know that I haven’t forgotten you, Melody. And by the way, at least eight of the ten sales we made will require some level of instruction, so I hope you can find time to share your skills with them…soon.”

“Sure,” I replied, considering my schedule. “Now that school’s out, the library will be closed on Mondays, so I’ll work Tuesday through Friday and a half a day on Saturday. I don’t have a problem with Sunday lessons. I just don’t know how Mom would feel about being subjected to it.”

“You’re welcome to use the rehearsal room at the store anytime, including evenings or weekends. If you’d like, I’ll get you a key. That might be better in the long run:  it would be less intrusive for both you and the student. You let me know your availability and I’ll contact the customers and set things up. I’ll try to keep the schedule as tight as possible so you’re not getting whiplashed running back and forth.”

“Thanks, Mr. Van Dyke. I will. May I ask you a question?”

“Sure, sweetie. What is it?”

“Could I call you something less formal than Mr. Van Dyke? I don’t know…how about Mr. VD? Or Van Dyke the Elder?”

He chuckled. “Can’t say I care for either of those, my dear. Why don’t we just settle on Zak? It might feel awkward for a little while – it took Gary days before he could call me by my name without stuttering – but before you know it, it’ll flow easily from the tongue.”

“I’m sure it will, Zak,” I agreed. Well, that was a relief.

Zak frowned. “I just wish you guys would let me go out on the road with you sometime. I could play bass, or keyboards, whatever you need. Maybe I could meet a woman with a fetish for older musicians!”

“That’s my dad,” Gary smiled proudly. “But who’d mind the store if we were all out touring together?”

“I know, I know,” Zak muttered. “It’s just not fair, being stuck behind a counter all day. Sometimes I wonder whatever happened to that guy who wanted to devote himself to playing music and just having fun. Where did that guy go?”

I stared at him until the lines in his forehead disappeared. “He’s still there, Zak. I can see him.”

Monday at work, I felt more upbeat than usual, knowing it would be my last Monday at the library till the school year cranked up again. The morning flew by and I was surprised when Margaret showed up to relieve me for lunch. I grabbed a quick bite at Mom’s and when I returned, I heard a series of sneezes as I walked up the steps to the main room.

Margaret sat at my desk; her eyes were watering as she blew her nose. She pointed at a bouquet of flowers on the desk. “Those…those are for you.
Ah-choo!
”

“Margaret, are those flowers making you sneeze? Well, get up and get away from them, you poor thing.” Bless her heart, Margaret was as dedicated as they come, but there’s dedication and then there’s masochism.

The bouquet was mostly composed of Forget-Me-Nots. I looked for a card, but there was none. “Who brought these by, Margaret?”

“A delivery man,” she sniffled. “He didn’t give me his name.”

“Actually, I was more interested in who sent them rather than who delivered them. I don’t see a card.”

“Maybe you could call the flower shop. It was Jameson’s…or was it Clare’s?
Ah-choo!
I’m sorry, I’m not that familiar with them because of my…
ah-choo!
...allergies. But looks like whoever sent them wants to remain anonymous. Oh, Melody, you have a secret admirer! How…
ah-choo!
…romantic!”

“It’s alright, Margaret. I have a pretty good idea who sent them,” I smiled. It appeared that my brief chat with Gary last night had paid dividends. Forget-Me-Nots? Jeez, it had only been half a day since we were last in each other’s company but, nonetheless, the sentiment was sweet. Gary had left for Chicago today and wouldn’t be back until Tuesday evening. Did he think he would be forgotten over the course of two days?

“By the way,” Margaret said in a hushed voice, “I heard from a source at the courthouse that the prosecutor will decide this week what charges will be brought against Bob Christian, that man who killed that woman with the crossbow.”

“Oh, really?” There had been a dearth of information in the media regarding developments in that case. “Margaret, would you do me a favor and let me know if you hear any updates from your source? I’m not always tuned into the local news, and I’m kind of busy getting ready for a wedding this Saturday. I’m helping to provide the music.”

“Okay,” Margaret whispered, giving me a wink. “Oh, that must be Tiffany Ashcroft’s wedding!” Her voice dropped back to a whisper. “Did you know she’s marrying her boss? They say he’s older than her father!” She stared with an eyes-wide-opened expression at the mention of these scandalous revelations.

“I had heard that,” I replied. “Well, all we can do is wish her well and hope that her decisions bring her happiness, eh?” As much as I would have liked to bond with Margaret at Tiffany’s expense, I felt that it would be hypocritical of me to trash a client.

“I suppose you’re right,” Margaret agreed reluctantly. She leaned in closer. “But still…everyone in town is absolutely shocked.”

I nodded, but my attention was drawn to a drop of fluid quivering on my desk. I looked up at Margaret, hoping that it might be a tear, but no such luck. She followed my gaze and her face twisted in mortification. She wiped furiously at the spot with her tissue while I made a mental note to douse my workstation with disinfectant after she’d left.