A Melody for James (Christian Suspense)

by Hallee Bridgeman

  "Steve's wife has gone into early labor, and is apparently having complications. We've been waiting for Max to show up before we let Steve know, but he just got into a fender bender on the 400. I can't keep Steve waiting, but he's lead guitar."

  "Where is his wife?" James asked.

  "Columbus. It will only take him about thirty minutes to get from here to there." Hal turned around and yelled. "Someone get me a pen and paper, then get Melody's attention. Get one of those cops out there to be ready to drive Stevie to the airport. Give me back my phone, James. I have to call Melody's pilot." He yelled toward someone standing in the wings. "When is she due for a change?"

  "After this song."

  Melody continued to sing as she met a tech on the stage who handed her a note. She read as she sang, then nodded and handed it back to him and went back to the center of the stage. During an interlude in the song, she went and whispered into Steve's ear, who nodded and kept playing. She finished the song and ran backstage. She made eye contact with Lisa. "I need your manicure kit," she said as she pulled off her boots, pulled a pair of blue jeans on, then put on her new pair of Falcons boots. The dress was ripped off as the pants had been, and her signed jersey went over her head. "Someone find me something to eat during the next change," she said as Lisa handed over the manicure kit, and Melody ran back to the stage, going over to Steve and taking his guitar from him. A tech ran up and set a microphone on a stand for her while Steve ran off stage.

  "We've had a bit of a situation," she told the crowd as she adjusted the straps on the guitar. "It seems that Stevie's new baby has decided to grace us with its presence a little early, so he has to go and tell his wife how to do it." The crowd cheered. Melody looked toward the wings, "Is Steve still in the building?" she asked. "Let him know that the good thing about a name like Mel is that it can be used for a girl or a boy." The audience loved it, as she'd known they would.

  She pulled out a pair of nail clippers from the bag, then tossed the bag toward the wings. A tech darted out to pick it up. "Our backup guitarist is on the way, but he's not here yet. You know," she said coyly, "traffic in Atlanta. Hard to imagine." The roar of laughter washed through the building. She started to clip her nails. "These nails are the perfect length for my piano, but I'm afraid they'll get in the way with the guitar." She glanced up at the crowd, a sparkle in her eye. "Do ya'll like my outfit?" Cheers. "How many of ya'll are Falcons fans?" They almost brought the roof down while she finished cutting off her nails, then she bent at the waist and slid the clippers along the floor toward the wings. "All right. It's been about three or four years since I played one of these things. Let me see if I can reintroduce myself."

  Her fingers moved over the strings, making them sing with the rock-a-Billy fast tune. She was about halfway through it when James finally heard Lisa speak. "Man, she's jammin'." James grinned and felt that was an apt description. She was good. He caught himself wanting to tap his toes to the beat.

  Max showed up under police escort about three songs later, and took over the guitar. Melody handed it over gladly, feeling the tiny abrasions on the tips of her fingers.

  During her next change she managed to swallow three bites of some melon and chug half a bottle of spring water, still getting her clothes changed, and making it back on the stage in under ten seconds. She was tireless, riding the crowd's energy, giving them everything they came for, then blowing them away with more. There wasn't an inch of stage left untouched by her colorful boots, and there wasn't a person in the crowd left untouched by her songs. James decided watching her in full power was one of the most amazing things he'd ever witnessed.

  She finished the last song, then went backstage for one more wardrobe change for the encore. Her hair was put back up and a black evening gown was shimmied onto her. She kicked off a pair of boots and slipped into a pair of heels while the crowd screamed for more. The microphone stand was brought back out, the lights dimmed, and a single spotlight shown down on her. She waited for the audience to calm down. They knew what they were about to get, so it took them a little while to completely settle.

  Melody cleared her throat. "A little over a week ago, I became Mrs. James Montgomery," she said. The crowd surged to its feet and she had to wait a full minute before she could continue talking. "What most people don't know is that I met James four years ago. I wrote this song when I met him. It stayed in my head for a few years before I had the courage to actually record it. The best part of it is that through reacquainting myself with my husband, through falling in love with him, I fell in love with God again, too. The last few weeks have been the most amazing of my life." She paused and cleared her throat again. "This is my last song for the evening." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  And then she sang.

  For the first time that night, the audience went quiet, letting Melody's voice work its magic. She let all the love she felt for James come out with it, and the song was twice as powerful as it had ever been. All throughout the crowd, cell phones lit up and swayed back and forth to the gentle beat, held high over head like lighters from decades before.

  When she finished, the roar of the audience was beyond deafening. She stood there for a long time, letting them thank her before she blew a kiss. Her voice sounded a little hoarse as she said, "Thank you for spending New Year's day with me Atlanta. Good night."

  She walked backstage amid the overpowering ovation, and Morgan ran up and hugged her. "Oh Melly, that had to be the best concert I've ever seen you put on. You were terrific!"

  "Thanks, Morg." Someone handed her a bottle of water, and Lisa came up one more time to change her. The dress and shoes were stripped off, and a baggy pair of jeans and a loose button-down shirt slipped on. Her feet hurt too badly for boots, so she asked Lisa to find her a pair of canvas shoes. Ignoring everyone around her, she pulled James into a corner and kissed him as if her life depended on it. He held her close, still reeling from the night. From the song. She tilted her head up and looked at him, "I'm really hungry."

  He threw his head back and laughed. "I bet."

  "I wonder if we could find a waffle place open at this hour?"

  James grinned, "Here in Atlanta? An establishment that's open 24 hours that sells waffles? I don't think so."

  Hal stood back amid the chaos and beamed. His Melody was the best there was. His phone rang, and he fumbled with his good hand to get it answered. It took him a while to hear the voice on the other end, but his grin went ear to ear when he hung up the phone. "Hey everybody. Can I have your attention, please? Steve and Tiffany Masters had a baby boy, and they named him Steven Melvin." He found Melody in the crowd. "He said to tell you he heard you as he left the building, and he got the message. He barely made it in time, but Tiffany is fine, and the baby is great."

  Everyone cheered. Ginger came from the hall leading to the showers, already dressed and made-up. She must have been showering during the last song. "Hey Melly. Man, what a night. It was like a dream come true. Plus, you were great."

  "You were too, Ginger. The offer stands. Come with us for the entire tour." Melody reiterated.

  "I wish I could, but I have commitments to the school." She grabbed Melody's hand and squeezed. "I want to thank you. I would never have had a chance to do something like this if it wasn't for you."

  "It's an open offer, Ginger," she said.

  Hal got her attention to let her know that the audience members who had backstage passes were on their way. She nodded, kissed Ginger, and went to greet her guests.

  ¯¯¯¯

  CHAPTER 26

  MELODY had eaten steadily since she left the stage. Now she sat on the couch with a pint of ice cream in her lap, busy working her way through it. James sat in a chair with his feet propped on the coffee table, watching her. Jen had already retired for the evening, and they found themselves alone for the first time since they got up that morning, or, looking at his watch, yesterday morning. It was four o'clock.

  "How much more do you a
ctually think you'll be able to eat?" he asked her with a grin.

  "You have to remember that I started on empty tonight, and I burned more calories out there than you'll burn in a month at your gym," she retorted.

  "How are you going to hold up to nine months of this? It would be bad enough if you didn't go through all of the physical and mental stress beforehand."

  "That's the problem David Patterson has with me. I only do one or at most two concerts a week. I couldn't handle more than that. Most stars do three or four. Plus, I fly instead of bus it. We have a trucking company that meets the plane in whatever city we're going to. That cuts back on a lot of the stress right there."

  "Why does Patterson have a problem with it?"

  "David was a good friend of my father's, and he's a good friend to us now. But, I am sorry I ever got caught up in business with him. His only goal is to make as much money as possible. I could be making more, but I won't. Thankfully, I have Hal, who was with me the very first night I ever performed, and almost had to drag me onto the stage and hold me there. My first contract was only for a year, then when we signed my four-year contract, Hal put a clause in it that I can set my own tour schedule. I was really starting to hit it big, and they were afraid they'd lose me, so they agreed to it, thinking they could get around it later. But I think that people look at Hal's size and forget the brilliant legal mind he has. Last year they took him to arbitration twice. They've tried everything in their power to break the clause, but nothing has worked."

  James raised his eyebrow, amazed at the amount of energy she still had after the last 30 or so hours. "Knowing David personally, I really can't reconcile his professional behavior. It hurts my feelings and feelings have no place in business, you know? So, we're negotiating with another label right now." She took a big bite of ice cream. "I'm hyped up and babbling. I'm sorry."

  "I'll let you know when it bothers me. Please go on," he prompted.

  "Well, see, David gets a cut of the songs and he gets a cut of the ticket sales, but that's it. He has no claim to any licensed merchandise or sponsored public appearances. All that is the sole property of Melody Mason, Inc."

  "What kind of things do you license?"

  "Oh, heavens, all kinds of things. My name or face is on everything from key chains to post cards to coffee cups. There's a restaurant chain that named a sandwich after me. An auto manufacturer is coming out with a Melody Mason signature edition pickup truck with a leather interior that matches a pair of my boots. Oh. The big one is my boots. I visited the factory. It was about to go slap under. Now they're the biggest employer in that little town east of here. David doesn't get a cut of any of that. It all goes to my corporation."

  "You really are a brand."

  Melody nodded. "But that's not all. There's a publishing house that wants to do my biography. The cooking channel wants to collaborate on a cookbook with me and have me appear on some shows with that lady from Savannah."

  James was frankly astonished. "You're kidding."

  She shook her head and swallowed another spoonful of ice cream. "I know. But I won't be cooking. She will. My name is a brand. It's all about brand recognition. Anyway, David doesn't get any of it. But he makes a small fortune with every single I release and with every concert I put on. So it's a constant fight to try to get me to put more venues on my schedule."

  "You know," James observed. "Years ago, after meeting with him a few times, I declined Patterson's offer to invest in Montgomery-Lawson. I prefer to be in control." He rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, tired. "Wouldn't Patterson rather have you perform less than collapse and not be able to perform at all?"

  Melody took a bite of ice cream, then twirled the spoon around in her mouth. "Only a very few select people on my crew really know about my phobia. We kind of try to keep it hidden."

  "How can you?"

  "I'm pretty much off limits about two hours before show time. Before that, I mainly just have the nausea and a mean temper. A lot of people operate purely on nerves by then, so my temper goes unnoticed. The nausea I'm able to hide. We always try to find some way for me to get on stage hidden, like a trap door below the stage on the platform, or at the music show last month when I walked onto a darkened stage with the curtain down. No one really sees the panic."

  "Have you ever been unable to perform?"

  "No. Hal is relentless, and pretty big. I'm really glad you stepped in tonight, because he never would have been able to keep me down without hurting himself."

  "My pleasure." He watched her as she put down the carton and stood. "So, where did you find Lisa?"

  Melody laughed and walked over to him, crawling onto his lap. "Do you really want to talk about Lisa?" she asked him, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him.

  ¯¯¯¯

  THE phone woke James late the next morning. He grabbed it off its base and went out of the bedroom so he wouldn't wake Melody.

  "Montgomery," he answered as he went to the kitchen. He pushed a button on the coffee maker, and heard it fill with water and start to grind beans.

  "This is Detective Suarez, Mr. Montgomery. The lab sent back the video from the day of the shooting, and we received the enhancement of the frames your company sent us. It's definitely a man, but the picture is still indistinct. We'd like Mrs. Montgomery to take a look at it, to see if maybe she can identify him."

  "Make it late this afternoon. I think she'll be asleep most of today."

  "I wouldn't be surprised after last night. I'm at home today. Call me whenever it's convenient for you to do so."

  Jen appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Everything good?"

  "Yes. Suarez has some pictures for Melody to look at when she's free."

  "Did she plan on going out today or are they coming here?"

  "She has plans this evening, but nothing until then. I'm going to do some work here. I'm sure Suarez will come here." The coffee maker signaled the coffee ready. "Would you like a cup?"

  "No, thank you. Your office is free if you need it." She dug a bluetooth headset out of her pocket and hooked it over her ear and turned away.

  He poured himself a cup of coffee then went to his office, hooking the laptop up to his docking station. After reading e-mails from the last several days, he made a note in his schedule to meet with accounting for the year-end, then opened the progress reports R & D had turned in on the data storage project. He read through the reports, frustrated to see that they were still stuck in the same rut.

  He rubbed his forehead and thought. For the past few days something had nagged at his memory, something Angela had told him. He just couldn't recall what or even when.

  Memory is a tricky thing, especially for someone with perfect recall. James could not help remember things like numbers or anything he read. But conversations he could filter. Every conversation didn't automatically end up in what he called his "permanent storage."

  Angela often shared her work progress with him, but spoke as if she were drafting a thesis. More often than not, she simply verbalized her thoughts as they ran down one tangent and up the next. Occasionally, he didn't pay as much attention to the information she relayed as he ought to have done. At the time, he was more concerned about whether or not she felt happy about what she was saying. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to replay the last few conversations he'd had with her, but nothing popped out. If she had ever bothered to write some of it down, he would be able to recall it perfectly for the rest of his life.

  He sat up and reached for his cup of coffee, realizing that it had gone cold. In the kitchen, he dumped out the old coffee, and poured a fresh cup, splashing his hand with the hot brew in the process. He dropped the cup out of reflex and watched it shatter on the ground. Suddenly, he felt as if he were in his old kitchen looking at another broken coffee cup on the floor.

  It had been about a week before she was killed. They were in the kitchen that morning, and Angela was talking about the progress they had made the day before. James
had mentally tried to reschedule his day to accommodate some men from London who decided to call a meeting at the last minute.

  "So, I am sure someone had been going through them, so I sent them with the other things to my mom," she had said. She'd poured herself a cup of coffee, then held up the pot to see if he wanted some. He held his cup out to her, and as she began to pour, the phone rang. She'd jumped and spilled coffee on his hand, making him drop the cup. He'd watched it shatter on the floor.

  She'd grabbed a dishtowel and wiped his hand, ignoring the phone.

  "Honey, I'm so sorry. I've been so jumpy lately," she'd said, as she lifted his hand to kiss it, then placed her hand on his cheek and kissed his lips.

  He winked at her, making her smile, then went to get a broom from the closet. "Anyway, what was I talking about?" she'd asked him, wiping up the spilled coffee.

  "Something about your mother," he'd answered. She'd glanced at her watch then, and with a shake of her head said, "I can't remember. I'm sure I'll think about it as soon as I'm downstairs. I have to go, anyway. I'm late as it is."

  She'd grabbed the key card that unlocked her basement lab, kissed him, and as she left said, "If you get a chance, pop your head into the lab before you leave. Love you, bye." She blew him a kiss and waved as she'd gone down the basement stairs.

  Back to the present, James ignored the broken glass and went to the phone. His hand wasn't quite steady as he dialed his mother-in-law's number. She answered on the first ring. "Hello Diane, this is James. How are you?"

  ¯¯¯¯

  "WHEN do all your mistakes add up to incompetence?" They risked much by meeting in person. Obviously, someone needed to make a point.

  Rikard Šabalj felt something snap in his temple and his vision turned red. When he spoke, the words were so laced with a Serbian accent that they were hard to understand. "I cannot control everything."