Music to Die For

by Radine Trees Nehring

  Three voices spoke together: “Sick.” “She has a cold.” And, the friendliest: “Oh, we’re so sorry, the little one has a slight cold, and we thought it best to leave her at home with a babysitter. We’re a bit late on account of it.”

  That was Aunt Brigid Mason, of course, and after Carrie had murmured sympathy, the silence returned.

  Carrie was leading the way into the main hall when Tracy said, almost whispering, “Y’all go on, I’m gonna stop in the restroom here. I’ll catch up to you.”

  Chase turned toward Tracy and reached out as if to grab her arm, but she was already headed down the side hall. He glanced at Carrie, shrugged, and said, “Okay.”

  Carrie started toward the front door again, and as she walked, she heard the snick of a latch as a door clicked shut. Odd. Carrie was familiar with public restrooms in almost any building where she’d spent much time, and she knew, without thinking about it, that the public restrooms here had doors with automatic closers that went shut with a shush and a soft thunk. Wherever Tracy had gone, it wasn’t to the restroom, but why the lie?

  She shook the question aside and, as she pushed through the front doors of the building, thought once more about the woman in the woods. She decided that, somehow, the Masons should be told about the eerie message. Hearing about a kidnapped child twice in one day was just too much coincidence. Everyone could be talking about the same child. But how would she bring the subject up without admitting she’d overheard some of their conversation?

  “We’ll be sorry to have missed seeing Dulcey.”

  No response.

  “I’ll bet she enjoys playing with you.”

  A murmured, “Yes,” from Chase, but nothing more.

  Carrie pursed her lips in frustration. What now? The strange warnings came too close to the reality of what she had just overheard to be completely dismissed as the product of a fertile or twisted imagination. That woman might really know something about the kidnapping of Dulcey Mason.

  It would have been easy to bring the forest encounter into almost any type of conversation. Since the Masons were native to the area, quizzing them about odd folk lore and a kidnapper called a gowerow would fit right in.

  But neither Chase nor his mother offered an opportunity for any conversation at all, let alone questions about a spooky woman who spoke of kidnapping. They remained silent to the point of rudeness.

  If only Henry were here right this moment. Then there’d be someone to share this with and another head to think about what to do next.

  It had sounded like Tracy and Aunt Brigid thought Dulcey was quite safe—even having a good time, sort of a kidnapping game—but as far as Carrie was concerned, that was carrying fun and games too far. Chase was the only one who had seemed worried, and he was doing a good job of concealing his feelings now.

  Oh, well, phooey on them. The Masons probably had so much money that they could pay the ransom without pain, and the public would never know about the abduction of a famous child.

  She told herself to forget the whole thing. None of her business. But her spine was still tingling and her mind buzzing with concern as she led the Masons into the dining room.

  A breathless Tracy caught up with them just as the convention director was finishing his speech, and after he had acknowledged polite applause, Carrie ushered the three to their seats, whispered their explanation for tardiness in the director’s ear, then went to her own chair.

  She had taken a bite of her salad before Beth, who was staring at her with what looked like awe, could murmur, “Where were they? Was something wrong?”

  After repeating the public explanation for the performers’ lateness and acknowledging Beth’s thanks with what she hoped was a casual smile, Carrie turned her attention to the food in front of her. She had no difficulty appreciating the meal in spite of the fact that her thoughts were picking through the odd events of the afternoon and evening, and she was trying to sort out what to do next.

  Maybe it was none of her business but, after all, she had been the one to encounter the woman in the forest and, what’s more, that woman had chosen to communicate a message to her. Didn’t some responsibility go with that?

  Even if she had to admit to the Masons that she’d heard just a teeny bit of their conversation, she really should tell them what the woman had said. By the time her plate was empty she’d worked out a way to do it. After the performance she’d continue pretending to be their hostess and leave with them to escort them to...where? They knew this area a lot better than she did.

  Well, she’d fake it. She was very good at faking things, as she knew Henry would affirm, without meaning his affirmation as a compliment. Whatever. She was good at acting. She’d just walk out with them and say something like: “By the way, I was in the woods this afternoon and I saw an unusual woman. I wonder if, being native to this area, you might understand what she was talking about...”

  A waitress took away her dinner plate and put down a fat piece of huckleberry pie with sugary purple juice oozing out each side. Oh, my! She was beginning to feel stuffed, but she took a few bites of pie anyway and went back to thoughts about the missing child.

  Finally she looked up to see Beth glaring at her and realized she’d been responding to her friend’s attempts at conversation almost like the Masons had responded to hers a few minutes earlier.

  She reached over to squeeze Beth’s hand. “Sorry, my thoughts have been a million miles away.”

  “Well, I can sure tell that,” Beth said, “and I was wondering if Henry had called and said he couldn’t come tomorrow.”

  Carrie laughed. “Goodness, no. I’m making plans for using some of the new ideas we’ve heard this week. Sorry, guess I can’t stop thinking about my tourists. I was also thinking I should try and pick more huckleberries next summer and freeze them to make pies.”

  These were explanations Beth could understand, and she smiled at Carrie, displaying teeth that were stained purple with berry juice. Then she nodded and returned to her piece of pie, leaving Carrie to feel only slightly guilty about telling such outrageous lies—though Beth would probably remember any minute that Carrie was no cook and never made pies. Oh, well. She would explain everything later, when all this was over and the child was safely home.

  Surely that would be soon.

  After the dessert plates had been removed, the convention director presented Tracy Teal, Chase Mason, and Aunt Brigid Mason with the flourish their fame deserved, repeating lavish and obviously memorized accolades for each of them.

  Once more Carrie was aware that Henry, not she, should be the one listening to this program. Hoping to remember some detail or musical specialty to tell him about, she turned her full attention to the performance.

  For the first time she looked closely at the Masons. Tracy was petite, with delicate features, creamy skin, and what Beth would call a Scarlett O’Hara waist. She had long blond hair, worn in a simple ponytail. Her small waist was enhanced by a full country skirt and ruffled blouse.

  Chase and his mother were darker. He was tall and a little too thin to be a real pin-up. Aunt Brigid was sturdier than her son, and the gathered skirt and shawl she wore went well with her full figure, though—Carrie looked back at Tracy—the same type costume showed off a petite figure too.

  None of the three seemed conscious of their looks, but they were obviously quite conscious of their music. They’re really accomplished professional musicians, Carrie thought. At least for the moment, the problem of Dulcey seemed not to be affecting them at all.

  The audience stood to applaud and cheer after the last song. Then a few people began calling, “Lying to Strangers, Lying to Strangers,” and soon almost everyone in the dining room, including Carrie, was chanting the name of Chase and Tracy’s best-known recording.

  Finally Chase held up a hand.

  “Thank you, thank you all very much. As you know, no music written after 1940 is performed here at the Ozark Folk Center, and,” he laughed and looked at Tra
cy, “since Tracy and I wrote the song, we can’t claim it’s that old.”

  He paused to allow the audience to laugh too, then continued. “But seein’ as how this is a private party...”

  Applause interrupted him. The three musicians exchanged glances, then looked down at their instruments until the noise subsided and the dining room fell into an expectant hush.

  In a moment the familiar melody began on Tracy’s guitar, then Aunt Brigid lifted her fiddle and joined in, playing harmony. Chase strummed the rhythm on his banjo and started to sing, very softly:

  “When she was only one day old

  She stole her daddy’s heart.

  And by the time that she was four

  They were n’er apart.

  “But she’d be lying to strangers,

  Lying to strangers.

  Never any other man,

  He’s the main one in her heart.”

  Carrie marveled at the smiling, bland faces that Tracy and Aunt Brigid turned to the audience as they accompanied Chase. These women were incredibly good actresses.

  “And after her own momma left,

  People saw ’twas true.

  She would always stay by him,

  He was the only man she knew.

  “And she was lying to strangers...”

  Carrie looked around the room. Everyone was gripped by the emotion that had now begun to fill Chase’s words.

  “A sixteen year old’s beauty

  Turned many a young man’s head,

  But still the same old story came,

  ‘I’m Daddy’s, I’ll not wed.’”

  Aunt Brigid and Tracy were still cool—mere background figures. Chase wasn’t. What if Dulcey had been here? Would Chase have sung the song to his four-year-old daughter? That would certainly touch every heart in an audience.

  “Then, when she was twenty-one

  The stranger came to town.

  He swore that he would make her his,

  She’d wear his wedding gown.”

  As the next chorus began, Tracy’s voice, then Aunt Brigid’s, backed up Chase’s strong tenor.

  “But she kept lying to strangers,

  Lying to strangers.

  ‘Daddy’s the only man I love,

  The main man in my heart.’

  “The stranger stayed a single man.

  He bought the farm next door.

  The years went by, the two would smile.

  Folks saw that and nothing more.

  “And she kept lying to strangers,

  Lying to strangers.

  ‘Daddy’s still the only man,

  The main one in my heart.’

  “When the two were fifty-one

  Daddy died in his own bed.

  Three months later she became a bride.

  ‘What a shock’ folks ’round there said.

  “But they’d been lying to strangers,

  Lying to strangers.

  The man next door was not strange,

  He was the main one in her heart.

  The main man in her heart.”

  As the last note faded, the entire audience rose to its feet again, stirred, Carrie knew, not only by beautiful music, but by an emotion most would never know the reason for.

  Finally, Chase held up his hand for quiet.

  “I should tell you that the term ‘lying to strangers’ originally had nothing to do with this love song. It comes from a popular saying among us hill folks...‘We only lie to strangers.’ But,” he continued over the laughter, which his voice quickly silenced, “I’m not lying when I say how much Tracy, Momma, and I enjoyed performing for you. Thanks, and good night.”

  Before anyone in the audience had time to ask for another encore or could rush forward to meet the stars, the three of them had cased their instruments and left the room.

  Caught by surprise, Carrie leaped to her feet. Whispering to an astonished Beth that she needed to escort the Masons, she picked up her purse and jacket and hurried out of the banquet hall.

  The performers had halted at the opposite side of the darkened public dining room. Carrie saw Tracy say something to Chase and hand him her guitar case before she turned to walk down the hallway leading to the public restrooms. Carrie hesitated, watching Chase and his mother go out the front door of the building, then decided to follow Tracy. The ladies’ room would be a good place to talk.

  As soon as she reached the hall, Carrie discovered with dismay that Tracy wasn’t headed for the ladies’ room after all, but for a nearby public telephone. She had her back to Carrie and was punching in a number.

  Carrie slowed her steps, hoping to overhear what Tracy was saying, but when Tracy looked toward her, she pulled open the door marked “Women.” She could think of no other reason for being behind Tracy.

  Carrie had often wondered how soundproof restroom doors were, and now she found that this one was certainly soundproof. She couldn’t hear anything outside, even with her ear against the door.

  What should she do? She didn’t want to lose the opportunity to talk with at least one of the Masons.

  Gambling that Tracy would come in after finishing her conversation, Carrie went into one of the stalls, shut the door, sat down, and waited.

  Eventually it became obvious she had gambled and lost. Too much time had passed. She left the stall and opened the restroom door. The hall was empty. She looked at the pay phone and saw a guitar pick lying on the shelf. Well, it was a small thing, but it did give her a reason to follow, and that was exactly what she was going to do! She stuck the guitar pick in her pocket and headed out the door and across the driveway to the administration building. She assumed the Masons’ vehicle was parked in the employee parking lot on the far side of the auditorium.

  But, she discovered, the front door of the administration building was now locked.

  Since the Masons were on foot, there must be another opening to the craft area. Carrie walked around one side of the building and saw only a weathered board fence glowing silver in the moonlight. She shivered, wishing she had worn her heavier jacket, and circled back around the front of the building, continuing past the entry doors to the other side.

  There, a utility gate! Trying the latch, she found the gate was unlocked.

  She hesitated. Even someone as unmusical as she was would probably realize that returning a guitar pick wasn’t worth following Tracy all over the Ozark Folk Center complex. Many in the Masons’ audiences would probably treasure such a souvenir and take it home to show off. She could save it and give it to Henry. Besides, it was dark, it was cold, and this was getting ridiculous.

  But...

  She felt the thing in her pocket. Would a musical novice assume such a pick was specially made for Tracy? She doubted it, but then, she didn’t really know. And even if she found Tracy, would the woman talk to her, or would she just take the pick and rush off without so much as a thank you?

  Well, Carrie thought, I do know this really isn’t my business.

  Carrie heard a barred owl’s call and the return of the call from a distance. Back home she often sat on her deck or stood in the woods and held two-way, or even three-way, conversations with the owls. For some reason she didn’t understand, they responded to her mimicry of their “who-hoot hoo-hoo,” and usually came closer to continue the conversation. But she wouldn’t break the silence here tonight.

  She was just turning away to walk back to the dining room when a soft cry and then a moan came from beyond the gate.

  That was enough. Carrie lifted the latch.

  Chapter IV

  The moon was now behind a cloud, but she still hadn’t expected the area inside the fence to be so awfully dark. What had happened to the security lights? Carrie stood by the gate and tried to figure out just where she was and where everything else in the enclosed area was.

  The person who had cried out couldn’t be too far away. She waited, listening, afraid to move or make any noise. Then the sound came again. It was definitely a woman, crying
, “No, no,” very softly. And—maybe it was her imagination since she’d heard her say it earlier—it sounded like Tracy’s “No.”

  But where was Tracy? Somewhere ahead. Carrie’s impulse was to run forward, but that was impossible in the blinding darkness. All she could do was wait.

  At last her eyes began to detect shades and shapes. There was nothing on her left. The ground there seemed to fall away sharply. She could feel the drop with her left foot—the beginning of the terraced herb gardens. The sound hadn’t come from that direction anyway.

  She knew the administration building was on her right. She could see the outline of a large tree next to it, and, concentrating, she decided the walkway through the craft area must begin under that tree.

  She began to slide her feet uphill, keeping her hand against the stone wall of the building.

  Suddenly her left foot caught on something. She fell, brushing her hand and face against the rough wall and toppling into an area that seemed bare of anything but damp earth.

  At least she’d made no noise but a muffled “whump.”

  There’s something to be said for well-padded bottoms, Carrie thought as she sat, assessing damage. Her hand and face tingled and were probably scraped, but, other than a sting in the area where her blue dress met the ground, there seemed to be no other damage, except maybe to the dress. Her behind was probably covered with dirt blobs.

  Well. She felt the ground around her and discovered she was sitting in a newly turned square of earth outlined by wooden landscaping timbers. It must be some sort of garden bed, and anything planted in it was probably worse off than she was. Too bad.

  She heard another “No...” and forgot about the garden and the dirt. She crawled over the timbers on her hands and knees, and, bracing her uninjured hand against the wall, stood and continued uphill until her feet located the edge of the concrete walkway. At the same time, her hand felt the corner of the back door alcove to the administration building. Now she knew where she was, and the building just ahead of her, a dark rectangle against the sky, was the craft area snack shop.