Music to Die For

by Radine Trees Nehring

  “He is with her,” Carrie said and went back to low-voiced repetition of the words that had comforted and helped her so many times.

  Tracy stirred, whispered, “Dulcey,” once, then was quiet as Carrie finished: “With long life will I satisfy him, and shew him my salvation.” After a short pause, she returned to the beginning and said again, “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the almighty.” As she spoke, she was aware that Chase had started the van and they were moving.

  When the Psalm ended for the second time, Carrie shut her eyes for a moment, then raised her head and looked toward Brigid and Chase.

  Keeping her voice as low as possible, she asked, “Shouldn’t we call the fire department? Could the fire spread?”

  “Won’t be enough left to save,” Chase said, “’n’ the woods are too damp to catch. Fire truck’ll come anyway. Neighbors across the valley’ll have seen the flames, ’n’ besides, the sheriff’ll be headed this way soon enough.”

  Accenting his words, flashing lights appeared around the curve ahead of them. A fire engine and water truck passed, leading a long, winding line of volunteer fire department members in their trucks and cars.

  “I hope they don’t think anyone was in that house,” Carrie said. “We could tell them no one was.”

  “Why should they take our word?” Chase asked. “’N’ reporting it’d just make trouble for us. They’ll have to search through what’s left anyhow. Besides, they’ll see there’s no car there. Farel’s car’s in the employee parking lot. I saw it myself when we went to the van tonight. I looked through the windows to see if...maybe Dulcey... I didn’t see anything inside except a blanket on the back seat. Car was locked, but the blanket was too flat for Dulcey to be under it.”

  “Best keep quiet fer now,” Brigid said. “It’s time we all got some rest. Soon as we’re home, I’ll brew up some of my special feverfew tea. That’ll help. Nothin’ more we can do, ’lest we talk to Sheriff Wylie...”

  “No,” her son said.

  “Well, then...”

  Carrie spoke up. “According to the note, the kidnappers will be in touch with you tomorrow evening, most likely to ask for ransom. It sounded like money was all they wanted, unless there’s some other reason you know about?”

  Neither Brigid nor Chase said anything, so she went on. “If we haven’t made progress soon, you simply must tell the sheriff about the kidnapping—if he’s the one that would have jurisdiction. He or the police would likely call in the FBI, wouldn’t they? That’d bring us expert help.”

  “Sheriff has jurisdiction at the Folk Center grounds,” Chase said.

  “But Dulcey was taken from your home.”

  “I’m out in Stone County,” Brigid said, “on Harmony Road, north o’town. Besides, I figure Police Chief Bolen only takes the city law job ’cause he likes the uniform, and on account of he’s related to mosta the city council. There’s lots of Bolen kin. ’N’ he’s related to the Teals on his wife’s side, way back at least.”

  She snorted, dismissing the police chief.

  “Sheriff Wylie, then.” Carrie paused to watch Tracy’s face and quiet breathing for a moment before she asked, “Did either of you get a good enough look at the car or man at Farel’s to identify them?”

  Chase and Brigid were both silent.

  I’ll bet they saw the man as clearly as I did, Carrie thought, or at least his shirt.

  “Don’t know much about cars,” Brigid said finally, “but it was old, wasn’t it? Rattled a lot. Didn’t see any license plate.”

  “I saw one,” Carrie said, “but it was smudged with dirt, and there was mud or tape masking the light above it. It wasn’t an Arkansas plate. White and blue, but no red.”

  “Missouri, maybe,” Chase said as they started down Mountain View’s main street.

  “That’s what I thought.” Carrie wanted to ask if Bobby Lee Logan would be driving a car with a Missouri plate, but decided she should keep some information to herself—for now, at least—so all she said was, “Can you drop me off somewhere near the Folk Center Lodge? I hope it’s not much out of your way. I don’t think I could make it up that hill on foot tonight.”

  Chase nodded and turned off on the road they had come down earlier in the evening.

  Carrie continued, thinking aloud. “As soon as I can get out tomorrow I’ll try to find Margaret Culpeper, and, whether you tell the sheriff or not, I will tell her I know there’s a child missing. Why would she find it necessary to say anything more about that to me if I don’t tell her how true her prophecy is? It could encourage her to talk to me if she knows a child has been kidnapped.”

  “I think she knows already,” replied Brigid as the van turned up the hill toward the Folk Center.

  “I wasn’t kidding when I mentioned to be careful there,” Chase said. “Family is quirky...real strange, maybe even dangerous. Lots of rumors around that family for years. People don’t mess with ’em.”

  “Well, since I was born a Culpeper, I have an advantage,” Carrie said. “I may not be a real relative, but why not act as if I am? Why can’t I have a few peculiar quirks myself? Besides, I have a friend coming here tomorrow who can help. He’s a neighbor from back home, a good man, and a very smart one. He can go with me.” She didn’t add that her friend was a former homicide detective.

  “Lady,” Brigid said, “I think there’s things we haven’t heard about you yet, like how you knew about the feud, or, uh, the trouble ’tween Teals and Masons. That goes years back, so I bet your folks was from here onc’t upon a time. Beats me how else you’d-a figured out the Masons would be looked at purty close if anything happened to a Teal—how we’d need someone to speak fer us ’n’ say where we was. Even Tracy. Mebbe especially Tracy. Teals treat her like she’s some kinda poison since she married my Chase. She had to run off to marry him. That tuk backbone. She mebbe seems young, but she’s still got backbone, ’n’ don’t you fergit it.”

  So, Carrie thought, there really are bad feelings between Tracy’s family and the Masons, but that still shouldn’t mean murder, not these days.

  As if she’d picked up Carrie’s thoughts, Brigid continued, “Farel now...well, I don’t hold with killin’. He thought like a Teal, though, not like Tracy.” She looked over the back of the seat at her daughter-in-law. “Poor little flower, she just give out. They’s limits to what anyone can take. Poor, purty little flower.”

  Chase broke in. “Farel was trouble, Momma. Nothin’ but trouble for us, for himself...for anyone.”

  Carrie thought she felt Tracy twitch, but decided it had been her imagination, or the bounce of the van over a bump in the road.

  Chase continued, “And he started this whole mess when he took Dulcey, don’t forget.”

  His voice faded into silence as they passed the drive to the administration building and restaurant. It was obvious the sheriff had arrived. There were flashing lights in the parking lot, all the security lights were now on, and a crowd of people stood clustered around the gate to the craft grounds.

  “Well, that’s that,” said Brigid as they continued on the road to the motel units. “Carrie, call my house tomorrow morning. I’m in the phone book, B. E. Mason. We’ll make plans then. I hope Chase ’n’ Tracy kin get some good rest, since I reckon we won’t hear nothin’ from those skunks got Dulcey ’til tomorrow night. Now, will you be all right? Sorry I can’t give you some of my herb tea.”

  “Oh, I’ll be fine,” Carrie said as Chase stopped the van.

  Brigid Mason got out and came around to take Carrie’s place in the back seat. Tracy stirred as Carrie lifted her head to slide out, but she didn’t open her eyes. Brigid slipped carefully under Carrie’s hands until, once more, the young woman lay safely cradled in a lap.

  “Goodnight then,” Carrie said. “I’ll call tomorrow morning. And, for now, I’ll respect your wish to be silent about the kidnapping, but if the sheriff...”

  “We’d best go on,” s
aid Chase, interrupting her. “Most folks here don’t know what we drive, but there’s a few that might. We wanta get out of sight.”

  The door shut in her face, and the van sped toward the main road.

  As soon as she was in her room, Carrie looked at the clock. She’d lost all track of time and had forgotten to look at her watch when they had the lights on at Farel’s. Was it only half past midnight? It seemed like it must be near morning.

  She kicked off the hated shoes and stuck her aching feet into slippers. Now, one more thing to do before a hot shower and bed. She picked up the phone, punched in a number, and waited to hear the low rumble of a familiar voice.

  “Henry, I am sorry to wake you, but we have big difficulties here, and I need to ask a couple of favors...”

  Carrie decided to skip the shower. She could manage no more than a quick face washing, and it wasn’t until she was standing in front of the bathroom mirror that she realized her face looked like she’d fallen head-first into a bed of brambles. What on earth would Henry say when he saw her this time? Here she was again—scraped, bruised, and muddy. And, once again, she was smack dab in the middle of murder!

  She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Well, she could wash, but as for the rest, Henry would just have to get used to it.

  She took off her filthy clothes and let them fall in a heap on the floor. Before 1:30, Carrie McCrite was sound asleep.

  Chapter VIII

  A fire engine raced through the night, its siren a jerky jangle of irritating noise. Carrie ran toward it, stumbled, and then ran again. She had to reach the fire engine, but it was going too fast, going away. She had to tell them something, what was it? The bells were so loud... tell them... fire!

  Then she was aware that she was no longer running. She was lying down, and the ground was soft. She couldn’t feel any rocks.

  She opened her eyes. The noise didn’t stop, though the fire engine was gone and she was in her motel bedroom.

  Carrie blinked and turned her head to stare at the telephone by her bed. It rang once, twice and, thank goodness, was silent. Bright sunlight filtered through the draperies, illuminating the telephone—and her travel clock.

  Oh, oh. Oh, no. 8:30? She was sure she’d set the alarm last night or, it had been this morning, hadn’t it? Yes, she had set it for seven; there were important things to do. She must have turned the thing off without waking.

  Then it all came back—the child, the dead man, the fire. She sat up slowly, pushed her pillow against the headboard, leaned back, and thought about a little girl who had spent the night with strangers. She shut her eyes again, listening in the silence for ideas about what action to take today. She already had plans, but were they the best she could do?

  For a moment she thought about what it would be like if she hadn’t followed the Masons last night.

  She could lie in bed peacefully, looking forward to three carefree days with Henry and the Stacks. No dark shadows. No worries. She wouldn’t be planning for anything but a good time.

  She shoved the dreams aside and began thinking about Dulcey Mason and Farel Teal. Once again, Carrie McCrite had become part of the darkness of murder and, this time, kidnapping. She guessed that meant she was supposed to help. That was why she had followed the Masons last night. Probably, she thought, that’s even why I’m here. Eyes still shut, she forced herself to pray about following God’s direction and about loving her neighbors, every one of them.

  At first it wasn’t easy. She was just beginning to feel a familiar peace when the brrrring noise began again.

  Carrie sighed and this time she reached for the phone.

  Beth sounded testy. “Oh, did I wake you up, your royal highness? For goodness sake, I thought you got up with the chickens. You said to meet you here at eight. Too bad, it’s almost nine and I’ve eaten. Got to get on the road. I did keep calling. I was beginning to worry.”

  Good glory! She and Beth had planned to meet at the Folk Center’s Iron Skillet restaurant for breakfast before Beth started home to Spavinaw County.

  “Oh, Beth, I am so sorry. I was out with the Masons later than I expected last night and….”

  Oops, she’d already opened her mouth and said too much. Now she was in for it with questions from Beth, especially after her actions at the dinner last night. Following the Masons like she did would have seemed downright weird to anyone who took much time to think about it, and, spending time with the Masons, with such famous people, how could she explain why they’d even noticed her?

  Fortunately Beth wasn’t much of a thinker.

  “Well, you’ve missed all the excitement and seeing every cop in Stone County here this morning. Someone, a man, was actually killed here last night. Right here in the craft grounds! Everyone’s talking about it.” Now Beth sounded like she was gloating.

  “How awful, who was killed?”

  “Oh, no—not going to tell you one word more about it now. Get dressed, Carrie. I’ll eat another biscuit and wait for you here. But hurry, I do need to start for home.”

  That was Beth. She had an exciting story and exclusive news to share, so she would delay her trip.

  “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

  She almost made it. The big schoolroom clock in the restaurant lobby said 9:35 when Carrie hurried past the hostess. She nodded at the young woman and pointed toward the window table where Beth was waving a hand with a half-eaten biscuit in it. Beth’s face broke into a grin, but then, probably thinking grins weren’t appropriate in a restaurant so near the scene of a murder, she frowned and stared at her biscuit as if considering where to take the next bite.

  The dining room was unusually crowded for this late hour. People at most of the tables seemed to be lingering over empty plates and coffee cups, talking.

  “Gosh, can you imagine...a murder?” Beth said as Carrie dropped into a chair facing the window wall. “I don’t suppose you saw or heard anything when you were with the Masons, did you? The body was found last night in the dressmaker’s shop. You know—the very place I bought that cute sunbonnet for my granddaughter Megan last year. It was a man named Terry Teal. I heard he was actually Tracy Teal’s uncle!”

  “Farel Teal, her cousin,” Carrie said without thinking. Her mind had flashed back to her first glimpse of the man lying on the floor of the dressmaker’s shop.

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, um, I think a man out there said he was her cousin,” mumbled Carrie, turning quickly toward the waitress who had come to take her order. “Special country breakfast with ham, eggs over medium, coffee.”

  Beth went on, changing the subject. “You must have been out awfully late if you slept through phone bells. So, before I’ll tell you about the murder, you have to tell me all about the rich and famous.”

  Carrie had known Beth would ask such a question and had been thinking about her answer while she was walking up the hill to the restaurant.

  “Yes, I was with the Masons for quite a while. They wanted to unwind after the performance and invited me to drive around the area with them. We, um, saw the night view of the town from that mountain to the south. I did set my alarm clock when I went to bed, but must have turned it off without really waking up, because I don’t remember hearing it. I haven’t pulled that trick since I was in college. Back then I had to keep my alarm clock clear across the room so I’d have to get out of bed to turn it off.

  Should have done that last night, though I haven’t needed to in over forty years. And I didn’t hear the phone until the last time you called, but I admit I did have the volume turned down. When I got here, its ring was so noisy it made me jump.”

  Beth gave her a wicked grin. “You need a man in bed with you to wake you up. Oh, hey, I’m just kidding,” she continued, as Carrie ducked her chin and glared at Beth over her glasses.

  “Now, Carrie, tell me what the Masons are like, really. Don’t skip a thing.”

  “They’re regular folks. I mean, talented of course, but—except maybe fo
r Chase—they don’t seem to be affected much by the fact they’re famous. In fact, Tracy seems very shy and almost overwhelmed by the world around her.

  “Chase’s mother has a wonderful way of talking, though sometimes it’s hard to follow what she’s saying. I think we hit it off well, in spite of the fact we’re from cultures that are more different than I would have thought. She talks about things like second sight and characters from tall tales as if she takes them seriously...as if they’re part of normal, everyday life. But you’d like Brigid Mason. I do.”

  “Bet I would too,” Beth said and then changed the subject. “I wish we could have heard Dulcey Mason sing. A few weeks ago I saw a picture of her in a magazine. She was playing a miniature dulcimer, and the article said she really plays it. She’s about the same age as Megan, but has long, dark hair and big, dark eyes with lashes out to here. Not as cute as Megan—she’s too skinny. Maybe you got to see her last night?”

  Carrie ignored Beth’s question. “Now, you tell me, what are people saying about the death of Farel Teal? What on earth happened?”

  Beth repeated a description of the scene in the dressmaker’s shop that was basically true, if you discounted what were probably her own embellishments and those of the people who had passed the story on to her. She explained that a park ranger had found the body in the brightly lit shop after someone discovered several breaker switches were off and turned them back on.

  “And,” Beth said, lowering her voice and leaning toward Carrie, “when the ranger called the sheriff’s office he found out some mysterious woman had already reported the murder and the sheriff was on his way. Isn’t that exciting? A mystery woman! Wonder who she is? Maybe she’s the murderer and reported the body because she was full of remorse at what happened! Otherwise, why did she just hang up?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Carrie said, avoiding Beth’s gaze by looking out the window at the Folk Center’s bird feeders.