Haunting Melody (22 page)

“What? You did that? I saw what was left as I
was headed here tonight.” He grinned and stifled a laugh. “There
wasn’t much to see but rubble. Why on earth?”

I held up my hand. “Like Briley says. Long
story.”

Briley interrupted before I could start to
explain. “I tell you what, Frank. Looks like your band mates are
waiting for you to get on that piano stool again. Why don’t you
join them and play some tunes and we’ll take you back to Melody’s,
uh, cousin’s house once you finish? Or would you prefer going back
to wherever you’ve been staying?”

Frank smiled. “I would love to sleep in a
real home again, even if just for a night. I’ve been holed up in a
ratty rooming house far too long. It’s cheap, there’s breakfast
provided, but it’s not exactly our Brooklyn home.”

Briley nodded. “Mel? Would that be all right
with Teresa?”

I quickly said yes to the question of
lodging. The Flynn house was large and my aunt’s heart even bigger.
I knew Teresa could find an extra space for Briley’s literally
long-lost brother.

Frank stood then resumed his place with the
band. But before he sat down in front of the piano, he turned and
called out to his brother. “Briley? Benny, our fiddle player, took
a gig up north about a month ago, but left one of his fiddles in
the back. Care to join us? We’ve been sorely lacking in strings
since then.”

Cries of “Play, man, play!” could be heard
throughout the bar.

I laughed at him. “You have no choice. The
fans have spoken. Looks like the McShan brothers are back in
action. I, for one, am beyond excited to hear you both! Rock this
house!”

Briley hopped onstage. The bass player who
handed him a well-worn violin with all strings intact. Briley spent
a few moments tuning it, then nodded to Frank. “Your pleasure
is?”

Frank laughed out loud. “In honor of your
beautiful, fiery companion, Miss Melody, how about 'There’ll be a
Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight?'”

The next few hours soon became a repeat of
the extra-curricular activities I’d been engaged in all last week.
People dancing, people singing, people smoking, and people
drinking. The main - and sad - difference between the Memphis
partygoers and those in Manhattan was that these great folks at
Ronnie Reds would have been serving drinks instead of buying them
at Francy’s. But the laughter and the fun were the same. Even
better with no snooty jealous chorines hassling me and feeling lots
of serious good will from everyone around.

I even got to join the band to play piano for
a few tunes. I was careful to keep them in the proper era, although
I did sneak in "Burn Down the Mission," claiming it was a new tune
from San Antonio, Texas.

There was another element in common with
after-hours parties in New York. The operative word was ‘after.” It
was five in the morning by the time Frank, Briley, and I headed for
the Flynn house.

The brothers had been talking almost non-stop
since we left Ronnie Reds, catching up with the last two years. I
stayed silent, happy to hear voices filled with so much love and
care.

A stab of longing hit hard when I realized
how much I missed my dad. He was actually here, in this geographic
location, but removed by almost a century of time. I wanted to
share all my adventures with him. I wanted to tell him how I’d
vanquished George of the Jungle by means of olive oil and a
well-placed kick. My dad, a lawyer, would be itchin’ to hear
everything about transportation and politics in this era. He’d be
fascinated with Teresa’s women’s rights meetings and proud that his
daughter had broken a race barrier in a Beale Street bar.

Teresa greeted us at the door as though she’d
been expecting her relative, the fiancé and an extra visitor. “I
don’t have another guest room made up just now, and I’m in a rush
to get going, so if you gentlemen don’t mind sharing?”

Briley grinned. “You are a glorious example
of Southern hospitality, Miss Flynn. My brother and I will never be
able to repay you for your kindness.”

She smiled. “Accomplish your mission. That’s
all I ask. The thought that someone would use my town to perform
evil deeds - well - my blood boils. Excuse me, y’all. I’m off to
set up at the store.”

The McShan brothers wished me good night at
my bedroom door. Each of them bestowed a friendly kiss on my cheek.
It wasn’t exactly what I’d hoped for my next kiss from Briley, but
I was too tired to care. I needed sleep if I was to be sharp and
prepared for hunting down lunatic Egyptian cultists seventeen hours
away from destroying Denise and Nevin’s lives.

I managed to drag myself out of bed around
two in the afternoon. I could hear sounds of food preparation
coming from the kitchen downstairs and male voices accompanying
clanging pots and pans so I surmised that Briley and Frank were up
and cooking. After a quick shower I joined the pair, happy to see
I’d been correct in my assessment of breakfast. Or lunch. Or
brunch. Whatever one calls a meal eaten long after the noon bell
has rung.

“Cool. Omelets. Bless whichever’s hand
whipped up these eggs. Yummer!”

Briley grinned.“Ready for this? Big brother
Frank is not only a superb musician he’s also a darn good chef.
Well, as regards one dish. Eggs and bacon. Alone, in omelets, as a
sandwich, you name it, he can crack them and cook them and do
marvelous things.”

I laughed, happy that Briley was in a good
mood, even though this day could easily turn out to be a total
disaster. “These are wonderful, Frank. You have a gift. I’m not
sure I’d equate it with your talent on the ivories, but I’d come to
breakfast at your house anytime.”

Frank bowed. “You’re exceptionally good on
the ivories yourself. I have no idea what your cooking skills are
like.”

I sighed. “Lousy. I’m a firm believer in
Chinese take-out and pizza.”

Briley assumed a look of innocence. “You’re
quite talented with a hot plate and olive oil, though!”

I winked at him, stuck a huge forkful of
bacon into my mouth and chewed to keep quiet about last evening’s
escapade that could lead into a discussion of the rescue of Denise
and Nevin.

Saint Blaise, Blesser of throats, must have
been looking out for me because I nearly choked when Frank asked,
“So, what time should we leave so we can get to Mud Island and
these left-over pyramids without being seen? Midnight is probably
is the hour these miscreants will attempt to do – whatever they
plan to do – with Denise so we need to be there in advance.”

I raised my eyebrows at Briley.

He looked only slightly defensive. “I told
him, Mel. I had to. We need his help. I dislike the odds of only
one able-bodied man against what could be very formidable
foes.”

I sputtered. “Well, thank you so much. I mean
I’m not exactly a shrinking violet type here. Remember the fire?
Plus, I took down George of the Jungle, so I more than deserve some
respect and the chance to be in on busting up – uh - whatever we’re
going to bust up.”

Briley shook his head and poured coffee into
a cup for me.

Frank smiled. “She doesn’t always make sense,
Briley, but she is right about one thing. From what you told me,
she’s very good at improvising in dangerous situations.”

I beamed. The McShan brothers laughed. Then
Briley grew serious again.

“I hate to admit it, but you’re both right.
We can use all the help we can muster. From any source - even a
bratty impulsive girl like you.”

I ignored the last comment. “That reminds me,
what happened to Izzy? Do we need him involved? Do we want him
involved? Do we need to track him down?”

Briley shrugged. “I’ll bet he’s sleeping on
the floor of the Memphis paper . . . “

“Courier Appeal,” both Frank and I
offered.

“Courier-Appeal. Thank you. He’s doubtless
trying to persuade the publisher that he is indeed a real
journalist and that his eye-witness version of the burning of Madam
Anna’s yesterday is the one the paper needs to print even though,
in Izzy Rubens style, I’m certain he’s embellishing. His last two
years with Clow have skewed his objectivity in reporting.”

“I’ll bet you he comes creeping around here
just in time to follow us. He has this instinct for ferreting out
stories and I’m sure he’d love to be part of it.”

Briley nodded. “Don’t tell him I said this,
but I honestly wouldn’t mind having him join us. Izzy’s a
character, but he’s a good man to have in a pinch. We grew up in a
tough neighborhood.”

I stayed quiet.

Briley glanced at me. “What’s going on in
that brain of yours?”

“I’m wondering what Izzy’s game is. He went
tearing out of here yesterday to file a story with an editor he
just met, while you and I were compiling clues as to where Denise
and Nevin were taken - and who’s behind their kidnapping.”

Briley pursed his lips. “Izzy might have an
ulterior motive, like staying out of the actual action so he can
get a big scoop for a paper, but he’d never be involved in anything
that might bring harm to someone else.”

I took a sip of coffee, grimaced and added
about three teaspoons of sugar and half a cup of cream. My stomach
felt sour and I was afraid it was anticipation of what could become
a scary night. I focused on Izzy and his motives. “I agree. He’s no
Ptah wannabe But - could he be so keen to get a story, he’d keep
information to himself so whatever needed to play out - did? Don’t
get me wrong, I like the man, but his explanation for being in
Memphis seemed a bit fishy. Why would he follow us and assume we
knew what we were doing?”

A trace of irony brushed across Briley’s
features. “As if we didn’t have a rather unusual explanation for
traveling to your hometown?”

I grinned. “Good point.”

Frank looked puzzled. “Is there more to this
story than you’ve told me, little brother?”

Briley flashed me a warning look. It wasn’t
needed. I had no intention of telling a man who’d very recently
recovered from amnesia that he was breaking bread - and eggs - with
a girl from the future.

Briley stated. “Nothing other than Melody’s
strong hunch and a tip from her eccentric landlady. That’s
all.”

Frank accepted this. He poured more coffee
all around, then asked, “What is our strategy? Do we have a
plan?”

Briley answered him, “If we’re right, and
these fiends want to perform some sort of ceremony near the ruins
of Egyptian exhibits from a previous World’s Fair then our plan is
to sneak over to Mud Island this evening. When we see Anna and this
Ptah fellow bring Denise and Nevin to some makeshift pyramid, we
spring out and rescue them.” His voice hardened. “With any luck I
get to smash my fist into the face of the man responsible for the
kidnapping - and for Francesca Cerroni’s death.”

Frank grimaced. “I hate to say this, but
that’s not much of a plan. What about bringing the police into
this?”

I spoke first. “We can’t do much more, since
we’re going on guesswork only. I mean, do we summon a squad of cops
only to have it turn out we’re dead wrong and the only folks on Mud
Island are fisherman and kids picnicking?”

Briley added, “The police could be a help or
a hindrance. Izzy told me last night he’d discovered they’ve been
letting Madam Anna run her little enterprise for a good five years.
I gather prostitution is ignored because of worse crimes in the
city. Or else Madam Anna pays off someone to look the other
way.”

Frank nodded. “Then I vote we rest, eat a
good supper and prepare for a rescue.”

Briley lifted his coffee cup high in the air
as we all stood. He spoke quietly and with determination. “A toast
to bringing back our friends unharmed.”

We clanked cups together then each took a
last swig of caffeine and let that sentiment sink into our hearts,
along with the other equally strong emotions swirling around the
kitchen.

Seeing the brothers reunited equaled elation.
Worrying about Denise and Nevin chilled the soul. Fear for my own
safety clouded my courage. And my newly realized love for Briley
was a source of conflicting emotions. The thought of staying in
this time with Briley was beyond sweet. But I loved my Dad and my
friends too. The thought of never seeing them again was beyond
painful.

And we now had less than eight hours until
midnight.

“Why can’t master criminals find nice,
air-conditioned studios stocked with goodies in the fridge and
soothing music playing all around as background for their nefarious
deeds?”

“Mel. Quit grumbling. Mud Island was your
idea, remember?”

I glanced at Briley from the spot I was now
silently calling ‘Raccoon Hellhole.’ “Briley, Mud Island was their
idea, not mine. The bad guys. Hiding under a draped table in a hot,
tent so we could lie in wait. . . .”

“Was my idea,” added Frank. “Behave, Miss
Flynn or we’ll send you home.”

“Hmm. Not much incentive to be good, is it?
Crap. What time is it anyway?” I asked.

Briley pulled out a pocket watch and angled
it so the dials could be seen in the moonlight seeping through the
closest flap to our table. “Eleven-thirty. If we’re right about
this being the spot where Anna and Geb will bring Denise and Nevin,
we shouldn’t have much longer to wait.”

I nodded. Frank nodded. Briley replaced the
watch and nodded. We were an agreeable group of conspirators,
albeit a cramped one.

We’d set out for Mud Island over two hours
ago. It would have been four hours, but Aunt Teresa had stopped us
as we were heading out the door.

“So you figured out where your friends are
being held?” she’d asked.

“Well, smushing together several teensy
clues, we came up with Mud Island,” I’d answered.