MELODY and MURDER (Melody The Librarian Book 1) (6 page)

“Here you go,” our waitress said. “Two open-faced, gravy burgers, medium. Would you like another beer?”

“I’m driving, Melody, so feel free to indulge.” Gary had barely touched his beer.

“Sure, thanks.” As the waitress fetched the froth, I smiled at Gary. “It’s not like I couldn’t walk three blocks to home, regardless of how much I drank.”

“Sure, but if you’d like a lift, I’ll be the designated driver,” Gary said. He took another small sip and looked thoughtful. “I thought that was a real nice thing you did there with Molly.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” I said. Mom has always said I can’t take a compliment, and maybe she’s right. “I’m going to be there anyway, and Molly’s no trouble. What are your plans tomorrow?”

“Covering for Dad at the store,” he said. “I still live with him, you know. I never saw any need to move away, you know? And I’m glad to be there as he gets older. I mean, he’s doing swell, but I can see those gradual changes no one else might notice. He gets a little forgetful.”

“Isn’t that funny? You and me, both living at home. Are we trying to hang onto our youth? I’ll bet that’s what some of our old classmates would think.”

“Oh, they say that it’s becoming more and more common these days. The second generation staying home longer. I don’t think I’m missing anything. Wild parties, promiscuous sex, that sort of thing. And you?” he asked with a sly smile.

“No comment. No, I’m pretty much a homebody. I live inside my head, as they say.”

“Hey, Dad tells me you still play the accordion. Is that true?”

“Heck, yeah,” I said, slapping the table lightly with my palm and realizing I needed to slow the pace of my drinking. It had been so long since I’d indulged. “Your dad was hatching some scheme that involved me in order to sell some accordions. Did he tell you that?”

“He was real excited,” Gary said, nodding. “There’s a big mark-up on those things, but they’re a tough sell. Expensive and, forgive me, utterly uncool, though I find them fascinating. Fortunately, we network with other stores around the state, and will rotate some of inventory items to sell things in one market that aren’t flying off the shelves in another, which helps minimize the risk and keeps our stock lean. But Dad is already sending out feelers for some squeezeboxes. Did you agree to his…scheme?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “I think we left off with, “We’ll talk some more about it.” Maybe he considered that a yes.”

Gary laughed. “Typical salesman, my pop. If you don’t say no, you might as well be saying yes. Say, Melody, I’ve got a proposition for you.”

“Indeed?” I responded, though I could think of several other rejoinders in my present state. Fortunately, I refrained from using any of them.

“Yeah. Once in a while, I get calls to put together little groups – bands – to play different kinds of gigs:  bars, weddings, small festivals. I have a pool of musicians I use, but they’re scattered all over the county and it’s hell coordinating rehearsals. Most specialize in one sort of music, like country, polka, classic rock covers. I know you listen to all kinds of music, or at least you used to.”

“Still do,” I confirmed, “although my rap is a little rusty.”

“Well, I think accordion would be a great addition to a lot of those kinds of gigs. Not necessarily country, perhaps….”

“Hey,” I said, defensively. “My folks drove all the way down to Clio years ago so I could see Riders in the Sky, the cowboy/western trio? They had an accordion player with them, Joey Miskulin, the ‘CowPolka King.’ And he added so much color to their sound. It was one of the best concerts I’d ever seen. I was surprised to learn later that the accordion was used in a lot of early country and western swing. Check out some of those vintage YouTube videos, if you don’t believe me.”

Gary held up his hands. “I believe you, Melody, I believe you. I’ll have to check out the Riders. Ever heard of Brave Combo? I think they’re out of Texas. They started playing covers of rock tunes polka-style, and I’m pretty sure they’re still at it. You don’t have to sell me on the versatility of the instrument, but there’s also that novelty factor that audiences love.

“So, what I’m proposing is, how would you like to join my band?”

“I may be tipsy, but I think it’s a fantastic idea.”

“I’ve got some stuff in the works coming up. I’ll wait until you’re sober to discuss it, but if you could commit to a couple of rehearsals beforehand – and I’ll provide sheet music or recordings for everything – we could make this work. It’ll be a blast!”

“Would I be able to suggest the odd song, or help with arranging my parts?”

“Absolutely.”

“And which instrument do you play these days, Gary? I remember you used to play guitar and trombone.”

“Trombone and trumpet are my main instruments, but Dad made sure that I tried nearly everything in the store at one time or another. I’m proficient on violin, sax, clarinet and keyboards. Passable on percussion. But if I hook up with someone who’s better than me – like, we have a really great guitarist on some of our gigs, when we can get him – then I just move over to something else and fill in there.”

“Sounds democratic. I like that. I will accept your gracious offer. Oh, is there money to be made?”

“Definitely. You’ll clear $100 to $200 on most gigs. Not bad for a night’s work.”

“Not counting the rehearsal time, drive time, etcetera. Well, that sounds good. My new job pretty much pays slave wages.” I couldn’t resist any longer. “So how long have you had that caterpillar stuck to your upper lip?”

“What, this?” he asked, patting his mustache. “Oh, a couple of years now. Do you like it?”

“Whatever you decide to grow on your face is between you and your mirror,” I replied, noncommittally. “It does make you look older, though, especially the white hairs. A little more like your dad.”

Gary smiled. “That was one reason I grew it. I think the customers get a kick out of Dad and me standing together behind the counter. Sometimes we get some double takes. Oh, well. Hey, this calls for a toast,” Gary smiled, raising his half-full glass. He was still on his first beer. My second round was getting low, but was still sufficient for the task at hand. “To good fortune and fun.”

For some reason, Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again” came to mind, reimagined as a bouncy, accordion-driven vehicle. Gary was right; this sounded like a blast.

When I got home at 8:00, Mom looked up expectantly from her crocheting. “Well, how did it go?” she asked, lifting her glasses.

“It was nice,” I said. “We didn’t consummate, but it was fun. I’d like to tell you about it, but I’m tipsy and have an early day. Good night.”

I could see that she was crest-fallen, but I’d just have to keep her in suspense for now.

Cat’s car pulled up just as I did, and Molly exited, dressed in white corduroys and a jacket. Cat waved to me before taking off. Molly raced up the front steps of the library.

“Nope, not there,” I called out. “When we open the library, we use a secret entrance. Want me to show you?” Molly smiled excitedly and rushed back down the steps. Together, we went around back and I showed her the staff entrance.

“Today, I’ll show you how we get the library all ready for the customers. We call the customers ‘patrons.’ Customers are people who buy things, and people don’t buy things at the library, do they?”

“No, because the library is free.” she responded.

“That’s right, except during special events. So what do we call our customers again?”

“Patrons!” she called out.

“Very good, Molly.” I had her search for every light switch she could find and told her to turn them on while I started the coffee. Very little preparation was necessary; everything had been straightened up before leaving last night. Soon, we unlocked the front entrance and were ready for business. I sat Molly down at a child’s table in the kids’ book section where she was visible from my desk.

People came and went, and Molly amused herself with her books and a coloring book I’d found, but when we were all alone, we’d chat.

“Did you have a good date last night, Miss Melody?”

“It wasn’t a date, Molly.”

“My mom has
lots
of dates.”

“Lots of ‘em, huh?”

“Yeah, she goes out a lot, but sometimes she doesn’t go anywhere. They just come over and stay and I have to go to my room.”

“Oh.” This was awkward, “So she doesn’t have, like, one steady boyfriend?”

“No, they’re usually different.”

I needed to steer this conversation in another direction. “Will you be glad when you can go on dates?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe just one guy, not too many.”

“Me, too,” I said. I heard the front door squeak and rose to return to my desk. A tall, older man entered wearing a rawhide coat and blue jeans. He smiled at me and approached.

“Hello, young lady. I’m Nathan Cook, and you must be Melody.”

“I am, sir,” I smiled, reaching to shake his hand. So this was the library’s namesake. I had never laid eyes on Mr. Cook before. With a Stetson hat, he’d look exactly like how I’d picture a successful ranger:  a weathered, but handsome face, a wry smile and gray-blue eyes that shone with a cold, metallic gleam.

“Well, I thought I should come down to introduce myself and welcome you to the town. Welcome you back, I mean. You’re originally from around here, aren’t you?

“Yes, sir. My family moved here when I was 10.”

“That’s what I understand. And you lived in the south before you accepted this position.”

“Southern Michigan,” I clarified. “I worked in Detroit and lived in Birmingham.”

“Oh, so that’s what it was,” he smiled. “Coulda sworn someone said you lived in Alabama. And you’re Anna’s girl. Your mama owns that antique shop in town.”

“That’s right, sir.” I wished I would stop talking like some military academy cadet, but for some reason I felt intimidated. It could have been his squinty, calculating eyes or the smile utterly without humor.

“So how do you like your new job, Melody?”

“Oh, it’s just great. It’s a wonderful building. You must enjoy books very much.” Well, that seemed logical, didn’t it?

“Books? Sure, I like books, though I haven’t had time to read many lately. But I’m starting to slow down. The paper mill pretty much runs itself…the day-to-day stuff, anyway. Maybe I’ll have more time for books soon. I’d like that.” He chuckled to himself. “Maybe I just like to read my name on buildings.”

Molly sneezed and we both turned her way. “Is that one yours?” Mr. Cook asked.

“No, she’s just one of our regulars,” I said.

“Well, we don’t want to turn this library into a day care center, do we? If you ever notice any kids spending too much time here…you know what I mean. You let Chief Benson know, understand?”

“It really hasn’t been a problem, sir. But I appreciate your mentioning it.”

He continued staring at Molly, even as he spoke. “Now Marian used to let some of those street people stay here quite a bit I heard. We’re not running a homeless shelter, either. Same thing:  if people abuse the privilege, let the Chief know. And if he ever seems reticent, just tell him you’re doing what Nathan Cook told you to do. That might improve his response.”

“Will do, sir. Thank you, sir.” Geez, next thing I’ll be saluting.

Mr. Cook looked around at the ceiling, as if to make sure that there were no structural issues. Still staring, he said, “Well, it was nice to meet you, Melody. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.” He smiled and then turned and left.

I let a shudder pass through my body. How creepy! I’d sure hate to be stuck at a dinner table between Mr. Cook and his wife. Later, I had one of those “wish I’d said that” moments when he focused on Molly’s presence.

“Tell me, Mr. Cook,” I imagined asking. “Does your company provide day care facilities for its employees?” It sounded clever, but it probably wouldn’t have bolstered my job security – or Cat’s. There’s something to be said for not being quick-witted.

I enjoyed my day with Molly, but I was relieved when Cat showed up on time to pick her up. This time, she came into the library to fetch Molly rather than having Molly run out to her car.

“Thanks again, Melody. Like I said, we don’t get the chance to work overtime very often, so it was a big help.”

“So things are busy at the office?” I asked.

“Yeah, something’s going on. We’ve been packing up files and transferring them to our storage location. Usually, we don’t mess with that stuff until the end of the year. Nobody seems to know why we’re doing it, or at least, they’re not telling me, but as long as I can make some extra money, I’m not going to kick about it.” She looked at her daughter, whose attention was riveted to one of the stacks of books piled on her table. “She really loves to read, don’t she? Well, let me get her home so you can be on your way. If there’s ever any way I can repay the favor, just ask.”

Just like that, I had an idea.

“Well, there is something, now that you mention it. The other day when Gary Van Dyke was here, Molly expressed an interest in playing the violin. Gary said he has a student model that she could try her hand at. I think she’d get a thrill out of trying one out.”

Cat’s brow wrinkled with concern. “A violin, huh? Geez, I don’t know. We sure couldn’t afford to buy her an instrument or afford lessons. I’d hate to say no, but….”

“Honest, he wasn’t trying to sell anything. He just thought she’d be excited, that’s all. Have you ever sat in a new car at a dealership, even though you knew you couldn’t afford it? It’s a little disappointing not to be able to drive it off the lot, but you still enjoyed the experience, right? I imagine it would be something like that.” Now who was trying to sell something? I didn’t want to push too hard; it was enough just to plant the seed.

“Anyway, if you ever have some time to kill…some day when you’re not working, it might be worth stopping by Van Dyke’s for a few minutes, just for the heck of it.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” she said distantly. Suddenly, Cat smiled, her expression more animated. “You know what? I think we’ll go and pay them a visit right now. What the heck? If you think Molly would enjoy that, we’ll go check it out. Come on, Molly. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Molly’s eyes opened wide and she closed the book, grabbed her jacket and started toward her mom. She stopped and looked at the stack of books, and then glanced at me.

“Don’t worry; I’ll put them away for you, Molly.” She smiled and ran toward her mother. They both waved as they walked away, hand in hand.