Music to Die For (7 page)

Carrie looked around the room, which had fallen silent. Several of the faces looking at them appeared hostile.

“Now leave ’em go,” said one of the women from her seat near Aunt Brigid. “Their kid’s sick. Little Dulcey. Leave ’em go.”

The room was so quiet it might have been empty. Brigid Mason looked at her son and slid quickly to the floor, forgetting the skirt that had been carefully arranged to fall around her on the stool. The fabric was pulled up and over the top of the stool as her feet hit the floor, revealing a red petticoat and a generous expanse of heavy black pantyhose.

She yanked at the skirt, her mouth held in a firm line, and this time no one laughed. Before she could pick up her fiddle case, Chase had disappeared into the hall, pulling Tracy behind him.

As she waited for Aunt Brigid, Carrie took a good look at the man called Bobby Lee. She hadn’t been wrong. Bobby Lee looked like a volcano about to erupt.

Chase and Tracy were out of sight by the time the two women reached the stage, but Brigid Mason knew where she was going. She turned behind the stage and headed down a hall bordered by dressing rooms. Though she was hurrying, Chase’s mother could still talk without any problem. It was obvious she had sensed her son’s anxiety and was also aware that Carrie—though a stranger to the family—was somehow linked to the cause of that anxiety.

“Seems like something’s happened,” she said without preamble. “Is it to do with Dulcey?”

“Yes, something has happened,” Carrie said as she sidestepped around a boy carrying a tub bass, “but so far as we know, Dulcey’s all right. Because of the...new development, I need to make a phone call. Is there a phone here I can use?”

“Phone’s in the office down this hall. I’ll show you. What’s happened then?”

“Chase and Tracy may want to be the ones to tell you about it, but we’re involved in a bigger problem than Dulcey being missing. That’s why I’m here.”

Brigid looked at her sharply, but she kept walking, full skirt swirling around her ankles. They came to a group of performers, and as if nothing were amiss, Brigid paused to greet them. While Carrie waited in the background she saw Ben Yokum coming out of what looked like a storage room and said, “Hello,” but the man acted as if he didn’t recognize her. Well, maybe he doesn’t, Carrie thought. He’s only seen me once, and the light wasn’t good.

When they got to the end of the hall, Brigid stopped, opened a door, reached for a light switch, and pointed. “Phone. Now you tell me what’s happened a’fore I go to the car. I won’t let on you told when I see the kids.”

Carrie looked into the other woman’s eyes for a second, wondering what to say. What was this grandmother feeling? Carrie knew such a kidnapping would worry her to distraction, even if the child she loved was supposed to be with a friendly relative. So, maybe Brigid Mason had a right to know the worst before she went to her children.

“We don’t know where Dulcey is yet, though I pray she’s all right. Farel Teal, however, is not all right. He’s dead. Tracy found him in the dressmaker’s shop. Stabbed.”

“Lord almighty,” said Brigid, putting her hand over her heart. “Poor little gal. No wonder Chase acted so bad. So, you goin’ to call Sheriff Wylie? How come we’re leavin’?”

“We’re going to Farel’s house to look for Dulcey. Someone, probably Farel’s killer, left a note that makes it look like he, or at least someone connected, has her now. But there’s also a chance she’s at Farel’s.”

Carrie saw fear flash into Brigid’s round face. The woman struggled with her emotions for a moment, then asked, “When was Farel kilt?”

“Don’t know for sure, but he was still warm when I got there. That had to be about 8:30, since your program lasted an hour. Tracy was just ahead of me going through the craft area, and she found him. She says she saw someone in the dressmaker’s shop as she walked past. The lights were out, but she thought it was a man. He ran toward the auditorium as soon as he heard her. I came along soon after and found her sitting on the floor of the shop in quite a state. I stayed with her until Chase came, and then I decided to stay with all of you, to see if I could help, of course, but also because I can give Tracy and all of you an alibi until...”

Brigid’s sharp question stopped her. “How’d you know? Did you think we’d need an alibi ’cause the killin’ had somethin’ to do with the old feud?”

“Feud?”

“You from around here? What did you say your family name was?”

“Culpeper. I’m Carrie Culpeper McCrite.”

“Ohhh, Culpepers. Spelt with two p’s and not three?”

“Well, yes.”

“Ahhhhh...so you’re one of
those.
” Brigid looked sideways at Carrie, her eyes compressed into slits.

“But I’m not...” Carrie stopped. Maybe an imagined family relationship here would help people accept her, confide in her. She wondered, though, if the Mountain View Culpepers were considered good people. Brigid sure had a funny look on her face.

“One can’t pick one’s relatives,” Carrie said, hoping that was the right reply.

Brigid’s face smoothed. With a nod, she seemed to dismiss the Culpepers as she asked, “What did the note say?”

Carrie took the paper from her pocket and held it out.

Brigid read it, stared into the distance for a minute, and said simply, “I see,” before she handed it back and turned into the hall.

Carrie called after her, “I won’t be long, wait for me.”

Brigid was nodding agreement as her bright skirt disappeared through the door to the employee parking lot.

Carrie went to the phone on the desk and dialed

911.

A woman answered after one ring. Speaking in a low monotone, Carrie told her there was a dead body in the dressmaker’s shop at the Folk Center. She hung up as soon as she had said that, though a sharp, questioning voice was audible in the handset as she lowered it into the cradle. Well, she and Tracy would tell them more as soon as Dulcey was safe.

She was turning away from the desk when she heard a noise from the hall, something that sounded like the scrape of a boot heel on concrete. She hurried to the office door. The hall was empty toward the auditorium entrance, but back the other way she could see several people near the dressing rooms.

She recognized two of them. The man they called Bobby Lee, the one wearing the red checked shirt, was just disappearing around the curve, and Ben Yokum was opening the door to the storage room.

The air was cooling rapidly, and Carrie buttoned her jacket as she left the auditorium. She hoped Farel hadn’t lived in some remote mountain cabin—she wasn’t dressed for a rough hike. But then, the full ruffled skirts and Mary Jane slippers that Tracy and Brigid wore weren’t exactly suitable for an outdoor excursion either. Chase was the only one of them with halfway sensible clothing on, though his fancy boots sure weren’t made for hiking.

He was across the parking lot, standing next to a red van. In the glow from the security lights, Carrie could see him putting Brigid’s fiddle case in the back, next to the guitar and banjo. The side door was also open, and Brigid called to her, “In here.”

As soon as they were settled and the van was moving, Brigid asked, “So, what’s goin’ on?”

Evidently she really isn’t going to tell them we talked, Carrie thought, as Tracy—whose emotions had either evaporated or were under rigid control— gave Brigid basically the same story she’d told Carrie about finding Farel Teal’s body.

When the van was halfway down the drive leading to the visitors’ parking lot, Chase turned right into a narrow lane. It went around the edge of the Folk Center grounds rather than continuing toward the parking lot and the main road. Carrie had no idea where they were going, but noticed they passed what looked like fair grounds and a park with picnic tables and stone barbecue pits.

As Chase drove through the center of Mountain View and turned south, the three Masons began talking about the best way to approach Farel’s house.

Carrie was silent—thinking—asking God to lead them—listening. She wondered if there really was a chance the child was at Farel’s now, if, indeed, she had ever been there.

The road began to climb, curving up the side of a mountain. Evidently Farel did live in the country, or...were they really going to Farel’s?

Carrie began praying harder, hoping to silence concern that was becoming leaping panic. She’d gone and rushed into trouble again. She didn’t really know these people at all! Oh, why hadn’t she just left things alone, why had she followed Tracy?

Then she remembered the woman in the woods. Of course. All the recent activity had knocked that right out of her head. She had followed Tracy to tell her about the woman.

“What’s a gowerow?” she asked when there was a pause in the conversation.

Brigid answered first, though Chase and Tracy had also started to speak. It was obvious that the term wasn’t strange to any of them.

“Story-monster,” Brigid said, “ugly thing. Large, has tusks. Scare kids with gowerow tales. Why?”

Carrie told them about the woman in the woods.

When she finished, there was complete silence in the car, but even in the darkness Carrie could tell Brigid Mason was looking at her with that slit-eyed hostility again. Finally Brigid said, forming her words as slowly and carefully as if she were addressing a naughty two-year old, “
That
was Mad Margaret. Mad Margaret
Culpeper
.”

Carrie was sure her surprise was evident. “But, I don’t know her,” she said. “I never saw the woman before in my life. You don’t think I...” She stopped, realizing Brigid Mason just could think she was involved in all this trouble.

But, once again, Brigid’s hostile look faded, and she continued, “Margaret Culpeper ain’t mad a’tall, she’s lots sharper ’n’ most folks think. She’s said to have second sight. Mebbe you oughta find her house and talk to her. Now, you tell me again—ever-thing she said and did.”

Carrie repeated her story.

“You hardly ever see her ’round town,” Brigid said, “’n’ she lives somewheres in the woods along the ridge back of the Folk Center Park. You could mebbe hike there. I’ve never been to her place, none I know has, mostly ’cause her sons are unfriendly types and don’t care fer visitors. Even the law don’t bother ’em. Rye Wylie sez it ain’t his jurisdiction, since it’s probably town land or grandfathered park land, ’n’ I don’t think Chief Bolen’s ever been there neither. He sez it’s county. Not that I’m exactly sayin’ the Culpepers’d do anythin’ wrong, o’course.” She paused, giving Carrie another slit-eyed look. “But I’m sure not sayin’ they wouldn’t. Yep, if we don’t find Dulcey at Farel’s, you go talk to Margaret Culpeper! You could do it, bein’ a woman, a stranger here, and a Culpeper besides.”

“Even if she is a Culpeper,” Chase said as he pulled the van off the road, “she’d best take someone with her—someone with a gun.”

They were turning into a rocky lane much like the one leading to Carrie’s house in Spavinaw County. Chase stopped a few yards from the highway and backed into a small clearing. As he pulled the van around, its headlights reflected on a rusty pasture gate hanging by one wire hinge. “We’ll park here,” he said. “Momma, you and Miz Carrie stay put ’n’ keep the doors locked. Tracy’ll come with me, she knows how to find the key.”

Brigid and Carrie looked across the seat at each other, and then they slid, Brigid first, followed by Carrie, out the side door. “No way I’m bein’ left outta this,” Chase’s mother said.

Chase made no protest. He was already headed up the bumpy lane leading away from the highway. “This’s not the main way to the house,” he said, “but someone could be using the other road. Sorry we don’t have a flashlight—though maybe it’s best we don’t.” He looked at the sky. “Moon’s good for another coupla hours.”

Chase set a fast pace, and not long after they began the climb, Tracy dropped back toward Carrie, letting Brigid pass her. Eventually she was at Carrie’s side, and Carrie reached out to take hold of her small, cold hand. Any other contact would have been impossible while they were both concentrating on navigating the rough ground.

Tracy clung to Carrie’s hand, though that made walking more difficult for both of them. I wonder where this girl’s mother lives? Carrie thought as they trudged along.

Well, at least all this activity kept her from feeling cold.

The little group followed the narrow lane, winding their way up the hillside. Carrie tried to avoid the rocks, but was also thinking that, after tonight, she didn’t ever want to see her blue shoes again. Finally Chase stopped, held up a hand, and waited for the women to catch up with him.

They had come to the edge of a clearing where a square wood-frame house was clearly outlined in moonlight. The inside of the house looked dark.

Tracy leaned close to Carrie’s ear and whispered, “Farel’s lived here alone since Uncle Ted died last year. His ma’s been gone for years. I barely remember her, and that’s one reason he spent so much time at our house when we were growing up. He was the youngest. His two sisters are married ’n’ live away.”

Chase’s low voice interrupted. “Let’s divide up and all come at the house from a different side. Miz Carrie, you stay here at the back. Momma, go to that side. Tracy, come with me and help me find the key, and then take the other side. Each of you sneak up and look in the windows on your side. I don’t see curtains or closed shades, so if someone’s inside, should be a little light somewhere. If you don’t see anything, come around to the front. Now, stay in the woods ’til I give an owl call, ’n’ we’ll all come in.”

Silently, Chase, Tracy, and Brigid faded into the darkness, and Carrie stood alone, staring at the moonlit back of the house with its vacant windows. There were no vehicles in sight but, like the van, they could be hidden in the woods. A wide lane, undoubtedly the main road Chase had referred to, led into the yard at the front of the house.

An owl called. Chase was a good owl mimic, just as good as she herself was.

Carrie left the shelter of the trees and started across the clearing, trying to stay close to the moon-shadows of various objects and bushes and almost tripping over a board that was too flat to cast a shadow. One more ding for the blue shoes!