MELODY and MURDER (Melody The Librarian Book 1)

by Leslie Leigh

  “You do that very well,” a man’s voice said. “That may be the best air violin I’ve ever heard.” Molly smiled and looked up over my head. When I turned around, I saw that it was Gary Van Dyke. He now sported a mustache and his resemblance to his father was even more pronounced.

  I stood and have Gary a hug. “Molly, this is Gary; Gary, Molly.”

  “Hello, Molly,” he said, crouching down to her height. “Have you ever played a real violin before?” Molly shook her head. “Do you know where the music store is?” Molly nodded. “Well, if you’d like to try playing one, just have your mother bring you down to our store and we’ll let you saw away on one. We have a couple that are just your size. Would you like that?” Molly nodded her head enthusiastically.

  Gary stood up. “Thanks for providing me with a lead, Melody.

  I laughed. “Do I get some kind of commission?”

  “Sure. I’ll spring for dinner. Seriously, I came by to see if you’d like to grab a bite at Burger’s. What time are you off?”

  “I can see you’re not a regular patron,” I sniffed. “We’re open till 6:00 p.m., Monday through Friday, and until noon on Saturday.”

  “Good to know,” he laughed. “I just got back from Crawford. It’s been a long day. But Dad told me you were back in town and I thought we could catch up on what you’ve been doing. What do you say?”

  “Sounds great,” I said. “I’m staying with Mom for now. I’d better give her a call.”

  “Do what you need to and I’ll be back at 6:00. I’ve got to run a few errands in the meantime. I’ll see you in a little bit, okay?”

  “Okey dokey,” I said. Molly was observing our interaction.

  “Okey dokey!” she said, smiling. She liked saying it, too. We watched Gary leave, and Molly asked, “Miss Melody, are you going on a date?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a date, Molly. We’re both friends.”

  “Oh,” she said, trying to sort out the difference. “So…no kissing, then.”

  “That’s right, Molly. No kissing.”

  I directed Molly to the picture books and sat her down in a child’s rocker. As she turned the pages, she was soon oblivious to my presence. I went to the lunchroom to call Mom.

  “Mom, you didn’t have any special plans for dinner tonight, did you? I think I’m going to grab something at Burger’s after work.”

  “Oh, Melody, I wish you’d have let me know sooner. I’ve got vegetable lasagna in the oven.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. It was kind of spur-of-the-moment. Gary Van Dyke just stopped by and asked me….”

  “Gary Van Dyke? Well, why didn’t you say so? Not a problem; the only thing better than lasagna fresh from the oven is leftover lasagna. You kids go and have fun.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “I’ll leave the door unlocked in case you get back late. And if you don’t get in till morning, I’ll understand. After all, you’re an adult now.”

  “Mom!” I couldn’t believe my mother was giving her blessing for her daughter to…well, let’s just say that I didn’t remember quite this level of permissiveness before I went off to college. “I’m sure I’ll be back before you turn in.”

  “Don’t rush home on my account, sweetie.”

  “Goodbye, Mom.” Sheesh, sometimes I wonder if Mom’s grandmotherly imperative trumped any “maternal drive” on my part.

  At 5:55, Gary returned. “Are we ready?” he asked.

  “Not quite,” I said, and nodded toward Molly, who stood looking out the window for her mother’s car. Usually, her Mom would arrive shortly after 5:30. I wondered why she didn’t call if she knew she was running late. Finally, at 6:10, I turned out the lights and locked up. The three of us stood on the front steps and waited.

  “You don’t mind, do you?” I asked.

  “Not at all,” Gary said, calmly. “It’s not like I’m starving. In fact, I’m glad we’re making sure she stays safe.”

  The sound of a car in need of a new muffler grew louder and soon appeared, parking on the side street. A woman in a down vest and jeans walked briskly toward us.

  “Oh, my god, I’m so sorry. Thank you for watching Molly. They asked if I could stay a half hour longer at work. I thought for sure I’d get here before closing.”

  “It wasn’t a problem,” I assured her. “I’m Melody, the librarian, and this is Gary Van Dyke.” She shook our hands. She smelled heavily of nicotine and stale smoke.

  “Oh, the music store, huh?” she asked. She looked to be about the same age as me, early thirties. Now that the stress had subsided, her smile revealed an attractive woman. “I’m Cathy Spencer; call me Cat. Yeah, when they offer me some overtime, I have to jump on it. Matter of fact, they asked me to come in tomorrow for a half day. There’s something going on at the paper mill. I don’t know what, but I hope it stays busy. There were rumors of lay-offs not long ago, but now we’re heading into our peak season, so it should stay hopping. All I have to do is find a babysitter for tomorrow.”

  “Do you have family in the area, Cat?” I asked.

  “Got a sister in Rose City, but she works, too.”

  Something made me hesitate – selfishness, maybe – but I found myself volunteering to watch Molly.

  “Are you sure?” she asked. “That would be so helpful.”

  “Sure, I’m sure. Just drop her off at the library. When would you pick her up?”

  “I work from 9:00 to 1:00. Does that work for you?”

  “I’ll make it work for me.” I’d have to go in early and stay later, but that was all right. I had plenty to do. “You’ll drop her off about 8:30?” Cat nodded. “Great. But if you’re going to be later than 1:30, please call.”

  “Deal,” she said. “Thanks so much, Melody. Good to meet you both. Come on, Molly, you must be hungry.”

  We watched them walk to the car. “How about you, Gary? Are you hungry?”

  “Are you kidding?” he asked. “I’m starved!”

  Burger’s was actually named after its owner, Klaus Burger, and was a nice casual dining eatery. But when your name is Burger and you serve food, you’d better feature some sort of hamburger on your menu or the tourists would revolt. So they came up with an extensive lineup of burger variations which became popular with both tourists and townies alike.

  “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 reali
zing 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.

  Chapter 11

  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.”<
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  “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.