Briley also surveyed the ballroom. “There’s really nothing else we can do here tonight. Izzy will do a good job of interrogating these folks. Mel, I’ll take you home.”
“You don’t have too. I’m capable of gettin' back on my own.”
He scowled at me. “I don’t want to have to worry about you, too. No arguments. I’m seeing you safely to your door.”
When he said he’d take me home, my breath had grown slightly more rapid. He cared. He’d even called me Mel instead of Melody. Nicknames meant something, right? Then I realized he was taking responsibility for me just like for Denise and Nevin. I was a single girl, alone in the big city. He didn’t want me vanishing on his watch.
Briley hailed a cab from one of the few hovering several blocks away near The New Amsterdam Theatre. We drove to East 12th in silence.
“Briley, you don’t need to walk me to my door. Mrs. Donovan will be up and watchin'. Just call me if you find out even the tiniest bit of news, okay? Really. I don’t care if it’s four in the mornin'. The phone’s right outside my door and I’ll hear it, I promise.”
He reached over and hugged me. Clung to me would be the better description. We both needed warmth and reassurance.
“Night, Mel.”
“Night, Briley.”
Mrs. Donovan was indeed perched behind the counter in the lobby knitting a tangled mess of yarn and holes the most glaring color of yellow I’d seen outside a demented canary.
“What’s wrong?”
I stared at her. “How do you know somethin’s wrong?”
“Ya have the look of despair on yer face, lass. That’s how.”
“It’s bad. Denise Dupre and her little boy, Nevin, are missing. Briley and I have just come from the police station and they aren’t holding out a lot of hope of findin' them.”
“But you will. Best be careful, though.”
“I will? What are you talkin' about?”
“Just a hunch. Go to bed, Mel. Things will be better in the morning.”
“Mrs. Donovan, if you have the answers, please tell me.”
She jabbed her palm with a knitting needle and cursed in what appeared to be ancient Gaelic. Finally, “Don’t you fret. I just get these feelins’. Now off with ya, Mel Flynn. Ya look like the devil’s own bad news. Get some sleep.”
I wasn’t going to argue. I took the elevator to the fourth floor, managed to scrub the make-up off my face, then I tumbled into bed. I sent out a prayer that Denise and Nevin would have a peaceful night––wherever they were.
Chapter 14
“Mel! Wake up. Ya got more flowers here.”
I groaned. My life was in reruns. Mrs. Donovan stood in the doorway waving lotus blossoms at me.
“I don’t really want to see those this mornin', Mrs. Donovan. Can you take them downstairs? Or leave them outside for the dogs to have something interesting to water?”
“Ye’re a mite cranky today, aren’t ya?”
“Yeah. Getting two hours sleep after worryin' all night about where people are disappearing to can do that to a girl.”
“You go take a nice shower, now. You’ll feel better. Then come on down to breakfast. I made cranberry scones for all the girls today.”
Cranberry scones. Words failed me.
I staggered down the hall and stood under the shower for a long time and thought about Denise and Nevin and the other missing girls. If a few tears got mixed in with the hot water and dissolved down the drain, that was all right. Crying wouldn’t help them, but I felt better anyway.
I dressed in one of Bettina’s more exotic black and white cotton dresses then sat down on the piano bench to lace my boots. And spied something extra on the piano. Sheet music. A new copy of Elvis Presley’s "Heartbreak Hotel." And I do mean new. Not from the 1950s. It had just been released by a Tennessee-based band called Memphis Beales.
How had music from way in the future made it into my room and on top of the piano? Or perhaps the question wasn’t how, but rather “Why?”
I looked at the front page. There was a red stain at the top right corner. I sniffed. Cranberries. I placed the sheet music back on the stand and tore down to the lobby with Olympian speed. Della Lowder was behind the desk.
“Della? Where’s Mrs. Donovan?”
“She left about ten minutes ago. Said she had errands to run. Can I help?”
I smiled weakly. “No, I really needed to speak directly to her. But thanks.”
I turned to go back up the stairs.
“Melody? She said to tell you there’s fresh scones and tea in the kitchen if you want some.”
Again, I thanked her and walked towards the kitchenette just off the lobby to the right. Scones, bacon and tea beckoned from a small table. I absently helped myself while I contemplated the mystery of the sheet music. Sneaky Mrs. Donovan doubtless could supply answers, but I suspected she’d take the entire day, or week, to do her errands specifically to stay out of my way.
I grabbed an extra scone, then headed back upstairs but cautiously opened the door. No new surprises. "Heartbreak Hotel" remained on top the piano. I picked it up and read through the lyrics at least fifteen times. I felt dense. I glanced around the room hoping for divine intervention. Mrs. Donovan had left flowers on my dresser. Roses, roses, and more roses. More lotus blossoms, too. Cards everywhere but none of them matched up with the flowers. Time to go ahead and read the durn things.
“My dearest Melody. Dinner tonight?” Prince Peter.
“Miss Melody. Great show. Dinner tonight?” Grady Martel.
“Miss Flynn. You are a lovely addition to the Follies. Dinner tonight?” Lawrence Vassily. Hadn’t met him but Briley had mentioned his name along with the fact that I’d be getting flowers from him.
The other five cards were variations on the same theme - dinner. I wondered if they were all simply lonely men who hid behind dinner and roses and flattery. At least one, Lloyd Ellingsford, was married. Of course, one could be married and rich and still lonely.
Lonely. I looked at the sheet music in my hand.
“'Down on the end of lonely street, called Heartbreak Hotel.'”
Memphis. Home to Elvis, home to Heartbreak Hotel. A clue from the future? Denise and Nevin, perhaps the other missing Follies girls as well, were in Memphis. I had no idea why - but I suddenly knew they were there.
I ran down the hall to the phone to call Briley at the theatre. Stopped.
How could I explain this great revelation? Sheet music from the future, left in the room of a girl from the future thanks to a time-traveling old eccentric Elvis devotee. Cuckoo-City on acid. I slowly dropped the receiver back onto the hook on the wall. I couldn’t tell Briley McShan the truth. He’d never ever believe me.
I started to return to my room. But two other visions entered my mind. Denise Dupre reassuring me that my pants were “tres chic.” Nevin Dupre jumping on the boxes in the alley behind the theatre pretending to be a dancing toreador.
It didn’t matter a damn whether Briley thought I was nuts. He had to consider the possibility that Denise, Nevin, and the others were being held in the unlikely spot of Memphis, Tennessee. I’d gladly spend a few years in Bellevue to see Nevin’s face again.
“Hello?”
“Briley. It’s Mel.”
“Hi. I’m sorry I don’t have news for you yet. I spent about an hour this morning at Denise’s building interviewing neighbors, but no one knew a thing. Last time anyone saw them, she and Nevin were on their way to the theatre about 5:00 yesterday afternoon.”
“Briley. I have a very strange theory about where they could be. Not the ‘why’ - just the ‘where.’ Um. I need to see you. Can you come over? This is not something I’d care to discuss over the phone.”
He was silent for a few seconds as my heart stopped. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
I hung up then jumped as the phone immediately rang.
“Hello?”
“Iss Melody Flynn there?”
“Thi
s is Melody. Who’s this?”
“Ah, Melody. I did not, how you say, recognize your voice. This is Prince Peter Herzochevskia.”
“Peter?”
“Yes. You get flowers?”
“Yes. Thank you so much. I would have called, but I didn’t have a way to reach you.”
“Iss all right. I call to see what time go to dinner? My chauffeur veell pick up.”
“Peter, thanks, but I’ve already made plans. I slept in late today and didn’t see your invitation until just about thirty minutes ago. I’m so sorry. Another time, perhaps?”
Silence. Finally, “But of course. I veell see you soon, da?”
I hung up and darned if it didn’t ring again.
“Hi, Hon! Howzabout dinner tonight? Didja get my flowers?”
“Hi, Grady. Yes, I did. Thank you so much. They’re lovely.”
“Well, that’s good. You’re raght welcome. Now, I thought I’d come by around eight this evenin’, we’d git a nice dinner and then go dancin’. Then ride one of those horse carriages around the Park.”
“Thanks, Grady, but I’ve already made plans. Later?”
“You made plans? Already? Who’s the fella? I’ll challenge him to a pistol whippin’ contest today!”
Didn’t they teach Southern manners in the Lone Star State? That was really rude. Before I had a chance to give him the proper etiquette for asking girls out or tell him he needed to get over jumping into relationships with both feet and no brain, he apologized. “Ah’m sorry. Didn’t mean to start pryin'. All you gals have bunches of fellas chasin’ you and I guess I just wasn’t quick enough.”
I kind of felt some sympathy for him. He was gorgeous, rich, new in town and a bit of a goon.
“It’s okay. I’m - uh - helping a - uh - sick friend.”
His tone brightened. “Ah. Well, that’s raght nice of you. We’ll try later. Bye Miz Melody.”
“Bye, Grady.”
One more biggie-sized whopper to add to of the all the others I’d told since landing in 1919. I wondered whether time-travel is a precursor to becoming a pathological liar.
I strolled back to my room, stared at the sheet music and practiced telling Briley McShan he was about to cross into La-La Land. Time travel. I shook my head in near despair. There was no way he was going to believe this story, yet he had to. I couldn’t go wandering down to Memphis on my own playing amateur detective in an era I was still cautiously navigating through. Plus, I just really wanted. . . heck, I needed Briley to finally hear my story.
I heard a tap on the door.
“Mel?”
I’d been so lost in thought I hadn’t realized fifteen minutes had passed.
“So, I trust you’ve got some relevant information that warrants me stopping my investigation of the neighbor who last saw Denise? An investigation that wasn’t going smoothly anyway.”
Briley was not in a good mood. Which could make telling my story worse.
I swallowed. “Yes. I do. But you’re going to have to make a giant leap of faith and really listen to what I have to say. I have this idea where Denise and Nevin could be.”
He grabbed my shoulders. “Why are we wasting time? Where? How do you know? What’s happened?”
“Briley. Calm down. Now, sit.”
He’d brought Duffy, the dog, with him. Both sat as asked. Duffy was quicker and happier about it. Briley scowled. “Well?”
“I think they’re in Memphis. My hometown.”
“Why on earth? Is this some crazy hunch or do you have something tangible?”
“I do have somethin', but that’s where the leap of faith comes in.”
“Will you quit playing games and just tell me what’s going on?”
I handed him the sheet music to "Heartbreak Hotel."
He barely glanced at it. “Sheet music. Wonderful. Is there a point to this?”
I chewed my lip. “That’s the music for a song that was written in 1957. A song that was recorded by Elvis Presley in Sun Studios in Memphis, Tennessee - in 1957. It was a huge hit. As was Elvis. He was the biggest rock n’ roll star in the history of music. So big that when he died and his home just outside of Memphis became a tourist attraction, a hotel was built on the grounds in his honor. It’s called Heartbreak Hotel.”
Briley was looking at me as though I’d completely lost my mind.
“Briley, I found this sheet music this mornin' on the piano. It has a cranberry stain on it. I’m certain it came from a short, crazy old witch in the 21st century who lives in this buildin' and who has my dog right now and who sent this to me because she was able to track down the whereabouts of the missing girls and Nevin and this is a sign.”
Briley’s tone had the patient timbre one uses with a demented child. “And why would you think this, Melody?”
I’d been reduced to the formal Melody. “Because less than a week ago I was having tea and cranberry scones with this same short, crazy witch, Fiona Belle Donovan, in this very buildin' discussin' the ghost in my new apartment. This apartment. Fiona Belle was explainin' that the ghost came from 13th Edition Follies. In the year 1919.” I inhaled. “Briley, this conversation happened over ninety years in the future.”
He stared at me, blue eyes blazing with fury at what he obviously thought was a ridiculous story. I couldn’t blame him. I was living it and I thought it was a ridiculous story.
Finally he spoke. “Are you trying to tell me that you, Melody Flynn, have somehow been in communication with someone in the future?”
Oh boy. He hadn’t quite grasped the total picture.
“No. I’m tryin' to tell you that I came from the future and that I managed somehow to travel through time and I landed here -in 1919. And I can prove it.”
Chapter 15
Briley laughed so hard he literally fell out of his chair. He held his sides and continued to laugh until I was afraid I’d have to perform CPR on him when his breath gave out. Duffy was anxiously licking his face. I waited for the hilarity to subside.
Of all the reactions to my tale of time travel and Elvis and Memphis, this was not the one I’d expected.
Finally, he stopped. “That’s good. You really have come up with a way of getting my mind off this mess haven’t you? Although I don’t appreciate you using the disappearance of Denise and Nevin to play this little joke.”
He didn’t believe me. I wasn’t surprised, but given the urgency of the situation of missing friends and colleagues, it was imperative that I make him understand I wasn't kidding around.
“Briley. I know this all sounds silly. It’s not logical or scientific or sane. But I swear to you I am tellin' you the truth. Please listen to me.”
I spent the next twenty minutes carefully walking him through the events that had occurred the past few weeks. I began with the tale of the locks clicking in the apartment, the lights going on and off, the suspicion that I had a ghost, the talk with Fiona Belle, the tea party, the music box shaped like a doll, and the sheet music to "A Pretty Girl is like a Melody." I did not tell him I was now pretty sure the ‘ghost’ was me. Definitely too much information.
“So, I woke up in Saree’s dressin' room. I thought I was dreamin' or had fainted and was hallucinatin'. Then Saree told me it was 1919 and I passed out again. Can you imagine waking up in a strange place and being told you’d just traveled into the past? I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t tell anyone, they’d think I was nuts. Like you do. And I’m sure you’re saying to yourself that I need to be locked up in a rubber room somewhere. But it’s all true. Every word. I don’t understand it, don’t get why or how it happened, but here I am.”
He could see I was serious. He stared at me. “This is insane. How am I supposed to believe this is even possible?”
“Like I have any real answers? I only know when I turned the key of that musical doll and held that sheet music, well, one minute I was home working on sketches for a show I was designing. The next minute, I was backstage of the New Amsterdam Theatre in ano
ther century.”
Briley started pacing across the small room. “You said you could prove this ridiculous story. Would you mind telling me how?”
“I’m not goin' to tell. I’m goin' to show.”
I picked up the Elvis carryall bag and dug inside, first pulling out my phone.
“This is a cell phone that also acts like a computer. Not only can you call people but you can play games on it and connect to the internet and do all kinds of fun apps.
“Apps?”
“Applications. Computers started bein' used all over the world by ordinary people in the 1980s or so. They, uh, store information. They act like a typewriter. They can calculate figures. They can even send mail.”
I stopped. I didn’t need to get into a discussion about email. Trying to explain computer functions to a man who probably didn’t know how images got onto a movie screen was going to be tough. Hell, I didn’t know how images got onto a screen. Totally tech-challenged. I’d been the despair of my entire Physics Class in college and my Computer Aps course back in high school. And now I was going off point in my own mind. I needed to focus.
Briley was looking at my phone with an expression of total suspicion. As though waiting for it to begin to speak to him. I hoped the battery was still working. I took it from him and typed in an address, then pressed voice-activate.
“Thirty-three Christopher Street.”
Briley jumped. “It’s talking! It’s not talking well, but it’s talking.”
“Yep.”
He looked at me. “Whose address is that?”
“My best friend. Her name is Savanna. She’s getting her Masters from NYU. You’d like her. Bouncy personality, funny; a meddler from the word go. That isn’t relevant, is it?”
“No. And while this is interesting and certainly a scientific breakthrough, it doesn’t prove you’re from a different time.”
Not buying it. I pulled out my check register and opened it to the first page that held that the wonderful four-year calendar. I pointed out the date to him.
Haunting Melody Page 10