“That’s disgusting. Her spying on us. Not you being sick to your stomach, although that’s not the most romantic thing you could do. I would like to have a few words with Miss Anna, should we ever meet again, on what constitutes total depravity. Meantime, shall we try and get out of here before we’re the main course for one of your Memphis bar-b-ques?”
I laughed. “Definitely. Hey, Briley. There’s a window that just reaches the widow’s walk.”
He was quick. “Fantastic. Let’s go.”
“Wait. I want to add one more little touch.”
I threw my black dress and the lion skins into the bathtub, lit another match then tossed it on top of the fabric. I turned back to Briley, who grinned.
“Miss Flynn, you sing, you dance, you design costumes, you kiss wonderfully - and you’re a pyromaniac. Is there no end to your talents?”
I smiled back and winked. “I am extraordinarily gifted, aren’t I!”
Briley responded by opening the window and extending a hand to me. “We’ll postpone discussing the list of your extraordinary gifts for the time being. Out you go.”
I swung onto the widow’s walk then ran to the large maple tree, grabbing the closest limb that seemed strong enough to support my weight then wrapping my legs around it. Briley was right behind me. We shimmied down. I cursed about the branches that were leaving bruises on my exposed flesh. The fine French lace shredded, leaving my chest somewhat more exposed.
We were halfway to the ground before I heard a not-so-silent obscenity eminating from what had been our prison. Geb’s voice shrieking in the night with his strong accent and words I, thankfully, wasn’t familiar with.
“Dey hef gone! And fire iss here! Sheet!”
More than smoke was indeed wafting out from the window. These were real flames.
Anna’s voice could be heard over Geb’s ranting and swearing. “You stupid fool! That’s whiskey you just poured onto that fire! Get out! Get out! We’re going to burn!”
Briley and I hit the ground, joining the other escapees pouring out of the house on Gayoso. We looked like everyone else. A man dressed for a night on the town and a woman undressed for the same. I hoped Teresa’s suffragette meeting was running long. I had no desire for her to get a glimpse of ‘cousin’ Melody running through the streets of Memphis dressed like a courtesan in a bad English sex farce.
Briley nudged me. “Look at the tree.”
I did. Geb slid down without using the branches. Anna was above him. Her long lion-printed nightgown hampered her speed. A spark caught a limb at the top of the tree just as Geb hit the ground. Anna let go of her branch then sailed, skirts flying, to land squarely on Geb’s head. The pair of them tumbled over on the grass, a sight that gave me great satisfaction.
Briley grabbed my hand. “Come on. Our new chums will no doubt begin the chase for us. But we need to follow them. We’ve got to find out where they took Denise and Nevin.”
I nodded. The Memphis Fire Department arrived on the scene in their shiny wagon. In my century, firefighters are noted for their speed and bravery and expertise at extinguishing fires. Their 1919 counterparts were no exception. Within minutes this blaze would be gone. Good news for anyone close enough to get singed. Bad news for the arsonists. Time to make tracks.
We began to walk almost casually into the street, blending with prostitutes, johns, and curious onlookers. Briley handed me his jacket to cover the top half of my bizarre evening attire.
As he helped me get my arm through a sleeve, someone else plopped something on my head.
Briley and I whirled around. I clenched my fist, ready to make contact.
I stopped and sighed. I reached up, took the hat off and looked at it. Worn. Brown. Fedora. It could only belong to the man who wore matching jacket and pants and who now faced us, a huge grin splitting his face almost in half.
Briley sighed. “Hello, Izzy.”
Chapter 21
Izzy grabbed my hand and bestowed a sloppy kiss on the outside of my palm. I wrenched it away. Briley glared at his friend then thundered, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Same as you.” Izzy leered at us. “Well, perhaps not exactly the same, since it appears the pair of you were engaged in an activity far more pleasurable than skulking in bushes waiting for a scoop but . . . ”
“We weren’t!” I interrupted. “I mean, we were in that house but nothing, we, uh . . . ”
Briley took over for me. “Isaac. Melody and I are in Memphis trying to learn the whereabouts of Denise and Nevin Dupre. That’s why we were in a brothel. Now then, what’s your story? Slumming? Can’t get a girl?”
Izzy smiled. “I shall explain all, but not here. From what I gathered with the comments you two were exchanging, which I admit I overheard without reluctance or shame, you’re in danger of being pursued by the woman who runs this residence aided by some felon she employs?”
We both nodded. Izzy continued, “Then, my friends, I suggest we adjourn to some place more private.”
The guys silently and speedily formed a Melody sandwich. Izzy took the lead. I was in the middle wrapped in Briley’s jacket. It did not quite reach my hips. I kept Izzy’s brown hat on, which did cover the majority of my hair. Briley took the position behind me. We both bent our knees to match Izzy’s lack of height then the three of us marched in unison away from Anna, Geb, the brave Memphis Fire Brigade, and any other interested parties.
I expected a hook leftover from a vaudeville comedy act somewhere in Tennessee to appear from a side street and loop our trio off this stage, but we managed to get to the residential part of Beale without attracting too much attention. Most of Memphis, it seemed, had turned out to watch the bordello burn to the ground.
We waited until we reached the Flynn house to unattach ourselves from one another. I pounded on the door. No one answered, so we entered the unlocked house, made our way to the living room then sat for five minutes without saying a word.
Briley finally spoke first. “All right, Izzy. Give us all the muckracking details. In order. Who, what, when, why and how. Isn’t that the correct drill?”
Izzy raised an eyebrow. “Very good. Being around a top-notch journalist such as myself has taught you the basics.”
Briley snorted. “Skip the bull and get to the details.”
“The ‘who’ is you. Well, you, Melody and the Dupres. The ‘what’ is the Dupres' kidnapping. The ‘when’ is up in the air, the ‘why’ also unclear, and the ‘how’ a complete mystery.”
I turned to Briley. “He’s good, Briley. Your childhood buddy. Gave us absolutely no information at all.” I addressed Izzy directly. “Now, then, Rubens or Rubenovitch or whatever you’re calling yourself in whatever paper you’re working for today, how did you know Briley and I would be in Memphis?”
“Simple. I followed you from Melody’s rooming house to the train station. Watched you get on, saw what train, boarded it at the last moment, and bought a ticket from a nice conductor who agreed to keep me well hidden near the baggage area where no one cares to roam.”
I glanced at him. “I felt like someone was watching me. I guess that was you?”
Izzy seemed puzzled. “Not me. I stayed put for the trip except for meals and was very careful not to be seated at the same time as either of you. Once we arrived, I followed you here, waited outside, then followed Briley to the, uh, house of ill repute. I did not expect Melody to show up dressed so delightfully and I did not expect the best show since the Chicago blaze of 1871. Which, mind you, I didn’t get to see since I hadn’t been born yet.”
I blew my breath out in exasperation. “I did not go dressed this way. I was neatly garbed in a truly ugly old – oh forget it. I stink like smoke and I want out of this slut-city costume now.” I rose. “Guys. I’m going upstairs and taking a long shower. Don’t disturb me unless Denise or Nevin show up at the door.”
“Wait. Just one thing.”
I turned from the entranceway of the living room. “Yes, Izzy?”
“Why did you and Briley decide to come to Memphis to look for the Dupres?”
Ah. There it was. The question I couldn’t answer without giving Izzy Rubens the story of the century. “Time-Traveling Talented Tart Muses on Mystery of the Missing Misses!”
I smiled. “We had a tip from my landlady. How she knew? No idea. You’ll have to ask her if we all get back to Manhattan in one piece with the Dupres in tow. ‘scuse me, y’all. Cleanliness awaits.”
I ran up the stairs before Izzy had a chance to quiz me. Let Briley handle him. I needed to remove the stench of not only the fire but of Madam Anna’s house and her very existence. And I needed to rest because I knew the night wasn’t over. We had research to do. Denise and Nevin had been taken to someplace for some ceremony. Anna had said this ritual wasn’t dangerous. Or at least, not if Denise “cooperated” - whatever that implied. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like Anna and her lion skins nor Geb and his bald head and general ickiness. And I didn’t like Anna's anonymous brother, the person behind this strange event involving Egyptian gods.
I cleaned up then hurried back downstairs to join the men. I didn’t trust either of them to go tearing off without me and I didn’t want a repeat of the comedy act the three of us had performed skulking through the streets today trying not to let members of our trio discover the whereabouts of one another.
The living room was empty.
I jumped up and down and swore in language neither my father, Great-great Aunt Teresa or Flo Ziegfeld would approve of. I was about to throw a lamp out of frustration that my comrades had dumped me when Briley sauntered into the living room wearing a clean shirt and trousers.
“Mel. Was that your lovely voice I heard all the way in my room screaming curses aimed at Isaac and myself?”
I smiled. “Could be. Unless the charming Colleen O’Shea, a sweet Irish maid almost employed as something else this evening, snuck in here while you were upstairs.”
“You thought we’d left you. Confess. You thought we’d run out to play hero.”
“Somthing like that. Yeah.”
Briley perched on the edge of the sofa. “I have to admit, I might have deserted you and gone out alone if I had any clue where in Memphis that dreadful woman and her lackey took Denise. If you’re wondering where the boy reporter is, he mumbled something about the local newspaper and getting a story about the fire written and ready for the morning edition.”
“Ah. That would be the Courier-Appeal. It’s been around longer than Memphis has even been a city.” I grinned. “At least it’s not Broadway Brevities.”
Briley stared at me. I stared back. “You don’t think?” we said simultaneously. Briley shook his head. “He wouldn’t. Izzy isn’t dumb. Let’s face it - a story about a Follies girl trapped in – oh, let’s just say it – a whorehouse – in the middle of Memphis, Tennessee, then burning it to the ground, would not meet with Mr. Ziegfeld’s approval. We’d both be out of jobs. Izzy wouldn’t do that to us.”
I nodded. “Well, maybe Izzy going to the Courier-Appeal is a good sign. Maybe he’s trying to land a gig with a real paper instead of a tabloid rag.”
Briley dismissed his friend with a hand wave in the air. “Other than the certainty that you and I would end up unemployed if Izzy chooses to release the news, I don’t much care.”
“I’d’ve thought you’d be happy that Izzy is turning away from trash and scandal and going for real news.”
“I am. Really. But right now all I care about are Denise and Nevin. So. You’re clean and sparkling and beautiful and I hope the soap washed the cobwebs from your brain. We need to pool our information and see what we’ve learned.”
“Agreed. But, Briley, we have to do it fast. According to Madam Anna and her cohort, Geb there’s a cult performance coming soon to Memphis. Starring Denise and Nevin.”
Chapter 22
I plopped down on the sofa and Briley took a seat in the comfortable armchair across the room. That kiss we’d shared at that awful bordello still burned in my memory and senses hotter than any fire igniting the place but obviously we needed to concentrate on the problem at hand if we were to achieve the goal of finding Denise and Nevin.
“Let me try and remember exactly what that sadistic slut said. I was so busy playing arsonist this evening I haven’t had a chance to replay Anna’s little talk. She did start yakking away about Egyptian gods and ceremonies and she seemed a bit too interested in the fact that I design costumes.”
Briley jumped out of his chair. “That’s it! You design and you dance. Denise is a wardrobe mistress.” He paused. “Francesca Cerroni was a seamstress. But the two girls who went missing before Francesca were chorus girls for the Follies. They didn’t work with costumes.”
I shook my head.
Briley inhaled sharply. “Wait. One of the girls - Hannah something. I never met her but Denise said something about her being an odd sort. She didn’t really want to be onstage. Was more interested in the scenery.”
“Go on.”
“I’m trying to remember. Something about her father being a carpenter and she’d actually learned the trade but no one wanted to hire her for backstage work because she was a girl.”
I snorted. “Chauvinist.”
Briley chuckled. “I didn’t say I agreed with the views of my Union. I’m just relating what Denise told me.”
I smiled. “Fine. I’ll let you off the hook for now. Look, Anna already knew I was dancing in the Follies because her brother, our mystery man, told her. I swear Anna became a lot more interested in me as more than just a prospective hooker when she learned I designed clothes. It appears that all our kidnappees were craftswomen of some kind.”
Briley asked, “So, what is it about Egypt and cults and female artisans? I doubt that our villain kidnapped Denise and the others merely to sew for him.”
A female voice spoke behind me. Teresa.
“I apologize for interrupting, but I couldn’t help overhearing. My parents have quite an extensive library. Perhaps you two would care to check the shelves for anything that ties together Egypt, Memphis, gods, artisans and women? I’d hate to imagine that anyone in my town is being held without their consent by a perverted cultist freak.” Teresa winced, then waved at me. “Mel, the library is across from the parlor. I’ll leave y’all to your research. Good luck.”
She gave me a quick hug then marched up the stairs, doubtless to escape the lunatic relative and her supposed fiancé who’d invaded her home.
“She’s right, Briley. We need to check this out now and see if anything about crafts and Egypt and rituals pops up.”
I led Briley to the back of the house where my great-great grandparents had indeed amassed a huge number of books. I blessed double G-Grandaddy’s organizational skills. The books were indexed and catalogued. I gave Briley five large books on gods in general and kept six specifically related to Egyptology.
Thirty minutes later we were frustrated. I’d’ve killed for a high-speed Internet search. We were also getting anxious. I assumed, like all good cult rituals, this one involving Denise and Nevin would begin at midnight. Fortunately, from what Anna had said, that would be tomorrow night. Perhaps the head honcho hadn’t arrived in Memphis from his lair in Manhattan? Then again, I’d felt someone watching me on the train and Izzy had pleaded innocent. So Anna’s brother could even have come down on the same train as Briley and I.
We had less than a day to solve this mystery. Where was Fiona Belle when I needed another song or sheet music with a rip-roaring clue to lead us to Denise and Nevin’s whereabouts?
A book fell on my head, then to the floor. It opened, revealing a page with nice illustrations. I picked it up, scanned the print then checked for cranberry stains, but for once, found nothing.
“Ptah.”
Briley stared at me. “That’s rude.”
I frowned at Briley. “Is not. I said ‘Ptah.’ As in P period T period A period H period. Ptah was one of the major Egyptian gods who just
happened to be from -guess where? Yes, indeedy. Memphis. Not Tenneesee. The original.”
Briley ran to my side. He rather rudely peered over my shoulder while I read aloud from the book but I didn't mind at all.
“‘Creator god.’ Memphis. Wow. Briley, take a look. Ptah is considered the god of artisans, craftspeople. And his wife or consort was Sehkmet who wore lion skins and they had a son named Nefertem. That’s damned close to Nevin, isn’t it?”
We stared at each other. Briley broke the silence first. “Mel, I’ll bet this guy wants to be a god or already believes he is one. Is going for a planned reincarnation, perhaps? He’s looking for his wife and a child? Planning to become this Ptah in a rebirth ritual?”
“Could be,” I nodded. “Honestly - I don’t care. It’s more important to figure out where the players will be in about twenty-three hours.”
Briley took the book from my hands and quickly scanned the page. “It talks about Memphis. It talks about pyramids. It talks about. . . . “
“Wait!” I exclaimed. “Pyramids. There’s going to be a big one. But not for another fifty years or so. I’m not sure when the Arena gets built but it’s somewhere closer to 1990 than 1919. Forget it. What else does it say?”
“It goes on and on about the Nile so that’s not much help.”
“Well, actually it is. Mud Island is situated on the Mississippi. A river sometimes referred to as the American Nile by folks in Memphis. And that bitch Anna said something about Denise floating down the Mississippi if she didn’t co-operate. Mud Island is right on the river.”
Briley turned pale. “We have twenty-four hours to try finding this place. Assuming this is where Anna and company took them. Why Mud Island? Do you believe these clows are using is it because it’s like the Nile?”
“Maybe. I mean, it’s the only place that makes sense given what little tidbits of info that woman threw out." I paused. "Wait. a sec. Dirty. When she said something about things getting dirty I thought she meant like whorehouse raunchy instead of literally ‘dirt’ as in part of the ground and muddy.”
Haunting Melody Page 15