Briley whooped. “Praise be! Though I’m curious as to how they got the cash to return to Manhattan so fast.”
Izzy stared at the ground. “I’m aware of your intense dislike of Steve Clow and the Brevities rag, but since we’d reported on their disappearance I telephoned him to give him the scoop they were safe. Clow immediately wired enough cash for the girls’ fare home.”
Briley asked, “With an exclusive of their stories to Broadway Brevities, no doubt?”
Izzy grinned. “Yes, but I’m the one who’ll write it. I promised to be discreet and tactful about the whole experience.”
All of us piled into the truck. Anna, gagged and tied up, and Briley, as chauffeur, were the only ones who didn’t have to share space. I held Nevin, Frank held Denise, and Izzy held on to the running board on the side, shouting questions as we made the trip to downtown Memphis. It was slow, hot, and cramped, and one of the best rides I’d ever taken.
Chapter 27
We stayed at the police station long enough to let Denise make a statement and watch the cops officially arrest Anna for aiding and abetting in kidnapping. They had no idea what else to charge her with since performing Egyptian rituals of rebirth wasn’t exactly on the books. We had no proof that she’d been involved in the disappearance of Francesca Cerroni back in New York, nor that her death that was anything other than accidental. Ptah Junior had been looking to mate, not maim or kill.
Anna was escorted to a jail cell, still wearing her lion-skinned costume. She wasn’t talking to anyone. The sergeant who’d tried to take her statement got only two words out of the woman and they were unrepeatable.
Izzy trotted off to file his latest story with the Courier-Appeal. The rest of us drove back to Teresa’s. The truck was dirty, but unscathed after the night’s adventure. Briley promised me he’d wash it before Teresa had a chance to see it. Once again we’d crawled home in the very wee hours of the morning. Saree had been right that I’d grow used to late nights, but I sure hadn’t thought I’d be spending them scoping out houses of ill-repute, watching brothers reunite in Beale Street bars, or fighting vicious murderous madams on Mud Island.
I offered Denise and Nevin the use of my room and found a couch in a sunroom at the back of the house. It was too short to really fit my frame, which could have helped explain why sleep was impossible to achieve. After a few hours of tossing, I got up then headed to the kitchen for some tea and to try to make sense of what was insensible.
A noise startled me. I grabbed my empty teacup as though it were a weapon and stood with it raised to defend my honor.
“Death by camomille? Is that your intention?”
I set the cup down. “Briley. You scared the livin’ doo-doo out of me. That’s two times this same day if you count last night as today.”
“I actually understood that. And I’m sorry I startled you. Couldn’t sleep. I guess we’re sharing thoughts about something warm and soothing to ease our minds.” He started to add water to the kettle, but I waved him toward a seat.
“I’ll do it.”
Briley grinned. “I’m not sure this is wise. With your talent for arson perhaps you shouldn’t be allowed near a stove.”
I threw a crocheted potholder at him. “All I did was let the hot plate overheat. Seems to me you’re the one who actually lit the match and tossed it into the bathtub at Madam Anna’s. You’re just as culpable. I’d say we started a nice fire together.”
Briley took a step closer to me. “I bet we could start other fires together. The last day and a half has been crazy, and I’ll admit my mind has been primarily focused on rescues and reunions, but I really enjoyed that kiss - until the room went up in flames, that is.”
Those last words were merely a mumble because by that time his own lips were on mine. My arms immediately wrapped around him and our bodies molded together. His hands gently roved through my hair then traced my forehead and cheek and neck. There was an urgency in this kiss even though we were safe in a friendly house in the middle of the night. We knew things weren’t settled. Somewhere out there was an angry man who, deprived of his latest hope for power through reincarnation, would be seeking revenge. Doubtless sooner than later.
“I smell tea! How wonderful. Camomille?”
Briley and I pulled away from each other and glared in united frustration at the interloper.
“Izzy. How did you sneak inside at this hour?”
“Southerners. Bless their trusting little rebel souls. They never lock their doors. I didn’t want to disturb anyone’s sleep,” he grinned, “or other activities, but I needed a typewriter and figured the Flynns had one.”
“At this hour of the morning?” I asked.
“Sure. Best time to get my head around all the crazy twists and turns in this little opus.” He paused. “Plus, I thought if anyone was up and indulging in small repasts in the kitchen I was going to grovel and beg a cup of coffee.”
Briley started to argue but I waved “okay” at him. “It’s fine. I’ll just get a pot started.”
I began roaming through the kitchen muttering until Briley stopped me. “What are you looking for?”
“Coffee maker or expresso machine.”
Both men stared at me.
“Oh. Uh. Forget it. Briley, you make coffee since your skills are undoubtably better then mine. Meantime I’ll entertain Mr. Rubens with tales of Ptah.”
“What?”
I shook my head at Izzy. “Not what. Who. I’m going to spell this out while you write. P. T. A. H. Ptah, creator god of Memphis. Not this Memphis. The one on the Nile. Anyway, Ptah is the god of rebirth and favorite of designers and seamstresses – or of villains who want to use designers and seamstresses.” I began to sniffle. “Stinkin’ lousy kidnapping swine. I can’t believe this clown abducted Denise and Nevin and intended to –well –do what he intended.”
Izzy had his notepad out and was getting busy. “Nobody has really told me. Exactly what did he intend?”
Briley snarled. “What the hell do you think? Flaming ferrets! How old are you, anyway?”
“Ah. Yes, indeed. Got it.”
I gave Izzy him the skinny on everything we knew about the old god and the wannabe new one while Briley got the Flynn percolator to perk.
“Hold it.” Izzy’s pen slowed. “Didn’t you say you also were a costume designer?”
“Yep.”
“Has it occurred to you that you’re probabaly up next on this guy’s list?”
“Yep.”
Izzy stared at me while Briley stared at the table with a deep frown. “You have?”
“I’m not stupid. Just ‘cause I can float down a staircase with grace and execute a double pirouette without falling on my butt does not mean I can’t deduce a pattern. And our Ptah is laying one out like a Donatella Versace showroom during the Paris season.”
Izzy’s right eyebrow raised. “Who?”
“Never mind. Uh. Our lunatic knows me. He knows I design. He may well be waiting to pounce, either here or back in Manhattan.”
Briley muttered, “Will you agree to let me protect you?”
I smiled. “Yep.”
He looked surprised. “You will?”
“Yep. Remember? Not stupid here. I’m not going to go off by myself huntin' down some lead. I accept all the big bruisin’ bodyguards I can get.”
Izzy queried, “Any idea who we’re looking for?”
“Yep.”
“You do?” asked Briley.
For someone who is usually intelligent and articulate, Briley was being pretty dense this night.
“Guys, I’ve been getting lotus blossoms on an almost daily basis since my first night in New York. And as we saw earlier, lotus blossoms seem to figure prominently in the décor of Ptah Junior’s little hopeful love life.”
“They do?” Izzy interrupted.
Briley growled, “Shut up, Izzy..”
I sighed. “Okay. Let me list the guys who jump out as great villain candidates. Gentlemen who
suddenly became part of my life after the Ellingsford party. We’ll start with him. Lloyd Ellingsford. A married man interested in the fact that I design costumes. Who happens to be an amateur archeologist with lots of Egyptian figurines and stuff around his house. Or howzabout Prince Peter who doesn’t speak a heck of a lot of English, but who seems fascinated by Memphis, Tennessee? Ditto Grady Martel, except for the English, which he speaks fine but with a damn huge Texas accent. Oh, yeah. Grady’s a pyramid-exploring buddy of Lloyd’s.”
Briley squinted at me. “News to me. How did you found that out?”
I grinned. “Simple. Grady told me. Shyness is not part of his personality. Okay. Up next. The Count, who is always dating Follies girls and knew a lot about Francesca Cerroni’s disappearance. Oh. Y’all do realize all these guys have at least one chauffeur or bodyguard or manservant or something?”
Briley commented.“Who look like they’ve won -or lost- numerous boxing titles. Damnation, what an ill-favored bunch!”
“I thought I was the only one who’d noticed the lack of glamour amongst the hired help.”
Briley smiled. “Nope. I’m never comfortable seeing those men hanging out by the stage door waiting for their bosses to finish flirting with the chorines. But you were saying?”
“Yeah, well, last but not least, there’s Lawrence Vassily, who asked me a lot of questions about Beale Street and why I want to go into costume work instead of becoming a big Follies star. Two subjects we covered during one foxtrot at Francy’s on opening night.”
Briley’s mouth turned down at the corners. “I had no idea you were so popular. Well, perhaps I did, and didn’t want to dwell on it.”
I smiled sweetly. “Ain’t just me, Briley. All the chorus girls are inundated with suitors. Regardless of hair color, height or charm. Though, our mysterious Ptah worshipper isn’t in the same class with the typical stage-door hounds. This guy wants a girl for his own power, not for a wife or a mistress.”
Briley nodded. “I’ll endeavor to restrain my jealous impulses until we determine who’s behind this.”
Izzy looked at Briley, then at me. “Aha! I sensed was blowing that direction. Well, I shall have to bow out and get over my broken heart elsewhere.”
“Mr. Rubens, if your heart breaks that easily, you need to be in an Intensive Care ward somewhere.” An imp suddenly overtook me. “By the way, Izzy darlin’, Saree Goldman told me she thinks you’re cute. I believe her exact words were 'he's hot and peachy!'"
He brightened. “She said that? Wowee! I return the sentiments with extra. I’ve always had a yen for Saree, but she has a way of attracting the attention of the rich boys and royalty like your chauffeur-driven Count. I’m afraid of competition when it comes in the form of dollars. Would she’d really be interested in a struggling, poverty-stricken reporter?”
I prayed that this little bit of matchmaking would not condemn me to the same locale in the hereafter doubtless reserved for Madam Anna and her brother, but I answered, “Izzy, she’d be thrilled.”
“Do I smell coffee?”
I glanced toward the doorway. Frank stood in the center, smiling. Right behind me stood Denise, modestly wrapped in one of Teresa’s robes. It trailed on the floor around her feet and I felt a special kinship with my Great-great-aunt, another tall female hovering above all the petites.
Briley ushered the newcomers into what was now a crowded kitchen. “You do. We also have some scones leftover from tea.”
He winked at me. “They’re not cranberry but they’re tasty. Plus, we have scintillating conversation. Theories and hypotheses as to who, why, and what was behind Denise’s ordeal.”
The pair found two empty chairs and pulled them up around the old table. For the next three hours we hashed out the mystery of Ptah’s follower. By the end of the night, Denise and Frank had sparks igniting between them, Briley and I were barely maintaining a time-out on our own emotions, and Izzy had a Pulitzer prize-winning story to sell to the Times, the Post or the Memphis Courier-Appeal.
What none of us had was an answer.
Chapter 28
Sometime between the fourth cup of coffee and the arrival of the milkman to the Flynn household, Briley, Izzy and I decided we needed to be on the earliest train heading back to Manhattan. Neither Briley nor I wanted to be fired by Mr. Ziegfeld. Izzy was more interested in getting back to Manhattan to see Saree. I’d noticed the way he’d been looking at her at the Ellingfords and at Francy’s. He was smitten, a fact which did not surprise me.
The surprise came when Frank and Denise declined to join us.
“I like it here, Briley. I like working in the saloon playing piano.” Frank glanced at Denise, who hadn’t taken her eyes off of the man except to help boil more pots of coffee for our band of heroes. “And for more job security, I’m considering opening up a music store.”
Denise beamed at him. “Frank and I ‘ave been talking, no? We theenk I could work in a restaurant cooking la cuisine Francais and eventually start my own café.”
Briley’s mouth opened to his neck. So I jumped in with, “That’s awesome! I love the idea of the store, Frank. Memphis needs a place that sells instruments and sheet music and stuff. And I’ve tasted Denise’s cooking and it’s hard to even find words that convey how superior it is to everything else out there. Right, Briley?”
“Uh, yeah, right. Are you two . . .?”
I cut him off. “Oh, Briley? We need to pack, don’t we? If we’re going to make the nine o’clock train today?”
“Uh, yeah, right. But I just wanted to ask Frank . . .”
Izzy grabbed Briley’s arm. “Come on boy-o, let’s leave your brother and Denise to make plans. Melody is right. There’s not a lot of time for us to catch that train.”
He led a stupefied Briley out of the room. I had no idea when Frank and Denise had found the opportunity to discuss their feelings or their ideas for a life together in Memphis, but it was obvious that they cared for one another and also obvious they were meant to be together. Denise and Frank would be happy with each other; Nevin would have a father, and no doubt lots of little half-brothers and sisters to play with before long.
I quickly packed the few things I’d brought then hurried downstairs. Briley, Izzy, Frank and Denise were discussing real estate in Memphis with Great-Aunt Teresa, who was offering Denise and Nevin a place to stay until whenever the wedding would be. Briley was still in a state of shock, but I knew once he thought about how perfect this was for his brother and Denise, he’d be as excited as the rest of us. Nevin kept running back and forth from Frank to Briley hugging them both. Clearly he was happy he was going to be a McShan within the next year.
Teresa drove us to the train station without even commenting on the mud-streaked truck Briley hadn’t had a chance to clean. As Briley and Izzy were hoisting bags and delivering them to the smiling porter, my aunt motioned for me to stay by the car. “Take care of yourself, Mel. Take care of Briley. He’s a good one and he loves you. And take care of my paintings and piano when you get them – which could be - soon.”
She hugged me, delivered a quick kiss to my cheek, then started up the truck and roared off before I had a chance to ask how she knew I wasn’t her cousin. How she knew I was her Great-great-niece and how she knew I didn’t belong in this century. Or if I was merely imagining the hints she was tossing out.
Perhaps I could manage to wrest the truth out of Fiona Belle Donovan Winthorp when I next saw her. But I doubted it.
The trip back to New York was long, and hot and exhausting. Briley and Izzy shared a sleeper car; and I found myself crammed into a car filled with giggling bridesmaids, the giggling bride and her giggling maid of honor.
The length, the heat and the exhaustion were doubtless to blame for the fight Briley and I had about ten hours into the trip.
He, Izzy and I had all met in the dining car for a nice dinner. Or what started out as a nice dinner. Izzy was still excited about the prospect of wooing Saree Goldman. In fact, that’s
all Izzy could talk about.
“Saree thinks I’m cute, right? But aren’t she and the Count still stepping out?”
“Last I heard, Izzy, it was over. This could be time to make your move.”
“Well, what should I do? I mean, exactly?”
Briley snorted. “Izzy, I’m asking this again. How old are you? You’ve been friends with Saree for two years. Be brave. Ask her out!”
I laughed. “He’s right. It’s not that big a deal and if you'd like I’ll say a word or two to smooth the way before you come waltzing backstage with a dozen roses and an engagement ring!”
Izzy blushed. I realized that was exactly the scenario the lovestruck reporter had envisioned. He sighed. “Much as I love the company, I’m going to retire to the cabin and muse about how best to woo the charming and funny Miss Goldman. I rather like the idea of the roses and the ring.”
He rose and scooched his chair away from the table. “Goodnight, fair Melody. You too, McShan. Enjoy the rest of your meal.”
Briley and I began chatting about Memphis music and about Memphis bar-b-que. He asked me about the differences in 1919 song and cuisine as compared to my experience growing up in the 21st Century, a question that surprised me since I knew he was still skeptical about the time-travel story. Hell. I was still skeptical and I was living it.
We talked about Elvis and Broadway music from the 1920s on, and he told me how much he’d liked the songs I’d sung and played on the piano at The Ellingsford’s and Ronnie Reds. He wanted to hear Elton and Elvis on, “What did you call them? Seedys?”
“C.D.s. Compact Discs. Tiny Victrola recordings that don’t wear out.”
“Hmmm. I’ll bet Frank would love to hear about these.” He paused. “But I guess he won’t, will he? He’s staying in Memphis and it could be years before I get the chance to see him again. I can’t believe this. After more than two years of wondering what the hell happened to him I find him and he simply decides to get married and live happily ever after a thousand miles away from his only family?”
Haunting Melody Page 19