Music to Die For

by Radine Trees Nehring

  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 com
e 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!

  Then she was against the wall of the house, touching the splintery wood with her hands. She moved past the three windows on her side, standing on tiptoe at the edge of each one, peering over the sills. There was no light showing, but, if anyone was inside in the dark, they could surely have seen the shadow of her head in the moonlight. Had Chase thought about that? But no voice or movement challenged her, and there were no sounds anywhere else in the clearing.

  She continued on to the corner of the house and looked around, catching a glimpse of Brigid’s skirt as it disappeared past the front corner. She followed, and in another minute they were grouped together by the front steps.

  Chase held up a key. “Stay here,” he said.

  Quick as a cat, his mother snatched the key out of his hand. “Better me,” she whispered. “Don’t want to risk Dulcey’s daddy.” She stepped out of Chase’s reach and climbed the steps.

  The key clicked, and Brigid moved sideways against the wall as she turned the knob and pushed the door open, letting it squeak inward into blank darkness.

  Carrie held her breath for seconds that seemed like minutes. Then Brigid Mason stepped around the doorframe and into the house, while the other three hurried up the steps behind her. When they were all through the door, Carrie shut it as quietly as she could.

  Tracy’s voice said, “Dulcey?” sounding loud in the silence, and only silence answered her.

  “Tracy, go turn on a light,” Chase said, “and tell us how the house’s laid out.”

  “Two bedrooms, bathroom on the left. A kitchen, right. We’re in the main room now. There’s no cellar, solid rock under the house. Loft’s above us.”

  She switched on a lamp, revealing a large room that was clean, but full of male clutter. Most of the furniture was old and worn, but there were a few newer pieces, including a recliner and a television set.

  Carrie drew a quick, involuntary breath. There was also a glass-front case in the room, with a collection of deadly looking knives displayed against its cloth backing.

  Tracy noticed what Carrie was looking at and said, “Farel collected ’em,” but she took no time to say more. She was already turning on a light in the kitchen, and Chase and his mother had disappeared in the direction of the bedrooms.

  Carrie looked closely at the knife collection, then, seeing a plain wood stairway at the side of the room, she climbed up to take a look. The stairs led to an empty loft with a large rag rug on the floor. In the center of the rug sat a cloth doll with staring button eyes, a child’s plastic tea set, and building blocks stacked in a small wagon pulled by two painted horses. A child was meant to be here. Carrie could imagine what fun a four-year-old would find in this high-up hidey-hole. Maybe Tracy had known what she was talking about, and Farel really hadn’t meant Dulcey any harm.

  But now the toys were silent, alone, and arranged way too neatly.

  Carrie heard footsteps below and looked over the railing. Chase was back in the room, carrying a blue hair ribbon. Tracy followed him, her face drawn and frightened. “She was here,” was all Chase said.

  Tracy spoke, her voice shaky, almost too weak to carry. “I tied that ribbon myself. There were two of them. They match her performance dress.”

  “There are toys up here,” Carrie said as she started down the steps, “but I don’t think she had time to play with them.”

  “Back door ain’t locked,” Brigid said, appearing from the hall, “but the whole house is empty. Did everyone look in closets, under beds ’n’ such?”

  No one spoke, but they were nodding as she went on, holding up a red plastic cylinder. “I found a flashlight.”

  Suddenly all of them lifted their heads as they heard the sound of a motor beginning its uphill struggle on the front lane. Chase moved first, switching off the lamp. “This way,” he said as Tracy grabbed Carrie’s hand and pulled her toward the back door, following Chase and Brigid.

  Car lights were appearing as the four crossed the clearing and, with the house shielding them from the sight of anyone in the car, crashed into the shelter of the trees. Tracy still had Carrie’s hand, pulling her along as they raced into the woods. As soon as they were hidden by trees and underbrush, they moved in a circle to where they could see the front of the house. The noise of the car stopped as the porch came into their view, and they froze into silence.

  “Front door’s still unlocked,” hissed Tracy, turning toward Chase.

  “No matter,” whispered Brigid, “back door allus was.”

  Carrie paid no attention to them. She was busy watching the man who got out of the car. His face was in shadow, but he was tall, and Carrie had glimpsed a red and white checked shirt when the car’s dome light flashed on. She wondered if anyone else in the group recognized the driver of the car. If they did, no one said anything.

  They were very still as the man walked slowly up the steps, and it was easy to hear the thunk of his boots on the boards. He carried a tote bag in his left hand.

  A barred owl called, this time a real one, Carrie hoped.

  The man reached for the doorknob and, when the door opened easily, hesitated. His right hand went to the back of his waist. He has a gun tucked in his belt, Carrie thought, and saw the glint of moonlight on metal before he disappeared inside the house.

  Tracy gasped, and Carrie put out an arm and hugged the young woman against her side. She could feel the warmth of Tracy’s body as the two of them drew together, silent and tense. Brigid’s breath was making short puffs only inches away, and Carrie sensed the electric alertness in Chase’s body, just behind her.

  They waited as a flashlight flickered back and forth through the uncurtained windows. What was the man searching for? Carrie wondered if they had missed finding something important.

  Suddenly the man’s feet thudded on the boards as, tote bag in hand, he hurried out, leaped over the steps, and catapulted into his car.

  Chase’s exclamation, “What th...,” was choked into silence as flickering light, then a roar of flame, beat against the horrified faces of the four watchers. The visitor’s car came to life, turned, and rocketed away from the burning house.

  Tracy’s scream was drowned by the noise of the fire as both Brigid and Carrie held her, fighting against her struggle to run toward the house.

  “Dulcey’s not in there! No one’s in there! You saw that yourself,” shouted Brigid over the noise of the fire as the three of them huddled around Tracy and began, as one body, to pull her away toward the back lane.

  I forgot about fingerprints, Carrie thought as she stumbled through the darkness, but it sure isn’t going to matter now.

  Chapter VII

  They plunged through the woods, half-carrying Tracy, forcing her to move with them. Chase was walking in front of Carrie, and the branches he shoved aside whipped back against her body and face. One cracked across her lips, and she tasted blood.

  Even after they reached the lane, Carrie was
gasping breath, moving in a black hole of pain and fear for a missing child.

  They were almost to the van when she felt Tracy go limp and start to slump. Pulled by Tracy’s weight, Carrie began to topple after her, but at the last moment her arm slid free. Unsupported, Tracy folded silently to the ground and lay there, motionless as a rag doll.

  Chase continued on to the van, ignoring all three women. After he had unlocked the doors, his sharp voice ordered, “Get in. Momma, in the front, you— Carrie—in back.”

  When the two women were seated, Chase returned for Tracy and, lifting her across the back seat, put her head in Carrie’s lap. He moved slowly, carefully, his eyes shadowed and sorrowful. It’s as if, Carrie thought, he’s grieving for a dead wife rather than carrying a living one.

  Tears stung Carrie’s own eyes as she laid her hand on Tracy’s forehead, thinking of the moment in the dressmaker’s shop when the sobbing young woman had said, “I laid my hand on his forehead like Momma would when we were kids.” It was a natural thing to do. Tracy was breathing evenly, strongly, and her temperature felt normal—a good sign.

  “Perhaps this is not so bad,” Carrie said, more to herself than to Brigid Mason, who had turned in the front seat and was watching them. “How much is any human supposed to endure? Tracy seems so young, so vulnerable. For now, at least, maybe the nightmare things are shut out.”

  Carrie had stood up under some pretty awful human challenges but didn’t know how well she could have made it through this kind of hell. If it had been twenty-five years ago and the missing child was Rob...

  She shut her eyes in silent prayer, thinking of God’s tender love for everyone and especially for Dulcey Mason. As Carrie was praying, Chase got in the driver’s seat, and he and his mother began talking in low tones, but Carrie paid no attention to them. She had begun stroking Tracy’s hair and face, speaking the words of the 91st Psalm to her very softly.

  She was up to, “For he shall give his angels charge over thee,” when Chase and his mother fell silent.

  “I see yer a prayin’ woman,” Brigid said, turning to look at her again. “That’s good, we can sure use the Lord’s he’p about now. I hope He’s watching over Dulcey and she’s not too scared.”