by Clea Simon
“After that, she tried the luthier. He’s always worked on it, when I needed a new bridge, for example. He was the one who told her that he might have a buyer, a local businessman, who had been inquiring about violins. He didn’t even want to play it, we were told. He was just a collector.
“We didn’t want to sell. We hoped we’d get it back. But the deal we were offered was better than we could have hoped. Too good, perhaps.”
Becca nodded, urging her to go on. Clara could feel her growing anxiety. They had already spent too long in the little room. Ruby had draped that duffle coat over the back of the chair and as she donned it, she continued to talk.
“A man came to our house. No, not that one – a man we knew, but he was only bringing a message. That’s when we knew who wanted it – a man with power – wanted my grandfather’s violin. But only for a while.”
She paused, while she buttoned up the coat. Memories, rather than the oversized leather buttons, seemed to be troubling her. “Nobody thought we would say no, and in truth we did not feel like we had a choice. We – my mother and I – gave him my grandfather’s violin.”
She sighed but steeled herself to continue. “The next morning, he brought the case, with the other violin – the student one – to our house, along with money to travel. He had made arrangements. The flights, the place to stay.” She peeked up at Becca, waiting for her to acknowledge her earlier obfuscation. “I was to come here and then, once I had won my place at the conservatory, I would get my grandfather’s violin back.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.” Ruby was staring at the floor. “My mother would have said no if she had dared. But I – I said yes. I did not feel we had a choice.”
She didn’t wait for Becca to agree.
A silence fell then, as if Ruby could feel the mix of pity and scorn in Becca’s gaze. “I knew it wasn’t correct,” Ruby confessed. “I knew it was wrong. But when I arrived at the apartment, the man – I thought he was my landlord – said a was note waiting for me – a note and a package. The note wished me luck with my audition. The package contained my grandfather’s violin in a brand new Bam France case – the best there is.”
“A new case?”
Ruby nodded energetically. “When they returned my old case, they had put in a hygrometer and given me a canvas traveling cover, you know, to make it nicer. But this new case? It maintains the humidity, the temperature. Everything. It was too much, and I knew something was not right. I accepted it, of course. It is – it was – a rich gift, worth more, perhaps, than my violin. It felt wrong. I knew – something – was wrong. In the morning, when I left for the audition, I couldn’t resist – I took my grandfather’s violin. Just to borrow, like I told you. I even put it in its old case. I didn’t want any more from those people. And then…” She broke off.
“So the violin had been given back to you.” After a few moments, Becca filled the silence. “I’m just trying to get the facts straight.”
Another nod. “I knew something was wrong. I knew I should never have taken the deal – or the violin, no matter what the note said. But when I saw it again, my grandfather’s instrument…. When I picked it up…It is also why I knew that poor man was not killed for my grandfather’s violin. After all, he was told to give it to me. But my fear remains. What happened. The money I took. The violin – my violin – is somehow cursed.”
“I don’t know if a musical instrument can be evil.” Becca considered. “People though … Did you ever meet the man who bought the violin?”
Ruby took a breath. “No,” she confessed. “But I know who it is.”
“And?”
Ruby eyed windowless wall, as if longing for escape. “He’s big in my city.” A pause so weighty Clara could have clawed it. “Not a music lover. It serves me right that my violin – my grandfather’s violin – has been damaged.”
“More than your violin.” Becca reached out for her. “Let’s go, Ruby. I’m not sure what’s going on with that instrument, but the more I hear about the people involved in this, the more I know I don’t want them to find us here.”
Nodding, Ruby allowed herself to be bundled out the door. As Becca surveyed the hallway, she locked the practice space. “Not that there is anything there to steal, but if anyone comes looking for the violin, maybe this will slow them down a bit.”
“Come on.” Becca urged her along, voice hushed. But as they approached the turn in the hall, she stopped short, motioning with quick gestures for Ruby to stay behind her.
“Let me guess. You’re family too.” The gatekeeper’s voice rang out. “Anyway, you’re too late. Her cousin already came for her. I’m guessing they went out the front.”
Chapter 37.
Becca remained frozen, unsure of whether to bolt for the front entrance or wait to see what the man did. Then, suddenly, it was too late.
“Hold on! You can’t–” The gatekeeper’s voice was cut off with a gasp.
“This way!” Ruby grabbed Becca’s hand and turned, as if to run back to the practice room.
“We can’t go back there.” Becca resisted, pulling back from the other woman’s grasp so hard she stumbled and fell hard, against the wall. Pulling herself up, she shook her head in a vehement refusal. “No,” she said. “We’ll be trapped.”
A clattering noise interrupted Ruby’s response. A soft cry and a thud had her reaching for Becca’s hand again. “The basement.”
With a curt nod, Becca signaled her willingness to follow, and Ruby turned and sped down the way they had come. For a fateful moment, Becca paused, one hand still on the wall. Was she dizzy? Ill? Clara felt her whiskers droop in panic before it hit her – Becca had heard that that cry and held back out of concern for the big man at the door. But when Ruby hissed at her – “hurry!” – she raced to catch up as Ruby passed the entrance to her practice room and pushed open a fire door at the passage’s end.
“This way.” Ruby called over her shoulder, as she descended a flight of stairs. Easing the door back into place with only the slightest snick, Becca made haste to catch up, finding the other woman at the bottom, where she held another door ajar.
“In here.” A soft glow illuminated a passageway lined with pipes. “Followe me.” Ruby was whispering.
“No.” Becca stood firm, even as she eyed the door. “This is crazy. We’re calling the police.”
Ruby started to protest, but Becca raised her hand, palm out. “I’m sorry, Ruby, but I’m not hiding. This has already gone too far.”
The other woman visibly deflated, her shoulders sinking even as she nodded agreement. “I understand.” Even her voice had gone flat, as if the adrenaline roused by their escape had finally run out. No longer trying to flee, she stood there, face gone slack and waited as Becca pulled out her phone.
“My battery’s dead.” Becca spun around, her color high. “I never fully recharged it. Ruby, please – let me use yours.”
“I don’t have it.” The other woman shook her head, her energy still depleted. “It’s in my bag.”
“Of course.” Becca fell back against the wall with laugh that sounded almost like a sob. “That was the lie I told to get past the guard. Now we’re being hunted by some gang thug and we’re trapped here, in the basement of a conservatory practice space.”
“Not trapped.” Ruby’s voice seemed to gain some strength back. There was even the hint of a smile playing over her pale face. “I didn’t come down here to hide. We can go out by the janitor’s entrance. It opens onto Hemenway Street.”
Five minutes later, Ruby led the way up a metal staircase and pushed open a door onto a wide space dimly lit. Off in the distance, voices could be heard. A radio, Clara thought, talking about a “special weather alert,” the remainder drowned out by the ringing of an old-fashioned land line.
The two women beside her paused, Becca’s face lighting up. And as the ringing went on, peal after peal, with no one to answer she seeme
d to be weighing her course of action. A thud from the stairs below decided it. Dashing across the space, with Ruby close behind, Becca pushed open the exit. Leaning out the door and into the blowing snow, Becca peered around like a cautious owl. The street was dark but quiet, except for the wind. “I think we’re good to go,” she whispered. “But, please, let’s stick to the plan.”
“If anything happens, go straight to the police.” Ruby didn’t sound enthusiastic, but Becca nodded. “But what if – if that man…”
“If we get separated?” Becca paused, thinking. “Go to Charm and Cherish. You know, the store where we met. If I’m not there, you can always talk to Elizabeth.” Becca must have heard Ruby’s reluctance, as well. “She’s a wise woman – in every sense, Ruby. You can tell her everything, and she’ll know what to do.”
With that, Becca pushed the door all the way open, letting in a blast of air and a swirl of snow that stung Clara’s nose. Becca winced as well, blinking away the cold wet as, with a glance back at the woman behind her, she stepped out into the storm.
Maybe it was the alley they exited onto, the narrow walls creating a wind tunnel effect. Maybe the storm had picked up in the brief time Becca and Clara had been inside. Whatever the reason, the passage up to the street felt endless – ice blasting into their faces as the two humans crept, careful as cats, toward the sidewalk. Clara, whose fur provided some protection, fretted about her human, even as she followed, hugging the wall by her feet.
The constant pelting of ice – the snow having turned to sleet – eased off for a moment, as the two reached the end of the alley, only to pick up again with a howl.
“This is crazy,” Becca yelled, trying to be heard over the wind. “Change of plans. Follow me.”
Ruby nodded. Her nose and cheeks glowed bright red in stark contrast to her pale face, and, as her grip on the violin case tightened as well, her bare knuckles went from red to white from the pressure. She must be freezing, Clara thought. But she trusted Becca, and that, thought the cat, was good. The wind whirled, first propelling them forward then shifting with a ferocity that had them both turning toward the building they had just left, hoping for relief as the wet snow began to pile up. Already it formed a layer of white on both the humans’ shoulders, frosting their hats and the cloth covering of the violin.
For Clara, the combination of cold and wet was growing painful. As much as she wanted to pause and clean the ice out from between her toes, she knew she didn’t dare risk losing sight of Becca. At least her person served to block the wind, although the little cat struggled to keep her footing. She didn’t want Becca distracted by the sudden pressure of an unseen feline against her shin.
“In here.” Becca’s relief could be heard in her voice, as she looked up at the grand entrance, the white marble steps softened by the blowing snow. “They’re open till eight.”
Above them, the giant pillars of the portico appeared frosted, the wind glazing them with the sleet that mixed in with the heavy, wet flakes.
Motioning to Ruby to follow, Becca started up the steps just as a fresh gust blasted down at them, whistling. “Wait!” Ruby called, slipping on the icy stone. Reaching back, Becca caught her outstretched hand, and the two battled the wind to reach the top, where Becca grabbed the oversized brass handle of one of two matching doors. And pulled. Only to find it stuck fast.
“It should be open.” Becca pushed the wet hair from her face and tried the adjacent door. Nothing. Ruby merely blinked, her lashes frosted with ice. “The dean said he’s always here ….” Becca pounded on the metal frame with the flat of her fist. “Let us in! We’re freezing.”
Pressing her face to the glass, she searched for signs of life. Clara, huddled at her feet, tried to block any thoughts of passing through to the warmth inside. If she could not save Becca, she would brave the storm with her, even if it meant her death.
“Oh, my goodness!” A creak and a sudden pressure roused the freezing cat, and she jumped out of the way as an older woman in a knee-length skirt pushed a side door – smaller and hidden behind one of the oversized pillars – open. “We’re closing soon, but I never imagined… Please come in.”
Clara longed to lean against her herringbone stockings but forced herself to merely tag along as Becca and Ruby stepped clear of the door, assuming the water dripping from her fur would not be differentiated from the growing puddle on the floor.
“Thanks so much.” Becca was wiping her face, talking to the woman who had let them in. We have – well, kind of an emergency. Is Dean Brewstein still here?”
“I don’t know.” Concern creased her face, blue eyes big behind her glasses. “They cancelled evening classes an hour ago.”
“The dean’s still here.” A deep voice caused them both to turn. A tall man in a black parka as slick as his blue-black hair was coming down the hall.
“Mr. Neil.” The woman’s voice waivered between surprised and deferential. “I didn’t realize your meeting was still going on, what with the weather and all.”
“We’re just finishing up.” He smiled at Becca. “And Ms. Colwin and I have been planning on having a chat. Ms. Colwin and her friend, too.”
“Thank you.” Becca tagged along as Neil strode down the hall. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am. But this isn’t the friend I meant.”
“You’re not Ruby Grozny?” He turned, raising a questioning brow. Ruby had gone silent. The cold, Clara figured. Also, Neil was walking quite fast. “At any rate, I’m so glad you found me.”
“We were actually looking for Dean Brewstein.” Becca was jogging to keep up when Neil turned a corner and pointed down the short passage. A door with frosted glass was illuminated from inside, setting off the gold lettering painted on its pebbled surface.
“That’s his office.” Neil pointed. “I’ve got to see to something, but I’ll be right along.”
“Thanks. Thanks so much.” Becca gushed with relief as she watched him go off. Then, brushing her wet hair back from her face, she started the door.
Ruby pulled her back. “Wait, Becca?” Her face was tight. “What are we going to tell him? He thinks I stole my violin.”
“Well, that is what you told me.” Becca almost smiled, but seeing the other woman’s distress, she added quickly. “We’ll tell him the truth. That you’re a student, and we’re both in danger. He’s an officious little man, but he’s got to help us. At the very least, he can call the police. It’s funny that Justin Neil knows him, though. Isn’t it?”
Ruby nodded, her mouth set in resignation, as she followed Becca down the hall. But just as Becca was about to knock – hand raised to rap on that pebbled glass – she hesitated.
“It is funny,” she said softly, as if to herself. “Unless…”
“Ruby?” Whatever she was about to ask was interrupted by voices from inside the door. Whispering, rather than shouting, they carried a sense of urgency. An argument, heated but private.
“You stupid fool. You were supposed to handle this.” A familiar voice, the last word trailing off into a snakelike hiss. “If you hadn’t been trying to squeeze every last cent out of this – this situation…”
“You’re one to talk.” Another voice that Clara knew, only the last time she had heard it it had been friendly. Cajoling. “You knew. You got your share.”
Clara was almost flattened against the wall as Becca stepped back, pushing Ruby behind her.
“That’s the dean,” she said. “He’s talking to Wargill.”
“Wargill?”
“The realtor. You said his name was Matt, and I was wondering.” Behind the frosted door, a third voice joined the conversation.
“Shut up, both of you.” Deeper, less hesitant. “I’ll clean this up, but you’re both going to have to answer for this, because I’m not going to tell the boss.”
Becca and Ruby turned to each other, eyes wide, and then Becca was pulling Ruby back, around the corner. There they froze at the unmistakable s
ound of a door opening. The voices suddenly grew louder.
“I know that man.” Ruby leaned past Becca to peek around the corner. Her voice – barely more than a whisper – was tight with dread as she grabbed Becca’s arm. “He’s working with the men who brought me over. He’s bad.”
“That’s impossible.” Becca shook off her companion’s hand. “There has to be some kind of misunderstanding. The dean is a respected academic at the conservatory that you came over here to join.”
“Not the man in the suit.” Ruby pointed, her finger still wet and bone white from the cold. “The big man.”
Becca turned to look as Ruby began to tremble. At the end of the hall, the rotund dean had bent to lock his office door. Waiting by his side were Matthew Wargill and a large, square-built figure whose face was obscured. At that moment, adrop of melt dropped from Ruby’s finger, splashing on the linoleum, and the men paused. Three faces turned to take in the cold and sodden women standing there. The dean, the realtor – and a large man with a scar on his brow, one that drew his eye down.
“Well, isn’t this convenient,” said a voice behind them, and Becca spun around to see the man she knew as her new neighbor. In one hand, he held a small revolver, its steel the same blue-black as his hair. “I see you’ve met.”
Chapter 38.
Skidding on the wet floor, Becca and Ruby turned and ran. Neil grabbed for Becca as she passed, but she pulled free, leaving only the mitten in his clasp. With that he braced, legs apart, raising the revolver with both hands – and yelped in surprise at the sudden pain of a bitten ankle. Down at the hall’s end, the helpful woman was zipping up a full-length puffy coat.
“Put that away, you fool.” The dean’s whisper hissed. “Stop them!” He called out, waving his arms. “Thieves!”
“Oh!” She looked up, too late. Becca went barreling past her, with Ruby close behind.