An Ear for Murder

by Diane Weiner

  “And they do good business? I can’t imagine how many people in this town are in the market for a professional oboe.”

  “Most of the business nowadays is through the internet, but you’d be surprised how many oboists have come by over the years just to see the place. Not many family run oboe-making stores around.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “In fact, we’re the only one in North America last time Grandpa checked. You can park behind Dad’s van.”

  Patty Baron must have been waiting in the foyer. She flung open the door before Sara had finished knocking. She had a habit of doing that. At least she hadn’t run outside without her coat this time.

  “Come in. Welcome. You must be Travis?” She wiped her hands on her apron.

  “Travis Jennings. These are for you.”

  “Roses! They’re my favorite. Thank you. Come on in.”

  The familiar aroma of garlic bread and homemade marinara sauce evoked warm memories of Sundays spent helping her grandmother cook. Her father threw another log onto the crackling fire.

  A white-haired man wearing a Fred Rogers cardigan hobbled in from the kitchen.

  “Travis, this is my grandfather, Frank Baron.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Travis extended his hand. Frank grumbled.

  “You dating a black boy, Sara?”

  Sara felt her face turn ten shades of red. She watched her mother’s face flush as well. “We’re not dating.” What a stupid thing to say! She felt like she wanted to just melt into the floor. “I mean, we just met.”

  “Patty Baron said, “I’m so embarrassed. Frank has Alzheimer’s and sometimes things pop out of his mouth unfiltered. He didn’t mean it.”

  “I told you I ain’t got Alzheimer’s.”

  “Don’t mind the old grump. You’re most welcome here,” said Sara’s father. “Can I get you a glass of wine?”

  “I’d like that,” said Travis.

  Bob Baron retrieved a bottle from the kitchen. “It’s from a local winery.”

  Frank Baron had settled into his recliner in the corner. “What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a physical therapist. I work out of Hudsonville Regional. I hear you make oboes.”

  “Make oboes, like on an assembly line? I hand craft oboes. Emphasis on hand. Patty is that food done yet?”

  “Everyone, find a seat at the table. Hope you like Italian food, Travis.”

  “Love it.”

  Frank struggled to get up from the recliner. Sara offered her arm. “Get away. I haven’t forgotten how to walk.” He swatted at Sara, but missed. He grumbled something about his aching hip.

  Travis whispered to Sara. “He’d benefit from some physical therapy to help him with everyday functioning. That hip of his is really tight. If you can get him to come by the hospital…”

  “Thanks, but Grandpa is as stubborn as a mule. No way he’d admit he needs help.”

  Patty Baron said, “Come on before it gets cold.”

  The farm style table was covered with a red and white tablecloth. Patty carried in a ceramic baking dish overflowing with melted cheese and placed it on a souvenir trivet featuring the Golden Gate Bridge. Bob Baron refilled the wine glasses, then served the lasagna.

  “How was work, Mom?”

  “It’s been crazy at the station. Those officers never dealt with a murder before, and even Detective Lambert seems a bit uncomfortable. He’s being a typical Virgo. Step by step, dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s.”

  “Mom, did anyone locate Sara’s parents yet?”

  “Not as far as I’ve heard. Travis, you lived next door. Did she ever say anything about where her parents are?”

  “No. I didn’t know her well.”

  “They called in that ex-fiancé of hers. The door was closed, but I could hear them and if you ask me, he didn’t seem upset at all. I’d start with him.” Patty always was one to take charge. Sara bet she had those police officers doing exactly what she said.

  Sara remembered her chat with her former music teacher at the grocery store. “Mom, I heard Ellie was engaged and then broke it off right before the wedding. Why didn’t she tell me? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I thought you knew. It was a whirlwind romance. One minute they were engaged, the next, the wedding was off. No one really knows why it fell apart.”

  “How could no one know? It had to be something pretty serious to call off a wedding.”

  “There were rumors he was cheating on her, but what else are people going to think?”

  “Cheating. Figures.” Brandon.

  “It was his loss,” said her father. “I never liked those entitled, snobby Montagues. They act like they own the town.”

  “They practically do,” said Patty. “That family’s got their hands into everything from that apple cider to door frames.”

  “Sara mentioned them when we drove past Cusa Farms.” Travis took a bite of meatball. “This is delicious. I’ll have to get your recipe.”

  Patty said, “Their son-in-law runs the business now. So Travis, where’s your family?”

  “My parents retired a few years ago. Sold the house and moved to an over 55 community in North Carolina. Mom insisted they move somewhere that had four seasons.”

  “Good for them. These long winters, sometimes I wish we could do the same.”

  “Mom, you have too many friends here. I know you’d never leave.”

  Her dad said, “You know your mom. She makes friends waiting in line at the bank. Don’t think that would stop her.”

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “Mom, this isn’t an interview.”

  “I don’t mind. Nope. An only child. Do you have other children, Mrs. Baron?”

  Patty looked at the floor. Sara wished he hadn’t asked. “We have a son. He’s an army officer stationed in Iraq. The holidays just aren’t going to be the same with him gone.”

  “Scott was always your favorite,” said Sara. Here she was in her thirties, and it still bothered her.

  “You know that isn’t true,” said Patty.

  “Besides, you were always your father’s favorite,” said Grandpa. “Scott had no interest in the business or in oboe playing. You carried on the musical bloodline.”

  “I’d love to see your workshop after dinner.” Travis reached for seconds. His plate was clean again within minutes.

  Smooth. Compliment Mom’s cooking and ask to see the family business. He’s a player if I ever saw one.

  Travis’s phone rang. “Excuse me. I have to take this. I’ll be outside.”

  “Can I get you more?”

  “No thanks, Mrs. Baron. I’m stuffed. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll help clear the table,” said Sara. She carried the baking dish into the kitchen.

  Patty retrieved a Tupperware container from the kitchen cabinet and filled it with leftover lasagna before wrapping the rest in aluminum foil.

  “Whatcha doing, Mom?”

  “I’m going to bring dinner to Jacob next door. His wife died last spring and poor man can’t boil an egg without her.”

  “Angie? I didn’t know she’d passed.” Boy, have I been left out of the loop.

  “Yes, they were like two peas in a pod, entertaining, playing cards, hiking in the woods—you can imagine how alone he feels. I think I’m the only face he sees most days.”

  Sara empathized. Although throwing his butt to the curb had been the right move, she’d felt lonely at times after her breakup with Brandon.

  “Travis is charming. Smart too.”

  “Mom, don’t start. He’s conceited and arrogant. Not my type at all.”

  “It was awfully generous of him, letting you stay at his place.”

  “I’ll bring in the salad and plates.”

  Travis came in, rubbing his hands together as if trying to start a fire. “Brrr, it’s cold out there.”

  Sara said, “Everything alright?”

  “Yeah. Everthing’s fi
ne.”

  “How about that tour?” said Bob Baron.

  Travis and Sara followed him to the shop, which wasn’t much bigger than their living room. It smelled of fresh wood, and shavings littered the floor. Instrument cases and clear boxes full of keys and pads lined the shelves. On the tables, gooseneck lamps, oboe stands, knives…

  “Dad, I hope you started using the computer Scott and I bought you. You’re not still keeping records by hand are you?”

  “Let’s just say the business is in transition.”

  Sara spotted repair slips speared on a metal prong, just like the way they did it when Sara was in high school and helped out at the shop.

  “Looks fascinating,” said Travis. He pointed to one of the shelves. “Is that the wood you use?”

  “We use three different types of wood. The black wood is granadilla, also known as African Blackwood. It stands up well to humidity and is easy to work with because of the fine grain. Polishes up nicely, too. This here is my personal favorite.” He picked up a lighter colored wood. “This is Rosewood. It has a warm, rich sound. Of course, it’s too gentle sounding for some of those orchestra players.” He gave Sara a look. “Sara plays on a black one.”

  “I have a rosewood, too. I use it for chamber music.”

  “Looks like you have enough wood on those shelves to last a lifetime.”

  “We wind up losing about 20% when we start boring it.”

  “And you bend the metal into keys I presume.”

  “Yep. You know when my grandfather started this business, he experimented by melting down Grandma’s good silverware. You can imagine what her reaction was. The story’s been passed down and told so many times you have to wonder if it got embellished along the way.”

  “Sara, do you know how to make these?” Travis gently ran his hand along a piece of wood.

  “Dad started teaching me when I was ten.”

  “She has a natural talent for it. Of course, when she got serious about playing the oboe, she didn’t have time to hang out in the shop. I was hoping one of my kids would continue the family business but I don’t think it’s in the cards.”

  Frank Baron wandered in. “We have to get to work. Sara, grab the repair slip from the bottom of the stack. Call the customer and give him the estimate.”

  “Grandpa, you’re confused. I’m not working here anymore.”

  “Why not? Shop’s falling apart. We can’t keep up with business.”

  Bob said, “Let’s get back to the house.”

  “Dad, is he able to work at all?”

  “He has good days and bad days. I’m having a hard time keeping up. Had to turn down a bunch of repair work last year and that’s our bread and butter. I might have to cut my losses and sell off the business.”

  “You can’t do that. It’s our family legacy.”

  “I know but there’s a time when you’ve got to be practical. Grandpa is only going to continue to decline, you’re busy with your own job, and Scott, of course, is overseas. Not that he ever had interest in the shop. Come on. Mom made a cheesecake for dessert.”

  Chapter 6

  Sara watched Travis shovel cheesecake into his mouth like he was a contestant in a competitive eating competition. Not only is he rude, he’s a pig.

  Travis stopped for a breath. “The cheesecake is delicious, Mrs. Baron.”

  “Call me Patty. Would you like some more?”

  “I’ve already eaten two huge pieces, Mrs. …Patty. Don’t tempt me.”

  “Mom, we should get going. Travis has to work in the morning.”

  “You’ll have to come back another time then, Travis.” She got up. “I’ll get a container. You can take a piece to go.”

  “I’ll take one too, Mom!”

  She returned with two Tupperware containers. “It was lovely meeting you.”

  Mom loves him. He’s quite the charmer. Then again, she loves everyone who compliments her cooking.

  “Same here. Thanks for dinner, Patty. Nice meeting you, too.” He shook her father’s hand. He offered his hand to Grandpa, but Grandpa ignored it.

  Grandpa yelled after him. “Bye, Barack. You keep your hands off my granddaughter.”

  Sara felt her face heating up with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. He doesn’t mean it.”

  Travis got behind the wheel. “He’s from a different generation. I understand. Your parents are cool with me, right?”

  “My Mom’s in love with you. Grandpa drives them crazy when he makes outlandish comments. He’s always spoken his mind, but I think his filter has eroded more since the last time I was home.” She leaned her head against the window. Travis started the truck and began to back out of the driveway. “Ugh.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The ride doesn’t feel right. I think we have a flat tire.” He jumped out of the truck, Sara on his heels. If he tries to say it’s from our little fender bender and thinks I’m going to pay for a tire, he has another think coming.

  Travis checked the front tire, then circled around the truck. “They’re all flat. Every one of them.”

  “That’s impossible. The driveway is clear and you’d have noticed a flat on the way over.”

  Travis grabbed a flashlight. “This wasn’t an accident. Look. See those holes? Follow me.”

  She bent down and looked at the next tire. “This has the same two holes, like it was made with a tool of some kind.”

  “Someone deliberately popped your tires? Why?”

  “Maybe someone thinks you know more about Ellie’s murder than you do.”

  “I’ll get Dad. He’s got spare tires and tools in the garage.”

  “He has spare tires lying around?”

  “They were on sale. What can I say.”

  Between Sara, Travis, and her father, the tires were changed in no time. Sara kissed her Dad goodbye for the second time and crawled back in the truck.

  “See, now it’s smooth sailing,” said Travis. What’s wrong? The tires are fixed. It may have been a teenage prank. Let’s not dwell on it.”

  “I didn’t realize how bad Grandpa had gotten. I’m worried about the family business. It would be a shame to have to sell it. It’s Dad’s life work.”

  “Can’t he hire help?”

  “It takes years to learn the art of oboe making. The longer he falls behind, the less the business will be worth if he does decide to sell it.”

  She thought about the shop the whole way back to Travis’s. She was exhausted, and relieved when he pulled into his driveway. Home, sweet home.

  Courtesy of the lasagna and cheesecake, the top of her jeans dug into her waist. She couldn’t wait to get inside and change into pajamas. Travis locked the car doors.

  “Did you leave the guestroom light on?”

  “No, I’m sure I turned it off before we left.”

  Sara said, “Are those boot prints? Look.” She pointed at the driveway. “Big prints. They lead to the house. Should we call the police?”

  “Not yet.” He unlocked the door, careful not to make noise.

  “Shh. Stay still. Do you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Someone’s in the house.”

  “You’re right. Wait on the porch.” Travis tiptoed around the corner and whispered, “Better yet, go out to the car. Call 911.”

  The last thing she wanted to do was to be alone in the dark with an intruder lurking about. She crept behind Travis. In a flash, someone wearing black clothes and a ski mask pushed her down as he fled out the front door.

  Travis bent down. “I told you to go outside.”

  “Yes, I’m fine, thanks for asking. Go after him.”

  “It’s too late. I’m going to call the police.”

  Sara walked into the guest bedroom. Except for the lack of a dead body, praise God, the scene was eerily similar to what she’d seen at Ellie’s house. Her bed was torn apart, sheets and comforter on the floor. Clothes were emptied from the dresser and her suitcases had been dumped
out onto the floor.

  “Looks like that’s how he got in.” Travis pointed to the broken window.

  “Don’t you have an alarm system? Close circuit camera?”

  “No. Didn’t think I’d need it here. Besides, I’m just renting.”

  “What on Earth was someone looking for? I just got into town.”

  “It has to be connected to Ellie’s murder. They were searching for something at Ellie’s the night of her murder. Whatever it was they were looking for, they must think you took it from her house.”

  She remembered the message. “Ellie said not to let them find…I wish she’d finished that last message. I have no idea what it is I’m supposed to have.”

  “Someone does and I’m guessing it wasn’t on Ellie’s computer.”

  “Or he didn’t have time to download whatever he was trying to load onto the jump drive after he realized I was in the house.”

  “He must think you have what he’s looking for. Why else would he have broken into my house and punctured my tires?”

  “You think he followed us to my parent’s house?”

  “Possibly.”

  Sara heard sirens. “Thank God, the police are here.” She opened the door. “Detective Lambert? I figured you’d send a patrol car.”

  “I wanted to be sure you’re okay. I have an officer searching the grounds.”

  “We’re both fine.”

  “Two attempted robberies and a murder. Has to be connected.”

  “He was looking for something. The guest room has been torn upside down, just like Ellie’s house was. Oh, and there are men’s shoeprints outside in the driveway.”

  An officer came inside. “Chief, we found this on the ground by the truck. Some sort of puncture tool.”

  Detective Lambert took the evidence bag and examined it. “Did he use it to break the window?”

  “The window was broken with a rock.”

  Sara said, “Let me see. Our tires were punctured earlier this evening while Travis and I were having dinner at my parents’ house.”

  “Could have been the same guy. Followed you there, punctured the tires to buy time, then broke in hoping to find whatever it is he thought Ellie Rossi had in her possession.”