Crime & Counterpoint by M.S. Daniel Read Free Book Online Page B

into a tidepool of depression, it occurred to him that he’d almost died on his thirtieth birthday. But fortunately, he thought of a welcome distraction. Who the hell had sent him that text and did it have anything to do with the Red Fisher?

 
     
     
    Part II
    Crescendo in Blue
    “Risk is at the heart of jazz. Every note we play is a risk.” – Steve Lacy
     

9
    Shelley appeared from the left end of her new neighbor’s Upper West Side apartment in designer jeans and a pink fitted sweater that hugged her curves comfortably. Her chestnut hair was in an attractive ponytail, and in her hands, she held a bottle of Windex and a dust rag. The entire apartment sparkled, dust-free, and smelled like the inside of a chemically-treated lemon. Despite the late fall breeze, she had thrown open the French doors to help air out the typical fumes of cleanliness. But the dazzling array of warm sunshine made up for the chill; vibrant beams streamed through the panoramic wall of ceiling-to-floor windows, draping the new-smelling Ethan Allen furniture and beige Sherpa rug.
    Her apartment across the hall was identical except in reverse. Thus, she felt right at home here in 2E. A betraying voice whispered that she was simply running away again, finding a comfortable hole in which to bury her head, but she told herself it just wasn’t so. She stamped over to the kitchen to toss the Windex under the sink just as voices crescendoed outside the open apartment door.
    “Oh my God! If you say that, like, one more time, I am throwing this box at you,” said Ashleigh as good-looking Erik Mitchel trooped after her, flirting shamelessly per usual, both of them loaded up with boxes. And right behind them came James, nearly the spitting image of their esteemed father carrying the largest of the boxes.
    Shelley contained her inner despair and affixed a brilliant smile upon her face so that her big brothers wouldn’t notice anything amiss and report to daddy. James came over with a serious smile, dressed in the rare jeans and T-shirt ensemble. “Well, that’s the last of it,” he said, breaking a slight sweat. “Need any help in here?”
    “No, thanks. I’m pretty much done.”
    James pursed his lips the way her father did and watched her bustle around cleaning things which looked perfectly spick-and-span to him, he noticed a piece of paper sticking out of the back pocket of her jeans. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing.
    “Just a note to self.”
    “Really.”
    “Mm hm.” She drew out a ten-foot length of crinkled swag from a box. “It says don’t tell James anything.” She gave him an impish look as she started up a step ladder in front of one of the windows with the rose-colored material. James’ inclination was to stabilize her, but he resisted the urge.
    “Are you coming to church tomorrow?” he asked. “You missed last week, and Mom flipped out.”
    “I went with Mrs. Weston.”
    “Hey, I’m not criticizing your religious preferences. It’s just that whenever you skip it means something’s going on.” He eyed the note again; hard not to since it was practically in his face now.
    “Nothing’s going on.”
    Charismatic Erik barreled over and asked in his usual way: “Hey, what’s that sticking out of your ass?”
    Shelley’s neck tightened. “Nothing.” She started pleating the material to slip it through the brass sconces. But Erik, despite the warning look James gave him, plucked the note from her pocket. “Hey!” she exclaimed.
    Erik opened the note and turned away as she nearly fell off the ladder trying to get it back from him. “Let’s see here… The Purple Gazelle. Three p.m. On nice stationary, I might add.” His head came up. “What’s this, Your Highness? An audition? Are you playing again?”
    Ashleigh came over and hit his arm. “What is wrong with you?” She snatched the paper and gave it back to a thoroughly vexed Shelley who muttered a quiet thank you.
    “What? I’m concerned,” Erik