Tags:
Humor,
Mystery,
Travel,
Germany,
cozy,
cozy mystery,
senior citizens,
tourist,
maddy hunter,
from bad to worse,
from bad to worst,
maddie hunter
us?â asked the man in the red waistcoat. âWhen do we get to play the Oktoberfest tent?â
âIâll make those arrangements through the mayorâs office. But when do you want to play? As early as tomorrow or later in the week?â
Otis fondled the handle of Astridâs case, his face glum. âIf we could find another accordion player, the Guten Tags would be able to make an appearance too. I was all set to be happy about watching everyone else play, but now that her instrument has found its way back to us undamaged, Iâm thinking itâs some kind of sign from beyond the grave. I think Astrid wants us to play.â
âI think so too,â agreed Wendell. âOur other decision might have been premature.â
âDo any of you musicians have expertise with more than one instrument?â I called out.
âI play the piano,â said the woman with the nasally voice. âBut I couldnât learn the nuances of the accordion in time to be of any help.â
Otis made a plea to the rest of the room. âCan you folks help us out? Do any of you play an instrument?â
Lucille Rasmussen raised her hand. âAre spoons considered an instrument? My Dick used to play the spoons on his bare belly, but he died on his very first trip to Europe with Emily, so weâre spared the embarrassment of having to listen to him.â
âDo you suppose we could rent a musician?â suggested Gilbert. âMaybe they have stores here that are like Ace Rental back home, only instead of renting out generators and power washers, they rent out accordionists.â
That started a buzz that grew so loud, we nearly missed the voice from the back of the room. âI might be able to help you out.â
Otis whipped his head around to ferret out the mystery voice. âWhatâd you say?â
âI said, I might be able to help you out.â
I froze mid-breath, too stunned to finish inhaling.
Dad ?
four
âWhy is your father offering to help?â asked Mom as she squinted toward the back of the room. âHe doesnât even know how to whistle.â
Dad stood up. âItâs been a long time, but if youâre in a bind, I might be able to pinch-hit for you.â
Gasps. Hoots. Clapping.
âHallelujah!â whooped Otis. âCome on up here and have a look at this thing, then. This is unbelievable. Itâs gonna happen, folks! Astrid is pulling strings from above.â
âGood Lord,â Mom wheezed as Dad marched to the front of the room. âWhat is he doing? He doesnât play the accordion.â
âAre you sure?â
Her eyes narrowed to slits. âWeâve been married for forty-one years. If he played a musical instrument, donât you think he would have mentioned it by now?â
âMaybe heâs been waiting for just the right moment to spring it on you.â
âYour father does not play the accordion.â She buried her face in her hands and slumped forward over her lap. âHeâs going to make a fool of himself, and Iâll be the one whoâll have to bear the stigma and humiliation.â
âCâmon, Mom. Nana has always preached that no one can embarrass us except ourselves.â
âYour grandmother obviously told you all sorts of stupid things when you were growing up.â She bowed her head lower. âI have to warn you, Emily, Iâm praying for God to strike me dead, so if you donât see me in the morning, youâll know what happened.â
I gave her shoulder a sympathetic pat. âWouldnât you be better off praying for Dad to be granted the ability to play the accordion?â
She squeaked out a sound not dissimilar to the one Tosca might have made before she flung herself off the battlements of Castel SantâAngelo.
Poor Mom. The anguishâ¦the strainâ¦the burden. No doubt about it: this would probably go down on record as the most