Music to Die For by Radine Trees Nehring Read Free Book Online

Tracy’s bowed head. Well, what else could she do? Henry wasn’t here to help, there was no one else to turn to. And she couldn’t protect Tracy, not now.
    She held the note toward Tracy and said, “Does this look like it was written by Farel?”
    At first Tracy didn’t move, but then she looked up, stared at the note in Carrie’s hand, read it once, twice, and asked, “Where’d you get this?”
    “It was in his hand.”
    Carrie watched Tracy carefully as sadness was replaced by...what? Fear? Or was Tracy a good actress as well as a good musician?
    She repeated, “Does this look like it was written by Farel?”
    “Well, it musta been. It’s printed odd, sort of disguised looking, but it musta been him.”
    After a moment of thought, Tracy lifted her chin. Now she looked stubborn. “But Farel could spell .” She spit out the defensive words, and, for a moment, reminded Carrie of Ben and his moist snort.
    Carrie wondered if Tracy realized what the presence of that note might mean—assuming she wasn’t part of the plot that put it there—but she didn’t think it was time to mention her own suspicions.
    “Where is this blue bird house, and who knows about it?” she asked.
    “Just about everyone who works at the Folk Center. It’s sort of a joke. Fella who used to make and sell bird houses here said bluebird houses should be blue, so he made a fancy blue one and put it up. Everyone thought it was pretty, but they still bought the plain ones. He stopped making blue houses, but the sample’s still up on a pole outside the gift shop. Bushes have grown up around it now, and visitors don’t usually see it.”
    Carrie thought for a moment, biting her lip. Farel Teal wouldn’t have had any reason to send a note. He’d already told them he had Dulcey and, from what Chase said, had also explained his demands. So, that meant...
    Carrie shut her eyes. Had someone killed Farel to take the child? Her heart lurched. Be strong, she reminded herself again and realized she was now up to her ears in this mess and had also accepted, without question, what must surely be her responsibility—helping the Masons.
    She crawled back to the body, knowing that Henry, and probably others, would eventually question her. She mustn’t miss the tiniest detail. Henry had taught her that the little things could be very important. She needed to remember everything.
    The dead man’s shirt had a long narrow slit in it that extended at least a quarter inch on each side of the place where the scissors had entered his chest. The candlelight cast tiny ragged shadows where edges of the shirt fabric were lifted up and away from the wound. Even allowing for the blood that had flowed from the wound, why...?
    She got to her feet and turned toward Tracy, who was staring into space, statue-still.
    “Did you touch anything? Farel? The scissors?
    Was everything just like this when you got here?”
    “Yes, well, um, I touched his wrist and neck like you did. Then I laid my hand on his forehead, like Momma would when we were kids and got sick.”
    “You touched nothing else at all?”
    Tracy dropped her head and spoke softly. “That’s all.”
    “But then, why...”
    Carrie stopped and looked toward the door. It was opening—a dark form stepping through. Before the shriek in Carrie’s throat had time to break out, Chase Mason’s voice said, “Good God almighty!”
    Instead of rushing to him as Carrie had expected, Tracy bowed her head further and wadded her hands in her lap. She looked like a statue—“Mourning”— posed on a stand.
    He’ll at least go to her, thought Carrie.
    Instead, Chase remained in the doorway, and all he said was, “What happened? Tracy, what happened?” His words were slow, measured, his face and voice without expression.
    Several moments passed, and when Tracy stayed as she was, saying nothing, acting as if she hadn’t heard her husband, Carrie said, “Farel had evidently just been killed by a person or persons