Thanks, Squigglesy. The rest of the story is floating around on the site. Feel free to indulge. :)
Crime, Thrillers & Mystery / A Pocketful of Rye - Part 4
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for being here today.” Heinrich looked at the assembled musicians over his half-moon glasses. “You will find the score we will be presenting in front of you. It is Rumpelstilzchen’s Sixpence Symphony, and it is a fiendishly difficult piece. Of particular note is the fact that it is comprised of twelve movements. I have taken the liberty of tying the pages down at the end of the ninth movement. Only after you have mastered those will I allow you to continue.” He leaned forward. “Do not waste my time, ladies and gentlemen. I expect perfection.” He straightened up again and raised his baton. “Now, then. We will begin at the beginning.”
A grueling five hours later, Heinrich reluctantly allowed us to break for lunch. We ended up in the same diner. This time I was sitting with the timpanist, Olaf Hurst, and our two clarinet players, Olympia Clough and Odelia Coleridge.
“…hardest piece I’ve ever had to learn,” Olympia was saying as I joined their table. “My husband won’t even see me until after the concert.”
“Why is that?” Odelia asked.
Olympia looked confused. “Because I’ll be practicing.”
“Oh.”
“Aren’t you going to be practicing too, dear?” Olympia asked her.
Odelia twirled her blonde hair. “Oh I guess so,” she pouted. She turned to me. “What happened to your ear?”
“Difficult toccata,” I said around a mouthful of sandwich.
She brightened. “Oh! I love Italian food!”
A few nearby tables joined us in our stunned silence.
“So,” I turned to the surly man sitting next to me. “Olaf, is it?” He nodded once. “What’s your story?” He didn’t answer me. I looked a question at Olympia.
“Olaf doesn’t talk much,” she explained.
“I never would’ve guessed,” I said. I put my napkin on my plate and stood up. “Think I’ll go have a smoke before we head back.”
Olympia picked up her purse. “Mind some company?”
“Not at all.”
We sat on a bench outside the diner, and I offered her a cigarette. She smiled her thanks.
“Have you been with the orchestra very long?” I asked.
“About eight seasons now.”
“How many times have you been fired?”
She laughed. “I’m actually one of the few that can claim full employment over my whole tenure.”
“You must be good.”
She leaned her head in conspiratorially. “To be honest, with competition like Miss Coleridge, it’s easy to be good.”
“What do you mean?”
Olympia fussed with her cigarette a moment. “That girl is simply dreadful. I’m surprised she even knows which end of a clarinet to hold.”
“How’d she get the gig, then?”
“She must have some blackmail on poor old Henry or something. I honestly can’t think of any other reason she would have been selected. Fortunately, the clarinets are only sparsely used throughout the symphony.”
I watched as other members of the orchestra drifted out of the diner in twos and threes. Two men were passing a silver flask back and forth as they waited for their friends still inside.
I nodded towards them. “Who are those fellows?”
Olympia turned her head. “The tall one without the hat is Oswald Reese. I don’t know the other one, but I know they’re our bassists.”
“Is it traditional to have a snort during practice?”
She frowned a little. “No, it isn’t. In fact, it’s very unprofessional.”
“They don’t look too worried about it,” I observed. A man Olympia identified as Otto Stemme joined the two in pulling from the flask. They all laughed as Otto poured some of the liquor onto his saxophone’s mouthpiece.
“Henry is an odd man,” Olympia said, “but he is a brilliant conductor. He demands so much out of his performers, he’s willing to overlook a bit of boyish indulgence. As long as it doesn’t interfere with the performance, of course.”
“Of course. Shall we?”
She sighed and got to her feet. “I suppose we shall.”
The rest of the afternoon passed slowly. Heinrich had us going over the same movements over and over again, stopping us at infractions only he could hear. The strings didn’t really get involved until the seventh movement, so I had a lot of time to observe my fellow players. I noticed that the bassists continued to discreetly pass the flask between them whenever Heinrich’s attention was on the brass at the opposite end of the stage, behind the woodwinds. They must have refilled it before taking their places again. The percussion was positioned behind the strings, so I couldn’t see if Olaf was chatting up the woman at the chimes. I doubted it, though.
The strings and the woodwinds faced each other, so I was treated to the sight of Odelia Coleridge refreshing her makeup and filing her nails throughout the practice. When she did remember to play, the expressions of those sitting next to her said it all. Blackmail, Olympia had said, and I wondered if she wasn’t too far off.
The next couple of weeks passed in much the same way. The orchestra was getting better – we were managing to get through four or five movements at a time before being stopped by Heinrich – but as the musicians got more comfortable with their parts, some were also getting too comfortable with the liberties Heinrich allowed them.
The bassists were almost constantly drunk now. Admittedly, it didn’t seem to affect their performance, but it still irritated me. I’d passed them in the cloak room as they were refilling their flask, and the harsh odor of cheap rye whiskey followed me outside.
To add to the mix, both Olympia and Otto were apparently coming down with something. Our one competent clarinet hadn’t managed to keep any food down for a few days, and her skin was turning pallid. Otto, the saxophonist, had developed a bad rash on his hands and arms, and spent all of his time scratching. Everyone else seemed to be okay, so whatever it was, it didn’t look to be contagious.
I headed back to the office after the day’s practice to go over whatever notes had been left for me. I had managed to sort out the new hires from the old hands, and had Br’er tracking down any information he could on everybody, but he was coming up with a lot of nothing useful.
Another envelope was on the floor when I arrived, and I opened it to reveal another note in the same handwriting:
Someone is not who they appear to be, Thomas. -O
“If you know so much, how about giving me something useful,” I muttered. I checked Br’er’s notes and went home.
The day Olympia died started out like any other.
We were almost through the ninth movement when she suddenly pitched forward, gasping for breath. People clustered around her, fluttering with uncertainty. I saw Sandra sprinting towards the offices and the phones there, but before she got halfway down the hallway, Olympia gave a final twitch, and her last breath slowly left her.
The police came and interviewed everyone, and the coroner was called to take the body away. People were standing around in small groups having hushed conversations. Some were crying. The bassists were openly drinking from the flask now, and Heinrich had disappeared into his office.
About an hour later, Heinrich reappeared on stage. He tapped his baton on his stand. “Ladies and gentlemen? If you will take your seats, please, we will continue.”
Shocked gasps and angry looks greeted this announcement, and I decided that enough was enough. I approached Heinrich.
“Can I see you in your office for a minute?”
He looked at me over his glasses. “Take your seat, please, Mister Alley.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Let’s have a nice quiet chat, shall we?” I held an arm out towards the hallway, and he sighed and nodded.
Heinrich’s office was small, and every square inch had been given over to music. Stacks of scores and scores of playbills were heaped on tables and shelves, and framed journal articles and photographs from his whole career were hanging on the walls. He took his seat on the far side of an old desk and folded his hands together.
“What can I do for you, Mister Alley?”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, Henry, a woman just died out there.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you think you oughtta cancel the rest of the rehearsal?”
“We are running out of time to prepare, Mister Alley. Every moment counts.”
“This must be why they call you ‘Iron Henry.’ Look, pal, I’m telling you that practice is cancelled. It’s the bottom of the ninth, the basses are loaded and the score is tied. Your people are pretty badly shaken up. Nothing useful is going to get accomplished today.”
He fixed me with a hard look. “If I had not promised to keep you on…”
“Save it,” I told him. “I’ll go tell the others.”
I went back out to the hall, and told everyone to go on home. As they were packing up, Sandra came over to me. “How did you manage that?” she asked. “I didn’t think Henry would cancel a practice for anything but his own death.”
“I threatened to shoot him. Relax, kid,” I responded to her widening eyes. “That was a joke. I just reasoned with the man.”
“Remind me not to reason with you any time soon.”
“Sure, kid. See you tomorrow.”
Instead of heading home, I headed to the office. Dolly looked up as I entered.
“What are you doing here?
I checked the name on the door and looked back at her. “I work here.”
“I’d forgotten. Did you finally get fired?”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I filled her in on what had happened.
“That’s terrible. That poor woman.”
“Yeah. Do me a favor, Doll; get your fellow on the line.”
“Hector?”
“Short guy? Fond of green?” She swiped at my arm. “Yeah. Ask him to head over to the morgue and see what he can get out of the coroner.”
“You think there was something suspicious about her dying?”
“At this point, Doll, I’d be happy with any lead I could get. I have to rule it out, if nothing else.”
“Okay, Chesh.” She went to her desk and picked up the phone, and I looked into the rabbit’s office. Br’er looked up and grinned at me.
“Howdy, Boss. You git canned?”
“Ha ha. Found anything for me?”
“Found a bit on dat Olaf fella.”
“What’s that?”
“He done time fo’ assault.”
“When?”
“Hit be ‘bout six years ago.”
“Where?”
“Upstate. An’ git dis, Boss. He be questioned ‘bout a connection wit’ Hansel an’ Gretel. Dey be fum de same neck er de woods.”
Hansel and Gretel were brother and sister, and happened to be two of the deadliest assassins in the world. We’d swapped a few bullets during the Weasel case, and I’d gotten lucky enough to live to tell the story. They were from the Black Forest, so when the rabbit said Olaf was from the same neck of the woods, I assumed he meant it literally.
“Hansel and Gretel,” I murmured, rubbing my whiskers. “You don’t say.”
“Sho I do, Boss. Jes’ now.”
I practiced patience. “Anything proven?”
The rabbit shook his head. “Nope.”
I nodded. “Okay. Keep at it and let me know.”
“Yep.”
I walked over to my office and called the number Russ had given me. I reported the day’s events, but didn’t say anything about the inspector’s errand. No use until I knew anything. I was out of cigarettes, so I went down to the corner newsstand and bought a pack. I decided to grab a bite while I was out, so it was a couple of hours before I got back.
I’m the boss. I can do that.
“Twice in one day. We’re honored,” Dolly said as I came back in.
“Say goodnight, Gracie.” I muttered on my way past her.
“There was a call for you while you were out,” she told me.
“What about?”
“An invitation to The Well tonight at 10:00.”
“Kind of late. Who was it?”
“He didn’t leave a name, just an initial. ‘O.’”
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pjgron reviewed Version 1 -
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Interesting. Nice use of slang for the Br’er. If I had much to add, I’d say to add more sense of smell to the entire piece. Smoke aromas, the smell of oil for brass instruments (valves and slides)and bow wax in the orchestra practice area, and maybe a bit of sweat. Maybe a little more detail around Olympia’s death. I enjoyed reading it.
Pete
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Squigglesy reviewed Version 1 -
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This was just really entertaining. The wit that you manage to fit into such a tight space is amazing; the toccatta and Italian food joke especially. I haven’t read the rest of the story, but the idea of a private detective being near a timpanist in itself is amusing. You have just the right balance of detail and plot development, and your ability to keep dialogue flowing is very good.
The_Peacekeeper reviewed Version 1 -
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i am giving you a 9. The best attraction was the summary you have put at the beginning. It attracted the readers like a bulb would attract moth. The dialogues are very lucid, exciting and well written.
but i felt the story ended like a sharp drop. would love to see a more gradual ending. that would make a better reading.
keep up the good work. well done.
i am giving you a 9.
Weaver reviewed Version 1 -
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“Difficult toccata,” I said around a mouthful of sandwich.
She brightened. “Oh! I love Italian food!”
Stunned silence warred with the need to laugh out loud; the laugh won.
Drunken bassists, a clarinet player who spends the practice session doing her make-up… I don’t know about orchestras, but this sounds a lot like what I remember of high school band.
“What are you doing here?
I checked the name on the door and looked back at her. “I work here.”
Ah, more cat-like sarcasm… That could be my favorite thing about this story.
“He didn’t leave a name, just an initial. ‘O.’”
Well, that narrows it down a little bit; now we at least know that it’s a guy.
I think that Olympia was murdered… Could be that you’re trying to throw us off, that she secretly had some kind of health condition that ended up killing her, but it just looks very suspicious right now.
Bonnie reviewed Version 1 -
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Wonderful dialogue that simply brims with its own life and vibrancy. I loved this, and found that it had that certain ‘something’ that distinguishes good writing from great writing – you can master all the vocabulary you like, but if you can’t invest your pieces with a life of their own, then everything falls flat. I think you have a formidable skill and I look forward to seeing and reading more!
regmusty reviewed Version 1 -
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Definately good enough to publish and i suspect you either know a bit about music or have researched it well.Obviously hard to get a handle on the story line with the little i read,although encouraging just the same.I would like to read a little more and encourage you to stick with it
EAnonymous reviewed Version 1 -
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Being a musician, as soon as you said the conductor had tied the pages at the ninth mvt., I knew the joke you were setting up, but I did relish watching it play out. :) Twelve movements – that’s gonna be a long symphony! I was sad to see Olympia go, not because I like her (I do), but because I foolishly thought she was ‘O’. ;) What do I know, anyway? You know the difference between an orchestra and a bull?
Lena17 reviewed Version 1 -
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Congratulations!! I’m granting you a 9/10 for this, as the story is finally beginning to draw me in. I was eager to see if you’d cracked who the mysterious ‘O’ is yet, but nope, I guess I have to wait for the next installment….
I am getting a kick out of all the ‘O’s in the orchastra, very nicely done! Where did you come up with all those names?? A baby name book, perhaps??
I was a tad distraught when Olympia was bumped off; I am ENTIRELY suspicious of her death! I’m completely furious with the conductor at this point; I think HE’s behind this all!
Anyway, thanks once again for this exciting peek into the dangerous life of Cheshire Cat!!
I look very much forward to the next installment, and the absolute best of luck with the rest of this story, as well as the many to follow! I have so much faith in you! _
~JMB
hypatia reviewed Version 1 -
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Wow, your style of writing really gives this piece a lot of punch. Your talent lies with clarity. Secondly, even in speech, it is clear who is speaking and why, a difficult thing to master with multiple characters.
In all this piece has been smoothly and expertly written. I like the background of musicians, and the richness of their personalities. Well done.
BFD reviewed Version 1 -
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“Difficult toccata”…lol…brilliant line! I love it! :-)
And might I say…Chesh has come a long way…from throwing Doll’s coat on the floor…to “Shall we?” lol…just teasing…couldn’t pass that up…lol :-)
Whether it’s the environment, unfamiliar faces in which to get aquainted and establish rappore, or the return of music to his life…his character is definately growing much deeper here :-)
“The day Olympia died started out like any other.” – I love it when you do this…lol :-)
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