Haunting Melody (13 page)

When he said he’d take me home, my breath had
grown slightly more rapid. He cared. He’d even called me Mel
instead of Melody. Nicknames meant something, right? Then I
realized he was taking responsibility for me just like for Denise
and Nevin. I was a single girl, alone in the big city. He didn’t
want me vanishing on his watch.

Briley hailed a cab from one of the few
hovering several blocks away near The New Amsterdam Theatre. We
drove to East 12th in silence.

“Briley, you don’t need to walk me to my
door. Mrs. Donovan will be up and watchin'. Just call me if you
find out even the tiniest bit of news, okay? Really. I don’t care
if it’s four in the mornin'. The phone’s right outside my door and
I’ll hear it, I promise.”

He reached over and hugged me. Clung to me
would be the better description. We both needed warmth and
reassurance.

“Night, Mel.”

“Night, Briley.”

Mrs. Donovan was indeed perched behind the
counter in the lobby knitting a tangled mess of yarn and holes the
most glaring color of yellow I’d seen outside a demented
canary.

“What’s wrong?”

I stared at her. “How do you know somethin’s
wrong?”

“Ya have the look of despair on yer face,
lass. That’s how.”

“It’s bad. Denise Dupre and her little boy,
Nevin, are missing. Briley and I have just come from the police
station and they aren’t holding out a lot of hope of findin'
them.”

“But you will. Best be careful, though.”

“I will? What are you talkin' about?”

“Just a hunch. Go to bed, Mel. Things will be
better in the morning.”

“Mrs. Donovan, if you have the answers,
please tell me.”

She jabbed her palm with a knitting needle
and cursed in what appeared to be ancient Gaelic. Finally, “Don’t
you fret. I just get these feelins’. Now off with ya, Mel Flynn. Ya
look like the devil’s own bad news. Get some sleep.”

I wasn’t going to argue. I took the elevator
to the fourth floor, managed to scrub the make-up off my face, then
I tumbled into bed. I sent out a prayer that Denise and Nevin would
have a peaceful night––wherever they were.

“Mel! Wake up. Ya got more flowers here.”

I groaned. My life was in reruns. Mrs.
Donovan stood in the doorway waving lotus blossoms at me.

“I don’t really want to see those this
mornin', Mrs. Donovan. Can you take them downstairs? Or leave them
outside for the dogs to have something interesting to water?”

“Ye’re a mite cranky today, aren’t ya?”

“Yeah. Getting two hours sleep after worryin'
all night about where people are disappearing to can do that to a
girl.”

“You go take a nice shower, now. You’ll feel
better. Then come on down to breakfast. I made cranberry scones for
all the girls today.”

Cranberry scones. Words failed me.

I staggered down the hall and stood under the
shower for a long time and thought about Denise and Nevin and the
other missing girls. If a few tears got mixed in with the hot water
and dissolved down the drain, that was all right. Crying wouldn’t
help them, but I felt better anyway.

I dressed in one of Bettina’s more exotic
black and white cotton dresses then sat down on the piano bench to
lace my boots. And spied something extra on the piano. Sheet music.
A new copy of Elvis Presley’s "Heartbreak Hotel." And I do mean
new. Not from the 1950s. It had just been released by a
Tennessee-based band called Memphis Beales.

How had music from way in the future made it
into my room and on top of the piano? Or perhaps the question
wasn’t how, but rather “Why?”

I looked at the front page. There was a red
stain at the top right corner. I sniffed. Cranberries. I placed the
sheet music back on the stand and tore down to the lobby with
Olympian speed. Della Lowder was behind the desk.

“Della? Where’s Mrs. Donovan?”

“She left about ten minutes ago. Said she had
errands to run. Can I help?”

I smiled weakly. “No, I really needed to
speak directly to her. But thanks.”

I turned to go back up the stairs.

“Melody? She said to tell you there’s fresh
scones and tea in the kitchen if you want some.”

Again, I thanked her and walked towards the
kitchenette just off the lobby to the right. Scones, bacon and tea
beckoned from a small table. I absently helped myself while I
contemplated the mystery of the sheet music. Sneaky Mrs. Donovan
doubtless could supply answers, but I suspected she’d take the
entire day, or week, to do her errands specifically to stay out of
my way.

I grabbed an extra scone, then headed back
upstairs but cautiously opened the door. No new surprises.
"Heartbreak Hotel" remained on top the piano. I picked it up and
read through the lyrics at least fifteen times. I felt dense. I
glanced around the room hoping for divine intervention. Mrs.
Donovan had left flowers on my dresser. Roses, roses, and more
roses. More lotus blossoms, too. Cards everywhere but none of them
matched up with the flowers. Time to go ahead and read the durn
things.

“My dearest Melody. Dinner tonight?” Prince
Peter.

“Miss Melody. Great show. Dinner tonight?”
Grady Martel.

“Miss Flynn. You are a lovely addition to the
Follies. Dinner tonight?” Lawrence Vassily. Hadn’t met him but
Briley had mentioned his name along with the fact that I’d be
getting flowers from him.

The other five cards were variations on the
same theme - dinner. I wondered if they were all simply lonely men
who hid behind dinner and roses and flattery. At least one, Lloyd
Ellingsford, was married. Of course, one could be married and rich
and still lonely.

Lonely. I looked at the sheet music in my
hand.

“'Down on the end of lonely street, called
Heartbreak Hotel.'”

Memphis. Home to Elvis, home to Heartbreak
Hotel. A clue from the future? Denise and Nevin, perhaps the other
missing Follies girls as well, were in Memphis. I had no idea why -
but I suddenly knew they were there.

I ran down the hall to the phone to call
Briley at the theatre. Stopped.

How could I explain this great revelation?
Sheet music from the future, left in the room of a girl from the
future thanks to a time-traveling old eccentric Elvis devotee.
Cuckoo-City on acid. I slowly dropped the receiver back onto the
hook on the wall. I couldn’t tell Briley McShan the truth. He’d
never ever believe me.

I started to return to my room. But two other
visions entered my mind. Denise Dupre reassuring me that my pants
were “tres chic.” Nevin Dupre jumping on the boxes in the alley
behind the theatre pretending to be a dancing toreador.

It didn’t matter a damn whether Briley
thought I was nuts. He had to consider the possibility that Denise,
Nevin, and the others were being held in the unlikely spot of
Memphis, Tennessee. I’d gladly spend a few years in Bellevue to see
Nevin’s face again.

“Hello?”

“Briley. It’s Mel.”

“Hi. I’m sorry I don’t have news for you yet.
I spent about an hour this morning at Denise’s building
interviewing neighbors, but no one knew a thing. Last time anyone
saw them, she and Nevin were on their way to the theatre about 5:00
yesterday afternoon.”

“Briley. I have a very strange theory about
where they could be. Not the ‘why’ - just the ‘where.’ Um. I need
to see you. Can you come over? This is not something I’d care to
discuss over the phone.”

He was silent for a few seconds as my heart
stopped. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

I hung up then jumped as the phone
immediately rang.

“Hello?”

“Iss Melody Flynn there?”

“This is Melody. Who’s this?”

“Ah, Melody. I did not, how you say,
recognize your voice. This is Prince Peter Herzochevskia.”

“Peter?”

“Yes. You get flowers?”

“Yes. Thank you so much. I would have called,
but I didn’t have a way to reach you.”

“Iss all right. I call to see what time go to
dinner? My chauffeur veell pick up.”

“Peter, thanks, but I’ve already made plans.
I slept in late today and didn’t see your invitation until just
about thirty minutes ago. I’m so sorry. Another time, perhaps?”

Silence. Finally, “But of course. I veell see
you soon, da?”

I hung up and darned if it didn’t ring
again.

“Hi, Hon! Howzabout dinner tonight? Didja get
my flowers?”

“Hi, Grady. Yes, I did. Thank you so much.
They’re lovely.”

“Well, that’s good. You’re raght welcome.
Now, I thought I’d come by around eight this evenin’, we’d git a
nice dinner and then go dancin’. Then ride one of those horse
carriages around the Park.”

“Thanks, Grady, but I’ve already made plans.
Later?”

“You made plans? Already? Who’s the fella?
I’ll challenge him to a pistol whippin’ contest today!”

Didn’t they teach Southern manners in the
Lone Star State? That was really rude. Before I had a chance to
give him the proper etiquette for asking girls out or tell him he
needed to get over jumping into relationships with both feet and no
brain, he apologized. “Ah’m sorry. Didn’t mean to start pryin'. All
you gals have bunches of fellas chasin’ you and I guess I just
wasn’t quick enough.”

I kind of felt some sympathy for him. He was
gorgeous, rich, new in town and a bit of a goon.

“It’s okay. I’m - uh - helping a - uh - sick
friend.”

His tone brightened. “Ah. Well, that’s raght
nice of you. We’ll try later. Bye Miz Melody.”

“Bye, Grady.”

One more biggie-sized whopper to add to of
the all the others I’d told since landing in 1919. I wondered
whether time-travel is a precursor to becoming a pathological
liar.

I strolled back to my room, stared at the
sheet music and practiced telling Briley McShan he was about to
cross into La-La Land. Time travel. I shook my head in near
despair. There was no way he was going to believe this story, yet
he had to. I couldn’t go wandering down to Memphis on my own
playing amateur detective in an era I was still cautiously
navigating through. Plus, I just really wanted. . . heck, I needed
Briley to finally hear my story.

I heard a tap on the door.

“Mel?”

I’d been so lost in thought I hadn’t realized
fifteen minutes had passed.

“So, I trust you’ve got some relevant
information that warrants me stopping my investigation of the
neighbor who last saw Denise? An investigation that wasn’t going
smoothly anyway.”

Briley was not in a good mood. Which could
make telling my story worse.

I swallowed. “Yes. I do. But you’re going to
have to make a giant leap of faith and really listen to what I have
to say. I have this idea where Denise and Nevin could be.”

He grabbed my shoulders. “Why are we wasting
time? Where? How do you know? What’s happened?”

“Briley. Calm down. Now, sit.”

He’d brought Duffy, the dog, with him. Both
sat as asked. Duffy was quicker and happier about it. Briley
scowled. “Well?”

“I think they’re in Memphis. My
hometown.”

“Why on earth? Is this some crazy hunch or do
you have something tangible?”

“I do have somethin', but that’s where the
leap of faith comes in.”

“Will you quit playing games and just tell me
what’s going on?”

I handed him the sheet music to "Heartbreak
Hotel."

He barely glanced at it. “Sheet music.
Wonderful. Is there a point to this?”

I chewed my lip. “That’s the music for a song
that was written in 1957. A song that was recorded by Elvis Presley
in Sun Studios in Memphis, Tennessee - in 1957. It was a huge hit.
As was Elvis. He was the biggest rock n’ roll star in the history
of music. So big that when he died and his home just outside of
Memphis became a tourist attraction, a hotel was built on the
grounds in his honor. It’s called Heartbreak Hotel.”

Briley was looking at me as though I’d
completely lost my mind.

“Briley, I found this sheet music this
mornin' on the piano. It has a cranberry stain on it. I’m certain
it came from a short, crazy old witch in the 21st century who lives
in this buildin' and who has my dog right now and who sent this to
me because she was able to track down the whereabouts of the
missing girls and Nevin and this is a sign.”

Briley’s tone had the patient timbre one uses
with a demented child. “And why would you think this, Melody?”

I’d been reduced to the formal Melody.
“Because less than a week ago I was having tea and cranberry scones
with this same short, crazy witch, Fiona Belle Donovan, in this
very buildin' discussin' the ghost in my new apartment. This
apartment. Fiona Belle was explainin' that the ghost came from 13th
Edition Follies. In the year 1919.” I inhaled. “Briley, this
conversation happened over ninety years in the future.”

He stared at me, blue eyes blazing with fury
at what he obviously thought was a ridiculous story. I couldn’t
blame him. I was living it and I thought it was a ridiculous
story.

Finally he spoke. “Are you trying to tell me
that you, Melody Flynn, have somehow been in communication with
someone in the future?”

Oh boy. He hadn’t quite grasped the total
picture.

“No. I’m tryin' to tell you that I came from
the future and that I managed somehow to travel through time and I
landed here -in 1919. And I can prove it.”

Briley laughed so hard he literally fell out
of his chair. He held his sides and continued to laugh until I was
afraid I’d have to perform CPR on him when his breath gave out.
Duffy was anxiously licking his face. I waited for the hilarity to
subside.

Of all the reactions to my tale of time
travel and Elvis and Memphis, this was not the one I’d
expected.

Finally, he stopped. “That’s good. You really
have come up with a way of getting my mind off this mess haven’t
you? Although I don’t appreciate you using the disappearance of
Denise and Nevin to play this little joke.”