BLUE WEDDING (Melody The Librarian Mysteries Book 3) Read Free

Mom’s help, of course.
    “Melody, are you going to sleep the whole day away?” she called through the door.
    That didn’t sound like a bad idea, but I knew that she wasn’t really offering that option.
    “I’ve got a cup of coffee ready for you.”
    That mitigated the raw sting of consciousness. I perched in my usual chair while Mom read the newspaper. “What time did you get in last night?” she asked.
    “Just before three,” I croaked.
    “Well, I hope it was fun,” she said, not looking up from her reading.
    “It was, sort of. It’s funny. When you’re performing, it’s sort of like you’re participating in the festivities, but you’re not, really. You’re removed. You get to see all the crazy behavior and hear the chattering and laughter, but you don’t have to make any effort to keep up a conversation, or be amusing, or flirt. It’s like being a fly on the wall.”
    Mom looked up. “I would think that that would suit you. You were always more of an observer than a participant. You never played any sports. Even as a little girl, you used to prefer your own company and activities. You weren’t very social.”
    “You make me sound like a hermit,” I said, slightly defensive, but only slightly. After all, there was no denying that I still preferred solitary pursuits more productive and rewarding than group activities. If not for all those hours alone practicing the accordion, I’d have never known the pleasure of mastering an instrument and enjoying a greater depth of musical appreciation, and to be able to share that knowledge and technique with others was priceless.
    “No, I never said that,” Mom said. “And I’m not criticizing you. I’d much prefer you the way you are than to have you turn out to be some bubbleheaded party girl. Our culture seems to encourage that more and more.”
    “Maybe so,” I mused. For some reason, Mom’s comment reminded me that I needed to call Tiffany Ashcroft. I picked up my phone and, sure enough, Gary had sent a text message with her number. “Do you mind if I make a quick call?” I asked. “Or I can go in another part of the house.” Ordinarily, I’d have excused myself, but Mao, my tabby, was curled, sleeping, in my lap.
    “I don’t mind; go right ahead,” Mom said, unfurling the newspaper to resume her reading. “I know it’s difficult for you young people to resist when your phone is always within reach.”
    Her head disappeared behind the paper, preventing her from catching the rolling of my eyes. Yes, we youngsters were slaves to our gizmos and devices. If some solar disturbance or dystopian meltdown were to occur, we’d likely all curl up in a fetal position and lose the will to live.
    “Hello, is this Ash…Tiffany?” I asked, almost biting my tongue. That’s what I get for goofing around with her name. “I’m Melody Reed. Gary Van Dyke asked me to call you about the music for your wedding. Congratulations, by the way.”
    “Oh, yes,” she replied in a breathy voice. It was one of those voices adorned with the kind of inflections heard when speaking with a child. “Are you his secretary?”
    “No,” I replied. “Actually, I’m one of the band members.”
    “Oh! What do you play?”
    “Accordion,” I said. Sure enough, a pause followed. She was probably trying to picture – or imagine hearing – an accordion fitting into the imagined ambience of her wedding reception. No doubt, the challenge to do so had proven difficult.
    “Accordion,” she echoed. “Well, is this something we can just do over the phone? Gary said to let him know if there were some favorite songs that I wanted played. Could I send you a list? It’s just that it’s so busy one week before the big day.”
    “Of course, I understand. Why don’t I give you my email address…?”
    “Unless you were free to come over today,” she interrupted. “Actually, today would be perfect! I’m staying at my mother’s all week, and she’s available, too. Why