Music to Die For Read Free Page A

something! They’ll be back any minute.”
    “Where does the mother live?” Carrie asked. “Is it very far from here?”
    “I don’t know exactly,” Beth said, shaking her bottle-blond curls, “but I remember hearing that the Masons lived out in the country. Do you suppose you could notify someone, Folk Center officials, or...”
    She paused and glowered toward the man seated at the center of the head table.
    “Darn it—excuse me, Carrie—but I’m getting stuck with this. The director came over, said he had the convention dinner to manage, and would I please find someone to check on the Masons since, of course, he didn’t want me to go off and leave the auto club men without their host.”
    “It is an honor to be selected as a host,” Carrie said, feeling a twinge of jealousy, even though she knew she’d have hated the assignment.
    “Well, maybe, but I feel more like their chaperone if you want to know. Last night they listened to musicians on the square downtown until all hours. They kept singing along like they knew what they were doing, and neither of them can carry a tune in a basket. I could have died of embarrassment. Oh, look, there they come, talking their way across the room as usual. Quick, Carrie, what can we do?”
    A tingle of excitement was already beginning to bounce along Carrie’s backbone. Here was a challenge, a mystery. She thought back to JoAnne and Amos’ deaths and how she...well, she and Henry...had discovered who killed them. There had been danger and some really awful moments, though to be honest, she’d brought those on by just being stupid. It would never happen again.
    The mystery that delayed the Masons would probably turn out to be nothing more than a flat tire, but at least she might have a chance to meet them and tell Henry what they were really like.
    Oh, phooey, Henry should be here. She pictured her large, comfortable room and its two beds.
    “Carrie, why on earth are you smiling now ?” Beth asked, looking grumpy. “This is serious, aren’t you paying attention?”
    “Of course I am.” Carrie thought for a moment longer, then whispered, “I’ll go see what I can find out, but be sure they leave food for me. I don’t want to miss dinner. Are there speeches?”
    “The director, and you know he’s good for at least twenty minutes. There’ll be an invocation and comments by the head of the Folk Center. You have about forty minutes.”
    Carrie had already spotted baskets of cornbread and plates of butter along the center of the table, as well as bowls of Peach and Apple Chunky. She reached for a piece of corn bread, buttered it, plopped on a generous amount of Peach Chunky, and, realizing it was going to drip, wrapped the sticky mass in her napkin. Pushing the napkin in her purse, she smiled sweetly at a woman who was staring at her, then got up and left the room.
    She stopped at the cash register in the public dining room and asked the hostess if anyone there knew Aunt Brigid Mason, Chase, or Tracy.
    “Goodness, I don’t,” said the hostess, who looked about sixteen in her long calico dress and ruffled pinafore, “except I’ve seen them perform. Haven’t they come yet? Some other lady was looking for them a bit ago.”
    “No, they haven’t,” Carrie said, “and I wondered if anyone around here knew them well enough, friends or something, who might help us locate them.”
    “Well,” the girl said, “Farel Teal, Tracy’s cousin, works over at the auditorium sometimes. He’s in charge of organizing the evening performances, and they’re rehearsing tonight. Try there.”
    Carrie thanked the girl and hurried out, hoping she could find her way to the back of the auditorium through the administration-classroom building and the fenced craft village behind it. If everything there was locked, there would be no access to the auditorium from the top of the ridge. She’d have to walk all the way down the hill and back up on the other side—in her dressy blue