Dying for Music: Hypnotic Harmony by Marcy Blesy

Author:Marcy Blesy [Blesy, Marcy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Marcy A. Blesy, LLC
Published: 2024-12-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Vaughn, holding his cats around his neck like a scarf, feigns surprise, but I don’t buy his act for one bit. This is the murder. This was his plan. I look for Karma and Rocco who are no longer at Paula’s feet, trying to get around her to view the body of Sera, the dead violinist. Cowards. They’ve run away now that their live murder was not to be. Were they duped by Vaughn, or were they in on the disgusting plan, too? What has our society become that to live stream a murder is something to be celebrated, maybe rewarded even?

I look at Dad who is still standing watch over the door to the hallway. Safia has locked her arm through Foster Stingerman’s, leading him back to his seat where his sweet wife Lois waits for him. From a distance, no one would know about the progressive dementia that afflicts poor Foster. I give Dad a thumbs up to allow people to leave. The faster everyone clears out, the better. What a ridiculous mess, but it’s better than an actual murder.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you may pack up your instruments. Please stay in the building, though, as we may need to ask you a few questions,” says Officer Daniel.

“Dan, what just happened?” I ask.

He looks at Vaughn. “Me? I had nothing to do with this. You can’t pin this on me.”

“You literally announced that there would be a murder during your performance. And it seemed there had been until my unorthodox officer discovered a faked death. You—in alliance with those annoying internet people—thought you could have your little murder that wasn’t really a murder, get thousands of likes or whatever you want these days—”

“Millions,” says Vaughn.

“And get away with it, too.”

“You’re wrong, Officer Daniel. I have no idea why Sera would fake a death. An incident? Whatever that was? She’s a performer. Maybe she was in cahoots with the Spray and Splatter Podcast. You have a lot of questions to ask. Start with her husband Matt.” He points to the percussionists on the far side of the stage behind the flutists. “Where? Where are the percussionists?”

Everyone in the orchestra turns to look behind them. “There! Behind the bass drum on the ground! Both of them!” yells a trumpeter—the tall, tightly-curled bangs lady with the vocal dog who has stood up and is pointing to the ground.

I follow Vaughn and Officer Daniel to the back of the stage. Lying as still as Sera in her chair pre-tickle are two percussionists—living or dead on the ground—still to be determined.

“Rosi! Rosi, are you okay?” Keaton grabs me for a quick hug. “I didn’t know if I should relieve your dad or not, but I think Safia has things under control. Was that lady faking her death? I couldn’t hear anything up in the lighting booth.”

I pull myself away from Keaton’s welcome embrace and step to the side so he can see what I’ve just seen, two bodies—one tall and one short—lying next to each other on the stage.

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