Read Online The Haunting Ballad by Michael Nethercott - Free Book Online

singsong.
    â€œOh, don’t be such a grumbler, Abe. After all, you could have ended up with a wife who didn’t have my creative streak.”
    â€œI should be so lucky.”
    â€œYou know I bring panache to the business.”
    Abe gestured to his wife’s dress. “ Panache ? You call all those polka dots panache? They make me dizzy just looking at them.”
    â€œHey, you’ve got to have fun in life! That’s why I dress like this. You stick to your grays and browns, Abe. As for me, give me a little razzle-dazzle.”
    Abe gave us the stingiest of grins. “Listen to her! At her age she wants razzle-dazzle.” He tossed up his hands. “What do you do with such a woman?”
    I felt like I was watching a vaudeville show. Seeing the two of them engaged in their easy, pleasant quarreling made me think of Audrey and me. Or, at least, the “Audrey and me” that I’d known. I wasn’t sure exactly what the updated version looked like.
    Just when I’d thought that my partner and I had been forgotten, Minnie turned back to us. “So, like Abe asked, what is it—songs or garments?”
    As succinctly as I could, I laid out who we were and why we’d come.
    Minnie’s natural bubbliness subsided at the mention of Lorraine Cobble. Now, aware of our purpose, she gestured distractedly toward the door. “Lock up, will you, Abe, while I talk to these fellas.”
    Leaving her husband to his duties, she led us to a small back room where stock from the two halves of the business seemed to overlap. Among stacks of pressed trousers and music books, we sat tightly together in a little circle of folding chairs. Minnie Bornstein expelled a deep, weary sigh and rested her hands in her lap.
    â€œIt makes me sad to think about Lorraine,” she began. “Very, very sad. That girl had such promise. I met her when she was still in her twenties, you know, and in a way that’s how I still think of her. It’s hard to imagine her dead and in the ground.” She gave a little shudder. “Lorraine was so full of life. Not to mention chutzpah! God knows she had chutzpah. Way too much for her own good, if you ask me. Now, I know you’re not supposed to badmouth the dead, but honesty’s the best policy, don’t you think?”
    â€œYes, indeed,” Mr. O’Nelligan answered for us.
    â€œI mean, why should we pretend that someone’s personality was all bells and roses just because they’re deceased? I sure wouldn’t want anyone to pretty up my memory. I’ve told Abe, ‘At my service, when you’re standing by the grave, I want you to step forward and declare, My wife was stubborn and flighty, and she ate way too many pastrami sandwiches. ’ God love him, I know he’ll do just that.”
    â€œWe understand you share some history with Lorraine,” Mr. O’Nelligan said.
    Minnie gave a knowing little nod. “Oh, right. You’re detectives. Of course you want to learn all about your suspects.”
    I tried to protest. “No, that’s not it. We’re just—”
    â€œDon’t worry, I’m not offended. You just said that Lorraine’s death could be suspicious. That means you’re looking at people whose feathers she may have ruffled. Certainly, you’d have to put me in that category. Though, to be quite frank, I’m just one among the many.” She paused. “Let me tell you how we met. It was back in ’41, just before the war. I’d moved down to North Carolina and was doing some transcribing work for Olive Dame Campbell. I don’t suppose either of you know who that was?”
    â€œA prominent collector of American folklore,” said O’Nelligan the Great Know-it-all.
    â€œThat’s right!” Minnie looked glowingly at my partner. “You are a man of the arts. Forty years ago, Mrs. Campbell published a very influential book on