Page 11

Jack said, “Again, that’s a lot of responsibility. You’re not a psychologist. You’re not a profiler.”

Ellery’s sigh was at least half groan. “Iknow. Believe me. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to say no.”

Jack made a soft sound of exasperation. “I do. Ell, I’ll help you—unofficially—however I can, but I really wish you hadn’t involved yourself in this.”

Me too.

“Thanks, Jack. I mean it.” Ellery added in afterthought, “You’re taking this a lot better than I expected.”

“Am I?” Jack’s tone was bland. “Maybe it turns out we have two actors in the family.”

Ellery chuckled, relieved that Jack seemed more resigned than exasperated, and then Jack told him he had to get back to work.

It was a couple of hours later before Ellery registered the fact that Jack seemed to think they were maybe part of the same family.

Chapter Four

Lara Fairplay was singing.

Bravest of angels, return thee to me,

From under the waves and over the sea,

Gone is my peace, my heart aches with woe

The dearest of men lies sleeping below.

“Huh.” Ellery, uncomfortably folded into one of the vintage chairs in the somewhat musty Loon Landing Boathouse Theater, was noncommittal as he listened to what was starting to feel like the world’s longest sound check.

He was not familiar with the works of Stephen Foster. He was barely familiar with the works of Lara Fairplay. And while he could appreciate the cultural significance—not to mention the social-media currency—of Fairplay performing a long-lost work by Foster, he had kinda expected, well, something else. Something more original. More exciting.

“Of course, it must be an earlier work,” Jane, sitting on his left in the mostly empty row of chairs, responded to what she must have perceived as criticism. “Maybe even a discarded effort.”

“It’s only the one verse and chorus, right?”

“Yes. Lara wrote the rest of the song herself.”

“Did she write the music too?”

“She must have. There was only a scrap of lead sheet with a few lyrics.”

Ellery nodded thoughtfully. He could feel Jane watching him in the gloom.

“So the appraisal went okay this afternoon?”

Jane smiled. “Did you think it wouldn’t?”

“I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure if the testing could be completed in a few hours.”

“Oh, they’ve yet to do the forensic testing of ink and paper. But that can take quite a long time. And no one wanted to wait.”

“I guess not.” Why did he have the odd feeling that Jane was laughing at him?

Onstage, Lara made a broad thumb-across-her-throat gesture, and the band—two rhythm guitars, fiddle, and drum kit—broke off with a couple of trailing and discordant notes.

Another discussion with the sound engineer ensued. This was interrupted by Neilson Elon, who appeared onstage to debate the lighting.

Jane leaned over to whisper, “Do the Silver Sleuths have a theory yet as to who might have mailed those threatening letters?”