Page 38 of Justice Delayed

“Of course.” Mrs. Trent bustled forward, touching Melender’s arm. “Just follow me, and I’ll show you the basement apartment. We took the liberty of setting up a litter pan, food, and water in the bathroom for Goliath.”

With a quick smile of thanks to Brogan, Melender followed the woman down the stairs to a compact apartment that boasted a bedroom, a full bath with shower and tub combination, a small kitchenette, a and larger living/dining room space, all separated from the rest of the house by a sturdy door with a deadbolt. Melender released Goliath into the bathroom and closed the door.

“There are clean sheets on the bed and fresh towels in the bathroom.” Mrs. Trent smiled. “I’ll leave you to your nap.”

Alone at last, Melender threw the deadbolt, set her phone’s alarm, then tumbled, fully clothed, on top of the bed. Her last conscious thought centered on the fact that she didn’t believe in coincidence, so what was she to make of finding herself in the home of Nolan and Colleen Trent?

ChapterSixteen

Brogan accepted a glass of unsweetened iced tea from his aunt, then followed his uncle out onto their enclosed back porch. A ceiling fan made a decent attempt to circulate air, with a little help from a light breeze through the open windows.

“You wanted to explain how you met Melender?” Brogan sipped his tea, then placed the glass on a coaster on a nearby table.

“Yes.” Nolan swirled the ice and liquid around in his half-full glass. “A few months ago, Jimmy Storks told me about a woman who’d been stopping by his music store once a week, never on the same day but always near closing time when the store had very few customers.”

“That was Melender?” Brogan asked.

“Yes, only Jimmy called her Mel.” Nolan drank some tea. “Jimmy kept mentioning her until I finally asked him why.”

Brogan hobbled his impatience with effort. His uncle would tell this story in his own time. Rushing him would only delay the tale.

“Jimmy said that she was from the Appalachian Mountains, and he suspected, given their conversations, she knew some folk songs.” Nolan sighed. “Jimmy knew he’d pique my interest. I’ve been mining the American folk song shaft for a long time, and the vein has run dry. But I’ve always suspected there are more unknown songs and older versions of songs out there just waiting for discovery.”

“You thought Jimmy might have stumbled upon someone who might know some of those songs.”

Nolan nodded. “I didn’t think Melender herself knew any songs, given how old Jimmy estimated her to be, but I thought perhaps she would know older members of her mountain community, who might be persuaded to sing.”

“What happened?”

“Jimmy would text me when he saw Melender come into his store. This past Monday afternoon, I happened to be close to the store, so I dropped by. I’d found an old dulcimer at a pawn shop, and Jimmy was restoring it for me. When I arrived, Melender was gazing at the instrument like it was a long-lost relative.” Nolan reached for his tea and took a sip. “I nearly didn’t say anything for fear I’d break the spell.”

Brogan leaned forward, not wanting to miss anything. This fresh insight into Melender’s character intrigued him beyond the story.

“When she said she knew how to play the instrument, Jimmy encouraged her to try, with my permission.” Nolan directed his gaze directly at Brogan. “To be honest, I thought she was exaggerating, as hardly anyone plays the dulcimer anymore, and certainly no one her age. I expected her to pluck a few strings, but she tuned the instrument, then started singing a version of ‘Forsaken Love’ that I’d never heard. And her voice…”

“What about it?” Brogan prodded when the older man didn’t continue.

“She’d had no formal vocal training, that was obvious. But the purity of her phrasing, the way she sang the words—I’ve been listening to folk music my entire adult life, and I’ve never come across anyone who sang like her. It’s almost like discovering a new genre of music.”

Brogan frowned. “But you said you’d heard that song before.”

“A version of it, yes. But that’s what makes this even more interesting.” His uncle leaned in. “The lyrics are very similar, with only slight changes that are normal for an oral tradition like folk songs. But it’s the melody that caught my attention. She used a melody that has only hints of the one associated with ‘Forsaken Love’ today. It’s basically a different melody.”

“The lyrics are familiar, but the tune is not.” Brogan attempted to sum up what his uncle was saying. He liked folk songs okay—one didn’t grow up as the nephew of a musicologist without hearing a fair number of them—but he didn’t quite get Nolan’s passion about some old music.

“Exactly.” Nolan sat back, crossing an ankle over the opposite knee. “But she refused my request to have her come sing for a few of my colleagues, and I thought might be the end of it.”

“This happened on Monday afternoon?”

Nolan agreed. “I stopped by this morning to pick up the dulcimer Jimmy had cleaned up and chanced upon Melender there as well. With the instrument restored to its former glory, she thought she recognized it as belonging to her grandmother.”

“Great-grandmother,” Brogan corrected, his mind replaying the conversation he’d had with Nolan earlier, which was starting to make more sense to him now.

“It turned out she was right. There’s a small flower etched inside the instrument next to the maker’s mark.” Nolan paused. “I had looked up the name Mel Harman after our encounter on Monday and discovered Mel Harman was Melender Harman.”

Brogan met his uncle’s gaze. “You were suspicious that Jimmy didn’t know her true identity and she might be taking advantage of him in some way.”

“That’s about the gist of it. When she said that about the dulcimer’s provenance, I accused her of trying to extort money by accusing me of stealing it because she was an ex-con.”

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