Chapter 16

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.”

That must have cut Melender to the quick.

Nolan continued, “She nearly collapsed, and then Jimmy informed me that he’d known her identity all along.”

“What did Melender do?” Brogan’s heart ached at the thought of her going from such a scene to find her apartment had been trashed.

“She said she wasn’t accusing me of anything, and her aunt must have sold the dulcimer to the pawn shop. Then she ran out of the store.” Nolan finished his tea. “That’s why when you called, I realized God was giving me a second chance to do the right thing, to show Melender kindness and forgiveness rather than the rush-to-judgment I’d done.”

“She could use more friends.” Brogan didn’t want to contemplate why God had brought Melender into his life because that would mean he might have a bigger role to play than to merely write her story. His cell buzzed with Fallon’s name on the screen. “Excuse me, it’s my boss calling.” He accepted the call. “Brogan speaking.”

“Where are you?” Fallon barked without a greeting. Typical.

“I’m near Ratcliffe Park in Fairfax City.”

“There’s a five-alarm fire over at the courthouse. I expect a story by ten.” Fallon clicked off before Brogan could response.

“I hate to rush out of here, but I’ve got to go cover a fire.” Brogan rose, as did his uncle. “You’ll take good care of Melender, won’t you?”

Nolan laid a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. She’ll be safe with us, and, if I know my wife, she’s already convinced Melender to stay with us for a while.”

Brogan thanked him, then exited the porch by the back entrance. As he walked to his car, he sent up a quick prayer of thanks for Melender’s safety and a petition that they could figure out who was targeting her.

* * *

The sun peekedover the horizon as Melender walked to her vehicle. Somehow, she’d managed to make it through her shift without collapsing from exhaustion. She rotated her shoulders, but it did little to relieve her overall fatigue. She hadn’t felt this weary since her arrest eighteen years ago. Back then, she hadn’t been able to sleep in the crowded jail and wore a cloak of perpetual tiredness. After her sentencing, she eventually got used to the constant noise and lack of privacy in prison and was able to sleep most nights.

After being forced into close proximity with dozens of women in her prison pod, she enjoyed the solitude of this work and lifestyle. Adjusting to working nights hadn’t been too difficult. In fact, after the first few weeks, she’d fallen into the rhythm of sleeping during the daylight hours.

After chirping her car door unlocked, she reached for the handle.

“Melender Harman?”

The unfamiliar male voice caught her off guard. Usually, she paid more attention to her surroundings, but lack of sleep had dulled her senses. She turned. An audible sigh escaped her lips at the sight of an older man in a short-sleeve dress shirt and rumpled khaki pants who stood near her car’s back bumper. A woman stood beside him. Cops.

“May I see some identification?” Melender didn’t move closer, wanting to keep her distance from the pair of them.

Surprise flickered across the woman’s face, yet she flashed her badge. The man removed his credentials from his back pocket. Each held up their IDs, forcing Melender to step closer to read their names and affiliation. Fairfax County Detective Lauren Collier and Fairfax County Detective Mark Livingston.

Melender threw a glance at Detective Livingston’s lined face, recognition flaring in her memory. “You investigated Jesse’s disappearance.” The declaration burst out of her before she’d weighed the consequences.

“I was part of the team.” Livingston pocketed his badge.

Her fingers tightened on the key fob. “Why are you here?”

“You’re Melender Harman?” Detective Collier pressed.

Melender ignored the question, and instead repeated her own. “Why are you here?”

“Yesterday afternoon, a body was found.” Livingston clipped tone didn’t faze her.

Melender’s heart kicked up a notch “A body? Was it…” She swallowed hard. “Was it Jesse?”

“What makes you say that?” Collier shifted closer to Melender.

Melender didn’t budge. She would not be intimidated by them and refocused her attention on Livingston. “Have you identified the body?”

“The victim was an adult male, TJ Williams, who had been murdered by a blow to the head,” Livingston said.

“That’s terrible, but I don’t understand what that has to do with me.” Melender glanced from one detective to the other but couldn’t read anything on their impassive faces. Her heart went into overdrive. “You don’t think I had anything to do with it?” Panic tinged her words, but she couldn’t help herself. Please God, don’t let the nightmare begin again. Livingston said something, but Melender didn’t track it. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Williams had twenty thousand dollars in cash on him when he died.” Livingston met her gaze.

Melender drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly to calm her galloping pulse. Misery colored her voice as she put into words the reason for their visit. “It’s part of the ransom money, isn’t it?”

“Why would you assume that?” Collier jutted her chin out, her tone combative.

“I didn’t assume, I asked because you’re telling me about the murder of a man I don’t know who had a lot of cash.” Melender rested her hip against the rear door of her car to steady her wobbly legs. The warm metal pressed against her thigh, helping to keep her grounded. “I don’t know anyone named Williams, and I certainly never collected any ransom money.”

“But you did kill Jesse Thompson.”

She winced at Collier’s bald statement. In the eyes of the world, she was a convicted murderer. It didn’t matter that she didn’t do it, and saying so would only heighten their suspicion of her in connection with this new crime. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

“Then you won’t mind if we search your apartment?” Collier raised her eyebrows in a challenge.

Melender gave a weak chuckle. “Knock yourself out. If you find anything salvable that I overlooked yesterday, let me know.”

“Salvable?” Livingston said.

“Oh, didn’t check with your colleagues in robbery before coming here? Someone—or, more accurately, according to one of my neighbors, several people—broke into my apartment yesterday while I was out and completely destroyed all of my possessions. There’s not a dish, picture frame, sofa cushion, or item of clothing that isn’t smashed or slashed to shreds.”

Melender pushed off from her car, adrenaline spiking her words. “Please, search away. Now, unless you have a warrant for my arrest, we’re done here.”