Danny's Tune: Fiddling With Murder, #5

By Linda Voth

Irish ghosts come in many forms. The murderous one that has haunted Danny Egan from childhood may not even be dead. Constancy knows they can't avoid Danny's past while they're in Ireland. She prays the encounter will bring healing, because if it goes bad, the result could forever silence Danny's tune.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781613090947

Book preview

What They Are Saying About

Danny’s Tune

"G oing home to Ireland is just what Danny Egan needs in order to face his past. Will he find release from the nightmares that haunt him? With his wife, Constancy, by his side, Danny returns to his hometown. Reuniting with family and friends, he begins seeking answers that have eluded him since he witnessed his father’s murder when he was ten years old. Donna H. Parker skillfully captures all of his emotions as he struggles to exorcise the ghosts that have haunted him since he was a child. For those of us who have followed Danny and Constancy from the beginning in Constancy's Waltz , this is another excellent rendering from the pen of Mrs. Parker."

Gail Hutchison

School librarian

"DONNA H. PARKER HAS done it again! In this continuing story of Constancy and Danny the reader travels to Ireland, a land of lush green grass and crashing seas, to solve a mystery of years ago. Woven into this charming tale with affable characters is a web of deceit and of a murder that threatens to undercut the happiness of a couple who are very much in love. Will Danny solve the murder of his father and if so, will the knowing end his nightmares and strengthen his marriage? Danny's Tune is a book you won’t want to put down."

Jeannine Van Eperen,

Award winning author

"MS. PARKER’S Danny’s Tune is a great cozy to while away an afternoon.  Her mystery leaves no stone unturned. Ms. Parker drops hints, then answers them as the story unfolds. She weaves a story of Danny, who as a child is witness to his father’s brutal murder. With a supportive family, he pulls together clues after the case has gone cold, and while the mystery builds and tantalizes, we see Danny undergo a healing that warms our hearts.  For a great read, see Donna H. Parker’s Danny’s Tune."

Katherine Pym, author,

Of Carrion Feathers,

a Wings ePress, release

Danny’s Tune

Donna H. Parker

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Cozy Mystery Novel

Edited by:  Leslie Hodges

Copy Edited by: Jeanne Smith

Senior Editor: Jeanne Smith

Executive Editor: Marilyn Kapp

Cover Artist:

All rights reserved

NAMES, CHARACTERS AND incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books

Copyright © 2012 by Donna H. Parker

ISBN  978-1-61309-094-7

Published In the United States Of America

Wings ePress Inc.

3000 N. Rock Road

Newton, KS 67114

Dedication:

For all of Danny’s and Constancy’s friends who wanted to hear more.   Special thanks to friend and fellow author Karen Cunningham for her inspirational photos of Ireland and for patiently answering lots of questions .

Prologue

Fog eddied round the small boy, caressed his face with wee, soft droplets, clung like so many minute teardrops to his dark hair, his hands, his clothing. He cared not at all for the dampness of it, barely noticed. Whistling softly to himself, joyfully intent on his mission, he scurried along the path through the trees, peering here, there, everywhere. He’d not want to miss any real clue.

He paused, glanced once more at the small, golden trinket in his hand. This didn’t count, of course. Dad couldn’t have planted this shiny treasure as a part of their Game. It’d not been in the path long enough. It was neither dusty nor damp. Surely, somebody only minutes ahead of him had lost it. He smiled, excited to have found something interesting to show Dad.

A thicker pocket of fog engulfed him, making it hard to see even the well-worn track between him and the rear of the Garda station. No matter. He knew the way.

The sharp, unexpected noise in front of him muted his whistling and halted his steps. A shiver of ice ran down his back. He shouldn’t be hearing that sound. Not here on the path. He stood motionless, straining his eyes forward, trying to see through the gloom.

In another instant, the fog swirled right away and he could see. Could see his dad, laughter in his eyes, sharing a joke with Garda Hannigan as they came out of the station. And something else. A man between himself and Dad. A faceless man, holding in his gloved hands the hunting rifle that had made the noise. Pointing it toward the two officers.

Neither of them saw it. Hannigan stepped on toward his car. Dad, still smiling over the joke, turned toward the path.

And the muzzle of the rifle shifted with him.

The boy, frozen where he stood, could do nothing. Nothing! He opened his mouth to cry out, to warn his dad, but no words came, no sound. For a split second, there was no sound in all the silent, darkening world. Then the shot.

Only the one shot, echoing oddly through the muffling, dense air. Echoing forever through his heart and head...

One

How many times can a person play the same note on a fiddle string before the string gets tired of it and snaps? How many times can a musician’s wife listen to it before she goes the same way?

Surely all four of Danny’s longsuffering strings were about ready to disintegrate. And his wife was about as close to snapping as she ever had been. Danny played—for what felt like the hundredth time—the same short series of notes he’d been playing since we’d finished supper thirty minutes ago. As I pulled the last load of clothes out of the dryer, I sneaked another glance at him. He sat at the kitchen table, playing the phrase over and over, and looking as pained as my ears felt. Not a good sign.

I bit my tongue and struggled with folding a fitted sheet until I finally got it wrestled into some semblance of order. My sweet Gram had passed on several of her good traits to me, but she hadn’t bequeathed me the skill and coordination necessary for folding fitted sheets into the kind of smooth and neat package she always produced. Fine. I didn’t have patience or energy to waste on sheets now, anyway. I moved on to towels and washcloths.

Danny and I were four days away from Miss Irma’s elaborate library fundraiser festival, four days and another week away from indulging in my Christmas present from Danny—our long-awaited trip to Ireland. Between preparing for the two of them, and listening to non-stop fiddle practice when Danny was home, I felt like I hadn’t had a peaceful moment in days. I was flat exhausted. And Danny... Well, Danny wasn’t himself. I don’t know how else to put it. When Danny Egan loses his blarney and develops a major anxiety complex about playing his fiddle in public, something is wrong, wrong, wrong.

Irma West, Gram’s life-long best friend, the town library’s greatest champion, and the world’s most enthusiastic festival organizer, had infected the whole population of Fraserton (and beyond) with excitement and anticipation. She had also roped me and most of our friends into helping.

Miss Irma’s ideas for making money to aid the library got more numerous with each meeting of the committee. What had begun as a proposal for a modest bake sale on the sidewalk in front of the library now would be held at the town fairgrounds. The final list of money-extracting enticements included not only the original bake sale, but a concession stand featuring coffee and donuts for breakfast and hotdogs for lunch, a full-fledged carnival (Funny Farm Rides!) which would spend from 10 a.m. to 9 p.m. doling out Midway thrills, a silent auction in the afternoon, and as a grand finale, an evening concert starring Hillbilly Hoedown and Danny Egan.

I had started out with almost as much enthusiasm as Irma, but by this time I was counting the minutes until it would be behind us. Not that I didn’t love the library, or support Miss Irma’s efforts, or hadn’t enjoyed the time with my friends as we prepared for it, but I did wish she had never asked Danny to play that concert. He’d been fine until the day after he agreed to do it.

There. Clothes folded, more or less. I carried the basket into the bedroom to put them away.

The day Miss Irma invited Danny to play, he had been as excited about the concert as she and I were. As long as I had known him, my talented husband had radiated nothing but confidence where his music was concerned. Sometimes that confidence got almost to the point of arrogance. He was a genius with his fiddle. He didn’t often flaunt it, but he certainly knew it. His developing a terrible case of nerves over a concert was the last thing I had expected. It just wasn’t in his normal character to show any signs of insecurity. Nevertheless, this time he had it bad, and it was getting worse instead of better as the date approached.

He was so insecure about his ability to play well that he spent every spare moment practicing his own selections over and over and over at our house, and his Hoedown tunes over and over and over with the band at Mitch and Beverly Duncan’s. I had begun to wonder if his problem had deeper roots.

As I came back into the kitchen, Danny paused his practice and sighed.

Danny, you’ve got it perfect, haven’t you?

I knew instantly I should have kept my mouth shut.

I have not, he muttered. He sounded grumpy and irritated, like he did the rare times he was sick.

Are you coming down with something?

Do I sound like I am?

To be honest, yes. Coming down, or already come down. You’ve been, well, pretty grumpy lately.

Sorry for snapping. Sorry for worrying you. I’m not ill.

What’s the matter, then?

He shook his head. I’ve told you. More than once, but I’ll say it again. I’ve never played solo in front of what presumably will be a very large group of people. What if I get it wrong?

Oh, Danny, you won’t. And what terrible consequence would come of it if you did? Nobody would care. They would laugh with you and enjoy it even more knowing you’re as human as they are.

I’ll be off to Mitch’s. We need to practice the Hoedown numbers. And he left without another word. Thank goodness the Duncans had moved to Fraserton so Danny didn’t have to drive all the way to Rolla.

Maybe they did need to practice, but Danny’s uncharacteristic insecurity, his disinclination to discuss it, and his abrupt departure—as if from a stranger—made me wonder, for the first time since our wedding, if he was beginning to be sorry he’d married me. It was only a faint, fleeting thought, and I stomped it down mercilessly before it could grow into something monstrous. After all, the Bible says to dwell on good things. The good thing about this situation was that Danny had promised until death do us part, and Danny always kept his promises.

I sighed. Rose told me there would be days like this, although her warning came from the perspective of his work, not his music. Whatever the reason for his bad mood, the cure for mine was to turn my mind to more constructive thinking, so I wandered into the bedroom to reconsider what clothing I should take to Ireland.

Rose had advised me to take sweaters and a rain jacket. Lots of layers. Ireland in June could be as cool as the Ozarks in early spring, she said, and much wetter. That was my insecurity—to take what we needed, but not a stitch more. To take the right clothing for whatever we might encounter, but nothing superfluous. Two moderate-sized suitcases wouldn’t hold much, and two was all we dared take.

Thirty minutes later, the doorbell created a welcome diversion from my indecision and the nagging worry over Danny. The people who had rung my doorbell were even more welcome. Beverly Duncan, her daughter, Faith, and her two boys stood on the doorstep, the same grin adorning all their faces. My evening suddenly felt much brighter.

I am so, so glad to see you, Beverly and gang.

Bev looked slightly surprised. Well, I figured we’d be welcome, but... What’s wrong?

The devil’s tempting me to feel sorry for myself, and I need some help resisting. The Lord must have sent you to help. Come in and sit down!

She grinned as she shepherded the kids inside. I don’t know how much help we can be. I was having the same problem. We’ve probably got the same temptation for the same reason. As much as we love Mitch and the band, we couldn’t stand those tunes any longer. If I have to listen to any of them one more time tonight, I think I’ll scream—loud and long.

Me too, Faith said.

I couldn’t help laughing in pure sympathy. You’re right. Same reason. It may be my fault Danny’s at your house now. I’m sorry. I interrupted what he was doing here.

Don’t take his leaving personally, girl. He’s a musician. They get like that. Mitch is just as edgy before a concert.

Thanks for the reassurance. I’ve never seen Danny quite like this.

I expect he’ll get over it as soon as they hit the stage Saturday night.

I hope so! Look, you don’t have to hover like you’re ready to bolt any minute. Sit down. Make yourselves at home.

Little Kevin tugged hard on his mother’s arm and all the kids looked up at her with big, pleading eyes.

The corner of Bev’s mouth twitched. I don’t think the kids will let me sit down yet. We didn’t really come to invade your house, she said, and they’re not going to let me forget that for a minute.

It was your idea, Mom, Faith said. Ask her.

True. It was my idea. Constancy, we came to see if you would like to go out for ice cream with us.

Please? Paul and Kevin begged in unison.

You don’t have to ask twice. Having some ice cream sounds like a perfect way to spend the evening. It’ll take me about ten minutes to get ready, if you can wait that long.

We can wait, Beverly said. As long as we can wait in this blessed quietness, it doesn’t matter how many minutes you take.

That might have been true for Beverly and maybe for Faith, but Paul and Kevin looked at their mother like they didn’t believe such words could come out of her mouth. They obviously didn’t want to wait a minute longer than necessary for that promised ice cream.

I grinned at the little boys. I’ll hurry. Let me comb my hair and grab my wallet and keys.

I told Danny we were going to kidnap you, Beverly said, as we headed out the door in less than ten minutes. The guys were so immersed in the music, I doubt if he heard me, but Sam said he would make sure Danny got the message. Still, I expect we’ll be back long before they’re finished. You sit up front.

I climbed into the front seat of Bev’s car. Faith sat between her two brothers in the back and helped her mother buckle them in.

I will be very glad when this concert’s over, I said.

Beverly flicked me a good-natured look as she fastened her own seatbelt and pulled out of our driveway. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I had no intention of saying that. I remember your warning and I knew what I was getting into. I just can’t understand why Danny’s so insecure about this particular concert. He’s like a kid cramming for the most important final of his life. Bev, tell me honestly. When musicians play some little snatch of something a hundred times, then play it once more and ask which version was best, can you tell the least bit of difference?

She laughed. Not usually, but the musician can, or thinks he can. There might be a half second’s difference in the timing between some note and another, or he’s put in one more grace note, or one less. When Mitch does that to me, I just pick one variation at random and it satisfies him. Half the time he decides to use a different one, but he’s happy for the moment.

I’ll give that a try.

Let me know if it works for you. Here we are.

The kids swarmed out of the car and into the ice cream shop. In their rush, they accidentally jostled a burly stranger who was standing near the door reading one of the fundraiser posters. He growled, but the kids were already inside. I’m sorry about them. Bev said the words in her nicest voice and added a sweet smile.

Except for a sarcastic curl of his lip, he ignored her apology. I suppose that was better than what he might have done, given the alcoholic fumes emanating from his vicinity. I’d never seen the man before and I hoped I never would again.

Bev and I hurried on inside. I put him out of my mind as we approached the counter.

Suzie Frederick, the young cashier, gave us a smiling welcome. I knew her and her family from school. She’d had a baby brother in my first and only kindergarten class. I had tried hard not to have favorites, but little Brandon put that resolve seriously to the test—especially when he stood up to Lon Tirso on my behalf.

Hi, Suzie, I said. How are you? How’s Brandon?

Hi, Miss Constancy, I mean Mrs. Egan. We’re all well. Brandon misses you, though. He loved you and your kindergarten class so much. He even cried because you couldn’t be promoted along with him, and then because you didn’t work there at all.

I had to blink away a tear. Brandon’s a very special little boy. Please give him a hug from me. And bring him to see me sometime.

She laughed. He’s going through a stage where he thinks he’s too big to be hugged, but I’ll give it a try, and I know he would love to come see you. What can I get you ladies and gentlemen this evening?

Faced with all the tantalizing possibilities an excellent ice cream shop offered, I hesitated.

You order whatever you want, Constancy, Bev said. I’m paying.

You’re not.

Don’t you dare argue! Now, I’m seriously considering a banana split. Bananas are good for you, right?

So’s the dairy part of the ice cream, and the chocolate and fruit in the toppings, but I’ve never been able to eat a whole banana split. How about... I scanned the menu above the counter one more time. I know! I’ll have a butterscotch milkshake, please. I haven’t had one of those in ages. They used to be my favorite treat.

"Umm. That sounds good, but I think I’ll stick with the banana split. I haven’t had one of those in ages, and probably won’t for another bunch of ages."

The boys had already decided they wanted chocolate cones and Faith ordered a strawberry sundae—no whipped cream or nuts.

Strawberry sundae’s my favorite, too, Suzie told Faith, and the two girls grinned at each other as if they shared a wonderful secret. Suzie was an all around sweet girl.

Treats in hand, we settled into one of the more secluded booths in the corner of the room farthest from the door. This time Faith sat with me, and Beverly put herself between her two young sons.

With the kids silently engrossed in their desserts, she and I went back to our conversation. I’m glad to hear Sam’s settled in so well with the band, I said. "How’s he doing?’

He’s pretty much recovered from the accident in November. He’ll probably be able to predict the weather with his bones from now until his dying day, but otherwise you’d never know he spent several days in ICU and a month in rehab. He’s become Mitch’s right hand man. Mitch is much less stressed now that he has Sam to see to the pesky little details of booking and transportation and all the rest of it. Sam’s so much happier than he used to be. It makes my heart rejoice to see him smiling and friendly and not the least bit shy anymore. He even has a steady girlfriend.

She’ll be a blessed girl if she keeps him.

She certainly will, and he’ll be blessed, too. She’s a real sweetie and she’s so enthusiastic about the band’s music and Sam’s job. They seem to be very good for each other.

Then she voiced the question I had opened my mouth to ask. "What is going on over there?"

She turned to look over the high back of our booth. I’d been trying to ignore the commotion, but when she looked, I couldn’t resist peeking around to see for myself. The man who’d been reading the poster had decided to come inside. He leaned over the counter, purple-faced and threatening. His angry, complaining voice—his Irish-accented voice—got louder and meaner with each word.

Suzie, sweetheart that she was, had no idea how to handle the situation. She backed off a couple of steps, flushed, speechless, more than a little scared. Suddenly, Ruth, the store’s