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    The Beethoven Quandary
    The Beethoven Quandary
    The Beethoven Quandary
    Ebook165 pages1 hour

    The Beethoven Quandary

    By Terence O'Grady

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    About this ebook

    In this mystery novella, pianist Jeremy West comes across a nineteenth-century music manuscript in an old London book shop. He becomes convinced that the manuscript is a newly discovered symphony by Beethoven and worth a fortune. But part of the manuscript is stolen and he enlists the aid of two musician friends, David Currant and Elizabeth McDermitt, to help him try to get the missing pages back. But things quickly get more complicated as Jeremy’s girlfriend is assaulted and a man is murdered before David and Elizabeth are able to unwind the many threads that are interwoven in this complex and surprising case.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTerence O'Grady
    Release dateFeb 5, 2013
    ISBN9781301132003
    The Beethoven Quandary
    Author

    Terence O'Grady

    A musicologist by profession, I've written two music-themed mysteries (The Beethoven Quandary and The Mephisto Mysteries) as well as a handful of children’s books in a variety of genres.

    Read more from Terence O'grady

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      Book preview

      The Beethoven Quandary - Terence O'Grady

      l

      The Beethoven Quandary

      A Mystery Novella

      Terence O’Grady

      Copyright 2013 Terence O’Grady

      Cover by Joleene Naylor

      Smashwords Edition

      Smashword Edition, License Notes

      This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

      Table of Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-One

      Chapter Twenty-Two

      Chapter Twenty-Three

      Chapter Twenty-Four

      Chapter Twenty-Five

      Chapter One

      David rested his hands on the piano keyboard. There were a number of things he wanted to do that day but practicing wasn't one of them. And yet here it was, 9:00 in the morning—his officially designated practice time. He had a couple of hours clear each morning before he had to start teaching students. He had been very careful not to allow any interruptions to creep into his schedule. This was the perfect time for practicing.

      David glanced at his phone. No missed calls. His friends knew better than to try to reach him at this point in the morning. He sighed heavily, then put his hands back on the keyboard. Of course he couldn’t practice for very long. He was, after all, injured. The worst kind of injury for a classical pianist—nerve damage, especially in his right hand. Just a little bit in his left.

      He had gone to several specialists about his problem. Some of them found nothing to diagnose. They had as much as told him that it was all in his head, that there was no real problem. But—damn it!—they were his hands. He should know if he had a problem or not.

      He had finally found a specialist—a doctor Schmonsky—who agreed with David that somewhere along the line he had suffered some real nerve damage. Why and how was never determined and David didn't much care. He was just relieved to have a medical opinion that gave some credence to the reality he was experiencing.

      His hands were by no means unusable; under normal conditions he felt fine. But when he stretched them out on a piano keyboard...well, it wasn't long before he could feel twinges of pain and—more importantly—a tightness that just wouldn't work its way out.

      It would be bad enough for anybody, but David was a pianist. It was how he defined himself. He didn't really think he could do anything else with his life. And he had a real position now. Or something like a real position anyway. He was employed as a piano instructor by the Leonard Conservatory, one of the foremost schools of music in Philadelphia. True, he was limited to teaching in the so-called Outreach program, a program for talented area high school students and a handful of bored seniors with time and money on their hands.

      But he was grateful for the position—authentically grateful. It wasn't as if he were one of the upcoming stars of the piano world. Maybe he had been thought of in that way a few years earlier when he had first graduated from the Leonard Conservatory. Some of his teachers at that time were quite sure that he would have a successful career, maybe even a brilliant one.

      But the high expectations had yet to be fulfilled. He was only twenty-seven years old. It wasn't as if he didn’t still have time. But his career trajectory had been less than stellar up to that point.

      His teachers at the Conservatory had arranged a few performances for him after graduation, mostly as a concerto soloist with various regional or community orchestras. The performances had gone well enough. Local reviewers had been unstinting in their praise. But David knew better than to take those kinds of accolades seriously. The local conductors he had worked with had been gracious enough—even appreciative of his efforts. But David himself had been far from satisfied. He had wanted to find his own voice, not simply to replicate the standard, generic versions of the standard concertos that everybody else seemed to be churning out. And that he had not done. He had played the notes. He had been reasonably sensitive to the stylistic nuances of each piece he had played. But he had not really made music, or at least not his own music. So even if the regional orchestras and their audiences had been satisfied with his playing, he had not been.

      No invitations from major orchestras had been forthcoming. He had not really expected any. His professors at the Leonard Conservatory could do only so much. So he decided to enter some competitions. There, he had mixed success. He had managed to be chosen as an American alternate for the international Radovsky competition in Vienna. But, since he was merely an alternate and he had not performed during that competition, the whole thing had been a strange and even surreal experience. He had already at that point begun to feel the pain and tightness in his hands that continued to besiege him now. The one bright spot had been his discovery—or really rediscovery—of Elizabeth McDermitt, the talented young pianist he had known earlier and with whom he had become reacquainted at the Radovsky Festival. He had cherished hopes that after that competition, the two of them might even be able to get together permanently. And for a while it appeared as if they might. But they had drifted apart once again, her career taking her back to Europe while he languished in the United States, nursing his injured hands.

      But at least now he had gainful employment. He might not be playing concerts, but at least he was making a living, although just barely. The rents in Philadelphia were not cheap and teachers in the Outreach program at the conservatory were not particularly well paid. But the job provided him with a studio equipped with a decent piano and time to practice. And it was really necessary for him to practice. While there were no important professional engagements on the horizon, he was obligated to keep in shape well enough to play in the faculty recitals that were presented twice a year. The damage to his hands did not allow him to practice for long periods, but enough for him to prepare for the relatively low key performances he was obligated to contribute to as a condition of his employment at the conservatory.

      And this was his practice time. Today. Right now. He had no excuse not to practice, but somehow he dreaded it.

      He pressed his hands on the keyboard once again, strumming a C major chord gently.

      His phone rang.

      Thank God, he murmured.

      Chapter Two

      David scooped up his phone quickly. He instantly recognized the voice on the line.

      Jeremy? Jeremy West? I thought you were in England playing concerts.

      I was, but I'm back now. Just got back, and I've got something I've got to show you.

      David smiled. Slow down...tell me about your trip.

      What is there to tell?  I went, I played, I conquered.

      Really? Did it go that well? That's great!

      "Sure. It was fun. You should try it. No major orchestras of course, but we up and coming artists have to take what we can get. Say...when's the last time you had one of these gigs?

      It's been a while. I'm a teacher now. You know…at the conservatory.

      Sure, sure. But come on, now. We're supposed to be performers, you and I. Best pianists to graduate from Leonard for years. That's what everybody always said.

      Good for them. I'm happy doing what I'm doing. Now what's this important thing you've got to tell me?

      Oh, yeah. Well this is crazy...crazy good. But it's something I’ve got to show you. I can't just explain it over the phone. So where are you?

      In my studio...at the conservatory. Room 278 in the practice annex.

      Great! You're only five minutes from Mackinaw's Coffee Shop. You're not doing anything, are you?

      Well I'm...

      I'll see you there in fifteen minutes.

      David strummed his fingers on the table quietly. There were only a couple of other people in Mackinaw's. It used to be a lot more crowded when he and Jeremy were undergrads. But the city hadn't had a dozen or so Starbucks sprinkled around yet. Mackinaw’s had plenty of old-school atmosphere, but it was difficult for any ‘homey" coffee house to survive with so much glitzy competition. Of course it was an unusually cool day, even for late October, not the best day to be out for a stroll.

      David started to look down to check his phone. When he looked up, Jeremy stood before him, a coy smile on his face.

      My God, David said. You shouldn't sneak up on people like that!

      Jeremy nodded, his smile broadening. I wasn't sneaking, David, but you don't always want to draw attention to yourself.

      Are you kidding? You live to draw attention to yourself.

      Now don't be snide, David. We were both superstars in college. It's not my fault that I was the charismatic one.

      Oh, please...

      But first things first. There's something I've absolutely got to show you.

      A picture of your new girlfriend, I presume? You told me about her last time I saw you.

      You'll meet her later, David. This is more important. Look. Jeremy quickly placed a large brown portfolio on the table. Open it.

      David paused. "Can you at least sit down?

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