Funeral Singer: A Song for Marielle: Funeral Singer, #1

Prologue

Laughter and shouts from the playground faded as the skinny, fifth-grade girl started across the street from her schoolyard. Alicia looked both ways as her parents had taught her to do. Only a black truck stopped near the corner was in sight. Probably waiting for someone to come out, she reasoned, then hurried across. Not running, that was something she’d also been told not to do. Dangerous, her mother had repeated more than once.

She glanced back over her shoulder when she reached the other side and her eyes narrowed as she saw a friend playing a kickball game. Her other two friends, Deanna and Carmen, the ones who normally walked home with her, were in a special music class this afternoon. Come watch us, they’d said. The teacher won’t mind.

She had started to wait for them, but she hadn’t felt well. Wanting to get home as soon as she could, she’d slipped out of the classroom and started on her own. Her throat was scratchy like a cold was coming on and the air was growing chilly, hinting at rain or snow to come. It wasn’t the first time she’d walked home alone, but she rarely did it, and her mother’s voice nagged at her.

Never walk alone, Alicia. It’s safer to come with two or three friends.

Like she was a baby. She was nearly twelve. She crossed another intersection, one more block, then a right turn to her home. Across from her, one of the houses had a trio of pumpkins, decorated to look like pilgrims, sitting on the entry patio and a Happy Thanksgiving banner filled the front window. 

This is a lonely street, she thought as she walked. No one home in the afternoon on weekdays. Like her parents, people had to work, leaving quiet, empty houses except for an occasional dog. She quickened her pace a little as she turned the corner toward her house. Behind her, she heard the sounds as a vehicle pulled up, halted and the engine stopped. Familiar, but not alarming. Someone was coming home early, that’s all.

Her thoughts shifted to the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday vacation from school. One more school day, then four days off. She didn’t want to be sick during it. That wouldn’t be fair.

Footsteps tapped on the sidewalk behind her and a sudden sense of alarm made her glance over her shoulder. But it was too late. As her scream started to form, it was cut off by a white, smelly cloth clamped over her face. One hand pulled her head back against a man’s body and the other arm wrapped around her waist. Awareness fading quickly, she attempted to wriggle away, then simply went limp.

On this quiet block of her street, just fifty yards from her home, no one saw a man snatch the young girl, put her in the camper shell of his truck and drive away.

ONE

Under the old woman’s scrutiny, the hair at the back of my neck twitched, feeling like something was crawling up my scalp. I wasn’t used to anyone paying much attention to the wedding singer, but this lady had locked me in her sight for the past three songs.

To break away from the distraction, I gazed around the festively decorated ballroom and noted that it looked about half full, but more of the guests were, no doubt, still trying to get to the hotel and find parking places. A snowstorm, that had hindered my travel as well, slowed traffic to a crawl delaying many of the guests, including the best man. Or so the bride’s mother had informed me when she asked me to sing a few songs while we waited.

Inside, the hotel staff had used separator panels to set up the smaller side of their big ballroom with cream-colored draped chairs adorned with deep lavender bows and a gazebo for the ceremony. At the front of the room, a wedding arch, decorated with lavender-colored roses and off-white carnations, provided a frame for the nuptials.

As for me, I’m Gillian Foster, the wedding singer, the girl hired to perform a few romantic songs for the couple’s big night. By the way, that’s pronounced with a hard g like a fish gill, not the British sounding j like Jillian. Most Americans get it right, but now and then I have to correct someone.

This gig was only one of many I pick up when I can. I have a small band, a trio called Spicy Jam and we perform at fairs, parties, festivals and night clubs. No job too small... so long as someone pays us something. For this one, I was working solo.

As I sat at the shiny white piano, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in it. My shoulder-length brown hair was swept up into a twist with light bangs brushing my forehead and making my rounded oval face look thinner. I’d lined my wide, bright-blue eyes with a dark grey and they looked huge or was the reflection making them appear that way?

The piano was set up well back from the right of the arch, near the room divider so I would be out of the way, yet still visible. I’d been hired to sing two songs during the wedding and one half-hour set while the guests and wedding party dined during the reception. But since the best man was running late, I was now warbling tunes to keep the guests entertained until he arrived.

And that woman across the way had been staring at me ever since I started. She was a distinguished-looking elderly lady, dressed elegantly and expensively in a beaded, champagne-colored suit-dress, whose intent stare hadn’t wavered a bit. It was not just a curiosity thing; there was something that seemed almost judgmental in that look.

She was in the groom’s section of the room, near the front and I could see an enigmatic smile on her face, the kind that was almost a smirk, but seemed to hide a secret behind it. Perhaps the songs were simply stirring memories for her, but it bothered me that she watched with such intensity. While I like people to pay attention when I’m performing, this kind of rapt observation felt unnatural, making me uncomfortable. I shifted my focus another direction, trying to shake the strange feeling.

I started singing my eighth song, a sexy cover version of Madonna’s Crazy for You that rocked just enough to get this crowd swaying in their seats when I spotted a quick-moving guy at the back of the room, heading toward the groom.

Judging from his cream-colored tuxedo jacket and grape purple tie, I figured the best man was in the house. The look of relief on the groom’s face confirmed it as he greeted the newcomer with a quick hug and a slap on the shoulder. They were both dark-haired, handsome men and might have been brothers. The two of them met up with the bride’s mother and began moving toward the rest of the wedding party at the back of the room.

I kept an eye on them, figuring I’d get a signal soon and it came as Mrs. Benedetti, the bride’s mother, made frantic waving motions at me to stop playing. I finished the verse I was on, repeated the last line twice and hit an ending chord as if it was planned.

As a full orchestral recording of the traditional wedding march poured out from the speakers, the groom and his party moved up the center aisle and into position on the right side of the arch. I turned sideways on the bench and braced an arm behind me to watch the wedding.

About fifteen minutes later, the cue came up for the couple’s song, so I turned my full attention to the performance. In honor of their planned honeymoon to Maui, the couple had requested the Hawaiian Wedding Song. I wasn’t Elvis, but I did my best. The bride and groom grew misty-eyed and exchanged their vows just after it ended.

I now pronounce you man and wife, the minister declared. It is my honor to present, for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Robert Mouradian.

As the happy couple kissed, I began singing that almost-standard wedding song, We’ve Only Just Begun. Such loud applause and whistles from the well-wishers filled the room that I wasn’t sure anybody even heard me. Oh, well, this was the joy of singing at weddings.

As the couple departed the room, the hotel staff opened the double doors in the panel and the guests began making their way through them. I stayed at the piano until they had mostly cleared the room, then two of the hotel crew began moving the instrument into the other room and I followed behind it.

Sitting down at the piano again, I began singing more songs from my romantic repertoire to keep the guests entertained while they munched on appetizers. Someone brought me a glass of wine, which I was happy to accept. Now, if I could just nab a meatball or two, I might not get giddy on it. I’d barely had time to grab a diet drink when I stopped by my house earlier to change clothes and feed my cat and I was feeling that rumble in my stomach.

At last, the wedding party arrived and dinner began. One of the bridesmaids came over and told me to take a break. You’re doing really great, she said, pointing to a table near the wall where four people were seated.  There’s a spot at that table over there where you can join them for dinner if you’d like.

I thanked her and made my way to it, sitting at the spot indicated where a salad was already set. The two couples at the table welcomed me warmly and I introduced myself. I’m Gillian Foster, singer for hire. It’s a beautiful wedding, isn’t it? Then I dug into the salad.

Over dinner someone mentioned a news item I’d caught just before I left home about a little girl who was missing. It was just a casual remark that this was no night for a lost child to be wandering around. I had to agree. As I could observe through the full length windows on one wall, it was still snowing outside.

Not a good night to be out and alone, I thought, with a shudder.

The groom came over and requested a special song for his new bride before I wrapped up, so I obliged. It was time to shine. Reaching for my inner Righteous Brother, I put my all into a rendition of Soul and Inspiration. Then someone asked me to sing We’ve Only Just Begun–again!

Following the cutting of the cake, the bride tossed the bouquet, nowhere near me, and the party began in earnest with the deejay taking over. Another job down. Now, I could relax a bit, mingle, pass out a few business cards if anyone was interested and enjoy the party before I headed home.

Mrs. Benedetti made her way over and handed me an envelope, no doubt with my payment in it. That was wonderful, Gillian. Thank you so much. I started to reply, but she’d already buzzed away to greet someone a few tables over.

I wandered around the room, chatting with the guests and gathering a few compliments as I went. While most people just smiled at me or made a comment about enjoying the music, a few did ask if I had cards and if I sang for any other events. I said I did and whipped them out.

As I turned away from the table after the brief encounter, a young girl with strawberry blond hair piled into a knot on top of her head caught my attention. She looked to be about ten and wore a lavender ballet-length gown. She had big, sea-blue eyes in a pixyish face. She was very slim, but with a toned body that indicated she was likely into sports. I recalled seeing her in the bridal party holding the trailing veil.

I like your singing, she said matter-of-factly, as children do. Maybe you’ll sing at my wedding someday.

Perhaps. Do you have a groom yet?

No, silly. I’m only eleven. But in ten or so years, I’ll look for you. She flashed a huge grin that lit up her face.

Then I’ll look forward to singing for you.

Marielle, come along, someone called from a couple of tables over and the girl glanced that direction. I couldn’t see the person who called, but I assumed it was her mother.

I have to go now. Don’t forget. As she dashed off, I smiled at the childish optimism and mused that she wouldn’t even remember me in ten years.

Near the head table, I encountered the old woman who had stared at me earlier. Up close, I could see she was older than I had thought, but still regal-looking. She appeared to be about my height, five foot five, quite slender and very wrinkled. She had strong, high cheekbones and sharp, piercing deep brown eyes. Her steel-gray hair was cut short and styled into tight curls, giving her a 1940’s look.

She motioned for me to come over, indicating she wanted to tell me something. As I leaned toward her, she said, My great-grandson is the groom. I was not sure I would live to see this day. Her voice had a slight accent that suggested her European heritage. I want to thank you for your beautiful music. You have a great gift, young lady. A very special voice. You must learn to use it well.

I was puzzled by this comment, but I thanked her anyway. I started to turn away and almost ran into the groom. He laughed, I see you met my Nana.

Yes, she is charming and she paid me a nice compliment, saying I have a ‘special voice.’

You do, but if she told you anything else, don’t fret about it. She thinks she knows things, but I think she’s just getting senile.

I found that statement almost as curious as his Nana’s was. I moved on to chat at the next table and handed out another card. I had taken a couple of steps away from them when a nice-looking, well-dressed guy scurried up next to me, smiled broadly and asked if I’d like to dance. He had a friendly face and seemed harmless enough, so I said, Sure.

I’m Roger, he said, as I followed him to the dance floor. And you are Gillian Foster, aren’t you?

That surprised me a little. Yes. Do I know you?

No, but I know who you are. I’ve seen you at a couple of fairs in town. You were singing in a trio.

Ah, that would explain it, I said with a grin. Most people don’t remember me, I’m afraid. It’s kind of nice to be recognized. What do you do, Roger?

I work for a tech company. I’m a programmer. He twirled me around then pulled me in a little closer.

Oh, a brainy one! Well, it’s very nice to meet you.

We chatted a little more as we danced, but it was mostly small talk. You can’t converse much when you’re a step away from each other every other beat.

Two dances later, we took a break and I sat in a chair next to the wall while Roger fetched glasses of wine. He seemed like a pretty nice guy, so we chatted a little longer as we sipped, until I glanced at my watch and realized it was getting late.

Yikes! I’ve got to get going. I have to work tomorrow.

Isn’t music your job?

Are you kidding? It doesn’t pay the bills. In my other life, I’m a dog groomer.

Really? That’s different.

I gathered up my purse and pulled out the claim ticket to retrieve my coat. It is, but it pays pretty well and I can have flexible hours. Thanks for the dances.

He stood, holding out a hand, as I rose to leave. Wait. I was hoping that I might see you again. Could I give you a call?

I hesitated a moment, not certain it was a good idea. I handed him one of my business cards from the pet salon.  You can call me at work. It’s easier to catch me there.

While I waited at the coatroom, which seemed to have attracted a small mob of people at the same time I chose to leave, I was surprised to encounter the elderly Mrs. Mouradian again. She gripped my arm harder than I would have expected and her voice sounded urgent as she spoke to me.

You voice is a gift, she repeated for the third time, a compelling look in her eyes as if she was revealing a prophecy. You will do great things with it. Learn to use it well, child.

Uncertain how to take this, I thanked her, took my coat from the attendant, and handed the girl a tip as I turned to escort my apparent new fan back to the ballroom. Before we got there, the best man came up, smiling and offering his arm to take custody of the old woman.

She turned to give me one more intense, piercing look. Remember what I am telling you, dear. You are chosen.

As I watched them walk back to the party, a melancholy thought that the matriarch of that family would not be with them much longer passed through my mind. I shrugged it off, thinking now of getting home so I could get to work on time in the morning. I turned and hurried upstairs to the main floor and the crowded casino that stood between me and my jeep.

As I got off the elevator on the roof level, where my vehicle was parked without benefit of a cover, I realized that I hadn’t retrieved my boots. Dismayed, I studied the field of snow as I stepped out. After a few moments of consideration, I decided to forge ahead without them.

I just have to be careful across the snow in these heels, I advised myself.

All right, part of me argued that it wasn’t a great idea, but the whole thought of taking the time to go back down to the coatroom tonight overrode common sense at this point. I was tired and wanted to get home.

I took a cautious step, then another into snow that was only about two inches deep and decided that if I didn’t try to hurry, it would be fine.

I’d almost reached my jeep when my left foot slid and I started down. Twisting my body, I fought to regain my balance, grunting as I grabbed for the fender of the nearest car. My fingers met only snow, finding nothing to grip and my hand slid off. As I went down, I banged my head against the car. I heard a sharp crack, felt a moment of pain and dizziness, then nothing.

TWO

A whooshing sound formed with intermittent starts and stops and a thrumming that seemed to pulse with my heart beat. From a distance, a voice called something incoherent over and over, growing in volume as the other sound receded. The world was black, but a veil of dark red seemed to coalesce before my eyes and I realized my lids were closed.

What had happened? I tried to recall, reaching for my last memory. I was skating to my car. No, not skating. Sliding along to keep my balance, then I... didn’t remember. Had I fallen?

I heard the voice better as my head cleared a little. At first, I couldn’t quite make out the words, but behind them, I could identify the sound of a car’s tires crunching on snow followed by a strong male voice.

Have you any idea who she is?

With effort, I forced my eyes open and blinked as my vision filled with the face of a man, well bundled against the flurry of white flakes coming down, looming over me. As I drew in a deep, startled breath, I nearly gagged on the smell of a car’s exhaust. I shivered, felt to make sure I had a coat on and tried to pull it tighter. My head throbbed with each heartbeat.

Why was I lying in the snow and who was this guy leaning over me?  He wore a uniform under the coat and what looked like a badge. Police? What had happened?  I noticed a couple of people hovering behind the man, peering at me, heads bobbing to get a better view. I needed to get up and moved to push up on my elbow. This was embarrassing.  

Just stay still, miss, the man said and his coat opened wide enough for me to see he was a security guard. Hotel security, I realized as I began to piece together the scenario. His next words confirmed it.  You’ve had a fall. The EMTs are on the way.

I was still confused, but I stayed down because I didn’t think I could even manage to sit up. After a few moments, I began to feel a little better, less weak and I reached for his arm to assist me up. He told me again to stay down, but I insisted, I’ll be fine. It was just a little fall. Give me a hand up, please. I was sure I would be okay. I just needed to get home, take a couple of aspirins and get some sleep.

No, miss. He spoke with authority. You need to be checked out. You’ve hit your head and there could be a concussion. The hotel management wants you to go to the hospital. The EMTs are here. It’ll be fine now.

He stepped back to let the emergency techs in to do their jobs and after that, everything became a blur. They went about their business, asking me what my name was, flashing a light in my eyes and checking my blood pressure. By then, I did feel a little nauseous, a feeling that increased as they lifted me onto a gurney to go into the ambulance while I mumbled one more feeble protest. The last thing I heard before I blacked out again was the wail of the siren as it raced down the ramp.

Even though the hospital was a short distance from the hotel, I regained consciousness again before we reached it. Once I got my bearings in the building, I kept insisting that I was okay to anyone on the medical staff that would appear to listen.

It’s just a little head bump, I kept saying, but everyone ignored me. Before I knew it, a nurse had poked an IV in my arm and I was in an emergency examination room. I was starting to object for the fourth or fifth time when he walked in and my complaint died on my lips. He flashed a dazzling little smile at me and his brilliant blue eyes seemed to light up with a tiny sparkle. I was instantly attracted, like a nail to a magnet.

"Hi, Gillian. I’m Dr. Mercer and I’m going to check you over. You had a