Read Music to Die For for Free Online

hadn’t expected the area inside the fence to be so awfully dark. What had happened to the security lights? Carrie stood by the gate and tried to figure out just where she was and where everything else in the enclosed area was.
    The person who had cried out couldn’t be too far away. She waited, listening, afraid to move or make any noise. Then the sound came again. It was definitely a woman, crying, “No, no,” very softly. And—maybe it was her imagination since she’d heard her say it earlier—it sounded like Tracy’s “No.”
    But where was Tracy? Somewhere ahead. Carrie’s impulse was to run forward, but that was impossible in the blinding darkness. All she could do was wait.
    At last her eyes began to detect shades and shapes. There was nothing on her left. The ground there seemed to fall away sharply. She could feel the drop with her left foot—the beginning of the terraced herb gardens. The sound hadn’t come from that direction anyway.
    She knew the administration building was on her right. She could see the outline of a large tree next to it, and, concentrating, she decided the walkway through the craft area must begin under that tree.
    She began to slide her feet uphill, keeping her hand against the stone wall of the building.
    Suddenly her left foot caught on something. She fell, brushing her hand and face against the rough wall and toppling into an area that seemed bare of anything but damp earth.
    At least she’d made no noise but a muffled “whump.”
    There’s something to be said for well-padded bottoms, Carrie thought as she sat, assessing damage. Her hand and face tingled and were probably scraped, but, other than a sting in the area where her blue dress met the ground, there seemed to be no other damage, except maybe to the dress. Her behind was probably covered with dirt blobs.
    Well. She felt the ground around her and discovered she was sitting in a newly turned square of earth outlined by wooden landscaping timbers. It must be some sort of garden bed, and anything planted in it was probably worse off than she was. Too bad.
    She heard another “No...” and forgot about the garden and the dirt. She crawled over the timbers on her hands and knees, and, bracing her uninjured hand against the wall, stood and continued uphill until her feet located the edge of the concrete walkway. At the same time, her hand felt the corner of the back door alcove to the administration building. Now she knew where she was, and the building just ahead of her, a dark rectangle against the sky, was the craft area snack shop.
    The pale concrete of the walkway was lighter than the ground around it, and she began following its winding trail toward the source of the sounds.
    At the front of the snack shop she stopped, moved closer to the wall, and stuck her head around the corner, listening, her eyes sweeping the shades of darkness.
    Silence.
    Then a glow came from the dressmaker’s shop. Somewhere near the floor of the shop a small flame flared, dimmed, went out. The door must be open. She moved toward the door and heard breathing that sounded like gasps, and, once again, a crooned “No-no-no.”
    “Tracy?” Carrie hoped the person inside could hear her cautious whisper.
    For a moment the gasping breaths stopped, then Tracy’s voice said, “Momma? Momma Brigid?” There were two or three more gasps before Tracy began to cry—great, rattling sobs that sounded as if they were going to turn her inside out.
    Carrie didn’t take time to explain that she wasn’t Brigid Mason. She went quickly around the door and, guided by sound, knelt next to the woman seated on the floor. “Tracy, where’s the light switch? What’s wrong?”
    Tracy hiccuped. “L-lights don’t work. Who are you?”
    “Carrie McCrite. I walked you to the dinner. Is there trouble?”
    “Trouble? Trouble?” Now it sounded like Tracy Teal was laughing.
    Before Carrie could say more, the racket stopped. Tracy stood and said in a shaky voice,