The Haunting Ballad Read Online Free PDF Page A

her early twenties with bright, healthy features and blond curls. She wore a pink and white checkered dress that suggested a good figure without bellowing the fact.
    I introduced my partner, and Sally Joan Cobble shook our hands with embarrassing vigor. “Thank you for coming! Thank you both.”
    She gestured us to a sofa and took the chair opposite. I gave the room a quick once-over. The walls were covered with framed posters of concerts and music festivals come and gone, plus a scattering of photographs, most notably one showing Lorraine Cobble with a group of extremely wrinkled old men, each sporting overalls and a banjo. The room itself was a controlled jumble of books, stacks of paper, and record albums scattered across several surfaces. One long table supported a sizable phonograph and two or three other gadgets that I guessed might be recording devices. A number of stringed instruments—some of which I could even name—crowded every corner of the room.
    â€œThe place is a bit of a whirlwind, I know,” our hostess said. “Pretty much like my cousin herself.”
    Getting right into things, I flipped open my trusty notebook. “Were you here in the Village at the time of Lorraine’s death?”
    â€œNo, I was back home then, but I’ve been up here since her funeral about a week and a half ago. I’ve been staying at a hotel—I couldn’t bear to sleep here in her apartment knowing that…” Sally Joan glanced up at the ceiling, no doubt visualizing the rooftop above. “Anyway, I’ve been organizing her belongings, meeting with her lawyers … Those sorts of things.”
    Mention of lawyers brought an obvious question to mind. “Who’s her beneficiary?”
    Sally Joan’s face reddened. “I am. Or, I should say, it’s mostly me. She left some smaller bequests to other family members and to a few music societies, but she left me the bulk of it. Not that it’s a huge amount, you understand. Lorraine spent a lot in pursuing her work, but it’s a nice amount all the same.”
    Mr. O’Nelligan nodded. “Do tell us about her work … and her life.”
    Whereas I was more inclined to aim for the facts of the case, my colleague was always interested in the human angle.
    â€œLorraine was like…” A little smile played across the young woman’s lips. “A patchwork. Yes, like that—made up of a lot of different pieces. Kind of a crazy quilt, some people might say. It’s really unfortunate, Mr. Plunkett, that you only saw her that one time when she was so … Well, you know.”
    I did know. “Volatile?”
    â€œYes, she could be very agitated where her work was concerned. You really need to understand, though, that she wasn’t just that … that nutty woman you saw. She could be very tender and sensitive.” Her voice now trembled with emotion. “She was always kind to me.”
    â€œWe understand,” Mr. O’Nelligan said gently. “Every soul is a mix of many things. Your patchwork comparison is a fine one, indeed. So, you were quite close to your cousin?”
    â€œSort of. Though it’s not like we spent tons of time together. She’s seventeen years older than I am.” Sally Joan paused. “I mean, was older. I have three brothers, but I’m the only girl, so I always looked up to her in that way. I think Lorraine thought of me as something of a kid sister. She was living with my family when I was born. Her parents—my uncle and aunt—died in a car accident when Lorraine was a teenager, so my folks took her in for a few years.”
    â€œWas she always involved with music?” my partner asked.
    â€œOh yes, for as long as I can remember. She was already collecting songs when I was little. I remember when I was five or six, she came back from Appalachia and played a dulcimer for me. That one, I think.” She