The Haunting Ballad Read Online Free PDF

pointed to one of the nameless instruments in the corner, expanding my musical knowledge. “That’s what her job was—she was a songcatcher.”
    â€œSongcatcher?” This was the first time I’d heard the term. “That’s a job?”
    â€œOh, it definitely is. Lorraine would research and gather up songs from all different areas of the country, and Britain, too. Musicology, it’s called. I understand that it’s really quite a science. I’m not all that up on these things myself, but there’s a woman here in the Village named Minnie Bornstein who used to work with Lorraine. She’s someone you could talk to if you wanted to know more. She runs a shop a couple of blocks from here. I can give you the address.”
    â€œThat would be helpful,” Mr. O’Nelligan said. “In fact, perhaps after this interview you could construct a list for us of all those people significant to your cousin. With phone numbers and addresses. It would be useful in our investigation.”
    I shot my colleague a perplexed look. Investigation? We hadn’t heard anything yet that warranted an investigation.
    Sally Joan continued on, painting a portrait of her cousin as a vigorous career woman who had risen in her field through a combination of skill and bullishness. Early on, Lorraine had apprenticed herself to several prominent scholars in the world of song hunting and had made a name for herself. Along the way, she had briefly acquired and discarded a fairly well-to-do husband whose name she jettisoned after the divorce. The alimony settlement had provided her the means to travel extensively and further pursue her calling. Besides Mr. Moneybags, she had slid through several other short romances in her time, but her true passion was always the music. Despite the glut of instruments in her apartment, Lorraine had been only a passable musician at best. It was in the pursuit and chronicling of songs that her talents lay. As an offshoot of her songcatching, she had identified and promoted a number of promising young folksingers and through that had maintained an ongoing connection with Café Mercutio.
    Though I really didn’t want to utter the name, I felt I needed to. “What about Byron Spires? What exactly was her beef with him? Something about stealing a song, wasn’t it?”
    Sally Joan nodded solemnly. “Yes, it was a ballad she’d found on a recent trip to Scotland. I think she got it from an old sheepherder.”
    â€œSo Spires stole it?”
    â€œLorraine certainly saw it like that, but to be honest I’ve never been quite sure how that all works. I mean, one person discovers some ballad that another person sings, and then yet another person sings a new version. It’s all kind of a muddle to me. As I say, someone like Minnie Bornstein could explain it much better.”
    It was time to get down to brass tacks. “They say Lorraine flung herself off the roof of this building,” I stated, perhaps a little too bluntly. “That’s the official conclusion. So why do you think otherwise?”
    â€œFor several reasons.” Sally Joan’s tone took on a new hardness. “First of all, it just isn’t the sort of thing Lorraine would ever do. Not in a million years.”
    â€œI’m sure that’s what you believe,” I said, “but can anyone ever really know what’s going on in someone else’s mind?”
    â€œMaybe not, but you can know the type of person it is, can’t you? You can know what they’re capable of and what they’re not. Lorraine wouldn’t kill herself. She had too much … too much…” Sally Joan fumbled about for the word. “ Ego. Yes, that’s it. She had way too much ego to throw her life away like that. Plus, she had such vitality and such a hunger for living.”
    Mr. O’Nelligan stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Could her death have been