by Beth Dearinger

NOTE: We like to have a little fun once in awhile. We challenged CMSA board member Beth Dearinger to create an article for the web site and boy, did she! Welcome to Chapter One of "Murder by Mandolin!," a serial mystery that will be presented over several months.
   Besides doubling as first mandolin for the Uptown Mandolin Quartet, Beth is also a professional actress who has penned numerous plays (we'd call them "off-Broadway" works but that goes without saying when you live in Kansas).

CHAPTER ONE

The doorbell was ringing again. Miss Ethel Collins wondered how she would get everything ready in time for her guests. The brochure for her Bed & Breakfast expressly claimed "Delicious Delicacies and Winning Wine Every Eve at Five" And Miss Ethel Collins was one to live up to her word. But if she had to keep answering the door every time she turned around, her Delicious Delicacies might be turn into Overdone Hors d'voeures. Wouldn't that look nice in a brochure! "Minnie! Minnie?" Ethel called out, in the general direction of Minnie's room. "Can you watch the oven, please? I'm answering the door!" With a last glance at the oven, which contained today's "special dessert" Ethel turned to leave the kitchen. The entry hall floor creaked in several spots, as it always did, but she didn't notice. In fact, if it had not creaked, she would have taken note, she was so used to every sound the old house made. Her right hand took hold of the front door knob, but before turning it, she instinctively went up on tiptoe and squinted through the peephole. Her right hand hesitated as she caught her breath.
    He had arrived! Giuseppe Tremelorio, the world's best classical mandolinist! Releasing her grasp on the knob, she scurried to the gold framed mirror hanging above the shallow antique marble topped cabinet a few feet away. Her apron! Quickly untying it, she pulled it over her head and stashed it in the drawer in the cabinet. Her reflection revealed the damage the apron removal had done to her hairdo. As she coaxed a silver white curl back in place, she heard a door close in one of the upper bedrooms. Oddly alarmed, but also distracted, she called out, " Minnie! . . . Are you in the kitchen?" No answer. The door bell chimed again, and she practically leaped to the front door. Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob and pulled open the door.
    Giuseppe Tremelorio, who had begun to wonder if the taxi cab had brought him to the correct address, was relieved when the door finally opened. The elderly lady who stood on the other side gazed up with a huge smile on her face. With a slight bow, he began to introduce himself. "How do you do? I am Gueseppi . . ."
    " Giuseppe Tremelorio! Of course you are! Oh, I mean, I recognize you from your CD cover! I am Ethel Collins, but everyone calls me Miss Ethel. Oh, do come in, please. I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long. This is such a busy weekend! All my rooms are reserved. Yes, every one of them. There's a big basketball game tomorrow night, a championship . . ."
    "Basketball?"
    "Yes and . . .oh! But of course, most of my guests are here for your concert. Anyway, I've never had such a busy weekend, so please excuse my tardiness. May I help you with your bags?" She tried to take his suitcase from the porch, but he managed to grab it first.
    "No, thank you, really." He adjusted the shoulder strap of the all-weather, insulating cover of his mandolin case and followed the little lady inside.
    "Just come this way and I'll get you registered." She led him to the left into a large room filled with antique chairs and small couches all arranged in "conversation groups". A desk jutted out from the wall just inside the doorway, to which she went and opened the registration book. "I have a lovely room reserved for you, The Mozart Room. It's on the second floor, just off the landing. . ." She was handing him a key when the oven timer started buzzing. "Oh, my lands, my dessert! I'm sorry, I'll be right back. Just have a seat, or you may go on up, and we can register you later." She scurried back through the entry hall and into the kitchen, calling "Minnie! Where are you?"
    Giuseppe Tremelorio sighed. He saw no reason to wait, so he went back through the entry hall to the staircase, and lugged his bag and instrument up one flight. The brass engraved plaque on the door proclaimed The Mozart Room, so he inserted the key in the lock. The door opened easily, so easily that he realized it had not been locked. His feet rooted to the oriental carpet runner in the hall outside, he slowly pushed open the door. He peered into the dim room. He listened intently for . . . for what, he didn't know. Wait. He did hear something. A slight, uneven clicking sound was coming from inside the room. He hesitated, not moving. Should he go in?

END OF CHAPTER ONE - CHAPTER 2