Music to Die For by Radine Trees Nehring Page B

them...older, heavier people’s clothing, but perhaps you could find jackets and another change of clothing around there, something in older styles they’d never wear. Maybe a change of hair style or color too—whatever you can manage. Here’s what I have in mind...”
    Brigid interrupted. “The Folk Center? How’s that gonna work? Why, they’d be right in the midst o’ things. It’s hardly gettin’ ’em away.”
    “You know they won’t go far away until Dulcey’s found. And who would ever think they’d be here? They should be willing to come here because it is near all that’s going on and nearest where we’ll find out something about Dulcey. And,” she added gently, “you need rest too. If they’re gone, maybe the reporters will leave you alone.
    “Think about it, then ask them if they’ll come. I have friends arriving this afternoon, and they have room reservations. No one here knows what my friends look like. Some of them can double up with me, and we’ll put Chase and Tracy in one of the rooms under my friends’ names—that is if they’re willing to stay out of sight. We can bring in food and tell the housekeeping staff not to bother with the room.”
    “Well... mebbe... guess it could work. They might be willin’, ’n’ you’re right, they’d never go away while Dulcey’s missin’.”
    There was a pause, then Brigid said, “Yes, they’ll come. I’ll see to it. Prob’ly all I’ll have to do is show ’em the reporters gettin’ thick around here. But, how’re we gonna get ’em there, even with a disguise? Oh...wait a minnit...”
    The phone dropped, then Carrie heard Brigid’s voice from a distance: “Nell, you go stop ’em! Herb’s gonna shove that fella with the TV camera...you go on out there ’n’ yell at the both of ’em.”
    The voice came close again. “Gotta go, Carrie. No tellin’ what Herb might do. Call me back in a coupla hours. If you can’t get in on the phone, do ya mind to keep tryin’? ’N’, well, th-thanks for all this.” Brigid Mason’s voice wavered and, at last, she stopped talking.
    “I want to help, and don’t worry, I’ll keep calling until I get you.”
    Carrie put the phone down. She felt a bit like pacing the floor herself. First she had involved Henry in this mess, and now she was planning to do the same to Eleanor and Jason. But what choice did she have? The Masons needed all the help the four of them could give.
    She looked at the clock. Eleven. Henry had said he’d arrive by early afternoon, so there was time for the next part in her action plan, a thorough look around the craft grounds.
    She put on old jeans and a grey sweatshirt. After glancing in the mirror at her flying grey curls, she found a scarf she often tied at the neck of her blue dress and put it on her head. She wanted to appear as plain and unnoticeable as possible, and the hats she had with her didn’t fit with plain and unnoticeable at all.
    She put on the park department badge that would let her into the craft area without paying, then took it off and dropped it back on the table. It had her name on it, and she’d stand out because almost everyone from the convention was now headed home.
    When Carrie arrived at the administration building, it was alive with activity. Workers were setting up for the classes that would begin tomorrow morning, and the desk attendant was busy telling a bearded man in overalls where the woodcarver’s equipment should be put. The attendant reached for Carrie’s entrance fee and stamped the back of her hand without looking away from the workman. Carrie walked out the door quietly, grateful for anonymity.
    There were a number of tourists on the concrete walkways in the craft area, but, other than two people trying to see in the windows of the darkened dressmaker’s shop, no one acted as if they were aware of the murder; or at least they weren’t letting it disturb the planned routine for opening day. Probably most of the people here