Piano Keys are Made of Bone

“Your thoughts are loud.” She said, cool grey eyes peering over her teacup. She sat in a tufted armchair that matched the rest of the house, which was seemingly out of a storybook with its grand chandeliers and cathedral ceilings, complete with perfect replicas of Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel. The tearoom was honestly the least grand in the whole house, and even it stood the test of time, as if you walked right into the Victorian era.

“You can hardly hear the TV on blast, but my thoughts are loud?” I retort from my spot on the floor with Frank, a monstrous ball of black fluff that has possibly been around longer than Ms. Greenwood herself has. If that were even possible.

Ms. Greenwood laughed, a gentle chuckle that sounded somehow like bells or windchimes. “I can see your front door from my balcony you know,” she began slyly. “I’ve seen that tall man with the broad shoulders on more than one occasion.” Her voice was teasing as she raised an eyebrow in my direction.

I rolled my eyes. “My thoughts aren’t the only thing that’s loud when he’s over.” I said even though I knew my cheeks were turning rosy at the thought. Mrs. Greenwood laughed, “Oh! You!” She said, waving a finger at me and picking up her teacup again, the porcelain cup clinked against its saucer.

“Well, I must be going, I have many loud things to attend to with my loud self.” I said, petting Frank a last time and standing up. He looked at me begrudgingly as if I had just neglected my sole purpose in life, petting him.

“Oh, I’ll get the story out of you one of these days, Maybell dear.” Ms. Greenwood chided. She got out of her chair to walk me to the front door. “Be careful on the walk, dear. I hear there’s a storm coming.” I had heard of no such storm, and the sun was high in the sky. I stepped out into the muggy late-July air of New Orleans.

“See you tomorrow, dear!” She called from the door as I began my way down the mile driveway.

“See you tomorrow!” I yelled back, waving.

As I walked, the massive house loomed behind me, and my shoes crunched against the gravel. I thought about how the woods surrounding the house were always so well kept. Even though Ms. Greenwood was far too old to tend to them herself, and I would be the only other person who would be around to help. Her husband had long passed, and to my knowledge, she had no other family.

The edge of the woods near the road was well known in the town because of all the wildflowers. They popped up all around the giant stone gateway no matter what type of weather. Poppies, bluebells, morning glories, everything you could imagine. I often saw kids stop by on their way to and from school to pick a bunch. Somehow, they never ran out. There were always hundreds of them. Some of the townspeople joked that Ms. Greenwood had buried her husband there, or put a spell on them, and that was what made the flowers grow so well.

I crossed the street and hopped up the stairs to my little yellow house and headed to my piano. A gift from my music professor. I slid my fingers across the keys and pulled out the pages for the next day's lesson. Jackson; a bright 11-year-old boy with dark eyes and a mess of blonde curls, easy to teach and his parents always sent him with the check. He earned his place as one of my favorite students.

The next morning Jackson came bounding up the driveway, and I opened the door before he could even get to it. “Bye Mrs. Allbloom!” I called from the porch. “Bye, Mom!” Jackson yelled without even looking back. He went straight to his seat at the piano.

“Actually.” I began. “I have a surprise for you. I already cleared it with your mom, and she said it was alright.”

His big eyes gleamed with excitement, and I could see him trying very hard to sit still. “You know how you’ve wanted to play a Fazioli ever since you learned about one?”

“Yes…” He said curiously.

“Well, I know a place where you can play one!” “Ms. Greenwood, up the road, has the most beautiful piano room I have ever seen!”

“Cool!” He exclaimed, jumping up.

I’d spoken to Ms. Greenwood on the phone earlier that morning to see if it would be all right to bring Jackson by for tea. She loved company and her piano was always lonely, except for when I was around.

We began the walk up the long driveway. I could have driven, but it was a nice morning. Plus, the kid could use a little exercise before entering the old lady’s home.

As we neared the great stone mansion a strange chill filled the air, and a fog began to settle around the rose bushes. Weird for July. Even weirder, the birds no longer sang their summer songs and the cicadas had quieted, leaving an eerie stillness to the familiar walk.

“This is the biggest house I’ve ever seen!” Jackson said, pulling me out of my thoughts. Hmm, maybe they are loud.

“Woah can I knock?” Jackson asked, looking up at me and then at the giant medieval style knocker on the front door. He was small for his age and still had a little bit of baby fat around his cheeks, and the innocence in his question made me smile. “Of course, you can! Go ahead and knock really loud, she can’t hear that well.” He giggled at this and lifted the big brass ring and gave it a firm thud into the door.

“Cool.” He grinned.

Usually, Ms. Greenwood answers the door within seconds since she knows I’m coming.

I tried the knocker, a bit harder this time, but still no answer. “Maybe she went for a walk.” I said, getting a little concerned at this point. “I have a key though, so let’s go on in.” I really hoped I was right about the walk and was not about to bring a child in to see a dead woman on the floor.

We walked in; the big door creaked a long hello. Frank bounded up and stared blankly at Jackson. Who immediately dropped to the floor to bury his hands in his soft fur. Frank was pleased with this and rolled over onto his back.

“Why don’t you two come in here to the piano room, and you can start your practice while I find Ms. Greenwood.” Jackson bounced as respectfully, as an excited kid could, to the gorgeous grand piano. It was the kind you might see at the opera, a truly impressive instrument worth a fortune. Even though, to my knowledge, no one ever played it but me. “These keys feel weird.” Jackson said running his fingers over them gently. “I think they’re actually made of bone.” I told him, wagging my fingers around in his direction.” “Ewwww weird, do you think that’s what happened to her husband?” He grinned at me. I laughed and went on my way to look for the Lady of the House.

Jackson began playing Fur Elise as I went down the corridors. “Mrs. Greenwood!” I called. No answer. I made my way to her bedroom door and got that same weird feeling I felt in the woods. The strange silence. An almost foggy pressure in the air. I knocked on the door a couple times and then took a deep breath. “If I find this woman dead, I swear.” I muttered to myself as I pushed open the door. My breath caught in my chest as I peered inside. Ms. Greenwood laid on the bed, her robes and nightclothes perfectly laid out. There was no blood and no bad smell, nothing to make me think she was even anything but asleep. I stared in shock as I neared the bed. I was focused on her chest; I knew it wasn’t moving. I could see that. But on her left side, where her heart should be, was just an empty cavity. Her ribs coiled out like a cage door. As I neared the edge of the bed, I could feel my own heart beating violently into my chest. I was grateful in this movement to have it drown out the heavy silence. My mind was going a thousand miles a minute when I heard Jackson call from down the hallway. “Miss Maybell! There’s a letter for you!”

“Fuck!” I thought, my eyes widening as I attempted to jump for the door before Jackson walked in. “Looks like Ms. Greenwood left you somethi…” He was cut off by his own gasp at seeing her laying on the bed with an open chest. Now, I didn’t exactly have “traumatize the child” on the lesson plan for today. But, Jackson walked right over to her before I could say anything. “There’s something in there.” He said with a little shake in his voice, he pointed at her ribs. “I got closer and looked inside. Where before I only saw darkness. I saw a small black book. “Well, I don’t want to stick my hand in a dead old lady!” Jackson interrupted my stare. “You’re the teacher! You should do it.” Damn kid. He was totally right. “What we should do is call the funeral home.” I said trying to be somewhat of a voice of reason. But admittedly, my curiosity was getting the better of me.

“Wait!” He said and I jumped. “What?! Change your mind?” I asked only half joking. “Gross, no way. But maybe there’s something in the letter.” He handed me a small envelope addressed to me in Ms. Greenwood's swirly cursive. I opened it up, and all that was inside was a check. A check made out to me, Maybell Addams, for $20,000 signed Annalou Greenwood. I never knew her first name. I held the check in my fingers for a second. The note on the “for” line said, keep the house and Frank too, who suddenly hopped up to sit on Ms. Greenwood's stiff legs. “Ew.” My student and I said together.

“Okay okay, the book.” I reached into her chest and pulled out the leather-bound notebook. It was small and smooth. The kind you might use just for quick notes or grocery lists. “Open it!” Jackson made me jump again. “Will you stop that!” I said trying to hide my amusement at the thought of myself with an 11-year-old sidekick on a mystery case.

I opened the cover and fanned through the pages. Thousands of weird symbols, none I recognized. Lots of flowers too. Little drawings and notes in a strange language I’d definitely never seen before.

This time we both jumped, and even Frank seemed startled, when the grandfather clock in the hall chimed. “My mom!” Jackson said heading for the door. “I followed him out, quickly leaving Ms. Greenwood and Frank to fend for themselves for a bit. Not like she was going anywhere. We rushed down the driveway with the weird silence still sitting heavily in the air. Ms. Greenwood did say there was a storm coming, now that I thought about it. We see his mom’s minivan parked out front of my cottage. “Hey Jackson, what if we don’t tell your mom about the dead lady and just stick with the piano story?” I said gently.

“Oh yeah no way! I actually want to come back, and my mom would freak!” “But, maybe you should call the police.” He said laughing. “See you Saturday! Bye Miss. Maybell!”

“Well, he doesn’t seem too traumatized.” I think to myself, waving him off. Now, I just have to figure out what I am supposed to do with the empty woman, who I apparently knew very little about.