Spring Break Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  Previous titles by Gerald Elias in the Daniel Jacobus Series

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  Previous titles by Gerald Elias in the Daniel Jacobus Series

  DEVIL’S TRILL

  DANSE MACABRE

  DEATH AND THE MAIDEN

  DEATH AND TRANSFIGURATION

  PLAYING WITH FIRE *

  SPRING BREAK *

  * available from Severn House

  SPRING BREAK

  A Daniel Jacobus Mystery

  Gerald Elias

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First published in Great Britain and the USA 2017 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  19 Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM2 5DA.

  This eBook edition first published in 2017 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Trade paperback edition first published

  in Great Britain and the USA 2017 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD

  Copyright © 2017 by Gerald Elias.

  The right of Gerald Elias to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8712-2 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-820-0 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-884-1 (e-book)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland

  Dedicated to music students, especially female ones,

  because it’s hard enough to learn to play the violin.

  Springtime is upon us.

  The birds rejoice with festive song and gentle breezes caress the murmuring brook.

  Thunderstorms, those harbingers of Spring, roar, casting their dark mantle over heaven.

  Then they die away to silence, and the birds take up their charming songs once more.

  On the flower-strewn meadow, with leafy branches rustling overhead,

  The goatherd sleeps, his faithful dog beside him.

  Stirred by the festive tones of rustic pipes,

  Nymphs and shepherds lightly dance beneath the verdant canopy of spring.

  Sonnet by Antonio Vivaldi for his violin concerto,

  ‘Spring,’ from the Four Seasons

  (Translation by David Cowley and Gerald Elias)

  PROLOGUE

  Tuesday, March 17

  The faculty meeting had been hastily called and began in some disarray, as they so often did. It was gaveled to order by the committee’s chair, Charles Hedge, dean of the acclaimed Kinderhoek Conservatory of Music in bucolic Cornwall County, New York. All the faculty knew was that it had something to do with the ‘Going for Baroque’ festival, the conservatory’s annual gala three-week series of artistic and fund-raising events capped off by the Vivaldi by Twilight concert.

  ‘What’s this all about, Hedge?’ Harold Handy, Professor of Music History, asked. A longtime conservatory professor and esteemed music historian, Handy’s two-volume textbook, The Essentials of Western Music, was a standard on every reputable music school’s reading list. ‘Don’t we have enough meetings already?’

  ‘More than enough, I should say,’ added Sybil Baker-Hulme, in a rare display of collegial agreement. Professor of Advanced Musicology and Baroque Studies, Baker-Hulme, formerly of the Royal Academy of Music in London, was the foremost British authority on the Baroque period and commanded an impressive and authoritative listing of scholarly publications.

  ‘Isaac Stern has cancelled,’ Hedge said tersely, and let the broad implications of that uncharacteristically succinct statement register with the faculty committee.

  ‘What do you mean, “cancelled”?’ asked Bronislaw Tawroszewicz, Director of Chamber Orchestras. A native of Warsaw and a graduate of the Paris Conservatoire, he had trained as a violinist but found his true passion on the collegiate podium, where he could assert his authoritarian instincts without restraint. The youngest and only untenured faculty member at the meeting, Tawroszewicz had the thinnest résumé, which, given that he was barely ten years older than his students, was only to be expected.

  ‘Just that, Bronislaw.’ Hedge concealed his impatience no more successfully than a skunk disguising its scent. ‘His manager called and said Mr Stern would not be able to attend.’

  ‘Not very good form to cancel two days before an engagement,’ said Dante Millefiori, Professor of Orchestral Studies. Tall and magisterial, Millefiori had built the orchestra program in his own image: a surfeit of flair but, critics said, wanting of depth. The orchestra toured domestically and internationally on an almost annual basis but was rarely invited back. Millefiori had been hoping to corral Stern to read through a concerto or two with the symphony orchestra in order for him to show off his conducting skills, which he felt had so far been underappreciated by the concert world.

  ‘What was the reason?’ Handy asked.

  ‘None given,’ Hedge replied. ‘Probably something else came up. Who knows? Maybe another of Stern’s PR trips to China. But his manager did ask if his visit might be rescheduled.’

  Could that be a hopeful sign? It seemed to lift the weight of the room. But not for long.

  ‘Rescheduled when?’ asked Elwood Dunster, Professor of Violin. Dunster was the elder statesman of the string faculty, one of the few remaining professors connected to the conservatory’s historical and philanthropic roots.

  ‘Next year.’

  Whatever optimism remained abruptly evaporated.

  ‘So, what is your suggestion?’ Tawroszewicz asked, after an extended silence. ‘We can’t cancel “Going for Baroque.” It’s tradition. Right?’

  ‘It’s more than simple tradition, Bronislaw. We were going to kick off “Going for Baroque” with Stern’s masterclass and participation at the symposium. It would have been a major recruiting tool for next
year and would have demonstrated to our prospective donors how worthy our conservatory is of the eight-figure gift we’ve been trying to convince them to give us. So I’m going to turn your question around, if I may, to your distinguished colleagues. What are your suggestions?’

  ‘Can’t we just do without him?’ Baker-Hulme asked. ‘After all, what does Isaac Stern know about Baroque music, anyway?’

  ‘That’s not really the point, though,’ Dunster said. ‘Stern is more famous in the music world – the general world, really – than all of us put together. He’s a great violinist, teacher, humanitarian, what have you. At this point, his absence would almost speak louder than his presence.’

  General mumbling seemed to indicate agreement.

  ‘What about Rostropovich?’ Tawroszewicz asked. ‘He’s as famous as Stern – more even – and Gorbachev is coming back to New York this weekend. Timing is great.’

  The mumbling was replaced by a distinct buzz.

  ‘And if elephants could fly,’ Baker-Hulme said. ‘Isn’t that what Americans say?’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Tawroszewicz asked.

  ‘What she’s saying,’ Millefiori answered, ‘is that the likelihood of getting someone of the stature of Mstislav Rostropovich on a year’s notice, let alone a day’s, is less than nil.’

  ‘Well, it’s all moot,’ Hedge intervened. ‘We, in fact, reached out to Rostropovich’s agent, among others, even before we engaged Stern. The invitation was politely declined. Any more brilliant ideas?’

  ‘I know I’m not full-time faculty, but may I make a suggestion?’ Yumi Shinagawa, Adjunct Professor of Violin, asked.

  ‘Be our guest.’

  ‘What if we invited Daniel Jacobus?’

  ‘That old blind violin teacher? The curmudgeon?’ Millefiori asked with some astonishment.

  ‘Jacobus?’ Baker-Hulme asked, seconding Millefiori. ‘Why, he’s a mere instrumentalist, and hardly even that anymore, from what I’ve heard. What might he have to contribute?’

  ‘I can assure you,’ Yumi responded, somewhat defensively, ‘when I studied with Daniel Jacobus, I learned more about Baroque music than from all of the music history classes I ever took, maybe because he put as much emphasis on the “music” as on the “Baroque.”’

  ‘No need to be testy, my dear,’ Hedge said. ‘Sybil’s point, that we do want our guest panelist to be well-read, is a valid one.’

  ‘Daniel Jacobus might not be as famous as Stern,’ Yumi said, ‘but he has a very strong reputation.’

  Jacobus had gained notoriety as a brutally honest and astutely perceptive musician and teacher, which had earned him the respect and admiration of his peers. It had also earned their envy and enmity, and not only in regard to music. Though Jacobus savored nothing more than being left alone, he had ironically come to be thought of as a busybody, because no matter where he went he had an uncanny knack of dredging up trouble. The result was that Daniel Jacobus was a revered, yet isolated, icon.

  ‘Yes, a strongly unsavory reputation,’ Millefiori replied. ‘He might know his music, but from what I’ve heard, his teaching methods would be frowned upon by the National Association of Schools of Music. May I remind everyone that we depend upon the good graces of NASM for our accreditation?’

  ‘If I may say, Dante,’ Handy replied, ‘I think you’re putting the cart before the horse. We’re here to teach music, not kiss the posterior of a distant bureaucracy. If Mr Jacobus has a fresh approach to things, isn’t that something we’d want? If nothing else, it might un-stuffify the atmosphere around here.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Tawroszewicz said. ‘I heard about this Jacobus. I heard he sticks his nose into other people’s business. Everywhere he goes, it ends up trouble.’

  ‘Why, Bronto, have you something to hide?’ Baker-Hulme said.

  Tawroszewicz blanched.

  Emboldened by some chuckling among the faculty, Baker-Hulme continued. ‘I’ve changed my mind, Charles, and withdraw my objection. I think it would be delightful to have Mr Jacobus among us, even if some others think he is a pariah. I just have one question for dear Yumi.’

  ‘Yes?’ Yumi asked.

  ‘Mr Jacobus is still alive, isn’t he?’

  This time there was general laughter.

  ‘Yes,’ Yumi replied. ‘Alive. And kicking.’

  The committee got up to leave.

  ‘Wait a second,’ Handy said. ‘How do we know Jacobus will accept the invitation?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Shinagawa replied. ‘He’s a born teacher. I know he’ll jump at the opportunity.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Jacobus indeed jumped, almost knocking over his chair when Yumi made her pitch. ‘Sorry. I’m not into group masturbation.’

  ‘But, Jake,’ Yumi said.

  ‘“But, Jake?” “But, Jake?”’ Jacobus mimicked Yumi. ‘But what? The answer is no. N-O. Whose move is it?’ Jacobus said to Nathaniel.

  ‘Mine, I think,’ Nathaniel said. And as he had done countless times, he took Jacobus’s right hand in his left and placed Jacobus’s index finger on the checker that Nathaniel intended to move, and they moved it together. Years ago, to accommodate Jacobus’s blindness, Nathaniel had filed the red checkers roughly into squares so that Jacobus would know which were his. That way Jacobus could “picture” the board with his fingers as the game developed.

  With the move, Jacobus and Nathaniel began their fourth game of the day. Jacobus had won the first game, but Nathaniel won the second and third handily, leaving Jacobus testy. So it was not a propitious moment for Yumi’s arrival at Nathaniel’s apartment.

  ‘Jake, I have some great news!’ Yumi had said after letting herself in with the extra key Nathaniel had given her.

  ‘Bush was telling the truth when he said “No new taxes”?’ Jacobus had quipped.

  ‘Better. You’ve been invited to give a masterclass at Kinderhoek!’

  ‘So, what’s the great news?’ he’d responded.

  ‘And you’re going to be the featured guest on at the Baroque symposium panel!’

  It was that prospect which had prompted Jacobus’s somewhat callous remark about communal self-arousal.

  Jacobus supposed he should be proud of his former student, now an esteemed, albeit part-time, adjunct professor at the Kinderhoek Conservatory. The school’s administration was capitalizing on her rising celebrity as a marketable commodity to attract the best students. One of their most successful recruiting taglines had become, ‘And you may be interested to know that Yumi Shinagawa is now on our faculty,’ as if she was a BMW offered as a bonus to a vacation package. Her part-time status was not due to any second-rate aspect of her musicianship, but because her primary position, as concertmaster of the renowned orchestra Harmonium, in New York City, restricted her to a once or twice weekly hour-and-a-half commute to Kinderhoek to teach her studio of nine budding prodigies.

  Whereas Yumi’s career trajectory was on a steep ascent, Jacobus’s life had recently hit rock bottom. He had been rendered homeless the past winter when an arsonist had burned down his house in the Berkshire hills of Massachusetts. He’d moved in with Nathaniel Williams, his closest friend, at his ample apartment on West 96th Street in New York until the construction of his new house was completed. That Jacobus and Williams had formed such a long-lasting bond of friendship was as unlikely as it was unbreakable: Jacobus, an atheistic Jew, a teenage refugee from prewar Germany. Acerbic. Opinionated. Impatient. Nathaniel, an imposingly large, congenial, polite African American from Kentucky. A common love of music, of integrity, and of good food had greased the wheels that drove their friendship. But even the closest of friends can endure each other only so long in a confined space, especially two who had lived alone for so long they had become irrevocably set in their own eccentric ways.

  ‘Come on, Jake,’ Nathaniel intervened. ‘You haven’t even gotten your fiddle out for the past two months. A little stimulation will do you good.’

  ‘As I said, I’m not into ma
sturbation.’

  Jacobus further argued that he had tired of the world pitying blind people rather than treating them as equals and fully expected the conservatory would be no exception. He refrained from admitting aloud another reason. He was feeling more tired than usual. That age might be beginning to creep up on him. He did not want to cause Yumi any concern about his health. Besides, listening to someone else drone on about their health was the most boring subject he could think of. He hoped he had put the issue of the invitation to rest, but Yumi persevered, politely arguing that the pedagogical insights he could offer were unique and valuable.

  Unbeknownst to Jacobus, the impetus for Yumi suggesting he be invited to Kinderhoek had originated with Nathaniel, who a week earlier had pleaded with her: ‘He’s gone past frayin’ me around my edges. Now he’s getting my insides.’

  ‘Jake, let’s admit it,’ Yumi concluded. ‘You’re no spring chicken. Chances are you might kick off tomorrow. Who knows how many more opportunities you’ll have to change so many young people’s lives?’

  Jacobus laughed.

  ‘I’m impressed with your unsweetened logic,’ Jacobus conceded. ‘Let me think about it. I want to finish my game.’

  ‘Sure. And, not that it has to do with anything, but I brought you your favorite cheese Danish,’ Yumi said.

  ‘And coffee?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘The way I like it?’

  ‘Boiled to sludge.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  If Jacobus’s victory in the fourth game was in part the result of Nathaniel discreetly allowing himself be outmaneuvered, it served the greater good.

  ‘OK,’ Jacobus said. ‘I’ll do it.’

  ONE

  Wednesday, March 18

  News of the symposium’s last-minute replacement created quite a buzz at the Kinderhoek Conservatory, even more so, in a certain way, than if Isaac Stern had not cancelled. As great as he was, Stern was a known quantity and had given a masterclass at the conservatory the year before. Jacobus, on the other hand, had an unpolished aura steeped in conflict and mystery. His arrival on campus aroused as much curiosity among the faculty as among the students. Yumi checked him in to his accommodations at the Campus Inn and then, after a brief rest and a dry hamburger, walked him to the Hiram Feldstein Auditorium of the Dolly Cooney Performance Building, the venue for the symposium.