Free The Mastermind Plot by Angie Frazier

curved arabesque windows in an adjacent hallway I saw Grandmother’s swept-up gray curls. Her head was turned, showing only her profile. She was speaking, it seemed, though the person she addressed was not visible.
    A nearby door led to the hallway in which she stood. I went and peeked around the corner. New moonlight streamed in through the open-roofed courtyard and lit the corridor, along with a few flickering lanterns of candlelight. The violinists were playing their instruments so loudly, nothing Grandmother said to the person, who was cloaked in shadow, was able to reach my ears. Perhaps it was only Uncle Bruce, or Mr. Horne. But the clandestine meeting gave off too strong a mysterious undertone.
    I stayed where I was, peering around the corner as the trio lowered the pitch and fever of their music. I finally heard a portion of what Grandmother was saying.
    â€œâ€¦ doesn’t matter. You cannot be here.”
    â€œI’m sorry if my following you tonight has upset you, Octavia, but I have every right to be here. I thought, if anyone, you might understand.” The person in the shadows was a man, and his voice was raspy but articulate. And firm. It was a familiar voice, but I couldn’t place why, or to whom it belonged.
    I crept closer, hiding behind a leafy potted plant.
    â€œYou thought I might understand? What involving you could I ever understand? It’s because of you that my son … that he …” Grandmother choked on her words, raising a closed fist to her lips. “It’s all your doing!”
    The man started to say something else, but Grandmother wavered and collapsed onto the floor in a heap of taffeta and lace. Her head knocked the stone with an audible crack .
    â€œGrandmother!” I shouted just as the music jumped yet again into a sharp, furious tempo.
    I raced out from behind the potted shrubbery and to her side. The man she’d been talking to knelt down as well. I shook Grandmother’s shoulders lightly. Her face was pale and waxen in the blue-gold light.
    â€œWhat did you do?” I cried, unable to look away from her.
    â€œNot a thing,” the man answered, sounding muchcalmer than me. “Attacking older women isn’t my modus operandi. She’s simply fainted.”
    I leaned in close to Grandmother’s mouth and nose, not understanding what the man had meant about modus operandi. I wanted to feel Grandmother’s breath on my ear. Nothing came. All was still.
    â€œShe needs a doctor. Get a doctor!” I cried, finally taking my eyes from her ashen face.
    â€œPlease, you have to —!” I sucked in a sharp breath.
    The man kneeling beside me was the same man who had been staring at me at the depot, and the one who had been in the back courtyard of Miss Doucette’s academy. It was my stranger with the black hat and coat, the defined cheekbones and heart-shaped face.
    I shoved myself away from him and landed on my backside.
    â€œYou,” I whispered. How did this strange man know my grandmother? Why had they been hiding out here talking? Who was he?
    The stranger stared right back at me. His eyes reminded me of Detective Grogan’s: They were acute and intelligent. And his other features … up close, his nose, his chin … they were so familiar. The memory of something tugged at me from deep inside.
    â€œWhat now, what’s this?” a voice called from the entrance to the music hall. And then, “A woman’s collapsed! Is there a doctor here?”
    The violin music screeched to a halt and excited murmuring took over. I tore my eyes away from the stranger and looked behind me.
    â€œYes! She needs help, hurry!” I shouted. People started down the hallway toward us, their dress shoes scuffling over the stone in a furor.
    I got up to let a man who claimed to be a doctor have access to Grandmother. The stranger had already retreated down the hallway in the opposite direction, hurrying for