The trio showed up at the scene thirty minutes later. Steve looked at his
dad disapprovingly when he first saw Liz, but he didn't say anything. Liz
walked around, her hands buried in her pockets. She went up to the black
Yamaha grand piano and studied it intently.
Mark went up to here. "Notice anything out of place?" Mark asked.
"How was he shot?" Liz asked.
"He was shot in the back of the head. The exit wound was out in the frontal lobe."
She nodded. Mark noticed her eyebrows were furrowed.
"The key guard must have been down when he was shot since there is no blood on the keys. There is a bit on the stand, but not in the middle." Her eyebrows furrowed a bit more. "This man was doing something that is a huge no-no. Back home, I played flute with the Knoxville Symphony Orchestra. There is a program where middle and high school students can play. Each time there was a pianist-even in practice-he or she NEVER used music. A professional pianist would not use the music a month or so before opening night. Just not supposed to happen. Even with me. I took part in several recitals, and even filled in for a visiting pianist from Austria at Symphony practice. But even with me, being 14 at the time, I was not allowed to use music. And, also, with me or any pianist, one is not supposed to play new music," she said, mostly musing, but also mostly to Mark.
"I see what you mean. I wonder what this man was playing," Mark said. Steve noticed both Liz and Mark had been pointing at the piano and conversing between themselves, so he walked over to them.
"What do you have?" Steve asked Mark.
Liz answered, "I was just in a bit of a reverie. I've met myriad of professional pianists, and have played piano myself for many years. Out of all of the recitals and performances I have been a part of, no one is supposed to use music. It's all supposed to come from the memory. Nor was the pianist or I allowed to work on some new piece of music," she said. "When he..."
"Fezzik Rodrigus," supplied Steve.
"Fezzik-thanks-was shot, there was something here," she said pointing in the general vicinity of the music stand where the blood spatters were absent.
"You're right. I'll have it checked out," said Steve, smiling for the first time since Liz got on the scene.
"Sherlie Lockwood Holmes, at your service," she said, curtsying. Steve and Mark laughed.
Jesse came over, and jokingly demanded, "All right, what's going on here?"
"See that?" she asked, pointing to the same area that she pointed out to Steve and Mark.
"What am I supposed to see?" he asked.
"The piano's black, so you'll have to catch the light just right, but in this area right here," said, pointing again, "there is no blood, suggesting that there was a sheet music of some sort. I'd say it was two pages across, so either it was a book or one of those long pieces of sheet music folded across to take up two pages."
"And...?"
"You tell him," Liz told Mark.
"When Liz was back in Tennessee, she took part in several productions where she met some pianists. A month or so before recitals or performances, they weren't allowed to read off of sheet music, to either work on what they were playing or on anything new."
"And...?"
"And I would expect a professional of his caliber to have everything memorized," Liz said.
"Ok... I get it. Either this guy is an imposter, or the real...?" said Jesse
"Fezzik Rodrigus," Liz said.
"Fezzik Rodrigus couldn't play piano."
"Yes! There may be hope for you yet!" Liz exclaimed.
Mark went up to here. "Notice anything out of place?" Mark asked.
"How was he shot?" Liz asked.
"He was shot in the back of the head. The exit wound was out in the frontal lobe."
She nodded. Mark noticed her eyebrows were furrowed.
"The key guard must have been down when he was shot since there is no blood on the keys. There is a bit on the stand, but not in the middle." Her eyebrows furrowed a bit more. "This man was doing something that is a huge no-no. Back home, I played flute with the Knoxville Symphony Orchestra. There is a program where middle and high school students can play. Each time there was a pianist-even in practice-he or she NEVER used music. A professional pianist would not use the music a month or so before opening night. Just not supposed to happen. Even with me. I took part in several recitals, and even filled in for a visiting pianist from Austria at Symphony practice. But even with me, being 14 at the time, I was not allowed to use music. And, also, with me or any pianist, one is not supposed to play new music," she said, mostly musing, but also mostly to Mark.
"I see what you mean. I wonder what this man was playing," Mark said. Steve noticed both Liz and Mark had been pointing at the piano and conversing between themselves, so he walked over to them.
"What do you have?" Steve asked Mark.
Liz answered, "I was just in a bit of a reverie. I've met myriad of professional pianists, and have played piano myself for many years. Out of all of the recitals and performances I have been a part of, no one is supposed to use music. It's all supposed to come from the memory. Nor was the pianist or I allowed to work on some new piece of music," she said. "When he..."
"Fezzik Rodrigus," supplied Steve.
"Fezzik-thanks-was shot, there was something here," she said pointing in the general vicinity of the music stand where the blood spatters were absent.
"You're right. I'll have it checked out," said Steve, smiling for the first time since Liz got on the scene.
"Sherlie Lockwood Holmes, at your service," she said, curtsying. Steve and Mark laughed.
Jesse came over, and jokingly demanded, "All right, what's going on here?"
"See that?" she asked, pointing to the same area that she pointed out to Steve and Mark.
"What am I supposed to see?" he asked.
"The piano's black, so you'll have to catch the light just right, but in this area right here," said, pointing again, "there is no blood, suggesting that there was a sheet music of some sort. I'd say it was two pages across, so either it was a book or one of those long pieces of sheet music folded across to take up two pages."
"And...?"
"You tell him," Liz told Mark.
"When Liz was back in Tennessee, she took part in several productions where she met some pianists. A month or so before recitals or performances, they weren't allowed to read off of sheet music, to either work on what they were playing or on anything new."
"And...?"
"And I would expect a professional of his caliber to have everything memorized," Liz said.
"Ok... I get it. Either this guy is an imposter, or the real...?" said Jesse
"Fezzik Rodrigus," Liz said.
"Fezzik Rodrigus couldn't play piano."
"Yes! There may be hope for you yet!" Liz exclaimed.