The Secret Songs of D.C. Silverenn

| 21

I roll my eyes at the TV. There's no way the couple on the reality show purchased the cheaper home they were presented with. The top tier one was gorgeous, akin to a mansion tucked away in the mountains. It fit every description they gave. So what if it was a little more than their budget? They'll need to renovate the cheaper one anyway.

"They're smart," Emi says. "That's the one I would've chosen."

"But the bathrooms are terrible," I argue. "Unless they want to go to the facilities in a time machine, they need to redo the walls and tiles to not look like the 80s."

Emi shakes her head and looks back at her music. Presumably, the neighboring guests have gone to sleep by nine o'clock, so she's doing the next best thing to practicing—reviewing her music. I'm grateful that we can't play late in the evening. It gives us an excuse to watch TV, a rare occasion since we don't have cable.

A preview for the next show flashes on the screen. The hosts are going to help preserve a weathered farmhouse. I flip to the channel display, scrolling through the other programs that are on right now. I'm more into the luxury shows, ones that reflect a world different from my own.

Nothing else catches my interest, so I turn the TV off. I lean against my pillows for a moment, the remote loose in my palm, trying to figure out what to do.

"You going to bed?" Emi asks.

I'm about to say 'why not,' when I remember something. "No. I think we should take a look at the next Silverenn score."

"Can't we do that tomorrow?" Emi groans. "It's late, and I don't feel like analyzing music."

My eyes drift to the quartet piece in her hands. "You're analyzing music right now."

"I mean, deciphering clues in music. I'm still not sure if we should keep pursuing the treasure."

"The police won't believe us unless we have tangible evidence that we aren't crazy." And if I don't stumble onto treasure soon, it's hello bankruptcy.

"What makes a random, supposed 'treasure' good evidence of mafia activity?" Emi asks.

"I don't know," I mumble. "At least it's something." I lean over the side of the bed, pulling the scores from my viola case, then scoot over to make room for Emi, who sits cross-legged beside me as she peers over my shoulder.

"'Thrice the four completes, amen. Words appear in ring of ten,'" I read from the beginning. "We're looking for a title that has 'T' and 'W.'" Shuffling the pages around, I find 'The Wistful.'

"The piece is in F minor. I'm assuming 'B flat' is the chord we're looking for," Emi says.

I direct my gaze at Emi. "We should never assume anything."

"What else could the fourth mean?" She reaches into the desk, her hand returning with a pencil. "B flat is the fourth chord in F minor. Hence, we need to mark all the B flat chords in the music."

I grab a pencil from my case. Emi takes the first two pages while I take the second two. When we finish, we spread the four pages out across the bed.

"The B flat chord appears more than three times during the piece," Emi says slowly.

"Yeah. But only three of those times matter." I squint at the music, eyes trailing across the bars until I reach the final line.

The final line. Three measures before the end, there's a C7 chord followed by an F minor chord. Then, it switches to the B flat chord before finishing on a high F.

"Emi, the piece ends in a Plagal cadence," I say.

"Also known as the amen cadence!" Emi finishes.

Just to be sure, I grab my viola, excitedly plucking the measure. The measure sounds like the ending of a traditional hymn, saying "ahhh-mennn."