The Bermudez Triangle Read Online Free Page A

birthday jig band.
    There was no way Avery could have known that by answering “yes” to the bizarre question “Can you play the piano or accordion?” on her job application, she would commit herself to becoming one of the official—and few—members of P. J. Mortimer’s Birthday Jig Band. She soon came to the conclusion that her thirteen years of piano lessons were probably the only reason she was hired in the first place, since she didn’t exactly seem to have the personality that Mortimer’s was looking for. She was called into action when sheheard a whooping noise and then the heavy beat of a mechanical bass drum that was mounted on the wall by the front vestibule.
    She was hearing it right now, as a matter of fact. This was the P.J. Mortimer’s Birthday Jig Alert.
    Avery swerved around a busboy carrying a heavy load of dirty dishes and ducked into the pantry. If she could just slip through and get out the fire door fast enough, she could claim she was taking her five-minute break and never heard the alert.
    Mel was right on her heels. Avery stuck herself in the corner, next to the ice cream freezer, and jammed her hands into her apron pockets.
    “I’m not doing it this time,” she said under her breath.
    “But this one’s my table,” Mel pleaded.
    “I’ll make you a deal.”
    “What?”
    “Come with me to Gaz’s tonight,” Avery said.
    The alert was still banging and whooping in the background. Mel glanced through the doorway nervously and looked at the group of other servers, who were clumping together and all looking a little pained at the thought of having to sing.
    “Come on, come on, come on….” Avery scrunched up her face. “You know you want to.”
    Big parties always freaked Mel out, and she tried to get out of them whenever she could. But now that Avery had Mel on her own, she’d found that she had a lot of leverage. It had gotten incredibly-easy to convince Mel to do things in the last week or so, now that Nina wasn’t around to protect her.
    “I guess …” Mel said.
    “Say you promise.”
    “I … promise.
    “Okay,” Avery said. “Let’s go.”
    Mel borrowed Avery’s lighter to light the candles on a small green-and-white cake that was waiting on the prep counter. Avery headed out onto the floor and took her seat in front of a keyboard on a small raised platform in a corner of the room. The jig was a very simple tune that just about anyone with the most basic piano skills could play. Avery banged out the chords automatically, keeping her eyes trained on Mel as she brought out the cake. The other servers fell in behind her, letting her lead them to the birthday table. You could always tell which one it was by looking for someone trying to slide down out of sight or covering his or her face with a pair of hands. Sure enough, there was a group of women in one of the booths, and one was slinking down, looking like her cover in the Witness Protection Program had just been blown.
    All the servers locked arms and began to sing:
    We heard it was your birthday, so we’ve come to make a fuss!
    So happy, happy birthday, to you from all of us!
    Hi-di-hi-di-hi-di-ho
    On this fine day we wish the best to you and all of yours
    The merriest of birthdays, from P.J. Mortimer’s!
    This was followed by a short jig (skipping in circles), with several more hi-di-hos, after which the singers skittered awayas quickly as possible, like roaches when the lights come on.
    Back in the safety of the pantry, Avery grabbed a dessert fork and pressed it into Mel’s hand.
    “If I have to do that again,” Avery said, “I want you to kill me with this.”
    “You can do me too,” said a voice behind them.
    Mel and Avery turned. One of the other servers had come in and was slouching against the wall, demonstrating his utter contempt for the official birthday jig. He was tall but had a young-looking face, with a dash of golden freckles over his cheekbones. His very dark brown hair had overgrown a bit,