Chord Chemistry: Unlocking the Secrets of Harmony: Music Theory, #1

By Philip B Pallette

Chord Chemistry is the ultimate guide to understanding chords and unlocking the secrets of harmony. This comprehensive book provides a deep dive into the theory and structure of different types of chords, including major and minor chords, augmented and diminished chords, suspended chords, dominant chords, and chord inversions. With this knowledge, you can unlock your creativity and transform your music.

Whether you're a beginner or an experienced musician, Chord Chemistry will help you take your music to the next level. The book includes easy-to-follow exercises and examples that will help you master chord progressions and harmonize melodies with ease. You'll learn how to create beautiful, rich-sounding harmonies that will add depth and complexity to your music.

One of the unique features of this book is its focus on Brazilian music. Brazil is renowned for its rich musical heritage and unique approach to harmony, and this book explores the chord structures and progressions that make Brazilian music so captivating. You'll learn about the use of extended chords, chromatic passing chords, and unique chord progressions that create a sense of richness and complexity in Brazilian music.

Chord Chemistry is not just a theory book; it's a practical guide that will help you apply your newfound knowledge to your own music. The book includes a wealth of examples from a variety of musical styles, including pop, rock, jazz, and classical music. You'll learn how to create compelling chord progressions and harmonies that will take your music to the next level.

Whether you're a songwriter, composer, or musician looking to expand your knowledge of chords and harmony, Chord Chemistry is the perfect book for you. The easy-to-follow exercises and examples make it easy to understand and apply the concepts covered in the book, and the focus on Brazilian music adds a unique and exciting dimension to the material.

In summary, Chord Chemistry is a comprehensive guide to understanding chords and unlocking the secrets of harmony. With this book, you can unlock your creativity and transform your music. Whether you're a beginner or an experienced musician, this book is an invaluable resource that will help you take your music to the next level.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Philip B Pallette
• Release date: Apr 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9780960118359

Book preview

SINFUL DUTY

A STEAMY ROMANCE/MYSTERY-A STUD PRIEST, A GORGEOUS COP AND MORE!

FATHER GRANT STEVENSON SERIES VOL 1

PHILIP B PALLETTE

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Copyright © 2022 by Philip B Pallette

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact [include publisher/author contact info].

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Book Cover by 100Covers

Illustrations by Philip B Pallette

001 edition 2022

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CONTENTS

Prologue

Seattle 1966-1967

1. Father Grant Stevenson

2. Evelyn, The Mom

3. Diana, The Girl?

4. Father Mortimer Townes Tries Aikido

5. Sergeant Ricky Kincaid

6. Grant Meets Stefanie

7. The Discovery

8. Grant And Alex

9. Confirmation Class

10. Father Brown Reveals Himself To Grant

11. Grant’s Rescue Mission

12. Lance Delivers Decisive Blow

13. Monica meets Ricky

14. Grant arrives in Eugene

15. Grant Under Investigation in Eugene

16. Detective Rogers Sings in Church

17. Mortimer Replaces Grant?

18. Stefanie and Evelyn in the Garden

19. Monica’s Lament

20. Mr. Chicago - Claire Flagler

21. Diana and Haruto

22. Brian’s Lament

23. Eugene’s Fireside Chats

24. Aunt Delsey Arrives

25. Grant Has To Use Aikido

26. The Morning After

27. Mortimer Advises Monica

28. Evelyn’s Lament

29. Getting To Know Chicago Claire

30. Evelyn Hosts Stefanie In A Bar

Interlude

31. Multiple Sclerosis

32. Father Brown’s Lament

33. The Death of Father Brown

34. Evelyn and Delsey

35. Diana’s Lament

36. Father Grant Returns

37. Aunt Delsey Returns To Jamaica

38. Christmas Joy

39. A Most Worrisome Surprise

40. Nurse Monica - Victim Of Sexual Abuse?

41. Grant and Lance

42. Monica Found

43. Stefanie’s Confirmation

44. Guillaume

45. Alex and Grant

46. Diana Returns

47. Stefanie’s Soliloquy

48. A Sudden Death

49. The Funeral

50. The Absolute Love Of A Dog

51. Fishing?

52. An Invitation

53. An Unexpected Call

54. The Boys From Oregon

55. A Revelation

56. A Ploy

57. Danger Lurks

58. Visitors

59. The Vestry Faces A Decision

60. Alex’s Defense

61. The Guilty Party

62. All’s Well

Epilogue

Bibliography

About the Author

Also by Philip B Pallette

PROLOGUE

Look. I never asked you to come here. So many years have passed since those days, and I retired long ago. A lot has happened since then. But I still feel the same optimism about people.

I really do.

I have been to Jamaica 25 times since 1996. I visited my father's grave and met with members of my family. People I never knew existed in the days you've come to talk to me about.

No, I can't get it up anymore. I don't know when that stopped happening for me since you are not supposed to mention that in front of polite company. And I should not say it in front of you. I still have dreams, though, and I am always a young guy in these dreams.

And maybe my self-sacrificing nearly prevented me from ever becoming a father, even though people always called me Father in those days. Even now, one old hag still calls me Father Grant. Bless her, for she does not think that I ever sinned. Of course, I have sinned, for Christ's sake! How can you have lived without having sinned?

You are here because of what my life was like back in 1974-1975. That is when I entered the profession, and things turned upside down. That is understandable. But really, I want to be left alone now. I do not want to be taken back to those years full of hope and regret. 

You might think there was a hidden case of a pregnancy for which I was responsible. But that was never proven. That was before the days when DNA was available. Not to mention the work of Sergeant Kincaid. Maybe he eventually became a DNA expert with the FBI; who knows? And even if you say that DNA was not necessary to prove that I was the father, I would say that I could not have been the father. 

I remember everything from that time. There is so much I would like to forget. But now that you are here, we had better get on with it and talk about it.

Multiple sclerosis? Oh yes, I have it. The MRIs came about in the early 1980s and confirmed that I have it. I live with it. But for me, it's not so bad.

The first question I remember raising back then was this: What if he didn't do it? What if he did not leave Karen Lucas's body in my office, as the indictment stated he had? What if?

More questions were raised in my mind at that time and in the sense of young Reverend Mr. Grant Stevenson. That would have been me, of course. What if he were not shooting at me as I rode my Kawasaki out of the driveway of my Laurelhurst home? 

What if no one was shooting at me? Or what if he was shooting at me to save me because he saw I was having a relapse?

These questions came to mind as I prayed and went deep in thought–now that a man's life was at stake. A man whom I had called a friend. A man with whom I had admittedly had an altercation. He thought it was judo. No, it had not been judo, and he had been entirely ignorant of the martial art. 

I can quote what he told me back then—word for word. 

I stole the cassettes, he admitted. I took one from your backpack and figured you had made a copy. I used your key to get inside your house and took a copy of the cassette from your stereo setup. But I did not kill anyone and did not cause your accident. They are saying I must have shot at you. But did you tell the interrogators that you have multiple sclerosis? He was asking the questions now, and he continued to open up.

I came over to talk with you, man, not to steal tapes or shoot at you, for God's sake.

He never knew about the second cassette copy I had made and hid under my bed. Kincaid found that.

SEATTLE 1966-1967

Seattle 1966-1967

Grant Stevenson, the valedictorian at his local high school, the Irene S. Reed High School in Shelton, Washington, a devout churchgoer and grandson of an Episcopal priest, had just completed his first year at college. He knew he wanted to be an Episcopal priest. More than anything in the world, he wanted this. And this was all he had ever really wanted. In addition, he was particularly proud of his achievement in French class.

The mystery surrounding Grant's birth and upbringing rarely occupied his mind, thanks to his grandparents, who kept providing a loving home for him. Grant Stevenson was the unlikely son of a Jamaican businessman and a young New York antiques store salesgirl. Grant had grown up in a liberal white people's world and rarely thought about who he was, or his father had been and endured rare visits from his mother. 

He knew that he was born in New York City, his father had been a Jamaican businessman, and his mother was an antiques store salesperson. Soon after his birth, he was whisked away to his grandparents' household in Seattle, Washington. Later, they moved to St. Thomas's House on Hood Canal, not far from Seattle. Meanwhile, his mother opened her own antiques store in San Francisco. In all the years of growing up, Grant had never met any members of his Jamaican family. He knew his father had died in a plane crash in 1950, and he was possibly buried in Jamaica. Grant needed clarification. He had never asked, or at least his grandparents did not know.

The first disruptive experience in his life occurred outside Husky Stadium in Seattle in October of 1963. He tangled with some toughs outside the stadium after a game and had come away with a vicious knife wound to the right side of his face. He had been in his fourth year of study of Aikido, a martial art, but he was not advanced enough to ward off the attack altogether. He had subdued two of his assailants, but the third, a knife-wielding thug, had attacked him from behind and slashed his face. Police then intervened and took the thug away. Grant could not remember any more details of the incident and its consequences. He just wanted to go home to St. Thomas's House on Hood Canal and continue his life. He had a girlfriend named Monica. He had sexual relations with her, and she once told him, as they kissed, that he was devastatingly handsome.

The second disruptive experience, or rather a set of disruptive experiences, occurred during his second semester at the university. Grant lived in a dormitory, which was strictly off-limits to women. This was 1966, after all, and rules were rules. 

His two roommates had contrived to be away from their room that first weekend in January. In the eyes of his roommates and other dormitory residents, Grant had earned the reputation of being distant, a goody-two-shoes type of character, a young man who spoke eloquently and said little. He said little because he had little to say and did not want to cause any controversy. He tried to prepare for the priesthood.

Grant arrived late on a Friday night, turned on the light in his vacant room, and found to his astonishment, a naked girl lying in his bed under the covers. His roommates were nowhere to be seen. Grant immediately evicted the girl, who bandied about, giggling, gathering her clothing, and disappearing out the door and down the hallway to the bathroom.

Are you gay? she had asked. Whatever the hell that meant.

Oddly, this happened again six weeks later, with almost the same circumstance. When informed of the incidents, Grant's roommates proclaimed shock and complete innocence in both cases. 

However, a third similar incident occurred during the final week of classes. Grant had just finished his final exams and had enjoyed three beers at a local hangout. His companions that night were classified as nerds. He bid them good night, wandered back to his dorm, and entered his room. The room was empty except for a lovely French girl, Juliette, who was fully clothed on the edge of his bed. He recognized Juliette as an assistant proctor in the university's French department. She had worked with other first-year students but not with him. He had always been curious about her. He had had a crush on her, but they had never spoken. She seemed unapproachable.

Strangely, Juliette, who was about to graduate and receive her degree in Art History, did not speak a word to Grant. As he watched, now fascinated by her beauty and sensitivity, she stood, approached him, and removed his t-shirt and trousers, and unexpectedly, there Grant stood, entirely naked in front of her. He felt tongue-tied, to say the least, and could not explain to her that his grandmother had taught him never to wear undershorts during the summer. Unexpected sensations now occupied his thoughts.

Juliette wasted no time and immediately went down on him. Before he climaxed, his instincts took over. He raised her and assisted her out of her clothing. Then he led her to the bed, gently laying her down, and mounted her. He continued pleasuring her and himself throughout the night that ensued.

"Tu peux jouir a l’intérieur de moi," she had murmured.

These words sounded like what must have been a dream to him and drove him to such excitement that he completely forgot himself and came inside her like gangbusters. She seemed to enjoy this and demanded more. 

As time went on, he was thrilled to speak fluent French with her. It was not the fluent French he would learn two years later in Paris; it was his command of the textbook French. This aspect mattered more to him than the sex itself and became a reason to caress her and prolong the event. He began to think that the jollies he was getting must be his prize for doing well in French class!

They were interrupted nearly two hours later when boys, including one of his innocent roommates, entered the room. A kid named Steve Sachs from the student newspaper began snapping photos with professional-grade photographic equipment. Grant would always remember this.

The campus police were summoned, and, as expected, the student body president assembled a board of inquiry. Grant was accused of harboring a female guest against school policy and sexual misconduct, albeit with a consenting adult. The charges were not as severe as they might have been, and his roommates came away with minor reprimands. Juliette graduated as planned. Grant began to wonder if the charges against him were somehow related to the color of his skin. But this subject remained moot, even though he was approached with offers of support from a recently formed black students league.

Grant was banned from school effective immediately. 

He appealed, as was his right, and supporting testimony convinced the board that it would be unfair to ban Grant from the university based on the alleged transgressions. How could he explain his feelings at the moment of his vindication?

Two professors were among his staunch supporters, one of whom was his French conversation professor. These efforts resulted in a compromise: Grant was to be admitted to the university for his sophomore year following one year of detention. This provision was acceptable to Grant. But the strain of the trial was too much for his grandparents to bear. First, his grandmother and grandfather passed away during his detention year.

1

FATHER GRANT STEVENSON

"Remember those who are in prison, as though you were in prison with them; those who are being tortured, as though you yourselves were being tortured." 

Karen Lucas sat in bed and spun around until her feet touched the floor. 

It feels different when you use a condom. I can always tell, she smirked. 

Standing up, Karen walked a few steps to pick up her bra. 

Help me? she asked.

But her partner, Grant Stevenson, was sitting on his side of the bed, holding up and staring at his used condom. 

Knowing Grant, he'll probably get angry if I call him Father or Father Grant, she thought. So she kept silent. But damn, he was good in bed, she wanted to tell him. Her husband had never pleased her this way.

Karen watched as Grant walked out of the bedroom without so much as a glance at her. She strained to hook up the bra herself. She heard the toilet flush down the hall.

Grant wandered back into the bedroom, the condom disposed of, the sweat still glistening on his chest.

Can I give you a ride home, Karen? he asked her politely.

Sure, she smiled. I mean, it's not like I haven't been riding you already. 

Not funny, he thought. 

You're acting all pious again, she said. 

Yeah, Karen, you– He took a deep breath, failing to finish his sentence. 

You can wait for me in the living room, he told her.

Sure, she replied.

Was this it? Was this going to be the final curtain of their brief act together?

She could feel the tears welling in her eyes as she strolled down the hallway.  

As Grant entered the living room, she tried a new tact. 

Your mom bought this house for you, right? she asked brightly. 

Grant did not look at her. 

It's got a great view of the lake, she added.

Karen, he exhaled, shaking his head. 

Well, say something!

Yeah, my mom bought this place for me when I was accepted at the university. Okay? That was a long time ago.

It was June of 1974, and Grant Stevenson was on the verge of a significant career in the clergy, much to his mother's chagrin. 

And Karen Lucas didn't seem to matter to him that much. 

Outside, Grant handed Karen a helmet. He jumped on the starter of his Kawasaki 500 Mach III motorcycle. The Kawasaki was another gift from his mother, following his graduating Magna cum laude from the university. 

Let me put this thing on, Karen mumbled as she tucked in her hair and climbed on the seat in the back. With the helmet on secure, she wrapped her arms around his waist.

Hold on tight, he called out, and they accelerated away from the house. 

At the first stoplight along the way, Grant had a question for her.

Where did you tell Lance you were going this afternoon?

I told him I would look at shops on Fifth Avenue and maybe visit a museum.

I guess he believed you.

I don't think he even heard me. With Lance, it's in one ear and out the other.

The light turned green. Grant revved the machine and took off. Grant's mother may have paid for the Kawasaki, but his buddy Lance picked it out for him. Lance and Grant had been close friends since his university years, and Grant hated himself for what he was doing with Karen. Lance, who had taught him how to ride, and now Grant was banging Lance's wife.

Look, Lance is screwing Amy, so I don't think I'm cheating on anybody, Karen had explained. 

Karen did not want to let go of this relationship with Grant. With Lance, it was wham bam, thank you, ma'am each time, leaving Karen feeling unfulfilled. Whereas Grant took his time, going down on her, sucking gently on her clit until she came and then rising to mount her so magnificently like a stallion. She didn't even want to think about his cock. Oh my God! She might pass out on the back of his motorcycle, which would undoubtedly cause significant traffic problems. 

They crossed Yessler Way, and Grant swung around to a stop on South Washington Street, where Lance Lucas's house was. Lance's motorcycle, a Harley Davidson model, stood in the driveway.

Grant let Karen off, and she handed him her helmet.

You want to come in? It looks like Lance is here.

No, thanks. I got stuff to do.

So, when will I see you again? she asked him. 

Karen, I don't know. I have so much going on right now. You know about the church and my ordainment.

Karen had her pride, too, and she looked at him almost defiantly.

I'll see you Sunday, then, she said.

Yeah, we'll see you guys Sunday.

Grant now powered off to the church on South King Street, which was not far away. It was Wednesday, and he met with Father Brown, his boss, at 4 PM. 

Father Hugh Brown greeted Grant warmly in his office at the rectory. 

"Have you decided what you are going to say