The Last Symphony

By Melody Mysterio

In the heart of a bustling metropolis, the city's most renowned orchestra conductor is found dead, his life silenced by a mysterious assassin during the crescendo of his final symphony. Enter Detective Arietta, a classical music enthusiast whose love for melody is only matched by her prowess in solving crimes. The maestro's death is a shock to the community, and Arietta must navigate through a complex network of jealous musicians, rival conductors, and the cutthroat world of classical music patronage.

 

As Arietta delves into the maestro's life, she discovers that his final symphony contained a series of discordant notes that did not belong. She suspects these notes are the key to identifying the murderer. Each clue leads her deeper into a labyrinth of power plays and the dark side of musical prodigy. She learns that the maestro had many enemies: a jilted violinist, a resentful composer, and even a patron with too much influence.

 

The detective's journey is a race against time as the orchestra is set to perform the final symphony posthumously. She believes the killer will strike again at the climax of the performance, under the cover of darkness and drama. Along the way, Arietta confronts her own past traumas, including the career-ending injury that forced her from the stage to the police department. Her love for music becomes both a blessing and a curse as it brings her closer to the killer.

 

As the night of the performance arrives, the symphony plays, and Arietta pieces together the enigmatic score, realizing the true motive behind the maestro's murder was not envy, but a much more sinister desire for a twisted form of immortality within the notes. The final confrontation is a dramatic display of wit and will, set against the backdrop of a thunderous ovation.

 

"The Last Symphony" weaves a tale of passion, betrayal, and the haunting power of music, where the line between harmony and discord is as fine as the edge of a killer's blade. Detective Arietta's character arc takes her from a haunted former musician to a triumphant detective who uses her deepest passion to restore harmony to her world and justice for a life lost too soon.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lovestruck Publishing
• Release date: Feb 23, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224839025

Book preview

The Last Symphony

Music Of The Night

Melody Mysterio

Copyright © 2024 by Melody Mysterio.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

First Edition : February 2024

CONTENTS

Cacophony Of Tragedy

Ghost Melodies

Dissonant Whispers

Soloists Of Deceit

Patron Of Discontent

Sharps And Flats

Symphony Of Lies

String Of Souls

Suite Retreat

Musicians Will Always Play

Pitch Black Canvas

Presto Changeo

Compositions Clash

Orchestra Of Foul Play

City Nocturne

Power Chord

Scales Of Justice

Virtuoso Killer

Killer Coda

Curtain Call

About The Author

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Cacophony Of Tragedy

The first discordant note that pierced the harmony of the melody was a scream. It cut through the swell of the orchestra like a knife, momentarily suspending the soaring symphony as all eyes jerked towards its origin. There, illuminated by the stage lights near the conductor's podium, a cellist sat paralyzed, her bow trembling as she stared with widened eyes at the collapsed figure partially hidden behind the podium.

Detective Arietta burst through the concert hall’s doors, flashing her badge impatiently as the usher stammered, struggling to make sense of the chaos unfolding on stage. She had been called to this very hall too many times before, to interrupt petty squabbles between patrons or subdue a drunken enthusiast violating the sanctity of the music. But the tenor of the screams flooding the auditorium foretold something far more sinister had shattered the theater’s normally polished decorum.

My God, the usher whispered, gesturing helplessly towards the orchestra, still frozen in confusion, their harmony unraveling. The cellist’s cries had spiraled into full hysteria, her face buried in her hands while other musicians slowly abandoned their instruments, creeping towards the conductor’s podium. A few members of the audience had leaped from their seats as well, shouting fruitless inquiries that only amplified the dissonance.

Arietta’s pulse thrummed as she marched down the aisle, the click of her heels cutting across the murmurs. She slipped under the velvet divider, flashing her badge once more to silence the few patrons daring to follow. As she approached the stage, the metallic scent of blood infiltrated the air. She quickened her pace up the side stairs, stone-faced as the orchestral players parted to grant her access. Behind the podium, tragedy lay waiting.

Maestro Giovanni Rinaldi, the opera house’s illustrious resident conductor and composer, stared lifelessly upwards, his body splayed at an unnatural angle. The dark crimson pooling beneath him stood in stark relief against his dress shirt that had moments before looked so elegant, bathed under the stage lights. Now, death had drained the color from his skin, leaving behind a pallid mask, frozen in an expression of shock. His prestigious baton lay discarded just beyond the reach of his hand.

Arietta breathed steadily, taking in the gruesome sight. She had known Maestro Rinaldi by reputation and sight alone, never having a reason for direct interaction before. Neither friend nor foe. His face was simply one in the endless tapestry that constituted this city’s cultural elite. They briefly existed in parallel artistic spheres. But Arietta's once-promising musical career had abruptly ended on a surgeon's table after a wrist injury destined her to lose harmony with her instrument forever, the Maestro had ascended to even greater creative heights over subsequent decades, continuously reaping the bounties of sold-out concert halls and fawning critical praise with his talents. until this moment.

She stared down impassively at the Maestro’s handsome features, frozen in death. How many rising crescendos had those cold, dead hands conducted into being over countless opening nights? How many glorious symphonies had the ears that now heard only silence brought roaring to life from scribbles on sheet music stands? What singular resonance had the final moments of his last performance held for the Maestro before a violent coda cut his legacy permanently short? Arietta searched Rinaldi’s vacant eyes for answers, knowing she would find none peering back. Behind her, the orchestra players had dissolved into murmurs, their instruments forgotten. Answers would need to come from the living, not the dead.

Pulling latex gloves over her fingers, Arietta circled the body purposefully, scanning the periphery for clues. The distinct gleam of a knife caught her eye under a nearby seat, likely kicked them unseen during the audience’s hurried mid-show exit. She made a mental note of its positioning, leaving the weapon untouched for now, lest its handling disturb any latent fingerprints. There was surprisingly little blood dispersed beyond the pooling around the corpse, possibly indicating a single clean puncture wound rather than prolonged trauma. The Maestro’s body bore no visible defensive wounds, suggesting he had been either caught unaware or was familiar with his assailant.

Leaving behind the chilling scene, Arietta touched the shoulder of the still-shaking cellist who had first spotted the conductor’s body, beckoning the woman quietly towards a back corridor so her statement could be taken away from prying ears. The musician rubbed her eyes, streaking mascara down porcelain skin that seemed far more suited to the glow of stage lights than the harsh police inquiry fluorescent now bathing it.

That moment when the whole symphony crescendos before the grand resolution, the woman whispered, her breath still struggling to stabilize between halting words. It... it was the climax, you know? The orchestra, the chorus... we were all playing our hearts out for Maestro Rinaldi’s glorious finale. And Rinaldi... he was in his element. I could see him so clearly from my seat, arms raised proudly like the king of some musical kingdom, guiding us through the intricate movements he had constructed.  

Arietta scribbled hurried notes as the cellist continued. 

Everything was building exactly as rehearsed. Each violin and horn hitting their cue, the timpani rolling, voices soaring atop... we were hurtling towards the summit. And then...

The woman’s voice trailed off, eyes growing distant in memory. Rinaldi started conducting erratically. His tempo increased, then dragged unexpectedly. I saw the confusion on the other musicians’ faces as we struggled to adjust. Discordant notes spilled from his podium into the symphony. They didn’t belong... so jarring and incongruent with the score’s harmony. The chorus faltered as if even they could not decipher the Maestro’s signals.

She paused, a visible shudder coursing down her bare arms.  

Just as the symphony was descending into chaos, Rinaldi let out the most chilling cry. Part agony, part ecstasy... A haunting, unearthly sound I have never heard a human voice create before. It rose above even the orchestra. Then his baton slipped from his fingers, his body crumpling backward out of sight.  

The cellist exhaled sharply, the horror of the moment flooding back. By the time we realized something was wrong, he was already dead.

Arietta squeezed the woman's shoulder gently, offering hollow comfort in witnessing trauma no training could fully prepare innocent bystanders