The Midnight Piano

Number 7 was the biggest house on Maple Street. It had three floors, a round tower and a front garden with tall old trees. For fifty years, Mr. Dupont lived there. He was a piano teacher. On summer evenings, everybody on Maple Street heard music from his windows.

In January, Mr. Dupont moved to a retirement home in Ottawa, near his daughter. The house was for sale. It was empty. The curtains were closed. There was a lock box on the door for the real estate agent.

In July, the neighbours started to hear music again.

"At midnight," said Mrs. Olsen at the corner store. "Every night. The piano. I heard it with my own ears."

"Me too," said Mr. Ferreira. "Chopin. Very sad music."

"A ghost," said old Mr. Patel, and everyone looked at him. "What? It's an old house."

Nora didn't believe in ghosts. But she believed in her neighbours' ears.

"Dev," she said that afternoon. "Do you want to stay up late tonight?"

"Is this for a case?"

"It's for a case."

"Then my mom says yes." He paused. "Probably."

At a quarter to midnight, Nora and Dev sat on the bench across the street from number 7. It was a warm night. The street lights were on. All the windows of number 7 were dark.