Thirty minutes until her performance. Time enough, perhaps, to discover why she’d been hired.
“A birthday?” she asked the bartender. She’d already ruled out a wedding because there was nothing resembling an altar on the lawn.
“Don’t know,” the bartender said. “All that matters is they’re paying 10% over my standard rate.” She was also being well compensated, but still…
Other staff being similarly unhelpful, she returned to the chair where she’d left her violin. An elderly woman approached, and asked if she wanted to know why she was here.
“Yes?”
“I’m dying today. As are all my guests.”
Friday Fictioneers is a weekly flash fiction challenge.