Dead Ringer (12 page)

There were several teenagers and young adults in attendance, and I figured they were probably Jeremy's cello students or members of the youth orchestra he had helped out with. A few of them looked bored, while others seemed sad but dry-­eyed. One girl, however, rivaled Shelley with her quiet crying, fat tears rolling down her round cheeks. I guessed her age to be about fifteen. She wore a tight black dress and her straight brown hair reached down to the middle of her back. I wondered why she was so much more upset than all the other youngsters present. Perhaps Jeremy had been her cello teacher for a long time.

I turned my attention away from the girl and my eyes continued to wander over the attendees. Three rows back from the crying teenager, my gaze locked on two figures dressed in somber suits.

Detectives Bachman and Salnikova.

I wondered about their presence. Was it standard for detectives working on a murder case to attend the victim's funeral simply out of respect, or were they there for investigative purposes? Were they observing everyone's behavior in an attempt to identify more suspects, or were they watching Hans?

I didn't know if they were focused solely on him as the possible killer. I no longer even knew if they should bother searching for other suspects. I hadn't judged Hans's character well, so for all I knew the police had the right man in their sights. And yet, despite everything I'd discovered the night before, I found that I still hoped he was innocent.

Even though I couldn't be sure of the reason for the detectives' attendance at the funeral, I was willing to bet they were thinking along the same lines as me. Whoever the killer was, there was a good chance that he or she was in the room with us at that very moment.

 

Chapter 12

F
OLLOWING THE SER­VICE,
everyone filed past Jeremy's sister in a receiving line before heading into a large room directly above the basement auditorium. Double doors along one wall stood open, revealing a kitchen, and two tables had been loaded with food and drinks for the reception. I led Mikayla over in the direction of the food tables, spotting several platters of tea sandwiches. I'd had a particular fancy for tea sandwiches my whole life.

We both loaded up plates with sandwiches, veggies, and other tasty tidbits before claiming some floor space near a potted fern. My eyes roamed over the crowd, searching for and finding Hans. Once I knew where he was, I angled my back to him, not wanting to draw his attention.

As I devoured my first sandwich, I realized that I hadn't asked Mikayla about her date the night before. “So, how did things go with Dave last night?”

She grinned as she licked some vegetable dip off one finger. “Fabulously. I'm seeing him again tomorrow night.”

I smiled, happy for her. “He's not here today?”

“No, he plays in a soccer league and his team had a game. Besides, he knew Jeremy even less than we did.” She selected a cherry tomato off her plate and waved at someone across the room as she swallowed it. “There's Bronwyn. I need to ask her if I left my favorite sunglasses at her place last week. I haven't been able to find them anywhere. See you in a bit!”

She left me alone by the potted fern, navigating her way through the crowd toward Bronwyn, one of the first violinists in the PGP. As I munched on a carrot stick, I spotted Mrs. Landolfi across the room. I made my way over to her as she filled a white mug with hot liquid from the coffee urn.

“Mrs. Landolfi,” I greeted.

“Oh, hello, dear.” She added a dollop of cream to her coffee.

“How are you today?”

“Still a little shaken up by last night's events,” she said. “But I'm staying with my son for a few days, so that makes me feel better. Of course, today is a sad day. Poor Jeremy.” Her eyes grew misty.

“I don't suppose the police have had any luck catching the intruder yet,” I said, changing the subject in an attempt to prevent her from crying.

“No, not that I'm aware of.” She took a sip of her coffee. “But those young men and women are so good at their job. I'm sure they'll catch the burglar eventually.”

I wasn't sure that I shared her optimism, but I didn't say so.

“I'm going to talk to Jeremy's sister.” Mrs. Landolfi patted me on the arm. “It was nice to see you again, dear.”

“You too.”

I looked down at my empty plate and decided I needed a refill. I was in the midst of selecting more tea sandwiches when someone came up behind me and stood by my right shoulder.

“Midori.”

I tensed at the sound of Hans's voice in my ear. “Maestro.” My tone was curt and I didn't bother to look at him, instead keeping my attention on the platter of sandwiches as I added two more to my plate. My hand shook and I cursed myself silently. I hoped he hadn't noticed the tremor.

He stood close enough that I heard his sigh. “Elena told me you came by last night.”

“Did she.” I moved along the table, adding a strawberry tart to my plate. I tried to stay relaxed but couldn't. Tension zinged through my muscles, leaving them taut, rigid.

Hans moved along with me. “I'd like a chance to explain.”

I barely stopped myself from letting out a snort. “I think I understand the situation very well, thank you.”

He followed me as I moved toward a relatively quiet corner of the room. “Midori, my feelings for you are real. Elena doesn't need to come between us.”

“She already has.
You
already have. And I really don't want to hear this.” I chewed on a sandwich with more vigor than usual.

“Is there anything I can say to—­?”

“No.” I picked up another sandwich but set it down on my plate again, some of my ire draining away. “Can we forget about everything that happened between us? I'd like to go back to the way things were when you first arrived. A strictly professional relationship.”

Hans regarded me with his blue eyes. “If that's what you want.”

I thought I detected a hint of disappointment in his voice, but it didn't move me in the least. “That's what I want.”

“All right, then. I'll see you at the next rehearsal.”

If you haven't been arrested for murder first, I thought.

I watched him walk away and then turned my attention back to my sandwiches and strawberry tart. The food was delicious, but the recent company had drained away some of my enthusiasm for it.

As soon as I'd finished eating, I set my empty plate on a table near the kitchen door and wended my way through the crowd to join Mikayla and Bronwyn. Unsurprisingly, I found their company far more enjoyable than Hans's. We got so caught up in our conversation about our various students that we barely noticed the crowd dispersing around us. It was only when Mikayla glanced at the clock on the wall and said, “Sorry, girls, I've got to run,” that I realized we were among the few remaining in the reception room.

After Mikayla and Bronwyn left, I helped two elderly church ladies carry used dishes and leftover food into the kitchen, snagging another mini sandwich as I went. By the time everything had been shifted into the kitchen, I was the only nonchurch lady left in the room.

Waving goodbye to the ladies, I headed down the hall to the narthex. I was relieved that all the other attendees had already taken their leave. I didn't want to run into Hans again. The few minutes during the reception earlier had been more than enough to deal with.

His feelings for me were real? Could he really expect me to believe that?

If he truly cared for me, he would have been honest from the start.

Pushing all thoughts of Hans aside, I pulled out my phone and sent a text message to JT.

Want to catch a movie?

He'd sent a reply by the time I reached the exit.

Sure. Still at the church? I'll pick you up.

Yep,
I typed back with my thumbs.
Still here. See you soon
.

I paused inside the double doors leading outside. Did I want to wait inside or out?

Out, I quickly decided.

The spot where Jeremy met his end was only fifteen feet away, and its proximity still creeped me out. Besides, even though the skies had been overcast upon my arrival at the church that morning, the spring air had been fresh and scented with flowers. Much preferable to the creep-­out vibes coming at me from the nearby stairway.

I pushed out the doors and onto the wide stone steps leading down to the sidewalk.

So much for flower-­scented air.

Sometime during the past two hours the cloudy skies had opened up, and rain now poured down in sheets, pelting the poor flowers in the church's garden and obliterating all scents but that of the rain itself. Even so, outside was better than inside.

Apparently I wasn't the only one who thought so. The teenage girl I'd seen sobbing during the ser­vice was huddled on the top step, off to one side. The overhang protected her from the rain, but just barely. Even if the rain had drenched her, she probably wouldn't have noticed. She was too busy crying.

Still or again? I wasn't sure, but I felt a twinge of sympathy for her.

“Hey.” I sat down beside her.

The girl sniffed and glanced at me with red-­rimmed eyes. She wiped a tear with the back of her hand but another soon took its place.

“Were you one of Jeremy's students?” I asked.

The girl sniffed again and nodded. “I took cello lessons from him. He also helped out with my youth orchestra.” She choked on a sob. “I can't believe he's dead. I can't believe somebody killed him.”

Her whole body shook as sobs overcame her. She buried her face in her hands.

I gave her back an awkward pat. “I know it's been an awful shock. Is someone coming to pick you up?”

I didn't like the thought of leaving her there sobbing on her own.

The girl gulped and sniffled. “My mom. She should be here soon.”

Phew. I hoped she was right about the soon part.

“What's your name?” I asked.

“Susannah.”

“I'm Midori.”

Susannah blinked back her tears, which, thankfully, were subsiding. “Like Midori Ito?”

“You know about her?” I was surprised. Ito was in the spotlight before my time, and therefore way before Susannah's time.

“I'm a figure skater.”

Ah. That explained it. “Yes, like Midori Ito.”

A tremulous smile pulled at the corners of her mouth but disappeared after only a second or two.

The wind had picked up during our conversation and a gust blew a wall of rain at us.

I winced as the drops pelted against me. “Why don't we wait for your mom inside?” I suggested. “Otherwise we'll get soaked.”

Susannah didn't protest. With more sniffling but fortunately no more tears, she got up and followed me inside.

I pushed aside my former misgivings about hanging around near the scene of Jeremy's death and led her to the bench between the two staircases. I despised wet clothes even more than I despised the creepiness of the staircase where Jeremy died. Plus, hanging around the area wasn't quite so bad when I had company. At least if I had someone to talk to, I wouldn't keep picturing Jeremy's dead body.

Moments after we seated ourselves on the bench, Reverend McAllister emerged from the nave. When he spotted Susannah, his expression darkened, just for a second, until he noticed me sitting next to her.

“Oh . . . Hello, ladies.” His eyes skittered away from us as if they didn't know where to settle. With a quick nod in our direction, he fled up the stairway to our left.

I stared after him, puzzled.

“That was weird,” I remarked.

I glanced at Susannah, and grew even more puzzled. She was tense, staring at her hands clasped in her lap, her tear-­streaked face pale.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing.” She pressed her lips together in a tight line and kept her eyes on her lap.

Obviously it wasn't nothing, but my thoughts had already strayed. I still had vague suspicions about the reverend and was curious to know how he would react if I dropped hints about everything I'd learned about Jeremy recently.

“I wonder if the reverend has a moment to spare.” I shifted forward on the bench, ready to get up.

Susannah grabbed my arm. “Wait!”

Startled, I slid back on the bench.

“Please don't leave me alone here.”

Now she had me downright perplexed. “What's wrong, Susannah?”

She chewed on her bottom lip and didn't respond.

I realized that her odd behavior had started after McAllister's appearance, and that sent my suspicion meter through the roof. “Susannah? Did Reverend McAllister do something to you?”

“No!” Her shoulders sagged. “I mean, nothing like that. Not what you're thinking. But he's not a good person.”

“What do you mean?”

She bit her lower lip again. “I don't know if I should say anything.” Her eyes filled with tears.

“If it's got you this upset, I think you should,” I said.

She wiped at her fresh tears. “I don't want to get my uncle in trouble.”

“Your uncle?” Now I was really confused.

Susannah sniffled. “Reverend McAllister and his wife are good friends with my uncle. They were all at my house for a dinner party a few weeks ago and . . .” She hesitated, but only briefly. “My uncle and Reverend McAllister had a lot to drink. They were playing pool in the basement after dinner and I overheard them talking.”

“What about?”

“Reverend McAllister was making fun of ­people in his congregation, ­people I know, and my uncle wasn't exactly discouraging him. The things they said about some of the women were really awful. And then it got even worse.” She glanced around as if to make sure we were still alone. “Then Reverend McAllister started saying terrible things about Bishop Maguire. He's a really nice man, but the reverend called him names that I can't even repeat.”

I considered her words. I didn't know Bishop Maguire, but I doubted that he'd be pleased to hear what Susannah had just told me. Still, I thought I was missing something.

“Did McAllister realize you'd overheard him?” I asked, wondering if that would explain the glare he'd sent in Susannah's direction.

She shifted on the bench. “I took a video of them on my phone.”

“And McAllister knows that?”

Susannah nodded, fear flickering in her eyes. “I think Jeremy must have told him. But I don't know why he would do that to me.” She sniffled, but fortunately no more tears spilled from her eyes.

“Jeremy?” My brain was on high alert now.

“I was here rehearsing with the youth orchestra one day when the reverend was around. Jeremy could tell that I didn't like the reverend and asked me why. I told him about the video and the things Reverend McAllister had said, but he thought I was exaggerating. So I sent him a copy of the video so he could see for himself. He believed me after that, but then he told me it would be best to keep quiet about the whole thing if I didn't want to make my uncle look bad. Except . . .”

“Except what?” I prompted, the gears turning in my head as I wondered if any of what she was telling me could be related to Jeremy's death.

Susannah clenched her hands together and took a deep breath. “Just before the funeral, Reverend McAllister cornered me and told me that if I ever showed the video to anyone else or posted it online, I'd be sorry.” Her voice quavered when she continued. “So Jeremy must have told the reverend about the video, and then he got killed. What if his death is my fault? And now my mom's late picking me up, and I really don't want to be left alone when Reverend McAllister is around.” Her last words came out in a rush.