Dead Ringer (4 page)

A shiver went through my body. “I don't even want to imagine what the killer would have done if I'd seen him. Or her.” I paused, thinking. “But at the same time, if I could have identified the murderer, he or she would probably be behind bars by now and I wouldn't have to worry.”

“Are you worried?”

“Of course,” I said, realizing only then how true that was. “Maybe there's a psycho out there who will kill again. Maybe the murderer is in the orchestra.”

I didn't want to think about that last possibility. It was too creepy, too scary.

“Or,” JT said, “maybe someone had a beef specifically with the victim. Someone who has nothing to do with the orchestra, and who followed the cellist to the church.”

“I hope that's the case.” I slumped over the breakfast bar, overwhelmed by all the possibilities.

Perhaps sensing my darkening mood, Finnegan lifted his head and whined.

“It's okay, boy,” I reassured him. “Don't worry about me.”

“But we do.” JT's eyes were full of concern.

I'd always admired his eyes. They were such a unique shade of brown. Like root beer with sunlight shining through it. At the moment, the worry in them warmed my heart.

“No need,” I said, trying to smile even though I felt weighed down by an array of emotions. “I'll be fine once the killer is caught.”

JT didn't look convinced. I was touched by the fact that he cared enough to worry, and my spirits lifted, if only slightly.

“Really, JT. I'll be okay.”

He didn't press the issue, instead crossing the kitchen to his fancy coffee machine. Even though he preferred plain old black coffee himself, he'd bought a machine that could make who-­knew-­how-­many different drinks. It wasn't really for him, though. He'd bought it for all the musicians who came and went on a regular basis as they recorded albums in his studio. And for me. He knew I loved cappuccinos and lattes.

“Something to drink?” he offered.

“A cappuccino, please.”

When my drink was ready, he set it on the granite countertop and came around to sit on the stool beside me. My cell phone chimed and I fished it out of my pocket. Hans had sent me a text message.

How are you doing today?

The fact that he had checked in on me warmed me on the inside. I tapped out a quick reply as I sipped my cappuccino.

I'm okay. You?

“Hans . . .” JT said, looking at my phone. “Isn't that your conductor?”

“Yes.” I tried my best to sound casual.

“Since when does your conductor send you text messages?”

“He stayed with me after I found the body yesterday. Until the police arrived. He's just checking in to see how I'm doing.”

My phone chimed again as another message popped up.

Good. But I'd be even better if you'd have dinner with me tonight.

“Right,” JT said with a wry edge to his voice. “And checking in on you includes asking you out to dinner?”

Against my will, my cheeks flushed. Without sending a reply to Hans, I shoved my phone back in my pocket.

“What does it matter?” I focused on drinking my cappuccino, careful to keep my eyes away from JT.

“Isn't he twenty years older than you?” JT's voice held a mixture of disapproval and disbelief.

“Seventeen,” I corrected, downing the rest of my cappuccino in one gulp. “And what does that matter? We're both adults.”

“Okay, sure. But he's basically your boss, Dori.”

“So?”

“What if things don't work out? What if things go south and he kicks you out of the orchestra?”

“He wouldn't do that!”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because!”

“Because?”

I wanted to growl at JT. I was so frustrated and angry that it was hard for me to form any words. As I tried to come up with something to say to defend myself, JT's expression softened.

“I just don't want you to get hurt, Dori. I know how much you love being in the orchestra. I don't want you to lose that, and I don't want you to get your heart broken.”

Tears threatened to spill out of my eyes, and that only annoyed me further. “Why do you assume he'll break my heart?”

JT was silent for a moment. When he finally did speak, he avoided my question. “It's not a good situation, Dori.”

Gritting my teeth, I slid off my stool. Finnegan jumped up from his place at my feet, and I rested a hand on his head. “It's my life, JT. I can make my own decisions.” I took a step toward the hallway. “I'm going out for a walk.” My words came out cold and hard.

“All right.”

Something in his voice made me clench my teeth together even harder. Was it disappointment? Regret? I didn't even want to know.

“I'll see you later.”

Exuding icy vibes, I set off down the hallway. As soon as I'd grabbed my bag from my studio, I left the house without another word.

 

Chapter 4

A
FTER A BRISK
walk followed by some window shopping, I decided to treat myself to an early lunch of Japanese food. As I sat at a table in a small restaurant, I tried my best not to think of JT or our argument. I was unsuccessful. JT was my best friend and I hated not getting along with him, whatever the reason. I was still frustrated with him, though. I was twenty-­nine years old and knew how to look after myself. I didn't need his interference or disapproval, or even his concern.

I chewed harder than necessary on a piece of sushi, trying to drown out the voice in my head that told me I was lucky to have someone like JT who cared about me and that maybe he was right. I especially didn't want to listen to that last part. The most annoying aspect of the whole thing was the fact that he had simply voiced my own concerns, which I was trying to pretend I didn't have.

I wasn't about to admit that to him, however. I didn't even want to admit it to myself.

I set my phone on the table and stared at Hans's last message. I still hadn't replied to it, wanting to calm down before I committed to anything. But I wanted to accept. Whether or not there was some risk involved, the fact was, I was attracted to Hans. He was good-­looking, talented, and intelligent. I'd enjoyed what little time we'd spent alone together, and I couldn't deny the spark between us. Not that I wanted to.

Besides, I didn't really believe that my job would be in jeopardy if our relationship didn't work out. Maybe I didn't know Hans all that well yet, but I knew he wasn't petty.

Thinking things over as I finished off my agedashi tofu, I came to a decision and picked up my phone to send a reply.

Dinner sounds great. What time?

Drinking down the last of my green tea, I paid for my meal and set off back to my studio to teach my first student of the day.

I
DIDN'T SEE
JT again that day. By the time I arrived back at his house, he and Finnegan had both disappeared, presumably down to his own studio in the basement. In a way, I was relieved. Part of me wanted to patch things up with him, but another part of me was still annoyed and didn't want to talk to him about anything.

Even if I'd wanted to talk to him, I didn't have a chance. My first student arrived only a minute or two after I let myself back into the house, and I was busy teaching for the next few hours. When my last student of the day left my studio, I quickly packed up my things and set off for the bus stop.

Hans had responded to my last text message shortly after I sent it, and we'd arranged to meet at my place at seven o'clock that evening. He'd offered to pick me up at my studio, but there was no way I would have agreed to that. I didn't want to risk him and JT meeting, not now that I knew JT disapproved of our relationship.

I also had another reason for wanting Hans to pick me up at my place rather than at the studio. I wanted a chance to change into something nicer than the jeans and sweater I'd put on that morning. I didn't have a whole lot of time to spare, since my last lesson ended at six, so I didn't waste any of it, getting myself home as quickly as possible.

Once inside my apartment, I went straight to the closet and opened its louvered doors. I stared at my wardrobe, biting my lip with indecision. What should I wear? I didn't know where we were going for dinner and I didn't want to be too dressy or too casual. But I had to make up my mind or I'd run out of time and would have to go as I was. I grabbed a blue wrap dress off its hangar and changed into it. It was one of my most comfortable, and blue was my favorite color, as well as one of the colors that looked best on me.

After changing into the wrap dress, I touched up my makeup and switched my stud earrings for dangly silver ones. I brushed out my long hair and was slipping into a pair of strappy silver heels when Hans buzzed my apartment. He had perfect timing. I told him I'd meet him down in the lobby and then transferred my phone and keys from my quilted shoulder bag to a silver clutch. Smoothing my hair one last time, I took the elevator down three stories to meet my date.

I smiled when I saw him standing there, feeling certain I'd made the right decision in accepting his dinner invitation. When he noticed me stepping off the elevator, he smiled too, and butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

“Midori.” He came to meet me, taking my hands and giving me a quick kiss that stirred up the butterflies again. “You look stunning.”

“You're looking quite handsome yourself,” I said, giving the collar of his brown leather jacket a little tug. I wanted to run my hands through his blond hair but somehow managed not to.

He kept hold of one of my hands as he led me out of the apartment building.

“Where are we going?” I asked, curious. I figured that neither of us would want to run into anyone we knew, and wondered if we would end up going somewhere far across town to lessen the risk of that happening.

“Actually, I was hoping you would allow me to cook for you.”

I paused on the sidewalk, suddenly hesitant. “At your place?”

“That's what I had in mind.” Hans squeezed my hand. “But if you'd rather we go to a restaurant, we can do that instead. As long as I get to spend time with you, I'm happy.”

I was still hesitant. Although we'd stolen a few moments alone together here and there, this was our first real date. And even though going to his place would prevent anyone we knew from seeing us, it felt like too much too soon. What exactly was he expecting by inviting me to his home?

My hesitation must have shown on my face, in my body language. He gave me a reassuring smile and brushed his thumb along my cheek, making my knees weak.

“It's just dinner,” he said. “No pressure. Time alone together is all I want. But like I said, we can go to a restaurant if that's what you'd prefer.”

Relaxing, I shook my head. “I'd love for you to cook for me.”

Smile lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes and he leaned toward me to brush his lips against mine. “Nothing would make me happier.”

He opened the passenger door to his silver sedan and I settled into the seat. As Hans drove us away from my apartment and toward his place, I left all of my doubts and concerns behind. This was going to be a great evening, and I was determined to enjoy every minute of it.

W
HEN WE FIRST
set off in the car, I had no idea where Hans lived. I guessed it was probably on the west side of the city, but I didn't even know that for sure. It turned out that he owned half of a duplex in Kitsilano, a trendy neighborhood near the popular Kits Beach. When we stepped inside the front door and Hans flicked on the lights, I could see right away that the interior of his home matched the neighborhood.

Although not new construction, the duplex had been upgraded, and probably not too long ago. The hardwood floors were beautiful, and the tiled fireplace in the living room created a modern but charming centerpiece. When Hans led me through to the kitchen at the back of the duplex, I could tell that whoever had done the renovations had gone all out in that room.

There were dark wood cupboards, granite countertops, and tile flooring. The appliances were stainless steel and top-­of-­the-­line. I wasn't an expert, but I guessed that the six-­burner gas stove was a home chef's dream.

“Do you do a lot of cooking?” I asked, eyeing the fancy stove.

Hans grinned. “Whenever I get the chance.” He nodded at the small round table in an alcove with a bay window. “Make yourself comfortable.”

I pulled out a chair and settled into it, gazing out at the small backyard for a few seconds before returning my attention to the kitchen. Hans opened a built-­in wine cooler and pulled out a bottle.

“Wine?”

“Yes, please.”

“Sauvignon blanc?”

“Sure.”

He took two wineglasses down from a cupboard, filled them both, and passed one to me. “Are you allergic to shellfish?” he asked.

“No, I love shellfish.”

“So shrimp scampi is okay?”

“Sounds perfect,” I said.

Hans picked up a small remote control and hit a button. Music began playing softly, and I recognized the piece right away as Edward Elgar's Salut d'Amour. There were built-­in speakers in the kitchen. I wasn't surprised. Hans was as much of a classical music lover as I was—­perhaps even more so—­and he likely didn't spend a whole lot of time without music accompanying his life.

I sipped at my wine and watched him as he worked, removing ingredients from his refrigerator and setting a pot of water on the stove to boil.

“So,” he said as he poured some olive oil into a pan, “tell me about yourself.”

“There's not a whole lot to tell, really.”

“I find that very hard to believe.”

I set my wineglass on the table. “Well, you already know that I'm a violinist.”

“How about outside of music?”

I shrugged. “I'm an only child, born and raised in Vancouver.”

“Have you traveled much?”

“Not as much as I'd like. I've been to England once, Japan three times. That's where my mother's side of the family is from. I've been to a few places in the U.S., but that's about it. How about you? You must be well-­traveled.”

“What makes you say that?” he asked as he added pasta to the pot of water.

“Well, you're from Denmark, and I think I recall hearing that you worked in a ­couple of other countries before coming to Canada.” I tried to remember what I'd heard about Hans when he first took on the job as maestro of the Point Grey Philharmonic. “Weren't you working in Sweden before you came here?”

Although I could only see his profile, I thought I caught a flash of hesitation or wariness on his face. But it was gone so quickly, I wasn't sure I hadn't imagined it.

“That's right,” he said, sautéing some garlic. “Uppsala. And I guess I am fairly well-­traveled. I worked in Australia for seven years. Melbourne, to be exact. I also spent five years in Germany and a ­couple in California. I've done a fair bit of traveling in Asia, although that's mostly been in my spare time rather than for work.”

“You must speak a lot of languages,” I said.

“I can get by in several, but I'm best at Danish, Swedish, German, and English.”

I shook my head. “The more I learn about you, the more amazed I am.”

He grinned as he checked the pasta. “And the more time I spend with you, the more entranced I become.”

My cheeks warmed and I took a sip of my wine to cover my sudden embarrassment. Fortunately, Hans wasn't looking at me at that moment, and I was able to recover without him noticing. We chatted some more about his time in Australia as he finished preparing our meal, and soon he was refilling our wineglasses and setting out plates of shrimp scampi on the table.

The meal smelled delicious, and Hans lit two candles on the table before sitting down, adding some romance to the evening as the sun set and the natural light from the bay window dimmed.

As I took my first bite of the shrimp scampi, I almost sighed with pleasure. “This tastes amazing,” I told him. “You're a man of many talents.”

“I'd like to think so.”

His words, together with the glint in his eyes, made me blush again. This time he noticed. He smiled, the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way I found charming and attractive.

“What are we going to do now without Jeremy?” I asked. “Do you have another ringer lined up?”

Hans swallowed a bite of food and nodded. “I have someone in mind. I'm just waiting to hear back from her. If all goes well, she'll be at tomorrow's rehearsal.”

“I still can't believe he's dead,” I said, twirling some pasta around my fork. “Murdered. Who would do such a thing?”

“I don't know. But it wouldn't surprise me if Jeremy had made several enemies in his lifetime. You know what he was like.”

I nodded. I did know what he was like. But still, disliking someone wasn't enough reason to kill them. At least, not in my book. But maybe someone out there was missing a few pages from their mental symphony. Or maybe somebody, for whatever reason, had hated Jeremy with a passion. Who knew? Not me. I hoped the police would figure it out, though.

“In fact,” Hans went on, after taking a drink of his wine, “he didn't even seem to get along with Reverend McAllister.”

“Reverend McAllister? What do you mean?”

“When I arrived for the rehearsal yesterday, Jeremy was already there. I caught a glimpse of him having a hushed but very heated discussion with the reverend.”

I took a second to digest that information. “Did you tell this to the police?”

“Of course.”

“You didn't hear what they were arguing about?”

Hans shook his head. “I couldn't make out any words. When they caught sight of me, they broke off their argument rather hastily and went their separate ways.”

How curious. I thought things over as I ate more of my dinner, and soon realized that something was nagging at me. “How did Jeremy even know Reverend McAllister?” I asked. “That was our first rehearsal at the church.”

“Ah, but Jeremy helped out with the youth orchestra that rehearses there on a regular basis. He probably ran into the reverend from time to time.”

Right. Jeremy had mentioned his work with the youth orchestra. I'd simply forgotten about it until Hans mentioned it. I almost forgot about it again when Hans reached across the table and covered my hand with his.

“Let's not talk about Jeremy or murder anymore tonight. I'm sure there are far more pleasant things we could do.”

My heart did something crazy in my chest and my head felt light and pleasantly woozy. I didn't think it had anything to do with the wine. We finished up our meal, talking mostly about music and my work as a violin teacher.