Death in a Major (12 page)

Swiping it up off the ground, I fumbled around inside of it for my phone. My fingers brushed against the device, but my trembling hand wouldn't cooperate and it slipped out of my grasp, back into the depths of my bag.

I glanced over my shoulder, terrified that Kevin might return, but I was still alone. Only then did his words truly sink in, a swift rush of dread running through me.

I left a message with your boyfriend.

But how did he know about Aaron?

No, not Aaron.

Oh God. No, no, no.

Forgetting about my phone, I forced my shaking legs to run.

He didn't mean Aaron. He meant JT.

 

Chapter Twelve

I
REMEMBERED THE
person I'd seen in the alley that morning. It must have been Kevin. My eyes hadn't deceived me. He must have seen me with JT and assumed that he was my boyfriend.

I left a message with your boyfriend.

What did that mean? What had he done?

Please let JT be okay. Please, please, please.

I ran as fast as I could. My boots slipped on a scattering of wet leaves and I hit the ground again, this time knocking my knee against the pavement. I barely noticed the pain. I barely even noticed the storm still raging around me. All I could think about was JT. If anything happened to him . . .

No, no, no.

I slipped again but managed to stay on my feet. A few more seconds of running took me to the front of JT's house. The door stood wide open, light pouring out into the night.

My fear intensified with every gasping breath, building toward a panicked crescendo. I raced along the narrow walkway and up the steps to the front porch.

“JT!” I halted on the threshold.

A piece of paper fluttered in the door's mail slot, stuck halfway in and halfway out.

“JT? Finnegan?”

No one responded. I wanted to go inside, to search the house for my best friend and his dog, but fear held me to the spot like a cold and heavy suit of lead. What would I find? What had happened?

I had to go inside. If JT and Finnegan were hurt, I needed to get them help. Standing there frozen wouldn't do them any good.

As I forced one foot forward, a voice called out from behind me.

“Midori?”

I spun around and almost collapsed with relief. JT walked up the pathway to the house, Finnegan bounding along at his side. Even though my legs didn't want to work, I dropped my bag on the porch and ran down the steps. I crashed into JT, wrapping my arms around him and holding on to him as if my life depended on it.

“Dori?”

I could hear the concern in his voice, but I couldn't speak. When his arms went around me, I pressed my unharmed cheek against his chest, soaking in his warmth and solidity.

Finnegan bounced around us, the rain poured down, lightning flickered across the sky, and thunder continued to boom. Still, I stayed there, holding on to JT, allowing the steady rhythm of his heart to beat away some of my fear.

“Dori, what's wrong? Is it the storm? Let's get you inside.”

He knew about my intense fear of storms and what it stemmed from, but he still sounded confused. I didn't blame him. As scared as I was of lightning, I'd never reacted to a storm like this before.

I shook my head as he guided me toward the house, one of my arms still around him. “Not the storm.” My teeth chattered together as I finally became aware of how wet my clothes were. “The door was open. I thought something bad had happened to you.”

“I must not have latched it properly. The wind probably blew it open. I went next door to help Mrs. Tilley. One of her windows was stuck open and the rain was coming in.”

I shook my head again as he helped me up the stairs. I'd left out too much. “Jordan's uncle attacked me on the way here. He threatened me and said he'd left a message with you. I didn't know what he meant and when I got here . . .”

JT came to an abrupt stop on the porch. “Wait. Someone attacked you?”

“Jordan's uncle,” I repeated.

“Did he hurt you? Are you okay?” His eyes searched me for injuries, zeroing in on my sore cheek now that some of the light spilling out of the house reached us. “Oh my God. Dori, what did he do to you?”

Hearing the fear and anger in his voice, I rushed to reassure him. “I'm okay. I promise. Just a few scratches.”

“You're shaking like a leaf.”

“I was scared.” I pointed at the mail slot, my entire arm trembling. “He was here.”

JT snatched the paper from the slot. I leaned against him, partly so I could read the message along with him and partly because my legs still didn't want to fully support me.

Kevin had scribbled out a message in blue ink, basically making the same threat as he had on the street, with a few swearwords added in.

Stop interfering or else, was the gist.

“What the hell, Dori? Why is this guy threatening you?”

“He thinks I told the police that he killed Mr. Major, but that's not really what happened.”

“Is there a chance he came back here?”

“He took off in the opposite direction. I'm sure he's long gone.”

JT retrieved my bag from the porch and guided me into the foyer. He set the paper on the hall table and shut and locked the front door as Finnegan trotted off toward the kitchen. “Still, maybe I should have a look around.”

“I'm coming with you.” There was no way I wanted to be left alone right then.

I grabbed on to his hand and together we moved through the house, checking each room.

“Finnegan doesn't seem concerned,” I said when the dog joined us to check out JT's basement studio.

“No, that's a good sign.” JT ducked his head into the last room in the basement. “All clear.”

Finally, the last of my fear drained away and exhaustion moved in to replace it.

“You look like you're ready to collapse,” JT said.

I was, but I didn't want to admit it.

“Come on.” He gave my hand a tug. “Let's go back upstairs and I'll call the police.”

The police.

Ugh. I didn't want to deal with that, not right then. But I knew it was necessary.

While JT made the phone call, I retrieved a small bag from my studio. Inside I kept a change of comfy clothing for evenings when I stayed after work to hang out with JT. After I'd changed into the wonderfully dry lounge pants and T-­shirt, I bundled up my wet clothes and stuffed them in the dryer in the basement laundry room. When I returned to the main floor, I found JT in the living room, setting his cell phone on the coffee table.

“The police should be here before too long.” He looked at me more closely as I stood in the doorway. “Are you sure you're okay?”

I nodded, unable to find my voice.

“You're really pale. You'd better sit down.”

I walked over to the couch and sank down onto the cushions, tucking my legs up underneath me.

The concern hadn't left JT's eyes. “I'll get you something hot to drink.”

He squeezed my shoulder as he passed by on his way to the kitchen. After he was gone, I could still feel the warmth where his hand had momentarily rested. I closed my eyes as a confusing rush of emotions coursed through me, tumbling over one another. Fear, joy, and sadness all mixed together, almost robbing me of my breath with their intensity.

I'd had a rough evening but my current state of emotional overload had nothing to do with Kevin Major or the thunderstorm that seemed to have worn itself out. No, my overwhelming assortment of feelings had to do with a sudden, sharp revelation.

I was in love with JT.

B
Y THE TIME
a uniformed police officer arrived at JT's front door, I was halfway through a mug of hot chocolate. I'd hardly said a word to JT since my sudden recognition of my feelings for him, but he didn't seem to mind. He probably thought my near-­silence was a result of the exhaustion that had crept up on me once I knew that he, Finnegan, and I were all truly safe.

I stole glances at him as he pulled the curtains across the bay window and again as he crossed to the foyer to answer the officer's knock on the door. I didn't understand how it could have hit me out of the blue like that. My feelings for him had evolved over time, slowly shifting from friendship to something different. I could see that now, looking back, but how had I not noticed earlier?

I hadn't wanted to, I realized. And I knew why. Being in love with my best friend scared the heck out of me. I didn't want to ruin our friendship or make things awkward between us. That would devastate me.

JT cared deeply about me, I knew that, but he'd never shown any sign of harboring romantic feelings for me. Had he?

No, I was quite certain he hadn't. So telling him about my revelation wasn't an option. I couldn't risk damaging what we had. I
wouldn't
risk it.

Thoughts about my relationship with JT distracted me to such a degree that I had a feeling he'd said my name more than once by the time he got my attention. When I finally managed to find my way back into the world around me, JT introduced the officer as Constable Dallinger.

At JT's invitation, the constable took a seat in an armchair, notebook and pen in hand. He appeared to be in his late twenties, probably within a year or two of my twenty-­nine years. I did my best to focus on him instead of JT, who sat down next to me on the couch. My head was muddled, my body humming with all my different emotions, but I needed to concentrate.

Keeping my eyes on the dark-­haired, blue-­eyed constable, I told him about Kevin, starting with the confrontation at Archibald Major's house on the previous evening and then detailing the attack during the storm. Dallinger made notes and asked me several questions, which I tried to answer to the best of my ability. JT gave him the threatening note we'd found in the mail slot and he took it with him as he got up to go.

“Detective Salnikova is leading the investigation into the murder of Kevin's father,” I told Dallinger as JT and I accompanied him to the foyer. “At least, I think she's leading it. She's involved with the case, anyway.”

“I'll make sure she hears about this,” the constable assured me. “And we'll be on the lookout for Kevin Major. But in the meantime, be careful. Try not to go anywhere alone, especially at night, and call 911 if you see any sign of him.”

“I will.”

JT opened the door for Dallinger, and I hugged myself against the cold, damp air that rushed into the house. The constable left after a few more parting words, and JT locked the door behind him, shutting out the post-­storm chill.

I hoped Kevin wouldn't cause me any more trouble. He'd already caused more than enough, and I didn't want anything else to do with him. I suppressed a shiver as I recalled my terror from earlier that evening, but fortunately, JT's voice pulled me away from the unsettling memory.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” he asked.

“Sure.” I stifled a yawn as I settled back onto the couch, eager for a distraction. “But nothing too long. I'd like to get home before midnight.”

“Why don't you crash here for the night?”

I gave Finnegan's head a scratch as I considered the suggestion. “I guess I could do that. I'll have time in the morning to go home and get a change of clothes before I have to teach.”

“Plenty of time, since I'll be driving you.”

“JT, you don't have to.”

“I'm not about to let that crazy guy have another chance to attack you.”

“He won't. Not in broad daylight.”

“You don't know that.”

He was right. And if I were honest, I wasn't keen on the idea of going out on my own, even in daylight with plenty of other ­people around.

“All right. Thanks.”

JT grabbed the TV remote from the coffee table. “And I'll drive you to and from your rehearsals and concerts until the police catch him.”

“But what if you're working? I don't want you messing up your schedule for my sake.”

“You mean for the sake of keeping you safe? I don't have a problem with that.” He jabbed a button on the remote and the TV came to life.

A pleasant sense of warmth suffused my body and I had to blink against a sudden pricking of tears in my eyes. I wanted to hug him, but I was also scared to, worried that he might be able to detect my true feelings.

“Tell you what,” I said when I could speak without getting choked up. “I'll see if I can get a ride to and from the theater with Mikayla. If I can't, you can drive me.”

“Deal.” He handed me the remote. “You choose the movie.”

I scrolled through the options on the screen, on the lookout for something lighthearted and completely nonscary. After all, I'd had more than my fair share of scares for one night.

 

Chapter Thirteen

T
HE
NEXT MORNING
was uneventful, and for that I was grateful. JT drove me home so I could change and pick up my best violin, and after that he gave me a ride back to his place. I spent some time practicing for the upcoming concert, and by late morning it was time to teach one of my adult students. JT and Kevin played prominent roles in my thoughts during the early part of the day, but by focusing on music I was able to keep myself from getting overwhelmed.

In the middle of the afternoon I had an hour-­long break since one of my students was off at school camp for the week. JT was working with some musicians down in his studio so I wandered out into the backyard with Finnegan at my heels. Although the September air was cool, the bright sunshine cut through the chill, warming my face.

I approached the back fence and leaned over to check out the alley, but aside from a squirrel darting up a utility pole and some crows on the telephone wire, it was all clear. That helped to calm my nerves, as did Finnegan's company. I knew he'd bark up a storm if a stranger like Kevin came near JT's property.

Enjoying the fresh air and sunshine, I wandered over to the apple tree in the corner of the yard. I reached up and snatched a red apple off one of the lower branches, biting into it with a crunch. It was juicy, sweet, and delicious.

While munching on the apple I surveyed the yard. JT kept the grass trimmed and the garden tidy, so everything looked neat and well cared for. I'd planted some flowers back in the spring and they'd added lots of bright color to the yard for the past several months. Thoughts of what I could plant the following spring had already entered my mind, and I considered expanding beyond flowers. There was a nice patch in the corner of the yard that would be perfect for a small vegetable garden. Maybe I'd try my hand at growing veggies next year, if JT liked the idea. Carrots and onions, and possibly some squash and green beans.

With my mind wandering away from garden planning, I turned my thoughts to the gray boots I'd seen at the shoe store. I still wanted to buy them as much as I had the day I'd first seen them, and considering the week I was having, buying something nice seemed like an attractive idea.

Yes, I decided after another moment, I'd go for it. As soon as I had a chance, I'd go back to the store and splurge on the beautiful boots.

My spirits buoyed, I fished my phone out of my pocket and checked for messages. Mikayla had replied to a text I'd sent her that morning, letting me know that she'd pick me up at JT's house later on and drive me to our evening rehearsal.

As I was about to return my phone to my pocket, it rang. I didn't recognize the number, but I tossed my apple core in the compost box and answered anyway.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Midori. It's Jordan.”

“Oh, hi, Jordan. What's up?”

“I need to cancel tonight's lesson,” he said. “I forgot that I'm supposed to go to a football game with my dad, and I don't see him much these days.”

“I understand. That's not a problem.”

After a slight hesitation, he said, “The police told me and my mom what my uncle did last night. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” I assured him. “How are you holding up?”

“Okay, I guess. But things keep getting crazier and crazier.”

“How do you mean?” I asked, curious.

“You should have seen me and my mom at the will reading this morning. We were totally stunned.”

“Why?”

“It was nuts. Some things weren't so crazy, like my grandfather left money to the symphony and five thousand dollars to Marjorie. He left the house and a bunch of money to my mom—­which is a relief—­and he set up trust funds for me and my uncle. But get this—­he also left a pile of money to his other daughter.”

My eyebrows drew together as I absorbed that information. “I didn't know you had an aunt on your mom's side.” As far as I knew Andrea and Kevin were Major's only children.

“I didn't either. Nobody did. Except my grandfather, apparently.”

It took a second for the implication of what he'd said to register. “Wait—­so she's your mom's half sister?”

“Yep.”

“And your family didn't know about her until the will was read this morning?”

“Exactly.”

Whoa.

“My grandfather must have had an affair way back when,” Jordan continued. “My mom's kind of upset about it.”

Understandably
, I thought.

“So is this mystery daughter older or younger than your mom and uncle?”

“Younger. I guess my grandfather had an attack of guilt or something. I didn't know he was capable of feeling guilty about anything.”

I ignored the harsh note that had entered Jordan's voice with his last sentence and focused instead on his other words. “You mean because he left her a bunch of money after never mentioning her?”

“Yeah, and there was something in his will about how he was formally acknowledging that she was his daughter. Whatever.”

“Do you know her name?”

“Frances Barlow. The lawyer's going to try to track her down.”

“That really must have been quite a shock, finding out about her.”

“You're not kidding. Who knows what other secrets my grandfather was hiding.”

Indeed. And could one of his secrets have led to his murder? Or was the motive simply financial? If that was the case, maybe this newly revealed daughter deserved a place on the suspect list. Perhaps Major's family hadn't been aware of her, but if she'd been aware of her biological father and somehow knew that she stood to inherit, she could have done away with him. That theory was a bit of a stretch, considering that I had no evidence she knew who her biological father was, let alone that she had enough of a relationship with him to know he would leave her money upon his death. But it was still something to consider.

I wondered if Detective Salnikova and her colleagues had given it any thought. If they'd seen the will, which I guessed they probably had, they would know about Frances, but I didn't know if they would view her as a viable suspect. Then again, I didn't know if she really was a viable suspect. And there was still Dr. Beaufort to consider.

Between my thoughts of JT and the murder, my head was spinning. Nothing made much sense to me at the moment and all I wanted to do right then was retreat back into the comfort and safety of my music. I ended my conversation with Jordan and returned to my studio. For the remaining minutes before my next student arrived, I immersed myself in Rimsky-­Korsakov's music, pushing all my confusion aside, if only temporarily.

B
Y THE TIME
Mikayla picked me up to drive me to the Abrams Center for our rehearsal, my mind, although not clear, was at least calmer. But Mikayla wasn't about to let me avoid the disagreeable subjects that had plagued my thoughts lately.

As she merged into the evening traffic on Dunbar Street, she asked, “What's going on? You said in your text message that you'd tell me later why you needed a ride tonight.”

“Mr. Major's son attacked me last night.”

Mikayla's brown eyes widened. “What? Are you serious?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Oh my God. Are you okay?”

I touched the bruise on my cheek, glad I'd managed to conceal it with makeup. “I'm fine,” I assured her. “Just a few scrapes and bruises. But it was scary and he's still out there somewhere.”

“Wow. No wonder you don't want to be walking to and from the bus stop in the dark. But why the heck would he attack you? How does he even know you?”

I started off by telling her that Major had died as a result of foul play rather than natural causes. Once she'd expressed surprise about that, I recounted some of what had taken place at Major's house when I'd gone to teach Jordan's lesson, leaving out any mention of Dr. Beaufort. I wanted to know more about the doctor and his motives before I told anyone other than the police about him.

As I finished telling the story about Kevin Major, Mikayla shook her head in disbelief.

“Crazy. I hope the police find him soon and lock him up. But I can give you a ride any time. You know that, right?”

“Yes. Thanks.”

Several raindrops hit the windshield and Mikayla flicked on the wipers. A few seconds ticked by before she glanced my way and said, “Not to dwell on unpleasant subjects, but did you do it?”

I didn't need any clarification. I knew she was asking if I'd broken up with Aaron.

“Yes. Yesterday morning.”

“And?” she prompted as she made a left turn.

“And it was as bad as I expected. I felt like the worst person in the world. You should have seen the look on his face when he realized I was breaking up with him.” I cringed at the memory.

“But it had to be done. Now you can both move on.”

“I suppose.”

I tugged at my left ear, my thoughts straying to JT. Part of me wanted to tell Mikayla all about my recent revelation. It would be a relief to share my feelings with someone, and I knew she'd be happy for me. But I also knew she'd push me to tell JT, to find out if there was any chance that he felt the same way. I wasn't sure if she'd understand my fear of ruining what he and I had.

In the end, that fear kept me quiet. It would be best for me to keep my feelings entirely to myself, safely locked away. I needed to find a way to go on as normal with JT, to ensure that nothing became awkward between us, and the best way to do that was to try and forget about the fact that I was in love with him. Maybe it wouldn't be possible to forget, but if I could at least push that knowledge to the back of my mind, perhaps everything would be all right. I had to hope that was the case.

Fortunately, Mikayla didn't catch on to the fact that something was bothering me and she went on to ask if I'd come up with any ideas about how we could help Bronwyn.

“Not yet,” I said, wishing my answer could have been different.

“We might not be able to help her, you know,” Mikayla said. “I don't like to say that, but I think we should be prepared for that possibility.”

“I know.” I hated the words as they came out of my mouth, but I knew Mikayla was right. I hadn't made any progress with finding the real thief or any sort of exculpatory evidence that would help Bronwyn. As much as I wanted to clear her name, I was no longer certain that I could.

Mikayla spent the rest of the drive chatting about her job as a high school orchestra teacher, and I appreciated the distraction from all my dispirited thoughts. When we reached the theater, I spent a few minutes talking to some of the other members of the orchestra before heading out of the musicians' lounge with my violin, bow, and folder of music. As I headed down the carpeted hallway that led from the lounge toward the stage, I stopped short.

Elena was walking toward me, cellist Johnson Lau at her side. Johnson smiled at me as they passed, but Elena completely ignored me. I expected no different from her, and her lack of acknowledgment didn't bother me in the least. I was far too focused on something else.

I turned around and watched them as they disappeared into the musicians' lounge. My eyes hadn't deceived me. There was no mistaking it—­along with her designer jeans and expensive top, Elena was wearing the beautiful gray boots I'd admired at the shoe store.

Maybe they weren't the exact same pair from the same store, but that didn't matter. Even if the shop still had a pair in my size, there was no way I was going to hand over any sum of money to look similar to Elena. And not just because I didn't like her. If she ever caught me wearing boots like hers, she'd probably think I was copying her, trying to be like her. She was one of the last ­people I wanted to be like, but just knowing she would think that was enough to send my stomach into an unpleasant twist.

Still rooted to the spot, I glared at the door to the musicians' lounge. Trust Elena to ruin the one thing I was looking forward to that week. Although she'd had no clue that I wanted those boots, I still couldn't help but direct all my disappointment and frustration at her. If anyone else had walked into the theater in those boots, it wouldn't have been quite so bad. But of course it had to be Elena. That was the kind of week it was.

Letting out a quiet growl, I spun around and continued on down the hall, an invisible dark cloud hovering above my head. I'd barely made it half a dozen steps when a man's voice called out my name. I paused and turned back. Dr. Daniel Beaufort hurried along the hall to catch up with me. I stiffened, remembering that the last glimpse I'd caught of him was as he'd escaped from Major's study.

“Ms. Bishop, could I have a moment of your time?” Beaufort kept his voice low despite the fact that we were currently alone in the hallway.

“Sure,” I said, although I had serious reservations about talking to him, especially without anyone else in sight.

Did he know I was the one who had disturbed him in Major's home, or had he fled before he'd had a chance to recognize me?

His next words assured me that it was the former.

“About the other night at Mr. Major's home . . .” He paused and waited as two cellists emerged from the musicians' lounge and made their way past us with their instruments. Once they were out of earshot he cleared his throat and continued. “I think there's been an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

I couldn't stop my eyebrows from rising an inch. I wasn't quite sure how he could characterize it as a misunderstanding. “I take it the police talked to you.”

He tugged at the left cuff of his dress shirt. “They did. A rather uncomfortable experience, I must say.”

“It wasn't exactly comfortable for me to have to identify you as a thief,” I pointed out.

“Thief?” He almost choked on the word. “I assure you, I'm not a thief. As I said, there's been a misunderstanding.”