End Me a Tenor (13 page)

Chessie’s singing voice was strong and clear throughout rehearsal. Not a surprise. The rest of the choir looked and sounded fabulous as they finished the seasonal portion of their repertoire. Then they darted off to change costumes for their competition set.

Ignoring the knot lodged in my chest, I asked Jim to have the band lower the volume in a few specific spots. I then settled back in my seat in the center of the theater to watch the next part of the show. Devlyn joined me as the choir members took their places for the second half of the program.

“Relax,” he whispered. His hand closed over mine and gave it a quick squeeze. “I saw the first set from the light booth. They’re looking good.”

I bit my lip and nodded as the lighting changed. The band started playing, and the choir began its next number. Sequins sparkled under the stage lights. The kids twisted, twirled, and sang their hearts out. There were a few spacing issues that needed fixing, and a harmony or two that I wanted to tweak. I jotted notes and held my breath as the band played the intro to the new number. The soloists were strong. That was good. The background vocals were better than they had been earlier. But the kids’ lack of confidence with the dance steps was obvious. Though not bad, the dancing wasn’t as polished as the other numbers and didn’t have the spark. Eventually, it would. The potential was there. Would the school board agree?

I had the choir practice its costume changes, smoothed some of the trouble spots, and gave a few additional notes to the band. Finally, I said, “No rehearsal in the morning. I want you to be rested and ready for the concert tomorrow night. Mr. O’Shea, Mr. DeWeese, and I have asked a lot of you this week. We’re all incredibly proud of the work you’ve done.”

I meant every word. My chest tightened. My throat ached as I sniffled back the tears.

Pushing aside the swell of emotions, I choked out, “Get changed. Go home and get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And the kids raced off stage.

“No rehearsal tomorrow?” Larry scrambled up the escape stairs. “But they need rehearsal. What about the school board?”

“The team will perform better if we ease off and give them a break.” Not to mention that a killer couldn’t target them if they weren’t within fifty feet of me. I wouldn’t step foot on school property tomorrow until our call time for the concert. And only then if I could guarantee the students would be safe.

A text from our assistant stage manager, Jenny, told me tonight’s
Messiah
rehearsal was still on. There was also a text from Aunt Millie. She’d heard about the newest death and wanted to make sure I was okay.

I considered going back to Aunt Millie’s house to grab dinner and reassure her of my safety but decided against it. Millie’s message implied she wasn’t home. Without my aunt in residence, Killer would be guarding the refrigerator, which meant another showdown. I wasn’t up to that battle, so I opted to stop at McDonald’s instead. Supersize fries always made me feel like I could take on the world. On top of that, the closest restaurant happened to be a hop, skip, and a jump from a person I really needed to talk to.

I had just sat down with my salad and monster-size fries as Mike Kaiser appeared in the doorway, looking cold and annoyed. He scanned the room, spotted me in the back, and nodded. A couple minutes later he slid across from me with his own tray.

“Glad you decided to take me up on the date.” He winked as he unwrapped a double-stacked hamburger. “We could have gone somewhere a little nicer. Cops don’t make a fortune, but I know how to treat a girl right.”

I rolled my eyes. “I told you this wasn’t a date. I need help with something.” Mike’s cocky grin said he didn’t believe a word I was saying. “Have you talked to Detective Frewen today?”

The smile disappeared. The eyes narrowed. Mike went into cop mode. “I called him after you called me. You’ve had another busy day.”

“Not intentionally.”

“Which is scary considering how many dead bodies you’ve found. Most people don’t ever stumble across one, let alone three.”

Technically, I’d only stumbled across two—Greg, the murder victim Mike had investigated, and Bill. David Richard died in front of a lot of us. I doubted Mike would be impressed by the distinction. Instead of quibbling over details, I admitted, “I need help. There’s a possibility that whoever killed David and Bill might come after me.”

Mike crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back in his seat. “What did you do?”

“Someone is threatening my life and you’re asking what I did?” Call me crazy, but I was pretty sure I wasn’t to blame for someone else’s homicidal tendencies. If Mike was going to say I was, he was going to get a French fry upside the head.

His expression didn’t change. “The killer wouldn’t come after you without a reason. Now, what did you do?”

I put down the French fry. The man had a valid point. Taking a sip of my soda, I gave him the rundown on my meeting with Bill and the hints he’d dropped about Magdalena’s mysterious allergy. As I talked, a sick, oily sensation spread through my gut. “You don’t think Bill died because I asked him to meet with me last night?”

I waited for Mike to offer immediate reassurance. When he didn’t, the salad I’d eaten threatened to reappear. “I’m the reason Bill died?”

“No.” Mike leaned forward, looking me square in the eyes. “The killer is the reason Bill’s dead. Bill either knew something the killer didn’t want getting out or the killer thought the cops would buy the suicide/confession routine.”

“Which they don’t.”

“Not for a minute.” He took a sip of his soda. “Contrary to popular belief, most suicide victims don’t leave notes. The killer got creative. He also got too clever cleaning up after himself. Detective Frewen is waiting for the medical examiner to rule officially, but he’s betting the same person who murdered the singer offed the stage manager, too.”

The same guy who was now after me. Gulp.

I pushed my food to the side. “The killer knows where I work. I’m worried he’ll come after me and end up hurting one of my students.”

“I’d like to say he won’t, but at this point anything is possible.”

That was not the answer I wanted to hear. “We have a concert tomorrow night. It’s been advertised in the newspaper, and it’s listed on the school’s website. Do you think there’s a chance the killer will show up?”

“Maybe.”

Note to self: Never go to Mike when you want to feel better about anything. The guy had a gun, however, and knew how to use it. At this point, that meant more than words of comfort.

Sneezing, I tried to ignore the panic bubbling inside my chest. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

Mike grinned. “Already setting up a second date?”

“I want you to come to the concert and keep an eye out for anything suspicious.”

“You want me to watch a high school choir concert?”

The horror in his voice made me laugh. “I promise it won’t be as bad as you think.” If it was, it would be the last high school choir concert either one of us would see. “I’ll feel better if I know you’re there to protect my kids in case of emergency.”

“I’ve had to sit through my niece’s choir concerts. They’re brutal.”

“This one won’t be.” At least, I hoped not. Mike didn’t look convinced, so I added, “You’d never forgive yourself if the killer showed up and you weren’t there.” Mike still didn’t cave. “How about I buy you a drink after the concert to say thank you?”

“It’s going to need to be a really big drink.”

“It will be. I promise.”

“The chances of the killer showing up at the school are slim. You know that, right?”

I nodded.

“Good.” Mike grinned. “Then I can pretend this was an elaborate ruse to ask me out on a date.” He stood up and brushed a wayward sesame seed off his lap. “I’ll see you tomorrow night. Wear a sexy dress and don’t do anything to antagonize the killer before then. Keep your head down, your mouth shut, and let the cops do their jobs. Okay?”

Without waiting for an answer, Mike winked and strolled out the restaurant door, leaving me to clean up his trash. Who said chivalry was dead?

Bolstered—albeit slightly queasy—from my dinner of salt, greenery, and grease, I steered my car through traffic to the theater. During the drive, Mike’s warning to keep my head down rang in my head. The idea of further antagonizing a killer had zero appeal. Maybe if I followed Mike’s advice and avoided asking questions, the killer would see I was keeping out of things and leave me alone. While it went against my nature to sit back and do nothing, I was more than happy to go against type if it kept me alive. Alive was good. Dead . . . not so much.

Vowing to make myself look as disinterested in the murderer’s identity as possible, I walked through the stage door and scanned the sign-in sheet. According to the cast list, I wasn’t the only one who had arrived before call time. Both Jonathan and Vanessa were somewhere in the building, as were a large number of chorus and orchestra members. While being surrounded by other people hadn’t helped David Richard, knowing I wasn’t alone with an unmasked murderer did loosen the knot in my shoulders.

Taking a deep breath, I double-checked to make sure the water bottle I brought was sealed and then headed downstairs. With any luck, Vanessa wouldn’t be in our dressing room. Call me crazy, but the idea of being alone with Vanessa’s sunny disposition was low on my bucket list.

A number of choristers and orchestra members were milling around the greenroom. Their voices were subdued. From the tension and tears, I could tell they’d heard about Bill’s death. Like me, they were wondering if this rehearsal was only to inform us that the show had been canceled.

The tears continued in my dressing room. I opened the door and found Vanessa sobbing in Jonathan’s arms. “I can’t believe Bill’s gone. If only he’d told someone how unhappy he was . . .” Vanessa’s bottom lip trembled, and her eyes swam with tears. Either the woman was miserably unhappy or she had better acting abilities than Chessie.

Vanessa spotted me in the doorway. She pulled out of Jonathan’s arms, wiped at her face, and went from devastated to diva in two seconds flat. “This is a private conversation.”

My new “don’t antagonize homicide suspects” mandate had me stepping backward. I’d almost made it to safety when Jonathan insisted, “Paige, don’t leave. Vanessa, it isn’t fair to yell at Paige.” Jonathan’s voice was low. The tone sounded as though he was comforting a wounded and potentially dangerous animal. “Just because she didn’t know Bill and David as well as we did doesn’t mean she isn’t upset.” Jonathan looked at me with tired eyes. “I hope you’ll forgive us for being on edge. Bill was a good friend. Getting a call from Jenny telling us that Bill committed suicide knocked us for a loop.”

Clearly, our assistant stage manager hadn’t heard that the police didn’t buy the suicide routine. Since I’d vowed to be seen and not heard, I opted to keep that information to myself.

Not that Vanessa would have cared what I had to say anyway. From the way she threw herself back into Jonathan’s arms and pressed against him, I’d say she was interested in more than comfort. Jonathan didn’t look like he minded. Feeling like three was most definitely a crowd, I ran through a list of excuses to get me out of this dressing room before lifelong therapy became a necessity.

Thank goodness the feminine but firm voice of Jenny Grothe rang out from the monitor. Places. It was time to sing.

Magdalena took the podium, looking poised. Behind her, an anxious-looking Jenny hovered with a clipboard. Magdalena’s lightly accented voice was controlled as she thanked everyone for coming to rehearsal under such difficult circumstances. “This week has been a tragedy for the opera community. The producers and I discussed canceling the show, but ultimately it was decided the best way to celebrate the lives of David Richard and Bill Walters was to share the music they loved with the world. To help with that mission, several radio stations have agreed to broadcast a recording of this concert as a part of a musical tribute to my friend David Richard.”