End Me a Tenor (27 page)

“It’s strenuous when it’s done right.” Devlyn’s smile made everything inside me go limp. “We’d do it right.” He gave me another light kiss before standing up and turning off the light.

“Get some more sleep. I’ll be back in three hours to check on you.” And out the door he went.

Until Devlyn’s arrival, I’d had no trouble sleeping. Now I was wide awake and thinking about him lying shirtless across the hall. Since thinking about Devlyn wasn’t helping me fall asleep, I changed gears and thought about the reason I was in Devlyn’s guest bed. The killer clocking me in the school hallway told me he was getting more persistent. My investigation had to be getting too close for comfort. Too bad I hadn’t a clue exactly what I was getting close to. Worse still was the knowledge that I had been hit by one person after being chased by someone else. Mike seemed to think my story about the second person was far-fetched. If Mike didn’t believe me, the police would continue to focus on finding a solo killer. But if anything positive came from being whacked on the head, it was that I knew the cops should be looking for two people.

But which two? Most everyone in the
Messiah
cast knew one another from previous shows. Any two of them could have talked about their problems with David Richard and then conspired to do him in. Now those two were tag teaming me, and I needed to figure out how to stop them.

By the time Devlyn came back to do the
Sleeping Beauty
routine, I hadn’t come up with any bright ideas as to how to track down the duo. I was stuck.

When I was struggling with playing a character, I always went back to the script to see what details might explain why the character behaved the way she did. Third-act meltdowns or unusually optimistic behavior were always explained somewhere in the show. If not by the character herself, then by the things other characters said in response to her. You just had to pay attention. And trust me, I had serious motivation to pay attention now. To solve the murders, I needed to go back to the beginning and figure out what details I’d missed.

So, what was the beginning? David’s murder? No. That felt more like the end of Act One. This play had begun before the curtain came down on David’s life. Since I couldn’t count on anyone to tell me the truth about their experiences, I had to go by what I’d seen with my own two eyes. As far as I had witnessed, this melodrama began when a perfectly manicured hand collided with David Richard’s face. A hand that belonged to Maestro Magdalena Tebar.

Both my headache and Devlyn were gone when I woke for the last time. A note, a bottle of aspirin, and a key were on my bedside table. The note told me to stick around his place and take it easy. The key said that Devlyn knew there was no way in hell I’d sit around waiting for the police to resolve the situation and that Devlyn was asking me to lock up behind myself. I guess he wanted to come home to his flat-screen TV. Smart guy.

I showered, pulled my towel-dried hair into a ponytail, and shrugged into the oversized lilac sweater Devlyn had left by my bed. Then I called a cab to take me to the high school’s faculty parking lot to retrieve my car. Both Millie and Aldo were out of the house when I arrived home. Too bad they hadn’t taken Killer with them. I walked into the kitchen and heard a throaty rumble announce Killer’s arrival. I did what any sane person would do—I raced to the fridge and grabbed the cream cheese and a soda. Killer turned toward the counter as I snagged a bagel out of the bakery box. The dog eyed my breakfast and gave a nasty growl. Killer didn’t like being outsmarted.

Come to think of it, neither did I.

Killer guarded the fridge as I sat at the counter with my bagel and my cell phone. Magdalena wasn’t answering her phone, so I placed a second call to her manager. In my best Texas twang, I said, “I’m looking to speak to Magdalena Tebar about a possible conducting appearance here in Houston. Not only would she direct a group of luminaries in a charity concert, but we’d like her to be the spokesperson for the event.”

“This sounds interesting. If you’d give me more information, I’d be happy to discuss this with Magdalena.” The manager didn’t question my accent. When this was all over I would have to send my dialects teacher a thank-you note.

“The group holding the charity event would like to talk to Ms. Tebar personally. If she is to be the spokesperson, the organizers would like to be sure she believes in the cause and can speak passionately about it.”

“What’s the cause?”

Um . . . Killer barked and made a leap for my bagel. I whisked it out of reach of his teeth. “Animal starvation and cruelty. We plan on raising awareness with a national campaign, which is why the organizers would like to talk to Magdalena today if possible.” I popped a piece of bagel in my mouth and gave Killer a big smile.

Killer whimpered. The manager sighed. He also told me Magdalena would be at the Lyric Opera all morning but free for a phone chat this afternoon. Eureka. Magdalena’s hotel room was empty.

I made another call and then went upstairs for a costume change. Ten minutes later, I was in my car decked out in black spandex pants, a tight purple spandex tank, and a workout jacket. First stop: Yoga instructor Dana Lucas’s house for props.

Dana had short cropped hair, an aggressive personality, and a soft spot for my boss, Larry. I’d taken her Yoga class once and found it to be a more than a little scary, but somehow Dana and I had become friends. Which was good since I doubted she’d lend a perfect stranger two Yoga mats and a cotton candy–colored balance ball. I don’t know if she bought my story of doing a photo shoot for a friend, but she didn’t ask any questions as she passed the gear over and congratulated me on keeping my show choir coaching gig.

Next stop: Magdalena’s Evanston hotel.

I just hoped this part of my plan worked. When a singer, actor, or conductor signed a contract, she got to add a rider asking for all sorts of cool stuff. The bigger the star, the bigger the demands: food, accommodations, a personal driver. At this point in my career, I was happy when the contract offered me enough money to pay the bills, but I dreamed of a time where I could make demands of my own. One of the most common demands was for a personal trainer, which was why I was impersonating Yoga Barbie. Now I just needed to find an employee gullible enough to let me into Magdalena’s room so I could take a look around.

By the time I walked into the hotel’s red, black, and white art deco lobby, I was beginning to have serious doubts about my plan. In movies, people sneak into hotel rooms all the time. But this wasn’t a movie. This was real life. The way my luck was going, I’d more likely end up talking myself into a jail cell instead of into Magdalena’s room.

The two people behind the check-in counter looked calm and cool as a woman loudly complained about not getting whatever discount she was promised on the Internet. Nope. These people weren’t going to hand over a key to Magdalena’s suite just because I asked them to. I needed to go with plan B—getting out of here fast.

I was starting to put plan B into effect when a male voice asked, “Can I help you with something?”

I turned and smiled at a short, fresh-faced boy with a round, earnest face. Had he not been wearing a gray and white hotel uniform, I would have assumed he was a freshman in high school. His name tag read Harold Weddle.

Since Harold looked less intimidating than the folks behind the check-in counter, I decided plan A might still have a chance. If not, I was pretty sure I could outrun Harold before he could call the cops.

Getting into character, I bit my lip and gave him what I hoped was a vacant smile. The dumber I looked, the less likely he was to suspect me of any wrongdoing. Right?

“I just realized I forgot my key,” I confided quietly.

The kid brightened. “No problem. Just tell me what room you’re staying in and I’ll get you another key.”

Wow. That was easy.

“Do you have your driver’s license with you?”

Okay, maybe it wasn’t going to be that easy after all.

According to my acting teachers, the key to a convincing performance was actually believing what you were saying. If you believed it, everyone else would. Keeping that in mind, I said, “The key isn’t for my room. I’m Magdalena Tebar’s personal Yoga and fitness instructor. Or at least, I am today. My friend’s been doing the job, but his mom fell down the stairs and broke her hip so he asked me to fill in. He gave me the key to her suite, but I think I left it on the kitchen counter when I was putting the Yoga mats in my bag.”

I held up the bag with rolled-up pink and purple mats sticking out.

The kid peered into the bag with a frown. “That’s a problem. What are you going to do?”

I did a mental eye roll and tried to conjure up some tears. Nope. No tears. Crying on command was something I’d never gotten the hang of. I needed better motivation for crying than a missed Yoga lesson. The best I could manage was a trembling lip. “I’m not sure. My friend said Magdalena is real particular about having everything set up before she arrives. I don’t want him to get fired because I screwed up.”

I managed to eke out one tear. Huzzah! The kid’s eyes followed the lone tear as it streaked down my face. He then looked around to see if anyone was watching him before saying, “Wait right here.”

For a slightly pudgy guy, Harold moved fast. The kid zipped behind one of the empty computers at the check-in counter and started typing. He stared at the screen as one of the hyperefficient employees resolved the problem with the complainer and walked over to him. She said something. He pointed at the screen and then at me. Eek. Every nerve in my body began to jangle as I pointed my feet toward the exit and prepared to run.

The woman said something back to Harold, shook her head, and walked away. Harold hit a few more keys, did a key card swipe thing, and came around the counter. “My manager isn’t surprised that your friend didn’t show up today. The staff has had some problems with Ms. Tebar. She has trouble restraining her emotions.”

This wasn’t a news flash. She
was
a conductor. Conductors were known for their controlling natures and frequent rehearsal meltdowns. Most attributed those emotional explosions to a conductor’s passion for music. The press ate up the temper tantrums and ran stories about artistic natures, which is why some of the most level-headed conductors I knew staged their own artistic outbursts. They wanted to be certain their passion wasn’t overlooked. Personally, I thought the whole thing was a crock. Just because you acted like a three-year-old didn’t make you a musical genius. It just meant you needed a time-out.

Since telling that to Harold wasn’t going to help, I put on my best worried face and said, “My friend never mentioned her temper problem.”

“That might not be the only thing he lied about.” Harold gave me a sad smile. “I’m going to bet his mom didn’t break her hip.”

“I guess I won’t be sending flowers.”

Harold said to follow him and escorted me up to the top floor and Magdalena’s suite. “Technically, we aren’t supposed to let you into the room, but none of us wants to cause Ms. Tebar any inconvenience. I’ll give you five minutes to set up your equipment. Then you’ll have to wait out here for Ms. Tebar to arrive.”

He knocked and yelled, “Housekeeping.” When no one answered, Harold slid the key card into the lock, opened the door, and held it open. “Five minutes. If Ms. Tebar returns before that, I’ll let you know.” Harold pulled the door closed behind me, and I walked into Magdalena’s suite.

The suite’s living room was enormous. White walls. Cream-colored carpet. Black conference table with eight black and red chairs. A long red couch. An art deco, uncomfortable-looking armchair. A kick-ass sound system and television. And papers. Lots and lots of papers. There were papers on the table. On the floor. Strewn across the couch and around the armchair. Some were crumpled into balls ready for a game of wastepaper basketball. Others were lying in piles. The place was an advertisement for the virtues of recycling.

The sheer amount of papers overwhelmed me. I had five minutes to find something incriminating in this mess, and I didn’t know where to begin.