End Me a Tenor (7 page)

My stomach muscles unclenched. Even if I had ended up with the wrong bottle, I wouldn’t have suffered David’s fate. More important, after filling my own bottle, I had gone upstairs and waited in the wings of the stage. Several backstage techs walked by while I was there, which meant I had an alibi for the time of the poisoning. While Mike said I wasn’t a serious contender for the murder-suspect title, a rock-solid alibi would take me out of the running for sure.

Phew.

Now that I had a method of proving my innocence to the cops, my mind started working. If the crystallized version of the poison smelled like bitter almonds, I doubted the drug was tasteless. Of course, according to the Internet, no one who tasted the drug actually lived. But if the poison had a strong smell, I was banking on it having some kind of flavor.

A flavor David didn’t notice. If he had, I’m sure there would have been a look on his face. From our brief encounter, I suspected David wasn’t the type to suffer imperfect-tasting water. His dissatisfaction would have shown. But it hadn’t. I’d been looking straight at him, and he’d smiled. The water tasted as he expected it to. That had to mean something. Too bad I didn’t have a clue what that something was.

Deciding the cops would have to come up with the answer to that one, I crawled back into bed and made a vow. Now that I could clear myself of any suspicion, I was going to steer clear of this murder investigation. End of story.

Sneaking out of the house before Millie got out of bed wasn’t cowardice. It was self-preservation. The radio report told me the public works department had shattered the snow-day dreams of my students. Most days, I would have joined the students in their disappointment, but today was Tuesday. There were only two days left until the school board would pass judgment on my show choir coaching abilities. If I didn’t want to find myself unemployed, my choir needed all the rehearsal time it could get.

Several students were waiting at the choir room door when I arrived. I slid the key in the lock and asked everyone to take off their wet shoes before tracking slush into the room. The way my luck was going, the combination of wet floors and complicated dance moves would land someone in the emergency room.

Dumping my coat and bag in the office, I changed my shoes, got out the music, and headed back into the choir room ready to work. A quick head count told me twelve of my fourteen singers had arrived. I heard the final two come through the door as I walked to the closet to retrieve the CD player. Voices whispered behind me. The minute I turned, everyone went quiet.

Crap. There were only two reasons for teenagers to stop whispering when you faced them: because you had an alien-looking pimple on your nose or because you were the topic of juicy gossip. For the first time in my life, I was hoping I had a zit.

“Is it true you watched a guy get murdered last night?”

Damn. So much for the pimple. “Yes, I was at rehearsal last night when David Richard died.”

“Was there lots of blood?” Blonde, angelic-looking Emily Svoboda’s eyes were filled with equal parts disgust and glee.

Yikes. I chewed on my bottom lip as I debated what I should say. When I’d taken this job, Larry had sat me down and given me a dissertation on the topics that were and were not acceptable when talking to students. Murder hadn’t been on either list. Now what?

I could try to stall until a real teacher walked through the door. Devlyn would be here any minute. But waiting felt wimpy, so I said, “No, Emily. There wasn’t any blood. David Richard was poisoned.”

The boys looked fascinated. The girls were shocked. Chessie looked intrigued. Great.

Making a note to keep my water bottle with me at all times, I sat at the piano to start vocal warm-ups. Before my fingers could play the first chord, Eric asked, “Have the police arrested anyone yet?”

“Not that I know of, Eric.” But I was hoping they’d have it wrapped up soon. Being on the potential suspect list, even if I was at the very bottom, wasn’t any fun. “I’m sure the police are working hard to track down the person behind David’s murder.”

My fingers moved toward the piano keys.

But Eric wasn’t ready to sing. “Are you going to help the cops solve the murder?”

“I think the police are more than capable of solving the murder themselves.”

“They weren’t last time.”

I met Eric’s serious eyes and could see the concern behind them. No doubt he was thinking about the time the police questioned and almost arrested him for murder of choir director Greg Lucas. I was the one who had gotten him off the hook. “I’m sure this investigation will go more smoothly. Now, if you guys don’t mind, we have work to do.”

Devlyn arrived in the middle of vocal warm-ups. His smile was bright as he strode into the room wearing vibrantly hued purple workout pants and a purple and lime green shirt, but I could see the question in his eyes when he looked at me. Nodding, I let him know I was okay, and we got down to business.

Out of the three disciplines of stage performing—acting, singing, and dancing—dancing was the hardest for me. I’d taken all the classes and knew the technique. I could do time steps and execute a triple turn without falling flat on my face. But for some reason no matter how much I practiced, I always felt self-conscious and awkward at dance auditions. And auditions were a piece of cake compared to demonstrating choreography to a group of high school students.

My heart pounded and I began to sweat before Devlyn turned on the music. But if there was anything I’d learned in my short tenure as coach it was that, as with dangerous animals, you can never show fear to teenagers. Not unless you want to lose all control.

Thank God Devlyn was a fabulous dancer and an even better partner. After he hit play, Devlyn grabbed my hand and pulled me close to his chest so we could demonstrate the first lift. He spun me away from his body and then twirled me back to face him. I placed both hands on his shoulders and jumped. He put his hands on my hips and lifted me up and around before putting me down on the other side. The lift was fun, flirty, and flashy but easy to execute.

After ten minutes, the team had the gist and we moved onto the second, more difficult lift. This one involved being hoisted onto Devlyn’s shoulder and staying there for four beats before dropping into a basket catch. From that position I’d be flipped up and over onto my feet. It had taken Devlyn a lot of convincing to persuade me to try this lift and several attempts before I landed on my feet instead of on my now very bruised backside. Mentally crossing my fingers that I’d avoid landing on my ass, I jumped and found myself up on Devlyn’s shoulder. Four counts later, I dropped into his arms and watched the world spin before it righted again. Hurray.

While Devlyn worked with the boys on partnering the lift, I talked the girls through their part. Then we performed it twice more so the kids could see the technique before they attempted it. By the time the first bell rang, four couples could perform the lift flawlessly and the other three were close. Not bad for a morning’s work.

“Good work, everyone. I’ll see you after school for another rehearsal.” Before Chessie could ask, I added, “Be ready to audition for the solos. Mr. DeWeese says he’ll be in his office during lunch so you can use the choir room at that time to practice.”

The students snagged their backpacks and made a mass exodus toward the door as Devlyn and I put the room back in order for class. As we pushed the grand piano back in place, I spotted Eric loitering in the choir room door.

Doing my best impersonation of a real teacher, I said, “You’re going to have to hurry or you’ll be late for class.”

The kid didn’t budge. “I have a couple minutes until the next bell.”

My eyes flicked to the clock above the door. School would officially begin in two minutes. Eric didn’t just look like the blond, all-American kid; he was that kid. He dressed well, was polite, and always arrived to every rehearsal or voice lesson on time. For Eric to risk being late, he had something important on his mind.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“The cops don’t always get it right.” His eyes were filled with shadows. “You know they don’t.”

“I’d like to believe they do most of the time.”

Eric jammed his hands in his pockets as he considered my words. At the beginning of the year, Larry and Devlyn had said Eric was considering majoring in music. Since his near-arrest, he’d shifted his focus. His college applications now read criminal justice/pre-law. Eric’s brush with the legal system had left its mark.

The bell rang, but instead of bolting for class Eric hitched his backpack onto his shoulder and said, “I hope the cops get it right this time. I really do. But if they don’t, I wanted you to know that I’d like to help.”

Before I could respond to his pronouncement or offer him a hall pass, Eric disappeared through the door.

“Well, that was sweet.”

I turned to see Devlyn smiling at me from his perch on the piano bench. “Sweet?” If the kid decided to tackle a murder investigation, he could end up in the clink for obstruction. Colleges tended to frown on extracurricular activities that came with rap sheets.

“When a teenage boy is willing to risk after-school detention to offer a teacher his help—” Devlyn stood up and walked over to me. “Yeah, I’d call that sweet.”

Maybe. But now instead of worrying about Eric’s interest in the murder, I was panicked that his tardy would merit a detention. “Should I track down his teacher and let him know Eric was late because of me?”

“I’ll handle it.” Devlyn’s hand brushed my arm. “How are you doing?”

If the door to the room hadn’t been open, I would have taken advantage of the warmth of his arms and the comfort they offered. But we weren’t alone. Not really. Kids and faculty were roaming the halls. Larry and the band director were in a meeting next door—a meeting I needed to get to. This wasn’t the time.

“I’m fine,” I assured him. “Or I will be, if I don’t walk into my meeting and hear Larry tell me I’m already fired.”

“Larry isn’t stupid. He knows how much better this program is because of the work you’ve done. Once the concert is over, the school board will know it, too.”

I was thankful Devlyn was right about Larry. I still had my job, which was good. But the phone call I got as the meeting ended had my stomach tied in knots. Detective Frewen hated disturbing my day, but could I stop by the police station when I had a moment to chat? Yikes. I’d seen enough television dramas to translate the polite tone and humble-sounding request. Detective Frewen wanted to see me, and he wanted to see me now.

The Evanston Police Station was a large, two-story brick building located a few blocks to the south and west of Cahn Auditorium. Detective Frewen had left word at the information desk that I was coming. Minutes after my arrival, I found myself seated in a small lounge with a cup of coffee that no amount of sugar and cream could make drinkable.