End Me a Tenor

  “Me . . . Me . . . Megan caught her hand in the shower door and pulled off one of her nails. Her hand st . . . st . . . started to bleed and she fainted and hi . . . hi . . . hit her hea . . . hea . . . head. Her sister came by last hour to tell me Megan’s doctor won’t allow her to perform in the concert t . . . t . . . tonight.”

  I grabbed the piano as a wave of relief hit. Megan being injured was bad, but dead would be worse. Way worse.

  “Okay,” I said, trying to pull my thoughts together. “We have to get a message to the Music in Motion kids. We need an extra rehearsal before tonight.” The bell rang again, signaling the beginning of lunch. Since the school was so large, the lunch period was divided into three separate sections. Kids attended class during two of those sections and lunch during the other. Since most of the choir kids didn’t have a study hall, Larry allowed them to come to the choir room instead of the cafeteria during their lunch breaks. I’d been around during enough lunch periods to know that my choir kids rarely opted for the lunchroom. They also rarely used the extra study time to study. Which gave me an idea.

  “Can we get a message to the choir to come here during lunch?” I wouldn’t be able to practice with everyone at once, but I’d at least be able to start figuring out how to work around Megan’s absence. Between lunch rehearsals and a quick run-through with the entire group during seventh-hour choir, we might be able to save the show.

  Larry agreed. Lunch rehearsal was a good idea. He hurried to the office to make an announcement over the PA system, and I called my aunt to tell her the students were safe and she could go home. I would be here for a while longer and didn’t want her to wait. If Larry or Devlyn couldn’t give me a lift home, I’d call a cab.

  As Larry’s voice echoed over the loud speaker, I closed my eyes and envisioned the dance numbers that were supposed to be performed tonight. Because Megan was a strong singer but not a strong dancer, I’d positioned her and her partner in the back for most of the numbers. There was only one number where she and her partner were front and center. I would have to move another couple forward to fill the gap. I’d also have to recast the solo that she’d just been assigned. Chessie would think she was the obvious choice, and if rehearsal didn’t go well today, giving her the feature might be the only way to save my job. Oy.

  I’d deal with that later. The real question I needed to focus on was whether or not to ask another student to fill in for Megan tonight. The Music in Motion choir had two female and two male understudies. Those understudies were both part of Larry’s Singsations group, but attended the Music in Motion rehearsals to practice with the squad in case of emergencies. Well, this was an emergency. I just hoped one of the female understudies had been practicing her moves.

  Since it would be at least another twenty minutes before the first students would arrive, I used the time to call for backup. Devlyn’s phone went to voice mail—again. I gave him the update on Megan, told him about my emergency lunch rehearsals, and asked if he could come by the theater early tonight to help boost the kids’ morale before they went on with the show. Devlyn had a way of building students up so they thought they could leap tall buildings in a single bound. If I was going to save tonight’s performance, I’d need all the superpowers I could get.

  I hung up and dialed a second number. The recorded music we typically used for rehearsal was okay, but what I really needed was an accompanist who could start and stop and pound out the understudy’s part if necessary. As luck would have it, my aunt was shacking up with a guy who fit the bill.

  Aldo agreed be at the school in time for seventh period, so I walked down to the office, gave the rent-a-security guy Aldo’s name, and asked if someone could show Aldo to the choir room. The last thing I needed was a still slightly turquoise Italian man wandering aimlessly up and down the halls. He’d get pegged upside his head by a spitball for sure.

  Out of the fourteen members of Music in Motion, eight had “B” lunch, which gave me something to work with. One of the female understudies also arrived wide-eyed and pale as a ghost. Not a good sign.

  Nope. Not a good sign at all. The girl knew the notes and the steps, but the minute she had to dance with Megan’s dark-haired, blue-eyed partner, Jacob, everything fell apart. Her pale skin turned beet red when Jacob put his hand on her waist. She stepped on his feet, forgot the words, and looked like she was going to hurl through it all.

  I couldn’t decide if the hurling was due to stage fright or the proximity to the handsome boy next to her. Probably a combination of both. Had I not been desperate to keep my job, I might have found the girl endearing. Instead, I was telling her “thanks, but no thanks” and sending up a prayer to the show choir gods that the next understudy was immune to Jacob’s charms.

  The girl in question arrived with the “C” lunch crowd. As luck would have it, the understudy was Megan’s younger sister, Claire. The two girls weren’t exactly the best of friends. Both were blonde and average height. That’s where the similarities stopped. Where Megan was shy and sweet and struggled academically, sophomore Claire was outspoken, abrasive, and highly intellectual. More than once, Claire had thought about dropping show choir because it interfered with her study time. Luckily, I’d managed to talk her out of it because, while Claire didn’t have the sensational voice of her older sister, Claire could dance. I just hoped the idea of taking her sister’s place, albeit temporarily, didn’t make Claire wig out.

  Jacob was gone, so I asked Eric to act as Claire’s partner. The concerned, almost embarrassed look on his face as he took Claire’s hand made me wonder whether he and Chessie had had a fight. The last thing we needed in this choir was romantic teenage drama. Oy! Cueing up the music, I shelved my worry about Eric’s love life and waited for Claire to show her stuff.

  Claire looked nervous, but her feet flawlessly executed every step of the first number. I cued up the second one. Once again, Claire’s dancing was perfection. Too bad her face looked as though someone was stabbing her with a red-hot poker. Something to work on.

  By the time lunch was over, I’d dodged Chessie’s pointed questions about the now-vacant solo position and was confident Claire could perform all but the newest musical number. The lifts were too complicated to risk it. I’d just have to figure something else out by the time seventh period rolled around.

  The next group of kids filed in, and Larry began running through their music for tonight’s concert. Since I wasn’t needed, I headed down to the cafeteria vending machines to score something that resembled lunch.

  My nerves craved deep-fried chips and lots of salt. Unfortunately, the school board had passed a ban on anything tasty in the vending machines. Instead of cheese puffs and salty chips, I was faced with crispy edamame, pomegranate-spiked nut clusters, sunflower seeds, or a dozen other items deemed healthy enough for today’s youth. Had these been the snack choices when I was growing up, I would have flunked out of high school for sure. Stress required Snickers. Unless the stress quotient for high school students had reduced drastically since my days of pimples and puberty, these kids were screwed. And at the moment so was I.

  After several tries, I convinced the machine to take my dollar, made my selections, and retrieved them from the bin. Pretending the granola bar was slathered in chocolate fudge, I scarfed it down and shoved the wrapper in my jeans pocket. As I headed back toward the choir room, I struggled to open a bag of baked potato chips that advertised being just as good as deep-fried chips. Whoever said there was truth in advertising was just plain wrong.

  I spotted Aldo shuffling down the hall in a bright orange coat. He was squinting at room numbers while clutching a hall pass in his purple-gloved hand. A smile lit his face when he spotted me hurrying toward him. “I hope you don’t mind. I get here early to look over the music before rehearsal.”

  “Early is good,” I said. Early was way better than being late, although I doubted Aldo needed to look at the music. Not only
was he a gifted cook, the man sight-read almost any piece of music without a mistake. I envied his skill. Between grammar school, high school, and college, I’d taken seven years of piano. Those lessons taught me how to play passably well, but I still needed long hours of practice before playing a piece in front of an audience. The taxidermied quintet in Millie’s living room didn’t count.

  Grabbing the music from Larry’s office, I led Aldo to one of the practice rooms and listened to him play. I made a couple of minor tempo adjustments and smiled as he played through the songs again without a single flaw. Yep—the man was a genius. Since we had time to kill before seventh period, Aldo began playing his favorite holiday tunes. I didn’t wait to be asked. I just started singing.

  While music was my job, singing was also therapy. With each note, I felt tension leaching out of my shoulders and my lower back. The dull, throbbing headache that had been building since Larry’s phone call began to recede. Aldo played louder. I crescendoed to the end of the song, filling the room with sound. When the last note echoed around the tiny room and faded, I smiled. “Thanks. I needed that.”

  Aldo flashed a happy grin. “Me, too. I know you are upset Millie broke her word and helped get you the audition. She might have been wrong to do that, but she is right about your voice. You sing like an angel.”

  I’d heard a variation on that compliment countless times through the course of my life. In high school, boys complimented my singing in hopes of scoring a date or more. My friends, relatives, and a number of others over the years had been effusive in their praise. But never had I heard the sentiment spoken in such a matter-of-fact tone. The quiet certainty of Aldo’s words made my entire body flush with pleasure. Not only was the man a musical genius, he was a really nice guy. Which made it doubly sad that my aunt planned to dance the tarantella all over his heart. Today’s shopping adventure with Aunt Millie convinced me her avoidance of a long-term committed relationship with Aldo wasn’t due to a lack of emotion for the man in question. Each gift my aunt bought for him made her glow with delight. In fact, now that I thought about it, I’d never seen my aunt happier than she’d been these past months with Aldo. It would be a shame to see their relationship tanked because of a lifestyle decision Millie made three decades ago. Note to self: In between tracking down a killer and saving my job, I needed to find a way to convince Millie that marriage could be a really good thing.

  At the sound of the bell, I led Aldo down the hall, introduced him to Larry, and left the two to talk while I rearranged furniture. I noticed a couple kids giving Aldo a sideways glance as they came through the door, but one look from me made them stifle whatever snide comments they might have made about his skin tone.

  When everyone was seated, Larry led warm-ups and ran the choir through its concert repertoire. What Larry lacked in coordination, he more than made up for in directorial abilities. The group sounded fabulous.

  He made a few adjustments, ran the music again, and turned rehearsal over to me. I glanced at the clock. I had thirty minutes to reassign the solo, reposition, and rework. Chessie looked ready to explode as Jamie stumbled on the words to the coveted solo. Aldo pounded the piano keys as my kids moved their mouths and feet and I shouted out instructions. The new positions of the couples caused four collisions. By the end of rehearsal, I was pretty sure of three things: Megan’s sister, Claire, was incapable of smiling, an angry Chessie had zero ability to sing in tune, and tonight’s Music in Motion performance was going to be a disaster.

  Summoning my acting skills, I plastered a smile on my face and said, “Tonight’s show is going to be fantastic. Remember to be at the theater at six. We’ll have time to run your songs one last time before the concert.”

  When the last kid filed out, Aldo patted my shoulder and sighed. “You know what they say—a bad dress rehearsal means a great performance.”

  “I hope so.” Otherwise, sayonara, paycheck.

  My dejection must have showed because Aldo added, “You no need to worry about your job. When the school board sees the article in the newspaper, they won’t be able to let you go.”

  “Article?” I looked at Larry, who shrugged. He was just as in the dark as I was. Both of us looked back at a still-grinning Aldo. “What article?”

  “A reporter called at Millie’s house to talk to you about the Messiah murders. Since you weren’t home, he asked me a bunch of questions.”

  Dread knotted my stomach. “What kind of questions?”

  “Where you grew up. The shows you’ve performed. That kind of stuff.”

  That didn’t sound so bad. The knot loosened.

  Aldo gave me another pat. “He also wanted to know if you had any theories about who killed David Richard or the stage manager. I said if anyone could help the police solve the case, it was you, and told him about the last murderer you helped catch. Well, one thing led to another and I started talking about your teaching.”

  The knot tightened. I sincerely doubted a reporter would care whether I had theories as to the killer’s identity. Printing that kind of speculation would only land the reporter and the newspaper in hot water. The only person who would be interested in my thoughts on the subject was the killer. And Aldo chatted him up on the phone. Just thinking about that made my granola lunch do backflips.

  Then again, I could be overreacting. The fact that I had once before been involved in a murder investigation could be of interest to a reporter. “Did you get the reporter’s name or the name of the paper?” A quick phone call would verify that I had nothing to worry about. Problem solved.

  “I asked, but the reporter got an important call and had to hang up. But don’t worry. You will get a chance to meet him very soon.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Aldo beamed. “Because he said he would be at the concert—tonight.”

  I could feel the blood drain from my face and the room began to spin. I grabbed the piano for support as Aldo cheerfully said, “I told him about you and the choir, and he wants to do a story. I am thinking it will help you keep your job. Isn’t that great?”

  Great? No. Terrifying? Hell, yes. The more Aldo talked, the more convinced I was that the voice on the phone had zero interest in writing an article on my choir. If I was right, Aldo’s new best friend had one reason and one reason only to come to the theater tonight—to put an end to me and my personal murder investigation for good.

  Chapter 14

  The potential coverage of his choir in the paper made Larry vibrate with delight. He gave Aldo a fist bump that almost landed them both in the hospital. With a final thank-you, Larry dashed to his office to spread the good news.

  Aldo frowned and looked at me. “You do not think the article is a good thing?”

  Well, at least someone had noticed my concern. I gnawed on my bottom lip. “I’m not sure the person who called was a reporter.”

  “Who else would call your aunt’s house and ask questions about you and David Richard’s mur—” Aldo’s eyes widened as understanding dawned. “Merda santa. I invited a killer to a high school choir concert?”

  Maybe. “We don’t know that for sure. Can you remember what the guy said when he first introduced himself? His first name? His title at the paper? Anything?”

  Aldo’s forehead crinkled. “No. He never said his name. Just that he was a reporter doing a story. This is no good.”

  That was a sentiment I totally agreed with. Since dwelling on the negative wasn’t going to help, I opted to focus on details that might. “Tell me about the guy’s voice. Was it low pitched? Did he have an accent? What did it sound like?”

  After my chat with LaVon, I’d moved the men on my suspect list down to the bottom. None of them were the type to sport a black dress. At least, I hadn’t thought so. If Aldo’s caller was a male, however, it meant not only did one of the men feel comfortable in a skirt and pumps, but, with only two men on my current
suspect list, Aldo might be able to finger the killer.

  “The voice sounded low.”

  Mark Krauss was a tenor. I’d never spoken to him, but I was betting money that Jonathan’s voice was lower. This was good.

  “But the voice got higher as the phone call went along.”

  Huh. Maybe Mark had tried to disguise his voice?

  “And now that I think about it, there were times I thought the voice sounded like my dearly departed wife after she smoked one of her cigarettes.”

  Well, crap. “So the caller could have been a woman?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” Aldo’s bony shoulders drooped. “I think I’m confused.”

  So was I. There was only one thing I wasn’t confused about—my students would be in danger tonight. Some of them made me want to tear my hair out, but somehow during the past few months I’d come to care about each and every one of them. Even Chessie. And now they could be hurt. Because of me.

  My first instinct was to say the hell with my job and not show up tonight. I was the target. No target, no threat. Right?

  Wrong. Bill’s death proved the killer was willing to take out anyone necessary to keep his or her identity a secret. The killer could show up, learn I was a no-show, and take out his disappointment on one of my students. Kidnapping or injuring one of my choir members wasn’t going to bother someone who had already killed twice. The only way to guarantee my students’ safety was to discover the identity of the killer before the concert tonight—and I had under four hours to do so. Too bad I didn’t have a clue how to go about it.

  While Aldo drove us to Millie’s, I racked my brain for a plan. By the time I grabbed a change of clothes for the concert and my Messiah contact sheet, I had one. Aldo had heard the killer’s voice. Yes, the killer had tried to disguise it, but there was a chance Aldo might recognize the voice if he heard it again. If I could get a recording of each of the suspects, I could make Aldo listen to them. Kind of like an audio lineup. With his ear for tone and timbre, there was a chance Aldo could identify the caller. Not a great chance, but hey—it was better than nothing.