Murder for Choir

  The minute Mike was gone, Devlyn rushed over and put his arms around me. “Thank God you’re okay.” He took a step back and looked me up and down. His nose wrinkled when he spotted the mulch stains. “When did the shooting happen? Did it happen here? Why didn’t you call me?”

  All good questions. And I was thankful Aunt Millie was more than up to the challenge of answering them. When she was done, she volunteered to make coffee for everyone and headed off to the kitchen.

  Devlyn gave me a shoulder squeeze. “I can’t believe so much happened after I left you and the detective at Larry’s house.”

  “It’s still early.” I tried to sound upbeat. “Who knows what other excitement today might bring.”

  Devlyn looked down at his two-tone velvet shoes. “Well, something is happening today, but I don’t know if I should tell you about it.” His dark eyes looked into mine. “The detective said he wanted you to stay inside where it was safe.”

  The detective also kissed me as if his life depended on it and then changed his mind. As far as I was concerned, the detective’s opinions had some consistency issues. “What’s going on today?”

  “A memorial service for Greg Lucas. His ex-wife, his son, and the kids from his choir set it up. They sent out e-mail invites yesterday, but I didn’t check my inbox until this morning. Do you want to go?”

  On television cop shows, the killer always shows up at press conferences or funerals. The idea of being in the same room as the shooter didn’t fill me with joy, but neither did sitting at home waiting for the murderer to come find me. Inactivity and I did not go well together. “When is it?”

  Devlyn looked at his watch. “In a little over an hour. I can hang around and entertain your aunt while you get ready.”

  I agreed and bolted up the stairs. Ignoring the pugs stationed as hall sentries outside the bathroom door, I went inside and jumped into the shower. I let myself have a ten-minute crying jag as the nasty-smelling mulch and a large knot of tension melted away under the scalding hot water. As I was washing my hair for the second time, I found myself questioning my decision to leave the house.

  Hearing Detective Kaiser order me to stay put made me want to do the opposite. However, now that I was less on edge, I could admit his idea had merit. I might have even agreed with the plan had it not been for the lack of progress made in tracking down the killer. Only a couple of days had passed, but in that time an innocent boy had been accused, my aunt’s house had been broken into, my boss had gone missing, and someone had used me for target practice. Detective Mike and his team were working hard, but so far they weren’t making any noticeable strides. Besides, I was morbidly curious as to what kind of memorial service Dana Lucas and the show choir kids would put together. Yep, I might regret the decision later, but I was going to go. Now I just had to figure out what to wear.

  Forty-five minutes later, my hair was blown dry, my makeup was applied, and I was sporting a navy blue sundress. Devlyn was waiting for me in the living room with my aunt. She handed me my purse and made us both promise to be careful before shooing us out the front door and into the blistering heat.

  It wasn’t until Devlyn had steered his car down the block that I realized my purse felt heavier than usual. I unzipped the bag, peered inside, and let out a whoosh of air. Sitting next to my wallet and a container of orange Tic Tacs was a gun. And not just any gun. This gun was pink.

  “Are you okay?” Devlyn asked.

  “Yes.” No. I was carrying a concealed weapon. That made me far from okay. I zipped my purse shut, then cringed as the car hit a pothole. The gun didn’t go off. That was good. But it was still sitting on my lap inside my purse. That was very, very bad.

  Thank goodness Devlyn’s eyes were firmly affixed to the road so he hadn’t seen my panic or the gun. I had never even touched, let alone fired, a gun. What was Millie thinking sending me to a memorial service filled with high school kids toting the pretty-in-pink pistol? Yes, a maniac shot at me today, but even if I knew who the shooter was, I wasn’t about to return the favor.

  “Wow. This place is packed.” Devlyn steered his car into the overflowing parking lot of the North Shore Park district building. With no spots left in the lot, we parked the car on the street almost two blocks away and hoofed it back. For a moment, I considered leaving the weapon under the seat of the car, but I couldn’t do it. The idea of leaving a gun unattended made me queasy. Not that carrying one into a memorial service made me feel any better, but it seemed a tad more responsible.

  The arctic air inside the building made me shiver. Signs directed us toward the park district’s theater, but the music coming down the hallway would have led us to the service without them. “Amazing Grace” was being sung by a remarkably talented choir. If this was Greg Lucas’s group, he’d done his job well.

  The song came to an end, and the blue-and-red-polyester-robed choir started singing another. This time it was “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” An awkward-looking boy in a forest green shirt ambled over to say hello to Devlyn. The two of them exchanged condolences and then talked about potential colleges for the kid while I scoped out the room.

  I spotted Dana Lucas standing near the stage accepting condolences from a group of teenagers. She was decked out in a tight-fitting black dress that showed off every inch of her yoga-toned body. The unhappy-looking preteen boy standing beside her had to be her son, Jacob. From this distance, he looked more like Greg than his mother in both coloring and height.

  Since Devlyn was still deep in conversation, I wandered over to the left of the auditorium to get a better view of the crowd. The choir finished singing, the lights over the audience dimmed, and the crowd grew silent. A much-larger-than-life photograph of Greg Lucas was projected onto a screen on stage, and the sound of people sniffling echoed throughout the room. Dana Lucas walked onto the stage and took her place behind a wooden podium to the left of Greg’s photograph. A number of mingling guests scrambled for their seats. I could see Devlyn looking around for me as he took a seat in the back with the college-bound teen and his parents. There wasn’t another empty seat near Devlyn, so I decided to lean against the back wall. Scoping out the attendees was easier from a standing position. Being upright also lent itself to a quicker getaway. It was sad that both were necessary.

  Dana Lucas grabbed the microphone off the podium and said, “Thank you all for coming. Everyone in this room was shocked to hear of Gregory’s death. My husband was a dynamic man who loved music and teaching. His death is a blow to us all, and words cannot express how much he will be missed.”

  I couldn’t help but notice that she referred to her relationship with Greg in present terms. No ex for this occasion. Dana dabbed her eyes with a tissue and began to catalog Greg Lucas’s professional achievements. Hearing her talk about Greg taking a personal interest in his students was enough to make me gag. I looked around the room to see if anyone else was having the same issues.

  Guess not. I saw lots of hand wringing and lip trembling, but no outraged expressions in the bunch. Wait. There was an angry expression. On an aisle seat to the right was football coach Curtis Bennett and his wife. Coach Bennett’s lip was curled into a snarl. His wife was doing her best to look calm and somber while shooting nervous glances at her husband. Hell, if I were seated next to the man, I’d be nervous, too.

  A slideshow of Greg’s top moments began to flash across the big screen as Dana narrated. Greg taking his first steps. Greg going to the prom. Greg graduating from college after screwing over his best friend. Okay, I added the last part, but I was starting to feel testy about the adulterous, thieving, creepy teacher getting such accolades.

  Doing my best to ignore the photos of Greg helping his female students with their dance steps, I slowly walked around the back of the theater looking for other familiar faces. I admit that part of me was looking for Larry. Despite the blood, Larry still might have left his house under his own power. If so, I was certain he would have found a way to be here.

 
Sadly, Larry was nowhere to be found. However, Chessie, Eric, and a bunch of my other students were seated near the front. I squinted into the darkness, trying to tell if Chessie was upset by the “Greg was God” rhetoric. Nope. If anything, she looked bored. Eric, however, looked ready to implode.

  The slideshow finished, and Dana announced, “To celebrate Greg’s life, his choirs have put together a very special performance for all of us. I know Greg would have been very proud to have been remembered in this way.”

  The lights on stage brightened, and the sound of bongo drums and calling monkeys filled the air. Kids dressed in black and silver sequins came racing onto the stage. They struck a pose as the bongos and monkey sounds changed to strings and wind instruments. Then they began to sing.

  It took me a minute to figure out what they were singing. At first, I thought it was an African Gospel song. Then the choir switched to English, and I groaned as a kid in front began to sing the words to “Circle of Life” from Disney’s The Lion King.

  The soloist was talented. I was impressed he could sing through tears. That wasn’t easy to do. I’d had to cry while singing for more than one show, and it took lots of practice to sing without sounding as though a frog took up residence in your throat. The kid deserved props for holding his own. So did the rest of the kids. I could see why this choir had won awards. They belted out their harmonies as they did their best to plaster on cheesy smiles. Only, instead of looking happy, they all had a deranged I’ve-got-a-knife-and-I-know-how-to-use-it expression. Eek.

  I waited for the song to end, but suddenly the music changed keys, and the power ballad changed to the up-tempo beat of “Hakuna Matata.”

  The kids stomped and clapped as they sang about having no worries for the rest of their days.

  The audience gaped.

  Sequins sparkled in the light and tears glistened on some of the singers’ faces, but the warped smiles never faded as they did their best to convince the audience to clap along. Some of the people in the front rows did. The rest of the audience wore expressions of abject horror.

  After two more key changes and another verse of “Circle of Life,” the music mercifully stopped. Nobody moved. The tear-stricken kids on stage stared at the audience. The audience stared back. Finally, someone in the front of the theater started to clap. The sound snapped the rest of the audience to attention, and they, too, began to applaud. Whatever composure the kids had left disappeared. Weeping girls hugged each other. Teenage boys tried to look cool and failed as their lips trembled. This was a train wreck.

  I looked around to see what Devlyn thought. He wasn’t in his seat. I stood on my tiptoes and scanned the room. Devlyn was nowhere in sight.

  Wait. I spotted him on the other side of the theater near an exit door. He was looking around the theater for something. Probably for me. After a few more glances around the room, he disappeared through the door.

  A couple of adults climbed on the stage and helped the kids off as I searched for my own exit. It was time for Devlyn and me to regroup in the hall. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed one of the women consoling teens was Felicia. Her own face was streaked with tears, but she looked calm and in control as she led several hysterical girls into the wings.

  I slipped out a side door and headed to the front of the theater where we came in. No Devlyn. I peeked around the corner to see if he was hanging out by the door he exited.

  Nope. No one. Personally, I was amazed the lobby was empty. After that performance, I would have thought people would be tripping over one another to get out before anyone else decided to sing.

  Not sure what else to do, I went in search of the restrooms. Devlyn did have a lot of coffee at Millie’s.

  The sign at the end of the red-carpeted hallway said to turn left. I was about to when I heard the sound of angry male voices coming from around the corner.

  Strike that. Only one of the voices was angry, but he was pissed enough for the both of them.

  “What the hell is going on? You told me this was going to work.”

  “You have to give it time.”

  Devlyn. My heart skipped as I froze in place.

  “The first game of the season is next weekend against Lake Forest. I don’t want my ass handed to me right out of the gate. This is horseshit.”

  I sucked in air as I recognized the belligerent voice. Coach Curtis Bennett.

  “You have to give Drew time to get over the shock. That’s the only way my plan will work.”

  “What shock? Greg Lucas is dead, and so is his pansy choir program. If Drew Roane doesn’t start showing up to practice, my football program might be history, too.”

  “Trust me. Drew will be there.”

  “He’d better be at practice on Monday like you promised,” Coach Bennett barked. He lowered his voice and added, “Otherwise, our deal is over, and I start spilling your dirty little secret. What do you think will happen to you then?”

  Secret? What secret?

  Uh-oh. I realized the voices had gone silent. Footsteps sounded on the carpet. They were coming in my direction. Clutching my purse, I booked down the hallway while glancing over my shoulder to make sure Devlyn or the coach didn’t see me. Neither was in sight as I rounded the corner and headed back inside the theater.

  Heart pounding, I leaned against the wall and tried to catch my breath. On the stage, a tall, white-haired man in a charcoal suit was talking about Greg’s contributions to the music industry. At least, that was what I thought he said. My brain was fixated on what it had just heard in the hallway.

  Devlyn had a secret.

  Hell, Devlyn had a lot of secrets. When Devlyn mentioned Coach Bennett to me, he implied the man was someone he’d heard the gossip about but never personally dealt with. He’d lied, by misdirection if not by actual words. More important, Coach Bennett’s angry words made it clear Devlyn had promised that whatever plan they’d implemented would ensure Drew Roane dropped show choir and returned to the football team. From my way of thinking, it took a lot of guts for a star athlete to turn his back on his teammates in order to sing and dance with the show choir. Greg Lucas had helped the kid make that choice, and the kid went through with it. So what could Devlyn and Coach Bennett do to convince that kind of kid to do a one-eighty and return to football?

  They could kill Greg Lucas.

  My knees went weak and the world in front of me spun in and out of focus as the guy at the podium announced, “That is why the Choir Boosters are creating the Gregory Lucas Scholarship. Greg Lucas may be gone, but his ability to help kids fulfill their musical potential will live on.”

  I barely registered the applause and cheering over the denial roaring in my head. Devlyn wasn’t the killer type. Not that I’d ever associated with killers, but still. The guy danced with me. He was trying to help me win over the kids. He was nice to my aunt. He’d even kissed me.

  That kiss.

  My stomach clenched. Could Devlyn have kissed me in order to get close to me? My ego wanted to believe he planted one on me because he felt unbridled passion for my unique combo of personality and looks. Gay didn’t mean a man couldn’t be attracted to a woman. Right?

  Still, it could just be the man was after something—and it wasn’t my body.

  Dana Lucas and her son climbed up onto the stage to shake the tall guy’s hand. Over the loudspeaker, music began to play. I knew that music. It was the song on Larry’s sock-drawer tape. The song Greg Lucas stole years ago, passed off as his own, and made a small fortune on.

  Much of the audience started singing. Those who weren’t musically inclined were smiling through their tears and swaying to the music. When the song was over, the black and silver-sparkled show choir took the stage again for one last song—“Candle in the Wind.”

  “Are you ready to get out of here?”

  I jumped as Devlyn’s voice whispered in my ear.

  “Shh.” Devlyn grabbed my hand and gave it a tug. When I didn’t budge, he whispered, “I heard something
I think is important. Come on.”

  My feet didn’t budge, but my heart hit high gear. A large knot formed in my throat, making it hard to breathe. A potential homicidal maniac wanted to get me alone. That was bad. Worse yet, I had no good excuse for why I wouldn’t go out the door with him.

  “I want to hear the rest of this,” I lied. And boy was I lying. The song was a bigger disaster than the Lion King medley.

  “Really?” Devlyn wasn’t fooled.

  I needed a better excuse. “I thought I spotted Larry in the audience.” Devlyn stopped tugging on my arm and craned his neck to canvas the room. Score. “Can you see him?” I asked. “I thought I saw him down in front.” With so many people hugging and crying, getting a clear view of anyone down there was impossible. That bought me time.

  The choir onstage belted out the final, off-key but very loud chord of the song as Devlyn walked a few feet to the right trying to get a better view of the fictitious Larry. As soon as the music ended, Dana took the podium once again. She thanked everyone for coming to celebrate her husband’s amazing life and announced a reception would be taking place afterward in the greenroom backstage. Half the audience sprang to their feet and headed for the exit, making it harder for Devlyn to get a clear look at the crowd.

  Suddenly Devlyn focused on something, and his eyes narrowed. “Did you find him?” I asked, stunned that Larry might actually be in the crowd.

  Devlyn shook his head. “No, but someone else just found us. And he doesn’t look happy about it.” Devlyn nodded toward the other side of the theater, where a less-than-enthusiastic Detective Mike was glaring at me. He crooked his finger and waited to see if I’d come as commanded.

  Normally, I wouldn’t obey that kind of summons on principal, but at the moment I was looking for any excuse to get away from a potential killer. I said, “You keep looking for Larry while I go talk to the detective.”

  Devlyn waded into the crowd, and I bolted for the lobby. Detective Mike was waiting with his arms crossed in front of the main theater doors. The patrons leaving the theater took one look at his face and gave him a wide berth. The man was good at intimidating. Funny, but I’d never been so glad to see a pissed-off person in my entire life.