Murder for Choir

  The applause was loud and long. Both were a balm to my ego, which had suffered at my recent dry spell of performing gigs. Finding someone murdered and getting shot at had made my lack of casting seem trivial, but my confidence still appreciated the boost.

  I signaled for Aldo to stand and take a bow, which he did with a flourish. The two of us then bowed together and declined when people asked us to do another tune. Millie came bursting out of the crowd, beaming. She wrapped her arms around me and whispered. “You were perfect. Gloria can’t stop smiling, and Marge is ready to claw my eyes out from jealousy.”

  “Why would Marge claw your eyes out?”

  “She thinks I helped usurp her son’s glory.”

  “He was sick.” That was the official story, and I was sticking to it.

  “Marge insinuated you might have poisoned him in order to have the stage to yourself. She also thought the police might want to look more closely at the dead body you found, just in case you did the same thing to him.”

  I sputtered.

  Millie laughed. “Don’t worry about Marge. No one else around here does.”

  “Ladies, we should celebrate with a drink. No?” Aldo came up behind Millie and put his arm around her waist. Millie blushed. I put in my order for a glass of white wine and watched Aldo steer my aunt toward the bar. The gleam in his eye told me not to hold my breath for that wine. So I decided to go in search of my own. Too bad it wasn’t that easy.

  Every couple of feet I was stopped by someone who wanted to talk about my performance. The compliments were effusive and kind. Most performers would have been delighted with the attention. I was looking for a spoon so I could tunnel my way out of here.

  Not that I wasn’t grateful that my performance was well received. I was, but I felt awkward when people wanted to have a conversation about me with, well—me. Staged shows were easier. You got a wig and a costume, and the audience couldn’t tell one performer from the other after the show was over.

  After a dozen uncomfortable conversations, I grabbed my purse and ducked out the back door and into the warm night air. A few die-hard smokers were milling around the flagstone patio. Otherwise the backyard was empty, most likely due to the intense humidity. I walked to the end of the patio, trying to avoid both the smoke and conversation.

  “You have a lovely voice.”

  So much for my avoidance technique.

  Forcing my lips upward, I turned toward my new fan and blinked. “Didn’t we meet the other day?” I asked, knowing full well that we had. Standing in the shadows of a large oak tree, wearing a bright yellow cocktail dress, was Coach Bennett’s wife.

  “I never introduced myself. My name is Carrie Bennett.” She stepped into the light, and I sucked in a gulp of air. Either Carrie had had a disagreement with her makeup or she hadn’t slept in days. My guess was the latter.

  Shaking Carrie’s hand, I glanced around the backyard for her scary other half. “I’m sorry I upset your husband. I didn’t mean to.”

  “You don’t have to worry. He’s not here. Curtis doesn’t like these kinds of parties.”

  “But he doesn’t mind that you come?”

  Her hand fluttered to her chest. “He doesn’t know I’m here, exactly. My friend Marge’s son was supposed to play with you tonight, and I promised I’d be here to watch. Curtis wouldn’t approve.”

  “Of supporting a friend?”

  “No, of Jonathan playing piano.” She took a small step backward. “My husband has firm opinions on members of his team getting involved with music and theater. I think he expressed some of them the other night.”

  “Jonathan’s on the football team?” I found it hard to believe. The kid looked like a strong wind would blow him over.

  “He has the highest field goal conversion rate in the district.”

  “Impressive.” But something didn’t make sense. “Why would your husband be upset to see Jonathan play piano?” Aside from the obvious lack of skill.

  “Well, after Drew Roane quit for the choir, my husband is worried about losing other players, especially Jonathan. He tells me the two of them are best friends.”

  “Your husband seemed pretty angry that Drew quit.”

  She flinched. “I’m sorry about his behavior, but you have to understand. There’s been a lot of pressure from the football boosters to have a winning season. A couple of them have even said they think Curtis might not have what it takes to coach anymore.”

  “Which is why he doesn’t want to lose Drew.” When she nodded, I added, “I thought I heard him say Drew was coming back to the team. What happened?”

  Carrie clasped and unclasped her hands. “I don’t know. Drew was supposed to come back to practice. When he didn’t, I heard Curtis on the phone talking to someone about some plan they had. He was sure that the plan would work now that…things have changed.”

  “You mean now that Greg Lucas is dead.”

  Carrie straightened her shoulders. “My husband had nothing to do with that. Yes, he was angry with Greg Lucas, but he’s not capable of murder. He just isn’t.”

  I wasn’t sure whether she was trying to convince me or herself. Either way, she failed. Curtis Bennett was looking guiltier by the minute.

  My conversation with Carrie, disturbing as it was, gave me an idea. Dodging partygoers carrying flutes of champagne, I spotted our hostess, Gloria Ockinicky, in the back corner of the living room and headed over.

  “Paige, I wondered where you went.” Gloria gave me an air hug—one of those lean-into-the-person-without-touching-in-case-they-have-cooties gestures. “You were fabulous tonight. Everyone is talking about it, and more important, they are writing checks.”

  “I just wish my Jonathan could have been here.” This from a woman with football-helmet-shaped dark hair and a bright red dress. “The piano player was quite good, but you should hear my son.”

  “It’s too bad Jonathan got so sick. The poor kid was heartbroken.” Yeah, I lied. But it was for a good cause. “Actually, I thought I might leave the party early and stop by to see Jonathan. It might give him a lift to know the gig went well. He’s probably feeling like he let everyone down.”

  Marge beamed. “That would be lovely. I’ve been worried about him being home alone while he’s sick. Here’s my card. My home address and cell are listed. The next time you need a piano player call me, and I’ll make sure Jonathan is free. The two of you would be dynamic together.”

  Right.

  I thanked Gloria for inviting me and looked around for my aunt. She was at the bar doing amaretto shots with Aldo, who was paying her extravagant compliments in between calls for more booze. Given the number of glasses stacked in front of them, I was amazed either was still talking, let alone standing. After three more shots, I convinced Millie it was time to go home. Aldo insisted on going with us—it turned out he took a cab to the gig. So I chauffeured the two of them back to Millie’s and watched them stagger into the house singing “O sole mio.” Then I zipped off to my next destination.

  Jonathan’s house.

  Millie’s car cornered like a beached whale, and the brakes required brute force to get them to—you know—stop. It explained a lot about my aunt’s driving style.

  The windows of the massive chrome-and-glass house were ablaze with light when I jammed the brakes to the floor. I rang the bell, and a few minutes later, a disheveled Jonathan came to the door. His shirt was unbuttoned, his hair was mussed, and his cheeks had a rosy flush. My sleuthing skills told me he might be entertaining a special guest. He took one look at me and frowned. “Um. Hi. Did I forget something at the party?”

  “Not exactly. I was hoping you could answer a couple questions about your football team for me.”

  “Football?” He looked back inside the house and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Well, yeah. But can we do it another time? I’m kind of busy.”

  “It’ll just take a minute. Otherwise, I might have to go back to the party and have a chat with yo
ur mom.”

  “Fine.” Jonathan sighed. “What do you want to know?”

  “Do you know why Drew Roane quit the team?”

  “Because he wanted to sing and dance?”

  The way he said it made me arch an eyebrow. “Really?”

  Jonathan laughed. “Coach Bennett was riding Drew at the end of last year about not being in the weight room enough. Drew got pissed. He works twice as hard as any other player, but Coach is always ragging on something. So Drew decided to get even.”

  “By joining the show choir.”

  Jonathan cracked a wide grin. “Drew always planned on coming back to the team. He was just saying he was going to join the choir to yank Coach’s chain. But Mr. Lucas told Drew he knew people at Northwestern and the U of I. He promised Drew would get accepted at one of those schools. Drew’s a good player, but the top scouts haven’t been calling and his grades aren’t exactly college material, if you know what I mean.”

  Which would have made Greg Lucas’s offer irresistible.

  A female voice called out from inside the house, and Jonathan yelled that he’d be just a minute.

  “So now what?”

  Jonathan jammed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. For the first time he looked genuinely confused. “I don’t know. The day before Mr. Lucas was killed, Drew said someone had given him another option for college—one that didn’t involve competing in that stupid choir.”

  “Did he say who made him the offer?”

  “Nah.” He shrugged. “I figured it was Coach, but Drew said it wasn’t any of the teachers at our school. It sounds like his girlfriend knows the guy and introduced them. Anyway, Drew said he’s waiting for proof the offer is real before coming back to practice. My boy isn’t the smartest guy around, but he isn’t stupid.”

  Guess not. Of course, if he was making deals with a murderer, then all bets were off.

  I asked Jonathan to let me know if Drew ever mentioned the name of his mysterious benefactor and climbed back into Aunt Millie’s Caddy. Fighting the brakes, I steered home while adding up the pieces I’d just been given. Unless I was mistaken, Devlyn was Drew’s mysterious benefactor. And if Jonathan was right, Devlyn approached Drew with his offer before Greg’s death. If Drew had said no, Devlyn would have had reason to kill Greg to escape Coach Bennett’s blackmail threat. With a potential yes forthcoming, Devlyn’s motive for murder had just been blown to bits. The more I learned, the more confused I became.

  Steering down Millie’s block, I slowed the car and peered into darkened driveways, trying to spot would-be shooters. Careful not to hit my car, I pulled Millie’s Caddy into the garage and closed the door. Ha! Let the gunman try and get me now.

  I climbed out of the car as the doorbell rang inside. My stomach tilted. Someone rang again and started knocking. I swallowed hard, walked through the laundry room into the kitchen, and peered around the corner into the living room. Everything was quiet inside, and no one was in the driveway when I arrived home. So who was at the front door? Maybe Aldo locked himself out?

  The knocking started again, and I reached into my purse. My fingers closed around Millie’s pink Beretta, and I slowly walked to the door. I wasn’t sure if I could actually pull the trigger, but just holding it made me feel better. Taking a deep breath, I peered through the peephole. My fear transformed to frustration. Peering back at me was Detective Mike.

  I opened the door. “What do you want?”

  Mike laughed. “Is that how you treat all your aunt’s guests?”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard worse, and you’re not a guest.” Was I gracious or what?

  “Your aunt called and asked me to come over.” Mike pushed the door open and breezed past me. Then he noticed what was in my hand. “What the hell is that?”

  “Aunt Millie’s gun. She left it out in case of emergency.”

  “This isn’t an emergency.”

  Fair point. I put the gun on the hallway table. “Better?”

  Mike frowned. “You held it wrong.”

  “Huh?”

  “You were holding the gun wrong. If you’re going to pick one up, you need to learn how to hold it with both hands. That’s the only way you’re going to hit anything. If your aunt doesn’t want to teach you, let me know. I’ll book some time at the firing range for us.”

  Firing guns wasn’t my idea of a romantic date. Besides, I didn’t think I could fire a gun at anyone no matter what my grip on it was. To my way of thinking, the gun would either scare someone or act as a blunt object to hit them.

  Still, I agreed to get lessons before picking the gun up again, and Mike seemed to breathe easier when he asked, “Where is your aunt?”

  “My aunt’s asleep.”

  “She called about an hour ago and said I needed to see you tonight.” His eyes traveled up and down my silk-clad body, and his mouth curved into an appreciative smile. “She wasn’t wrong about that. You look incredible with or without the gun.”

  My irritation receded, replaced by a warm surge of pleasure. What could I say? I was a sucker for a compliment.

  Trying to avoid the pull of the heat in his eyes, I said, “Aunt Millie was a little tipsy tonight. She probably didn’t mean to make that call.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” I fibbed. I was almost positive Aunt Millie was in complete control of her matchmaking faculties when she made that call. “Sorry she wasted your time.”

  “I wouldn’t call it a waste.” Mike’s eyes locked onto mine and held them. My heart flipped in my chest, and I cursed the man for being attractive. He was a menace. Mike took a step closer and added, “Besides, I was already in the neighborhood. Things were interesting around here tonight.”

  I blinked and took a step back. “Interesting?” I used the word “interesting” all the time, and it never meant anything good.

  His eyes narrowed and lost their I-want-sex look as he folded his arms. “The doctor next door dropped by tonight. I’m guessing he was checking in on his canine patient. I watched you drop off your aunt and her friend around nine thirty. The two of them shouldn’t sing in public.” He smiled. “You nicked your neighbor’s mailbox across the street when you were backing out. Don’t worry. There wasn’t any damage so I won’t ticket you for that.”

  “Thanks.” My cheeks went hot. “Anything else happen while I was gone?” So far the only interesting thing had been my lack of driving skills.

  “Your friend Mr. O’Shea dropped by.”

  My heart jumped. “Devlyn was here? Why?”

  “I don’t read minds so I can’t help you there. He knocked on the door, dialed someone on his cell—which I’m assuming was you—and got back in his car.”

  Huh. Maybe he left a message. I unzipped my purse and went diving for my cell phone. Sure enough. Devlyn wanted to know if I was okay and told me to call him tomorrow. I was touched. Yes, the guy had a secret, but my gut told me it wasn’t murder.

  “Devlyn was checking up on me. He’s a nice guy.”

  “I’m sure he is.”

  My stomach clenched at Mike’s tone. “But?”

  “But what? If you like him, that’s your business. It only becomes my business if he kills someone.”

  “But he didn’t kill anyone. Right?”

  Mike took one look at my face and sighed. “What do you think you know that I should know? Something happened at the memorial service today, right?”

  I considered my options. Ratting Devlyn out to Mike wasn’t high on my “like” list. But if Devlyn was a killer, not ratting him out could land me six feet under. Since I wasn’t interested in eternal rest, I said, “Devlyn ducked out in the middle of the service. I thought he was looking for me so I followed him.” Mike’s expression didn’t budge as I told him about Coach Bennett’s desire to have Drew Roane back on the team and his threat to reveal Devlyn’s deep, dark secret.

  When I was done, Mike smiled and said, “Well, if Devlyn didn’t have an airtight alibi that would have put h
im on the top of my list. Too bad.”

  An airtight alibi was good. So, “Why is it too bad?”

  Mike gave me a grim smile. “Because I don’t like the guy.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a guy thing.” He closed the gap between us so I could feel the heat radiating off his body.

  “What kind of guy thing?”

  “This kind.”

  The last time I was surprised into immobility. This time I saw it coming. I should have ducked, run, or pointed the pink pistol at him. Instead, I let him kiss me. Worse yet, I enjoyed it. His lips were warm, and his arms felt safe as he pulled me against him. Safe was something I hadn’t had a lot of in recent days, and the feeling had an aphrodisiac effect. I threw myself into the kiss with an abandon I wasn’t aware I possessed.

  My hands wove into Mike’s curly hair and pulled him closer. Mike made a groaning sound deep in his throat that made me feel more daring. I pulled my mouth away from his and nipped at his neck. He smelled like woodsy pine-scented soap. I wasn’t an outdoor person, but in this case I was ready to make an exception.

  Mike’s warm hands slid up and down my bare back, sending sparks of excitement shivering through me. My body wanted even more while my brain warned this was a bad idea. His fingers dipped toward the fabric covering my behind, and my brain shut down. Then Mike’s mouth disappeared, and he took three steps back.

  Not again. I shivered as my body yearned for the warmth of his. “What’s wrong?” As if I didn’t know.

  “We agreed this was a bad idea.” Mike sounded like he’d run a marathon. Well, I hoped he was in shape, because he was really going to start running now.

  “I never agreed to anything.”

  “This morning we said—”

  “This morning you said kissing me was a mistake. Silly me for thinking that when you kissed me tonight it meant you’d changed your mind.”

  “Cops can’t get involved with witnesses.” Yeah, I’d heard that line before. “I’d like nothing better than to hop into bed with you, but—”

  “You think I was going to sleep with you?” Blood rushed to my head, and my fingers curled into fists. Mike took a step back and had the nerve to look confused. Cop school must have taught him not to engage a pissed-off woman, because he didn’t say anything. Which was good, because I had plenty to say. “Look. Just because I was blowing off a little sexual steam after being shot at and scared to death doesn’t mean I was going to hop into bed with you. I don’t sleep around.”