Murder for Choir

by Joelle Charbonneau

  “She’s lucky to have friends like you to confide in.” With friends like this, Dana certainly didn’t need enemies. I hoped my own friends wouldn’t spill my secrets to strangers or at least hold out until they got a decent bribe. Performers were always short of cash. I wouldn’t blame them for wanting to pay the rent.

  The second woman cringed. “We’re not friends, exactly. We’re just the only people who still come to class. Now that she’s told us…things…” She swallowed hard as Marta gave her a stern look. “Well, it makes it hard to leave.”

  The two women looked relieved when Dana yelled, “It’s five thirty. Find a mat and take a seat.”

  The other two women walked over to their mats. Oops. I looked up at Dana. “I don’t have one. Sorry.”

  She rolled her eyes and pointed toward the front of the room. “You can use one of those.”

  I walked over to the mats. My nose twitched. I leaned closer to the mats and sniffed. Dried sweat. Yuck. I didn’t want to sit on someone else’s sweat, but I didn’t have much of a choice. Not if I wanted to get the dirt on Dana. The two other students had alluded to a secret, and I really wanted to know what that secret was. Cringing, I picked a mat out of the bottom of the pile (telling myself most mat borrowers took the ones off the top) and took it back to the center of the room.

  I’d always heard it said that yoga helped a person find peace and harmony. Whoever said that lied. There was nothing harmonious about this class. We each sat on a floor mat as Dana stalked around the room like a lion ready to attack. The minute our butts hit the ground, she yelled, “Let’s stretch out those backs. We’ll start with pelvic tilts. Bend your knees. Feet and hands flat on the floor. Now tilt.”

  I slowly tilted my pelvis up and stretched my back. Wow. That felt really…Dana stared down at me from her immense height. “Your feet aren’t flat.”

  “They aren’t?”

  “No,” she growled. “Here. This is flat.”

  Dana stepped down on both of my feet and looked down at me. “Now tilt.”

  Yeouch.

  We tilted. We also did cat stretches and some kind of lunges and stood like trees. All while Dana barked orders about deep breathing and relaxation. By the time she announced the end of class, I needed more than deep breathing. I needed a drink.

  The two other students rolled up their mats and disappeared out the door in record time. Dana looked like she wanted to stop them, but she took one look at me and shook her head. Clearly, whatever she wanted to discuss wasn’t for my ears.

  “Thanks for the class,” I said, rolling up my mat. “Do you ever do private classes? My high school choir students would enjoy this.” Not.

  She blinked. “You teach high school choir?”

  “Actually, I teach show choir.” I watched her eyes widen. “I’m new to the school, and a yoga class might be a good bonding experience with the kids. We had a crisis at our camp this week. I found one of the directors…” I looked down at my feet as if overcome with emotion and sniffled. Ugh. The stench of caked-on sweat hit me upside the nose, and my eyes began to water. I needed another shower. Pronto.

  Dana took a step forward and touched my arm. “You found Gregory Lucas?”

  I looked up at her confused expression and nodded. “Was he a friend of yours?”

  “He was my ex-husband.” With a clear and bitter emphasis on ex. Interesting.

  I put my hand to my chest and gasped. Hurray for acting classes. “You were married to Greg Lucas? I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “You didn’t know Gregory very well, did you?”

  I shook my head.

  She choked out a laugh. “Trust me when I say Gregory’s death isn’t much of a loss. At least, not to me. I’m sure there are a bunch of women out there who don’t feel the same.” She tried to act as though she didn’t care, but the way her nails were digging into her palms gave her away. This was a woman on the edge.

  I tried to come up with an appropriate response. Nope. Nothing. I was at a loss.

  Dana took several deep breaths (way deeper than the ones she taught in class) and sighed. “That must sound unfeeling. Really, I’m not. Our son was grief stricken when Gregory left us. I’ve been dealing with the fallout ever since.”

  “That must be hard.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “How’s your son dealing with Greg’s death?” I waited for Dana to bludgeon me for overstepping my boundaries, but she just sighed.

  “He’s devastated, but he’ll get through it. Actually, a dead father is easier to live with than one who doesn’t care.” She straightened her shoulders and gave me a chilling smile. “Whoever bashed in Gregory’s head with that microphone did us a huge favor.”

  Eek.

  It wasn’t until I climbed into my car that it hit me. The papers hadn’t reported the head wound, but Dana knew all about it. I wanted to know how.

  “Did you tell Dana Lucas that her husband died from a microphone to the head?”

  Detective Kaiser looked up at me, a Big Mac stuffed between his lips. He extracted the sandwich from his mouth and frowned. “How did you know to find me here?”

  I sat down across from him at the very back corner red-and-white table and smiled. “The guy manning the station’s front desk said you went out for dinner. I remembered you had a McDonald’s bag yesterday when I ran into you, so I thought I’d take a chance.” The fast-food restaurant was located a half block from the police station, which made it an obvious, albeit unhealthy, choice.

  The detective chuckled. “I’m impressed. Of course, you could have just called me. You wouldn’t have had to waste time going to the station.”

  “I’ll remember that for next time.”

  He took a bite of his burger, and my stomach growled. The smell of sizzling meat made me remember I hadn’t eaten yet. Trying to ignore the supersized fries on the table in front of me, I asked, “Did you tell Dana that her husband got whacked with a microphone?”

  “Giving out details of a crime scene to potential suspects isn’t part of my daily routine.” The detective took a drink of soda, grabbed a couple of fries, and raised an eyebrow. “Why are you asking?”

  “Dana told me that whoever hit her husband over the head with a microphone did her a favor. I didn’t realize it until after I got in my car that she knew about the microphone. That’s important, right?”

  “What were you doing talking to Dana Lucas?”

  I was so enamored of the smell of French fries I almost missed the sharp edge in Detective Kaiser’s voice. “I took a yoga class. Dana was the instructor.” Both true statements. No fibbing here.

  “You had no idea Dana would be teaching the class?”

  Okay. I hated lying if I didn’t have to. It was a weird quirk that I fully intended to get rid of at some point. So, instead of saying no, I asked, “You don’t believe in coincidence?”

  He smiled. “Not when it comes to you.”

  “You just met me. Aren’t police detectives supposed to assemble all the facts before passing judgment?”

  “I’m making an exception in your case.” He popped another French fry. “So, tell me exactly what you said. I need to know if Dana is going to show up at the station and press stalking charges.”

  “I didn’t stalk her.” The detective didn’t look convinced so I added, “Dana would never think I stalked her. I took her class, mentioned I was a show choir teacher, and she jumped at the chance to talk about Greg.”

  Detective Kaiser noticed me eyeing his fries and pushed a few my way. I picked one up and sighed as the salty grease hit my taste buds.

  “Did the rest of the class hear your conversation?”

  I shook my head and munched on another fry. “There were only two other women there. The minute class ended they booked it out of there. They said they didn’t like taking the class, but they were afraid to drop out because of some secret Dana shared with them.”

  Swallowing my last fry, I realized I needed a drink
. Not waiting to be asked, the detective pushed his beverage toward me. I took a hit. Sprite. Blech. My mother always made me drink the stuff when I had the stomach flu. The memory tainted the soda forever. But it was better than nothing. “Thanks.”

  The detective popped the last piece of hamburger into his mouth and motioned for me to continue.

  “Anyway, I think she must have told them she was plotting a murder. What else would scare them into doing yoga classes with a teacher who causes hyperventilation?”

  “Their cellulite?”

  “I’m serious.”

  He laughed. “So am I. My ex-wife would suffer through anything if you told her she had cellulite.”

  “You were married?”

  He picked up his soda with a smile. “Surprised someone would marry me?”

  “You don’t strike me as the commitment kind. Guess sometimes you can’t judge people from your first impression of them.” I smiled. “Maybe you should talk to Dana again in case you got the wrong impression of her.”

  He sighed. “Look, I hate to ruin your fun, but Dana has an alibi for the time period in which we believe Greg Lucas was murdered. She’s in the clear.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that ten minutes ago?” Heat raced to my cheeks. I took a couple more fries to battle the embarrassment.

  He grinned. “This was the most entertaining dinner I’ve had in months. I’ll be back here again tomorrow. Feel free to join me. I’ll even buy you your own fries.” He picked up his tray with the remains of his meal and headed for the trash can.

  I trailed after him. “So, you were just humoring me?”

  “Not exactly.” The amusement disappeared. He looked around the mostly empty restaurant to make sure no one was paying attention. “I do find it interesting that Dana knew about the microphone and the head wound. We haven’t made that public. I’ll have a follow-up conversation with the former Mrs. Lucas just to make sure that T is crossed. Those are the kinds of things that help the defense’s case.”

  “Hey,” I asked as he turned toward the door. “Who was Dana’s alibi for the time of the murder?”

  He rolled his eyes. “This is a police investigation. We don’t share names of alibi witnesses with the public.”

  Fair point. Only, I had a strange idea, and I wanted to know if I was right. The detective pushed the door open and headed out into the sticky, hot air with me close behind. “Detective Kaiser, can I ask one more question? Then I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

  He turned and smiled. “I told you to call me Mike.”

  “Okay, Mike.” I took a deep breath and asked, “Was Dana’s alibi named Marta?” If she was, it was my bet Dana didn’t have an alibi at all.

  Mike didn’t answer. He just smiled, turned, and walked out the door without giving me a clue as to whether I was right or wrong. Which meant one thing. I had to find out on my own.

  “How are you going to find that out?” Aunt Millie gave my unmoving fork a stern look. I didn’t have the nerve to confess I’d already eaten a double cheeseburger, so I shoveled up some dried chicken coated in lumpy gravy. When my fork touched my mouth, Aunt Millie added, “You can’t just ask Dana who her alibi is. She’ll find that suspicious.”

  Aunt Millie’s phone rang. The minute she looked at the screen, I spit the forkful into my napkin. I would have given it to Killer, but he was nowhere to be found. Too bad. He thought lint was tasty.

  “I haven’t figured out that part yet. Got any suggestions?”

  Millie closed her eyes, giving me an opportunity to shove more food off my plate. “Does this Dana belong to any country clubs?”

  “I don’t know, why?”

  “There are no secrets at a country club. Trust me. I’ve been naked in enough steam rooms with those ladies to know what I’m talking about.”

  Eeeew.

  “I’ll make some calls tonight. Yoga is big with a lot of my friends. I’m betting at least a couple of them will know her.” Aunt Millie pushed her almost untouched plate away. “In the meantime, what other suspects do you have?”

  I blinked. “You don’t think Dana Lucas did it?”

  “I think I didn’t become Mary Kay’s top seller in the Midwest region by pursuing only one option.”

  “This isn’t cosmetic sales.”

  “No.” Her eyes met mine. “This is about a boy’s life. If you really want to help get him out of jail and back onto your show choir roster, you have to look at all the possibilities.”

  Okay, she had me there.

  “The next name on my list is Curtis Bennett. He coaches football at North Shore High.” Unless I wanted to masquerade as the world’s oldest and dumbest cheerleader, casually chatting him up was going to be difficult.

  Aunt Millie picked up her phone and started pushing buttons. Her texting ability would make most teens envious. I knew better than to ask what she was doing. She wouldn’t answer until she was good and ready. To pass the time, I picked up our plates, dumped the contents into the garbage, and loaded them in the dishwasher. By the time I sat back down, Aunt Millie was beaming. “Bobby Davidson is going to meet you for drinks at Gulliver’s Tavern in an hour.”

  “Who is Bobby Davidson, and why am I going on a date with him?”

  “You’re having drinks, dear. This isn’t a date.”

  I stared Millie down. My aunt has used similar lines on me in the past. The last time I fell for it the guy had flowers in one hand and a box of lactose-free chocolates in the other. Thank goodness the guy was not only lactose intolerant, he was allergic to the flowers. After a half hour of violently sneezing himself off the bar stool, he called it quits.

  Millie frowned at me. “Bobby Davidson is a North Shore High School alum and president of the football boosters. He’s always hocking raffle tickets at bridge club. If you want to know about North Shore football, Bobby’s your guy. Now, are you going to meet him or should I text him back?”

  “I’ll meet him.” After all, I didn’t have a better idea. Besides, it sounded like my aunt was trying to help me solve a problem instead of fixating on my love life. I wanted to encourage that behavior.

  After another shower, which I really needed, I headed off to meet Aunt Millie’s friend. Gulliver’s Tavern was an old Victorian house converted into a bar and grill. The bar was located in what must have been the original living room. A handful of patrons were sitting at high wooden tables. Six televisions on various parts of the walls were streaming golf, preseason football highlights, and women’s lacrosse to anyone interested. I looked around, trying to pick out Bobby. A big, bald-headed guy with brown furry eyebrows waved from a stool at the bar. Aunt Millie’s description had made the guy sound like 007. Aunt Millie needed her glasses checked.

  I walked over and held out my hand. “Mr. Davidson?”

  He smiled. “Call me Bobby. What can I get you to drink?”

  “A rum and Diet Coke, but the drinks are on me. It’s the least I can do after you dropped everything to meet with me.”

  “Your aunt has helped my family more times than I can count. I owe her.” He finished off his beer and asked the bartender for another. His eyes shifted to the television over the bar. After a moment, his attention came back to me. “Millie said you needed information on Coach Bennett. What do you want to know?”

  Good question. “I heard he had a problem with the choir teacher at the school.”

  “You could say that.” Bobby took a hit of his beer. “You could also say he threatened to rip out Greg Lucas’s tongue and wrap it around his throat.”

  Yowzah. “Really?”

  He nodded. “I was there dropping off raffle tickets when Coach got an e-mail from his prize running back. The kid was dropping the team and joining the show choir.”

  “And Coach Bennett was upset?”

  “Coach looked like he was having a heart attack. He got up out of his chair and charged down the hall. I thought he was sick, so I followed him all the way to the choir room. Coach took one look at t
hat director’s smug face and lunged. I had to pry his hands off Greg Lucas’s throat.”

  Wow. I sucked down half my drink. “Did anyone report this to the cops?”

  “Nah. School was out. No kids were around. Greg decided to let it go.”

  “You think he should have pressed charges?”

  “I think he couldn’t press charges.” Bobby put his beer down on the bar with a thud. “I asked around about Greg after that incident. People had a lot to say.”

  “Like what?”

  “He had a reputation for taking things that didn’t belong to him. If you know what I mean.” He winked. “More than one person lodged a complaint, but his program is strong so the board looked the other way. It’s not a surprise some people took matters into their own hands.”

  “Murder is kind of extreme, don’t you think?”

  “I wasn’t referring to Greg’s murder, although I wouldn’t be surprised to hear some jealous husband or pissed-off girlfriend was responsible.” Bobby leaned an elbow on the bar. “I did a little asking around before coming here tonight. Greg’s had a couple of accidents recently.”

  I sucked down the rest of my drink and ordered another. “What kind of accidents?”

  “Some were no big deal—like air being let out of his tires. But Greg getting hit by a car got people talking.”

  Holy crap. “Somebody ran over Greg?”

  “They tried to. Greg mostly got out of the way, but he had a sprained ankle and a couple of bruises.”

  “Did anyone get a good look at the car or the driver?”

  “Not that they mentioned to me.” He laughed. “Your aunt told me you sang opera for a living. Was she pulling my leg?”

  “I’m taking a break from performing to teach for a while.” The bartender brought me another drink, and I took a large gulp. The rum helped mask the bitter taste my career, or lack of it, had left in my mouth. I stood up, pulled out some cash, and laid it on the bar. “I appreciate the information.”

  Bobby frowned at my money then shrugged. “My pleasure. Can I ask you a question?”