Murder for Choir

by Joelle Charbonneau

  Aunt Millie definitely didn’t leave this. Whoever did had scribbled a message on the bottom of the page.

  Take a hint and get off the stage. Or else.

  Devlyn called the cops. I stared at the paper for several seconds before putting it back in the bag and getting out my own phone. Conveniently, Detective Kaiser was the last number I’d called. I hit redial expecting to get voice mail, but Mike himself answered.

  Taking a deep breath, I explained what I’d found in my bag. Then added, “Another teacher has called the police, but since it happened here at the school, I thought you’d want to know.” I sounded logical and calm, which was a miracle. My stomach hurt, my heart thudded in my chest, and I heard a dull roaring in my head.

  I waited for the detective to tell me not to worry about the note. That it was a prank. Instead, he said, “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Seven minutes later, a black Ford Mustang pulled into the lot with Detective Kaiser behind the wheel. He climbed out as a black-and-white Prospect Glen police cruiser and two uniformed officers arrived.

  Detective Kaiser waved at the officers, who stayed in their car, then walked over to me. He was wearing jeans with a white dress shirt, black tie, and gray sports coat. “You’ve had an interesting couple of days.”

  The detective held out his hand. I looked down at the paper and cringed. Sharing the worst review of my life made me want to throw up. Or maybe it was being threatened that made me feel that way. At the moment it was hard to tell.

  I put the paper in his hand and leaned against my car. Devlyn put his arm around me and gave me a hug. I leaned against him, grateful for his support.

  The detective looked up from the paper and raised an eyebrow. “When did you get this?”

  “I don’t know.” Which scared me more than the note itself. “I went to get my keys out of my bag and found the note. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t there this morning when I got here. Someone must have slipped it into the bag after I arrived.”

  “Was your bag locked in your office?”

  Office? What office? “I sat it on one of the bleachers in the field house during camp. Once camp was over, I took it with me to the choir room until Devlyn and I were done working.”

  “So, your bag was out in the open.”

  I nodded.

  He sighed. “You probably shouldn’t do that. It’s a good way to lose your wallet.”

  Or get threatened. I got the message.

  Detective Mike pointed to the guys in the squad car, and they climbed out. “Officer James and Officer Mesching are going to take your statement while I chat with Mr. O’Shea. Technically, this doesn’t fall under my job description, but I still want to talk to you after they’re finished. Just in case.”

  The two officers took my statement, put the note in a plastic bag, and gave me a copy of the report. Neither of them seemed to think they’d find the person behind it, but they promised to do their best.

  When they were gone, Devlyn asked, “Are you okay? You look pale.”

  Probably because I was feeling faint. “I’m fine. I didn’t realize anyone around here knew about that review.”

  “The Internet makes those kinds of things easy to find,” Detective Mike said with a shrug.

  Devlyn gave my hand a squeeze. “Don’t worry about people seeing that review. I saw that show. The reviewer was an idiot.” He looked at the detective. “I’ve got to run, but the detective promised me he’d make sure you got home safely. Call me later so we can plan dinner this weekend. You keep your chin up.”

  I squeezed his hand back and watched him climb into his red BMW and drive off.

  “Nice guy.” Detective Kaiser leaned against my car. “Have you known him for long?”

  “I met him yesterday.”

  “Did you see him near your bag this morning?”

  “He was standing next to me when…” I stared at the detective. “You think Devlyn planted that review?”

  “I don’t know what I think. That’s why I ask lots of questions.” He pushed away from the car and frowned. “Sounds like you’ve been asking a lot of questions, too.”

  “You told me to,” I reminded him. Or maybe Aunt Millie suggested I do it. I couldn’t remember.

  “I told you to keep your ears open and let me know if you heard anything I’d find interesting. Stirring up trouble wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

  “So you think my questions and the note are related?”

  “If they aren’t, it’s a big coincidence.”

  “And you don’t like coincidences.”

  “I’m a cop. I’m genetically predisposed to dislike them.” He shrugged out of his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. I was impressed he’d worn the jacket for that long in the eighty-degree weather. “You didn’t answer my question. Was Mr. O’Shea around your bag when you left it unattended?”

  I started to say no, then remembered. “He was standing in front of the bleachers after camp today. My bag was about a row behind him.”

  “So he could have slipped the paper in your bag without you noticing.”

  “He could have, but he didn’t.”

  “How can you be so sure? You’ve known Devlyn O’Shea for twenty-four hours.” Detective Kaiser shook his head and gave me a stern look. “I’ve been asking around. The man had a beef with the victim, and his office is near the murder site. If he knows you’ve been asking questions about the murder, he might have good reason to try and scare you off.”

  When the detective put it that way, I understood his point even if I couldn’t make myself believe it. Since I wasn’t going to change his mind, I decided to change the subject. “Did you get my message about the football coach?”

  He smiled. “I did.”

  “And? What do you think?”

  “I think you’ve got too much free time on your hands.” He looked at his watch. “It’s time to get you home. I have an interview to conduct back at the station.”

  “Detective, are you going to arrest Eric?” If he was, I wanted to know. It was going to totally ruin my day.

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. “How do you know I’m meeting with Eric?”

  “He mentioned it after this morning’s camp session.”

  I could see the detective trying to find fault with that. He must not have since he said, “I try not to arrest people unless I’m certain I have all the pieces in place. And remember, I asked you to call me Mike.”

  Right.

  After climbing into my car, I headed back to Aunt Millie’s with Mike’s Mustang trailing behind me. I pulled into Millie’s crowded driveway, and Mike honked twice before pulling away.

  Millie’s incredibly long drive was a parking lot filled with expensive, recently washed and waxed cars. It looked like Millie was having a party—which, knowing my aunt, was entirely possible. I backed out my car, parked it on the street in case I needed to make a quick getaway, and hiked up the drive to the front door.

  A wave of sound hit me the minute I stepped into the arctic air. For a minute I thought I’d walked into the monkey house at Brookfield Zoo. I crept toward the noises into the living room and froze in the doorway. At least a dozen diamond-wearing women were munching on sandwiches, sipping wine spritzers, and getting facials. Monkeys would have been better.

  “There you are, Paige. We’ve been waiting for you.” Millie hurried over to me as fast as her pink pencil skirt and four-inch heels would allow. She grabbed my arm before I could beat a retreat. “Everyone, this is my niece.” A bunch of heads swung toward me. Millie leaned toward me and whispered, “All of them belong to Dana Lucas’s country club. If we ply them with enough pampering and liquor, they’ll tell us every detail down to the style of her bikini wax.”

  I was going to pretend I didn’t hear that, and if any of these women decided to talk about their own bikini waxes, I was going to dive out a window. I couldn’t afford the therapy bills.

  “Why do they think they’re all here?” I asked.
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  Millie smiled. “I’m holding a spa day with Mary Kay products. By the time today is over, the women will give us the dirt on Dana and buy thousands of dollars in products.”

  Leave it to my aunt to find a way to turn spying into a marketing plan. There was a reason she was the number one sales associate in the Midwest. This was it.

  “Get a sandwich and a glass of wine and mingle.” My aunt grabbed my hand, pulled me to the middle of the living room, and headed off to help one of her “clients.” I looked around the room, trying to decide what to do. Three women were sitting on the couch and two on the love seat. Seven other guests with green-and-white goo on their faces sat in chairs while two twentysomething stylists hovered over them. All the women were impeccably dressed in tailored shorts and matching tops. The Stepford wives had come to life.

  My stomach growled, which made my decision for me. I headed toward the dining room, where a lady with brown teased hair and an unfortunate choice of bright blue eye shadow was busy piling mini sandwiches and raw vegetables on plates.

  I grabbed one of Millie’s silver-and-white china plates and said, “Hi. I’m Millie’s niece, Paige.” Not the best opening, but it’s what I had.

  The woman pulled a carrot stick out of her mouth and gave me a tentative smile. “Millie talks about you all the time. I’m Eliza.”

  The woman sounded like she’d performed CPR on a helium tank. “It’s nice to meet my aunt’s friends. Do you belong to her country club?”

  “No. My husband and I belong to the Glen. I met your aunt at a dog show two years ago. My Binkie competed against Killer for Best in Show.” Eliza put down her plate and reached for her wallet. Moments later, I was viewing professionally retouched pictures of Eliza’s wire fox terrier, Binkie. Binkie running. Binkie sitting. Binkie wearing a sparkling blue-and-white tiara. The little white-and-brown face was cute, but after the first ten photos I stopped paying attention.

  Thank God Eliza was so busy telling me about Binkie that I didn’t need to comment. That left me free to eat the other three sandwiches on my plate and grab two more. If it weren’t for her high-pitched, squeaky voice, the situation would have been ideal. The sound was great for calling dogs but bad for digestion.

  Once the photo array was stowed, I changed the subject. “You look like you work out. Does your club have good facilities?”

  “Oh yes. Although, running with Binkie is all the exercise I really need. But I do enjoy yoga. My instructor had to cancel this week, which was sad. I find yoga very relaxing.”

  “I took a yoga class last night. I wouldn’t say I found it relaxing.”

  A voice from behind laughed. “That’s because you don’t take it from Madame Zandri. She’s part yoga instructor and part psychic.”

  I turned. A tall woman with bleached blonde hair and black eyebrows stood in the doorway. She was wearing torn jeans and a faded green tank top. Most surprising, she looked to be at least thirty years younger than the rest of the guests.

  Eliza sniffed. “Madame Zandri is a lovely teacher. I know several of her private students who say they have out-of-body experiences when doing yoga with her.”

  The mystery woman grinned. “You’d have an out-of-body experience, too, if you inhaled Madame Zandri’s incense.” She turned to me and added, “She burns homegrown marijuana.”

  “I think it’s time for my facial.” Eliza frowned at the newcomer as she marched into the living room.

  As soon as she was out of earshot, I asked, “Does Madame Zandri really burn marijuana?”

  “Yep.” She sauntered into the room and grabbed a chocolate chip cookie off the table. “She also uses her homegrown incense during tarot readings.”

  “Sounds like more fun than I had. Hi. My name is Paige.”

  She smiled as she shook my hand. “Sherrie Bush. Did you take your yoga class at the club?”

  “No. Although, I believe Dana Lucas also teaches at the Glen.”

  “Dana?” Sherrie laughed. “No wonder a drug-induced haze sounds good. Dana used to be a pretty good teacher. Then her marriage went bust. I guess she couldn’t take out the aggression on her husband so she started using her students.” Sherrie finished her cookie and grabbed another.

  I snagged an oatmeal raisin and started munching. From the next room Aunt Millie’s voice announced it was pedicure time. “Do you want to get your toes done?”

  We both looked down at her feet. Sherrie was wearing black-and-red high-tops with frayed laces. In several places, I could see the white of her socks peeking through the worn fabric. My clunky white sneakers looked downright stylish in comparison.

  “Never mind.” I laughed. Then I switched to my topic of choice. “Dana’s aggression explains the low attendance at her class yesterday.”

  “Her ex-husband getting whacked probably made her students a little leery, too.” Sherrie chomped down on her cookie. “He was murdered a couple nights ago.”

  “I heard.” That sounded better than saying, “Yeah, I was the one who found him.” “I’d like to think her students would make a point of coming to class to express their sympathy.”

  Sherri laughed. “The new Dana doesn’t encourage sympathy.”

  “Did the old Dana?”

  Leaning against the table, Sherrie chewed on her cookie and thought about the question. “The old Dana was softer. More interested in helping people. She never yelled or raised her voice, and her classes were challenging, but only because she pushed you to get better control of your body. Going to her classes was the only good thing about having a club membership until her husband two-timed her. I hope the guy I saw her with coming out of the club on Wednesday night treats her better.”

  “Guy?” What guy? Greg Lucas was either killed on Wednesday evening or early Thursday morning.

  Sherrie raised an eyebrow and studied me for a minute. Finally, she said, “The guy was a little shorter than Dana with brownish hair. I would have thought she would have been done with guys shorter than her after Greg, but I guess the rest of him was different enough to make her take a risk.”

  “Different how?”

  She smiled. “He was kind of scrawny and cute in an I-need-to-spend-time-in-the-sun kind of way. He even opened the car door for her. Greg would never have done that. Heck, if this guy wasn’t driving a Dodge Neon, I might have fought for him. A girl has to have her standards.”

  Sherrie grabbed a glass of wine off the table and downed it. “Time to get my eyebrows plucked. I promised my mother.”

  She sauntered back into the living room, leaving me alone and choking on my oatmeal cookie. Sherrie had just described Larry from the tip of his pasty white toes all the way to his budget car. What the hell was he doing at the Glen Country Club with his arch-nemesis’s ex-wife? Something told me that whatever Larry was doing, it couldn’t be good.

  I was conflicted. The nosy part of me wanted to rush out the door, hop in my car, and find out what Larry was doing fraternizing with the yoga Nazi. The wimpy side wanted to stay indoors and hide from whoever was slipping veiled threats in my dance bag.

  Wimpy sucked. I opted for nosy. But when I marched into the living room, I ran smack into a cloud of cloying perfume. My eyes began to water, and my nose twitched as women sprayed their wrists with Aunt Millie’s latest and greatest products. From the way the women in the middle of the room were teetering on their heels and slurring their words, I guessed they’d hit the free bar a bit too hard. Either that or Mary Kay’s new line of fragrances could be used as biochemical weapons. One spray and terrorists would start singing “Kumbaya.” Awesome.

  I crept around the country club ladies, hoping no one would notice. Until I tripped on a pair of purple-and-gold heels and went crashing to the floor. Crap. All heads turned in my direction. A blonde woman with no shoes and a smear of red lipstick on her cheek gasped and hurried over. Swaying slightly as she walked, she reached me and held out a hand. “I’m sorry. I have no idea how my shoes got over there.”

  The woma
n grabbed my arm and tugged me to my feet. The minute I let go of her hand, she went flying four steps backward, tripped over the edge of the love seat, and went hurtling into the lap of a sleeping white-haired lady. The sleeping woman woke with a yelp and smacked the blonde with her purse.

  The blonde shrieked. “How dare you?” And grabbed the purse with her newly manicured fingers. She cocked back her arm and prepared to let the purse fly when the tiny Eliza snatched the bag from her and smacked her from behind.

  “Don’t you dare hit Melinda,” she hollered as the blonde grabbed a pillow off the love seat, glared at Eliza, and gave the pillow a fling.

  The blonde had terrible aim. The pillow flew wide to the right and took out two dark-haired women in tennis attire. The blonde shrieked again and grabbed another pillow. Not to be outdone, Eliza took off her shoe. As footwear and foamed fabric flew, I headed for the exit. I closed the door on the sounds of primal screams and shattering glass.

  I hurried down the drive, weaving in between the Lexus SUVs, and pulled out my cell. Aunt Millie answered her phone on the third ring. “Where did you go?” she yelled. Somewhere in the background I heard a groan.

  “I got a lead from Sherrie and decided to check it out.”

  “Kathleen, put down the vase this minute,” Millie yelled.

  I looked back at the house and sighed. Leaving Aunt Millie to deal with the fallout felt icky. “Do you need me to come back and help? It sounds like things got out of hand.”

  “Don’t worry about me, dear. The day I can’t handle a bunch of inebriated women is the day I die. Besides, once I get enough coffee in them, they’ll feel so guilty they’ll triple their orders. You go run down your lead and save that boy. I’ll take care of the rest.” I heard another crash, and Millie disconnected.

  I still felt bad about ditching my aunt with the drunken debutantes, but I knew better than to interfere with Millie when she in Mary Kay sales mode. And she was right. The minute the women realized they’d trashed her living room, they’d get out their credit cards and charge them to the limit. By the time the day was done, Millie would probably earn another pink car.