Murder for Choir

by Joelle Charbonneau

  Mike took a step back. “I didn’t say you did.”

  “Really? Because that isn’t what I heard.” My voice rang in the foyer. Yeah, I could be loud when I wanted to be, and I really wanted Mike to pay attention. And if Aunt Millie woke up, so much the better. She’d taken another swing at matchmaking and had struck out so hard she’d landed her butt in the mud. “The next time your hand touches my ass I’m ordering Killer to chew it off. Got it?”

  Mike didn’t get it. He gave me a condescending smile and said, “I apologize for getting carried away. Seeing you in this getup distracted me. Friends?”

  Not on your life.

  I marched over to the door and flung it open, careful to stay out of the doorway. If the shooter was out there, I wanted him to have a clear shot—at Mike.

  Mike looked at me for a moment, then sighed and sauntered toward the door. “You know, this case won’t last forever. Once it’s over, you might change your mind about the friends thing. Who knows where it might lead.”

  He smiled at me from the stoop. I smiled back and slammed the door. The sound of click, click, click echoed through the foyer as Killer walked in. “You’re late,” I snapped as I stalked upstairs and peeled off my evening attire. As far as I was concerned, this evening was over and good riddance.

  Once again, Killer took up residence in my bed, but this time it wasn’t his cover hogging that kept me awake. Devlyn had an alibi for Greg’s murder. That put him in the clear, which was good. It also meant I was back to square one.

  I tried closing my eyes and counting sheep, but instead found myself going over the suspect list. Coach Bennett enlisted Devlyn to help get his star player back. Patience didn’t strike me as one of Coach’s virtues, so he might have opted to take out his competition instead of waiting for Devlyn to succeed where he had failed.

  Still, my gut said that for all his blustering, Coach Bennett’s bark was worse than his bite. That might not be good enough for the cops, but I was operating on a different proof threshold. Besides, after tonight both the coach and his wife were never going to talk with me. Unless I found a new source for information, I was at a dead end with them. Time to move on.

  Only, where to? Larry had great motive and opportunity, only the guy was gone, leaving a trail of blood and a trashed house in his wake. My stomach rolled. Larry wasn’t my best friend, but the thought of him injured or worse was freaking me out. He might be guilty, but my gut believed someone wanted Larry out of the way. Why? Was it because Larry knew who the killer was? Devlyn seemed to think he did. Wait. Maybe Larry provided the killer with her alibi on the night her ex-husband was killed?

  The more I thought about it, the more likely that seemed. Too bad Detective Mike already ruled out Dana as a suspect because of her alibi. That meant if I wanted to turn over that particular rock, I’d have to do it myself.

  What the hell was that? Oof. I bolted awake as Killer scrambled over me, onto the carpet, and out the door, barking all the way. I heard Millie scream, and my feet hit the floor. Hurtling down the stairs, I raced for the kitchen, then changed directions as Millie screamed again. The front door was open. Millie was outside.

  Blood pounding in my ears, I grabbed the pink gun off the hall table, ran through the front door, and felt my heart stop. Sitting in the middle of the driveway was a flaming car.

  My car. And Aunt Millie was climbing into it.

  “Aunt Millie, stop!”

  Millie didn’t look up. Black smoke rose from the hood of my Cobalt as my bare feet flew down the stoop and across the driveway. I grabbed Millie as she was ready to dive into the car and pulled her back. Now that I could see into the car, I understood why Millie was acting crazy. Aldo was slumped over the steering wheel—out cold or dead. I had no idea which.

  “Call the fire department and stay back,” I yelled as I approached the car. The flames seemed contained to the engine—for now. I had no idea how long it would take before they spread. The car radiated with heat as I grabbed Aldo’s arm and pulled.

  Shit. He was belted in.

  Carefully, I positioned Aldo’s shiny head back against the seat and leaned over to deal with the seat belt. Damn it. Drops of sweat stung my eyes as I tried to find the release button. It had to be here. I took a deep breath and started to choke. The smoke was getting thick. Aldo’s head slumped into my chest as my fingers found the seat belt release and set him free.

  I shifted Also so his back was facing me. Then I wrapped my arms around his torso and pulled him free. Ugh. The little guy was heavier than he looked.

  “Is he okay?” Millie appeared behind me. “Aldo?”

  I didn’t answer. Between the smoke inhalation and my uncertainty about Aldo’s condition, I figured it was best not to try. Instead, I focused on dragging him to the relative safety of the grass. Kneeling down next to him, I took his hand and felt for a pulse. Relief washed through me. “He’s alive.” It was then that I noticed his state of dress. Or undress. Aldo was wearing a white tank, black boxer shorts, white tube socks, and black dress shoes.

  Somewhere in the distance, I could hear sirens. A pink-robed Aunt Millie knelt next to Aldo and held his hand while telling him everything was going to be okay. I hoped she was right as I stood up and took a couple of steps closer to what used to be my car.

  My legs started to shake and my throat burned as I watched the smoke billow out from the hood. This couldn’t have been an accident. I walked around so I could see inside the car. Keys were dangling from the ignition. I had no idea why Aldo had decided to take my car for a joyride, but doing so had almost cost him his life.

  I couldn’t breathe. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. I was scared. Someone wanted me dead and didn’t care who they took out in the process.

  Sirens screamed, and doors slammed behind me. Heavy footsteps charged up the driveway. The cavalry had arrived.

  “He’s over here.” Aunt Millie’s voice traveled over the noise. She was waving her arms so hard she tilted backward onto Aldo, who had been sitting upright. The momentum sent Millie and Aldo sprawling onto the grass.

  The paramedics charged up the driveway with a stretcher and looked from Millie to Aldo, trying to decide who was the one most in need of attention. A firefighter directed me to move to the grass. I did as the firefighters turned on the hose and doused the remaining flames. The fire was out within seconds. The fear remained.

  Mike’s Mustang parked at the edge of the driveway. Cop lights blinked from his back window. He climbed out and made a beeline for me.

  “We have to stop meeting like this.” Detective Mike’s eyes belied his light tone. They were glittering with frustration, anger, and worry.

  “Someone blew up my car.” I was a master of the obvious.

  “They did a bad job. The car is still in one piece.”

  “You say that as though it’s a bad thing.”

  His smile was grim. “The person behind this isn’t a pro. That’s good. He’ll make a mistake.”

  “He already made a mistake. Aunt Millie’s friend Aldo was in the car. Not me.” My heart squeezed as I watched the paramedics load Aldo into the ambulance waiting on the street. Millie waved at me, tightened the belt on her robe, and climbed in after him. Seconds later, the ambulance backed up and drove off.

  “The fuse must have been connected to the ignition. Does anyone else typically drive your car?”

  “No.” My throat clenched.

  A firefighter walked over to Mike and whispered in his ear. Mike whispered back then turned to me. “I’m going to take a look at the car. Then I might have some more questions for you and your aunt. In the meantime, you should go inside and put some clothes on.”

  Yikes. I was wearing an oversized Northwestern University T-shirt that reached just below my ass and nothing else. Feeling Mike’s eyes on my bare skin, I raced inside the house and locked the door behind me. My legs shook as I walked up the stairs. I reached my room, sat on the edge of the bed, and hugged a pillow to my chest
as tears began to fall. My shoulder and neck muscles ached. My stomach clenched. It hurt to breathe.

  Something warm and fuzzy rubbed against my bare legs. Killer jumped up on the bed and whined as he curled up next to me. I must be in bad shape if the dog that wanted me to starve was being nice.

  Wiping away the tears, I scratched Killer behind the ears and got up. Sitting here crying wasn’t going to make things any better. I pulled on my favorite dark-wash jeans and a stretchy black T-shirt and went to find my toothbrush. It was hard to feel brave with morning breath.

  Armed with sexy clothes and a minty-fresh mouth, I marched down the stairs. I pushed the fear to the side and focused on the white-hot anger building inside me. Anger made me feel powerful and kept the tears at bay. Both were good.

  The fire truck was pulling away as I walked back into the sunshine. A bunch of neighbors had come out and were milling in the street. Mike was down at the bottom of the driveway talking to a uniformed officer. He spotted me, nodded at the officer, and trotted up the drive.

  “The department will send over a tow truck so our techs can take a better look at the car. We think the bomb was made with gas cylinders that were wired into the ignition.” He tucked his hands in his back pocket. “It probably produced an impressive burst of fire to start, but didn’t do the kind of damage other devices might have.”

  I looked at my singed Cobalt and tears threatened to reemerge. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  He shrugged. “Make sure you and your aunt keep your cars parked in the garage overnight from now on. And you’ll want to contact your insurance carrier. Give them my name and number if they have any questions.”

  I hadn’t even thought about contacting my insurance agent. Yippee. More fun.

  “Do you have any idea who did this?” I asked.

  Mike straightened his shoulders and tried to look confident as he said, “Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”

  I just hoped when that time came, I was still alive to enjoy it.

  Mike went through the “stay inside and out of trouble” routine and promised to let me know if there were any developments. He turned to leave, and I remembered a question I’d forgotten to ask last night.

  “Did you ever find Larry?”

  I could see the answer reflected in Mike’s eyes. Larry was still missing, and no one had a clue where to look for him.

  No one except me.

  It was well after noon before the last of the police officers pulled away and the neighbors went indoors. Millie had called to let me know Aldo was fine. The doctors said his blood pressure shot up and caused him to black out. They would be monitoring him for a few more hours before sending him home. Millie planned on keeping Aldo company, which meant I was free to borrow her car. Since the car had been parked in the garage all night, I was relatively certain it wouldn’t explode the minute I cranked the gas. Still, I held my breath and prayed to the patron saint of fire retardancy that I wouldn’t get blown to bits.

  The pink Caddy roared to life and no flames burst forth. My day was improving. I pulled the car out of the driveway and went in search of Dana Lucas, careful not to take out any lawn ornaments along the way.

  Dana’s red Jeep was in her driveway. I parked Millie’s car at the curb, grabbed my purse, and stalked up to the door. My nerves were taut as I rang the bell and unzipped my purse halfway. Coming here was a risk. If Dana was the one who lit my car on fire, she’d have no qualms about killing me in broad daylight. Still, I was banking on her son’s presence being a deterrent. And if not…I reached into my purse and closed my fingers around cool steel.

  The door swung open, and a red-eyed Dana stood in the doorway. The woman was just as intimidating up close as I remembered, although she looked far more upset today than she had at her ex-husband’s memorial service.

  Her eyebrows knit together as she stared at me. “Yes? Can I help you?”

  Clearly, my attendance at her yoga class made zero impression on her. I relaxed my grip on the gun. If Dana was the one taking shots at me, she’d know what I looked like.

  “We met at your yoga class the other day. My name is Paige Marshall.”

  She forced a smile. “Right. You were the one who found my ex-husband dead. Sorry I didn’t recognize you. You look different today.”

  Probably because I wasn’t red-faced and covered in sweat. Talking a deep breath, I said, “I was hoping you could help me find my boss, Larry DeWeese. He’s been missing since yesterday morning.”

  Dana froze. Slowly she said, “Why are you asking me?”

  “Because you and Larry were seen together outside the country club on Wednesday night.”

  “Who said we were together?”

  “Larry did.”

  Dana’s eyes went wide. “Larry wasn’t sure who we could trust. So he said we shouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “He knew I was looking into Greg’s murder. I guess he figured I could be trusted.” Dana’s bottom lip trembled. She wanted to share her secrets with someone. Now I just needed to convince her that someone was me. “I know about Larry’s financial problems and about the song.”

  That did it.

  Dana stepped back and waved me into the house. Running a hand through her spiky hair, she led me down the hall to a country-style kitchen and poured herself a large glass of red wine. She drained the glass and nodded for me to take a seat at the kitchen table. “Do you want some?”

  I watched her pour another helping. After the morning I’d had, I could use a drink. Too bad I needed a clear head. I declined and asked, “Have you heard from Larry recently?”

  “Not a word.” She took a seat at a table topped with white tile, and I pulled out the chair opposite her. “He was supposed to call me yesterday before Greg’s memorial service, but I never heard from him. I just know something terrible has happened.”

  Tears crept down Dana’s cheeks, and her shoulders began to shake. I grabbed a tissue out of my purse and passed it over. “Because Larry thought he knew who murdered Greg?”

  Dana cried harder. “I think so, yes. But he never told me who it was. He wanted to keep me safe. Not like Greg. He never cared about anyone but himself.”

  “What did you and Larry do on Wednesday night after you left the club?” Maybe they crossed paths with the murderer without Dana realizing it.

  “My son, Jacob, was at a sleepover. I told Larry we were coming here to have a quiet dinner, but my lawyer was waiting to talk to him. Greg’s entire career was based on the song he stole from Larry. I was trying to help Larry get what was rightfully his.”

  “That was generous since you must have gotten part of that money in your divorce settlement.”

  “I didn’t see a dime.” Dana’s eyes glittered with anger and tears. “Greg and his lawyers convinced the judge that he’d written the song long before I was married to him. That I didn’t deserve to reap the rewards of any premarital success.”

  Ouch.

  “The lawyer thought Larry had a good case. Then Greg was murdered and Larry decided to call off the lawsuit.”

  “Why?”

  She sniffled. “Larry thought my son would be named as Greg’s sole beneficiary, and he didn’t want to take away the money or my son’s good memories of his father.”

  Dana dissolved into tears again.

  “Is that what you argued about outside Greg’s house the other day?”

  Dana stiffened. “How do you know we argued?”

  The truth wasn’t going to help me, and I couldn’t come up with a plausible lie. So I did the next best thing—I stayed quiet and hoped for the best. My heart thudded in my chest as the seconds ticked by.

  Finally, Dana’s shoulders slumped, and she nodded. “We were there to look for Greg’s will. Larry found a copy of it in Greg’s files along with the original handwritten version of the song that Greg stole. The song was in Larry’s handwriting. A judge would have to rule in his favor, but Larry didn’t want to pursue it anymore. He
insisted he’d find another way to pay off his bills.”

  Huh. Dana looked like she was seriously in love with Larry. Which only added to my confusion. “Why haven’t you told any of this to the police? This information might help them find him.”

  “I promised Larry I wouldn’t.”

  Damn. I was hoping she wouldn’t say that. Larry’s unwillingness to reclaim his stolen music or the profits made from it seemed to strip away his motive for murder—unless he wanted it to look that way. I couldn’t help but remember the e-mail quoting a large amount of money for services to be rendered by the mysterious Kris. Larry might have set up his own disappearance and dropped hints about knowing who the killer was just to throw the cops off the scent.

  Of course, one thing about Dana was still bothering me. “When I was at class the other night, the other two students acted like they were scared of you.”

  Dana knocked back the rest of her wine and smiled. “I’m a tough teacher.”

  “Yes, I know.” I rested my arms on the table and leaned forward. “But that isn’t what they were referring to. They said you told them something, and whatever it was made them very nervous.”

  Her lips pursed, and her eyebrows knit together. Dana was in deep thought. Suddenly, she threw back her head and barked out a laugh. “Holy crap. They think I killed Greg.”

  “Why would they think that? I mean, most divorced couples don’t go around killing each other.” Although, I, for one, believed if any divorcée would take a whack at her former spouse, it was Dana.

  She smiled. “A couple weeks ago, Greg blew off a weekend trip he’d planned with our son. He followed that act by sending me a child-support check written on a closed account. I found out about both right before class, and I might have said a few things I shouldn’t have.”