End Me a Tenor

by Joelle Charbonneau

  Eric shook his head. “No one else was here.”

  “Whoever it was must have heard Eric coming and ran. Either that or the person hid in one of the bathrooms,” Mike explained. “After Eric found you, he ran back down the hall and yelled for help. That would have given your attacker time to get away.”

  Good to know my escape plan worked for someone. But something felt off; I had been looking behind me when I got attacked. That meant the person doing the chasing and the person performing the hitting were two different people. “What about the person who chased me down the hall?”

  “Someone chased you?” Mike’s dark eyes narrowed.

  “I was getting a drink and heard someone sneeze in the hallway near the theater. When I looked, no one was there. It spooked me. So, I walked in the other direction. That’s when I heard footsteps running down the hall toward me. I was looking to see who the footsteps belonged to when I got hit.”

  Mike turned to Eric. “Did you see anyone in the hallways when you came out?”

  Eric bit his lip and shook his head no. For a kid wanting to go into law enforcement, his inability to identify the perp had to be a huge disappointment.

  “So now what?” I hoped Mike had a brilliant plan because sitting on the cold tile in my cocktail dress was starting to get old.

  “Now we wait for the paramedics to check you out. They should be here any minute.”

  As if on cue, the door at the end of the hall opened and two emergency workers arrived with a stretcher in tow. A red-faced Larry trailed behind them, rubbing his hands together. He must have been waiting outside for their arrival.

  Mike herded the students and random observers back to the auditorium to do his cop thing while the paramedics checked me out. Devlyn and Larry remained for moral support. I waited for Devlyn to go into protective boyfriend mode. Instead, he let Larry hold my hand while he stood several steps back and said nothing. Weird.

  The paramedics shined bright lights in my eyes, whacked my knee with a little hammer, had me walk a few steps to see if I’d fall on my ass (I was thankful I didn’t), and asked me lots of inane questions. What was my name? What day of the week was it? Who was the current president of the United States? While I was tempted to give silly answers, I played it straight. Making jokes wasn’t worth a trip to the hospital and a fashion makeover involving a backless cotton gown.

  When the examination was finished, I was declared mildly concussed. The paramedics offered me a ride to the hospital for a CT scan, which I declined, and then handed me an ice pack for the bump on my head, along with some instructions. No strenuous activities for the next couple of days. No driving for the next couple of hours. And most important, have someone wake me every few hours during the night to make sure my brain hadn’t started to swell. Oh joy.

  We watched the paramedics head out. When they were gone, I turned to Larry and asked, “Did the school board make a decision?” The night had gone so far downhill, I figured there wasn’t much farther until I hit bottom. After that there was nowhere to go but up.

  Larry swallowed and shot a look toward the auditorium. “I think the school board wants to discuss the choir’s performance with you themselves.”

  I put the ice pack against the back of my head and sighed. “This week, I’ve seen a guy poisoned, another one hanged, and have just been hit over the head by the person who probably killed them both. Do you really want to make me wait until the school board fits me into their schedule before learning that I’m fired?”

  “You’re not fired.”

  Maybe my concussion was worse than I thought. “Say that again.”

  Larry grinned. “While some school board members question your underutilization of a few of your students, they all believe Music in Motion has a better chance of winning the national competition with you coaching the team.”

  Translation: Chessie’s parents put up a stink but lost the vote. Score.

  I started to do a victory dance, felt the world tilt, and was steadied by Devlyn. His smile was wide as he said, “No strenuous activities. Remember?”

  “Right.”

  Grinning like idiots, the three of us headed back to the theater at a slow clip, me barefoot, to make sure I didn’t reacquaint myself with the floor. Mike was alone in the theater when we walked through the door. He was lounging against the stage, hands folded in front of him. To those who didn’t know him, he’d appear calm and relaxed. I, however, knew what that expression meant. Hell, I’d seen it enough. Mike was pissed.

  He pushed away from the stage and walked up the center aisle stairs toward us. “No one saw anything suspicious. I’m going to ask Detective Frewen for photographs of his suspects in David Richard’s murder. Maybe someone will recognize one of them, but I’m not holding my breath.”

  I swallowed hard. “You think the murders and the assault are connected?” As much as I agreed with the assessment, part of me really wished he suspected a disgruntled student or a drunken audience member.

  “It would be a hell of a coincidence if they weren’t.” Mike glanced toward Devlyn. “I’ve got to go to the station and get a jump on a few things. Can you make sure she gets home safe? She has a knack for finding trouble.”

  I waved my hand in front of Mike’s face. “Excuse me. I can hear you, you know.”

  Mike smirked. “You have a head injury. There’s a chance you won’t remember this conversation tomorrow.”

  “There’s also a chance my fist will make contact with your nose.”

  “Only if you want to go to jail.” He flashed his badge and winked. “Cop trumps all. I’ll call you later to make sure you got home safe and to set up that date.”

  Having dropped the date bomb, Mike strolled out the door without a backward glance. Larry hurried after him to shut off the lights and lock up, leaving Devlyn and me alone. Crap.

  I waited for Devlyn to ask about the date or do the macho thing and yell. Instead, he dropped a kiss on the top of my head and said, “Let’s get your stuff and get out of here.”

  We retrieved my things and walked to the faculty parking lot while chatting about the concert. Before climbing into Devlyn’s car I remembered something. “Be right back.”

  I crossed the lot, popped the locks on my Cobalt, and retrieved Millie’s gun. While I sincerely hoped I wouldn’t have to use it, I knew I’d sleep better with the Beretta tucked under my pillow tonight.

  As Devlyn drove, I held a now squishy ice pack to my head and waited for him to mention my date with Mike. Only Devlyn wasn’t saying anything. He just had this pleasant, occasionally concerned expression plastered on his face. It was making me tense.

  The silence stretched for several blocks. Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore. “I know you’re mad about the date with Mike.”

  Devlyn smiled at me via the rearview mirror. “No, I’m not.”

  “You threw a fit when I told you I went to Jonathan McMann’s house, but you’re not upset that I’m going on a date with Mike?” The whole head injury thing was screwing with my perception of reality.

  “Going to Jonathan McMann’s house was dangerous. Mike is just annoying. Besides, I was watching your aunt in the auditorium. I’m guessing she had something to do with this, which means, technically, the date isn’t your fault.”

  Huh. Either Devlyn felt sorry for me or he was being rational. Whichever it was, I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  Now that I wasn’t waiting to be yelled at, I began to notice the scenery. “You’re going the wrong way.”

  “Actually, I’m not.” Devlyn gave me a smile that made my toes curl. “A girl who would go on a date with a guy who irritates her just to avoid upsetting her aunt isn’t going to want to tell that same aunt she was attacked after the concert. The paramedics said someone needs to wake you every couple hours. I’ve volunteered for the job. This is my place.”
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br />   As though to emphasize his point, Devlyn pulled into the parking garage of a sleek, five-story building. Part of me wanted to go home. The less cautious half was dying to see Devlyn’s living space.

  We took the elevator to the top floor and walked down the brightly lit, beige-carpeted hall to his door. His was one of four apartments on this floor. Devlyn hit the lights and led me into an expansive living room. While Devlyn wore pastels to work, at home he was an earth-tones kind of guy. The couch and armchair were deep rust, the furniture was mahogany, and the area rug was gray and cream. Beyond the living room was an equally well-decorated kitchen filled with stainless steel and granite. How he afforded this place on a teacher’s salary was beyond me.

  Devlyn disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with a glass of water and three aspirin tablets. “The guest bedroom is at the end of the hall on the left. The bathroom is on the right. While you dump your stuff, I’ll get us a snack. I could hear your stomach rumbling during the drive.”

  Moderately embarrassed, I swallowed the pills and walked to the guest room while doing my best to ignore the urge to peek into Devlyn’s bedroom. A bedroom said a lot about a person, like whether he watched television in bed or left his underwear on the floor . . . or if he wore underwear at all.

  The idea of Devlyn going commando made me flush. Thank God the door I assumed led to his bedroom was closed, preventing my overcurious nature from taking control. The guest bedroom was painted a soft blue. The queen-size bed was covered with a dark blue comforter. A half-dozen blue and white pillows were scattered on top. Never had a bed looked so good to me. My head throbbed. The adrenaline rush from surviving an attack and saving my job had passed, leaving my muscles trembling with exhaustion. There was nothing I wanted more than to fall flat on my face for the next twelve hours. Instead, I ditched my stuff and went to the bathroom to wash up.

  Yikes.

  My eyeliner was smeared and my hair looked as though I’d plugged my finger into a light socket. Raccoon from hell wasn’t my best look. Makeup free and hair problems resolved, I went back to the bedroom and smiled. Sitting on the bed were a pair of gray sweats and a yellow T-shirt.

  Dressed in Devlyn’s clothes, I padded out to the living room, where the man in question was waiting with scrambled eggs, toast, and tea. How awesome was that? When I was seated, he handed me a plate and a fork. “This was what my mother made for me when I got my first concussion.”

  “You’ve had more than one?”

  He laughed. “I was a quarterback. Concussions were a way of life.”

  “You played football?” The only theatrics the football players I went to high school with were interested in were the ones that got the other team called for a penalty or elicited sympathy from the cheerleaders. Both helped them score.

  “Football was the reason I started dancing. My father thought dance classes would improve my footwork on the field. He was right. My senior year, our team won state. I also played Danny Zuko in our school’s production of Grease.”

  “How did your dad feel about that?”

  “He was in the front row for both.”

  I tried to imagine my father cheering my brother from the front row as he sang and danced around on stage. Nope. My imagination wasn’t that good. “Your dad sounds nice.”

  Devlyn smiled. “He is. I was hoping to introduce you tonight, but you were too busy avoiding me.”

  Oops. “I wasn’t avoiding you.”

  “Right. Just make sure you aren’t avoiding me on Saturday night after the Messiah. My mother wants your autograph.”

  Now was probably not the time to tell him that Mike would be at the concert. Even if the police caught the killer by opening night, the lobby was going to be a very scary place. Something to look forward to.

  Devlyn took the empty plates and mugs, loaded them into the dishwasher, and walked me down the hall to my room. “Remember to call your aunt and let her know where you are.” He took my face in his hands, ran a thumb across my cheek, and placed a light kiss on my lips. “I’ll see you in a couple hours.”

  Before I could sneak a peek inside his bedroom, he’d disappeared inside and shut the door. Drat.

  Since Millie was likely to alert the National Guard if I didn’t come home, I followed Devlyn’s advice and got the machine. I left a message that I was spending the night at a friend’s house, turned off the lights, and went to sleep.

  My eyes flew open as I heard something move to my left. Not thinking, I grabbed a pillow and swung it.

  “Oof.”

  Devlyn. My brain woke up along with the ache in the back of my head. “Sorry. I forgot where I was.”

  “I’m lucky you didn’t go for the book on the nightstand.” Devlyn took a seat on the bed next to me. “Well, I don’t have to worry about testing your reflexes. But I am going to turn on the light and look at your eyes. If your vision is blurred, you’ll need to see a doctor.”

  Yowzah. The shift from pitch-black to completely light had me seeing spots. When my vision cleared, I caught sight of Devlyn standing next to the bed in forest green boxers and felt faint. Devlyn in tight T-shirts was a sight to behold. Bare-chested Devlyn could illicit riots.

  “How’s your vision?” He leaned over and peered into my eyes. “Are you seeing double?”

  “No. Although, seeing two of you wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing.” Oops. I hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

  Devlyn smiled. “My parents are glad I wasn’t a twin. I caused more than enough trouble on my own.”

  “Really? What kind of trouble.”

  “The kind you’re going to get in if you don’t stop looking at me like that.” He touched his lips to mine in a kiss that was designed to be friendly but made me start to sweat. “The paramedics specifically said no strenuous activity.”

  “It doesn’t have to be strenuous.” It had been over a year since my last serious boyfriend, but I remembered that much.

  “It’s strenuous when it’s done right.” Devlyn’s smile made everything inside me go limp. “We’d do it right.” He gave me another light kiss before standing up and turning off the light.

  “Get some more sleep. I’ll be back in three hours to check on you.” And out the door he went.

  Until Devlyn’s arrival, I’d had no trouble sleeping. Now I was wide awake and thinking about him lying shirtless across the hall. Since thinking about Devlyn wasn’t helping me fall asleep, I changed gears and thought about the reason I was in Devlyn’s guest bed. The killer clocking me in the school hallway told me he was getting more persistent. My investigation had to be getting too close for comfort. Too bad I hadn’t a clue exactly what I was getting close to. Worse still was the knowledge that I had been hit by one person after being chased by someone else. Mike seemed to think my story about the second person was far-fetched. If Mike didn’t believe me, the police would continue to focus on finding a solo killer. But if anything positive came from being whacked on the head, it was that I knew the cops should be looking for two people.

  But which two? Most everyone in the Messiah cast knew one another from previous shows. Any two of them could have talked about their problems with David Richard and then conspired to do him in. Now those two were tag teaming me, and I needed to figure out how to stop them.

  By the time Devlyn came back to do the Sleeping Beauty routine, I hadn’t come up with any bright ideas as to how to track down the duo. I was stuck.

  When I was struggling with playing a character, I always went back to the script to see what details might explain why the character behaved the way she did. Third-act meltdowns or unusually optimistic behavior were always explained somewhere in the show. If not by the character herself, then by the things other characters said in response to her. You just had to pay attention. And trust me, I had serious motivation to pay attention now. To solve the murders, I needed to go back to the beginni
ng and figure out what details I’d missed.

  So, what was the beginning? David’s murder? No. That felt more like the end of Act One. This play had begun before the curtain came down on David’s life. Since I couldn’t count on anyone to tell me the truth about their experiences, I had to go by what I’d seen with my own two eyes. As far as I had witnessed, this melodrama began when a perfectly manicured hand collided with David Richard’s face. A hand that belonged to Maestro Magdalena Tebar.

  Chapter 18

  Both my headache and Devlyn were gone when I woke for the last time. A note, a bottle of aspirin, and a key were on my bedside table. The note told me to stick around his place and take it easy. The key said that Devlyn knew there was no way in hell I’d sit around waiting for the police to resolve the situation and that Devlyn was asking me to lock up behind myself. I guess he wanted to come home to his flat-screen TV. Smart guy.

  I showered, pulled my towel-dried hair into a ponytail, and shrugged into the oversized lilac sweater Devlyn had left by my bed. Then I called a cab to take me to the high school’s faculty parking lot to retrieve my car. Both Millie and Aldo were out of the house when I arrived home. Too bad they hadn’t taken Killer with them. I walked into the kitchen and heard a throaty rumble announce Killer’s arrival. I did what any sane person would do—I raced to the fridge and grabbed the cream cheese and a soda. Killer turned toward the counter as I snagged a bagel out of the bakery box. The dog eyed my breakfast and gave a nasty growl. Killer didn’t like being outsmarted.

  Come to think of it, neither did I.

  Killer guarded the fridge as I sat at the counter with my bagel and my cell phone. Magdalena wasn’t answering her phone, so I placed a second call to her manager. In my best Texas twang, I said, “I’m looking to speak to Magdalena Tebar about a possible conducting appearance here in Houston. Not only would she direct a group of luminaries in a charity concert, but we’d like her to be the spokesperson for the event.”

  “This sounds interesting. If you’d give me more information, I’d be happy to discuss this with Magdalena.” The manager didn’t question my accent. When this was all over I would have to send my dialects teacher a thank-you note.