Played to Death

by Meg Perry

  Kevin nodded. “The Wiley guy that’s listed in the program.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What can you tell me about these kids?”

  Scott shrugged. “Not much. You’ve got their names from the program. They’re students of Wiley’s at Pasadena City College. Stacy, the first violinist, is very good. Brian, the guy, is pretty good. Elena, the dead girl, was only a fair player. Brian and Elena didn’t seem to like each other very much.”

  “Any idea why?”

  “None.”

  “Do they know what’s going on?”

  “I haven’t told them anything.”

  “Good. So tell me everything that’s happened.”

  “From what point?”

  “From the time you got here today.”

  So Scott did, as much as he could remember. Kevin made a few notes while he was talking. When Scott finished, Kevin asked, “Had your friend Wiley told you anything about these kids?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “Were all of you at the rehearsal?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And that was last night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Any problems?”

  “No. Elena was ten minutes late, and Brian made a comment – like, ‘Thanks for showing up,’ but then we had to start playing and that was it.”

  “Did the kids talk to each other? Last night or today?”

  “No. We’ve been playing pretty much since we got here, even during the ceremony. Except for that ten-minute break.”

  “Did the girl make any comment about knowing someone here, or did she seem to recognize anyone?”

  “She didn’t comment, and if she knew someone, I didn’t see it.”

  “Okay.” Kevin closed his notepad. “Let’s go talk to Stacy.”

  “What about Brian?”

  “My partner should already be talking to him.”

  Scott turned back toward his seat. Kevin said, “Hey. You know the guy that took you up to the body?”

  “Yeah? Is he a cop? The first cops knew him.”

  “He’s an ex-cop.” Kevin gave Scott a smirky grin. “He’s also Jamie’s fiancé.”

  “Oh, God.” No wonder the guy had said he was pleased to meet Scott. “Is Jamie here?”

  “Somewhere, yeah.” Kevin chuckled at Scott’s expression of horror. “Let’s go see our violinist.”

  Jamie

  The wedding party had finally gotten seated at the head table, and the toasts and speeches had begun. The chairs in which we’d sat during the ceremony had been replaced by a portable dance floor, and a DJ with boom box had magically appeared. With all that activity, everyone’s attention was directed away from the musicians’ seats. So most people likely didn’t notice the big blond guy in jeans and tennis shoes who was sitting down there now with Scott, talking to the first violinist. Kevin’s partner, Jon Eckhoff, had come and taken the viola player away with him several minutes before.

  Pete rested his arm across the back of my chair. “So. What elements of this ceremony would you like to incorporate into ours?”

  I laughed. “Um – being outside.”

  “We’ve got that covered. Anything else?”

  “Good food at the reception.”

  “Neil’s got that covered.” Our reception was being held at Neil and Mark’s house; Neil, Mark, Ali and Mel were providing it as our wedding gift from the four of them. We were having a Low Country boil in homage to my Carolina heritage and our very casual outdoor wedding.

  Pete tugged at a piece of hair that was hanging over my collar. “Do you want me to read you a poem?”

  “Oh God. Only if it’s a haiku.”

  “How ‘bout a limerick? ‘There once was a boy from LA...’”

  I giggled. That was my third glass of champagne talking. I picked up Pete’s program and turned to the blank back page. “We should make a list.” I wrote, “1. No poetry.”

  Pete looked at what I’d written. “Two. Don’t forget the marriage license.”

  We’d gotten our license a couple of weeks ago at the county clerk’s office in Beverly Hills. “Neil got sworn in as Deputy for a Day last week.” Neil was performing our ceremony.

  “You talked to the Topanga State Park people.” We were getting married at Eagle Rock, a scenic point along one of our favorite hikes in the Santa Monica Mountains. It was an easy enough hike for everyone who’d be attending and would provide spectacular backgrounds for photography. It was where Pete and I had spent our first day together and where he’d proposed.

  “Yep. We’re good to go there.”

  “Okay. We need to talk about vows.”

  “Yeah.” I wrote that down and glanced down to the musicians’ seats; Kevin was still talking to Scott and the violinist.

  The grooms cut the cake - eight tiers with pink and fuschia flowers - and each fed a piece to the other and to the dog. Not good for a little dog like that; my brother Jeff would be appalled. The servers distributed generous slices of cake and people began dancing. So far, none of the guests seemed to know what was happening.

  At least three hours later, the crowd of guests was gradually thinning as people left. The caterers kept those of us that remained well-supplied with food and drink. I made three trips to the chocolate fountain, not wanting any of the $200,000 worth of strawberries to be wasted. The people at our table still seemed unaware that they were part of a crime scene, but I saw small groups of others nearby whispering amongst themselves and staring toward the musicians’ seats. People who’d been questioned and allowed to leave must be texting their friends who remained.

  I had a pleasant champagne buzz; Pete had abstained after one glass. Eventually the caterers were allowed to pack up, the DJ turned off the music, the last of the guests drifted into the house, and the crime scene techs descended like locusts on the quartet’s area. Pete and I stayed outside. It was a beautiful summer evening, and we had no place else to be.

  Finally, well after nine, the musicians were allowed to leave. Scott and the two kids packed up their instruments and left, Scott not looking our way. The crime scene techs took the dead girl’s violin and music. Kevin and Jon spotted us and came to our table. They both looked tired.

  Pete said, “Did you find anything?”

  Kevin said, “Not a clue. The girl was manually strangled, there are grip marks on her neck, so maybe the coroner can do something with those. The only other thing of note is that her bag seems to be missing.”

  “Bag. Like a purse?”

  “Yeah. The first violinist remembered that the vic came in with a big shoulder bag. No sign of it now.” He yawned. “Did you know this Wiley guy that Scott was subbing for?”

  I said, “No. I met him once after a concert, but only said hello. That was it.”

  Pete told Kevin, “You’re going to have to work tomorrow.”

  Kevin had bought a new condo and closed on it yesterday. After his breakup with Abby, he’d been staying with Ali and Mel until he was able to buy a place of his own. We were supposed to help him move into it tomorrow. I said, “We can move everything for you.”

  Kevin smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He reached into his pocket and produced a key card and a regular door key. “Here’s the card for the elevator and the key for the door. These are spares, so you can keep them.” He picked up my pen and the wedding program and wrote a string of numbers. “Here’s my code for the garage and my parking space numbers. You can drive in there and unload. Liz said she’d help.”

  “Did you get in there to clean this morning?”

  “Yeah, Mel, Sunny and I scrubbed the place down, and the bed was delivered.” Sunny was the legal secretary at Mel and Neil’s law firm, where Kevin worked on the side as a paralegal. “So all you have to do is move the boxes in. Stack ‘em all in the living room. I’ll unpack when I get around to it.”

  “I can set up the kitchen for you.” Kevin and I roomed together for six years until I moved in with Pete. I knew how he’d
arrange things.

  He gave me a grateful look. “That’d be awesome. If you can hang up my good clothes, too, and put the safe in the bedroom closet. I’ll take care of the rest of it.”

  I punched him lightly in the shoulder. “Leave it to us.”

  He smiled, tiredly. “Thanks, short stuff.”

  Jon said, “We’d better go. We have to deliver some bad news.”

  Pete said, “Where do the girl’s parents live?”

  “Glendora.”

  I said, “We’ll walk out with you.”

  Kevin and Jon stopped to have one last word with Kent and Graham. Pete and I were approached by a uniformed officer I recognized - Jill Branigan. She looked tired too. “I need you two to take a look at the photo of the victim.”

  We looked. She wasn’t familiar at all. Branigan asked, “You were sitting on the same side as the quartet. Did you notice anything unusual?”

  I said, “Other than a wrist corsage on a dog? No.”

  Branigan’s partner snorted a laugh; Branigan just smiled. “If you remember anything, you know who to call.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Pete retrieved his car keys from the few remaining that the valets had left with Kent and we headed home, pulling out of the driveway behind the police department tow truck, which was leaving with what I assumed was the dead girl’s car.

  I said, “Having someone get murdered at your wedding has to be the worst.”

  “Yeah. Let’s not incorporate that into our wedding.”

  Scott

  It took hours for the police to finish questioning all the guests. Then Scott, Stacy and Brian had to wait while the crime scene technicians searched all of their stuff and took everyone’s fingerprints. In all the confusion, Scott had completely forgotten to text Brent. When they were finally paid by the grim-faced grooms and released to leave, Scott realized that it was nearly dark out - it was almost ten.

  Shit. He’d told Brent that he’d be home by eight. Oh well. He was sure that Brent had gone ahead and eaten. Scott was starving. When he finally got to the Merc and got out of Holmby Hills, he went to the drive-through ATM at his bank to deposit the check then stopped at In ‘N Out for a burger. He didn’t usually eat burgers, but after the day he’d had, he needed some comfort food.

  When he got back to West Hollywood, the windows of his condo were dark. Maybe Brent had gone out. Scott hauled the cello to the elevator and pressed the button for his floor.

  When he stepped out of the elevator and unlocked his front door, it took him a minute to register what he was hearing. It finally hit him as he reached to the wall and flipped on the lights.

  Brent and a guy Scott had never seen before were in the middle of the living room floor. Brent was on his hands and knees and the other guy was fucking Brent. Brent looked up and yelled, “Shit!” The other guy yelled, “Fuck! I’m coming!” He let out a primal scream as he did and then fell on top of Brent. The two of them collapsed to the floor.

  Brent scrambled to detach himself from the guy and got to his feet. “Scott, I swear, it’s not how it looks!”

  The other guy sprawled out on the floor on his back, condom still on his deflating dick, and started to laugh. “Dude, it’s exactly how it looks.”

  Scott went into the bathroom, Brent at his heels, bleating excuses. “You said you’d text me!”

  Scott didn’t dignify that with a reply. He gathered all of Brent’s toiletries, walked back into the living room and threw them into the hallway. Brent squealed, “Hey! What are you doing?”

  Scott picked up Brent’s clothes from the sofa and threw them at him. “Get out.”

  The other guy was getting dressed, still laughing. “I warned you, dumbass.”

  “What do you mean, get out? Scott, this was just a mistake! I’m sorry! It didn’t mean anything!” Brent was pulling his shirt over his head as he begged.

  Scott grabbed the front of it, hauling Brent nearly off his feet. “No one cheats on me.” He dragged Brent to the front door and shoved him through it, then went to the kitchen bar and found Brent’s wallet and keys. He took his own condo key and building access card then threw the rest into the hallway. “I’ll leave the rest of your shit with the concierge tomorrow.”

  “But - but -” Brent was crying now. “Where am I gonna go?”

  “Not my problem.” Scott gestured to the door for the stranger, who was now fully clothed, standing in the living room. “Please leave.”

  “Sure thing.” The guy picked up his own keys from the end table. “Sorry for the mess.”

  “You did me a favor.” Scott slammed the door after them. He heard arguing in the hallway then the elevator door opened. Scott looked through the peephole in his door and could see the stranger holding the door for Brent while he gathered the belongings that Scott had chucked out the door. Then Brent got on the elevator and they left.

  Scott leaned against the door for a minute. This had been the day from hell. He finished his hamburger and took his cello upstairs.

  Sunday, June 7

  Scott

  Scott woke up the next morning feeling pretty good. The feeling didn’t last long - the events of the preceding day crowded in on him as soon as he regained full consciousness. He rolled to a sitting position and dangled his legs over the side of the platform bed, scrubbing his face with his hands.

  Interminable wedding. Elena, strangled. Kevin Brodie. Brent.

  And on top of that, he’d eaten a burger and fries last night.

  At least he could do something about that one. He put on shorts and a t-shirt, shoved his feet into his running shoes, grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and rode the elevator to the top of the building, where the gym was located.

  He had the place to himself, thank God. He wasn’t in the mood for neighborly small talk this morning. He chose a treadmill that faced the windows overlooking the Hollywood Hills - green and serene in the Sunday morning air. He walked for a minute to warm up then set a pace - eight miles per hour, nice and steady - and began to run.

  It occurred to Scott to wonder whether anyone had called Wiley about Elena’s death. He considered doing so, then thought better of it. Let the cops do that. He was already on Kevin Brodie’s permanent shit list thanks to the way he’d broken up with Jamie. No need to engrave the inscription even more deeply.

  He ran for an hour, then punched the button that would gradually slow him to a walk and let him cool down. He was feeling better - vaguely hungry. Maybe he’d make Belgian waffles. Then he’d get the rest of Brent’s shit bagged up for the concierge. Then he’d play.

  When he stepped off the elevator, his improved mood disintegrated.

  Kevin and another guy were lounging against the wall next to his front door.

  Both of them were holding huge coffee cups. Kevin was his usual rumpled self, hair sticking out in several directions - an overgrown Dennis the Menace, with a gun instead of a slingshot. The other guy was tall and slender, sandy-haired, wearing jeans, desert boots, a t-shirt and a Dolce and Gabbana blazer that should have been out of reach for a public servant. He grinned when he saw Scott. Kevin scowled. “Scott. Might we have a word?”

  There wasn’t any point in complaining that he hadn’t had his breakfast. “Sure.” He unlocked the door and let them in. “Can I eat breakfast while we have our word?”

  Kevin plopped onto a barstool; Dolce and Gabbana sat down beside him. “Don’t let us stop you.”

  Scott tried to control his facial expressions. He was not going to let Kevin Brodie ruin this morning for him. He took the waffle maker out of the appliance garage and began gathering his ingredients. “What can I do for you?”

  “Let me introduce my partner.” Kevin indicated Dolce and Gabbana. “Detective Jonathan Eckhoff, Scott Deering.”

  Scott saluted Eckhoff with a mixing spoon. “Detective.”

  Eckhoff raised his coffee cup. “A pleasure, Mr. Deering.”

  Yeah, right. Scott started measuring flour, sugar
and baking powder. “What can I do for you?”

  Kevin sipped his coffee, watching Scott. Eckhoff said, “We’d like to pick your brain about Elena Morales.”

  Scott cracked his eggs and separated them. “I told you yesterday, I didn’t know her at all.”

  “We realize that. We’re only talking about your interactions with her yesterday and the night before.”

  Scott sighed. “Okay.”

  “First, tell us about this quartet. How did you happen to be part of that?”

  Scott explained again - he’d already done this last night - about Wiley and his quartet while he was beating his egg yolks. Eckhoff said, “So this quartet has a rotating cast of characters.”

  “Right, except for Wiley. The students play for a year or two and then move on.” Scott added milk, melted butter and vanilla to the egg yolks. “Wiley can tell you a lot more about them.”

  “Of course. But we wanted the perspective of someone who didn’t already know the kids.” Eckhoff sipped his coffee. “Was she any good? On the violin?”

  “No.” Scott stirred his wet ingredients into the dry ones. “She was the weakest player of the three, to the extent that I wondered why Wiley had included her in the quartet.”

  Eckhoff was interested in that. “Why would he?”

  Scott shrugged. “The only reason I can think of is that it’s a bad year for violinists at PCC.”

  Eckhoff mused on that for a second then moved on. “What else did you notice about her?”

  “She was late.” Scott began beating his egg whites. “To both the rehearsal and the wedding.”

  Kevin said, “You mentioned that yesterday. How late?”

  “Ten minutes to the rehearsal. A couple of minutes yesterday.”

  Eckhoff said, “That’s not very late.”

  Scott frowned at him. “Call time is sacrosanct for musicians. If one person is late, it delays the entire ensemble. It’s bad behavior. It’s rude.”

  “Ah.” Eckhoff seemed to get it. “A serious breach of professional etiquette.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You’d think that kind of behavior was more likely in prima donnas, not second-rate community college violinists.”