Deadly Overtures: A Music Lover's Mystery

by Sarah Fox

  Pavlina would never draw another breath.

  Chapter Three

  I DIDN’T KNOW how long I stood there, staring down at Pavlina’s unmoving form, at the blood on the tiled floor, before the door cracked open behind me. When I glanced over my shoulder, Mikayla was peering tentatively into the room.

  “The ambulance is on its way,” she said.

  The apprehension in her brown eyes told me she feared what I already knew.

  “She’s dead,” I said in a hollow voice.

  Somehow saying the words out loud made the situation more real. I took a step back as Mikayla came into the washroom, letting the door fall shut behind her. She tucked her arm around mine and I was grateful for her comforting presence.

  “Are you sure?” she asked, her eyes fixed on Pavlina’s pale face.

  “I’m sure.”

  We remained there in silence. I didn’t know what to do next. Part of me wanted to retreat from the washroom, to hide away from the sight of Pavlina’s body, but another part of me couldn’t leave her alone, abandoned on the floor, even if she wouldn’t know whether anyone was with her or not.

  I should have realized the silence that had settled over us was only temporary, that a flurry of alarmed activity was imminent. It began mere seconds later when the washroom door opened and Olivia Hutchcraft stepped over the threshold, Hans right behind her.

  “Dear Lord!” Olivia exclaimed when Mikayla and I stepped aside so she could see Pavlina. She pressed her clipboard to her chest and stared at the body on the floor.

  His forehead furrowed with concern, Hans stepped around Olivia.

  “Is she breathing?” he asked me.

  I shook my head, a fresh lump of emotion blocking my voice.

  “Does anyone know what happened?”

  I shook my head again. “This is how we found her.”

  My eyes finally strayed from Pavlina’s body, taking in the rest of the washroom in a quick study.

  I pointed to the edge of the marble countertop that ran along one wall. “Look, there’s blood on the counter. Maybe she slipped and hit her head.”

  Hans nodded as he too studied the scene.

  Mikayla gave my arm a squeeze. “I need to step outside.”

  She released her hold on me and slipped out the door.

  “I think we should all wait outside,” Hans said.

  Olivia didn’t move, her eyes still fixed on the body, her face almost as pale as Pavlina’s. Hans put an arm around her shoulders and turned her gently toward the door.

  I took one last look at Pavlina, at the bloody, matted hair on the back of her head, at the streak of blood running down her right arm to her wrist, which suddenly seemed terribly pale, thin, and fragile.

  “Midori?” Hans called to me as he guided Olivia out of the washroom.

  I wrenched my gaze from Pavlina and followed him out the door, my body moving numbly, as if on autopilot.

  Out in the corridor, several musicians had gathered along with judges Jeb Hartson and Harold Dempsey; Olivia’s assistant, Sasha; and finalist Ethan Rogerson. Hans handed Olivia off to Sasha. The young man seemed uncertain about what to do with his boss, but after a slight hesitation, he led her off down the hallway.

  “I think it would be best if we kept this corridor clear,” Hans said to everyone present. “The paramedics will be here soon.”

  He didn’t add that their attendance would be futile, but I guessed from the expressions on all the faces around me that everyone already knew that. After casting uneasy glances at the closed washroom door, everyone except me, Mikayla, Hans, Harold Dempsey, and Jeb Hartson drifted away from the scene.

  “Is she really dead?” Harold asked once the others had left.

  “I’m afraid so,” Hans replied.

  Jeb ran a hand over his hair. “What a damn shame.”

  With a shake of his head, he walked slowly off down the corridor, Harold following. As they disappeared around a corner, I wondered why Jeb didn’t seem more distressed by Pavlina’s death. He wasn’t devoid of emotion, but his level of sadness seemed appropriate for someone who’d barely known her. If not for the conversation I’d overheard earlier that evening, his reaction would have seemed fitting. But knowing as I did that there was far more to his relationship with Pavlina, it struck me as odd that he wasn’t more broken up.

  Maybe he was though, deep down. It was possible that he was hiding his real feelings because he knew his relationship with Pavlina was inappropriate. Maybe later, once he was on his own and away from the eyes of anyone else involved in the competition, his true grief would surface.

  Hans addressed Mikayla. “I’ll stay here by the door to make sure no one goes inside, but would you please head to the lobby and direct the paramedics this way when they arrive?”

  “Of course,” Mikayla said. She gave my arm a brief squeeze and set off to do as requested.

  Hans slid his cell phone from his pocket. “I’d better call the police.”

  That took me by surprise. “The police? For a slip and fall accident?”

  “We don’t know exactly what happened,” Hans pointed out. “It’ll be for the police or the coroner to rule it accidental.”

  I nodded, realizing he was right.

  As Hans pressed numbers on his phone, I turned away from the washroom door where he stood guard and wandered back toward the lounge, his last words echoing in my head. I’d assumed that Pavlina’s death was purely an accident, but was it really?

  I shook my head. I had no reason to believe otherwise. The most likely scenario was that she’d slipped on a damp tile and hit her head on the counter on the way down, sustaining a fatal head injury. It was a tragic and unfortunate accident, but there was nothing sinister about it. That at least provided me with a small measure of comfort.

  BACK IN THE musicians’ lounge, approximately half of the orchestra was still present, along with the three remaining competition finalists. Nobody seemed eager to leave and I didn’t doubt that all the hushed conversations going on revolved around Pavlina’s untimely demise. I stood by my locker, at a loss, not knowing what to do with myself. Somehow it didn’t seem right to go home, not with Pavlina still lying there on the washroom floor. There was nothing I could do for her now, and I knew that, but I still couldn’t bring myself to put on my coat and leave the theater.

  After a minute or two of indecision, I left my belongings secured in my locker and set out to find JT. There was a chance he’d already left the theater, but I hoped he hadn’t. As unsettled as I was, I really wanted the company of my best friend.

  I passed no one as I walked along the corridor and it wasn’t until I reached the wings of the stage that I spotted another soul. Fred, one of the theater’s maintenance workers, was moving chairs and music stands on the stage, clearing the floor so he could clean it. I raised a hand in greeting when he glanced my way and he nodded in return, but I didn’t pause to strike up a conversation. Continuing on my way, I descended the short flight of stairs leading down from the wings and pushed open the door at the bottom.

  Peering into the theater, I searched for any sign of movement. The audience had long ago cleared out and the only sounds I heard were the occasional scrapes and bumps coming from the stage where Fred was working. I almost turned around and retraced my steps, accepting the fact that JT wasn’t around, when I heard a hushed, urgent voice speaking words I couldn’t make out.

  Pushing the door open farther, I stepped into the theater and looked around. I spotted Cameron off to the side, in a shadowy corner, his back to me as he talked on his cell phone. The door shut behind me with a soft click, but in the quiet of the theater the sound was enough to alert him to my presence. He swung around, startled, and brought his phone call to an abrupt end.

  “Hi, Cameron,” I said. “Is JT around?”

  He hesitated for half a s
econd, but then slipped his phone into his pocket and replied, “Somewhere.”

  “Right here.”

  I turned at the sound of JT’s voice and spotted him crossing in front of the stage, a laptop tucked under one arm, his recorder held in the other. When JT was close enough, Cameron relieved him of the recorder.

  “I thought maybe you’d already gone home,” I said.

  “I was just about to head out. I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

  “Normally I wouldn’t be. But tonight has turned out to be anything but normal.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Pavlina, one of the finalists in the competition, fell and hit her head in the washroom.” I remembered what Hans had said about the fact that we didn’t know for sure what had happened. “At least, it looks like that’s what happened. Mikayla and I found her.”

  “Ouch,” Cameron said.

  “Will she be okay?” JT asked with concern.

  “No.” I swallowed. “She’s dead.”

  Cameron’s eyes widened, but he said nothing.

  JT put his free hand on my back. “I’m sorry, Dori. That’s terrible. I guess that’s why she didn’t turn up on stage at the end of the concert.”

  I nodded.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Just a bit unsettled. I’ll be fine.”

  “You seriously saw a dead body?” Cameron asked, looking both fascinated and slightly sick at the thought.

  “Yes.” I didn’t add that it wasn’t the first dead body I’d seen.

  JT gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Why don’t you grab your things and I’ll walk you to your car?”

  “All right. Thanks.” I was more than ready to head home by then.

  I made my way back up to the wings of the stage, JT and Cameron falling in behind me. I waved once more to Fred and continued on to the musicians’ lounge. Mikayla had returned from the lobby and was deep in conversation with fellow violinists Katie and Bronwyn. When she saw me, she excused herself from the others and came to meet me at my locker.

  “The paramedics arrived?” I asked as I twirled the dial on my combination lock.

  “Yes,” she replied. “And a couple of police officers.” She shivered. “I can hardly believe she’s dead. Imagine having your whole life and career ahead of you and then dying because you happened to slip in a washroom.” She shook her head. “It’s awful.”

  “It is,” I agreed as I opened my locker.

  I reached for my coat but my hand fell to my side as Hans’s voice filled the lounge.

  “Everyone, could I have your attention, please?”

  Along with everyone else, I turned to face Hans. He stood just inside the lounge door, a uniformed police officer at his side. JT and Cameron had come in from the corridor and waited off to one side, their eyes on Hans and the police officer. I wondered briefly if they’d come into the lounge of their own accord, or if the officer had requested that they do so. My attention quickly shifted to Hans, however, as he resumed speaking.

  “The police would like for everyone to remain at the theater for the time being so they can speak to each one of you about the unfortunate event that occurred this evening. I know some people have already left, but the police would appreciate it if those of you still here would take the time to provide a statement.” Hans gestured to the uniformed man standing next to him. “This is Constable Ryan. I’ll let him take over from here.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Clausen,” Constable Ryan said.

  Hans nodded and left the lounge.

  The constable addressed the rest of us. “As Mr. Clausen said, my colleagues and I would like to speak with each one of you. We’re attempting to piece together what happened to Ms. Nicolova and even the smallest piece of information could help us greatly with that endeavor. If you’d please remain in this room, I’ll return shortly with my colleagues and we’ll begin taking statements.”

  As he turned to leave, clarinet player Hettie Vallance spoke up. “It was an accident, wasn’t it? I mean, didn’t she slip and fall?”

  Everyone, including myself, directed our full attention at the constable, waiting for his response.

  “At this time, it does look as though that could be the case. However, I understand there were no witnesses to Ms. Nicolova’s death, and because of that we’re not prepared to make any assumptions. I assure you that what we’re doing is routine in such circumstances, and my colleagues and I will do our best to speak with you all as quickly as possible so you can get on home.”

  With that, the constable stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him. My fellow musicians and I all looked at each other in silence for a moment, but then several conversations sparked up around the room, all related in some way to Pavlina.

  JT and Cameron came over to join me and Mikayla by my locker.

  “Do the police want to talk to you guys too?” I asked.

  JT nodded. “Since we were in the theater when the woman died.”

  “Not this part of the theater, though,” Cameron said. “I don’t know what they expect to get out of us when we weren’t anywhere near the washroom when she died. Not to mention the fact that we wouldn’t have used that washroom anyway.”

  “I guess they’re just trying to be thorough,” Mikayla said.

  I nodded in agreement with her, thinking over the issue of the timing of Pavlina’s death. She’d been alive before the concert started, and she was dead by the time Mikayla and I reached the washroom shortly after the concert ended. And she’d likely died before that, since she hadn’t appeared on stage with Sherwin. That narrowed the time of death down to approximately two hours.

  Something else occurred to me. Pavlina should have been sitting in the audience with the other finalists until the performance of Sherwin’s composition ended. At that point—as I knew from the dress rehearsal—Olivia would have ushered Sherwin and Pavlina out of the audience and up to the wings to await their moment in the spotlight. If Pavlina was in her seat when Olivia went to fetch her and Sherwin, the window for the timing of her death narrowed significantly. There would only have been a couple of minutes for her to slip off to the washroom before she was meant to appear on stage.

  Since all of us musicians were present on the stage at that time, I didn’t see what we could add to the investigation. Those who had remained backstage during the concert would be far more likely sources of valuable information. Still, I knew Mikayla was right. Since the police didn’t know for certain what had occurred, they needed to be thorough. Even so, I hoped the taking of statements wouldn’t eat up too much time. It was already getting late and I had to stifle a yawn as we stood around waiting for Constable Ryan to return. At least it was Friday, so I didn’t have to teach violin lessons the next day, but I still didn’t fancy staying at the theater until the wee hours of the morning.

  Cameron seemed even more anxious to leave. While Mikayla, JT, and I settled on one of the lounge’s couches, he paced around, checking his cell phone every minute or two. His edginess was getting on my nerves when, thankfully, the door opened and Constable Ryan reappeared with three other uniformed officers.

  All the conversations going on died off and everyone’s attention fixed on the police officers.

  “We’ll start talking with each one of you now,” Constable Ryan announced. “We’d like to start with those of you who were first on the scene.”

  Mikayla and I stood up and a teary-eyed Janine stepped away from the group of musicians she’d been huddled with in one corner. I exchanged a quick glance with JT and headed toward the officers with Mikayla. One officer remained in the lounge, gesturing to the musician standing closest to him, and the other three led me, Mikayla, and Janine out into the corridor. Once out of the lounge we split up, with one officer each.

  Constable Ryan stayed with me, and led me a short distance down
the hallway where he paused, a notebook and pen in hand. Once I’d given him my name and told him about my connection to the orchestra, he asked me to fill out a witness statement form, relating everything I could remember about finding Pavlina’s body. That wasn’t a whole lot, and it didn’t take long to write down all the information I had. As I signed the form, Fred came around the corner and hovered a few feet away from us.

  “Officer?” he said, his tone hesitant.

  Constable Ryan looked up. “Yes?”

  Fred stepped forward and offered his hand. “I’m Fred Marsh, a maintenance worker here at the theater. Is it possible that the young woman’s death wasn’t an accident?”

  Constable Ryan’s eyebrows drew together. “We haven’t ruled out anything yet. Why?”

  Fred swallowed, his age-creased face tinted a sickly shade of green. “Because if there’s a chance foul play could be involved, I think there’s something you need to know.”

  The constable’s attention sharpened. “What’s that?”

  Fred swallowed again and seemed to brace himself to speak his next words. “A few minutes ago I went to fetch my tools to fix a loose screw in the backstage area and I noticed . . .” He cleared his throat and tried again. “I noticed that there was blood on my hammer.”

  Chapter Four

  “BLOOD?” I ECHOED, my voice faint.

  Constable Ryan took charge before I had a chance to say anything further. “I’d like you to show me those tools, if you would, Mr. Marsh.”

  Fred nodded. “Of course. This way.”

  He started to head back the way he’d come. I moved to follow him, but Constable Ryan put out a hand to stop me.

  “Thank you, Ms. Bishop. You can head home now, if you’d like.”

  The message behind his words was clear. I was to mind my own business.

  “Also, if you’d please keep this development to yourself, I’d appreciate it. There’s no need to start a panic when we don’t yet know the facts.”

  I nodded numbly. I’d heard his words but I was still focused on Fred’s discovery. If the blood was Pavlina’s, then that could only mean one thing—she’d been murdered. But I knew the constable was right—all the facts weren’t known yet and there was no point in jumping to conclusions. Perhaps the blood had been on the hammer for some time, a result of some minor accident, like a cut finger. It could have nothing to do with Pavlina. I certainly hoped that was the case. As tragic as Pavlina’s death was, an unfortunate accident was far less alarming than a violent death at the hands of a killer. A killer who might still be in the theater.