Deadly Overtures: A Music Lover's Mystery

by Sarah Fox

  “That’s good,” I said with relief, glad he’d found a solution to the most pressing problem. “Did anything else happen at the theater after I left?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe something to do with Pavlina?”

  JT shot me a glance full of what I thought was unwarranted suspicion. “Her body was taken away by the coroner.”

  “But nothing else happened? You didn’t overhear the police saying anything about her death?”

  “No,” JT said, the suspicion now leaking into his voice. “I didn’t go back inside after you left. I talked to the police out in the parking lot. Why?”

  “No reason,” I said, trying to sound casual.

  “Yeah, right.” The suspicion in his voice had transformed into outright disbelief. “What’s going on, Dori? What are you up to?”

  “I’m not up to anything.”

  “Why do I find that hard to believe?”

  “I have no idea,” I said innocently.

  JT watched me out of the corner of his eye as we continued to walk through the forest.

  “Seriously, JT, I’m not up to anything. I’ve just been thinking.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  I released his arm so I could give it a swat. “Very funny.” I became more serious as I remembered the events of the night before in detail. “It’s just that I can’t help but wonder if Pavlina’s death was really an accident.”

  “Why?” JT asked, surprised. “Was there something about her body that makes you suspect foul play?”

  “Not her body, no.” I reached up to tug my left earlobe, wanting to share what I knew with JT but remembering that I was supposed to keep quiet.

  “Something else then?” When I still hesitated, JT nudged me with his arm. “Come on, spill it.”

  “Okay,” I relented, “but I’m not really supposed to say anything so don’t spread this around.” I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one was within earshot, but we were alone on the forest path. “Fred, one of the maintenance guys at the theater, found blood on his hammer.”

  We paused in the middle of the path as Finnegan stopped to sniff the base of a tree.

  “And was the hammer found anywhere near the scene of Pavlina’s death?” JT asked once Finnegan moved on and we’d resumed walking.

  “No, I don’t think so. It was in Fred’s toolbox, although I don’t know exactly where that was.”

  “So maybe the blood has nothing to do with Pavlina’s death. Maybe Fred or another maintenance worker cut themselves while working sometime recently and didn’t notice that they got some blood on the hammer.”

  “It could have happened like that,” I conceded.

  “You find trouble easily enough as it is,” JT pointed out. “You don’t need to go looking for it.”

  “I’m not,” I assured him.

  “Good.”

  I hooked my arm through his again and did my best to push all thoughts of Pavlina’s death from my head, at least for a while, focusing instead on the fresh air and JT’s company.

  THE REMAINDER OF my weekend was uneventful and I spent Monday in the usual way, teaching several of my violin students. Each day JT had checked the online classifieds, but so far he hadn’t had any luck finding his stolen equipment. With every day that passed I knew he became less hopeful of recovering the stolen items, and as his hope diminished so did mine. I tried to remind myself that it wasn’t the end of the world, however, and JT had taken the same attitude. Still, whenever I thought of the missing equipment, a flicker of anger at the person or people responsible made itself known for a second or two.

  On top of that, the suspicions that had crept into my thoughts the other day hadn’t disappeared. Cameron easily could have been involved in the theft, but I didn’t want that to be the case. His involvement would only make the situation worse for JT. I tried my best to silence my suspicions, but they continued to whisper at me, regardless of my efforts.

  When Tuesday evening rolled around I wrapped up my last violin lesson for the day, ate a quick dinner, and set off for the theater. That night we’d be rehearsing the compositions by Dongmei and Ethan, preparing for the performance scheduled for Friday. I was looking forward to spending the next couple of hours at the theater. I loved rehearsing with the orchestra and I knew from practicing on my own that I liked both pieces of music we’d be working on that night.

  It was more than the music that I was looking forward to, though. I wanted to know if anyone knew more about Pavlina’s death, if it had been officially ruled an accident or if the investigation was still ongoing. Although my gut told me there would be no official ruling of accidental death, I still hoped that would be the case. It would bring closure and peace of mind to everyone involved, whereas the alternative was unsettling to think about.

  When I arrived at the theater and made my way to the musicians’ lounge, I knew right away that I wasn’t the only one whose mind was on Pavlina’s death. There didn’t seem to be any other topic of conversation in the lounge, but although I spoke to Dongmei and some of my fellow members of the orchestra, no one seemed to know anything more than they had on Friday night. In fact, it seemed as though I was the one among us with the most information. Nobody else seemed aware of the blood found on Fred’s hammer and I kept that information to myself. Sharing it with JT was one thing, but I wasn’t going to feed that potentially frightening tidbit into the orchestra’s rumor mill.

  With people still chatting all around me, I left the lounge to take my place on the stage. I spent the next several minutes tuning my violin and warming up by running through a few passages of music. Shortly after Mikayla settled into the seat next to me, Hans approached the conductor’s podium at the front of the orchestra. The last straggling musicians took their seats and bit by bit everyone fell silent, all our gazes resting on Hans. He had creases of worry across his forehead, and his face was set in a grim expression.

  He cleared his throat before addressing the orchestra. “In light of the tragedy that occurred last Friday night, there has been much discussion over the past few days regarding how to proceed with the competition. However, the judges, the organizing committee, and our board of directors have decided to continue as planned. The remaining finalists have worked hard to get to this point and we don’t wish to deprive them of the opportunity to advance their careers through this route.”

  He paused, and a few quiet murmurs ran through the orchestra. However, the buzz of voices broke off again when Hans resumed speaking.

  “We do wish, of course, to honor Pavlina’s memory, and we’ve decided that we’ll observe a moment of silence at the beginning of the finale concert next Tuesday.”

  He paused again and glanced toward the wings of the stage. When I followed his line of sight I spotted the two detectives I’d seen after Pavlina’s death. Again, they were both wearing suits. One stood well over six feet tall and had broad shoulders. The other was smaller and more compact, but still imposing with his steady dark gaze.

  “Now,” Hans said, recapturing my attention, “before we get started tonight, the detectives in charge of the investigation into Pavlina’s death would like to have a few words with you.” He nodded at the approaching detectives and stepped away to allow them to take his place in front of the orchestra.

  “Thank you, Maestro Clausen,” the taller of the two detectives said. He then addressed us musicians. “Good evening. I’m Detective Van den Broek.” He gestured to the other detective. “And this is Detective Chowdhury. I’m sure you’re all aware of the unfortunate death that occurred here in the theater on Friday night. While the incident first appeared to be a tragic accident, we are now conducting a murder investigation.”

  A couple of people gasped, and Mikayla and I looked at each other with wide eyes.

  “Murder?” she whispered.

  Others around us wer
e voicing similar exclamations of surprise and dismay.

  As the rumble of voices reached a crescendo, Detective Van den Broek raised a hand and called out, “If I could have your attention again, please.”

  Slowly, the conversations faded away, although the shocked expressions remained on the faces around me. When the last of the noise had dwindled away, Detective Van den Broek spoke again.

  “This is, of course, a very serious matter, and I can assure you that we’re working hard to solve this case. But in order to do so, we need the help of any witnesses who might have seen or heard anything that could move our investigation forward. If anyone knows anything or saw anything remotely suspicious on the night of Ms. Nicolova’s death, we ask that you please let us know. Even if you’re not sure of the significance of your information, please share it with us. Detective Chowdhury and I will remain here at the theater throughout the evening. If there’s anything you would like to speak to us about, please approach us after the rehearsal.”

  Van den Broek removed a notebook from the pocket of his suit jacket and flipped it open. “I understand that two of Ms. Nicolova’s fellow finalists are present this evening. He consulted his notebook. “Ms. Pan and Mr. Rogerson, is that correct?”

  Hans stepped forward. “That’s right.” He gestured toward the theater seats where Dongmei and Ethan sat in the third row, waiting to hear the rehearsal of their compositions.

  “We want to disrupt the rehearsal as little as possible, so whoever you don’t need here right at the moment . . .” Detective Van den Broek said.

  Hans nodded. “We’ll be rehearsing Mr. Rogerson’s composition first.”

  Van den Broek nodded, looking out into the theater. “Ms. Pan, will you please come with us?”

  Dongmei stood up slowly, her eyes wide and terrified. She moved as if on autopilot, heading for the stairs that would take her to the wings of the stage.

  “Thank you, Maestro Clausen,” Detective Van den Broek said. “We’ll let you get on with it now.”

  Hans thanked the detectives and returned to his place at the conductor’s podium. Although he made some preliminary remarks about the piece we were about to rehearse, my attention was on Dongmei. The detectives had joined her in the wings and now headed backstage. As Dongmei turned to follow them, she looked as terrified as if she were being led off to the gallows.

  Chapter Six

  MIDWAY THROUGH THE rehearsal we wrapped up our work on Ethan’s composition and moved on to The Crimson Night, Dongmei’s piece. By then she’d returned from her time with the detectives and Ethan had gone off with them in her place. She conferred with Hans during the rehearsal process, and seemed able to focus, but she still appeared shaken and upset. I wondered if she was unsettled because someone she knew had been killed or if there was something more going on.

  The possibility that she could be a suspect passed through my head, but I highly doubted she was the guilty party. Although I knew her sister better, I’d spent time with Dongmei now and then over the years. I didn’t think she’d hurt a fly, let alone cosh someone over the head, as I suspected the killer had done to Pavlina.

  But whatever might have been going on with the murder investigation, I didn’t have much time to mull it over during the rehearsal. My thoughts attempted to stray a few times but I forced myself to focus on the music so I wouldn’t get lost or mess up my part. As soon as the rehearsal was over, however, my gaze zeroed in on Dongmei. After exchanging a few more words with Hans, she left the stage, and I hurried after her. She returned to the lounge and I kept an eye on her as I tucked my violin and bow safely away in my instrument case. Once the case was stored in my locker, I approached Dongmei as she shrugged into her coat.

  “Hey,” I said as I put a hand on her arm to draw her attention. “How are you doing?”

  Her eyes still held a touch of fear but she managed a hint of a smile before it faded away. “I’m all right, thanks.” Her lower lip trembled and she bit down on it to stop the tremor.

  I put an arm around her and led her to a quiet corner of the room. “Are you sure?”

  She drew in a long, shuddering breath, and that seemed to steady her. “I’m okay—just a little shaken up by everything that’s happened. I’ve never known anyone who was murdered and I’ve never been interrogated by the police before.”

  “Is that what they did? Interrogated you? Or did they just want to know if you’d seen anything suspicious the other night?”

  “It felt like a bit of both,” she said. “They started out by asking me what I knew about Pavlina and what I’d seen on Friday, but then they asked me about my movements during the concert, and if I’d had any conflicts with Pavlina, if I saw her as my toughest competition.” She took in another deep breath and let it out in a rush. “I think they suspect me of killing Pavlina, Midori. But I didn’t. I wouldn’t kill anyone.” Tears welled in her eyes.

  “I know that,” I said. “And the police will figure it out too, if they haven’t already. It’s their job to look at every angle and they don’t know anything about you, so they have to ask their questions. I’m sure that’s all it is.”

  “I hope so. They did back off a bit when I told them I was in the audience during the concert, from start to finish. If someone else can confirm that for them, I should be okay.”

  “Then they’ve probably eliminated you as a suspect already, since they’ve spoken to Ethan too.”

  A shadow of unease passed across Dongmei’s face. “Except Ethan wasn’t in the audience the entire time.”

  My thoughts upped their tempo, each one scurrying over the next. I did my best to sort them out. “Do you know why Ethan left his seat?”

  Dongmei shrugged. “I assumed he went to the washroom, but he was gone quite a while.”

  “How long?”

  She considered the question as she buttoned up her coat. “Maybe fifteen minutes. Probably not more than twenty.”

  That was plenty enough time to follow Pavlina into the women’s washroom and bash her over the head. Of course, that scenario depended on another factor.

  “What about Pavlina? Was she in her seat until Olivia fetched her and Sherwin near the end of the concert?”

  “No,” Dongmei replied. “She left after her piece was performed and I never saw her again.”

  That left a window of approximately one hour between the time when Pavlina left her seat and the moment when Mikayla and I found her body in the washroom.

  “Did she leave before or after Ethan?” I asked.

  “A few minutes before.” Dongmei glanced around and lowered her voice. “Do you think Ethan killed her?”

  “I don’t know, but it sounds like he had the opportunity, if nothing else.” I remembered the unease I’d seen on her face moments earlier. “Do you think he killed her?”

  Dongmei bit down on her lower lip. “I don’t know either. They didn’t like each other—I know that for sure—but that’s not enough reason for him to kill her.”

  Perhaps not, but there was more to his possible motive than his dislike of Pavlina. She was also his competition. His toughest competition, if the rumors about Pavlina being the frontrunner were true. Even if the rumors weren’t true and the playing field was relatively level, Ethan might still have believed that Pavlina was more likely than him to capture the top prize. Of course, that could be said of all the other finalists. But, unlike Dongmei, Ethan didn’t have an alibi for the time of Pavlina’s death, unless someone was with him the entire time he was away from his seat and could vouch for him.

  “What about Sherwin?” I asked, wondering if his whereabouts could be pinned down.

  “He was in the audience the entire time, right up until Olivia came to get him at the end.”

  So unless he had someone do the deed for him, Sherwin was innocent.

  “Did you see anyone else from the audience head backstage
during the concert?”

  “Only Mr. Hartson. He disappeared between pieces, but only for a minute or two.”

  I absorbed that information before asking, “What about the other judges?”

  “They didn’t leave the audience until the concert was over. Anyway, why would a judge want to hurt Pavlina?”

  That was a good question. Although it seemed Jeb Hartson was the only judge with an opportunity to commit the crime, and that window was a narrow one, according to Dongmei.

  “I hope it wasn’t Ethan,” she whispered as two clarinet players passed us on their way out of the lounge. “It’s terrible to think of one of my fellow finalists doing something so awful.”

  “It is terrible,” I agreed.

  I didn’t add that it was disturbing to think that anyone connected to the competition or the orchestra could be a killer. My eyes swept over the room, conducting a quick scrutiny of everyone present. At least I knew my fellow musicians weren’t responsible for Pavlina’s death, not directly anyway. We’d all been on stage together when she was killed. That didn’t rule out the possibility of someone having an accomplice, but I didn’t know of any reason why someone in the orchestra would want to conspire with another person to kill Pavlina. That didn’t mean there wasn’t a reason, of course, but I figured it was best to focus on what I did know. And what I did know was that I needed to speak to Detectives Van den Broek and Chowdhury before I left the theater.

  After saying good night to Dongmei, I wound my way around those still hanging out in the lounge, heading for the door. Once out in the hallway I went in search of the detectives, knowing I had some information to share with them. What I had to tell them might not be important, but as Detective Van den Broek had said, that was for them to decide, and I didn’t want to hold anything back in case it did turn out to be significant.