by Sarah Fox
I had a hard time believing that, but then I remembered that his ego wasn’t exactly small. Maybe he really was too confident to be nervous, or maybe he just wanted to maintain a confident veneer in front of his peers.
“I guess the competition isn’t quite as intense now that Pavlina’s gone,” I said, hoping to draw more out of him.
He snorted. “It wasn’t exactly intense to begin with.”
That sent my eyebrows up an inch. “You didn’t think Pavlina had a realistic chance of winning?”
“If she did, this competition is a bunch of bull. I mean, let’s face it, she was popular because she was a hot chick, not because there was any real genius to her music.”
My jaw almost dropped and I had to fight to keep an expression of distaste off my face. Pavlina’s music might not have been everyone’s cup of tea, but there was a brilliance to it, and I knew I was far from the only one who thought that her talent had exceeded Ethan’s. To suggest that her success was purely a result of her physical attractiveness was both unfair and detestable.
Ethan showed no sign of knowing what I was thinking, and maybe that was for the best. As much as I wanted to never speak to him again, I needed information from him.
“Do you have any idea who killed her?” I kept the question casual, as if it were the result of nothing but idle curiosity.
“Nope.”
“You didn’t see anyone backstage with her around the time she died?”
His gaze had been wandering around the room, but it now settled on me with suspicion. “How would I have done that?”
“I heard you left the audience during the concert. I thought maybe you might have seen something.”
“All I did was go to the washroom. The only person I saw on my way there was Olivia, and I didn’t see anyone on my way back.”
“Oh,” I said, feigning mild confusion. “I heard you were gone a long time.”
The suspicion in his eyes intensified. “My stomach gets upset when I’m nervous. What’s it to you, anyway?”
I shrugged and pretended I was losing interest in our conversation. “I was just curious, that’s all.”
“Yeah? Well, curiosity can lead to trouble.”
With that, he shoved his phone in his pocket and walked away from me.
I watched him go, unease tickling the back of my neck. According to Dongmei, Ethan was gone from the audience for fifteen to twenty minutes. Sure, an upset stomach would explain the length of his absence, but that story didn’t make sense. If he wasn’t nervous now—the night before the performance of his composition—why would he have been so anxious last week during a concert that didn’t involve a performance of his music?
But the inconsistency in his story wasn’t the only thing that concerned me. As I returned to my locker to fetch my folder of music before heading to the stage, I noticed Ethan watching me from across the room. The weight of his gaze sent a hum of worry through my bones, and I wondered if his last words were meant as a threat.
Chapter Ten
DURING THE FIRST hour of rehearsal I had to struggle to keep my attention focused on the music. I was acutely aware of Ethan’s presence in the theater and the fact that he could be a murderer. He certainly had the opportunity to kill Pavlina, but what about motive? Did he really believe he had as much or more of a chance of winning the competition as Pavlina? Or was all his egotistical bluster a cover for a lack of self-confidence?
I couldn’t be sure, but if it was just a cover then maybe he had wanted to get Pavlina out of the way to improve his chances of winning. Recalling what he’d told me in the lounge, I realized that the same motive remained even if he truly did believe his composition skills were far superior to Pavlina’s. He was well aware of Pavlina’s popularity, after all, and maybe he believed she was likely to win regardless of what he viewed as her lack of talent. Perhaps he wanted to make way for the finalist who, in his mind, deserved to win—himself.
That was entirely possible, and it was enough to put Ethan on my list of suspects. I didn’t want to focus all of my attention on him, however. I needed to find out if anyone else had the opportunity to kill Pavlina. Jeb Hartson had only left the audience for a couple of minutes, but it was still possible that he’d killed Pavlina, swiftly carrying out the deed before retaking his seat in the theater. The remaining judges had alibis since they’d never left the audience, but others had been backstage at the relevant time, and I needed to look into their whereabouts and possible motives before I could definitively zero in on a prime suspect.
When Hans stopped the rehearsal for a short break, I considered who else I should question. Olivia Hutchcraft, the competition’s coordinator, had remained backstage during the concert. The same was true of her assistant, Sasha. And then there was Elena’s cousin, Igor Malakhov. I’d seen him in the hallway with Elena shortly before the concert began. Had he left the theater when Elena headed for the stage, or had he remained, lurking in the back corridors for some sinister purpose?
The police wanted to question Elena about Igor, and that suggested they had reason to believe he’d remained in the theater, that he’d had an opportunity to follow Pavlina to the women’s washroom and hit her over the head with Fred’s hammer, or whatever the murder weapon turned out to be.
As much as Hans believed Elena had nothing to do with the murder and knew nothing of significance about it, I wasn’t prepared to simply accept his belief. Both times I’d seen her talking with her cousin she’d been agitated. Maybe that agitation had nothing to do with Pavlina, but until I could rule that out, it was an avenue I intended to explore.
Not at the moment, however. I wasn’t going to question Elena in front of our fellow musicians—for her sake and mine—and there were other investigative opportunities more readily available at the moment.
Knowing I didn’t have much time before the rehearsal resumed, I left my seat and made my way through the wings to the back corridor. Although I was hoping to find Olivia and somehow strike up a conversation with her, I knew that might be difficult to do. She always seemed to be busy, hurrying to and fro or talking with one or more of the finalists. But as soon as I entered the corridor, I realized it would probably be far easier to talk to her assistant, Sasha, and see what he had to say. Luckily for me, he was hanging out in the hallway, leaning against the wall as he focused on the screen of his phone.
He was without a sweater vest today, but he still wore khaki pants, a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his black hipster glasses. I guessed his age at about twenty-three, and he was cute in a slightly nerdy way.
With my violin and bow in one hand, I approached him, trying to appear casual.
“Hey,” I said when I reached him.
He glanced up from his phone for a split second. “Hey.”
Although his gaze returned to the screen of his device, I didn’t move and he soon looked up again.
I smiled, hoping to seem friendly. “You’re Olivia Hutchcraft’s assistant, right?”
“ ‘Gofer’ might be a better word, but, yeah.”
His eyes strayed toward his phone again, but I wasn’t about to let our conversation drop that easily.
“She keeps you busy?”
“Most of the time.”
I stepped closer to the wall so two clarinet players could pass us. “Have you worked for her for long?”
“Nah.” He finally gave up on his phone and tucked it into the back pocket of his pants. “Only a few weeks, and it’s a temporary position, seeing as this competition only happens once every couple of years.”
“Right.” That made sense. “Do you like the job?”
He shrugged. “It’s all right.”
I decided it was time to steer the conversation down the road I wanted it to go. “It’s probably been crazier than you expected, though, right?”
�
�Crazier?”
“Because of the murder,” I said.
“Oh. Right.” He glanced down the hallway, even though we were the only ones present.
With his attention threatening to stray again, I knew I couldn’t waste any time. “Hey, you must have been backstage during the concert that night.”
His eyes snapped back to me. “So?”
“Did you see anything suspicious?”
“No. I was upstairs during the first half of the concert. After that I went on a coffee run for Olivia. She has to have her half-fat mocha lattes.”
“I wonder if she regrets that now,” I said.
“Regrets what?”
“Sending you on a coffee run. If you weren’t with her, did she have an alibi?”
I had his undivided attention now. “Why would she need one?”
“Maybe she doesn’t. I just figured the police would be looking at everyone who was backstage as a possible suspect.”
“I don’t see why Olivia would want to kill Pavlina.”
That wasn’t clear to me either.
“How long were you gone on the coffee run?” I asked.
“Nearly half an hour, I guess. Starbucks was busy that night so I had to wait in line.”
That would have given Olivia plenty of time to murder Pavlina. Tucking that information away, I asked another question.
“Did you know Pavlina?”
His eyes narrowed slightly behind the lenses of his glasses. “You think I’m a suspect?”
“No,” I said quickly, although that wasn’t the truth. “I was just curious if you knew of anyone who might have wanted to hurt her.”
He fished his phone out of his pocket. “I never knew any of these people before I started this job a few weeks ago.” He glanced at his phone and pushed off from the wall. He held up the device. “Gotta go. Duty calls.”
I didn’t know if he’d really received a text message summoning him to another part of the theater, but whether he’d told the truth or simply wanted to get away from me, our conversation was at an end.
“See you around,” he said, and then he was off around the corner and out of sight.
I wandered back toward the stage, thinking over what I’d learned. Sasha couldn’t vouch for Olivia’s whereabouts during the entire concert. That meant the competition’s coordinator was most likely without an alibi for at least part of the time after Pavlina left the audience.
Had Olivia purposely sent Sasha away so she’d have time to carry out a nefarious plan to murder Pavlina, or had she really just wanted some coffee?
If she had killed Pavlina, was jealousy the driving force behind the act?
I couldn’t see what other motive she would have. When I’d overheard her arguing with Jeb, she’d sounded more contemptuous than jealous, but that didn’t mean there was no envy lurking beneath the surface.
As for Sasha, did he have an opportunity to carry out the murder?
Possibly. He could have followed Pavlina to the women’s washroom and killed her either before or after he fetched Olivia’s coffee. Why he would do so wasn’t so easy to figure out, though. He’d said he hadn’t met any of the finalists before he started his job as Olivia’s assistant. If that were true, his motive would have had to develop over the last few weeks.
It was possible that he’d set his sights on Pavlina and she’d rejected him, igniting deep rage inside of him. But that was nothing more than pure speculation, and making up stories in my head about all the possible suspects wasn’t particularly constructive. If I wanted to help settle this matter and minimize any negative impact on the orchestra, I needed to work with facts and evidence. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a lot of those, and that meant I needed to find a way to gather more.
For the moment, however, my only concerns needed to be of the musical variety. The rehearsal was about to resume and I didn’t want to be late getting back to my seat. Setting my investigation aside for the time being, I returned to the stage and shifted my focus from murder to music.
Chapter Eleven
I DIDN’T HAVE a chance to gather more clues that night. By the time the rehearsal had ended, Olivia and Sasha had already departed from the theater, leaving me without an opportunity to attempt to question the competition’s coordinator.
While driving home I thought over everything I’d learned so far, but only ended up more muddled than ever. Several people had both the opportunity and a motive to kill Pavlina, and my mental list of suspects was still too long to be of much help. Ethan was, in my view, the prime suspect at the moment, but I didn’t have enough evidence to share my suspicions, nor did I have enough information to definitively rule out any of my other suspects.
I hoped that a good night’s sleep would clear my mind and help me fit more puzzle pieces together, but the situation didn’t seem any less jumbled when morning arrived. Breakfast and a hot shower did nothing to spark any helpful insights, so I set off for the grocery store no further ahead with my investigation.
As I pushed my cart up and down the store’s aisles, I continued to mull over the circumstances of Pavlina’s death, and something plucked at the strings in the far reaches of my memory, sounding a repeated note to get my attention. Try as I might, however, I couldn’t figure out what my brain wanted to tell me.
Not for the first time, I had the distinct feeling that I’d forgotten or missed something, but what?
Stopping in the middle of the produce section, I tried my best to grasp at the elusive memory. Despite my efforts, it skittered away like a scrap of paper sent dancing down the street by a strong gust of wind.
Realizing that I was causing a grocery cart traffic jam, I grabbed a bunch of bananas and maneuvered my way toward the dairy products. Hopefully whatever it was that I couldn’t remember wasn’t lost to me forever. Even though I didn’t know what it was that I’d forgotten—aside from the possibility that it might have something to do with Pavlina’s body—I knew it was important, and I was frustrated with myself for failing to put my finger on it.
Frustration wasn’t helpful, though. I knew that. Getting my head into even more of a muddle than it already was would only leave me less likely to pin down the fluttering, elusive memory that continued to taunt me from the depths of my mind.
Moving on from the dairy products, I added a box of granola bars and a package of green tea to my cart before making my way toward the cashier. Maybe talking things over with JT would help me see things more clearly. Or maybe he’d spot an angle to the case I’d missed entirely. If nothing else, sharing my tangled thoughts with my best friend would release some of the frustration I hadn’t fully been able to quell.
There was also something else I wanted to talk to JT about. As much as he didn’t want to believe that Cameron might have been involved in the theft of his equipment, I couldn’t let the possibility drop. If Cameron had wronged JT, I was determined to find out about it. Whether I could convince JT to help me dig around in Cameron’s life, I wasn’t entirely sure, but I was going to give it a try.
Once I’d taken my groceries home and put them away, I gathered up my violin and everything else I’d need for the day before leaving my apartment again, this time setting off for JT’s house.
Although the air had a cold bite to it, the sky was a brilliant shade of blue and the sun shone brightly. It only took a few minutes to drive from my apartment to the residential part of Dunbar, JT’s neighborhood. Once I’d reached his street I found a place to park my car and fetched my bag and violin from behind the driver’s seat. Crossing the road, I waved at Mrs. Tilley, JT’s elderly next-door neighbor, as she swept off her front porch. She waved back and I headed up the concrete path to JT’s house, thinking about how much I loved this part of the city.
The houses had character, the streets were lined with trees, and many of the residents kept nicely tended gardens. It wouldn�
��t be long before the area looked great at night as well, with Christmas lights brightening up the houses and adding cheer to the cold, dark evenings. My neighborhood was nice too—and I paid the price for it with my monthly rent—but I hoped to one day live in a detached home rather than an apartment. Maybe that was a pipe dream, considering the crazy real estate prices in Vancouver, but having my own outdoor space would be nice. For now, however, it was enough that I got to spend plenty of time hanging out at JT’s place, especially since he let me use his yard for gardening during the warmer months.
Climbing the steps to the porch, I fished around in my bag for my keys. I dug the keychain out of the depths of my tote, and then paused on the doorstep, listening. Piano music floated out to me from inside the house. There was nothing unusual about that, since JT often played his baby grand piano in the front living room, but this was music I’d never heard before, and it had my full attention. Unlocking the door as quietly as I could, I slipped inside the house and stopped to listen again. The beautiful melody surrounded me, leaving me barely aware of anything but the music. The notes rose and fell, the baseline adding depth and intensity to the rich and vibrant melody.
As I listened I wanted to smile and cry and float away all at the same time. But I did none of those things. Instead I remained rooted to the spot, entranced by the music, hardly breathing until the song wound down, slowing before settling on the final note. Only when the music had stopped completely did I move again.
Shutting the door, I set my violin and bag down in the foyer and stepped into the living room. Seated on the piano bench, JT turned at the sound of my footsteps. Finnegan jumped up from his spot on the floor near the piano and rushed toward me, his fluffy tail wagging.
“Morning,” JT greeted with a smile.
“Morning,” I returned as I crouched down to give Finnegan a hug. Once I’d straightened up again, I asked JT, “Was that one of your songs?”
“Yes. I just finished it up last night.”
I crossed the room toward him and he shifted to the side to make room for me on the piano bench.