by Sarah Fox
He glanced at his watch again. “Let me know if you find anything of interest. And please shut the door when you leave. It’ll lock automatically.”
I assured him that I would honor both requests and he headed off down the hall, leaving the door standing open. Being alone in the office wasn’t ideal, but it beat hanging out in the musicians’ lounge all by myself. At least up here on the second floor I knew that Hans was likely within shouting distance, probably meeting with the judges two doors down. Until more people arrived at the theater, there was a good chance that no one would hear me call for help if I were downstairs.
Pulling the laptop across the desk, I turned it around so I could see the screen. Hans had left the computer turned on, so I was able to access the Internet within seconds. I didn’t know for sure if the death of Tiffany Alphonse at the music retreat three years earlier had anything to do with the recent murders, but I figured it warranted some consideration. So many people involved in the composing competition had been at that retreat, and both murder victims had been close friends with Tiffany. Maybe that wasn’t significant in any way, but until I dug deeper into the past, I wouldn’t know if that was the case or not.
My first search turned up nothing of interest. All the results that popped up on the screen related to an upcoming version of the retreat, scheduled to take place in Banff, Alberta, in the spring. Trying again, I added Tiffany Alphonse’s name to the search terms, and this time the results appeared far more promising. I clicked the top search result and read through an article about Tiffany’s death. As I’d already known, she’d drowned in a lake near the hotel where the retreat attendees were staying. According to the article, the theory was that she had wandered out into the night alone while drunk, and had either fallen into the water or had decided to go for a swim. Either way, she hadn’t made it out of the water alive.
What I hadn’t already known was that her body was found just after dawn the next day by a man out for an early morning jog. My eyes widened when I read the name of the man who’d discovered Tiffany’s body.
Harold Dempsey.
So Pavlina, Ethan, and Dongmei weren’t the only people associated with the composing competition who’d been at the retreat. According to the article, Harold was one of the instructors. When speaking with the author of the article, he’d expressed shock and sadness at finding the young woman floating lifelessly in the water.
“It’s a terrible loss,” he was quoted as saying. “Not just for her friends and family but for the music community as well. Ms. Alphonse had a promising career ahead of her and, unfortunately, she has been taken from us far too soon.”
I sat back, considering what I’d read. Harold, now a judge for the composing competition, had been present at the retreat when Tiffany had died. He was also the first person—aside from me—to arrive on the scene after Olivia found Ethan’s body. Were either of those facts significant?
Maybe, and maybe not. After all, three of the competition’s finalists were at the retreat as well. But the only one still alive was Dongmei, and I didn’t suspect her of killing anyone.
I tapped my fingers against the desk, but further thought didn’t bring me any brilliant insights so I went back to reading. I found another article with similar information to the first, but it included quotes from some of Tiffany’s friends who were at the retreat with her.
“I’m devastated,” Pavlina had told the reporter. “She was my best friend. I don’t know what I’ll do without her.”
The reporter went on to note that no one had admitted to being with Tiffany that night, to drinking with her, or to seeing her drunk. That was attributed to either fear or guilt, or a combination of the two. However, the police investigation had revealed that Tiffany was most definitely intoxicated at the time of her death, and the drowning was officially ruled accidental.
But was it really an accident? After all that had happened recently, I couldn’t help but wonder if the official ruling was wrong.
I tugged on my left earlobe as I stared at the computer screen without really seeing it. I needed more information, but I wasn’t sure that the Internet would be able to provide it. In case I was wrong, I spent a few more minutes sorting through the search results. After that didn’t turn up anything, I returned to the original article and read it through once more. Still, I didn’t find what I needed.
The floor creaked to my left and I jerked my head around. Harold Dempsey stood in the doorway. His eyes shifted from the computer screen to me.
“I’m looking for Maestro Clausen,” he said.
“Um.” I struggled to recover from my surprise at his presence. “I’m not sure where he is. Sorry.”
Harold nodded and disappeared down the hall. Once he was gone, I realized that my heart was booming out a loud beat in my chest. I’d seen something in Harold’s eyes in that moment when he’d shifted his gaze from the computer screen to me.
Was it fear? No, more like anger. Dark, smoldering anger. It had only been there for a second or two, but I knew I hadn’t imagined it.
Wondering how much he’d seen, I checked the screen. Even if he had perfect vision, he wouldn’t have been able to read the body of the article from the doorway, but the headline was much larger and easy to see.
“Music Retreat Ends on Sour Note with Drowning Death,” it read.
Had the headline simply brought back unpleasant memories from that time? Harold was, after all, the one who’d found Tiffany’s lifeless body.
No, I decided. That didn’t explain his anger. There had to be more to it.
Ill at ease, I shut the Web browser and closed the laptop. I crept quietly toward the door, apprehension skipping along my spine like a series of urgent, staccato notes. When I peered out into the hallway, the coast was clear, although I could hear a low murmur of voices coming from nearby.
Pulling the office door shut as Hans had asked me to do, I hurried down the hall. As I passed the judges’ lounge, I cast a quick glance through the now-open door, spotting only Yvonne Charbonneau, Olivia, and Sasha. They didn’t notice me, and I continued on along the corridor and down the stairway.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when I turned the corner at the bottom of the stairway and came face-to-face with Hans. With my hand over my heart, I took a step back and closed my eyes briefly, relieved he wasn’t someone from my list of murder suspects.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said, now recovered. “You startled me. That’s all.”
“What did your research turn up?”
I glanced up and down the corridor to check if we were alone. We were.
“I’m thinking there could be a connection between the two murders and the death of a girl named Tiffany Alphonse at a music retreat a few years ago.”
“What kind of connection?”
“Tiffany’s death was ruled an accident, but I’m wondering if it was actually murder.”
“And if it was?” Hans asked. “What does that have to do with Pavlina’s and Ethan’s deaths?”
“I’m not entirely sure yet,” I admitted. “Maybe Tiffany’s killer felt threatened by Pavlina and Ethan and decided to get them out of the way.”
“But you said the death at the music retreat happened years ago. If Pavlina and Ethan knew something that made Tiffany’s killer feel threatened, why wait until now to get rid of them?”
“I don’t know, but it’s something I can’t dismiss yet.” I recalled Harold’s appearance in the office doorway. “Did Harold find you? He was looking for you a few minutes ago.”
“I just talked to him.” Hans stepped around me so he could reach the stairway. “You’d better go get ready. It’s almost time to head for the stage.”
I put a hand on his arm to stop him from ascending the stairs. “How much do you know about Harold?”
“Professionally or otherwise?”
“Otherwise.”
Hans thought for a moment. “Not much. He’s a wealthy man, only in part because of his successful career. He married into money.”
“Have you heard of any rumors about him over the years? Any hint of behavior that might not be aboveboard?”
“No.” Hans looked at me more closely. “Do you suspect him of murder? Because I don’t see how he could possibly be the killer. He was sitting in the audience when Pavlina was killed.”
“True,” I conceded. “And I’m not sure what I suspect him of, if anything.”
“Make sure you don’t go around making any accusations without evidence to back them up,” he said. “None of the judges would take kindly to having their reputations tarnished.”
“I have no intention of making public accusations against anyone without evidence,” I said, slightly miffed that he’d thought I might.
He seemed oblivious to my reaction. “Good. I’ll see you later.”
I shot a glare at his retreating back as he disappeared up the stairway, but then I pushed him out of my thoughts. The concert was set to start soon and I had something I wanted to do before taking my place on the stage.
When I hurried into the musicians’ lounge seconds later, a buzz of conversation and activity greeted me. Most of the orchestra had arrived in my absence, and several clusters of musicians were chatting with each other while other individuals warmed up on their instruments. Spotting Dongmei in the crowd, I made my way to her side and drew her into a relatively private—if not quiet—corner of the room.
“How are you doing?” I asked, although I could tell by the worried expression on her face that she was nervous.
“Okay,” she replied, “but my heart is going about a thousand miles a minute.”
“You’ll be fine,” I assured her. “No matter what the results are.”
She drew in a deep breath and nodded. “Of course I want to win, but however things turn out, I’ll be glad when I know. Waiting to hear the results is the hardest part.”
I could imagine.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Olivia enter the musicians’ lounge. Knowing she would likely direct Sherwin and Dongmei to take their places in the audience at any moment, I hurried to address the questions weighing on my mind.
“Dongmei, when Tiffany Alphonse died at the retreat in Banff, were there any rumors going around about her death?”
Her forehead furrowed. “What kind of rumors?”
“She was drunk when she died, but I read in a news article that no one admitted to drinking with her that night or seeing her drunk. Surely someone must have, though. Don’t you think?”
“It was a bit odd,” Dongmei said, “especially considering that her closest friends were at the retreat. But both of them swore they weren’t with Tiffany that night, and I’m pretty sure they had people to back them up on that.” She thought for a moment. “There was a rumor, but I don’t know that it was anything more than that.”
“What rumor?” I pressed.
Dongmei looked uncomfortable. “I don’t like to gossip about someone who’s dead . . .”
“I understand that, but this could be important. It could have something to do with the recent murders.”
“Really?” She sounded both surprised and slightly dubious.
“Possibly.”
“There was talk that Tiffany was seeing someone.”
“Someone who was at the retreat?”
Dongmei nodded. “I got the feeling that’s who her friends thought she was with on the night she died.”
“Who was this person?” I asked, anxious to know.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone knew for certain. It might not even be true.”
“Dongmei!” Olivia’s voice rang out over the chatter in the room.
“I have to go,” Dongmei said, suddenly looking terrified.
“Good luck,” I called to her as she hurried across the room to Olivia.
Mikayla waved to me from the bank of lockers along the wall and I wound my way around several woodwind players to meet her. Minutes later, instruments and music in hand, we made our way toward the stage. But although I should only have been thinking about the music we were about to play for the audience, everything Dongmei had told me swirled around and around, a constant source of background noise in my head.
Chapter Twenty-Five
DESPITE THE DISTRACTION my thoughts created, I managed to get through the concert without making any mistakes. Before the music started, everyone had observed a minute of silence for Pavlina and Ethan. Although their deaths had narrowed the field of finalists down to only two candidates, we played excerpts from all four compositions as originally planned. I thought it was a nice way to honor the memories of the two late competitors.
Once we’d finished our performance and the audience had stopped applauding, it was time to reveal the winner of the competition. I glanced toward the wings of the stage and spotted Dongmei standing with Olivia and Sasha. Even from a distance I could tell that Dongmei was terrified. She had her hands clasped tightly in front of her and was taking deep breaths. I hoped she wouldn’t pass out. The competition had already had enough drama.
Hans stood facing the audience, an envelope in hand. A hush fell over the audience and the stage as everyone in the theater waited to hear who would be named the winner.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Hans began, “thank you all for joining us here this evening. This competition has highlighted the work of supremely talented young composers, and the Point Grey Philharmonic is honored to have been a part of showcasing their work.” He paused for a second to lift the flap of the envelope. “And now, without further ado, I’m pleased to announce that the winner of this year’s competition, and the recipient of a five-thousand-dollar scholarship, is . . .”
I held my breath, hoping to hear Dongmei’s name. It seemed to take forever for Hans to slide the small card from the envelope, although in reality it only took seconds.
He glanced at what was written on the card and then raised his head to address the audience. “Dongmei Pan.”
Applause erupted throughout the theater, and I smiled as I joined in as best I could while holding my violin. Dongmei emerged from the wings, her eyes wide and dazed as she made her way toward Hans. When she glanced toward the orchestra, I caught her eye and gave her a thumbs-up. Finally, a smile replaced her shocked expression, growing wider as she shook hands with Hans.
Sasha hurried on stage and passed a giant bouquet of flowers to Hans, and he presented them to Dongmei with another handshake. The audience was still clapping, and she bowed and waved before retreating to the wings. Aside from the celebration to follow, the competition was finally over.
Twenty minutes later I’d stashed my instrument in my locker and had made my way with Mikayla and my other fellow musicians to the theater’s reception room, where a celebratory gathering was under way. Dongmei was, of course, the center of attention, everyone wanting a chance to personally congratulate her.
While I waited for my opportunity to speak with her, I chatted with friends and helped myself to a plate full of catered food. After finishing up the last morsel on my plate, I made my way through the crowd toward Dongmei and her family. After giving her a hug and telling her how happy I was for her, I moved on so other people could have their turn with her. I spent a few minutes chatting with her sister, but then excused myself when I saw Mikayla leaving the reception room.
Hurrying down the hallway, I caught up to her as she returned to the musicians’ lounge. Only a handful of other orchestra members were present in the lounge, and I was glad of that. I wanted a chance to speak with Mikayla privately. Although we’d sat next to each other throughout the whole concert, we hadn’t had a real opportunity to chat that evening.
“Hey,” I said as I lean
ed against the bank of lockers while she opened her combination lock. “How are you doing?”
“All right,” she said as she retrieved her coat from her locker.
“Really?” I asked, noting that she lacked her usual vivacious energy.
“Well, maybe not.” Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked them away.
It was the closest I’d ever seen her come to crying.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, worried. “Is it Dave?”
She nodded. “We talked before the concert.”
“Did you argue again?”
“No, not exactly. But we broke up.”
My heart grew heavy. “Mikayla, I’m so sorry.”
She blinked away more tears as she pulled on her coat. “It’s for the best, really. We weren’t happy together anymore.”
“But still . . .” I said, knowing that didn’t make their breakup easy.
“Yeah, I’m not exactly in a celebratory mood.”
I gave her a hug. “I’m sorry. Do you want company? We could go to the pub down the street.”
She smiled sadly. “Thanks, but I think I’ll just head home.”
“Okay, but call me if you want to talk.”
“Thanks, Midori. I will.”
My spirits dampened by Mikayla’s unhappiness, we exchanged subdued goodbyes and she left the lounge. More musicians had trickled into the room by then, the party down the hall likely winding down. I decided to head home, but before I could reach my locker I got caught up in a conversation with some of my fellow musicians. Another twenty minutes had passed before I pulled on my coat and retrieved my instrument and tote bag from my locker.
Mindful of my promise to JT and my own desire to stay safe, I walked out of the theater with Bronwyn, a first violinist. When we reached the parking lot out back, we said good night and headed to our respective vehicles. My MINI Cooper was farther across the lot than Bronwyn’s car and she was already pulling out of her parking space by the time I’d stashed my violin behind the driver’s seat of my own vehicle.
I climbed into the car and shut the door, shivering from the cold. The rain had stopped at some point during the evening and the temperature had plummeted. As soon as I had the engine running, I cranked up the heat, hoping to ward off the worst of the chill as soon as possible.