Dead Ringer

by Sarah Fox

  “I understand you argued with the deceased earlier this evening,” Bachman said.

  My ears perked up.

  “I . . . well . . .” Hans seemed taken aback by the detective’s knowledge of the argument, maybe even a bit flustered. He recovered quickly enough, though. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. However, I didn’t kill him.”

  “What was the argument about?” Salnikova asked, ignoring Hans’s last statement.

  Hans let out a sigh loud enough for me to hear all the way around the corner. “It was nothing of consequence, really. Mr. Ralston wanted a permanent place in the orchestra. I told him I couldn’t oblige, as our current opening was only temporary. Ms. Ellison—­the cellist he was replacing—­has an injured wrist, but will return to the orchestra in due time.”

  “And Mr. Ralston wasn’t pleased with your response?” The question came from Bachman.

  “No, he wasn’t. But, in all honesty, not many things pleased Mr. Ralston. He was an unpleasant sort of fellow.”

  “Did he threaten you?”

  There was a pause, and I guessed that Hans was again taken aback by how much the detectives knew. I hoped he wouldn’t be angry with me for sharing the information.

  “In a sense,” he said after a moment. “He told me he wanted a spot in the orchestra and that I had better make it happen. He was no more detailed than that, and that’s where our argument ended.”

  There was another pause, and I pictured Salnikova scribbling in her notebook.

  “As I said before,” Hans went on, “I didn’t kill Mr. Ralston. I’ve been working with temperamental musicians my entire career. I certainly don’t go around killing them for being arrogant or annoying. If I did, half the musicians I’ve worked with would be dead.”

  I couldn’t help but smile a little at that. It was true that there were more than a few temperamental types among professional musicians. Jeremy was one of many.

  “Thank you for that, Maestro,” Bachman said in a bland voice.

  As much as I would have liked to hear more, I didn’t want anyone to discover me lurking, and I decided it would be best not to push my luck. I eased away from the corner and made my way to the stairs as quietly as possible.

  At the bottom of the staircase, I passed through a door and found myself in the corridor where Hans and I had kissed earlier. Where he and Jeremy had argued. As I made my way into the backstage room where I’d left my belongings, several of my fellow musicians swarmed around me.

  “How was he killed?”

  “Do they know who did it?”

  “Was he really murdered?”

  The questions came at me from all sides like balls from several pitching machines gone on the fritz. I covered my ears with my hands, overwhelmed by the bombardment.

  ­“People! Give me a break!”

  The questions broke off, but I could tell the lull was only temporary. It was only natural that they wanted to know what had happened, but I wasn’t in the mood to fill them in.

  Relief and gratitude replaced some of my tension when Mikayla elbowed her way into the crowd surrounding me and took my arm.

  “Leave her alone, guys,” she admonished. “Hasn’t she been through enough?”

  I let Mikayla lead me away from the others, over to my violin and my bag. I grabbed my bottle of water and took a long drink, only then realizing how thirsty I was. My fellow musicians still cast curious looks in my direction but they gave me a wide berth. That probably had something to do with the intimidating glare Mikayla sent in the direction of anyone who so much as took a step toward me.

  I knew that Mikayla was as curious as everyone else, and I appreciated the fact that she held back with her questions.

  “Thanks for that,” I said, nodding toward the cluster of other orchestra members now murmuring among themselves.

  “Any time.”

  I checked to make sure I’d loosened my bow earlier, then shut my violin case, fastening the clasps. “It’s not like I really know a whole lot anyway. I mean, it was pretty obvious he was murdered, and I don’t think the police know who did it, but I don’t know anything else. All I want to do is go home.”

  “Of course you do.” Mikayla put an arm around my shoulders and gave me a quick squeeze. “I get the creeps every time I picture his body on the stairs like that.”

  “How come you’re all still here?”

  “The police wanted to talk to each one of us so we had to wait around. Those of us in here have already had our turn, but I think everyone’s shocked and wants to know what happened. I didn’t want to leave until I knew you were okay.” She picked up my music folder from the table and handed it to me. “Here, I brought this back from the stage for you.”

  “Thanks. And I am okay. But I’d really like to get out of here.” I slid the folder into my bag before slinging the bag over my shoulder.

  Mikayla grabbed her own belongings as I picked up my violin case. “I’m with you.”

  With her intimidating glare clearing a path for us, we left the room and headed for the nearest exit.

  I WAS SURPRISED the next morning when I woke up to sunshine streaming in through the crack in my blue and white curtains. It wasn’t that I had expected bad weather, even though Vancouver was known for its rain. What surprised me was the fact that I’d slept soundly through the whole night.

  I wasn’t about to complain. The rest had refreshed me, and I was relieved that I hadn’t spent the night replaying my discovery of Jeremy’s body.

  I took a quick shower, dried my hair, put on some makeup, and dressed for the day. After that I didn’t know what to do with myself.

  Aside from playing second violin in the Point Grey Philharmonic, I also taught private violin lessons for a living. I did most of my teaching in the afternoons, after school hours. Although I taught a ­couple of adults and a few home-­schooled children, even those lessons were scheduled for the early afternoons.

  I could have stayed home and cleaned my tiny apartment, or I could have gone to the grocery store and stocked up on food to fill my sadly depleted refrigerator, but I didn’t feel like doing either of those things. What I really wanted was company, so I grabbed my cell phone, planning to get in touch with my best friend, JT Travers.

  JT was a musician, composer, and sound engineer. He had his own recording studio in the basement of his house in Dunbar, and also rented out a room on the main floor to me where I taught my violin lessons. Even though we were friends, the business arrangement still worked out well. He charged me a reasonable rate, less than I would have to pay elsewhere, and I occasionally helped him out by playing my violin for tracks he was recording without charging a fee.

  JT was an easygoing guy, and that was exactly the kind of company I needed right then. Even though my solid night’s sleep had left me refreshed, I was still preoccupied by everything that had happened at the church. I wanted someone to talk to, someone who would have a calming effect on me.

  I had a key to JT’s front door so I could come and go from my music studio as needed, but I didn’t make a practice of showing up unannounced at times when I didn’t have lessons scheduled. Since I wasn’t due to teach for several hours, I sent JT a text message, asking if he was busy or if I could come by. I received a response less than two minutes later.

  Not busy, his message read. Come on over.

  Smiling, I sent back a quick reply: On my way.

  I shoved my phone in my shoulder bag and grabbed a granola bar in lieu of breakfast. Picking up my violin case, I headed out of my apartment, munching on the granola bar on my way to the bus stop.

  Fifteen minutes later I disembarked from the bus onto Dunbar Street and walked two blocks into a quiet residential neighborhood. The leaves of the large trees lining the street waved in the gentle morning breeze, and bright flowers planted in front gardens scented the air with the sweet p
erfume of spring. Amid such beauty, it was hard to believe there could even be such a thing as murder. But as much as I appreciated my surroundings, Jeremy’s death was never far from the forefront of my mind.

  When I reached JT’s white, two-­story house, I jogged up the front stairway and used my key to let myself in through the front door.

  “I’m here!” I called out as I shut the door behind me.

  I didn’t receive a response, either from JT or his collie-­malamute cross, Finnegan. I passed through a set of French doors on my right, entering the front room I used as my music studio. After transferring my cell phone from my bag to the pocket of my jeans, I left the rest of my belongings in the studio and followed the main hallway toward the back of the house.

  “JT?”

  As I reached the kitchen, Finnegan bounded into the house through the back door, tail wagging enthusiastically as he bounced around me.

  “Hey, buddy,” I greeted him, crouching down to give him a big hug.

  He rewarded me with a sloppy kiss on the cheek and more wagging of his fluffy tail.

  JT appeared in the doorway leading to the back porch, grinning as he watched Finnegan welcome me. “You’d think it was weeks since you last saw each other instead of less than twenty-­four hours.”

  Giving Finnegan one last hug, I stood up. “It’s nice to be missed.”

  My smile faltered, suddenly struck by the thought of someone missing Jeremy now that he was gone. Even though he hadn’t been the nicest guy, surely there had been someone in his life who cared about him. Parents, siblings, maybe a significant other. Now they would have to face not only the loss of Jeremy, but also the fact that he’d been taken away so violently.

  JT must have noticed the change in my face. “What’s wrong?” he asked as he shut the back door.

  “A cellist was killed at rehearsal last night.”

  “What? How?”

  I perched on a stool at the dark granite breakfast bar, Finnegan settling on the floor by my feet. “He was murdered. I found his body.”

  JT stared at me for a moment while he processed that information. Then he ran a hand through his brown hair, leaving it slightly mussed. “That must have been awful, Dori. Are you okay?”

  “Yes. No.” I sighed. “I guess I don’t really know. It was awful. I’d never seen a dead body before, let alone someone who was murdered.” I shuddered. “Plus, I knew him. That makes it even worse.”

  JT came over to stand across the breakfast bar from me. “Do you know who killed him?”

  “No. I think I just missed seeing the murderer, though.” I explained how I’d found Jeremy’s body and heard retreating footsteps right before my grisly discovery.

  “I’m glad you didn’t get there any sooner. Otherwise, who knows what would have happened.”

  A shiver went through my body. “I don’t even want to imagine what the killer would have done if I’d seen him. Or her.” I paused, thinking. “But at the same time, if I could have identified the murderer, he or she would probably be behind bars by now and I wouldn’t have to worry.”

  “Are you worried?”

  “Of course,” I said, realizing only then how true that was. “Maybe there’s a psycho out there who will kill again. Maybe the murderer is in the orchestra.”

  I didn’t want to think about that last possibility. It was too creepy, too scary.

  “Or,” JT said, “maybe someone had a beef specifically with the victim. Someone who has nothing to do with the orchestra, and who followed the cellist to the church.”

  “I hope that’s the case.” I slumped over the breakfast bar, overwhelmed by all the possibilities.

  Perhaps sensing my darkening mood, Finnegan lifted his head and whined.

  “It’s okay, boy,” I reassured him. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “But we do.” JT’s eyes were full of concern.

  I’d always admired his eyes. They were such a unique shade of brown. Like root beer with sunlight shining through it. At the moment, the worry in them warmed my heart.

  “No need,” I said, trying to smile even though I felt weighed down by an array of emotions. “I’ll be fine once the killer is caught.”

  JT didn’t look convinced. I was touched by the fact that he cared enough to worry, and my spirits lifted, if only slightly.

  “Really, JT. I’ll be okay.”

  He didn’t press the issue, instead crossing the kitchen to his fancy coffee machine. Even though he preferred plain old black coffee himself, he’d bought a machine that could make who-­knew-­how-­many different drinks. It wasn’t really for him, though. He’d bought it for all the musicians who came and went on a regular basis as they recorded albums in his studio. And for me. He knew I loved cappuccinos and lattes.

  “Something to drink?” he offered.

  “A cappuccino, please.”

  When my drink was ready, he set it on the granite countertop and came around to sit on the stool beside me. My cell phone chimed and I fished it out of my pocket. Hans had sent me a text message.

  How are you doing today?

  The fact that he had checked in on me warmed me on the inside. I tapped out a quick reply as I sipped my cappuccino.

  I’m okay. You?

  “Hans . . .” JT said, looking at my phone. “Isn’t that your conductor?”

  “Yes.” I tried my best to sound casual.

  “Since when does your conductor send you text messages?”

  “He stayed with me after I found the body yesterday. Until the police arrived. He’s just checking in to see how I’m doing.”

  My phone chimed again as another message popped up.

  Good. But I’d be even better if you’d have dinner with me tonight.

  “Right,” JT said with a wry edge to his voice. “And checking in on you includes asking you out to dinner?”

  Against my will, my cheeks flushed. Without sending a reply to Hans, I shoved my phone back in my pocket.

  “What does it matter?” I focused on drinking my cappuccino, careful to keep my eyes away from JT.

  “Isn’t he twenty years older than you?” JT’s voice held a mixture of disapproval and disbelief.

  “Seventeen,” I corrected, downing the rest of my cappuccino in one gulp. “And what does that matter? We’re both adults.”

  “Okay, sure. But he’s basically your boss, Dori.”

  “So?”

  “What if things don’t work out? What if things go south and he kicks you out of the orchestra?”

  “He wouldn’t do that!”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because!”

  “Because?”

  I wanted to growl at JT. I was so frustrated and angry that it was hard for me to form any words. As I tried to come up with something to say to defend myself, JT’s expression softened.

  “I just don’t want you to get hurt, Dori. I know how much you love being in the orchestra. I don’t want you to lose that, and I don’t want you to get your heart broken.”

  Tears threatened to spill out of my eyes, and that only annoyed me further. “Why do you assume he’ll break my heart?”

  JT was silent for a moment. When he finally did speak, he avoided my question. “It’s not a good situation, Dori.”

  Gritting my teeth, I slid off my stool. Finnegan jumped up from his place at my feet, and I rested a hand on his head. “It’s my life, JT. I can make my own decisions.” I took a step toward the hallway. “I’m going out for a walk.” My words came out cold and hard.

  “All right.”

  Something in his voice made me clench my teeth together even harder. Was it disappointment? Regret? I didn’t even want to know.

  “I’ll see you later.”

  Exuding icy vibes, I set off down the hallway. As soon as I’d grabbed
my bag from my studio, I left the house without another word.

  Chapter 4

  AFTER A BRISK walk followed by some window shopping, I decided to treat myself to an early lunch of Japanese food. As I sat at a table in a small restaurant, I tried my best not to think of JT or our argument. I was unsuccessful. JT was my best friend and I hated not getting along with him, whatever the reason. I was still frustrated with him, though. I was twenty-­nine years old and knew how to look after myself. I didn’t need his interference or disapproval, or even his concern.

  I chewed harder than necessary on a piece of sushi, trying to drown out the voice in my head that told me I was lucky to have someone like JT who cared about me and that maybe he was right. I especially didn’t want to listen to that last part. The most annoying aspect of the whole thing was the fact that he had simply voiced my own concerns, which I was trying to pretend I didn’t have.

  I wasn’t about to admit that to him, however. I didn’t even want to admit it to myself.

  I set my phone on the table and stared at Hans’s last message. I still hadn’t replied to it, wanting to calm down before I committed to anything. But I wanted to accept. Whether or not there was some risk involved, the fact was, I was attracted to Hans. He was good-­looking, talented, and intelligent. I’d enjoyed what little time we’d spent alone together, and I couldn’t deny the spark between us. Not that I wanted to.

  Besides, I didn’t really believe that my job would be in jeopardy if our relationship didn’t work out. Maybe I didn’t know Hans all that well yet, but I knew he wasn’t petty.

  Thinking things over as I finished off my agedashi tofu, I came to a decision and picked up my phone to send a reply.

  Dinner sounds great. What time?

  Drinking down the last of my green tea, I paid for my meal and set off back to my studio to teach my first student of the day.

  I DIDN’T SEE JT again that day. By the time I arrived back at his house, he and Finnegan had both disappeared, presumably down to his own studio in the basement. In a way, I was relieved. Part of me wanted to patch things up with him, but another part of me was still annoyed and didn’t want to talk to him about anything.