by Sarah Fox
Whoever was out there had already reached the top of the stairs and entered the hallway. I didn’t have a chance of slipping out of the office unseen, so I scurried behind the open door and pressed my back against the wall, hugging my bag and instrument case to my chest. I all but held my breath, straining to follow the movement of the footsteps over the almost-deafening beat of my freaking out heart.
The creator of the footsteps drew closer to the office, each clunk of shoe against wooden floorboard increasing my dread.
I closed my eyes.
Please don’t come in here. Please don’t come in here.
I had no idea how to explain my presence if someone caught me in McAllister’s office. I could say I’d dropped by to see if the reverend was present, but that would only hold up if the person who found me didn’t check with him and discover that I knew full well he was tied up with the wedding rehearsal. Besides, whoever found me was bound to be suspicious, what with me hiding behind the office door, guilt written across my face.
The footsteps paused just short of McAllister’s office, and I opened my eyes, cautious hope lowering my heart rate a notch or two. Across the hall a doorknob turned and then hinges squeaked with a quiet protest. Four more footfalls sounded against the aging hardwood and the door closed.
I held my breath. I detected a few more footsteps, but they were muffled now. Whoever had been out in the hallway had entered the other office.
I exhaled and nearly went light-headed with relief. Or perhaps the light-headed sensation was from holding my breath. Either way, I didn’t let it slow me down. I slipped out of the office and made a rushed but near-silent escape down the stairs. I didn’t pause even for a second, continuing on through the narthex and straight out the church’s main doors.
I made a beeline for the nearest bus stop, my heart still lub-dubbing in my chest with greater speed and force than normal. It wasn’t so much that someone had nearly caught me where I didn’t belong that had me worked up and on edge.
No, it was more the result of what I’d seen as I fled from my hiding spot.
Hanging on a hook on the back of Reverend McAllister’s office door was a black hoodie sweatshirt with white lettering on the hood.
“JT!”
I burst into the house through the front door, nearly tripping myself in my haste. I staggered to one side but managed to avoid falling flat on my face in the foyer.
JT’s voice floated along the hallway toward me. “I’m out back.”
I dumped my violin and bag in my studio and rushed toward the back of the house, Finnegan trotting up to meet me. I gave him a quick scratch on the head but kept moving. As I reached the kitchen, the rumble of additional male voices alerted me to the fact that JT wasn’t alone out in the yard. I stepped out onto the porch and stopped.
Right. It was Tuesday night. Band night.
Every Tuesday, JT and the three other members of his band got together to practice and enjoy a beer afterward. I’d caught them in the midst of the latter ritual.
“Hey, Midori.” Hamish, a guitarist, grinned at me from his Adirondack chair. “You sound kinda anxious to see JT. Miss him or something?”
I was used to Hamish’s teasing and ignored him, aside from sending a glare his way.
“Everything okay?” JT asked. He too lounged in an Adirondack chair, a can of beer in one hand.
I squelched my impatience. I wanted to talk to him about what I’d found during my spot of snooping at the church, but I didn’t want an audience. Especially one that included Hamish. I knew I’d have to wait until the guys left, even though I didn’t want to.
“Everything’s fine.” I focused on the only person who hadn’t yet spoken, a smile overtaking my impatient scowl. “Hi, Aaron.”
The drummer saluted me with his beer can. “All right?”
My smile broadened at the sound of his British accent. It sounded as dreamy as he looked, with his rich brown skin and dimples that always made an appearance when he smiled.
“Yes, thanks.”
He flashed that dimpled smile at me then, and I forgot my annoyance at having to wait to speak to JT alone. Aaron was the newest member of the band, and this was only the third time I’d met him. Whenever he spoke to me or brought out that smile of his, my stomach flip-flopped in a giddy, pleasant way.
“Why don’t you grab yourself something to drink and join us?” JT suggested.
I did just that, fetching a can of root beer from the fridge. My choice of beverage earned me a comment from Hamish about not being able to handle the real thing, but I simply said, “Shut up, Hamish,” and settled into the empty chair next to Aaron.
“Rafael’s not here tonight?” I asked, noting the absence of the fourth band member.
“And good thing,” Hamish said.
“He’s got the flu,” JT explained.
I made a face. “Poor guy.”
After taking a long drink of my root beer, I asked about the songs the guys had worked on that night. We talked about their music for a half hour or so as darkness took a stronger hold around us. Moths danced in the yellow glow of the porch light, and crickets chirped in the shadows. The air cooled and I was ready to go inside to seek some warmth when the guys broke up the gathering.
I lingered in the kitchen while JT walked to the front door with his bandmates. At least, I thought all three of them had gone down the hall, but Aaron surprised me by popping his head back into the kitchen.
“Midori?”
I tossed my empty root beer can in the recycling bin and faced him.
“Do you want to grab a bite to eat next weekend?”
My heart danced a little jig in my chest. Despite that, I opened my mouth to turn him down, to tell him I was already seeing someone. But then I remembered that I wasn’t. Hans and I were finished.
I smiled. “Sure. That would be great.”
“Brilliant.” I caught a flash of his dimples before he said, “Cheers,” and disappeared down the hall.
I stood in the middle of the kitchen, processing what had happened.
I had a date. With a really cute guy.
My smile morphed into a goofy grin.
Maybe my love life wasn’t on such a bad track after all.
The front door shut with a thud and the dead bolt locked with a clunk. JT and Finnegan returned to the kitchen without Aaron and Hamish.
“What’s up with you?” JT asked when he saw my goofy expression.
“Nothing.” I busied myself with shutting and locking the back door, doing my best to replace my grin with a neutral expression.
“So what was it you were so worked up about?”
I slapped my hands on top of my head. “I can’t believe I forgot about that.”
A trace of amusement lit up JT’s eyes. “Aaron did seem to distract you.”
My hands went from my head to my hips. “Don’t tease. I have something important to tell you.”
He settled himself on a stool at the breakfast bar. “I’m listening . . .”
Excitement tingled up my spine as I prepared to share my news. “I found evidence that Reverend McAllister is guilty.”
Chapter 21
“GUILTY OF WHAT?”
I nearly rolled my eyes right out of my head. “JT, where have you been for the past week?”
“I mean in relation to which crime. The murder? The arson? One of the break-ins? All of the above?”
“All of them.” I rethought my answer. “Or at least some of them.”
JT didn’t look nearly as impressed as I thought he should.
“The intruder who broke into Mrs. Landolfi’s basement the night I was there wore a dark hooded sweatshirt with white writing on the hood.”
“Okay. So?”
“So, Reverend McAllister has a black hoodie with white writing o
n the hood. I saw it with my own eyes. It was hanging on the back of his office door.”
“And you think that means McAllister was the intruder?”
“Well, duh!”
“Dori, how many people in Vancouver alone do you think own a black or dark hoodie with white writing on the hood?”
I opened my mouth to respond and shut it again. Some of my excitement fizzled away, leaving me feeling like a can of root beer left standing open for too long.
“Exactly,” JT said to my silence.
I slumped onto the stool next to him, but a second later I perked up. “Okay, but how many people connected to the crimes have a sweatshirt like that? McAllister had a motive to kill Jeremy, the murder happened right in his church, and he owns a sweatshirt like the one the intruder wore.”
“All right, so it’s another connection,” JT conceded. “But don’t be surprised if the police don’t jump up and down with excitement when you tell them.”
“Hmm. I guess I should tell them, huh?” That hadn’t yet occurred to me, even though it probably should have. “And I won’t be surprised if they’re not excited. I don’t think Bachman and Salnikova would jump up and down with excitement even if they won the Lotto Max jackpot.” I glanced at the clock on the wall above the kitchen sink. “I’ll call them in the morning.”
I tapped my fingers on the granite countertop. I had to admit that pegging McAllister as the guilty party didn’t explain why Ray (assuming it was Ray in custody) had broken into Jeremy’s basement suite. But that incident wasn’t necessarily related to the others. McAllister could still be guilty of killing Jeremy, setting the fire, and committing the first break-in at Mrs. Landolfi’s and the one at my apartment.
Whether my information about the hoodie would help lead the police to arrest the reverend, I didn’t know. I only knew that I believed the information was important. I’d share it with the detectives, and what they did with it from there was up to them. I hoped they’d take the tip seriously, though. If McAllister was guilty of even half of what I suspected, he needed to be behind bars before he had the chance to commit any more crimes.
“Did Aaron ask you out?”
I didn’t expect JT’s question or the change in subject, so it took me a few ticks of the clock’s second hand to steer my mind in the new direction.
“Yes, he did.”
“And did you say yes?”
I sat up straighter as worry gnawed at me. “Is that okay?”
JT gave me an odd look. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you don’t want me to date a member of your band.”
“That’s not an issue.”
He said nothing more, but I knew that wasn’t the end of it. I didn’t know if it was something in his eyes or a vibe he emitted, but I could tell he wasn’t happy for me.
“Then what’s wrong?” My recent experience with Hans flashed through my mind. “Aaron is single, isn’t he?”
“As far as I know.”
“No secret wife or girlfriend hidden away back in England?”
A grin tugged at one corner of JT’s mouth. “If she were a secret, I wouldn’t know about her, would I?”
I checked my pockets for my phone but they were empty. “I should Google him.” I slipped off my stool and dashed down the hall to my studio.
“Seriously?” JT called after me.
It only took me three seconds to retrieve my phone from my bag. As soon as I had it in hand, I skedaddled back to the kitchen and resumed my perch at the breakfast bar.
I accessed the Internet and paused, thumbs hovering over the touch screen. “What’s his last name?”
JT shook his head as if he thought I’d lost mine but he answered my question. “Howsham.”
“Oh, good. Not too common.”
I typed Aaron’s name into the search bar and pressed enter. I blinked and the search results appeared. I scanned through them. Aside from a couple links to social media profiles and an article about his previous band, the Web didn’t have much to say about him. I gave the article and the profiles a quick glance but nothing set red flags waving in my head.
“Anything?”
“Nope. Thank God.” I added the word ‘girlfriend’ to his name for another search. When that brought nothing to light, I tried one last search, this time replacing ‘girlfriend’ with ‘married.’
JT watched from his seat at my elbow. “Again, seriously?”
“Can you blame me for wanting to be careful this time?” When my latest search yielded no relevant results, a small puff of relief wafted through my body.
“No, I don’t blame you.”
A note of solemnity had entered his voice. It grabbed my attention, and I remembered what had put me on this track in the first place.
“What’s wrong? Why don’t you want me going out with Aaron?”
JT shifted on his stool and his eyes strayed down to Finnegan. “I just don’t want you rushing into anything if you still need time to get over the fiasco with Clausen.”
I leaned toward him and hugged his upper arm, resting my head on his shoulder. “You’re a good friend, JT.” I straightened up but kept one arm looped around his. “I can’t say that Hans didn’t hurt me, but I’m working on getting over it. And Aaron might even help me get over it.”
“So he’ll be your rebound guy?”
I released my loose grip on his arm and swatted his biceps. “I’m not saying he’ll be my anything guy. All I’ve agreed to so far is one date. If that goes well and he’s still interested . . .” I sighed, my thoughts drifting in a slightly different direction. “I just want someone in my life, you know? The right someone.”
“Yes. I know the feeling.”
Something in his voice told me that he really did understand, and I wondered if he had some of the same concerns about his life as I had about mine. I considered asking him about it, even though I wasn’t sure it was a topic a guy would want to get into in depth, but he didn’t give me a chance.
He got up from his stool. “I’m going to watch some news. How about you?”
“No. I think I’ll head straight to bed.”
“Come on, Finnegan.”
Finn jumped to his feet and anticipated JT’s next move, trotting off down the hall.
“Good night,” JT called over his shoulder as he followed his canine companion.
“Night.”
I remained at the breakfast bar for another minute or two after JT and Finnegan retired to the living room. Considering the sincerity behind JT’s words moments earlier, I had to question how he felt about Shauna. I knew that they’d only met recently, but something told me he hadn’t yet found what he was looking for in his relationship with her.
For some reason that filled me with little bubbles of something I couldn’t quite identify. Hope? Happiness?
Whatever the feeling was, I squashed it before it could take on its full shape.
I didn’t even know Shauna. I shouldn’t want JT to break up with her. I should only want him to do whatever made him happiest.
I swallowed back the fear that I was a bad friend and refused to examine the source of my sudden confusion of thoughts and feelings. I was tired and had a lot on my mind. Most likely Mikayla’s comments from the night before were playing tricks on my sleep-hungry brain.
The best thing for me to do was to get to bed. In the morning I would talk to the police and tell them about McAllister and his black hooded sweatshirt.
WHEN I MADE my way downstairs the following morning, the house was silent. JT and Finnegan were both absent, as was Finn’s leash, so I figured they’d gone off on an early morning walk or run. I munched my way through an apple and sipped at a cappuccino while I checked e-mail on my phone.
I had a message from one of my adult students letting me know she was sic
k and wouldn’t be at her lesson that day. I sent off a quick reply to tell her I’d received her message and I hoped she’d feel better soon. As I hit send, a phone call came through from my mom. Even though my parents lived out of town, they’d read about Jeremy’s murder, and were alarmed that someone who played in the same orchestra as I did had been killed in such a violent manner. I did my best to reassure my mom that I was safe, even though I didn’t know if that was the case. I omitted any mention of the fire, the break-in at my apartment, or the fact that I was camped out at JT’s place for fear that someone might try to harm me again.
Once I’d put my mom’s mind at ease and ended the phone call, I dialed the number on the card Salnikova had given me on the night of Jeremy’s murder. The detective’s phone rang four times and went to voice mail. I paced the kitchen as I listened to detective Salnikova’s recorded voice, pausing by the sink when a beep sounded in my ear. I left a brief message, stating that I had some information to share and asking her to contact me.
I hung up and put my cappuccino cup in the dishwasher before heading to the foyer to pull on my black high-heeled boots. It was frustrating that I couldn’t talk to Salnikova right then, but I decided to focus on what I could do—visit the church again and try to find more evidence to link McAllister to Jeremy’s death and the other crimes.
I was certain JT wouldn’t approve of my plan, so I hoped to slip out of the house before he and Finnegan returned from their morning outing. I only made it as far as the front porch before I realized that the clear sky of the day before had clouded over. A cool breeze rustled the leaves of the rhododendron bush next to the front steps, and the thick gray clouds held a promise of rain.
I ducked back inside the house and dashed up the stairs to retrieve a light jacket from the guest room. Then I was back down, out the door, and on my way to the church, still with no sign of JT or Finnegan.
The bus dropped me off two blocks from the church, the closest it was possible to get by public transportation. Despite the disappearance of the spring sunshine, I enjoyed the short walk to my destination. The cool air was fresh, and the light wind only helped to waft the sweet smells of spring toward my appreciative nose.