Death in a Major

by Sarah Fox

  Pushing those thoughts aside and with my hot drink in hand, I returned to my studio and prepared for the arrival of my first student of the day.

  Teaching was something I normally enjoyed, but that day I was extra eager to dive into several hours of lessons. While focused on my students, I didn’t have time to dwell on other things. Like Aaron. Or deaths that might have been murder. Because of that, I managed to teach five students without having to deal with unwanted thoughts. But that respite wasn’t to last.

  As I waved goodbye to my last student of the day, Jordan Duffy walked up the concrete path to the house. For a second I thought he must have mistakenly believed it was Tuesday—­one of his usual lesson days—­but then I realized he didn’t have his violin with him. His normally cheerful face seemed pulled down by what I guessed was grief, and he lacked the usual spring to his step.

  I waited on the front porch as he approached. “Hey, Jordan,” I said when he reached the bottom of the steps. “What’s going on?”

  “My mom’s over on Dunbar Street buying some groceries. She sent me to ask if you could come to our place for my lessons this week. My grandfather died a few days ago and my mom says she’s got too much going on to be driving me around town. I told her I could take the bus, but she wouldn’t listen.” When I didn’t answer right away, he added, “She’ll pay extra.”

  “I’m sorry about your grandfather,” I said. “I was at the reception when he collapsed—­I’m sure this is a tough time for your family. I can come to your place for a week or two. We’ll just have to change the time of your lessons, because I can’t be late for orchestra rehearsals.”

  “Can we keep them on Tuesday and Thursday? I have sports after school every other day of the week.”

  I considered that request. “That might be tricky. I’d have to come by after rehearsals and that would mean starting your lesson around nine p.m.”

  “Is that too late?”

  “I suppose not, on a temporary basis, at least. That’s not too late for you?”

  “Nah. I never go to bed before eleven. Nine is fine.”

  I wasn’t sure if his mom would be so agreeable. “Tell you what, run that by your mom and she can e-­mail me with her final answer. All right?”

  Jordan nodded, but he made no move to leave.

  “How are you holding up?” I asked.

  “All right.”

  Despite his response, he looked so sad that I didn’t have the heart to send him away right then.

  So instead I sat down on the top step and patted the spot next to me.

  “Why don’t we sit for a minute?”

  Jordan climbed the steps and sank down next to me. “Did you know my grandfather was murdered?”

  The question took me by surprise and a second or two ticked by before I responded. “I heard that foul play was suspected.”

  Jordan stared off toward the tree-­lined street. “The police told us this morning that it’s officially a murder investigation. My grandfather was poisoned.”

  Salnikova must have received the results she was waiting for.

  I swallowed back a welling of sympathy for my student. It was bad enough that he’d lost his grandfather, but knowing someone had deliberately killed him must have made it worse.

  “That’s terrible, Jordan. I’m sorry.”

  His shoulders rose and dropped in a lifeless shrug. “It’s not surprising, really. My grandfather was a total a—­” He glanced at me and revised his description. “He wasn’t a very nice guy.”

  Even though I’d gathered as much from Friday night’s reception, I found it incredibly sad that Mr. Major’s grandson held such an opinion of him. Did that mean the old codger hadn’t had enough kindness in him to cultivate a positive relationship with Jordan? As sad as it made me to acknowledge it, I knew the answer was most likely yes.

  “Did your grandfather have any enemies that you know of?” As soon as I asked the question I wanted to kick myself. Switching into amateur sleuth mode wasn’t what Jordan needed from me.

  He didn’t bat an eye at the question, though. “Plenty. Not that I could name any of them, but I know he pissed ­people off on a regular basis, including my uncle Kevin.”

  My eyebrows rose an inch or two with his last words. “You think your uncle might have killed your grandfather?”

  “No.” Fierce intensity replaced the dullness in Jordan’s blue eyes. “I don’t think he did it. I know he did.”

  Surprise stuck my tongue to the bottom of my mouth. The little I knew about Kevin Major—­gleaned from his conversation with his sister on Friday night—­didn’t give me any reason to doubt that he belonged on the suspect list. Clearly he harbored anger toward his father, and his final words before he stormed out of the theater that night could easily have been construed as ominous, if not threatening, but what startled me was Jordan’s intense certainty about his uncle’s guilt.

  After several seconds I managed to shake off enough of my surprise to wiggle my tongue loose. “How do you know?”

  Jordan glared out toward the street. “My uncle’s a criminal. He’s been in and out of jail my whole life and he always wanted money from my grandfather, but my grandfather refused to give him any. They had a huge fight a few days ago and I heard my uncle threaten to kill my grandfather.”

  Yikes. Maybe Jordan really had fingered the killer.

  “Have you told this to the police?”

  “I told them but I don’t know if they took me seriously. I mean, who’s going to listen to a fourteen-­year-­old?”

  “Did you talk to a female detective? Detective Salnikova?”

  “Yeah. You know her?”

  “Sort of. I’m sure she’ll consider everything you told her.”

  He shrugged again, clearly unconvinced. He sat up straighter and focused his eyes on me. “Maybe if you talk to her. She’ll probably take you more seriously.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “Please, Midori. My uncle should be in jail.”

  It was hard to ignore the desperate plea in his blue eyes.

  “I don’t know what I could tell her that would do any good.”

  “Just make sure she investigates my uncle.”

  I tugged on my left ear as I thought over his request. There really wasn’t any reason to say no. Salnikova might not listen to me, but I could at least talk to her to appease Jordan. There was no harm in that.

  “All right,” I said. “I can’t promise that it will make any difference, but I’ll talk to her.”

  Jordan’s shoulders relaxed. “Thanks, Midori.” He stood up. “I’d better go find my mom.”

  “See you tomorrow,” I said as he headed for the sidewalk.

  Once he’d disappeared from sight, I returned to my studio and checked my phone. Aaron had texted me, wanting to know when he could see me next. A big lump of dread lodged itself in my stomach. What was I supposed to say?

  With relief I realized I wouldn’t have a chance to see him for two days. I had another concert that night, and the next night we’d both be busy—­Aaron with band practice and me with a rehearsal at the theater. That meant Wednesday was the earliest option. Guilt adding to the weight of the dread in my stomach, I sent him a quick reply to tell him that.

  As I slipped my phone into my purse, JT tapped on the open door of my studio.

  “Hey, do you have a few minutes?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “I’ve got a pot of chili cooking. I thought you might want a bite to eat before your concert.”

  My stomach rumbled, reminding me of the fact that I hadn’t eaten for hours. “Yum. Sounds good.”

  I followed JT down the hall to the kitchen, giving Finnegan a scratch on the head as the happy canine trotted along beside me. While JT ladled the chili into bowls, I perched on one of the stools at the granite
breakfast bar.

  “Thanks,” I said when he set a bowl in front of me.

  JT sat down next to me and Finnegan settled at our feet, watching with hopeful eyes for any tidbits of food that might tumble down to his level.

  “I was thinking I should come to one of your concerts later this month.”

  I brightened. “Really? That would be nice. It’s been a while since you last came to one.”

  “Almost a year, I think. Too long. My mom and stepdad would probably like to come too.”

  “Cool.”

  “Has Aaron been to one of your concerts yet?”

  Despite the delicious smell of the chili, my appetite slipped away. “No, not yet.”

  “I bet he’d like to.”

  “You think so?”

  “Of course. Like I said before, he’s really into you.”

  I was so busy fighting my unpleasant feelings that I wasn’t sure if I’d detected something odd in JT’s voice.

  “Something wrong?” he asked as I slid off my stool.

  I shook my head and made my way around the breakfast bar. “Just getting a glass of water. Want one?”

  “Sure.”

  I could sense his eyes on me as I filled two glasses with cold water. Sure enough, when I turned back to the counter, his brown eyes were focused on my face.

  “Something is wrong.”

  Hiding things from him was next to impossible, but I really didn’t want to discuss Aaron. I set down our drinks and slid back onto my stool, buying myself some time.

  “You know my student Jordan?” Yes, I was deflecting his attention away from the subject of Aaron, but that was something I really needed to do at the moment.

  JT thought for a second. “Blond hair? Teenager?”

  “That’s him. He was just here to ask about rearranging his lesson schedule. His grandfather was the guy who died at the reception on Friday night.”

  “Really? That’s rough.”

  I chewed on a mouthful of chili and nodded. Once I’d swallowed, I said, “And it turns out he was definitely murdered. Poisoned.”

  Although I hadn’t seen Jordan’s uncle set foot inside the reception room at the theater, I wondered if Jordan could be right, if his uncle really had killed his grandfather. It wasn’t something I could rule out, even though Kevin Major hadn’t had access to Mr. Major’s coffee that night. There was always the possibility that he’d had access to the flask.

  “I can see why you’re preoccupied then,” JT said as he scooped more chili onto his spoon. “But you’re still not launching an investigation of your own, right?”

  “Of course not.” I hopped down from my stool and took my dishes to the sink, trying to ignore the tiny voice in my head that questioned the veracity of that statement. But I really didn’t have any intention of launching a full-­scale amateur investigation. Although I decided it probably would be best not to mention the fact that I’d agreed to talk to Detective Salnikova on Jordan’s behalf. JT might not take that the right way. If there was a right way to take it.

  “Dor—­”

  “Thanks for dinner,” I said, not giving him the chance to say anything more. “I’d better run or I’ll be late.”

  I gave Finnegan a quick pat on the head and waved to JT as I fled down the hall to my studio. I didn’t want to address the fact that he didn’t believe me. Mostly because he was right not to. Even at that moment, thoughts of motives and suspects filled my head.

  Maybe I wasn’t mixed up in the investigation yet (not too mixed up in it, anyway), but there was no way I could promise that the situation wouldn’t change. In fact, after seeing the heartbreaking mix of emotions in Jordan’s eyes, I didn’t think I’d be able to stay out of it. Whether Kevin Major was the murderer or not, Jordan needed closure. And if I could help him get it, that’s what I’d do.

  Chapter Seven

  WHEN I REACHED the Abrams Center, I changed out of my jeans and into my black concert clothes. After shoving all my belongings in my locker, I scanned the musicians’ lounge for Mikayla. I caught her eye and motioned to her to join me across the room. She said a few words to the ­people she was with and detached herself from their group. As soon as she was within reach, I took her arm and pulled her into a relatively quiet corner of the room.

  Although I didn’t want to talk about Aaron with JT, I did want to talk about him with Mikayla. I needed to.

  “What’s up?” she asked with concern.

  I lowered my voice so no one else would hear me. “There must be something wrong with me.”

  “Okay,” Mikayla said, drawing the word out as she raised one eyebrow. “Does this have something to do with Aaron?”

  I was surprised that she’d caught on so quickly. “How did you know?”

  “Maybe because you weren’t excited about him coming back from London?”

  Oh. Right.

  My shoulders sagged. “I was hoping things would be better when I actually saw him.”

  “But I’m guessing they weren’t.”

  “No.” I leaned my back against the wall, tempted to let myself slide down to the floor in a heap. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with you. You’re just not feeling it. That’s the way it goes sometimes.”

  “But Aaron’s great. He’s sweet and kind and gorgeous. And he has the dreamiest accent. I want to be crazy about him. I do. So why aren’t I?”

  Mikayla shrugged. “You can’t force chemistry.”

  I closed my eyes, my heavy dread fusing into a hard, unbreakable rock of certainty. “Oh God. I have to break up with him, don’t I?”

  “Sounds like it.”

  I forced my eyes back open. “But I don’t want to hurt him. I really, really don’t.”

  “It’s tough,” Mikayla said, “but if it needs to be done, it needs to be done. Putting it off will only make it harder on both of you.”

  I groaned and dropped my head into my hands. I knew she was right.

  Mikayla put her arms around me and gave me a hug. “Sorry, hon. I know that’s not what you wanted to hear.”

  “No, but it’s what I needed to hear. It’s what I already knew but didn’t want to accept.”

  I blinked back tears as she gave me another hug before letting go.

  “You’ll be okay,” she assured me. “I promise. But it’s best to get it over with so you can both move on.”

  “I know.” I tried for a smile, though happiness eluded me at that moment. “Thanks, Mikayla.”

  She gave my arm a sympathetic squeeze before nudging me toward my locker. “We’d better get our instruments. It’s almost time to head for the stage.”

  I retrieved my violin, glad to have an evening of music on the horizon to help calm me. While Mikayla had told me what I needed to hear, her words hadn’t made me feel any better. If anything, I felt worse.

  Now I knew for certain that I had to hurt Aaron, and it was impossible to view that scenario in any sort of positive light. I was a terrible person. I had to be. But at least I could lose myself in Rachmaninoff’s music for the next two hours.

  THE CONCERT WAS as much of a success as the first one of the season. More of a success, actually, considering that nobody died. Sure, Major had died at the reception after the first concert, but the incident had cast a shadow over the entire evening. This time, however, the post-­concert mood was a happy one, thrumming with the energy of dozens of musicians pleased with their performance and the audience’s reaction to it.

  I basked in the thrill of the standing ovation all the way back to the musicians’ lounge. It was only when I reached my locker that my mood sank back down to its pre-­concert depth. The knowledge that I had to break up with Aaron the next time I saw him boomed inside my head, over and over like a deep drumbeat, impossible to ignore.

  Weighed down
by my thoughts, I tucked my violin in its case and loosened my bow. Bronwyn arrived at her locker, located next to mine, and chatted away with her stand partner as she clicked open her combination lock. I was reaching for my jacket when Bronwyn’s shoulder bag fell from her locker and hit the floor. The contents spilled out onto the carpet, keys and tubes of lipstick mixed in with a compact and a package of Mentos.

  But that wasn’t all. A gold brooch with a gleaming sapphire had also spilled out of the bag. I stared down at the piece of jewelry, and so did several other ­people. Slowly, a hush settled over the lounge.

  “What the . . .”

  The words came from Bronwyn. I raised my eyes from the mess on the floor and took in the sight of her stunned, puzzled expression.

  I wanted to say something, but didn’t know what. The silence returned, but it seemed to thrum with tension. A shadow fell over the fallen shoulder bag.

  Elena had arrived on the scene.

  “My brooch!” She swooped down and snatched the jewelry from the ground. She pinned her fierce gaze on Bronwyn, her blue eyes full of icy fire. “You’re a thief!”

  Bronwyn’s eyes widened. “No! I’m not. I swear!”

  “Don’t bother denying it.” Elena held up the brooch. “Everyone here saw this fall out of your bag.”

  “No.” Bronwyn said the word faintly, fear and shock written clearly on her face.

  Elena ignored her denial. “You’ll be thrown out of the orchestra for this. Maybe you’ll even get tossed in jail. It would serve you right.”

  Spinning around on her heel, Elena marched out of the lounge. Janine hurried after her, but not before I caught a hint of a smirk on her face.

  My eyes followed the two of them out of the room but then returned to Bronwyn. Her back was against the bank of lockers, her face alarmingly pale. Concerned, I grabbed one of her arms and Mikayla took the other. Together we guided Bronwyn over to one of the couches and got her to sit down.

  Around us, ­people began talking again, but their voices were lowered to whispers and several pairs of eyes kept darting in our direction.