Death in a Major

by Sarah Fox

  “Do you know her name?”

  “Frances Barlow. The lawyer’s going to try to track her down.”

  “That really must have been quite a shock, finding out about her.”

  “You’re not kidding. Who knows what other secrets my grandfather was hiding.”

  Indeed. And could one of his secrets have led to his murder? Or was the motive simply financial? If that was the case, maybe this newly revealed daughter deserved a place on the suspect list. Perhaps Major’s family hadn’t been aware of her, but if she’d been aware of her biological father and somehow knew that she stood to inherit, she could have done away with him. That theory was a bit of a stretch, considering that I had no evidence she knew who her biological father was, let alone that she had enough of a relationship with him to know he would leave her money upon his death. But it was still something to consider.

  I wondered if Detective Salnikova and her colleagues had given it any thought. If they’d seen the will, which I guessed they probably had, they would know about Frances, but I didn’t know if they would view her as a viable suspect. Then again, I didn’t know if she really was a viable suspect. And there was still Dr. Beaufort to consider.

  Between my thoughts of JT and the murder, my head was spinning. Nothing made much sense to me at the moment and all I wanted to do right then was retreat back into the comfort and safety of my music. I ended my conversation with Jordan and returned to my studio. For the remaining minutes before my next student arrived, I immersed myself in Rimsky-­Korsakov’s music, pushing all my confusion aside, if only temporarily.

  BY THE TIME Mikayla picked me up to drive me to the Abrams Center for our rehearsal, my mind, although not clear, was at least calmer. But Mikayla wasn’t about to let me avoid the disagreeable subjects that had plagued my thoughts lately.

  As she merged into the evening traffic on Dunbar Street, she asked, “What’s going on? You said in your text message that you’d tell me later why you needed a ride tonight.”

  “Mr. Major’s son attacked me last night.”

  Mikayla’s brown eyes widened. “What? Are you serious?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Oh my God. Are you okay?”

  I touched the bruise on my cheek, glad I’d managed to conceal it with makeup. “I’m fine,” I assured her. “Just a few scrapes and bruises. But it was scary and he’s still out there somewhere.”

  “Wow. No wonder you don’t want to be walking to and from the bus stop in the dark. But why the heck would he attack you? How does he even know you?”

  I started off by telling her that Major had died as a result of foul play rather than natural causes. Once she’d expressed surprise about that, I recounted some of what had taken place at Major’s house when I’d gone to teach Jordan’s lesson, leaving out any mention of Dr. Beaufort. I wanted to know more about the doctor and his motives before I told anyone other than the police about him.

  As I finished telling the story about Kevin Major, Mikayla shook her head in disbelief.

  “Crazy. I hope the police find him soon and lock him up. But I can give you a ride any time. You know that, right?”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  Several raindrops hit the windshield and Mikayla flicked on the wipers. A few seconds ticked by before she glanced my way and said, “Not to dwell on unpleasant subjects, but did you do it?”

  I didn’t need any clarification. I knew she was asking if I’d broken up with Aaron.

  “Yes. Yesterday morning.”

  “And?” she prompted as she made a left turn.

  “And it was as bad as I expected. I felt like the worst person in the world. You should have seen the look on his face when he realized I was breaking up with him.” I cringed at the memory.

  “But it had to be done. Now you can both move on.”

  “I suppose.”

  I tugged at my left ear, my thoughts straying to JT. Part of me wanted to tell Mikayla all about my recent revelation. It would be a relief to share my feelings with someone, and I knew she’d be happy for me. But I also knew she’d push me to tell JT, to find out if there was any chance that he felt the same way. I wasn’t sure if she’d understand my fear of ruining what he and I had.

  In the end, that fear kept me quiet. It would be best for me to keep my feelings entirely to myself, safely locked away. I needed to find a way to go on as normal with JT, to ensure that nothing became awkward between us, and the best way to do that was to try and forget about the fact that I was in love with him. Maybe it wouldn’t be possible to forget, but if I could at least push that knowledge to the back of my mind, perhaps everything would be all right. I had to hope that was the case.

  Fortunately, Mikayla didn’t catch on to the fact that something was bothering me and she went on to ask if I’d come up with any ideas about how we could help Bronwyn.

  “Not yet,” I said, wishing my answer could have been different.

  “We might not be able to help her, you know,” Mikayla said. “I don’t like to say that, but I think we should be prepared for that possibility.”

  “I know.” I hated the words as they came out of my mouth, but I knew Mikayla was right. I hadn’t made any progress with finding the real thief or any sort of exculpatory evidence that would help Bronwyn. As much as I wanted to clear her name, I was no longer certain that I could.

  Mikayla spent the rest of the drive chatting about her job as a high school orchestra teacher, and I appreciated the distraction from all my dispirited thoughts. When we reached the theater, I spent a few minutes talking to some of the other members of the orchestra before heading out of the musicians’ lounge with my violin, bow, and folder of music. As I headed down the carpeted hallway that led from the lounge toward the stage, I stopped short.

  Elena was walking toward me, cellist Johnson Lau at her side. Johnson smiled at me as they passed, but Elena completely ignored me. I expected no different from her, and her lack of acknowledgment didn’t bother me in the least. I was far too focused on something else.

  I turned around and watched them as they disappeared into the musicians’ lounge. My eyes hadn’t deceived me. There was no mistaking it—­along with her designer jeans and expensive top, Elena was wearing the beautiful gray boots I’d admired at the shoe store.

  Maybe they weren’t the exact same pair from the same store, but that didn’t matter. Even if the shop still had a pair in my size, there was no way I was going to hand over any sum of money to look similar to Elena. And not just because I didn’t like her. If she ever caught me wearing boots like hers, she’d probably think I was copying her, trying to be like her. She was one of the last ­people I wanted to be like, but just knowing she would think that was enough to send my stomach into an unpleasant twist.

  Still rooted to the spot, I glared at the door to the musicians’ lounge. Trust Elena to ruin the one thing I was looking forward to that week. Although she’d had no clue that I wanted those boots, I still couldn’t help but direct all my disappointment and frustration at her. If anyone else had walked into the theater in those boots, it wouldn’t have been quite so bad. But of course it had to be Elena. That was the kind of week it was.

  Letting out a quiet growl, I spun around and continued on down the hall, an invisible dark cloud hovering above my head. I’d barely made it half a dozen steps when a man’s voice called out my name. I paused and turned back. Dr. Daniel Beaufort hurried along the hall to catch up with me. I stiffened, remembering that the last glimpse I’d caught of him was as he’d escaped from Major’s study.

  “Ms. Bishop, could I have a moment of your time?” Beaufort kept his voice low despite the fact that we were currently alone in the hallway.

  “Sure,” I said, although I had serious reservations about talking to him, especially without anyone else in sight.

  Did he know I was the one who had disturbed hi
m in Major’s home, or had he fled before he’d had a chance to recognize me?

  His next words assured me that it was the former.

  “About the other night at Mr. Major’s home . . .” He paused and waited as two cellists emerged from the musicians’ lounge and made their way past us with their instruments. Once they were out of earshot he cleared his throat and continued. “I think there’s been an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

  I couldn’t stop my eyebrows from rising an inch. I wasn’t quite sure how he could characterize it as a misunderstanding. “I take it the police talked to you.”

  He tugged at the left cuff of his dress shirt. “They did. A rather uncomfortable experience, I must say.”

  “It wasn’t exactly comfortable for me to have to identify you as a thief,” I pointed out.

  “Thief?” He almost choked on the word. “I assure you, I’m not a thief. As I said, there’s been a misunderstanding.”

  “Okay, so maybe you didn’t take anything from Major’s house,” I said, although I didn’t know if he had or hadn’t, “but you were there without permission, going through his belongings. What was I supposed to think?”

  Three more musicians made their way past us on their way to the stage.

  Beaufort waited for them to pass and lowered his voice further. “If I’d been inside Mr. Major’s house without permission, it would only have been for the sake of the orchestra.”

  “If? And for the sake of the orchestra?” I couldn’t make much sense out of his words, aside from the fact that I’d gathered he wasn’t admitting or outright denying that he’d broken into Major’s house.

  “It’s rather a long story.”

  “One which you told to the police, I hope.”

  “Actually, that’s why I wanted to speak with you.”

  Uh-­oh. I didn’t like the sound of that.

  “I’m sure you understand that I didn’t want to get charged with breaking and entering.”

  Then you shouldn’t have committed the crime, I wanted to tell him. But I kept quiet and let him continue.

  “So I denied that I was at Mr. Major’s residence.”

  I stared at him. “But you were there.”

  He loosened his blue silk tie a fraction, as if to allow himself to breathe more easily. “Perhaps you were mistaken in what you saw?”

  All the pieces clicked into place and I finally understood what he was getting at. “You want me to recant my statement? To tell the police that I’m not so sure after all that it was you I saw?”

  Relief wiped the strained expression from his face. “For the sake of the orchestra, of course. I knew you’d understand.”

  But I don’t understand, I wanted to say.

  He didn’t give me the chance. As Mikayla and several other musicians emerged from the lounge, Dr. Beaufort sent a quick nod my way and hurried off down the hallway. I stood there staring after him, completely befuddled.

  “What was that about?” Mikayla asked when she reached my side, having noticed Beaufort’s departure.

  I fell into step with her and we headed toward the stage, my thoughts in a crazy whirlwind. “I couldn’t tell you,” I said as we walked, “because I’m not so sure myself.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE REHEARSAL MEANT that I didn’t have much time that evening to think about my encounter with Dr. Beaufort. Instead I spent the next two hours immersed in the music of Rimsky-­Korsakov. After Mikayla dropped me off at home later that night, however, I couldn’t think of much other than Beaufort. He even overshadowed my aggravation with Elena and thoughts of Bronwyn, Aaron, and JT.

  How the doctor’s evening of breaking and entering could have been for the sake of the Point Grey Philharmonic, I didn’t know. What I did know was that his reasons for committing the crime didn’t change the fact that it was a crime.

  Beaufort hadn’t seemed to notice that I’d never actually agreed to recant my statement, and I had no intention of doing so. I hoped that sticking to the truth wouldn’t jeopardize my job with the PGP, but I doubted that it would. If Beaufort tried to somehow get me fired in retribution, all I had to do was reveal the story about his evening of crime, with the police to back me up. Dr. Beaufort was the one likely to get the boot if that happened, and I knew he’d be well aware of that.

  All that aside, I couldn’t help but wonder what was so important to Beaufort that it would drive him to risk his reputation, his position as vice chair of the PGP’s executive committee, and his career by breaking into Major’s house. Maybe Jordan could find out—­if Dr. Beaufort hadn’t taken whatever he’d been looking for. Jordan was, after all, living in Mr. Major’s house and could snoop through his grandfather’s belongings if he were so inclined. And I guessed that he might be so inclined, especially if there was a possibility that his snooping could prove that someone other than his mother was the murderer.

  Why and how Beaufort would have gone about poisoning Mr. Major, I couldn’t even guess. Well, I could guess, but at the moment my guesses would be nothing more than wild speculation drawn only from my imagination. But that didn’t change the fact that Beaufort had behaved suspiciously, and in my mind his possible involvement in the murder needed to be investigated.

  Glancing at the clock on my kitchen wall, I realized with a touch of disappointment that it was too late to call Jordan that night. Enlisting his help would have to wait until the next day. In the meantime, I decided to get some sleep. Maybe some of my confusion would disappear during my slumber. I doubted it, but I could always hope.

  THE FIRST PERSON I talked to the next morning was Jordan. When I told him my idea, his initial response was less than enthusiastic, especially since I couldn’t offer him a possible reason for Beaufort to want Archibald Major dead.

  “But not knowing why he might have wanted him dead doesn’t mean he didn’t want him dead,” I pointed out as I spoke to my student over the phone.

  “True,” Jordan conceded.

  I dunked a teabag in a cup of hot water as I waited for him to think it over. I didn’t have to wait long.

  “All right, I guess I can take a look around. I’ll text you if I find anything.”

  It took some effort, but I managed to suppress my exclamation of triumph. Instead, I removed the teabag from the water and dropped it in the kitchen sink for the time being. As I wandered over to my small dining table, Jordan continued on.

  “And today will probably be a good day for it. My aunt’s determined to get my mom out of the house for a while and with Marjorie gone, I’ll be here on my own.”

  “Marjorie’s gone? Gone where?”

  “Off to a new job. She left first thing this morning.”

  “And you’re not going to school?”

  “Nah. I didn’t feel like it today and my mom said that was fine. I’ll go back to classes on Monday once the funeral is over with.”

  “When is the funeral?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon.”

  I pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. “Is it open to the public?”

  “Yes. You want to come?”

  “If that’s all right. I’d like to pay my respects.” More than that, I wanted a chance to scope out the attendees and watch for any suspicious behavior, but I didn’t mention that part.

  “Sure. There’s no reception after. Just a church ser­vice and a graveside ser­vice. I’ll text you the details later. In the meantime, what exactly am I supposed to be looking for?”

  I blew on my hot tea, rippling the surface. “I don’t actually know. Anything that strikes you as unusual or suspicious. Possibly something connected to the Point Grey Philharmonic or Dr. Beaufort in some way.”

  “Okay. I’ll see what I can find.”

  I could tell that he still had his doubts about the whole plan, but at least he’d agreed to it. After he assured me that he’d let
me know if the search turned up anything, we ended the call and I sipped at my tea.

  It was Friday and I had another concert that evening. I also had to teach most of the afternoon, so if I wanted to do any investigating I knew I had to do it that morning. The problem was that I didn’t know how to move forward. Unless and until Jordan found something to shed more light on Dr. Beaufort’s possible involvement, I didn’t think there was much of anything I could do to work on that angle.

  Actually, I didn’t think there was much of anything I could do to work on any angles of the case. But I decided to give it a try and see what I could come up with.

  Pushing my half-­finished tea to the side, I fetched my laptop from across the room and set it on the table. Once the computer had booted up, I opened the Web browser and stared at the empty search bar, thinking.

  While I doubted it would lead to anything helpful, I typed Dr. Daniel Beaufort’s name into the search bar and pressed enter. I was entirely unsurprised when numerous results popped up on my screen. I scrolled down the page, scanning the list for anything that stood out. Most of the results were links to the Web site for the hospital where Beaufort worked as a surgeon, links to the PGP’s Web site, or online articles about his medical work and involvement in charities.

  I clicked on a link to one of the more recent articles and spotted Beaufort in a photo of a group of smiling, expensively dressed ­people at a charity benefit. He stood in the front row, flanked by a fair-­haired man around his own age on his left and a woman with graying hair on his right. Archibald Major was also in the photo, standing three ­people away from Beaufort. I scanned through the article, but it didn’t provide me with any pertinent information. So Beaufort and Major had helped to raise money for the same charity. I didn’t think that was of any real interest.

  Another photo near the bottom of the article caught my eye. It showed the quartet of musicians who had provided live music at the benefit. I recognized Janine Ko and recalled that she’d mentioned she was playing in a quartet for extra money.