Death in a Major

by Sarah Fox

  Refocusing on my task, I hit the back button.

  After returning to the search results, I clicked on a random link to see what would pop up. It was a short announcement of Dr. Beaufort’s recent marriage to his long-­time partner, Timothy Grimes. A photograph accompanied the announcement, showing Beaufort with the fair-­haired man from the first photo accompanying the article I’d read only a minute earlier.

  I hit the back button once more and scrolled through the results one last time. Beaufort was married, a skilled surgeon, and actively involved in charity work. Great, but none of that told me whether he was or wasn’t a murderer.

  Disappointed, I was about to give up on researching Beaufort when one word caught my eye.

  Thefts.

  I clicked on the search result containing that word and another article popped up on my screen. It referred to the same charity benefit as the first article I’d read, but touched on something other than the live music and the purpose of the event. Apparently, some jewelry had gone missing during the benefit and the police suspected that the thefts were the work of an experienced pickpocket. He or she had slipped away with two watches and a bracelet, all worth a good deal of money.

  Bells dinged in my head. I read the article a second time. The charity event had taken place less than a month ago. Could the thefts that occurred at the benefit be related to the theft at the PGP’s reception?

  With a hum of excitement running through my bones, I considered the possibility. Similar objects were taken in both cases, and both events took place in Vancouver. If I could somehow link the two crimes, that would help Bronwyn. She wasn’t at the charity benefit, so she couldn’t have been responsible for those thefts.

  At least, I didn’t think she was at the charity benefit.

  Deciding that I should make sure, I grabbed my phone and sent off a quick text message to Bronwyn, seeking confirmation that she hadn’t been at the first event. While I waited for a response, I found a pen and a scrap of paper and made a list of everyone who had been at both the charity benefit and the PGP’s reception. The list included Archibald Major, Dr. Beaufort, and Janine Ko. For the moment, I added Bronwyn’s name to the end of the list with a question mark after it, hoping I could soon cross out her name. If for some reason she had been at the charity benefit, the case against her would be even stronger.

  Pushing that thought aside for the time being, I considered the other names on my list. Archibald Major was rich and had no need to steal for financial gain. Even if he stole from ­people to satisfy a warped sense of fun, why plant the brooch in Bronwyn’s bag? Could that also have been part of some twisted game? Maybe he simply wanted to cause trouble and watch it unfold. From what I’d learned about his personality recently, I wouldn’t have put it past him. At the same time, I had nothing but speculation to go on. I would need evidence, and with Mr. Major now deceased, that could be difficult to come by.

  Leaving Major’s name uncrossed, I moved on to Dr. Beaufort. Again, he had no need for money, as far as I could tell. As a successful surgeon, he no doubt had a good income, but there was always a possibility that he had a tendency to spend beyond his means, or an expensive habit like gambling to support. But he seemed less likely than Mr. Major to set Bronwyn up as a thief. Unless . . .

  I scooped up my phone and sent another message to Bronwyn.

  Have you ever had any trouble with anyone on the PGP’s board of directors?

  I left it at that, not wanting to name any names yet.

  Setting my phone aside, I stared at Janine’s name. Memories flashed through my mind.

  Janine mentioning her need for extra cash.

  Her new designer handbag.

  Maybe the handbag wasn’t a knockoff as Elena had suggested. Maybe Janine was able to buy the real thing with money obtained through stealing. Or perhaps she’d stolen the bag.

  My stomach sank as those thoughts went through my head. I didn’t like the idea of any of my fellow musicians being a thief, but if I wanted to help Bronwyn I had to look at all the possibilities. Of all the ­people on my list, Janine seemed to have the strongest motive for stealing.

  But I still couldn’t figure out why she would have planted the stolen jewelry in Bronwyn’s bag. Or could I?

  Janine and Bronwyn had both studied music at the University of British Columbia at the same time, a few years before I went through the program. I knew from Bronwyn that Janine had been in the front row of the first violin section of the university’s orchestra in the beginning, only two chairs away from the concertmaster. However, when the professor had tweaked the seating arrangements at the beginning of their third year in the program, he’d had Bronwyn and Janine switch places, basically demoting Janine. She hadn’t been pleased at the time.

  Maybe she blamed Bronwyn for the change. If that was the case, and she still held a grudge years later, it was entirely possible that she’d decided to get revenge by setting Bronwyn up to look like a thief so she’d get kicked out of the orchestra.

  I continued to stare at Janine’s name. Could she really be so devious?

  It would explain so much.

  But how could I prove it?

  My phone buzzed, the sound cutting through my thoughts. Bronwyn had replied to my texts, answering both questions in the negative. So she hadn’t been at the charity benefit, which was a good thing, and she’d never had any conflicts with anyone on the PGP’s executive committee. As I crossed her name off my list, I decided to ask her another question.

  How well do you get along with Janine Ko?

  Her reply came back less than a minute later.

  I don’t think she likes me much, not since our university days, but she’s never said anything outright. We’ve never argued or anything. Why? Did she put the brooch in my bag?

  I don’t know, I wrote back quickly. I’m looking into several possibilities.

  Thank you, her next reply read. I don’t know what I’d do without you and Mikayla.

  I exchanged a ­couple more messages with her, telling her to hang in there, and then put my phone down.

  As interested as I was in my new theory about Janine, I had other ­people I wanted to look into before I put my laptop away. This time I typed Andrea Duffy’s name into the search bar and checked out the results. That search turned up very little on the right Andrea Duffy, and absolutely nothing of interest. I would have liked to look up Ernest, to see what—­if anything—­came up on him, but I didn’t know his last name. There was a chance I could change that, though.

  I logged into Facebook and checked the profiles of some of my friends from the orchestra. I didn’t know if Ernest used social media, but I figured if he did we probably had friends in common.

  Sure enough, we did.

  It took a few tries, but I eventually found him on the friends list of one of the oboe players. His profile photo was clear enough to confirm that Ernest Pavlyuk was indeed the Ernest I knew. I couldn’t see any information on his profile because of his privacy settings, but I typed his full name into the Web browser’s search bar and checked out the results.

  A few minutes later, I let out a frustrated huff. Again, nothing of interest. I’d learned that Ernest was an accountant, but nothing beyond that.

  I decided to look up Marjorie Alberts next. Yes, she’d lost her job when Major died, and he’d only left her five thousand dollars in his will, but there were some crazies out there who would kill for that much, or even for less.

  After I typed Marjorie’s full name into the search bar, I spent several minutes scrolling through the results and following a handful of links. I soon came to the conclusion that none of the information available pertained to the Marjorie Alberts who had worked for Archibald Major. The women with the same name who showed up in the search results either lived in the wrong part of the world, were no longer living, were nowhere near the right age, or had compl
etely different physical appearances. Not a single scrap of information related to the frizzy-­haired Marjorie Alberts I was interested in.

  Next, I tried Frances Barlow, the name of Major’s newly revealed daughter. I found one person by that name who was approximately the right age. She even lived in the Lower Mainland of British Columbia, as evidenced by her involvement in a community theater group in Langley, a suburb of Vancouver. While it seemed like there was a good chance that she was indeed the Frances Barlow who stood to inherit under Major’s will, that didn’t do much for my investigation. None of the information I found on her seemed the least bit suspicious or illuminating.

  I scanned my eyes over a photo of Barlow with her community theater group, taken to help promote a play presented back in the spring. The actors were dressed for their parts in the production of Cinderella. Frances Barlow, according to the caption, had the role of the wicked stepmother. I closed the Web browser.

  My online research had proven at least somewhat helpful with respect to Bronwyn’s predicament, but I couldn’t say the same in relation to Mr. Major’s murder. Tiring of my endeavor, I didn’t bother typing in Kevin Major’s name. I already knew he had criminal, violent tendencies as well as a motive to kill his father since he was in desperate need of money. Although I still wasn’t convinced that he would have the patience or forethought to pull off a poisoning, I did like the idea of him being behind bars for a long, long time. And I didn’t know him well enough to rule him out. Maybe he was capable of devious planning when he wasn’t busy getting all physically aggressive and violent.

  I sat back in my chair and stared at my computer screen with annoyance. I was no further ahead with figuring out Major’s murder than I’d been when I woke up that morning. And although I now had a suspect for the jewelry theft, I wasn’t sure what my next step should be in that respect. Confront Janine and see what she had to say for herself?

  Possibly.

  In the meantime, though, I decided to try to focus on something else. I wouldn’t see Janine until that evening and I figured I’d leave my investigation into Major’s death alone until Jordan came up with something of interest.

  With several hours of teaching ahead of me and a concert that evening, I knew my day would be a long one. After organizing everything I needed, I left my apartment and headed for my studio at an unhurried pace, enjoying the pleasant autumn weather as well as a short respite from thoughts of murder, theft, and suspects.

  Chapter Fifteen

  MY LEISURELY WALK took me to Forty-­First Avenue, where I purposely avoided looking at the shoe store where I’d seen the beautiful gray boots. Thinking about Elena strutting around in the same boots still irritated me, but I didn’t want to focus on the negative while I was enjoying the fresh air and sunshine. Doing my best to keep Elena out of my thoughts, I boarded a bus that would take me to JT’s neighborhood, leaving the shoe store well behind me. As I made my way toward an empty seat, I took my phone out of my purse to see if I’d heard from Jordan. I hadn’t. I had, however, received a text message from JT, asking me if I was ready for him to pick me up and drive me to his place.

  Oops. I’d completely forgotten that he didn’t want me going anywhere by myself, even in daylight. I’d also forgotten about the danger posed by Kevin. That surprised me, but maybe it shouldn’t have. With so much on my mind lately, it was a wonder I could remember anything at all.

  I just got on the bus, I texted to JT, hoping he wouldn’t be too upset with me.

  Dori . . . was all he sent back.

  Sorry! I totally forgot. But I’m fine. Don’t worry.

  If he was upset, he didn’t let me know. In fact, he didn’t send any sort of message back to me. I wasn’t sure if that was a bad sign or no sign at all.

  While the mere thought of another encounter with Kevin freaked me out, I didn’t think I was in any danger while on a bus with several other passengers. Walking from the bus stop to JT’s house might be another story, but at least it wouldn’t be dark out this time.

  In the end, however, it turned out that I didn’t have to worry about walking on my own. When the bus pulled up to my stop, JT stood waiting for me on the sidewalk, Finnegan sitting at his feet. I smiled at the sight of him, although I noticed that his expression didn’t match my own.

  “I wish you’d take your safety more seriously,” he said as soon as I stepped off the bus.

  Finnegan strained at his leash to reach me.

  “JT . . .” I said as I closed the short distance between us, crouching down to greet Finnegan.

  “Seriously, Dori. I don’t want that guy coming near you ever again.”

  “Neither do I, but . . .” I trailed off. I really didn’t want to argue with him, and his expression told me loud and clear that he wasn’t about to change his position on the matter. “Okay. I’ll try not to be so forgetful next time.” I poked him in the arm as we set off along the sidewalk. “Don’t be grumpy, okay?”

  The muscles in his jaw relaxed and he almost smiled. “All right.” A second later his face turned serious again. “Aaron called me last night.”

  My face fell, right along with my stomach. “What about?”

  JT hesitated. “He quit the band.”

  “What? Why?” My stomach dropped farther. “No. Not because of me?”

  He hesitated again. The fact that he didn’t want to answer was answer enough.

  “But why?” I asked, dismayed. “I’m rarely at your band practices and I would have made sure to avoid them from now on.”

  “I guess he didn’t want to risk running into you. He knows you spend a lot of time at my place. And maybe he thought it would be awkward since you and I are best friends.”

  “Ugh. I’m sorry, JT. I feel terrible.” That was putting it mildly.

  “It’s not your fault,” he assured me. “It was his decision.”

  “One he made because I dumped him.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “But you guys have a gig next weekend,” I reminded him.

  “We’ll find a new drummer. And I know someone who can fill in temporarily until we do. So, really, don’t worry.”

  “Ugh,” I said again, because what else was there to say?

  A change of topic was definitely needed.

  “What are you working on these days?” I asked as we paused so Finnegan could sniff at the base of a fire hydrant.

  “Mostly laying tracks for other ­peoples’ albums.” JT gave Finnegan’s leash a gentle tug to hurry him along. “But I also finished a new track for Absolute Zero,” he said, referring to the science fiction TV show he was composing music for.

  “That’s great. The series premieres next week, right?”

  “Yep. Next Friday.”

  “And we’re having a party?”

  One corner of JT’s mouth twitched upward. “If you don’t mind my mom and stepdad being there. They’re super excited about the whole thing.”

  “I am too.” I hooked my arm through his. “And of course I don’t mind. You know I love your parents.”

  “I don’t want to make a huge deal out of it, though.”

  “But it is a huge deal.”

  “The show could get canceled after three episodes.”

  “Even if that happened—­which it won’t—­it’s still amazing that your music is going to be on TV.”

  “It is pretty cool,” JT agreed, his smile growing.

  “We can keep the party small if you want,” I said. “But we are going to celebrate. No arguments there.”

  All traces of JT’s earlier sternness had disappeared, leaving him relaxed and cheerful. “That’s okay by me.”

  I gave his arm a squeeze and we continued walking along in companionable silence. I kept my arm hooked through his, not worried about anything right then, not even Elena, Kevin, or my feelings for JT. My mo
od was too cheerful for anything to drag it down. In that moment, with my best friend and my favorite dog at my side, everything was right in my world.

  JORDAN DIDN’T FIND anything worth reporting that day. Or if he did, he didn’t let me know about it. When I arrived at the Abrams Center before the evening’s concert, I noted with relief that Bronwyn was present in the musicians’ lounge. If she’d skipped out on the concert her position with the orchestra might have been in jeopardy, regardless of whether her innocence was ever proven in relation to the theft. She was clearly uneasy about being there, though. She stood at her open locker, her head down and her back to the rest of the room. As soon as I’d set down my violin, I went over to join her.

  “I think I might know who the real thief is,” I whispered.

  Her head jerked up, surprise and cautious hope in her eyes. “Really? Who?” She dropped her voice. “Janine?”

  “It’s a good possibility.”

  “But why set me up? Does she really hate me that much?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. Some ­people can’t let go of a grudge.”

  “But I never did anything to her. The seating change was the professor’s decision, and that was years ago.”

  “I know, but resentment isn’t always logical or time-­limited.”

  Bronwyn glanced across the room where Janine was warming up by running through a melody on her violin. “Can you prove it was her?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “But I’m hoping that’s going to change soon.”

  “Thank you, Midori. It means so much to me that you believe me.”

  I gave her a hug and then went to fetch my violin. Although I wanted to confront Janine, it wasn’t the right time or place. Even though I strongly suspected she was the real thief, I didn’t know for certain and didn’t want to falsely accuse her in front of our fellow musicians. Hopefully I’d have a chance to speak with her after the concert.

  As I set my violin case on a nearby table and undid the first clasp, I caught a flash of movement in my peripheral vision. I glanced up to see Bronwyn marching out of the lounge, her face set with grim determination. My eyes followed her line of sight just in time to see Janine disappear out into the hallway. Several feet behind her, Bronwyn picked up her pace.