by Blake Pierce
Men like that needed to be put in their place.
And right then, Diana decided that she was the one to do it. To save these poor women from being preyed on, becoming his next victim. Stand up for yourself!
Two steps into her retreat, she spun on her heel.
“Listen to me, Huber. I don’t care if you are the second coming of Beethoven. You’re not better than him. Not by a long shot. No one’s going to remember your name in two years, much less two-hundred. But I’m sure this won’t deter you from going around, telling everyone how wonderful you are. I’m surprised the orchestra was able to fit on the stage, with your inflated ego, you pompous jerk!”
He watched her as she spoke, that smug smile dissolving. His eyes narrowed and what was left in its place was pure, naked humiliation. Professor Marsden had never looked like that. He opened his mouth to speak, and nothing came out. As he fumbled for words, the women around him stared in shock, absolutely silent.
Oh, God. I’ve gone too far. Great job, Diana. He’ll probably commit suicide in his dressing room now.
She thought about apologizing, but this time, the instinct to flee won out. She whirled around, broke through the crowd, and made her exit, before she could say anything else she regretted.
CHAPTER NINE
When Diana reached the bench, the woman who’d fainted was still there, fanning her face with her hand, looking a bit healthier as the security guard fed her a paper cup of water. She said, “Did you get it signed?”
Diana shook her head and handed her the program. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t do it.”
“What happened?” the woman cried as if she just announced the world was coming to an end.
“Again. I’m sorry.” I just had to withstand a proposition from the Big Head. Who cares about getting him to sign the darn program? She thought, eyeing the garbage can nearby. She might have thrown her program away, if not for the rest of the orchestra. No, despite Lukas Huber, she wanted to remember this night. But right now, she wanted to create as much distance between herself and that clod as possible. “I’ve got to go.”
She nodded at the two security guards and walked down the narrow hallway, to the exit.
Outside, the rain had stopped. Puddles dotted the ground, the streetlights shining in each one. The night was cool, but clear, and a bit humid. She walked across the street and into a park. Though it was dark, there, there seemed to be a lot of people walking about, many dressed so elegantly that they must’ve come from the concert, so Diana wasn’t worried about her safety. She stepped on the damp green grass, listening to the crickets chirping, and thought of the beautiful music she’d heard.
It’d been a night to remember, definitely. She’d wanted to see a live orchestra, all her life, and so that had happened.
But then . . . she’d gone and ruined it by meeting the ego.
And she still hadn’t accomplished anything on her bucket list. She’d wanted to stand up for herself, but instead, she felt like a big clod. There was a difference between standing up for oneself and acting like an idiot. He was a genius, a musical prodigy who was clearly loved all over Austria. Who was she to go in there and tell him about his music?
She stopped at a large statue on a dais in the green, of an elderly Brahms, seated, peering downward, almost as if asleep. On the base of the statue was a female, playing a lyre. Unlike the statue of Johann Strauss, this one didn’t have a line for photographs. Of course, it was so dark, she didn’t bother to take a selfie, because she doubted it would come out very well.
So instead, Diana stared quietly up at it. So what do you think, Herr Brahms? Is Lukas Huber God’s gift to music?
Only a slight breeze answered back.
I thought not.
Still, I shouldn’t have told him that. Some things are better kept to oneself.
She sighed. She’d heard, from the grapevine, that Professor Marsden had eventually given up teaching. He’d spent his life writing a book on the Civil War that, when published, was panned by critics. After that, he’d been so distraught of his life’s work being for nothing, that he simply couldn’t stand up in front of a classroom, ever again.
The point was that the most fragile people seemed to hide behind what appeared to be massive egos. Maybe that’s all Lukas Huber was—bravado, and nothing else.
And I really did want to get my program signed by Mr. Future Beethoven.
She looked up at Brahms. “What do you think I should do?” she asked aloud. When he didn’t answer, she stepped closer. “Hello? I didn’t hear you?”
She sighed. The thing was, as much as she wanted to stand up for herself, it didn’t mean acting like a total jerk. And she kind of had been one. She knew very little about music, and he was an artist. If some intern had come into her office when she worked at Addict cosmetics and told her how to run her marketing department, she’d be just as angry. He’d only been responding to her, acting like an ass in the first place.
So what if he’d propositioned her? Forgive. Feel the calmness and clarity of letting go.
Diana checked her watch. It was not yet ten. She could go back to the hotel, take a hot bath, and plan the rest of her sightseeing for tomorrow. Or, she could check and see if Lukas Huber was still there.
Not for a roll in the hay, as he’d suggested. Just for an apology. She probably owed him one of those. Yes, he’d been a clod to her, but he’d also been under enormous pressure, and she’d insulted him in what was practically his own house, in front of his many admirers. So in addition to, Forgive. Feel the calmness and clarity of letting go . . . she could also make amends.
That would make her feel better.
Yes.
Maybe that would be the only way to feel calm—by clearing her conscience. Then maybe she could enjoy the rest of her time in the Music City.
*
She didn’t go right back to the music hall. She walked around the park in a circle, thinking. Deciding she couldn’t go back to her hotel without at least speaking one more time to Lukas Huber, she turned and quickly headed back across the street to Musikverein. When she reached the building, she climbed the steps and went inside. There were only a few well-dressed people lingering about, who’d obviously attended the performance, chatting together. A couple of men with black instrument cases hurried down the stairs. They ignored her as she slipped inside.
The main lobby was empty, except for a janitor who was vacuuming the lush red carpet. He paid no mind to her. She stole across the room and disappeared through the curtain without running into another soul. The hallway to the back was empty, now, as well. As she crept quietly toward where she’d last seen Lukas Huber, she listened for his pompous voice, but heard nothing. When she reached the corner, she peered into the vestibule where she’d last seen him and his many fans.
Now, it was empty. Apparently, they’d all finally stopped fawning over him and gone home. There were no orchestra members around, either; the place had quickly cleared out. Even security was now gone.
She walked into the middle of the vestibule and looked around. There was a set of double doors, which must have led to the stage, a supply closet, and another hallway, stretching even farther to the back of the building.
She took the hallway, scanning the doors. They weren’t marked. As she walked, a door suddenly flung open in front of her, and a man came out, carrying a couple of music stands. He jumped back as she did, just as surprised as she was. “Oida!” he shouted, patting his chest. “Was machst du hier?”
“Sorry, I—” She had to pause to catch the breath that had whooshed out of her lungs from the shock. The man was wearing a headset and jeans, and looked like he must’ve been part of the crew. “I just came to see if Lukas Huber was still around?”
The corner of his mouth lifted up in a smile as he stared her up and down. She did the same. Probably about ten years older than Diana, he had graying whiskers on his chin and sunken eyes under an almost comically unruly unibrow. He had the gray, wild hair,
too, that reminded her of Beethoven—a very popular look among the musically-oriented in Vienna, she realized. “Of course you are.”
It was no surprise that Huber was a ladies’ man. She hovered there, wondering if she should abandon the mission. After all, there was a good chance, if he was still around, that he was with some other female company. He’d certainly had enough to choose from, when she’d last seen him. Then she looked down at her program. No, if he’s occupied, he just won’t answer the door, and that will be that. You can do this.
“Could you please tell me if he’s around?”
The man shrugged. “I saw him go into his dressing room about ten minutes ago. I don’t think he’s left. He usually stays late.” He pointed down the hall. “Third door on your right.”
“Thank you,” she said, heading that way. When she arrived in front of it, she found the door open about an inch. The sliver of space inside was mostly dark. She listened for a moment, hearing nothing. She raised her hand to knock, then turned to see the crewman staring at her, as if he was interested in seeing what would happen next. When she caught his eye, he quickly turned and headed off.
Once he was gone, she rapped lightly on the door and waited.
No answer.
She lifted her knuckles to the door and rapped again, a little louder.
Still, no answer. Maybe the crewman’s mistaken and he’s already left. Or maybe he is in there with someone and doesn’t want to be disturbed.
She took a step away, thinking. If he’s not in there, then why did he leave the door open?
Diana decided to try one more time. She knocked once more, and called, “Mr. Huber?” This time, her knock was hard enough to nudge the door open slightly. One more nudge, and she was able to stick her head through.
The dressing room was dark. There was only a small, dull light, illuminating a vanity mirror filled with photographs and programs belonging to the great pianist. Other than that, she could barely see anything.
So he did go home, Diana thought, disappointed.
She went to leave, but then she noticed a neat stack of press photographs sitting on the vanity. They were small, the size of a bookmark, but Diana could see his dark hair, and the scrawl of his signature over the face.
Oh, I’m sure he won’t mind if I grab one of those, she thought, pushing the door open a little more. That’s what he signed them for.
But as she pushed the door open, it shoved up against something, and would not go farther. She shoved again, and whatever was behind it gave way slightly, allowing her to move into the room. She reached forward, grabbed the press photo, and smiled at it. He certainly was handsome. And clearly talented. She couldn’t blame women for going gaga over him, even if he was a bit of a blowhard.
I’ll take two, just in case, she thought, grabbing another one. He won’t miss them.
She tucked them into her evening bag.
I guess I’ll have to save my apology, she thought, turning to leave. I doubt I’ll ever see him again, now. I guess I’ll just have to go home and plan the rest of my trip.
As she spun, she stepped on someone’s foot. So hard, she heard the bones cracking and the skin shifting under her foot. She cringed. That had to have hurt.
Luckily, no one complained.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she mumbled carelessly, tripping off of it and grabbing hold of the door.
Suddenly, the weight of what she’d done hit her, and she froze.
Right in front of her, there was a light switch. Bracing herself, she reached over and flipped it on.
Light flooded the room, and she scanned to the floor, already having an idea of what she might see.
No, she hadn’t stepped on a foot. It was a hand. A bare, cupped hand, palm upwards.
There, sprawled on his stomach, was a small man with long, dark hair. Lukas Huber.
Heart beating fast, she bent down and looked closer. “Lukas Huber?” she asked, daring to reach forward and nudge back one of those long, flowing locks of hair that had fallen into his face. “Are you okay?”
No, he clearly wasn’t okay. His eyes were wide open, bulging and staring emptily, the skin of his cheek was a bright purple, his tongue was lolling from his half-open mouth, and he wasn’t moving at all.
By now, Diana had seen enough of this to know for sure. Lukas Huber wasn’t going to be okay, any time soon.
He was certainly dead.
But though she’d seen all this before, that didn’t stop her from rushing away, screaming.
CHAPTER TEN
“What is the problem?” the hairy crewman she’d seen earlier said, intercepting her at the end of the hall.
“D-d-dead,” she managed, pointing behind her. “Lukas Huber is dead.”
“Dead?” He gave her a doubtful look. “Are you sure?”
She nodded, feeling faint. She swooned against a wall, gripping it for dear life, just like Huber’s fan had done, not thirty minutes earlier, in that very spot.
“Where?”
“In his dressing room. On the f-f-floor.”
He started to move that way, then looked back at her, waiting for her to accompany him, but she shook her head. She thought of his bloated purple face and bug-eyes and her stomach felt weak; she didn’t want to see that sight, ever again.
He motioned her forward. “Show me.”
She hesitated. “Shouldn’t we call 9-1-1, or whatever it is you have here?”
“Not yet. I need to see.”
Of course, he didn’t believe her. Why would he? Only an hour before, Lukas Huber had been lecturing those many admirers, in the prime of his life. Without seeing it, it seemed impossible that such a force could no longer be among the living. She didn’t even believe it, when she’d said the words aloud.
But she had seen it. And she really wished, right now, that she could unsee it.
Fine. I’ll take him to the door, but I’m not going in.
She led him to the dressing room door and pointed, planting her feet and doing her best to squeeze her eyes closed. It didn’t work. The crewman made a gagging noise, and the second she opened her eyes to make sure he was all right, through the crack in the door, she could see his hand, curled a bit, like it had been clutching at something. Fighting . . . against someone.
Oh, God. Was this a murder?
Another murder?
The crewman went in and bent over the body. Shoved it over and looked closely at it. “Krass. Die Oaschkortn ziagn.”
“What?” she asked, confused. “Should you be touching the body like—"
“Looks like he’s dead, for sure. Not all that long ago either, because his skin is still warm,” he said, sounding more amused than worried. “Strangled with his cravat.”
Oh, no. “Strangled?”
“That’s what it looks like,” he said, shoving the body over again like it was a hunk of meat. She didn’t know much about police procedurals, but that definitely didn’t seem like a good move. She wondered briefly if it would come back to haunt her.
“But who could’ve done it? I was just here, not an hour ago.”
He looked around. “Don’t know. Looks like someone must’ve just come up from behind him and surprised him while he was sitting at his vanity. You were with him before, with all his admirers. And just now . . . so I think you’d know better than I do.”
Diana’s insides jumped. Great. So he thinks I did it? Funny, though she’d been down this road before, being accused for something she didn’t do, it was no easier, the third time around. In fact, now, she was even more nervous, because she’d been through it all before. Didn’t that make her suspicious? “Yes, but—”
“I just clean up after him and all his messes. He’s never even talked to me. I’m not pretty enough, I guess.” He grinned and reached into the pocket of his trousers for his phone. When he jabbed in a number, he started to speak rapidly in German, but the one word Diana did understand, Polizei, led her to understand that he was finally calling the police. When he
hung up, he said, “They’ll be right over. Well, all that lady-killing’s finally caught up with him, I’d say. One of them killed him.”
“You think?”
He shrugged. “What other explanation do you have?”
She saw what he meant. The other two murders she’d discovered, there’d been some doubt as to the cause of death. The first, in Versailles, could’ve been an accidental fall, and the second, in the dressing room in Verona, Diana thought could’ve been a heart attack. This time, there was no doubt. People usually didn’t go around accidentally strangling themselves with their neck ties.
Three murders in a row. What is the opposite of serendipity? Because that’s what I’m cursed with.
She fanned her face, trying to catch her breath. “This—this is a great loss to the music world, I’m sure.”
The man snorted and checked his watch. Clearly, he wasn’t much of a fan. “Great loss to me, too. I was going to be off the clock in fifteen minutes. Now I guess I got to stick around.”
*
Sitting alone in a small rehearsal room of the Musikverein, among the music stands and scattered chairs, Diana checked her phone. Ten-forty-five. She’d been sequestered here for a half-hour, with no idea of what was going on.
All of the orchestra had left, as had all of the admirers who’d fawned over Huber and the security guards, so the only people that came to the scene were a few police officers, a couple members of the clean-up crew, and Diana. The police had immediately arrived and ushered her here, telling her to wait.
But for how long?
She pulled out her phone and turned it off silent mode. Immediately, a number of messages showed up. One from Bea: I think I’m going to have a separate reception in the States so that friends can come. One from Lily: Mom, look at the nightmare that’s outside the house! with a picture of a horrible pink unicorn sculpture the renters had put outside the Long Island home she’d lived in for thirty years, right in front of Diana’s favorite hydrangea bushes. And one from Evan: I’m confused—so you’re not back in the States?