A Chorus Lineup

by Joelle Charbonneau

  My heart went out to the teens. I desperately wanted to ask Donna what she thought she was accomplishing with this rehearsal. If this practice had been held a week ago, I might understand picking the steps apart until it was perfect. But the competition was tomorrow. I hadn’t been doing this job long, but my years of performing had taught me that changing too many things could confuse the singers onstage.

  As a professional, I was used to a show changing and evolving through previews and even through the early weeks of performance. But once the steps were set, the only changes made were to polish numbers that had gotten a little sloppy or rework something to accommodate a new actor taking over a role. Students at this level didn’t have the experience to deal with these kinds of changes mere hours before one of the biggest performances of their lives. More important, all of these changes and criticism were taking a very large chomp out of the students’ confidence. One of the most important ingredients in a great performance was confidence. A performer who felt secure in the material and his or her execution of it had more fun. If the singers onstage had fun, the audience did, too. When performers looked tense or uncertain, the audience felt it. Donna should know that.

  Two girls bumped into each other. An exasperated Donna called a halt again, making one thing very clear—this team was in serious trouble.

  “Scoping out the competition?”

  The sound of the baritone voice made me jump. I turned to see Scott Paris standing five feet away. So intent had I been on what was happening onstage, I’d missed hearing him come in. But I was glad he had.

  “Actually,” I said, turning away from the stage where the students were finally taking positions for the second number, “I was looking for you.”

  “Me?” Scott laughed. “My team doesn’t rehearse for another hour. You should have checked the schedule.”

  “I did.” At least, I had earlier. Since Scott was one of the few teachers I’d met, I’d noticed that his team was scheduled several slots after mine. “But I figured since you came to watch our rehearsal, you were probably doing the same for everyone.”

  Scott’s smile disappeared. “You’re mistaken. I wasn’t in the theater for your rehearsal.”

  “Not in the house. I saw you backstage.” Before Scott could lie again, I added, “I guessed that you didn’t want me to think you were spying on my team, which is why you left while I was giving notes instead of waiting until the rehearsal was finished. Unless, of course, there was another reason you were hanging around in the shadows.”

  Scott stiffened. The theater door that led to the aisle behind him clanged open. A new group raced in as Scott said, “You can’t possibly be implying what I think you are. I always knew Christine’s judgment was flawed. First she teamed up with LuAnn. Now you. Christine might have wanted to cut the strings that LuAnn had attached, but at least she was able to deliver on her promise. You’re not the private investigator the press releases Christine sent to the media make you out to be. If you were, you’d know I’m not the one behind the lights falling or the destroyed costumes. I mean, why would I destroy my own team’s chances of winning this contest?”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  Scott ran a hand through his hair and let out a sigh. “Well, at least you understand that I’m not insane enough to spend my time slicing and dicing fabric.”

  “Oh, I think that’s exactly how you spent your time yesterday morning.” I smiled as the new team reconfigured the risers. “It’s the only way to explain how your costumes were ripped on the seam and easily repaired while everyone else’s were a total loss. You were smart to include your own team’s attire in the attack, but not smart enough.”

  Okay, maybe goading Scott and tipping my hand wasn’t the best option, but I’d had it up to my eyeballs with men today. I couldn’t help myself. Satisfied my words had hit their mark, I turned to leave.

  Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. A hand grabbed my arm and yanked me backward. I stumbled and tried to pull away, but Scott had a viselike grip and wasn’t letting go. His face was red, and the vein in his neck looked ready to pop. Fear streaked through me even as the voices coming from the stage told me I had nothing to worry about. Scott might be angry, but he wouldn’t do anything in front of two dozen or more witnesses. Right?

  Scott’s fingers dug deep into my forearm. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but if you repeat these unfounded suspicions to Christine, you’ll be sorry. I suggest you worry about your own team and I’ll worry about mine. Otherwise, I might have to start paying more attention to your team. And I’m pretty sure you won’t like what happens then.”

  With one last glare, he let go of my arm and stalked down the row to the aisle. As I watched him go, I couldn’t help wondering at the expression I saw as he stormed toward the exit door. I expected anger. Instead, there was fear.

  Chapter 15

  What did Scott have to be scared of?

  I rubbed my aching arm as the theater door clanged shut behind him. Though the perfectly repaired costumes looked suspicious, they wouldn’t be enough to prove Scott was behind it all. If I talked about my suspicions to Christine, the most that would happen was his team pulling a low score from the judges Christine had influence with. That might not make Scott happy, but the threat of losing the competition wouldn’t have caused the terror I saw on his face.

  So what did?

  “You’re wasting your time.”

  I jumped, spun around, and saw Donna Hilty seated in the audience ten seats down from me. If one more person snuck up on me without my hearing them, I was going to go to a doctor and have my hearing checked. Either that or I’d deck them. My nerves couldn’t take much more of this.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You batting your eyelashes at Scott.” Her lips curled into a less than happy smile. “Scott prefers a lady who allows him to pursue. Women who throw themselves at him are a turnoff. Especially when the woman in question has an agenda that has nothing to do with his body and everything to do with winning a competition.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Music filled the theater as the next choir began their run-through.

  Donna uncrossed her legs, got up from her velvet blue seat, and sauntered down the row. “You obviously know about Scott’s connection to the judges. LuAnn tried the same thing you’re doing, you know. Trust me, honey. It didn’t work for her, and I can promise that it certainly won’t work for someone like you.”

  “You’ve got this all wrong . . .” I started to say, but Donna wasn’t interested in listening.

  “No. You’re the one who has this wrong. If you’re smart, you’ll keep your distance from Scott. Unless, of course, you want to end up just like LuAnn.”

  Donna gave me a satisfied smile and then strolled away, accompanied by an enthusiastic arrangement of “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” Standing in the theater, surrounded by the sights and sounds that were so familiar, I was struck by my outsider status. I knew theater and music, but I didn’t understand these people, their relationships, or their motivations. And I needed to if I was going to keep my kids from getting hit by unfair scores or from being affected by whoever was behind the incidents that had happened yesterday. It was time to get more information on the key players. And when my cell vibrated and I read the text from Larry telling me the buses were out front, I knew who my first source of information would be.

  “Are Scott and Donna Hilty together?” I asked Larry as we stood on the sidewalk, watching the kids climb onto the bus. Devlyn was already on board.

  “Together?” Larry blinked. “As in dating?”

  Or sleeping together. The two didn’t always have to go together.

  “Have you heard whether or not they’re together?” I asked. “Donna said something earlier that made me wonder if they were.”

  Larry stepped a couple of feet away from the buses and waited for me to follow.
Quietly, he said, “A couple of the directors I spoke to this morning said that Donna and Scott have been spending a lot of time together. But that doesn’t really mean anything. I saw them having lunch today, and I didn’t see sparks flying. People just like to gossip. I mean, look at you and Devlyn. You’re together all the time, and it’s not like you’re dating or anything.”

  So much for counting on Larry’s powers of spark observation.

  “Donna also said Scott had some kind of connection to the judges. Do you know what she was talking about?” I asked as the last of our team climbed up the bus’s steps.

  Larry frowned. “The judges aren’t supposed to have a personal connection to any of the schools or the personnel. That’s part of the rules and regulations.”

  That Larry believed rules were in place to be followed instead of broken made me want to give him a big hug. Unfortunately, I knew that reality didn’t wear his rose-colored glasses and that life often didn’t play fair.

  “Are you coming?” Larry asked as he started to climb onto the bus.

  I looked up and saw Devlyn watching me from the second passenger window. Our eyes met for a brief second before he turned away. Tears stung the backs of my eyes, and I took a deep breath. As much as I wanted Devlyn to support me, I knew that there was nothing I could do to change how he felt. That was up to him. For now, the only thing I could do was help myself and my team.

  “If you’re okay handling the kids on your own for a while, I’d like to hang around here a little longer,” I called. “I’ll catch a lift with Aunt Millie or call a cab to get me back in time for our run-through. Okay?”

  “Sure thing.” Larry gave me a thumbs-up as the door to the bus closed behind him. I stepped back from the curb and watched the bus pull away, all the while watching Devlyn’s window. I was sure he would turn to look at me. He never did.

  With a sigh, I watched the bus disappear down the street. Then I headed back into the theater in search of Christine McCann. It didn’t take long to realize I wasn’t the only one looking for her. Several coaches in need of extra rehearsal time, the theater manager, and Kelly the sparkly school liaison were all in search of the head of the competition. They hadn’t found her and were now meeting in the lobby, trying to decide whether they should be angry or concerned. After LuAnn’s death last night, concerned seemed to be winning out.

  Bedazzled Kelly walked to the other side of the lobby, pulled out her cell phone, and dialed. After several moments, she shoved the phone back into her purse.

  Walking over, I asked, “Christine isn’t answering her phone?”

  “No.” Kelly frowned. “And no one’s seen or heard from her since she left for her eleven thirty lunch meeting. It’s not like Christine to be out of touch. Especially not on competition week. She insists all of us be reachable by phone no matter what the hour. Last night she called me at two in the morning to talk about our problems with the sponsors and how the police—” She shook her head and straightened her shoulders. “This just isn’t like Christine.”

  “Who was her lunch meeting with?” I asked. “Maybe they’ll know where she was going next or if she got called away.”

  “Don’t you think we’ve thought of that?” Kelly snapped. “If we knew who Christine was meeting with, we would have contacted them. But we don’t. So all we can do is wait around and hope she turns up or starts answering her phone. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to check in with some of her family and see if they’ve heard from her.”

  Kelly pulled out her phone and stalked away. Meanwhile, I walked toward the other directors to see whether they had any information. Donna and Scott weren’t among those gathered here. According to one director, the two of them had cleared out as soon as Donna’s group had loaded their instruments into their room. Scott’s team would be back in less than an hour for their allotted stage time. Until then, it was anyone’s guess where they were or what they were up to.

  Huh.

  Since no one in the lobby had any information, I did a lap of the theater building in search of someone who did. But other than the team rehearsing onstage and the teens killing time in their staging rooms, waiting for their turn, no one was around for me to ask questions.

  Since I’d hit a dead end, I placed a call to my aunt and asked her to pick me up near the back of the theater. Sliding my phone in my pocket, I headed toward the loading docks.

  A workman was tinkering with the stage-left door. Glancing at me, he said, “If you’re looking for the boxes that were here, I moved them.” He pointed to five small cardboard boxes that were stacked against the wall to the right of the large door.

  “No. I was just seeing if the door was fixed. Thanks.” With a wave, I walked around to stage right, and exited on that side.

  The loading docks and back parking lot looked different in the bright afternoon sunshine. Or maybe it was just that I was standing here when there wasn’t a body lying on the ground with the life draining out of it. That kind of thing tended to freak me out.

  The cops had done a great job of cleaning up the backstage area. Not a single cigarette butt or empty gum wrapper remained on the ground. But despite their attention to detail, there were reminders of what had occurred here less than twenty-four hours ago. A piece of yellow police tape fluttering from the edge of one of the Dumpsters and the dark stain of dried blood on the cement pavement clearly marked the place where LuAnn had died.

  As I looked at the stain, the emotions from last night came storming back. The desperation. The desire to keep LuAnn alive no matter what. And the sense of failure and sorrow that threatened to overwhelm me when I realized she was gone. Nothing I had learned about LuAnn since her death made me like her any better than I had when she was alive, but that didn’t stop me from wanting justice for her. A driver who didn’t expect someone to be standing back here had hit her and then panicked and driven away.

  At least, that was the last verdict I’d heard from the police. Maybe things had changed. There was one way to find out.

  Pulling out my cell and the card that Officer Durbin had given me last night, I dialed the officer’s direct line.

  Voice mail. Drat.

  I considered leaving a message, but hung up after the beep. Giving me an update on LuAnn’s death probably wasn’t going to be high on Officer Durbin’s to-do list. I looked at the card again and then dialed the general precinct number.

  A deep male voice on the other end asked me where I wanted my call directed. Hmmm . . . good question. “I was one of the witnesses for the case of the hit-and-run death of LuAnn Freeman. It happened last night. Do you know if the detective in charge of that case is around? I’m afraid I was too frazzled to remember the detective’s name.”

  Technically, the detective had been too busy dealing with the first responders, getting photographs taken, and alerting the next of kin to talk to me. But I figured the guy answering the phone didn’t need to know those details. After I’d been put on hold and subjected to country music Muzak for ten minutes, there was a click and a chipper female voice said, “This is Detective Martin. Detective Christopher isn’t in the precinct right now. I was told you were a witness on last night’s hit-and-run. Have you remembered something new to add to the investigation?”

  I wished I could say yes. Unfortunately, for me and LuAnn, nothing I’d learned today would lead the police to the driver of the car. But I hoped Detective Martin would be able to tell me whether the police truly believed LuAnn’s death was caused by a terrible accident or whether they felt there was something more behind last night’s hit-and-run.

  With that in mind, I said, “My name’s Paige Marshall. I was the one who called 911 and performed CPR on the victim until the paramedics arrived.” The memory made my throat go tight and my eyes start to tear. “There’s been a lot of talk today from people who knew her. Some are saying that LuAnn Freeman’s death wasn’t an accident. I kn
ow you can’t give out the specifics of your investigation, but I was the one who saw the car speed off and I guess I’m feeling a little unsettled. I mean, if someone intentionally killed her and they know I saw them . . .”

  I let my words trail off and cringed at how melodramatic I sounded. Improvisation wasn’t always my strongest suit. I needed to brush up on my technique.

  Lucky for me, Detective Martin wasn’t a stage critic. “I’m not the lead detective, but I can assure you, Ms. Marshall, that you don’t have to worry. The evidence thus far suggests that the incident last night was target-specific. Since you didn’t see the person behind the wheel or—”

  “Wait.” My stomach lurched. Target-specific. For that to be the case, then . . . “LuAnn’s death wasn’t an accident.”

  “That hasn’t been officially determined.”

  “But unofficially?”

  “Look,” Detective Martin sighed. “I can’t tell you much more than I already have. For now the case is open and active. If you remember anything more about last night, please contact Detective Christopher or me. And rest assured that if we have any other questions or feel your safety might be compromised, we’ll be in touch.”

  Too bad that assurance did nothing to make me feel better. The good news was the question I’d asked had now been answered. The police believed someone had intended to kill LuAnn Freeman. And that person was still out there. Would they come after me or attack someone else at the competition? I had no idea. But it was a risk I couldn’t afford to take. Up until now, I’d only truly been worried about my students not getting a fair shake from the judges. Now Christine McCann was missing and there was a chance my students’ lives were at risk. And there was only one thing I could think to do about it.