“You’re only hanging around in hopes of finding those gems you and Benton stole.”
“That’s cold, Carrie. Very cold. I want to spend Christmas with you.”
“In that case, you’ll come with me to Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco’s on Christmas Eve.”
Jim grimaced. “Of course. Christmas and family go together. Now tell me what you know about Quincy being offed.”
“For one thing, he followed me from here on Saturday afternoon. I thought I lost him, but he was waiting for me in the library parking lot, where he told me you needed to remember your agreement with him.”
Jim’s face went red with fury. “Why the SO—”
“I told John what happened. And Dylan. Did you know Quincy was Dylan’s snitch?”
“I’m not surprised. He was going to get a share of those gems any way he could.”
“And your friend Mariel hired him to find the gems.”
My father burst out laughing. “So Mariel knew about the gems! Clever girl. I wonder how she found out they existed. I doubt Benton ever told her. On second thought, not such a clever girl to hire that crook.”
I ignored the irony of my father calling someone else a crook. “It seems everyone knew about the gems one way or another,” I said. “According to Benton’s girlfriend, Jennifer Darby, Benton had access to secret funds he planned to use to whisk the two of them far, far away from Clover Ridge.”
“Hah!” Jim rolled his eyes. “I can’t see old Benton giving up his plush life here to go off with some young chick.”
“I think John likes Jennifer’s husband for Quincy’s murder. Paul Darcy saw Jennifer with Quincy and mistook it for a lovers’ meeting.”
Jim narrowed his eyes as he met my gaze. “I hope you didn’t tell our policeman friend I had anything to do with Quincy.”
“He wanted to know why Quincy was following me from the hospital. And what kind of business arrangement you had with him. I said there was no arrangement but that it was Quincy who’d assaulted you.”
His lips pressed together like a machine-sewn seam. “I wish you hadn’t done that, Carrie.”
I glared back at him. “And I wish you’d never brought Quincy into my life!” I stood. “I’ll pick you up Wednesday morning.”
Jim put out a hand to stop me. “I’m sorry, Carrie. I know this has been hard for you.”
“You have no idea how difficult. We live by different values, you and I, and yours keep on jabbing me in the ribs.”
He called after me, but I strode out of the room and down the hall. When would I get it through my head that Jim Singleton’s first order of business was robbing some poor mark and not getting caught? Good thing I hadn’t ended my relationship with Dylan on his account.
I drove back to the cottage for Smoky Joe and then on to the library. On the way, I made a phone call to Carlton Manor and asked to speak to the director. When a Mrs. Harrington got on the line, I introduced myself and explained that I’d be stopping by that evening to see Morgan Fuller and asked if I could bring my cat to the facility. When she hesitated, I quickly added, “Smoky Joe’s the library cat at the Clover Ridge Library, where I work. He’s very well behaved and used to being with people.”
“Smoky Joe!” she exclaimed. “I’ve heard about him, but things have been so hectic here lately, I haven’t had a moment to stop by the library.”
A cat lover! “Of course I won’t let him out of Morgan’s room, and I don’t plan to be there more than a few minutes. But Morgan had a cat he loved, and with Christmas coming, I thought he’d enjoy the treat.”
“I suppose it will be okay since his roommate has no allergies.” She laughed. “In fact, Ralph makes sure that Cindy, the service dog that visits occasionally, stops by his room every time she’s here.”
I said goodbye and stroked Smoky Joe’s flank. “You’re getting quite a reputation, my furry friend.”
With only four days till Christmas, the library was brimming with holiday spirit. The lights on the tree blinked on and off, and all nine candles on the large electric Chanukah menorah were lit. We were holding our staff party the next evening in a nearby restaurant. The library would be closing early, an unusual occurrence, so everyone could attend. Of course the library board was invited, though my uncle wasn’t planning to attend.
As soon as Smoky Joe was free, he tore through the reading room to get to the coffee shop. Was Jennifer feeding him despite my strict orders that no one was to give him anything to eat? Or was he still hunting down that mouse?
Whatever the reason, it offered me a good excuse to follow him into the shop and chat with Jennifer again in hopes of learning anything I could. Of course there was a good possibility she’d be furious with me for telling John her husband had made comments about Tom Quincy, and she might consider me the reason Paul was being questioned about Quincy’s murder.
It was interesting that Paul Darby was one of the last people to have seen both murder victims.
But the door to the coffee shop was closed, and there was no sign of Jennifer. I turned away and nearly bumped into Sally.
“Oh, here you are,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you!”
I stared at her flushed face. “Why? What’s wrong?” My heart plummeted. It had been weeks since Sally had called me into her office to reprimand me for something I’d done or failed to do.
She patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing very demanding, and I know you’ll handle it with aplomb—the way you deal with everything your job requires.”
I grabbed her hand—tight. “Sally, what are you trying to tell me?”
“Rico called me this morning.”
I thought a moment. “Rico Benedetti? Why did he call you and not me? He’s coming this afternoon to lead our holiday singers.”
Sally cleared her throat.
“Well, isn’t he?”
“The poor guy has the flu and has been instructed by his doctor to stay in bed. He called me at seven thirty to apologize profusely for—”
“He can’t come.” Panic rushed over me like a tsunami. In the past two months since I’d become head of Programs and Events, two scheduled activities had needed to be canceled. But this! The Holiday Singers Present was an annual presentation, one of the library’s favorites. Patrons signed up in early November to take part in a concert of holiday and seasonal songs. Twenty were chosen by lottery. Each year a different music director was invited to lead the singers. He or she came to the library twice, along with an accompanying pianist. The first time was a rehearsal in late November, when the director brought along the lyrics of each of the songs chosen for the program. The second time was the day of the performance.
This afternoon was the day Rico Benedetti was to lead the Holiday Singers Present!
“I hate the idea of cancelling!” I exclaimed. “Everyone’s been looking forward to it! And I can’t possibly schedule it later in the week. The room’s busy with programs every day from morning till night until Christmas Day.”
“I agree, cancelling’s out of the question,” Sally said.
My spirits brightened. “Of course! Someone can come in his place. Rico must know several musicians who can substitute for him.”
“That was the first thing I asked. Unfortunately, everyone he knows is busy this afternoon. Which is why I knew you’d be willing to take his place.” Sally’s glowing smile was as phony as a nine-dollar bill.
“Me?! What makes you think I could lead a group of singers in a program almost an hour and a half long?”
“I remembered having read in your job application form that you were in the chorus in high school and college.”
“That was a long time ago, Sally. I first joined the chorus in junior high because my music teacher said I had a good voice. Since I wanted to belong to something where I didn’t stand out, I always joined the chorus after that. I don’t have any experience leading a chorus.”
Sally waved her hand. “But you know what a chorus is all abou
t. Rico’s sending over his pianist—I think you met Celindra when she came with him a few weeks ago.”
“Yes, I—”
“And Rico’s emailing you a recording of most of the songs on the Holiday Singers program, as well as extensive program notes regarding each song. Why don’t you spend the rest of the morning going over this so we can have a successful program?”
It was a command, not a suggestion.
Sally winked. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we have a few board members stopping by, as well as Terry Egan, that cute young fellow from the local paper.”
“Terry Egan! Why is he coming?”
“He thought it would make a great human interest story for the Sunday edition.”
Just what I needed. “I have several phone calls to make, and—”
“I asked Trish to come in early today.” Sally looked at her wristwatch. “She should be here in fifteen minutes. I’m sure you have a copy of the concert’s program.”
Nervousness, high anxiety, and anger at Sally for putting me in this situation stirred up my pulse as I returned to my office. Having sung in a chorus throughout my school years, I knew that conducting one wasn’t easy. Forget conducting—I hadn’t even sung in a chorus for quite some time.
I tried to look on the positive side. I was very familiar with the songs that Rico had chosen for our library’s program. And having a pianist would be a huge help. Then too, the singers were motivated, and I wouldn’t have any discipline problems like my teachers used to have to deal with in high school. The bottom line was I had no choice in the matter. Sally decreed and I had to obey. I could only hope I made no serious faux pas in the hour and a half I’d be conducting the chorus.
Chapter Twenty
“And what exactly are you doing that’s so engrossing?”
I gave a start, then grimaced when I noticed Evelyn perched on the edge of Trish’s desk.
“Trish will be here in five minutes,” I said. “Besides, I can’t talk.”
“Why? What’s up?”
“Sally’s got me conducting the Holiday Singers Present this afternoon! Can you imagine? The musical director who’s supposed to do it is home, sick with the flu. I’m listening to his musical arrangements so I won’t screw up.”
“I’m sure you’ll do a great job.”
“I hope so.”
Evelyn giggled. “At least you can’t do a worse muck-up than Sally did some years ago. The director couldn’t make it, and she thought she could replace him, easy as pie. Trouble is, she’s tone deaf.”
“No wonder she looked so—frantic. And insisted I could do a great job because I’ve been in choruses all throughout school.”
“You will,” Evelyn said airily. “Anything new on the murder investigation? Finding the gems?”
“There’s been another murder—Tom Quincy.”
When Evelyn sent me a puzzled look, I explained. “I told you about him. Quincy’s the thug that beat up Jim and followed me from the hospital on Saturday—I suppose to show us he meant business. He threatened Jennifer Darby, Benton Parr’s girlfriend.”
“Why her?”
“He must have thought she knew where Benton had hidden the gems.” Which got me thinking.
“Did you happen to hear what Benton and Jennifer discussed when he visited her at the coffee shop?”
She drew back, affronted. “Of course not! I don’t listen in on private conversations. If I happen to overhear something, that’s a different matter. But I didn’t hear what they were talking about.”
So much for that! Time to change the subject. “Guess what I have planned for Morgan tonight?”
“What?”
“You told me he once had a cat. I got permission to bring Smoky Joe to the nursing home to visit Morgan.”
“God bless you, Carrie.” And with that, Evelyn disappeared.
A moment later I knew why. Trish walked through the door. “Hi, Carrie. Were you on the phone just now?”
“No,” I said, putting on a puzzled expression.
“I thought I heard you talking to someone.”
“More likely I was talking to myself,” I fibbed. “Sally has me leading the Holiday Singers Present program! The director who was supposed to can’t make it.”
Trish rolled her eyes. “Don’t I know it. She’s so nervous about this afternoon. She must have great faith in you if she’s asked you to handle this.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘asked’ is the right word in this case. Can’t talk any more. I have to finish listening to the way he led each song and then read over his notes.”
“I promise to be as silent as…” Trish thought a moment. “I refuse to say ‘silent as the dead’ or ‘silent as a grave.’”
“You might say ‘silent as a non-purring cat.’”
“Or ‘silent as a non-snoring man.’”
We both burst out laughing.
“Okay, I’ll be as quiet as I can,” she said. And she was.
I put my earbuds back in and listened to the rest of the songs Rico had sent me, and then read over his notes. I liked his arrangements and was starting to feel confident that I could lead the group to sing these familiar songs without too much difficulty.
Smoky Joe scratched at the door to be let into the office, and I fed him. After a bit of grooming and using the litter box, he was off again. Trish and I ordered in sandwiches from the Cozy Corner Café. There was no time to venture out for lunch. Then I listened for a third time to the songs Rico had sent me.
Suddenly, Trish was waving her hands in my face. “Enough!” she said when I removed my earbuds so I could hear her. “You’re overdoing it.”
“You think? I just want to get it right.”
“You will get it right. Time to go. It’s a quarter to two.”
I grabbed the program on which I’d scratched a few notes and hurried downstairs to the meeting room. Patrons sat in chairs outside the room. Inside, every seat was occupied, and Sally was telling the last few arrivals to stand against the back wall. The piano was in place at the front of the room beside the area, now empty, where the singers would stand. Once again, I wished the library extension had already been built, so many more people could sit comfortably in the room to enjoy our programs and events.
Celindra Grayson, the pianist, stood tapping her foot impatiently, no doubt expecting me to have shown up earlier. She wore what appeared to be a long dress made up of several colorful scarfs, and a ring on every finger.
“Hello, Celindra,” I greeted her, suddenly overcome by what lay before me. A jolt of pure terror zipped through my body, and I considered making a break for it.
“I thought you’d want to go over today’s program,” she said gruffly.
“Sorry. I was in my office going over the tape Rico sent me, and lost track of time.”
She grunted something, then sat down at the piano and said I didn’t have much to worry about since each song had a brief introduction, and she’d nod when it was time to start them singing.
With that, she played an introduction to “Silent Night,” and the hum of conversation stopped abruptly.
She’s good! I thought. My fear slipped away like an unnecessary coat. I greeted the chorus of twenty as they walked from our small utility room onto the stage and stood ready to perform.
“Good afternoon. I’m sorry to have to tell you I’ve been recruited to fill in for Maestro Benedetti, who’s home sick with the flu.”
“We have faith in you, Carrie,” Fred Whistler, a retiree, called out.
There were sounds of agreement from other choristers.
I smiled. “Thanks for your vote of confidence.” I turned to the audience. “Good afternoon, everyone. Welcome to this year’s concert by the Holiday Singers Present! I want to thank you all for attending. Unfortunately, music master Enrico Benedetti is too sick to be with us, but Celindra Grayson, his wonderful pianist, is here to make sure we present a program that you’ll enjoy.”
Snap! went a flash, and I cau
ght sight of Terry Egan, the reporter, standing next to his photographer. But it was too late to worry if I’d squinted, because once again Celindra had begun to play the opening notes of “Silent Night.” Pay attention! I told myself as I met her gaze and then turned to face the chorus. Now! My arm came down and twenty voices began to sing. I merely maintained the tempo, they were so good.
And so it went with the rest of the program. The singers sang beautifully and in unison. Each rendition was greeted with a hearty burst of applause that I sensed came from true appreciation of a well-sung performance. We stopped for a short intermission when we were two-thirds through the program. Most of us took the opportunity to drink from the water bottles Trish and Sally were handing out.
Sally beamed as she gave me mine. “You’re a natural, Carrie.”
“Did you take photos?” I asked.
“Of course.”
Aunt Harriet and Uncle Bosco came over to compliment me on my new role as chorus director, when Celindra sent me a look I’d already learned to respect. I nodded to Max and he flipped the lights a few times. But instead of turning to the singers, I cleared my throat and addressed the audience.
“Before we resume our concert, I want to take this moment to thank you all for coming and making this year’s Holiday Singers Present program such a success! I was terrified when asked to lead the chorus, but they’re so professional, they hardly needed me.”
The audience burst into loud applause. Quickly, I added, “And we were fortunate to have a wonderful pianist to accompany us—Celindra Grayson.”
Celindra half-rose from the piano as the applause began again. I continued hastily before she started playing.
“I want to take this opportunity to tell you how happy I am to be a part of the Clover Ridge Library community. It’s hard to believe I became the head of Programs and Events in October. Only two months, and it seems like I’ve been here for years. I love my job, and I hope to create many new programs for you to enjoy.”
Instead of applause, a ripple of laughter ran through the audience. My face grew warm. Are they laughing at me? Humiliated, I nodded to Celindra to start playing, which she did, the introduction to a rollicking Chanukah song.
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