Out of Tune

by Norah McClintock

  Simon persisted. “She asked you, Uncle Richard. She asked you to make sure Carrie got her spot in the orchestra. She said Carrie deserved it. I heard her.”

  If that made any impression on Mr. Todd, I didn’t see it. “If you’ll come with me.”

  It wasn’t a question, and he was through nudging. He pushed me.

  “When did she say that, Simon?” I asked.

  “Simon is mistaken, Ms. Donovan. Now I really must insist.” He clamped a hand around my upper arm to stop me from going back to Simon.

  “The last time she was here,” Simon said. “Wednesday. She showed up in time for practice, but she didn’t stay. You had that big argument with her. Remember, Uncle Richard?”

  My mind raced. If what Simon said was true, Alicia had been tiring of music and had turned her attention elsewhere. She had missed at least one practice and had blown off another on the day she died, which was also a day she had been expected at Jennifer’s to tutor Teddy. She had never shown up there. I wondered about the youth-orchestra bombshell Simon had just dropped. Alicia didn’t want the position. Carrie was next in line. But as far as I knew, no one had ever told her that. Instead, she had ended up the prime suspect in Alicia’s murder. The threatening note found in the music room had pretty much sealed her fate until Brad Donnelly showed up looking for his wife. Carrie admitted to having written the note, but insisted she didn’t mean it. She had passed it to Tina, and I’d thought Tina had used it to point the finger of blame at Carrie. But what if it hadn’t been Tina? What if it had been someone else? What if it had been someone with almost limitless access to the music room?

  I knew Mr. Todd had spoken to the police. Apparently he told them that nothing had seemed out of the ordinary with Alicia. He hadn’t mentioned the missed practices or the argument he had had with her. Nor had he said anything about Alicia bowing out of the national youth orchestra or her wish that Carrie be given her spot.

  And the missing necklace? The person who valued it the most was Mr. Todd. Simon had been happy to give it to Alicia as a symbol of their friendship. Mr. Todd was upset that he had gifted it outside of the family. If Mr. Todd had killed Alicia, he could have taken back the necklace.

  But even if that were true, it still left a huge question: Why? What possible motive did Mr. Todd have for killing her?

  “Your uncle is right, Simon. I should get out of here and let you practice.”

  I needed to call Aunt Ginny. She needed to know everything I had found out. Maybe she could use the information to get a search warrant for the necklace.

  Mr. Todd still had me by the arm, but he was no longer trying to get me out the door. He was holding me back.

  “Simon, go to your room.”

  Simon balked at the order. “You just told me to practice.”

  “Now I’m telling you to go to your room. This minute.” His hand was biting deep into my upper arm.

  “Don’t go, Simon,” I said. I didn’t want to be alone with Mr. Todd. I needed Simon, and I needed him on my side.

  “To your room,” his uncle boomed. “Now.”

  “You were here the day Alicia was murdered, weren’t you, Simon?”

  “Simon, are you defying me?”

  “You were here, Simon,” I continued. “You heard Alicia talking to your uncle. You heard them arguing. What happened after Alicia left, Simon? Did your uncle stay in the house, or did he go out?”

  Simon’s brow furrowed as he thought back to that day.

  “He went out,” he said. “He was angry. He grabbed his keys and went out.”

  “Did he say where he went?”

  Simon shook his head.

  “Why don’t you ask him now, Simon? Ask your uncle where he went after Alicia left the house.”

  “For the last time, go to your room, Simon, or face the consequences.”

  “I have a better idea, Simon,” I said. “Come with me. Tell the police everything you just told me. You want to make sure they find Alicia’s murderer, don’t you?”

  “What rubbish. Simon, if I have to tell you one more time, you’re grounded.”

  “Come on, Simon.”

  Simon hesitated. He frowned at his uncle. Then he came toward us. “Okay,” he said.

  Mr. Todd spun me around so that his back was against the door and I was between him and Simon.

  “I’m afraid I can’t let you leave just yet.”

  “Why not?” Simon asked.

  “What are you going to do, Mr. Todd? You can’t keep me here indefinitely. And Simon is involved now.”

  That’s when someone rang the doorbell.

  Mr. Todd clamped a hand over my mouth. “Go to your room, Simon,” he hissed.

  The doorbell rang again, followed by brisk knocking.

  “Police!”

  Aunt Ginny.

  I lifted one foot and stomped down as hard as I could on the bridge of Mr. Todd’s foot. He released his grip on me, and I shouted.

  “Aunt Ginny, help!”

  “Riley?” The doorknob rattled, but the door was locked.

  Mr. Todd pushed me away from the door, but I ducked under his arms and unlocked the door. Aunt Ginny stood framed in the doorway. She had her gun drawn. It was trained on Mr. Todd.

  “What you told me about the necklace really bothered me,” Aunt Ginny said much later. “There was no necklace found on Donnelly’s person or in his cabin. So I decided to stop by and ask Simon about it.”

  This was after she had handcuffed Mr. Todd, and after Simon had slowly put the pieces together and realized what his uncle was being accused of. Then two uniformed officers showed up, which was perfect timing, because Simon flew at his uncle and started pummeling him. For a slight guy, he had the strength of a lion. It took both uniforms to separate uncle and nephew. Another squad car showed up. Todd, still handcuffed, was bundled into the back of one. Simon, an important witness, went into another to be taken to the station for questioning. I rode back with Aunt Ginny. As we were leaving, two more cops were pulling on latex gloves in preparation for searching the house.

  When we got back to the police station, Aunt Ginny installed me in the coffee room. She had no choice. Simon and Mr. Todd were occupying the only two interview rooms. She was pouring herself a cup of coffee when her cell phone rang. She listened and fist-pumped the air. She was smiling when she hung up.

  “Did they find the necklace?” I asked.

  Aunt Ginny nodded. “He hid it—at the bottom of a box of cereal.”

  “They even searched his food?”

  “Yup. Officer Pulaski found it.”

  “Wow, is he ever thorough.”

  “Actually, it was an accident,” Aunt Ginny said. “And a breach of protocol. He’s being disciplined.”

  “I don’t get it. What did he do wrong?”

  “He was assigned to search the kitchen. Apparently the suspect had several boxes of a certain luxury imported chocolate biscuit from Austria, one of which was opened. Josh literally caught Officer Pulaski with his hand in the cookie jar. Pulaski tried to act as if he hadn’t done anything wrong. In the process, he knocked over some boxes, including an opened box of cereal, and voilà! You know what that means, right?”

  “It means Donnelly didn’t kill Alicia. Mr. Todd did.”

  “It means that the chief was wrong.” She was still smiling when she told me to sit tight while she went to question Mr. Todd.

  I’d left the house in the morning to ask Simon about the necklace. It was after midnight by the time Aunt Ginny and I were in her car and on our way home. By then Mr. Todd had been charged.

  “He’s pleading not guilty,” Aunt Ginny told me.

  “But he did it. You know he did.”

  “Apparently Todd has a history of instability. He assaulted one of his students when she got pregnant and wanted to stay home with her baby instead of continuing with her music career. It was hushed up and settled out of court by the conservatory where he worked. I think his lawyer is planning to use tha
t to argue he wasn’t criminally responsible.”

  “Is that why he killed Alicia? Because she didn’t want to join the youth orchestra?”

  “He says she threw her life away. He seems to think she could have been world-class. He couldn’t understand why she would just blow it off. He says he tried to reason with her, but she wouldn’t listen. He says he doesn’t even remember hitting her.”

  “How is Simon taking it?”

  Aunt Ginny glanced at me. “He’s an odd duck.”

  “He’s a musical prodigy,” I said. “So was his mother. But otherwise he’s just a kid. He had a massive crush on Alicia. Is he going to be okay?”

  “There’s another uncle,” Aunt Ginny said. “He’s been contacted.”

  “And Donnelly’s wife?”

  “She’s relieved. She finally gets her life back.”

  “And Rafe?”

  “He saved your life. He’s in the clear.”

  Our house came into view in the beam of the headlights.

  “I’m starving,” Aunt Ginny said. “Do we have anything to eat?”

  They released Carrie. She turned up at my house a few days later.

  “I just wanted to thank you,” she said. She was paler than the last time I had seen her and had lost a lot of weight. “You were the only person who believed me.”

  “Desiree believed you too,” I told her. “She’s a good friend. She told me she wanted to visit you, but your parents refused to put her name on the approved-visitor list.”

  At the mention of her parents, Carrie bowed her head.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she said softly. “I know they thought I did it. Marion in particular. She told me she was sorry, but I don’t think she is. I think she’s still angry that I made her look bad.”

  “Maybe she’ll see things differently now.”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m not going to live there anymore. I talked to a social worker before I was released. I can get some financial aid so that I can support myself until the end of the school year. I’m moving too. I found a room for rent. I don’t want to live here anymore, not after what happened.”

  What she really meant was not after what people believed she had done. I understood how she must have been feeling. But I wasn’t sure that moving was the best solution. Still, people do what they feel they have to do, and maybe it would turn out to be a good thing for her. Maybe she needed a fresh start.

  “Have you talked to Tina?” I asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Are you going to?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not blaming her for what happened. But I know she didn’t stick up for me. And if anyone should have, it should have been her.”

  “Some people need more time to figure things out.” I believed it when I said it, but I also knew it sounded pretty lame to Carrie after everything she’d been through.

  “Maybe. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you believed me. If it wasn’t for you, I’d probably still be under arrest.”

  “I hope things work out for you,” I told Carrie.

  She hugged me briefly and stepped out into the night.

  ONE

  A damp, dreary day was made drearier by Ashleigh’s lateness. Where was she? She should have been here ages ago. I glanced at the clock on the wall. Okay, she should have been here five minutes ago. But it wasn’t as if this was some last-minute thing she might have forgotten. She had been meeting me every day after class since school began. We did our homework together on the days she wasn’t working. I walked her to the grocery store on the days she was. That meant I never had to walk past Mike Winters’ locker alone.

  Mike’s locker was the first one at the top of the stairs. He was always there after school, and it took him forever to get his stuff together. I’d never seen a guy take so long. It meant that I couldn’t leave—okay, so I refused to leave—okay, okay, so I was afraid to leave—without having someone like Ashleigh leave with me. I realize how that makes me sound. But it’s the truth.

  Get over it, I told myself. What had happened, happened. It was history now. Besides, everything had turned out okay, hadn’t it? Sure, I’d accused Mike of terrible things. But I’d done it in good faith. I’d believed what I said at the time that I said it. It might be a lame defense, but it’s also the truth.

  “Boo!”

  I jumped and spun around, my heart pounding. Ashleigh.

  “Are you still here?” She seemed surprised.

  “Of course I’m still here. I was waiting for you. Remember?”

  “In that case, you’re lucky I came this way.” When she saw the blank look on my face, she shook her head. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

  “Me? You’re the one who forgot. We meet here at the same time every day.”

  “Except for today. I told you, Riley. It’s picture day.”

  “What?” Picture day? Today? “When? Now?”

  Ashleigh was right. I had forgotten. Otherwise I would have paid more attention to my hair. I would have dressed differently. There was no way I wanted to appear in my first-ever school yearbook with a greasy mop of hair and a pilled sweater that was the first warm thing I’d grabbed this morning. I blamed Mr. Jespers. If he hadn’t given us a ridiculous assignment—a multimedia presentation that expressed our individuality—I wouldn’t have stayed up half the night editing old videos together with music that was important to me. I would have gotten up in time to attend to my personal hygiene. I rooted in my backpack for my brush and wished I’d stuck a mirror to the inside of my locker the way most of the other girls had done.

  And I cursed school. I’d never liked the idea of it. I definitely did not enjoy the practice of it. When I’d lived with my grandpa Jimmy, which I had for most of my life, school had consisted of distance education via computer. That’s because Jimmy had been constantly on the road with his rock group, which had had half a dozen hit songs before I was born. When Jimmy died, I had been shipped off to live with Aunt Ginny, my mother’s younger sister. Her father, my grandpa Dan, took over my education for a while. But a couple of months back, Aunt Ginny had been offered a plum job, and we’d moved to Moorebridge. Result: I was forced to enrol in school.

  “Relax,” Ashleigh said. “It’s not that picture day. It’s National Student Photography Day. Hey, what happened to your four-leaf clover?”

  “What?” I looked at the small fabric loop on my backpack where the green-and-gold clover had hung ever since Charlie had given it to me for my fifteenth birthday. So your year will be filled with good luck, he’d said. But the clover was gone. I scanned the floor frantically.

  “Maybe it fell off in your locker,” Ashleigh said.

  I searched it thoroughly. The clover wasn’t there.

  “It could be anywhere.” I moaned. “I don’t even know how long it’s been missing.”

  “I’d help you look, but like I said, it’s—”

  “—National Student Photography Day. What is that anyway?”

  “You didn’t listen to me at all, did you?” She let out a dramatic sigh and rattled off a description that I had to admit sounded vaguely familiar. “It’s a contest. Students right across the country participate. There’s a theme every year. And the rule is that everyone has to take their picture on the same day at the same time—no cheating. There are great prizes—cash and cameras.”

  “And you’re participating?” It was amazing how much I didn’t know about my best friend. I’d had no idea at all that Ashleigh was interested in photography. In my defense, Ashleigh and I had met a mere two months ago, when I moved here with Aunt Ginny.

  “You bet I am. I came fourth in the regionals last year. I won a great camera.” She dug in her backpack and produced it. “Digital, but professional quality.” She glanced at the clock above the bank of lockers. “I really have to go. We only have two hours to get the perfect shot.”

  “What’s the theme?”

  “From above.”

 
“From above what?”

  She grinned. “From above whatever you decide. One guy I know ditched his afternoon classes so he can be on the top of Bald Mountain in time to try to get a shot of the eagle’s nest up there.”

  “There are eagles on Bald Mountain?” That was news to me.

  “One girl is going to photograph lake life from the surface. You know, from above.”

  “That’ll be fun in the rain,” I said. It had started drizzling while I was riding to school. The drizzle had turned into a downpour, which had eventually slowed to a steady shower that continued all day. I wasn’t looking forward to the wet ride home.

  “Look out a window,” Ashleigh said. “The rain stopped fifteen minutes ago. The sun is out. And FYI, Mike pulled some strings with one of his uncles to get permission to go up on the water tower and get some panorama shots that he wants to turn into one picture of the whole town.”

  “Mike Winters?” The same Mike whose cutting glances I had been dodging for weeks? “Mike Winters competes in photography contests?”

  “I know he doesn’t seem like the type. But he’s good,” Ashleigh said. “You wouldn’t ever guess it, because he can be such a jerk. But put a camera in his hands and he’s a different person. He has an eye for a great shot. I heard him tell someone else in the camera club that he likes the way things look through a lens.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I have no idea. But wait till you see my entry.” She stowed her camera in her pack. “Gotta run.” She raced down the hall, leaving me to contemplate the notion of Mike Winters’ artistic eye. She was right. I never would have guessed.

  I rolled up my rain poncho, stuffed it in my backpack and went boldly down the stairs and out the front door.

  My bike was locked up at the recreation center next door to Lyle Murcheson Regional High School. Unlike the school, the rec center had proper bike stands. On my way there, I scanned every square inch of wet and puddled ground, hoping to spot something twinkling in the afternoon sun. Something like, say, a green-and-gold four-leaf clover. But the only sparkling items I saw were wadded-up gum wrappers and a nickel. I had to find that charm. Charlie was already mad at me for something that wasn’t my fault. Now he was going to think I’d ditched his gift on purpose.