Gail harrumphed, grabbed a box, and snatched up doughnuts like she was picking Japanese beetles from a prize rosebush.
“I heard Tommy is a suspect in the attack on Georgia Winters,” Ma said, not lowering her voice. “The police questioned him. And you didn’t even call me.”
The murmurs from the room behind me stopped. If the whole world hadn’t known about Tommy before, it did now.
“He wasn’t accused of a crime, Ma. Don’t you think I have enough on my mind right now without worrying about who knows what?”
“And even worse than anything,” she continued as though I hadn’t said a word, “you were once again involved in a criminal investigation and didn’t call me. I had to call you, remember? I mean, really. You find that Winters woman sprawled all over the band room, drenched in her own blood, and you didn’t even see fit to let your own mother know. Why, I attended the garden club every month for years with Georgia’s grandmother, not that you would recall. I’ve known her since before you were born. You know, one day I’ll be dead and buried next to your father, and. . .”
She ranted on, but I wasn’t listening. I had just remembered that my mother told me Georgia was thinking of selling the farm and April’s last name was Winters. Was she a relation?
“Trish, are you listening to me?”
I looked up at my mother. She was standing directly in front of me. I hadn’t even seen her move.
“Sorry, Ma.” I needed to distract her. I leaned harder against the counter. “Being pregnant and all. . .I can’t quite. . .well, I’m just so tired. . . .” I ended on a sigh, letting my words fade into the air. Inwardly, I smiled at my acting job. It’s only fair that once in a while I turn the tables on the master manipulator, especially when it’s to my benefit.
Her expression immediately changed to one of concern. “For heaven’s sake! Why are you standing there? Go sit down. Are you trying to kill my newest grandchild before it’s born?” She turned to April. “Make her a decaf latte with whole milk right now. I’ll make a turkey club.”
“But, Ma, I’m not hungry. I’m—”
“Don’t argue with me, young lady.” She pointed toward an empty table. “You’re going to eat. Go sit down.”
I ignored the surreptitious stares from everyone seated in the dining area and glanced at my watch as I obeyed my mother’s orders. Fortunately, I had plenty of time to snack and still arrive at the high school early. I wanted to check out the band room.
Less than five minutes later, April delivered my sandwich and drink.
I waved at a chair. “Can you take a break for a couple of minutes?”
She glanced over at my mother, who was making an espresso for a local dentist. “Doris? You mind if I sit down with Trish?”
“I’d like the company,” I whined for my mother’s benefit as I tried to look drawn and weak. “It’ll help me eat.”
“Sure. Go on,” Ma said. “It’s time for your break, anyway. Besides, it’ll do Trish good.”
I took a bite of my sandwich while April grabbed a cup of coffee and a chocolate biscotti. By the time she joined me, I had made a big dent in my sandwich.
She dropped into a chair across from me and smiled then took a sip of coffee.
I wiped my mouth. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Georgia Winters, would you?”
April’s smile died as if I’d slapped her. “Yes, I am. On my dad’s side. The whole thing isn’t a great topic with my family, and it’s even worse right now.”
I took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be insensitive, but why?”
April rubbed her fingers on the coffee mug. “I’m really not sure. We think Granny Nettie is going senile. Georgia was taking care of her, but Granny was starting to need more care, like a home, so when Connie moved back, she started pitching in during the day while Georgia was at work. But then she started fighting with Georgia.”
“Why?”
“Well, Georgia was getting tired. The farm was too much to take care of on top of everything else. She wanted to sell everything. But here’s the rub. She wanted to put Granny Nettie in a home. Connie didn’t. She thought things should continue the way they were.”
“So what’s the relationship between Georgia, Connie, and Nettie? Why were they caring for her?”
“She’s their aunt. Her husband died really young in some farming accident. They didn’t have kids, so when Georgia and Connie were young, they spent every summer with her on the farm, and she just started treating them like her kids.” April clicked her fingernail on the side of her coffee mug. “Things aren’t good right now. And without Georgia, we’re all sure Granny Nettie will have to go to a home. But Connie is insisting no. The bad thing is that Granny is losing things.”
“Losing things? Like misplacing them?”
“That’s what they say. It’s that senile thing. She puts things places to keep them safe. Like, once she put her purse behind the ironing board in the laundry room. No one found it for days. But the really bad thing is that she’s misplaced some valuable jewelry and knickknacks. Family heirlooms, I hear. The girls looked high and low for everything but found nothing.”
“I’m sorry. That’s horrible.”
“Yeah. That’s why Georgia wanted to put Granny Nettie in a home and sell everything. Besides, she didn’t want the responsibility anymore. And she wanted Connie to go back where she came from.”
“Where was that?” I asked.
“Some town in Virginia. Charlotte something or other.”
“So did Connie move here to help with Nettie?”
April nodded her head. “Sort of. But she was also friends with that principal. You know the one? At the high school? I think she lived in that Charlotte place for a while, too.”
A group of six construction workers walked through the front door.
“April!” Gail hollered. “We need you.”
“Be there in a sec.” April took a last sip of coffee and shoved the rest of the biscotti in her mouth.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Your mom said you’re going to solve this mystery.” April stood and picked up her coffee cup. “I think you should. Even if it makes my family look bad. I feel really bad for Granny Nettie. I don’t know what’s going to happen to her now, but I’m glad I don’t have to take care of her.”
As she walked back behind the counter, I pulled my clue notebook from my purse. As I finished my sandwich, I studied the clues I’d already written. Then I jotted down what April had told me.
Nettie treated Connie and Georgia like her own kids. Connie and Georgia fought about selling the farm and putting Nettie in a home. Georgia wanted to sell. Connie didn’t. Nettie is losing her memory and losing things. (Is that important?)
I chewed the end of my pen. Money was a great motivation for murder. Had Connie killed her cousin? When she came to the self-storage facility the day before, she acted upset about Georgia’s murder, but maybe that’s all it was—an act. And Connie and Carla knew each other from. . .where was it? Was it Charlottesville? I made another note in my notebook.
A glance at my watch told me I’d better move on. I had a meeting to attend and more investigating to do.
Before I left, I convinced my mother to run a full-page ad in the play program. Really, all I had to do was tell her that the Cunninghams were doing the same. That’s one area where my mother and I are in perfect agreement. The way we feel about Max’s family.
I arrived a bit early for the play committee meeting, pausing for a deep breath at the band room door. My gaze slid around the room. To my relief, everything was in order.
“Marvin?” The baby was kicking my ribs and making it hard for me to breathe.
He didn’t answer. The room was empty. I laid the boxes of doughnuts on a table and decided to take a quick look around before anyone arrived. I needed to see how the lock worked on the door in the instrument storage room that led out to the main hallway.
The storage room hadn’t changed since I
had been in the band. The various-sized wooden slots held instrument cases. There were only two high windows in the room. No way to escape through them. I walked over to the door that led from the room to the hall. When I had attended school here, the door was left open, and we could come and go as we pleased. Now a lock had been installed—a dead bolt that had to be unlocked with a key.
Whoever killed Georgia had to have escaped the scene through this door, leaving the band room blocked by a chair.
A sound behind me made me jump. I spun around, and Marvin was standing in the doorway to the storage room.
He took a step into the small room. “Mrs. Cunningham, what are you doing here?”
“Call me Trish, please,” I said quickly.
I’d done just what I promised Max I wouldn’t do. Put myself in a dangerous situation. How easy it would be for Marvin to bash me over the head with an instrument right now and leave me here, then claim he’d been somewhere else. Everyone would think we had a serial instrument basher at the school.
“Uh. . .I used to play the clarinet in marching band. I wondered if things had changed since then. They haven’t.” I pointed in the general direction of where I’d stored my instrument. “That’s where my slot was.”
He nodded. “Not a lot has changed around here at least in terms of the physical building. Lots of other things have changed, though.”
His body language wasn’t that of someone ready to attack me, so I relaxed a bit and motioned toward the door to the hall. “I guess that’s one of the changes. We used to be able to come in and out of that door.”
“That was done before I came. I keep it locked so that kids can’t use the room to make out or steal instruments and pawn them.”
“Pawn them?”
“Oh yeah,” he said. “They use the money to buy drugs.”
My little ideal world just kept crashing in around me. Was I so naive?
He looked over his shoulder. “Say, did you bring the doughnuts?”
“Yes,” I said. “Help yourself.”
“I’m really hungry.” He turned and walked back into the band room.
I took a deep breath of relief, but I could see that keeping my promise to Max to stay out of danger while I gathered clues was going to be harder than I thought.
By the time I walked out of the storage room, Marvin was stuffing his face with a doughnut as if he hadn’t eaten in a week. With powdered sugar on his lips, his dress shirt hanging limply on broad, bony shoulders, and pants resting low on his narrow hips, he looked a bit like a scarecrow.
Carla strode into the room and greeted me with a nod and Marvin with a cool glance. She had a clipboard in her hands with papers half an inch thick piled on it. I guessed Max had already talked with her, but she gave me no indication either way, just acknowledged me with that slight nod. I had a feeling she had difficulty focusing on more than one thing at a time. What I didn’t understand was why the principal of the school was so involved in the play. Didn’t she have office things to do?
When she noticed the boxes I’d brought, she put the clipboard down and chose a cake doughnut, which she delicately nibbled, dabbing her lips with her napkin after each bite.
Other people arrived, including a woman who looked so much like Detective Scott, I knew she had to be his sister. She headed straight for me. That’s when I noticed she walked with a cane and a decided limp.
“You’ve got to be Trish Cunningham,” she said when she reached me. “I’m Elissa Scott.”
She held out her hand, which I automatically clasped. Her grip was firm and strong. She was tall, with gray eyes and an assessing gaze. I wondered why she was here.
“I’m glad to meet you. I heard you were living with Detective Scott.”
“Ah yes.” She glanced around at the people gathering in the room then back at me. “News does fly around here.”
“Yep.” I grinned. “But that’s not how I know. Your niece told me.”
She smiled. “She speaks highly of you and your family.”
“She might like me, but I’m not sure your brother does.”
Elissa laughed. “Don’t worry about him. If he didn’t like you, you’d know for sure.” Her gaze swept over me. “So, when is your baby due?”
“Less than a month.”
“All right, ladies and gentlemen, we need to start this meeting.” Carla slapped her clipboard down on Marvin’s music stand, interrupting my conversation with Elissa. Marvin’s baton fell to the floor, and anger flashed in his eyes as he bent over to pick it up. I was trying to figure out the dynamics between him and Carla when, from the side of my eye, I saw motion at the band room door and turned to see Sherry waving wildly through the window.
I nudged Elissa with my arm. “Does Sherry want me or you?”
Elissa looked over at her niece, who was now pointing with thrusts of her index finger in our direction. “You, I think.”
“Excuse me,” I murmured. I crossed the room and opened the door. “What’s up?”
“Mrs. C., I have to talk to you.” The tone of her voice was low and urgent.
“Trish?” Carla said behind me. “We must start this meeting now.”
I glanced around and realized that everyone was seated and staring at me. I turned back to Sherry. “All right, why don’t you call my cell phone in about an hour?”
“You don’t understand,” she said. “My dad is on a rampage.”
Her anxiety was catching, and my stomach clenched, but I needed to be cool. “I’m not surprised. He’s rampaged before.”
“No.” The poor child was wringing her hands. “Not like this.”
“Trish?” Carla repeated in her bossy tone.
“I have to get back to the meeting. I’ll call you when I’m done.” I patted Sherry’s arm. “Don’t worry. Things will be fine.” I was trying to assure her even though I didn’t believe it myself.
Her shoulders slumped. “Just be prepared, okay?” She turned and walked slowly down the hall, leaving me feeling anxious.
I tried to ignore the dread that settled in my stomach as I shut the door. Elissa saved me a seat next to her and patted it. She’d hung her cane on the back of her chair.
“What’s up?” she whispered.
“She says her dad is on a rampage.”
Elissa harumphed, which relieved some of my tension. I had a feeling I was going to like her, but she didn’t have a chance to say anything, because Carla glanced at us and pointedly cleared her throat.
“I have drawn up a tentative schedule of when everyone’s tasks should be completed.” She motioned imperiously at Marvin. “Please hand this out.” Then she frowned and looked around the room. “Where is Connie? Marvin, do you know?”
“No, I don’t,” he said in a flat tone without looking at her. He continued passing out papers as Carla had ordered.
“Well, that’s. . .” Carla took a breath. “Well, we’ll just work around her, then. You.” She pointed at Elissa. “You said you wanted to help somehow. You can help Connie with costumes. You’ll need to get in touch with her.”
She turned to me. “Now, Trish, please tell us whom you have approached for advertising.”
I pulled a folded piece of paper from my purse. It wasn’t really a list—I was just pretending—but I didn’t need a reminder of the two whole people I’d already talked to. I would just do some quick faking for the rest.
I had opened my mouth to begin my recitation when the door flew open and Detective Eric Scott strode into the room.
Everyone stared at him. I thought Carla was going to have a stroke.
“We’re having a meeting here,” she said.
“Sheriff ’s office business.” He scanned the room, his eyes skimming over his sister, then locking with mine.
“Trish,” he said. “I’d like a word with you. Will you please come with me?”
Chapter Nine
Detective Scott motioned for me to go ahead of him and pulled the band room door shut.
“Why do you do things like this?” I demanded. “Everyone’s going to think I killed Georgia or something.”
He pointed up the hall as if I hadn’t spoken, which didn’t surprise me. “Let’s go outside to my car.”
I stopped midstep. “Can’t we talk here? I don’t feel like going outside. I need to be in that meeting.” The truth was I couldn’t have cared less about the meeting, but I was in no mood to talk to him. Sherry had correctly called it. Her father was on a rampage, although it wouldn’t be apparent to the casual observer. Self-controlled types like Detective Scott and Max, and even my father, show their emotions in subtle ways, like clenched jaws, stiff bodies, and deceptively low- pitched voices. Not in loud outbursts like my mother. Subtlety was much more intimidating to me.
“We’re going outside,” he said in a flat tone.
I met his intimidating gaze and shrugged. I would go with him because he was an officer of the law. He had the badge and the gun. However, I would not let myself be browbeaten.
“I’ve been thinking about all of this,” I said breathlessly as I tried to keep pace with him. “Because of that chair behind the door to the band room, there’s no way anyone could have left after they bashed in Georgia’s head. . .unless they went through the door in the instrument storage room. The door to the instrument room is locked with a dead bolt that you need a key to unlock. Who all has keys? I imagine Marvin does. So would Carla. Actually, so would anybody who had school access. Keys can be copied.”
He grunted.
“I wish you would slow down,” I grumbled. “I can’t breathe.”
He did, just a smidgeon.
“This way,” he said when we reached the front doors. He held one open for me, and I walked through.
My thoughts were gaining momentum. “Really, now that I think about it, I can’t be sure Georgia was bashed with the bassoon. I didn’t look at it closely, but I should have. It seems to me there should have been more blood all over the place. And she had thrown up.”
Band Room Bash Page 9