Music is Murder, page 14
I remembered that. As if her activities could make any difference. Olive only infuriated the union’s negotiating committee for stepping on its toes.
“He sounded more and more upset, so I thought I’d better change the subject.”
“KC, that’s great. You can’t be too pushy, and you persuaded him to talk.”
“I’m supposed to see him again on Tuesday, the eighteenth.”
“It’s wonderful what you’re doing for me.” I paused, moved by her support. “But be careful. He might be a killer. Protect yourself.” The safest thing would be for her to stay completely away from him.
“Oh, I can take care of myself.” She waved her hand, pushing my worries away. “I have experience with guys like this.”
Hoping her experience justified her confidence, I approached a related subject. “Have you given any thought to a new career?”
KC laughed. “Yeah. I applied for a job as a receptionist. They even had me come in for an interview. Turned out the boss had been a client. He pushed me out the door so fast I broke the sound barrier. Just as well, I guess. Working together would have been awkward, I’ve gotta think. Not a great start, huh?”
I chuckled, too, but not from amusement, although I tried to stay positive. “Well, it can’t get any worse, can it?”
I taught flute lessons from 2:00 until 6:00 and ended up mentally and physically exhausted. As I said goodbye to my last student, KC announced dinner in the dining room and did her best to revive me. She’d made some kind of scrumptious chicken thing. Once, I would have eaten fast food, alone, at Lundy’s. Thanks to KC, I had time to inhale dinner and work in a quick nap before I left. What had I ever done without her?
I felt almost human again when the security guard greeted me for that night’s concert with the familiar, “Fancy meeting you here.”
But none of it helped, and my warm-up felt scattered.
I kept seeing Olive’s mistakes. Beside me my section leader, Sandy Baines, warmed up. Olive had publicly embarrassed her with insensitive comments. Behind me in the clarinet section sat Janet, whose shaky marriage fell apart under Olive’s paranoid suspicions. In the same row Gardiner presided over the bassoon section. Olive had stalked him, stunted his budding relationship with Leanne, and tried to humiliate him professionally. In front of me, in the first violin section, Gardiner’s ex, Clara James, prepared to perform. Olive had continually poked and pried into her already painful divorce wounds. Billie and Joe Burke were in the audience, taking the opportunity to hear Beethoven’s Fifth together. Their blissful, years-long union was marred with secrets, thanks to Olive, and Joe had been victimized by Olive’s blackmail-for-jobs scheme, if KC and I had guessed right. And what about the people who weren’t here? Sometimes self-centered and thoughtless, Olive had ignored the needs of David O’Malley’s children and overlooked his kindness. And who knew how many assorted petty wounds she’d delivered, like tactless comments and blistering musical critiques?
But by the time the concert started, thanks to practice and training, I had compartmentalized, put my thoughts aside, and shifted my concentration to Daphnis and the concerto. It wasn’t until intermission, knowing I had to talk to Clara James, Gardiner’s ex-wife, that I thought about the murder again. I hurried out with the strings. Clara walked just ahead of me.
“Clara.” I called.
She turned and waited at the side of the stage. “Great job on Daphnis, Emily.”
The compliment startled me. It’s true, I had put my questions aside and concentrated when the concert started but, judging myself, I hadn’t thought my playing better than average. Clara said, “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you since Olive died. How are you doing? I know you two were friends.”
We walked through the dark, crowded wings of the stage and out into the florescent lights of the backstage area, where crowds of symphony musicians chatted noisily.
“Oh, fine, I guess.” Fine didn’t cover anything at all—not my guilt at having lost patience and hung up on Olive, not my grief at having permanently lost her unique outlook on life, and not my sadness at the waste of her potential. Instead of mentioning my feelings, I turned my attention to Lt. Gordon. “The police investigation has pointed a finger straight at me, so I’m a little stressed.”
“You? Why?”
“Well, I don’t have an alibi, I’ve been seen near the scene at the time of the crime, and I benefitted from Olive’s will. It doesn’t look good, but I didn’t kill her.” Saying it out loud made me feel better.
“I know you didn’t kill her. You couldn’t.” Clara staunchly defended me. What if she knew I thought of her as a suspect? Clara had a good motive, and someone had murdered Olive.
“What about you? How are you doing?”
Clara hesitated. “I don’t deny I’m relieved to be free of the problems Olive caused for me, but nobody deserves to die the way she did.”
Finally. Someone who expressed something other than glee at Olive’s death.
I continued. “I have the feeling the police are suspicious of everybody. I guess it’s their job. Have they questioned you?”
“They did. It’s possible I’m a suspect, but I went out to dinner and a movie the day of the murder. My companion can vouch for me from five PM, when he picked me up, until eleven. By that time, I guess Olive’s body had already been found.”
Her alibi left an hour and a half unaccounted for. Did she kill Olive during those ninety minutes? Possibly. I made a mental note. But Clara seemed so kind. Surely, she wasn’t a killer. “Companion? He? Give.”
Clara blushed. “He’s a guy some friends fixed me up with. It’s way too early to get excited.”
“Well, keep me posted. You know I wish you the best.” By then we’d gone down the stairs to the green room. Clara stayed there and headed for an armchair, while I left for the restroom.
I had hardly latched the stall when I heard the main bathroom door open and a voice say, “Yeah, Olive and I hung out together for a while, but she was too high maintenance. I couldn’t take it.” I recognized the voice of Hester Crabbe, second oboe.
“High maintenance how?” That voice I didn’t know.
“Everything always had to be just so, her way. The last straw came when she accused me of stealing some money she’d withdrawn from the bank. Later, I heard she found it under a stack of music. But did she apologize? No. Life’s too short to put up with that kind of stuff.”
I remembered Leanne had hinted at the funeral that Hester had some problem with Olive. Hester’s story explained Leanne’s comment.
Embarrassed, I didn’t want Hester to feel like I eavesdropped on her conversation, but I couldn’t avoid it. I had to return to the stage. Besides, I wanted to find out the identity of Hester’s friend. I flushed the toilet then emerged from the stall. One of the newer string players exchanged a distressed look with Hester before disappearing into the stall I had just vacated.
I said, “Hi,” to Hester.
She responded, “Hi,” but didn’t say another word.
I washed my hands in awkward silence and left.
Great. Another ex-friend who didn’t have much of a motive but didn’t mourn Olive, either.
I started the Beethoven relying on muscle memory built up from my practice sessions. That reserve was the reason I practiced, and it took me into the music, where I found refuge and familiarity. But by the time I reached home adrenaline oozed away, and I welcomed Golden’s enthusiastic “hello.” I rubbed her ears and found myself wanting to be enveloped by one of Barry’s hugs. He wasn’t there, though, and I had no one to blame but myself. Even KC had turned in. The letdown was total. No one to talk to, no one who understood, and no one who cared. Just Golden. I went to bed glad for her company, at least, but feeling lonely and sorry for myself. Sleep didn’t come easily.
TWENTY-ONE
Sunday, February 16, 2010, 6:30 PM
Iplayed an excellent Daphnis Sunday afternoon. On the last concert of the series, and my last chance at Daphnis, I’d been able to immerse myself in the music, oblivious to all other concerns. “After all,” I told myself before the concert, “I didn’t kill Olive. There must be clues pointing to the real murderer. Lieutenant Gordon will find them. He’s a professional.” In other words, I’d gone into denial, forgotten everything but the music, and played a great concert.
Drained, but pleased with my performance and in a celebratory mood, I arrived home ready to relax. Golden danced her welcome and again, the house radiated wonderful cooking smells. Chicken Marseilles? Mmmm. Yum. My mouth watered. KC practiced in the guest room, adding to my feelings of well-being.
She must have heard me come in because she appeared on the stairs a few minutes after I arrived. Stopping before she descended the last four steps and leaning over the bannister, she asked, “Em, how’d the concert go?”
“Great!” I put my keys into my purse. “I finally played Daphnis the way I wanted to, the soloist outdid herself, and the Beethoven moved me, even as many times as I’ve played Beethoven’s Fifth.”
“I’m so glad. You deserve it.” She danced down the last four steps and followed me into the studio, where I put the satchel that held my flute, purse, and music stand into a cupboard.
“I got the nicest call from Barry while you were gone.” She reminded me of a happy, wiggly puppy, bubbling with joy.
“Am I supposed to phone him back?”
“Actually, he called to talk to me.”
A prick of jealousy disturbed my glow, surprising me.
She hurried on. “He wanted to thank me for dinner Friday. He appreciated that I found a way for you two to be together on Valentine’s Day, okay? He cares about you, Em. I can tell, you know?” Her sincerity couldn’t be mistaken.
I didn’t argue, but the tender side of her surprised me, to say the least. You’d think what she did for a living would trounce all the romance from her soul. But I’d caught her mooning over a book with a scantily clad, curvaceous woman and a bare-chested, well-muscled man on the cover.
She continued. “How come you won’t give him a chance?”
“How come you’re meddling?”
She looked so upset that I felt guilty.
“KC, men are a pain.” I tried to explain myself. “Surely you’ve noticed that in your line of work?” I didn’t give her a chance to answer. “They complicate things. They expect you to live their life, not your own. They demand it, never appreciating what you do for them. Life is a series of compromises, trying to please them, with only occasional happiness. I don’t want it. My friends care, they’re considerate, and I have my freedom. It’s all a joy.”
“Sounds like you’ve been hanging out with the wrong men. Barry’s a sweetheart. He’s real. He only wants your company.”
I didn’t reply.
KC took a step toward me. “Come on. Be honest with yourself. I saw how glad you were to see Barry Friday night. You’re just fooling yourself. Don’t throw it away.”
Okay, I had to admit she was right, but not out loud. “He’d be the last person I’d date. He’s my lawyer, KC.”
“So? You’re on the same team, looks to me.”
My post-concert highs completely destroyed, I felt upset, but unsure at whom. Barry, KC, or myself. Despite the mouthwatering smells, my appetite deserted me. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m taking Golden for a walk.”
KC laid her hand on my arm. “Just give Barry a chance to show you he’s different. You won’t be sorry.”
I shook her hand off. “What I’m sorry about is that no one believes anything I say, whether it’s about love or murder.” I hurried out of the room before she, or I, could say anything more.
Golden and I had a long walk, and by the time we returned, the chicken was cold. KC practiced in her room, my arrival unnoticed. I made up a plate and, like old times, ate cold food with only Golden for company.
TWENTY-TWO
Monday, February 17, 2010, 8:05 AM
The next morning, KC made a wonderful breakfast of fruit, eggs, and hot oatmeal. Comfort food with fiber. I took it as an apology. She didn’t want any hard feelings between us. Neither did I. I had decided I was in the wrong. She had been trying to help and had no idea I would react so strongly. “KC, I . . . that is I . . . I’m sorry. About yesterday, that is.”
“It’s okay, Em. I shouldn’t have questioned you.”
I hugged KC, relieved she’d forgiven me. I’d eaten my fill and put on my coat to take Golden for a walk when the phone rang.
“Barry.” My face burned as I thought of yesterday’s conversation with KC.
“Hi, Em. Sorry to call so early, but I’m afraid I have bad news.”
Those were words you didn’t want to hear from your lawyer. My stomach instantly threatened to lose the breakfast I had just finished. I let go of Golden’s leash, sat abruptly in the nearest chair, a cane-bottomed heirloom that had belonged to my grandfather, and waited silently.
Barry didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I heard from my source at the MPD.”
My arm and shoulder tightened as I clutched the receiver “And?”
“Em, the police are issuing a warrant for your arrest in Olive’s murder. My source didn’t know exactly know when, but Lieutenant Gordon will be coming for you. It’s step one. When he arrests you, call me. I’ll come. It’s what lawyers do. Besides, I’m your friend. You’re not alone.”
I went numb for only a moment before hope reasserted itself. “But I didn’t do it. You’ll get me out, right? You won’t leave me in jail?”
I had a feeling the long silence that followed didn’t bode well, and I was right. “Em, I didn’t want to worry you. It was such a long shot they’d arrest you that I didn’t tell you before . . .”
“What?” How could it be any worse?
“There’s no possibility of bail on a homicide charge.” His words numbed me all the way from my stomach to my brain, so I barely understood. “The DA got elected with a get-tough-on-crime campaign. The cornerstone is no bail if the charges involve violent crime. Once they arrest you, you’ll be in jail ‘til you’re acquitted.”
Well, at least his scenario called for acquittal. “Barry, I can’t go to jail.” I turned to denial. “They can’t have any evidence. I didn’t kill her.” Every made-for-TV prison drama I’d ever seen came into my head. Near panic now, I hugged myself and rocked. “I won’t go to jail. Somebody has to find the real murderer.”
He didn’t respond.
When he spoke again, he summed up the police case in a calm, low voice, like any professional person talking to a crazed client. “You were seen near the murder scene walking Golden during the right time frame. Olive made you a beneficiary in her will.” He cleared his throat. “What you don’t know is she made an appointment to change her will, with the specific intention of removing you as a beneficiary. In addition, your fingerprints were all over her apartment, and they found gold canine hair at the murder scene.”
“Barry, I visited Olive a thousand times, with and without Golden. The hair and the prints must be from those visits. And I didn’t know about the will . . . the original or the changes.”
“Em, you’re preaching to the choir. I believe you. But there’s enough evidence for probable cause.”
Panic had taken control of my brain. My thinking was confused and chaotic, but I trusted Barry. This was his business, after all. Barry would help me out of this mess. As if I hadn’t heard the beginning of the conversation, I asked, “What should I do?”
Patiently, Barry spoke, sounding gentle and sorrowful. “Do as much as you can to arrange your affairs.”
“That’s your advice?” Unbelievable. Stunned fear turned to adrenaline, anger took over, and I shot out of my chair. “You want me to sit here and wait to be arrested?” I paced. “Trust that the police will keep looking for someone else after I’m in custody?” I felt tears fill my eyes. Angrily I brushed them away. I was alone. Again. “It’s obvious I’m going to have to find the murderer myself.”
“Em, I know you’re upset, but being cooperative at this point could—”
“Don’t tell me not to defend myself. Or to let the real killer go free.” I hung up before he finished.
TWENTY-THREE
Monday, February 17, 2010, 8:15 AM
KC appeared at my elbow as I hung up. “Em?” The worried expression on her face did nothing for my mood, except add guilt to anger and fear.
I knew taking my feelings out on her was pointless. “That was Barry.” I took a deep breath and tried to calm down and think.
“What’s wrong?”
“Not a thing, except that Lieutenant Gordon is due to show up with a warrant for my arrest, Barry wasn’t sure when, and he not only can’t keep me from going to jail, but once I’m in, he can’t get me out ‘til I’m acquitted. If I’m acquitted!”
“Em, I’m sorry—”
“I don’t have time to talk right now. I’m bolting before Lieutenant Gordon comes.” Then I had a thought. I hadn’t known her long, but KC routinely avoided the police. “Can you help me?”
“Help you how?”
I headed upstairs to the bedroom, pulled out my only suitcase, and began packing as I talked. “I’m going to Mom’s.” Mom disliked dogs, and she made no exception for Golden. “Can you take care of Golden?”
