Deadly Overtures: A Music Lover's Mystery Page 12

  “Come on,” he said as he hung my coat in the foyer closet. “You look like you could use a hot drink and I just brewed some fresh coffee.”

  He headed for the kitchen, Finnegan trotting after him, but I remained frozen to the spot. My heart had settled back into its normal rhythm, but I was distracted by a hum of electric energy running through me. Drawing in a sharp breath, I shook myself out of my daze.

  Had I imagine what had passed between us? Was I seeing what I wanted to see rather than what was really there?

  I gave myself another mental shake as I kicked off my boots. I didn’t know the answer to my questions and I wasn’t entirely sure that I wanted to.

  Doing my best to push all thoughts of what had happened—or hadn’t happened—out of my mind, I followed my best friend and his dog to the kitchen. JT had already poured hot coffee into mugs and he handed one to me, nudging the sugar bowl across the granite countertop toward me.

  “Thanks,” I said, finally getting my tongue to work.

  I added sugar to my coffee and followed it up with some milk from the fridge, keeping my eyes on my drink as I stirred it.

  “The concert seemed to go well last night,” JT said once he’d taken a sip of his own coffee.

  “It did,” I agreed.

  “Especially since there weren’t any more dead bodies,” he added.

  “You can say that again.”

  I wandered toward the large kitchen window, gazing out into the backyard where everything was encrusted with sparkling white frost. Although JT had given me the perfect opening to talk about everyone I suspected of killing Pavlina, my current thoughts were out of tune with my intended focus. As much as I tried to shake it off, the look we’d shared minutes earlier still had me distracted. It was like I was standing at the edge of a cliff, trying to decide if I should throw caution to the wind and leap into the unknown. A sense of reckless courage washed over me and I gripped my coffee mug with both hands, ready to turn around and confess to JT how I felt about him.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  At the sound of his voice I turned around as planned, but I couldn’t coax out the words I needed for my confession. I took a sip of coffee to buy myself some time. It nearly burned my tongue, and that small shock was enough to jolt me back to my senses.

  I couldn’t tell him. Not yet. It wasn’t the right time.

  It will never be the right time, a voice said in my head. That’s just an excuse.

  That was true, but I chose to ignore the voice anyway.

  “Pavlina’s murder,” I said in response to JT’s question. It wasn’t all that far from the truth.

  “The police haven’t arrested anyone yet?”

  “I don’t think so.” I left the window to lean against the counter. “I’m pretty sure I would have heard about it if they had.”

  “Aside from Cameron, who do you suspect?”

  With my mug halfway to my mouth, I paused. “You really want to know?”

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because you usually want me to leave these things to the police.”

  “That would be best, but I know by now that you’re as likely to do that as I am to win the lotto.”

  “You never buy lotto tickets,” I pointed out.

  “Exactly.” He grinned. “Come one, let’s go to the living room and you can tell me all about your suspicions.”

  Pleased that he was willing to listen, I carried my mug to the front of the house and set it on the coffee table before getting comfortable on the couch. When JT was sitting next to me and Finnegan was curled up in front of the unlit fireplace, I explained who was on my suspect list—aside from Cameron—and why. It took several minutes to go through everything, but JT didn’t seem the least bit bored. On the contrary, he listened carefully to everything I said.

  I wrapped up by telling him about what had occurred in the judges’ lounge the night before. When I finished, JT’s forehead was creased with concern.

  “I don’t like the sound of this Jeb Hartson,” he said. “Which judge is he?”

  “The one who thinks he’s a cowboy.”

  “Ah.” He didn’t seem impressed. “Yeah, I’ve seen him around the theater.”

  “The thing is, Ethan still seems like a better suspect to me. But I don’t trust Jeb.”

  “I think you’re right not to. I don’t think you should trust either of them. Please tell me you’ll stay away from them from now on.”

  “That might be difficult on Tuesday since we’ll all be at the theater, but after that I probably won’t see them again, at least not anytime soon.”

  “Tuesday’s the night when they announce the winner?”

  “Yes, after a concert that will include highlights from each of the finalists’ pieces.”

  I wondered briefly if we’d still play the excerpt from Pavlina’s composition. I hoped so. It would be a good tribute to her.

  “Still, try not to find yourself alone with either of those guys, okay?”

  His request was serious, and his concern for my well-being triggered a welling of happiness inside of me, as it always did.

  I gave his hand a squeeze. “Believe me, I’ll do my best. I have no desire for any one-on-one time with Jeb or Ethan.” After releasing JT’s hand, I took a sip of my coffee, thinking. “I feel like I’m getting nowhere. I need to find out more about Igor, Elena’s cousin.”

  “If Clausen wants Elena’s name cleared, why doesn’t he do something about it himself?”

  “Maybe he knows I’m good at sleuthing.”

  “Maybe he just wants an excuse to spend time with you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Hardly.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “If that’s his motive—which I highly doubt—he hasn’t exactly been successful, has he? I spoke to him alone in his office for about five seconds.” I hurried on before JT could voice any further suspicion. “Nope. For him this is about Elena and the orchestra. Definitely not me.” The doubt hadn’t left JT’s face so I nudged his arm with my elbow. “Forget about Hans. There are so many other things to focus on.”

  “Like donuts.”

  “Donuts?” I echoed, confused by the sudden change of topic.

  “Chocolate-covered donuts filled with whipped cream, to be exact.” JT got up from the couch and held out a hand to me. When I took it, he pulled me to my feet and explained, “You can’t solve a crime on an empty stomach.”

  “I did have breakfast this morning.”

  “So you’re saying you don’t want a donut?”

  “Would I ever say that I don’t want a donut?”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  He retrieved my coat from the foyer closet and helped me into it while Finnegan bounced around us in excitement. When we were all bundled up and Finnegan’s leash was clipped to his collar, we set off for the nearest bakery. As we walked along the sidewalk, JT asked a few questions about my suspects. Tucking my arm through his, I provided him with further details, pleased to have his company and happy that he was interested in the mystery that occupied so much of my mind of late.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “WHO DO YOU think killed Pavlina?” I asked once we’d had our fill of chocolate-covered donuts and had left the bakery.

  “It sounds like it could have been any one of a number of people,” JT said as we walked in the direction of his house, Finnegan trotting along next to us.

  “That’s the problem.”

  “I think you need to find out more about the competition’s coordinator and her assistant,” JT said.

  “Olivia and Sasha. Yes, they both had an opportunity to commit the murder.” I thought things over for a minute as we walked on. “I can probably do some more digging into those two the next time I’m at the theater. Somebody must know somet
hing about them.”

  “But you’ll be careful about getting that information, right?” JT checked.

  “Aren’t I always careful?”

  He shot me a sidelong look. “Do you really want me to answer that question?”

  “Maybe not,” I said, recalling some of my past sleuthing adventures—or misadventures, as some might call them. “But yes, I’ll be careful.”

  “Good.”

  We were momentarily distracted when Finnegan attempted to take off after a squirrel, prevented from doing so by his leash, much to his dismay. Once the squirrel had disappeared up a tree and Finnegan had given up on the possibility of making a tasty snack out of the critter, we crossed the street and passed a few more houses before arriving at JT’s place.

  Only minutes after getting back to the house, JT’s bandmates showed up for their final practice before their gig that night. I decided to stick around for a while and listen in on their practice, giving feedback whenever the guys asked me for some. Cameron didn’t seem thrilled to see me when he first arrived, but when I didn’t try to interrogate him, he relaxed and got caught up in the rehearsal.

  As I listened to the guys practicing, I realized I hadn’t been to one of their performances in recent months. Maybe it was time to change that.

  Lounging in a beanbag chair with Finnegan curled up at my feet, I sent a text message to Mikayla, asking if she and her boyfriend, bassoonist Dave Cyders, were interested in going to the pub where JT and his band would be playing that night. Before the practice ended, Mikayla wrote back in the affirmative, and we arranged to meet at the downtown pub at eight o’clock that night.

  When the guys had finished playing their last song, I filled JT in on my plans.

  “Do you want to catch a ride with me?” he offered. “That would be one less parking space needed.”

  “Good point,” I said, knowing how difficult it could be to find a place to park in that part of the city. “Sure, thanks. I’m going to run a few errands now, but I can meet you back here later.”

  “Or I could pick you up at your place on the way. Whatever works.”

  In the end we decided that JT would stop at my apartment on his way to the pub and pick me up there. With that settled, I followed Cameron, Hamish, and Rafael out the door, intending to stop at the bank and the library before heading home.

  As I climbed into my car and shut the door, my eyes drifted across the street to where Cameron stood outside his beat-up gray van. He was talking to someone on his phone, gesturing as he did so. Judging by his body language and what I could see of his face, he wasn’t pleased by the conversation. Seconds later he said one last terse word and ended the call. Shoving the phone into his pocket, he jumped in his van and slammed the door. He revved the engine and pulled away from the curb, almost squealing the tires in his haste.

  What had him so worked up?

  Maybe I could find out.

  Starting up my car, I set off after Cameron.

  Okay, so following him didn’t mean I’d necessarily find out what he was worked up about, but I wanted to know more about him anyway. His behavior on the night of the equipment theft had been suspicious and jumpy, and now he was agitated. There was a chance there was a connection—albeit a slim chance—and I wanted to know where he was in such a hurry to go.

  JT probably would have thought I was nuts for following his bandmate—even though he too was suspicious of Cameron—but he didn’t need to know what I was up to.

  Tossing aside my plan of running errands, I turned right onto Dunbar Street a few seconds after Cameron did. I let one car get between us so he wouldn’t be so likely to notice me behind him. By the time we’d both turned left onto Forty-first Avenue, two more cars had come between us.

  Although I didn’t want Cameron to take notice of my blue MINI Cooper, I also didn’t want to lose sight of him. I tried my best to not let any more vehicles sneak between us, always keeping an eye on Cameron’s gray van while I watched the traffic around me. Two streets later the car directly in front of me turned right and I shortened the gap between me and my quarry. From there on we traveled at a relatively steady pace, still with two cars between us.

  After twenty minutes of driving I began to question the wisdom of my plan. I didn’t know where Cameron lived and it was possible that his home was outside of the city, maybe in a suburb like Burnaby or Surrey. If that was the case, and all he was doing was heading home, I was in all likelihood going to waste my entire Saturday afternoon by tailing him without result.

  As those thoughts passed through my head, Cameron turned left onto a quieter street. I had to wait for three cars to pass through the intersection before I could safely follow him, and when I turned onto the side street I thought I’d lost him. The only cars in sight were parked at the curb, and none of them were Cameron’s van. But when I paused at a four-way stop, I caught sight of his car off to my right. Turning in that direction, I drove slowly, hanging back, worried that he would recognize my car right away if he saw it in his rearview mirror.

  The neighborhood we were in now was home to low-rise apartment buildings, most of which were several decades old and not in the best condition. After driving another two blocks, Cameron came to a stop in front of a four-story building that was more gray than white thanks to a buildup of grime on the exterior. As he parked, I pulled up to the curb well back from his car, leaving several vehicles parked between us.

  I shut off my car’s engine and sat waiting, watching to see what Cameron would do next. Seconds later he got out of his car and approached the graying building. He opened the front door without the use of a key or requesting someone to buzz him in, and he quickly disappeared inside. Grabbing my purse from the passenger seat, I hurried out of my car and jogged over to the apartment building. I approached the front door cautiously, in case Cameron had lingered in the lobby. When I reached the door and peered through the window to the left of it, I saw nobody inside. Moving quietly, I opened the door and slipped through it.

  Pausing in the lobby, I listened for any voices or footsteps on the stairway. Hearing nothing, I wondered what I should do next. If this was where Cameron lived, he might not reappear until it was time for him to head for the pub for the band’s gig that night. The same could be true if he’d come here to visit someone. I realized then how silly it was for me to have expected to learn something by following him. Most likely the best idea was to go straight back to my car and run my errands as originally planned.

  Despite what the practical part of my brain was telling me, I wasn’t quite ready to give up. Fishing my phone out of my purse, I took off my gloves so I could tap out a text message.

  Where does Cameron live?

  I sent the message to JT and then shifted my weight from foot to foot, impatient. After a minute or two had ticked by, I had almost resigned myself to the fact that JT was too busy to respond. But as I was about to return my phone to my purse, it buzzed in my hand.

  Why? JT had texted back.

  I’m just curious, I replied.

  Yeah, right. Seriously, why?

  I bit down on my lower lip, wondering how to answer that.

  Long story, I wrote. But it could be important. Please tell me.

  After sending that message, I waited, staring at the screen of my phone. A creaking sound startled me, and my eyes jumped from my phone to dart around the lobby.

  Was Cameron about to return?

  I strained my ears, ready to make a hasty retreat if someone was indeed approaching, but I heard no further sounds. My phone buzzed again, distracting me.

  Somewhere on East Eighth Avenue, JT’s message read. I’m not sure where exactly.

  Despite the lack of detail, his answer told me what I needed to know. I wasn’t anywhere near Eighth Avenue, so this definitely wasn’t Cameron’s apartment building. If a friend or acquaintance of his lived here, was his
agitated phone call related to his visit?

  I’d probably never know, but since I’d come all this way I decided to take a quick look around the building. If Cameron reappeared sometime in the near future, maybe I could follow him to another destination, or maybe he’d be in interesting company, giving me some insight into his life that I currently lacked.

  I left the lobby for the main-floor hallway, peering along it in both directions. The place seemed deserted, no voices or other sounds emanating from behind the closed doors of the units. My phone continued to buzz in my hand and with a sigh I stopped and read JT’s latest message.

  What are you up to? And don’t tell me nothing because I know that’s not true!

  Just trying to find out a bit more about Cameron, I wrote back.

  By doing what, exactly? Lurking around his apartment building?

  Of course not!

  Technically that was true since this wasn’t where Cameron lived. There was no need to add that I was lurking inside a different building.

  Tucking my phone back in my purse so I wouldn’t hear the notifications for any further messages from JT—and so I could ignore him without feeling too guilty—I decided to head up the stairs and take a peek at each floor. If I hadn’t spotted Cameron by the time I’d checked each level, I’d give up and head back to my neighborhood.

  On my way back to the lobby I heard another creaking sound, this time from behind me. I spun around, just in time to see Cameron disappear down the right-hand branch of the hallway I’d checked out mere seconds earlier. Trying my best to not make any noise, I rushed back in that direction and peeked around the corner. Once again the hallway was deserted, but when I listened carefully, I heard footfalls close by, each one growing fainter. Darting around the corner, I found myself at the top of a stairway leading down to the basement. When I glanced over the railing, I caught another fleeting glimpse of Cameron on his way down the stairs.