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  I frowned, not liking the sound of that. “What does it say?”

  “He threatened me again.” She sniffled.

  “Susannah, you need to tell your mom right away.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not? She already knows that McAllister threatened you before, doesn’t she?”

  Her silence spoke to me as loudly as a stereo playing at top volume.

  I closed my eyes. “Susannah . . .”

  “I couldn’t tell her! Not after . . .”

  “After what?”

  She sniffled again. “After I told the police that nothing happened.”

  I closed my eyes again.

  “I don’t know what to do.” She was crying now.

  I let out a quiet sigh. “Why don’t I meet you so we can talk some more?” I suggested. “Are you at school?”

  “Yes.”

  “How much time is there before your first class?”

  “Not much. But I don’t mind skipping. I’d rather talk to you.”

  I wasn’t in the habit of encouraging kids to skip school, but I couldn’t ignore the fact that she was distraught. “Which school do you go to?”

  “West Hill.”

  West Hill was my old high school. It wasn’t far away. “I can be there in about twenty minutes. I’ll meet you out front, okay?”

  “Okay,” Susannah agreed.

  I hung up. JT and Finnegan had moved on to another tree.

  When I caught up to them, JT asked, “Everything all right?”

  “I’m not so sure. Susannah’s really upset. I’m going to go meet her and try to sort things out.”

  “You’re not going to do anything dangerous, are you?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m going to talk to a fifteen-­year-­old girl. How dangerous could that be?” I raised a hand in a wave. “See you later.”

  I crossed the park to the nearest bus stop and only had to wait a minute or two before the right bus arrived. I climbed aboard and disembarked less than fifteen minutes later. The bus had dropped me off almost directly in front of the school, and I spotted Susannah right away. She sat at one of the picnic tables on the front lawn, facing outward. She waved when she spotted me.

  Aside from a ­couple of straggling students making their way into the building without either haste or enthusiasm, Susannah and I were alone. I sat down next to her, noting that she wasn’t currently crying. I wondered how long that would last.

  “Did you tell the police what I told you about Reverend McAllister?” Susannah’s tone wasn’t accusatory but she looked at her hands in her lap rather than at me.

  “I did,” I admitted. “It was important. It’s possible that the incident gave McAllister motive to kill Jeremy. You know that, so why did you tell the police nothing happened?”

  Susannah chewed on her bottom lip. “I was going to tell my mom, but I was just waiting for the right time. Then a detective showed up at our house and I got scared.”

  “The police want to help, Susannah.”

  “But then this e-­mail came in, and . . .” Tears welled in her eyes.

  “What exactly did the message say?” I asked.

  “It said if I told anyone about the video or made it public, the whole world would know I was a thief and I’d stolen money from the church.” A tear escaped and trickled down her cheek. “I’m not a thief!”

  I put a hand on her arm. “Of course you’re not.” I recalled what she’d told me over the phone. “You said you thought the e-­mail was sent by Reverend McAllister.”

  She nodded.

  “But you’re not sure?”

  “It wasn’t signed, and there was no name in the e-­mail address.”

  That was unfortunate, but since McAllister had threatened Susannah before, it was reasonable to assume he was behind the e-­mail. Most likely the account was created solely for the purpose of sending Susannah the message. I was no computer expert, but I wondered if the police could link the message to an IP address and then to McAllister, or at least a specific Internet account connected to him.

  “Did you delete the message?”

  Susannah cringed. “Yes.”

  Darn. Maybe it was still in her account’s trash folder. If not, maybe it was possible for a computer whiz to retrieve it somehow. Then again, maybe not.

  “It was so awful. I just wanted to get rid of it,” Susannah said.

  I could tell she was worried that I was angry with her. I wasn’t. Frustrated, but not angry. “I understand,” I assured her. “But the police need to know about this, Susannah. All of it.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I know. I guess I should call my mom,” she said without a shred of enthusiasm.

  “You should. Will she be at home?”

  Susannah shook her head. “At work. She might have time to talk, if I tell her what it’s about. But what if she’s mad at me for lying?”

  “I’m sure she’ll understand why you lied. But it’s time to come clean.”

  Susannah swallowed. “Will you stay here while I call her?”

  She looked and sounded so young that my heart clenched with compassion for her. “Sure.”

  She moved a few feet away and put her phone to her ear. I could hear her voice but not her words. After minute or two her tears flowed again and the occasional hiccup interrupted her. I’d never known anyone who cried quite as much as Susannah, but in her defense, she’d been through a lot lately.

  I watched the branches of a nearby ornamental cherry tree bow and sway in the morning breeze. The front door of the school banged open, and two boys in their mid-­teens raced down the stairs and off around the corner of the building, laughing as they went.

  To pass the time, I checked my own phone for messages. I had a text from JT which read, You’re staying out of trouble, right?

  You really have to ask? I wrote back.

  Yes. Yes, I do, came his reply a moment later.

  All I sent back in response was an emoticon with its tongue sticking out.

  Susannah returned to the picnic table. I slipped my phone into my purse and waited for her to speak.

  She clutched her phone in her hand. “My mom wants me to go to the police station and talk to Detective Salnikova. She’s the detective that came to our house. My mom will meet me there as soon as she can.”

  “It’s for the best.”

  She sucked on the inside of her cheek for a second. “Will you come with me? Just until my mom gets there?”

  I grabbed my purse off the bench and stood up. “Of course.”

  I still had a ­couple of hours before I started teaching, and I could understand why she wouldn’t want to walk into the police station on her own. Going there and talking to a detective would be overwhelming and intimidating enough for her with company. Doing it alone would probably be downright terrifying. Besides, I wouldn’t mind an opportunity to speak with Bachman or Salnikova myself. I wanted to know if they’d made any progress with their investigation. They might not want to tell me much, but I still wanted to try to get some information out of them, even if it was only a scrap or two.

  Susannah and I didn’t talk much during the bus ride to the police station. She fidgeted the entire way, and chewed on her bottom lip so much I worried it would bleed. I hoped things wouldn’t get any harder for her. She’d already been through so much.

  At shortly past nine-­thirty I accompanied her through the main doors of the police station. There was a different woman at the glassed-­in reception desk this time. I explained to her who we were and why we were there and she directed us to sit in the molded plastic chairs in the waiting area.

  We sat in silence, Susannah still fidgeting, her face pale. After about five minutes her mother bustled into the station. Susannah jumped up from her seat and catapulted herself into her mother’s arm
s. Relief trickled through my body. I didn’t mind keeping Susannah company and providing her with moral support, but her mother really was the best person for the job.

  Mother and daughter were still hugging when Detective Salnikova emerged into the reception area from a door on the left. Her eyes focused on Susannah, but I jumped up from my uncomfortable seat and intercepted her.

  “Ms. Bishop,” Salnikova acknowledged when she saw me. “Are you here to share more information too?”

  “No, I came along with Susannah. But I was wondering if there was any news, any progress with the investigation?”

  “The murder investigation or the break-­in at your apartment?”

  “Both. They’re connected, aren’t they?”

  “We haven’t yet confirmed whether they are or aren’t. However, we have a man in custody for another break-­in, and we’re looking at him as a possibility in your case too.”

  That was a surprise, but a pleasant one. “Where did the other break-­in take place?” I was eager for information that might help me connect all the dots spattered crazily around in my mind.

  Salnikova’s eyes shifted to Susannah and her mother before returning to me. It wasn’t hard to figure out that she was more interested in talking to them than to me. “Mr. Ralston’s basement suite.”

  “Oh, so you caught the guy from the night I was there.” Did that mean they’d also caught Jeremy’s killer?

  “Not from that night.” The detective interrupted my thoughts. “This was another break-­in. He was caught climbing in through a broken window last night.”

  Another break-­in? Last night?

  I tried to rein in my wildly galloping thoughts. “Who is it? Is it someone I know?”

  “Sorry,” Salnikova said, not sounding very sorry at all. “I’m not at liberty to disclose that information. When we have something to share with you about your particular case, you’ll be informed.” She gave me a curt nod. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  She left me standing there in the middle of the reception area, a hundred different thoughts clashing together in my head like cymbals played by unruly children. One thought clamored more loudly than the others, about the identity of the man in custody.

  I wanted to know who he was, so much so that I was tempted to chase after Salnikova and plead with her to tell me. But I knew that would be pointless. She wouldn’t tell me any more than she’d go out and shout it in the street.

  I made a face, fortunately only witnessed by a dusty potted plant in one corner of the reception area. I stepped back as Salnikova ushered Susannah and her mother past me and through a door. Susannah glanced over her shoulder at me before disappearing. I sent her a quick wave and what I hoped was a reassuring smile before the door closed behind her.

  I pulled my phone from my purse and glanced at the time. It was still fairly early, but it would probably be a good idea for me to head to my studio. It wasn’t as if hanging around the police station would do me any good. I’d have to be happy with what little information I’d gleaned from Salnikova, even if it wasn’t nearly as much as I wanted.

  I pushed through the station doors and out onto the sidewalk, pointing myself in the direction of the nearest bus stop. As I walked to the shelter and sat down on its bench, I turned all the new information over in my mind. I didn’t know the name of the person the police had caught breaking into Jeremy’s suite, but I did know from what Salnikova had said that he was a man. Unfortunately, most of the ­people on my list of suspects were men.

  I couldn’t even cross Clover off my list of suspects for Jeremy’s murder, because I didn’t know if all of the events were related. I believed they were, but I didn’t know for certain. Hopefully the police would come up with some answers soon. But even if they didn’t, I planned to come up with some of my own.

  Chapter 19

  I SPENT THE afternoon teaching my students, and didn’t have much time to think about murderers or break-­and-­enter suspects. My burn didn’t hurt quite as much as the day before, and that pleased me. Any progress was more than welcome. I still avoided playing my violin with my students, wanting to save any use I might get out of my injured hand for that night’s rehearsal, but I could move my hand more easily, and I’d done away with my bandages. A red mark still marred my palm, but not as angrily as before.

  After my last student of the day left the studio, I chomped my way through an apple, said a quick goodbye to JT and Finnegan, and set off for orchestra rehearsal. I wondered how much damage the fire and smoke had done to the church. Hopefully not too much, although I was quite certain the women’s washroom would need gutting and a complete do-­over. That wasn’t all bad, considering that the room probably hadn’t been updated for at least thirty years, but I didn’t know how much money the church had for such endeavors.

  If funds were scarce, perhaps they could hold a fund-­raiser. If they did, I’d be willing to contribute. Even though I hadn’t set the fire, I felt a bit guilty about the damage it had caused. Maybe that was silly, but the possibility that the arsonist had directed the fire at me was at the source of my guilt.

  I entered the church through the same door as usual, the door through which Susannah and I had fled the fire with Ray’s assistance three days earlier. As soon as I stepped inside, I detected the smell of smoke, dulled now but still clinging to the walls. For a second, panic threatened to well up inside me, to send me crashing back out the door and into the fresh air. But I was safe, I reminded myself. The fire was in the past, the lingering smell of smoke nothing more than an acrid but harmless memento of Saturday’s terrifying experience.

  I took in a deep breath to steady my nerves and sever my remaining threads of panic. The hallway leading to the washrooms was cordoned off with red tape, so I continued forward, passing the doors leading to the nave on my left and the bench where Susannah and I had spoken on my right. I followed the far hallway down to the basement auditorium, the clashing sounds of the instruments of the few early birds already on stage helping to calm me.

  I stopped in the backstage room and barely had a chance to set down my violin and shoulder bag before Bronwyn and Katie closed in on me from either side.

  “Midori! Is it true you were caught in the fire?” Katie asked, her eyes wide.

  Bronwyn didn’t give me a chance to respond. “Oh my God. Look at your hand. Can you even play tonight?”

  Katie took my right hand in both of hers and gently turned it palm up to get a look at my burn. “Oh no. Does it hurt?”

  “Yes, I think so, and not as much as before,” I said, answering all three questions at once. “How did you find out that I was here when it happened?”

  “Mikayla,” Bronwyn replied, flicking a lock of her thick, crinkly brown hair over her shoulder.

  “She’s here?”

  “Not yet. I ran into her yesterday.”

  Katie gave me a quick hug around my waist. She was so petite that she only came up to my shoulder. “We’re glad you’re okay.”

  “Thanks.” I glanced around the room. Three more orchestra members had arrived behind me, and the time for rehearsal to begin drew nearer. I knew there was something I needed to do, as much as I didn’t want to do it. “I’d better go talk to the maestro.”

  I excused myself from my fellow violinists and navigated my way out onto the stage. My steps faltered as I emerged from the wings. Hans was in conversation with Elena, both of them speaking in low voices. My stomach clenched at the sight of them together, but as Elena said one last word and turned away, I drew in a deep breath and forced myself onward, catching Hans’s eye.

  I steeled myself for our encounter as he wended his way through the chairs and music stands to meet me. Talking to him at the reception hadn’t been easy, but I needed to be able to hold a normal, civil conversation with him if I was to keep up my end of our agreement to maintain a professional relationship.

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nbsp; “Midori, I heard what happened. Are you all right?” His blue eyes searched me, as if checking for injuries.

  I thought I detected genuine concern in his face and voice but quickly put up a wall to fend off any ghostly flutterings of my old feelings. “I’m fine. Except for a minor burn.” I held my hand out, palm up, for him to see.

  He moved to take my hand in his. I jerked it away before we made contact and cradled it against my stomach, more as a form of protection from him than because of any pain.

  Hans sighed but dropped his hand. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt any worse.”

  Again he seemed sincere, but that sincerity only wedged my throat with hurt and disappointment.

  We could have had something good, a voice deep inside of me cried. Why did you have to turn out to be a lying jerk?

  I swallowed hard and silenced my inner voice. I was better off without Hans. I knew that.

  “Can you play tonight?” His question helped me refocus on the present.

  “I’m not sure, but I want to try.”

  “Do what you can, but don’t push it.” He gave me one last, searching look before turning away.

  I put my unburned hand on his arm to stop him, snatching it away again as soon as I had his attention. “Have the police questioned you again?”

  His blue eyes clouded with anger or annoyance. I didn’t think it was directed at me. I hoped it wasn’t.

  “They wanted to know my whereabouts on Saturday at the time of the fire.”

  So the police did believe the fire and the murder could be connected. “And?” I asked, my throat dry. “What did you tell them?”

  “The truth. I’d already left the church and met up with Elena for a late lunch. She confirmed that.”

  My stomach clenched for the second time in the last few minutes. I didn’t want to hear about him having lunch with Elena.

  Hans narrowed his eyes. “You don’t really think I was involved in any of this, do you?”

  “No.”

  He didn’t miss the hint of uncertainty in my voice. His features hardened and he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Midori, failing to tell you about Elena and committing crimes are wildly different things. I didn’t kill Jeremy. I didn’t set the fire. And I certainly never would have harmed you.”