Death in a Major Read online

  “That’s right.”

  “But you’re a homicide detective.”

  A hint of a smile appeared on her face for a fleeting second. “I am.”

  Okay, so maybe she thought I was stating the obvious, but there was something that definitely wasn’t obvious to me.

  “Then why are you here? Mr. Major was old. Didn’t he die of a stroke or something?”

  All traces of amusement disappeared from the detective’s face as she replied, “Not a stroke, no. We believe there could be foul play involved.”

  I stared at her for two full seconds before echoing, “Foul play?” I recalled Major’s bizarre behavior in the moment before his convulsions. “Oh my God. Was he poisoned?”

  Salnikova narrowed her eyes a fraction. “Why do you ask that?”

  “He went all crazy before he collapsed. And as far as I know, nobody attacked him or anything, so if you suspect murder, then poison seems like a distinct possibility.”

  “We’re still waiting for the autopsy and toxicology results,” Detective Salnikova said.

  I waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. I should have expected that. She had an unfortunate habit of avoiding direct answers to my questions. Maybe it was her job to keep things mum, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t annoying. Still, in this case, I knew I was right. She suspected that someone had poisoned Mr. Major.

  In other words, she suspected someone had murdered him, which explained her presence at the place where Major had died.

  I swallowed and lowered my eyes to my purse. Getting Ernest in trouble wasn’t something I wanted to do, but I couldn’t in good conscience keep quiet about the note I’d retrieved from the trash can now that I knew the police were involved. I unzipped my purse and pulled out the rumpled piece of paper.

  “There’s something I think you should see.”

  Chapter Four

  I WAS ABOUT to hand the paper to Salnikova when I stopped myself. “Oh.” I lifted all but my thumb and forefinger away from the paper. “This could be evidence and I got my fingerprints all over it.” When Detective Salnikova’s eyebrows drew together, I rushed to add, “But I had no idea that there was a murder investigation so any thought about fingerprints or evidence never crossed my mind.”

  Detective Salnikova retrieved a pair of latex gloves from the pocket of her suit jacket and pulled them on. She took the note from where it dangled between my finger and thumb and unfolded it. I waited in silence as her eyes ran over the message formed by the cut-­out letters. Mere seconds later she raised her gaze to meet mine.

  “Where did you get this?” Her tone was serious, all business.

  “From the trash.” I pointed down the hall at the trash can with its fake gold trim and swing top.

  Salnikova followed my line of sight but then her blue eyes zeroed in on me again. “Do you make a habit of digging through trash cans?”

  “Of course not,” I said, indignant.

  “Then how did this come into your possession?”

  “I saw someone throw it in the garbage can last night as we were leaving the reception. I was curious about it so I came back to see if it was still there.”

  “You saw someone throw a piece of paper into the garbage and that made you curious?”

  Although she kept her tone mostly neutral, there was still an unmistakable hint of incredulity behind it. My cheeks grew warm as I realized how weak my explanation sounded.

  “Okay, so there was more to it than that.”

  Salnikova raised her eyebrows, waiting.

  “Ernest, the guy who threw it away, was giving Mr. Major—­or someone in his vicinity—­the evil eye during the reception. Then, after Mr. Major collapsed, he crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the trash, looking super angry. I couldn’t help but wonder what that was all about.”

  “Is this Ernest a member of the orchestra?”

  “Yes. He’s a French horn player. He’s been in the orchestra a long time, I believe. Since before I got hired, anyway.”

  “Do you know his last name?”

  I dug through my memory but came up empty. “No. But it should be easy enough to find out.”

  “I’m sure it will be.”

  “I could ask someone, if you’d like,” I offered.

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” Salnikova nodded at the exit. “Were you on your way out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have some time? I need to track down and speak with possible witnesses and since you’re one of them . . .”

  “That’s fine. I’m meeting someone at the airport later, but not until late this afternoon.”

  “Is there somewhere we can sit down and talk?”

  “This way.” I led her down another hallway as I dug my keys out of my purse.

  When I found the one I wanted, I used it to unlock the door to the musicians’ lounge. Aside from lockers, the room was also home to three couches, two tables, and some folding chairs. As I switched on the lights and sank down onto one of the couches, I wondered if I should be nervous about the upcoming interview.

  Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself. She just wants your witness statement. She doesn’t suspect you of killing anyone.

  At least, I hoped that was true. But what motive would I have for killing the old man? And although my fingerprints were all over the note, Ernest’s would be too. That would help to corroborate my story. Besides, if I’d had something to hide I never would have shown Salnikova the note. She must have realized that.

  My shoulders relaxed as Salnikova took a seat on the couch across from me. She produced a plastic evidence bag from inside her jacket and slid Ernest’s note into it. After setting it on the cushion next to her, she removed her gloves and reached into another pocket to take out her notebook and pen.

  As she opened the notebook to a fresh page, I recalled all the interactions I’d witnessed at the reception, as well as the conversation between Mrs. Duffy and her unseen brother. Now that I knew it was possible Mr. Major had been murdered, I viewed all of those incidents in a new, and rather disturbing, light.

  Although I didn’t want to get any innocent ­people in trouble, I also didn’t want to hold back anything that could potentially lead the police to the murderer. So as Salnikova smoothed down the empty page of her notebook, I set my purse on the couch next to me and said, “I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

  Despite my word of warning, I think I surprised Detective Salnikova with how much I had to tell her about the previous night’s reception. I mentioned Mr. Major’s terrible attitude toward his daughter and his exchange of less-­than-­pleasant words with Dr. Beaufort, the executive committee’s vice chairman. After that, I told her about the conversation I’d overheard between Mrs. Duffy and her brother outside the reception room, making sure to mention her brother’s ominous statement about never having to deal with their father again. To wrap up, I described Major’s odd behavior and collapse, followed by his convulsions.

  Detective Salnikova listened carefully and made notes as I talked. Whether she thought I’d gathered so much information because I was remarkably observant or remarkably nosy, I didn’t know for sure. My guess was the latter, particularly considering my involvement in the murder investigation back in the spring. But even if she did think I was a snoop, I was far more concerned with the possibility that there could be a murderer walking around free, one who might well have been in close proximity to me the night before.

  “Do you really think Mr. Major was murdered?” I asked once I’d wrapped up my narrative and the detective had stopped writing. “Is it at all possible that he died of natural causes?”

  “Nothing has been determined for certain yet.” Salnikova tucked her notebook back in her pocket. “As I said, we’re still waiting for the autopsy results.”

  “But you’re here and you’re asking
questions,” I pointed out. “Something must have raised a red flag.”

  Salnikova got up from the couch and retrieved the evidence bag holding Ernest’s note. “I’m afraid I can’t discuss the investigation.”

  The temptation to roll my eyes was nearly overwhelming, but I managed to keep them fixed straight ahead as I pushed myself up off the soft couch cushion. I should have known from past experience that I wouldn’t get any real answers out of the detective, but trying had been instinctive. Her lack of an illuminating response didn’t bother me as much as it might have, though, because I could guess the answer.

  Dr. Beaufort was a surgeon and was right there with Major when he started acting crazy and collapsed. Maybe it was Major’s behavior or some physical sign that had led him to suspect that something other than natural causes was to blame, but I was willing to bet it was Dr. Beaufort who had alerted the police to the possibility of foul play.

  I left the musicians’ lounge with Salnikova and locked it up behind us. I expected the detective to take her leave then, but she paused, and regarded me somewhat sternly with her blue eyes.

  “I hope you’re planning to stay out of the investigation into Mr. Major’s death,” she said. “The last time you got mixed up in police business, you almost came to serious harm. We wouldn’t want that to happen again.”

  “I have absolutely no intention of getting mixed up in police business.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” she said, her gaze never wavering from my face. “Thanks for speaking with me, Ms. Bishop.” With a nod, she left me there outside the door to the lounge, disappearing around a corner a few seconds later.

  I frowned in the direction she’d taken, slightly miffed by her mild reproof. Okay, so there was some merit to what she’d said, but getting into dangerous situations wasn’t the only thing I’d done during the previous spring’s murder investigation. I’d also uncovered important information that had helped lead to a murderer.

  Hooking the strap of my purse up over my shoulder, I left the theater through the stage door. As I traveled back home to my apartment, I thought about Mr. Major and who might have wanted him dead. Yes, I’d said only moments earlier that I wouldn’t get mixed up in police business, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t think about the case. There was no harm in that.

  Based on everything I’d witnessed the night before, I figured there might be a lot of ­people who weren’t disappointed by Major’s death. If his behavior at the reception was anything to go by, he’d had a knack for upsetting ­people, including his children, Dr. Beaufort, and Ernest.

  In addition to that, he was a wealthy man. An extremely wealthy man. He was the PGP’s most generous individual financial supporter, and I knew he owned a fancy home in the upscale neighborhood of Shaughnessy as well as other properties in the city. I’d even heard a rumor that he owned a private island somewhere in the Caribbean. I didn’t know if that was really true or not, but either way, he had more millions than Mozart had symphonies.

  By the time I reached my apartment, my mental list of ­people who might have wanted Major dead had only grown in length. If he was as unpleasant to his business associates and competitors as he was with his family (and I’d guessed that he was, if not more so) then maybe one of them would have been glad to see him go six feet under. I also wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if he’d crushed a few ­people on his path to wealth and success.

  Aside from those of his family members I knew and a ­couple of other ­people present at the reception, I didn’t have any actual names for my suspect list, just general profiles of the type of person who might not be sorry to see the last of Major. But my lack of specific suspects wasn’t something to worry about. The police would be able to figure this case out on their own. Or so I hoped.

  At any rate, I had other things to focus on. The washer and dryer were quiet and empty when I arrived home so I snatched the opportunity to get a ­couple of loads of laundry done. While my clothes rhythmically swished and tumbled in the machines, I scrubbed my bathroom and kitchen clean. Next I booted up my laptop and spent some time ordering new music books for several of my violin students.

  Once my clothes were dry and folded, I only had a few minutes to spare. I checked my hair in the bathroom mirror and touched up my makeup before grabbing my purse and heading out the door. I took a bus to the train station and hopped onto the Canada Line. As the train whisked me off toward the airport, I put my earbuds in my ears and listened to a Piano Guys album. With the music keeping me company, I managed to make the trip without my thoughts straying too far into territory I wanted to avoid.

  I cut off the music when I disembarked from the train, and stuffed my earbuds and phone into my purse. I immediately missed the calming effect the music had on me, but I wanted to be present in the moment. Aaron deserved my full attention. Besides, what reason did I have to be anything but calm? Once Aaron was there in front of me instead of on a computer screen, things would be as they were before he left. There was no reason why they shouldn’t be.

  The automatic doors parted before me and I stepped inside the airport. ­People moved to and fro, some towing suitcases past me out the doors, others hurrying to greet arriving travelers. I found some free floor space below one of the display screens and checked the arrivals. Aaron’s plane had already landed.

  I made my way around several ­people laden down with bags and suitcases and spotted Aaron by one of the luggage carousels. A smile tugged at my face at the sight of him. Along with it came a wash of relief.

  See, of course you’re happy to see him, I said to myself. You were worrying for nothing.

  I picked up my pace, eager to reach him. When I got close, I put a hand on his arm to get his attention. As soon as he turned around and saw me, his whole face lit up.

  “Hey, Midori.” He gave me a quick kiss and pulled me into his arms. “It’s good to see you.”

  My smile spread wider as I returned his hug. “You too.”

  After giving him a good squeeze, I stepped back, but apparently, that wasn’t the end of our greeting. Aaron tugged me back toward him and kissed me deeply. I returned the kiss and for a moment almost forgot where we were, but when the luggage carousel eased into motion with a low rumble, I broke away.

  “You don’t want to miss your luggage,” I said with a smile.

  Aaron leaned in for another quick kiss and then took hold of my hand. We stood together, watching the assorted pieces of luggage trundle past us. He only dropped my hand for a moment when he stepped forward to grab his suitcase off the carousel. Then we were hand-­in-­hand again as we headed outside to catch a cab.

  “So how was your flight?” I asked him once we were settled in the backseat of a taxi, my fingers still twined with his.

  “Long, but all right.” He gave my hand a squeeze. “Want to get something to eat?”

  “Aren’t you tired?”

  “Nah. Pretty wired, actually. And starving.”

  I smiled, mostly because his London accent was like sweet music to my ears. “Why don’t we drop off your stuff and have an early dinner then?”

  “Sounds perfect.” He grinned, bringing out his adorable dimples.

  The last remnants of my anxiety and guilt ebbed away. As I’d hoped would be the case, I was happy to have Aaron back in the same city as me. With him seated next to me, all the worries I’d entertained over the past few days seemed silly. We hadn’t had much of a chance to advance our relationship while he was away, but that would change now, and I looked forward to spending time with him. Starting right away.

  After a brief stop at his apartment, we walked to an Indian restaurant and settled in for a delicious meal of curry and samosas.

  “So what did I miss while I was gone?” Aaron asked once the waitress had set plates full of appetizing food on our table.

  My thoughts immediately went to Mr. Major’s death,
but I decided that might not be the best subject to lead with. I didn’t know if Aaron would appreciate discussing death over dinner. Luckily, I had no trouble coming up with something more pleasant to talk about.

  “Did you hear about JT’s new job?” I asked, referring to my best friend. Aaron was a drummer in the same band as JT, and I’d met Aaron at one of the band’s rehearsals.

  “Composing music for a TV show, right? I saw something about it on Facebook a few weeks ago.”

  I nodded as I scooped up a forkful of curry and rice. “Absolute Zero. It’s a sci-­fi show filming here in Vancouver.”

  “That’s an awesome gig.”

  “It is.”

  Once I’d tasted my curry, I filled Aaron in on more of the details of JT’s job, a smile on my face as I talked. Every time I thought about my best friend’s music being used on a television show, I felt like I would burst with pride and excitement. Even so, I made sure I didn’t spend the entire meal talking about JT’s achievements.

  “You must have some stories to tell,” I said. “I know you’ve already told me a bit about touring with your cousin’s band, but I want to hear more.”

  Aaron obliged, delving into stories about his time overseas. As we ate and chatted, I focused on nothing more than enjoying his company and his dreamy British accent. By the time we parted ways with a lingering kiss outside the restaurant, all thoughts of death and murder had long slipped from my mind.

  Chapter Five

  SUNDAY MORNING CAME with brilliant blue skies and bright warm sunshine. It was a perfect day to spend outdoors, enjoying the fabulous weather that hovered between summer and autumn. I was glad I’d planned to spend part of the day working in JT’s garden, planting fall bulbs that would grow into colorful tulips and daffodils in the spring. Gardening was one of my favorite hobbies, but living in an apartment, I only had a ­couple of potted plants of my own. Fortunately, JT was more than happy to let me loose in his yard so I could add bursts of color during the spring and summer.