Dead Ringer Page 5

  After dressing and eating a banana, I sent a text message to Hans.

  Are you ok? How did things go?

  I stared at my phone, hoping for an immediate reply. None came.

  On edge, I worked away at cleaning my kitchen, putting away the dishes I’d left in the drying rack and washing the countertops.

  Hans still hadn’t replied.

  I moved on to the bathroom, scrubbing all the surfaces until they shined.

  Still no reply.

  I couldn’t stand it any longer. I was anxious and wound up, my nerves taut and strained like the hairs of a violin bow tightened too far. When I took a second to really think, I realized that the whole thing with Hans wasn’t all that bothered me. I didn’t like how I’d left things with JT. I didn’t want to hear any more of his opinions about my relationship with Hans, but I also didn’t want anything putting a strain on our friendship. It was far too important to me.

  I picked up my phone—­still without any messages from Hans—­and sent a quick text to JT.

  Sorry about yesterday. Can I come over?

  This time I didn’t have to wait long for a response. JT texted me back less than a minute later.

  I’m sorry too. Come on over.

  I smiled with relief, some of the tension easing out of my body. I gathered up everything I would need for the day, including my violin, and set off for JT’s place. A quarter of an hour later, I arrived at his house and entered through the front door. This time, JT and Finnegan met me in the front hall.

  After my customary hug fest with Finnegan, I stood up, leaving my violin case on the floor by my feet. JT gave me a lopsided grin that warmed my heart and eased away even more of my tension.

  “Why don’t we forget about yesterday?” he said.

  I smiled back at him, feeling the best I had since the police had shown up on Hans’s doorstep. “Sounds good to me.”

  He nodded toward the back door. “It’s nice and sunny out. Finn and I were thinking of hanging out in the backyard for a while.”

  I looked at Finnegan and he wagged his fluffy tail, giving me his biggest doggie grin. I patted him on the head and picked up my violin. “I’ll join you guys in a second.”

  I went into my studio and dropped off my shoulder bag and instrument. I checked my phone before slipping it into the pocket of my jeans. I hadn’t received any messages. I tried not to let my anxiety make a comeback, but worry gnawed at one corner of my mind.

  After stopping in the kitchen to make myself a vanilla latte, I joined JT and Finnegan out in the grassy yard. While Finn chewed on a rubber squirrel, I sat down next to JT in a blue Adirondack chair that matched his own.

  “What do you have lined up for today?” I asked, blowing on my latte to cool it.

  “I’ve got a new indie duo coming over later to work on their first album. Twin sisters.”

  I grinned at him over my latte. “Cute?”

  “Sure,” he said with a wry grin. “But they’re also nineteen. That’s a little young for me.”

  His words immediately brought to mind his comments about the age difference between me and Hans. I frowned, and when JT caught my expression, he seemed to realize the connection I’d made.

  “I’m sorry, Dor,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean anything by that.”

  “I know you didn’t.” I turned my face up to the sun and sighed as the warmth seeped into my skin. “To be honest, I’d probably be a bit creeped out if you started dating a teenager. I do think that age differences become less significant the older we get, but . . . I guess I can see where you were coming from yesterday.”

  “And I can see where you were coming from,” JT said. “You can make your own decisions and don’t need me interfering.”

  I smiled, but my heart wasn’t in it. My thoughts were with Hans again. I took another sip of my latte and tugged on my left ear.

  “What’s wrong?” JT asked.

  “Wrong?” I echoed, distracted.

  “You’ve got something on your mind.” He gave his own earlobe a tug. “I can tell.”

  “Oh.” I dropped my hand. I’d always had a habit of pulling on my ear when troubled or deep in thought. My grandpa had often joked that my earlobe would end up down by my knees if I didn’t stop. I’d never managed to break the habit, but despite my grandpa’s warnings, my left earlobe was still the same size as my right one. “It’s Hans,” I said after a moment. “The police took him in for questioning last night and I haven’t heard from him since.”

  “Questioning? You mean he’s a suspect?”

  “I don’t know. I hope not, but . . . I’m worried.”

  “Dori, if he’s the murderer—­”

  “He’s not!” I exclaimed, cutting him off.

  “How do you know?”

  I opened my mouth to reply but realized I didn’t have a good answer. “He can’t be,” I said weakly.

  JT let out a frustrated breath, no longer his usual laid-­back self. “Dori, please tell me you won’t spend any time alone with this guy until the police get everything sorted out.”

  A thought struck me. “I bet there are witnesses who can vouch for his whereabouts at the time of the murder.” I brightened. “As soon as the police find that out, Hans won’t be a suspect anymore. If he even is at the moment.”

  “Dori!” JT’s voice broke through my spoken thoughts.

  I blinked at him, not used to seeing his face so serious.

  “Promise me,” he said, his brown eyes burning into me in a way they never had before.

  “I . . .” I set my cup on the arm of my chair, buying myself a second or two. My mind was suddenly muddled and my tongue didn’t want to work properly. “I’m sure it wasn’t him, JT.”

  His eyes didn’t leave mine. “No, you’re not. I know you’d like to be, but you’re not.”

  I wanted to protest, but the niggling doubt that had bothered me in the night resurfaced. JT was right. I really wanted to believe Hans was innocent, but I couldn’t be completely sure that he was.

  I sank back in my chair and watched Finnegan roll around in the grass. “All right,” I said finally, my voice resigned. “I won’t spend any more time alone with him.” I thought of the nice dinner we’d shared the night before and added, “For now.”

  Some of the intensity had left JT’s eyes when I met his gaze again, but he still seemed less relaxed than usual. The only one completely at ease was Finnegan. He trotted over to us and sat at my feet, looking up at me expectantly. I scratched his head, thinking.

  If I could find proof that Hans was innocent, that he hadn’t been anywhere near Jeremy when the murder occurred, then I could rest easy and the two of us could resume our developing relationship. Surely someone had seen Hans during the break in our rehearsal. He often spent our break times chatting with the players, answering questions or discussing issues about upcoming concerts or the pieces we were playing.

  All I had to do was ask around and find someone who remembered seeing Hans at the critical time. I’d have to be discreet about it since I didn’t want to be the one to spread rumors about the detectives’ interest in our conductor. But still, I thought I could manage it, and there was a rehearsal that very evening, so I wouldn’t have to wait long to start my inquiries.

  Now that I had an idea in mind, I couldn’t wait to get started. I’d feel so much better once I could prove to myself and everyone else that there was no reason to suspect Hans. I bit down on my lower lip, wondering who would be best to approach first.

  “Now what are you thinking?” JT asked as he leaned over to pick up the rubber squirrel. He tossed the toy across the yard.

  Finnegan bounded after it and pounced, picking up the fake squirrel and giving it a good shake.

  “I’m sure I can prove Hans’s innocence,” I said. “It’ll only be a matter of asking t
he right ­people a few questions.”

  “Dori,” JT said, and I could tell right away that he disapproved. “That’s for the police to do. Leave it to them.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they’re asking questions too. But they’re not going to tell me what they find out. And I need to put my mind at ease. I need to know for one hundred percent certain that Hans isn’t the killer.”

  “Dori.”

  I rolled my eyes. “JT, don’t worry. All I’ll do is ask my fellow orchestra members a few questions. It’s no big deal.”

  “No? And what if one of the ­people you start questioning turns out to be the killer? They might not be too thrilled with the idea of you sticking your nose into things.”

  “I doubt that will happen. The killer probably has no association with the orchestra at all.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Okay, so I didn’t. That was true. But I needed to do this. I needed to reassure myself that the man I was developing strong feelings for wasn’t a murderer. “I’ll be careful.”

  I could tell that JT wanted to say more, but his phone rang then, interrupting our conversation. He glanced at the device, which sat on the arm of his chair. “I’ll have to take this.”

  I got to my feet and smiled, my spirits lifting now that I had a plan. “I’ll see you later.”

  Leaving JT to his phone call, I headed to my studio to await my first student of the day, anxious to get the afternoon over with so I could start asking the questions that would clear Hans’s name.

  ALTHOUGH I MANAGED not to usher my last student out the door, I didn’t waste any time following her. It was only once I was on the bus, traveling toward the church, that my rumbling stomach alerted me to the fact that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I’d been so caught up in my thoughts that it hadn’t even occurred to me to grab some lunch before I started teaching.

  I didn’t want to stop somewhere to pick up food because I wanted to make sure that I arrived at the rehearsal early enough to ask my questions. At the same time, I didn’t want to pass out in the middle of Brahms’s Double Concerto. I dug around in my quilted shoulder bag and came up with a somewhat crumbled granola bar. It would have to do.

  I munched on my makeshift dinner as I walked from the bus stop to the church, planning my first move. Mikayla was probably the best person to talk to. She was the one who had alerted Hans to the fact that I’d found Jeremy’s body. Maybe she could tell me who else she’d talked to upon her return to the basement, and who had been present upon her arrival. Of course, several minutes had passed between the time of Jeremy’s murder and the moment when Mikayla found me with the body. So if the killer was a member of the orchestra, he or she would have had plenty of time to return to the basement by the far stairwell before Mikayla reported the incident.

  Crumpling up the wrapper of my granola bar and shoving it into my shoulder bag, I considered something else. I was quite certain the killer had fled up the stairs after strangling Jeremy. Why had he or she fled in that direction? Had the killer heard me coming and simply taken the only route available, or was there more to it?

  Arriving at the church, I paused at the foot of the stone steps leading to the entrance. I recalled that there was another stairway leading down from the second floor, but the foot of it was in view of the staircase where I’d found the body. If the killer had run up the stairs, he or she had either remained up there awhile and then slipped down the other stairs without me noticing, or else had come downstairs in plain view.

  Two ­people had done that—­Reverend McAllister and Cindy, who I assumed was the reverend’s wife.

  But why would either of them want to kill Jeremy?

  It was all quite confusing. The only way I could stop all those muddled thoughts from clogging my brain was to find some answers to my questions.

  With any luck, I’d start getting those answers within minutes.

  Chapter 6

  WHEN I ENTERED the church, I hesitated inside the doors. I didn’t have any desire to pass by the scene of the crime again, but fortunately I didn’t have to. Heading to my right, I followed the same narrow hallway that had led me to the last rehearsal. I passed by the washrooms and descended the creaky stairs to the basement auditorium. The chairs and music stands were set up on the stage, but there was no one in sight. That wasn’t surprising, since I was at least half an hour earlier than usual.

  I crossed in front of the stage and climbed the eight steps that led up to the wings. I heard the sound of voices, and when I reached the back room, I saw that I wasn’t the first to arrive after all. Ray, an oboe player, and Clover, a bass player, were lounging in folding chairs, drinking pop from cans.

  I said hello to them and set my instrument and bag down on a table, sniffing the air. I wasn’t an expert by any means, but I thought I smelled a hint of marijuana. It wasn’t the first time I’d smelled it at a rehearsal, and I never appreciated it. The distinctive skunklike aroma tended to give me a headache.

  “Were you the one to find Jeremy’s body?” The question came from Ray.

  “Yes,” I confirmed, wondering how many ­people would ask me about that over the course of the evening.

  Clover shuddered. “That’s so awful. I didn’t even want to come back here after what happened.”

  “Freaky,” Ray said, nodding.

  I decided I might as well start my inquiries right then, since they had provided me with an opening. “Do either of you have any idea who might have killed him?”

  “No way,” Clover replied. “Not a clue. I mean, the guy could be a jerk, but he was nice sometimes too.”

  He was? She must have known a side of Jeremy I wasn’t familiar with.

  Ray stared hard at the top of his pop can and then took a long drink.

  “Ray?” I prompted, when it became clear he didn’t intend to answer my question.

  “Nah. I barely knew the guy.” The oboe player’s eyes wandered the room, focusing on anything but me. “Did the cops search his place?”

  His question threw me off for a second. “I don’t know,” I said after a short pause, “but they probably did. Why do you want to know?”

  He shrugged. “No reason.”

  He was trying to act nonchalant, but his eyes were now shiftier than ever, and I thought I detected a few beads of perspiration on his forehead. I didn’t know much about the pale, balding oboe player other than the fact that he’d been in the orchestra since before I’d joined. I couldn’t recall ever seeing him with Jeremy, but the way he was acting now made me wonder if there was more of a connection between the two of them than he’d admitted to.

  “Did either of you see Jeremy during the break in our last rehearsal?” I asked, focusing most of my attention on Ray, watching for his reaction to my question.

  The perspiration at his hairline was more noticeable now, and he still wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Nope. I went outside for a smoke.” He got to his feet, the can of pop in hand. “Which is where I’m going right now.”

  He left the room without another word.

  “He’s an odd one,” Clover said when Ray was gone. “It’s probably the drugs.”

  “Drugs?”

  “That guy smokes pot more than I drink coffee. And that’s saying something.”

  That explained the odor of marijuana I’d detected.

  “And I don’t remember seeing Jeremy during the break,” Clover added, her eyes not meeting mine. “The police asked us these questions on the night of the murder. How come you’re asking them all over again?”

  “I’m just trying to make sense of things in my head,” I said, in no way willing to reveal that I was actually trying to clear the name of our conductor. “I guess it’s my way of dealing with what happened.”

  Clover tucked her short dark hair behind her ear and dug through her messenger bag. A moment later she came up with a Sn
ickers bar. “I hope the police catch the killer.”

  I did too, but anxiety about a murderer being on the loose—­possibly even in our midst—­gave me even more incentive to do some investigating of my own.

  Another bass player arrived and struck up a conversation with Clover, so I collected my wallet and cell phone and headed out of the room. As I stepped out the door, I nearly collided with Elena Vasilyeva, the PGP’s concertmaster.

  “Oops. Sorry,” I said as I stepped aside.

  Elena looked down her nose at me. “You’re the one who found the ringer’s body.” Her accented words held a hint of distaste, as if I were somehow tainted by the unpleasant experience of finding Jeremy.

  “Yes.”

  She tossed her thick blond hair over her shoulder and placed her hands on her hips. “This is all so inconvenient.”

  “Um . . . Jeremy dying was inconvenient?” I wasn’t sure if that was what she meant.

  She threw her hands up in the air. “All of it! The other evening was a complete circus, with the police running around. We lost an entire hour of rehearsal time.”

  Was she seriously more concerned with the loss of rehearsal time than the loss of life? I’d always found Elena to be snooty, but that was downright cold.

  “Somebody did die,” I reminded her. “I think that’s a bit more important than an hour of rehearsal time.”

  She glared at me. “Maybe for you. But I don’t want to be embarrassed at the next concert when somebody messes up because they don’t know their part.”

  I knew she wasn’t suggesting that she’d be the one to mess up.

  “Besides,” she went on, “he was just a ringer.”

  My jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

  Elena didn’t notice my reaction, however. With another toss of her perfect blond hair, she brushed past me into the backstage room.

  It took me several seconds to recover from the shock of my encounter with her. Sure, she was the leader of the first violins and a brilliantly gifted musician, but her personality left something to be desired. I didn’t know how she could be so insensitive.