Dead Ringer Page 6

  I shook my head, deciding not to waste any more time thinking about her. There were more important things I could be doing. Leaving Elena and the bass players behind, I followed the hallway past the spot where Hans and I had shared our backstage kiss and went upstairs to the main floor. From there, I walked along another hallway to the narthex.

  Across from double doors leading to the nave were the two staircases. They were separated by an alcove that housed a long wooden bench with a potted plant at each end. The far staircase was the one where I’d found Jeremy’s body. The closer one was the route Cindy had taken to get back downstairs after calling the police.

  I headed for the latter set of stairs, still wanting to avoid the scene of Jeremy’s death. As I climbed upward, I realized that both stairways led to a shared landing. A single set of stairs then led from the middle of the landing up the rest of the way to the second story.

  I paused at the midway point between the two floors. The common landing meant that the killer could easily have fled up one staircase and down the other in a matter of seconds. Even though I found Jeremy’s body less than a minute after hearing the retreating footsteps, his murderer could have escaped more readily than I had previously realized.

  I could have given up on my explorations right then and stuck to asking questions to gather information, but I was curious about what I would find upstairs. After all, I didn’t know for sure that the killer had escaped down the opposite stairway. There was still a possibility that he or she had fled to the second story.

  If there was another way to get down from the church’s upper floor, I wanted to know. If someone had seen anyone leave through a window or down yet another staircase, maybe that would lead to the identification of a suspect. A suspect who wasn’t Hans.

  I crept quietly up the second flight of stairs, my footsteps muffled by the worn red carpet. At the top of the stairway a hallway stretched off to my left and right. A total of four doors opened off of it, two on each side. I turned first to my left, peeking through the doors, both of which stood open. The rooms appeared to be small classrooms or meeting rooms, filled with mismatched chairs and scuffed wooden tables. Aside from the furniture, both rooms were empty. There were windows, but none that provided a realistic means of escape, with no rooftop or handy tree in close proximity.

  Retracing my steps, I slipped my cell phone out of my pocket and glanced at the display. I still had plenty of time before I had to be back downstairs for the rehearsal. I figured I might as well do some more poking around.

  I was about to investigate the remaining two rooms when a phone rang somewhere nearby. I froze. The ringing cut off and I heard a man’s voice say, “Hello?”

  Clearly, I wasn’t alone on the second floor. The ringing and the voice had come from the right-­hand side of the hallway. Not wanting to get caught sticking my nose where it didn’t belong, I decided to give up on my snooping and go back down to the auditorium. Until I heard the man’s voice again.

  “I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. How would anyone find out?”

  During the pause that followed his question, I tiptoed a few steps closer to the open doorway. That turned out to be a good thing, as the next time he spoke he lowered his voice significantly.

  “By check.”

  I thought I recognized the voice as Reverend McAllister’s. It wasn’t surprising that he was present since we were in his church, but I was more than a little curious about his telephone conversation. I stood still and breathed as quietly as possible, listening for more.

  “I didn’t have any cash on me at the time and I didn’t think . . . yes, yes, I know. But I’m sure no one will find out . . . I don’t think she’ll be a problem . . . yes, but . . .”

  I shifted my weight and a floorboard creaked. I held my breath.

  “I have to go,” the reverend said. “We’ll talk later.”

  I knew he was aware of my presence now, so I stepped forward into the open doorway, doing my best to keep my face neutral.

  “Oh, hi, Reverend,” I said. “I was hoping to find you here.”

  McAllister’s face was flushed, and he cleared his throat as he stood up behind his cherrywood desk. “You’re the young lady who discovered the, ah, unfortunate scene the other day.”

  “Yes. That’s why I’m here, actually.” I waited for a lightning bolt to strike me down for telling a lie in a church, but nothing happened.

  “Please, come in.” The reverend gestured to one of two chairs placed in front of his desk.

  I left the doorway and settled into the offered chair. It was lumpy and I detected what I thought was a broken spring digging into my backside, but I wasn’t about to complain. I had more important things on my mind. “It’s just . . . I’ve never seen anything like . . . well, like what I saw on the stairs and . . .” I sniffled and blinked my eyes, hoping the reverend wouldn’t notice that they were completely dry.

  “Of course, of course,” McAllister said in a soothing voice as he sat back down. “It was a terrible shock.”

  “It was,” I agreed. “And it was all the worse because I knew him.”

  “Ah, yes. You’re in the orchestra.”

  I nodded and added in some more rapid blinking. When I first stepped into Reverend McAllister’s view, I’d simply tried to come up with a way to explain my presence. Now, however, I recognized an opportunity to find out more about the discussion Hans had observed between Jeremy and the reverend. McAllister’s phone conversation had also made me curious about the man. What was it that he didn’t want anyone to find out about? Maybe it had nothing whatsoever to do with Jeremy, but then again, what if it did?

  McAllister sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Naturally, it’s unsettling to see the results of such a violent act, to lose someone you knew in such a sudden and shocking manner. Have you prayed about it?”

  “Er,” I said eloquently. I didn’t think it would be right to tell him that praying wasn’t really my thing.

  “Give it a try,” the reverend suggested. “I think you’ll find it a comfort to share your burden with the Lord.”

  “Um. Okay.” I shifted in my seat in an attempt to escape the stabbing of the broken spring. It didn’t work. “You knew Jeremy too, didn’t you?” I asked, hoping to steer the conversation in a more illuminating direction.

  McAllister was taken aback by my question. “No, no. I didn’t know him,” he said, his cheeks flushing again.

  “Oh.” I didn’t have to feign my confusion, but I tried to make my next words sound innocent rather than accusatory. “But I thought you talked to him the day he died. At least, that’s what I heard.”

  The reverend cleared his throat. “Oh. Yes. That.” He fiddled with a stapler on his desk. “I wouldn’t say that I knew him. He came to me for spiritual guidance, but we never had much of a chance to truly discuss things before he . . . well, before he passed.”

  That explanation didn’t sit right with me, but I didn’t let on. “Spiritual guidance? Oh dear. Was he troubled?” I pretended to find the idea distressing.

  “Ah . . .” McAllister hesitated. “I’m afraid I can’t divulge the nature of our discussion in any more detail.”

  “Of course not. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry into confidential matters.”

  Reverend McAllister waved off my apology, his eyes going to the door behind me. “Estelle.”

  I twisted in my seat—­a mistake, I realized, as the broken spring dug deeper into my derriere—­to get a look at the new arrival. The woman who stood in the doorway was probably close to fifty, her light brown hair cut in a sleek, chin-­length bob.

  “My sister, Estelle,” Reverend McAllister said to me. “Estelle, this is . . .”

  “Midori Bishop,” I supplied. I stood up, grateful to escape the bite of the rogue spring. “I’d better be on my way. Thank you, Reve
rend.”

  McAllister got to his feet too. “Any time.”

  I smiled at Estelle on my way out the door and checked the time on my cell phone again as I made my way down the hall. Mikayla would probably have arrived by now, so I could ask her about Hans. My eavesdropping and my conversation with the reverend had been interesting but only left me with more questions.

  There was something fishy about McAllister, but that didn’t necessarily make him a murderer. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of “spiritual guidance” would have led to the heated exchange that Hans had witnessed.

  “Ms. Bishop!”

  I glanced over my shoulder. Estelle hurried down the hall toward me, so I waited for her at the top of the stairway. When she reached me, she smoothed down her white blouse and navy skirt.

  “I’m sorry to waylay you,” she said.

  “That’s all right.” I was curious why she wanted to talk to me.

  “Peter told me that you’re the one who found the body the other night.”

  I figured Peter must be the reverend. “That’s right.”

  Estelle gave me a sympathetic smile. “I wanted to say how sorry I am that you had to go through that.”

  “Oh. Thank you.” I was puzzled, sensing there was more she wanted to say.

  She gestured at the stairway. “Shall I walk with you?”

  “Sure.”

  Estelle shook her head as we started down the stairs. “Such a tragedy. That poor young man. First the troubles with his relationship, and then he ends up getting murdered. What a shame.”

  “Relationship?” I was still puzzled about the woman’s interest in talking to me, but I picked up on that one word right away.

  “With his girlfriend,” she explained as we reached the landing. “He was concerned that she was cheating on him, and he didn’t know what to do about it.”

  “You knew Jeremy?” I was surprised. I couldn’t imagine Jeremy giving the time of day to the reverend’s sister.

  “Oh. Oh dear.” Estelle seemed flustered. “I’ve said far too much, I’m afraid. You see, I overheard the young man speaking to Peter the other day. Accidentally, of course.”

  “Of course,” I said, although I suspected it had been as accidental as my eavesdropping on the reverend’s phone call.

  “But no, I didn’t know him. I didn’t even meet him, officially. But I did think it was such a terrible tragedy.”

  “Yes,” I said, descending the last few stairs. “It was certainly terrible.” I shivered, the memory of what I had discovered only a short distance away resurfacing with disturbing clarity.

  “I’m so sorry,” Estelle said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “It’s all right,” I assured her. Although the woman watched me expectantly, I didn’t know what it was she wanted. I glanced at my cell phone. Time was getting on. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

  “Yes, of course. Don’t let me keep you. I just wanted to express my condolences.”

  I forced a smile. “Thank you.”

  Leaving Estelle in the lobby, I made my way down to the basement, relieved to be away from the older woman. My exchange with her had left me confused, but at least I had more information to work with now. Could Jeremy’s troubles with his girlfriend have somehow led to his murder? Maybe she wanted to be with another man and Jeremy didn’t want to let her go. If that were the case, could the other man have killed Jeremy to get him out of the way?

  That was pure speculation, of course, but it was something to look into, particularly because it was a scenario that didn’t involve Hans. Hurrying into the backstage room, now crowded with other musicians, I retrieved my violin and bow from my instrument case. I recognized Mikayla’s red bag sitting next to mine and guessed that she was already out on stage. Grabbing my music folder, I went to join her.

  Even though my mind was spinning with thoughts about Reverend McAllister, Jeremy, and Jeremy’s girlfriend, I hadn’t forgotten the original questions I wanted answered. With any luck, I’d have those answers within a matter of minutes and could put any niggling doubts about Hans to rest.

  Chapter 7

  I TOOK MY seat on the stage next to Mikayla as she set out the sheet music for Brahms’s Double Concerto. After greeting her, I looked around, hoping to spot Hans. I caught sight of Leanne, our assistant conductor, and experienced a wave of panic.

  What if the police had never let Hans go? What if they’d arrested him?

  But then Hans appeared, making his way to the front of the orchestra, and relief rushed through me, erasing my fears. I closed my eyes as my heart rate returned to normal.

  An elbow jabbed me in the ribs and my eyes flew open.

  “What’s up with you?” Mikayla watched me with curious eyes.

  “I . . .” My breath caught in my throat as Hans’s gaze roamed over the orchestra, locking with mine for a split second. When he turned his attention elsewhere, I swallowed and tried again to answer Mikayla’s question. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  I don’t think she believed me, but she let the matter drop, and for that I was grateful. I tuned my violin and then leaned toward her, lowering my voice so she would be the only one to hear me over the noise of the other players practicing and tuning their instruments. “Last rehearsal, when you came to tell Maestro about Jeremy, did you find him here on stage?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  I ignored her question and asked another of my own. “What about before you came to find me? Did you see him then?”

  Mikayla narrowed her eyes at me. “Why are you asking me this?”

  “Please, it’s important.” I didn’t want to explain, especially not with so many other ­people around, even if our conversation was practically drowned out by the noise around us.

  Mikayla’s eyes remained narrowed, but she considered my question. “I saw him right before I went to find you. He came back on stage and I knew the rehearsal would start up again at any moment, and it wasn’t like you to be late coming back, so I decided to see if I could track you down.”

  I thought that over. “So he did leave the stage during the break.” That wasn’t good. Unless somebody saw him backstage or wherever else he went.

  Mikayla poked me in the arm with her bow. “Your turn. Tell me what this is about. You don’t think Maestro had something to do with Jeremy’s death, do you?”

  I looked around, hoping no one had overheard her say that. Luckily, everyone still seemed oblivious to our conversation. “I don’t,” I said.

  Mikayla’s brown eyes widened. “But, what, the police do? Seriously?”

  “Shh!” I admonished. “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

  Mikayla mimed zipping her mouth shut. She raised her violin to her chin, but then lowered it to her lap again. “Hey, how do you know about this?”

  Heat rushed to my cheeks. I glanced around again to make sure no one was listening and then leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I was at his house when the police picked him up for questioning.”

  “At his house?” Comprehension dawned on her face. “Midori! No way! You and—­”

  I shushed her again, frantically this time.

  Maestro? she mouthed, finishing her sentence.

  I didn’t reply, but my flushed cheeks provided enough of an answer.

  She stared at me. “I had no idea!”

  “You weren’t supposed to,” I said.

  Her eyes narrowed again. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

  “I would have eventually. I mean, if things . . . progressed.”

  Mikayla shook her head, still surprised. Hans tapped his baton on his music stand and the orchestra fell quiet, one instrument at a time.

  “You owe me details,” she said before focusing on the maestro.

  I sighed, but not because she now knew my secret. I was disap
pointed that I was no closer to clearing Hans’s name. I didn’t want to interrogate every member of the orchestra, because someone else would be bound to catch on to the fact that Hans was a suspect, just as Mikayla had. Plus, questioning everyone would take ages.

  Even though I’d promised JT that I’d avoid spending time alone with Hans for now, I knew I had to talk to him. Who better to tell me where he’d been during the break and whether anyone had seen him?

  As Hans told us that we would start the rehearsal with Symphony No. 2, I made up my mind. Before I left the church that evening, I would speak to him and ask the questions that burned away in the back of my mind.

  AS MUCH AS I enjoyed the rehearsal process and playing in the orchestra, it wasn’t easy for me to sit through the next hour. I had to force myself to concentrate as we worked our way through the movements of the symphony. At one point Hans cut us off mid-­piece to ream out the bass players for not knowing their part. I watched him as he lectured Clover and her companions, not hearing his words. I was too focused on his strong profile and his thick blond hair. I remembered the way his lips felt against mine, the butterflies he stirred up in my stomach.

  There was no way he could have harmed Jeremy. Was there?

  I hated that I doubted him. Even if I proved to myself that he was innocent, would my doubts eventually come between us in some way?

  I considered throwing caution to the wind and going to his place after rehearsal, to spend some time alone with him. But then I thought of JT and dismissed the idea. I could never break a promise to JT. Besides, I knew that my best friend was right: I should be careful, no matter how much I wanted to believe in Hans’s innocence. Once I was completely convinced that he was not the murderer, and once the police no longer suspected him, I could go back to enjoying his electric touch.

  By the time Hans told us to take a ten minute break, I was already up out of my seat. Mikayla shot me a curious look, but I didn’t wait around to talk to her, instead navigating my way through the chairs, music stands, and musicians.

  “I need to talk to you,” I said to Hans once I reached his side.