Dead Ringer Page 7

  He glanced around. A cellist and a clarinet player were heading our way, intent on speaking with the conductor too. Hans saw them coming and nodded at me. “Give me five minutes.”

  I stifled my frustration, knowing that the delay couldn’t be helped if I didn’t want others listening to our every word. As I stepped back, I noticed Mikayla eyeing me from across the stage.

  Details, she mouthed.

  I rolled my eyes and mouthed back, Later.

  It was her turn to roll her eyes, but she directed her attention elsewhere, making her way across the stage toward Dave Cyders. I chatted for a minute or two with Katie and Tabitha, two of my fellow second violin players, but excused myself when Hans left the stage, now free of the cellist and clarinet player.

  I followed him into the wings. He kept going, and I knew he planned to continue on to where we had our last secret conversation. I put a hand on his arm to stop him, remembering my promise to JT that I’d stay within sight of the other musicians.

  We were in plain view of the ­people coming and going from the stage to the back room, so I knew we were in a safe place. It wasn’t exactly the best spot for a private conversation, but it would have to do.

  Hans smiled at me and put his hands in his pockets. I wondered if that was because he was fighting the temptation to touch me. I hoped so, but maybe it meant nothing. I wanted to reach out to him but knew that I couldn’t.

  “How are you?” I asked quietly, holding my violin and bow in my left hand.

  “I’ve been better.” He sounded tired, and looked it too, unfamiliar dark rings beneath his eyes.

  “How long did the police keep you?”

  He waited for two first violinists to pass us by before responding. “Almost four hours.”

  I winced. No wonder he was tired. “But why? Why would they even suspect you in the first place?”

  Hans shook his head. “They’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “But you have an alibi, right? Surely someone from the orchestra saw you at the critical time.”

  His eyes didn’t meet mine, instead going over my head. “I stepped outside for some fresh air for a few minutes. I was alone.”

  That was bad news. I realized that he hadn’t answered my question about why the police suspected him. “But—­”

  “We shouldn’t talk about this here.”

  He moved to walk away from me, and I couldn’t stop the small stab of rejection that hit me in the chest. But as he passed me, he brushed against my right arm, giving my hand a brief, subtle squeeze.

  The stab of rejection eased away, replaced with gentle warmth. He was right. It was too risky to talk about such things here. Neither of us would want it to become common knowledge that he was a suspect. I ached to have some time alone with him, and regretted making my promise to JT. But then I remembered how Hans had avoided my question, how he’d avoided eye contact with me.

  Was it simply a matter of not wanting to be overheard, or did he have something to hide?

  I didn’t know the answer to that question. I had hoped that speaking to him would put my doubts to rest, but that hadn’t happened. Instead, they had only grown stronger, and that both troubled and frustrated me.

  BY THE TIME the rehearsal wrapped up for the night, all I wanted to do was go home, fall asleep, and forget about Jeremy, Hans, and everything else. My curiosity had other ideas, though. As I packed up my instrument backstage, I caught sight of Andy Erikson. Andy was a cellist, and he was also one of the few ­people who actually seemed to be friends with Jeremy.

  Remembering what Estelle had said about Jeremy’s troubles with his girlfriend, I followed Andy out of the church and called to him as he unlocked his ancient and rusting station wagon.

  “What’s up?” he asked as he lifted his cello into the back of the car.

  I bit down on my lower lip, unsure of the best way to get the information I wanted. “You knew Jeremy, right?”

  The dark shadow of sadness that passed over his gray eyes was evident even in the dim light of the streetlamps. “We were in music together at university,” he said. “I knew him for more than a decade.”

  “I’m sorry.” My sympathy was sincere. Even though Jeremy hadn’t been my favorite person, I knew how awful it was to lose a friend.

  Andy shut the rear door of the station wagon. “You were the one to find him, right?”

  “Yes.” I’d lost count of how many times I’d answered that question over the past forty-­eight hours. I didn’t want to give him a chance to ask me anything more about my gruesome find, so I rushed on to say, “I’ve been thinking about his girlfriend.”

  “Shelley?” Andy headed for the front of the car, pausing by the driver’s door and talking to me over the roof. “What about her?”

  “I was hoping to give her my condolences,” I said, having come up with that excuse moments earlier. “Do you know where I can find her?”

  Andy paused for a moment, and I wondered if he’d refuse to give me the information. But as he opened the car door, he replied, “Her family owns the Green Willow Café. You can probably find her there.” He nodded at me and climbed into his car.

  “Thank you!” I called out as he shut the door.

  I stood on the curb and watched him drive away, wondering if I should give up on the thought of approaching Jeremy’s girlfriend. I didn’t want to upset her, and I didn’t know if she would even have any valuable information. It only took a few seconds for me to decide that I’d still try to talk to her. I needed more than ever to prove to myself that Hans wasn’t guilty, and if nothing else, maybe Shelley could tell me if Jeremy had any enemies.

  Holding my violin in my right hand and hoisting my bag over my left shoulder, I turned in the direction of the bus stop so I could head home. No matter how curious I was and no matter how many questions I wanted answered, it was too late to do anything except sleep that night.

  ONCE I HAD showered and dressed in the morning, I opened the refrigerator, thinking I should probably eat a proper breakfast for a change. The only problem was, there wasn’t much in the fridge. Aside from a bottle of ketchup, some wilted lettuce, and a can of root beer, the shelves were empty. The freezer held double chocolate ice cream, some frozen peas, and a tray of ice cubes. Something told me I needed to visit the grocery store.

  First, however, I needed something to eat, and I wasn’t in the mood for one of the granola bars I so often relied on for meals. The obvious solution was to go out for breakfast. And the obvious place to go out for a meal was to the Green Willow Café. After all, I’d planned to go there anyway, and needing a meal gave me an extra reason to check the place out.

  Grabbing my purse, I slipped my cell phone inside and scooped up my keys from the wicker basket on the entryway table. When I left my apartment for the outdoors, birds sang in the leafy trees and the sun shone brightly. There was a scent of freshly cut grass in the air, and the gentle breeze lifted tendrils of my long hair.

  I smiled, the beauty of the spring day momentarily chasing away my troubles. When I arrived at a nearby bus stop, I used my phone to look up the exact address of the café. I had a general idea of where it was but had never actually visited the establishment myself. Once I knew its exact location, I boarded a newly arrived bus and rode it to my destination.

  The Green Willow Café was on a busy street, but if it was a popular spot for weekday breakfast, I’d missed the rush. There were only a few other patrons present when I arrived, three workmen in paint-­splattered clothing sitting at one table, and two young mothers with a toddler each sitting at another. The eating area was decorated in earthy tones, with wooden furniture and dark green willow trees stenciled onto the light green walls.

  A petite young woman wearing a dark green apron called to me from near the kitchen. “Sit anywhere you like. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  I claime
d a small table by the window and picked up the laminated menu that was propped up between the salt and pepper shakers. I perused the options, and the young woman in the green apron appeared at my table a minute later. Her name tag told me her name was Gina, not Shelley.

  “What can I get you this morning?” she asked with a smile.

  “A Denver omelette and an orange juice, please.”

  “Coming right up.”

  She disappeared back toward the kitchen, and I took time to observe my surroundings as I waited for my breakfast. The workmen got up from their table and ambled toward the counter near the back of the café. A moment later, Gina reappeared and worked the cash register, accepting money from each of the men. There was no sign of anyone who was likely to be Shelley.

  A few minutes later, Gina brought me my breakfast, and I dug into my omelette, my stomach rumbling in anticipation as the aroma of eggs and peppers wafted up to my nose. As I ate, I kept one eye on the back of the café to see who emerged from the kitchen. But mostly I watched the traffic and pedestrians passing by outside the window.

  By the time I’d finished my meal, the two young mothers had left with their kids and an elderly ­couple had entered the café, but I still hadn’t identified Shelley. Leaving my table, I approached the back counter. Gina carried a load of dirty dishes into the kitchen and then came back to the cash register.

  I handed her a ten dollar bill, and as she counted out change for me, I asked, “Is Shelley working today?”

  “Shelley?” Gina handed me my change. “Sure, she’s in the office.”

  I slipped the coins into my wallet. “Would it be possible to talk to her for a moment?”

  Gina shrugged. “I don’t think she’s busy, so I don’t see why not.” She leaned through the door behind the counter. “Shelley! Someone here to see you!” Gina flashed a smile at me. “Have a nice day.”

  “You too,” I said as I shoved my wallet into my purse.

  She scooted around the counter and headed toward the elderly ­couple, now seated at a small table in the middle of the café. I remained where I was, waiting for Shelley to appear and wondering how she would react to my questions.

  Chapter 8

  I DIDN’T HAVE to wait long. While Gina was still discussing the menu with the elderly ­couple, a woman in her late twenties poked her head out from the kitchen, her wide eyes curious. Her highlighted chestnut hair was tied back in a ponytail and she wore plenty of mascara, black eyeliner, and shimmery pink lip gloss.

  “Yeah?” she said when her eyes settled on me, the only person nearby.

  “Shelley, I’m Midori. I knew Jeremy and I wanted to come by and say how sorry I am for your loss.”

  Shelley’s big blue eyes welled with tears, and I immediately felt mean for upsetting her.

  “You knew him? How?”

  “We played in orchestras together from time to time.”

  “He did love music.” Shelley sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve.

  Something glinted on her finger and caught my attention. “Were you two engaged?” I hoped I didn’t sound as surprised as I felt.

  Although her eyes still shimmered with tears, Shelley smiled and held up her left hand to admire the diamond ring on her finger. “Yes, he proposed earlier this week.” Her smile faded and a tear finally escaped from one eye to trickle down her cheek. “Two days before he died.”

  “Shel!” Gina hustled over to join us. “What’s wrong?”

  Shelley sniffed and dabbed at her eyes again. “We’re talking about Jeremy.”

  Gina put an arm around Shelley. “Maybe we should go in the back,” she said, glancing toward the two patrons in the middle of the café.

  I followed her line of sight. The man and woman watched us with curiosity, and I knew they could probably hear our conversation. When Gina ushered Shelley into a cramped back room with lockers along one wall, I followed, whether I was supposed to or not.

  “I’ll be okay, G,” Shelley said, although another tear had tracked through her makeup.

  “Are you sure?” Gina didn’t sound convinced.

  Shelley nodded. “I’m sure.”

  After casting an uncertain glance in my direction, the waitress left me alone with Shelley. Jeremy’s fiancée sank down onto a scarred wooden bench, its blue paint chipped away to reveal older coats of red and green.

  “It’s still so hard to believe that he’s gone.” Shelley hiccuped. “And the police didn’t even bother to notify me. I had to find out from Mrs. Landolfi.”

  “Mrs. Landolfi?”

  “Jeremy’s landlady. He lived in her basement.” Shelley closed her eyes and let out a sob. “Oh, Jer. We were so happy!”

  I was a bit alarmed by the fact that she was outright sobbing now. I sat next to her on the bench and patted her awkwardly on the back, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “We were planning our honeymoon,” she went on between sobs. “He was going to take me to Hawaii. He even brought me travel brochures so I could pick the resort.”

  She dropped her face into her hands and I patted her back again.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, my guilt growing more intense with every minute. “I didn’t mean to upset you by coming here.”

  With a hiccup and a whole lot of sniffling, Shelley raised her head and blinked her blue eyes. “Oh, no. It’s okay. It’s actually kind of nice to talk to someone who knew Jeremy, who knows how sweet he was.”

  Sweet? That wasn’t a word I would have used to describe Jeremy, but I bit my tongue and simply nodded with what I hoped was a sympathetic expression.

  Shelley twisted the ring on her finger. “I guess I’d better get back to the office. I have suppliers to call.” She got to her feet.

  “Shelley.” When she turned back to me, I asked, “Did Jeremy have any enemies that you know of?”

  Her big eyes widened. “No way. Not Jeremy. That’s why it’s so confusing. I don’t get why anyone would want to hurt him.”

  I was afraid she would start to cry again, but she took a deep, shuddering breath and the welling in her eyes subsided.

  “The police will find who did it,” I said with far more confidence than I felt.

  She gave me a tremulous smile. “Thanks for coming by. It was really nice of you.”

  Before I had a chance to feel too guilty about my ulterior motives, Shelley disappeared out into the hall.

  I remained sitting on the bench, trying to absorb everything she’d told me. I didn’t even have a chance to sort out my thoughts before a fortyish woman with dark hair and wrinkles at the corners of her eyes came into the small room.

  “You the one who was talking to Shel about Jeremy?” the woman asked as she opened one of the lockers.

  I couldn’t tell from her tone if she was accusing me of something or simply asking a question. “Yes.” I stood up, planning to make a quick exit if the woman became hostile. “I’m Midori.”

  “Lorelei,” she offered, her voice less aggressive now. “So you knew Jeremy well?” She grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the locker and banged it shut.

  “Er . . . our paths crossed several times over the years.”

  “Hrm.” Lorelei fished a cigarette out of the carton and stuck it in her mouth.

  “Did you know him?” I asked.

  She dropped the carton into the pocket of her apron and spoke around her unlit cigarette. “I knew more than I wanted to.”

  With that cryptic statement, she left the room. I followed after her, unable to leave things like that. She didn’t seem to mind that I accompanied her, saying nothing as she pushed her way through a back door and descended three concrete steps into an alley.

  I kept my distance as she lit up, having no desire to blacken my lungs with her secondhand smoke.

  “So you didn’t think much of Jeremy?” />
  Lorelei snorted. “I thought plenty of him. He was a cheating bastard, for starters.”

  I couldn’t stop my eyebrows from going up. “He was cheating too?”

  She gave me a sidelong look as she took a drag on her cigarette and let out a stream of smoke. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I heard that Shelley might have been seeing someone else.”

  “Flipping malarkey.” She paused to take another drag on her cigarette. After she exhaled, she jabbed her cigarette in my direction. “Shelley was devoted to that jerk. She might be naïve, but she’s a good kid and she deserved much better than the likes of him.”

  All this new information was jumbled in my head, confusing me and threatening to trigger a headache. If Lorelei was right and Jeremy was the one having the affair, why had he told the reverend that he thought Shelley was cheating? Or had Jeremy for some reason mistakenly believed that she was unfaithful? If that were the case, why would he have proposed to her?

  Or perhaps Estelle had misheard. Maybe Jeremy had gone to Reverend McAllister because he felt guilty about his own affair. Perhaps that’s why the discussion had become heated. If McAllister had told Jeremy to come clean to Shelley, he might not have liked that advice. It certainly wouldn’t have been out of character for Jeremy to start an argument.

  I shook my head, unable to come up with any concrete conclusions. Even though I had come to the café for answers, I now had more questions than ever.

  “Are you sure he was cheating?” I asked.

  “Damn sure.” Lorelei dropped her cigarette and ground it under her heel. “And I’ve got the picture to prove it.” She extracted a cell phone from the pocket of her tight jeans. “I was going to show it to Shelley before she got hitched to the guy, to save her from making a huge mistake. But then when Jeremy kicked the bucket, I didn’t have the heart to add to her misery.”

  She skimmed her finger across the screen of her phone, sorting through her pictures. The cigarette smoke now safely dispersed, I drew closer to her.

  “He dropped by to see Shel one day, and not five minutes later he was out the back here kissing some chick in his car. How do you like that? Right under Shel’s nose, just about.” She found the right picture and held up her phone. “See for yourself.”