Deadly Overtures: A Music Lover's Mystery Page 8

  “Still no sign of your equipment online?” I asked as my thoughts simmered.

  “No. I’ve checked twice a day every day and there’s no sign of it.”

  I frowned at that, but didn’t pursue the topic any further. As footsteps sounded overhead, Finnegan jumped up with a bark and catapulted up the stairs. A moment later he came bounding back down with Rafael—one of JT’s bandmates—following in his wake.

  After greeting Rafael, I left him and JT in the basement and returned to the kitchen, hoping I could intercept Cameron when he arrived. I didn’t have to wait long. Only a minute or two later he came in through the unlocked front door, shrugging out of his jacket as he arrived in the kitchen.

  “Hey, Cameron,” I said, giving him what I hoped was a welcoming smile. “How’s it going?”

  “Good,” he replied. “You?”

  “Not bad.” I perched on one of the stools at the granite breakfast bar, my back to the counter. “But there was something I wanted to ask you.”

  It might have been my imagination, but I thought I detected a hint of wariness in his eyes.

  “What’s that?”

  “The other night at the theater, did you happen to notice anyone suspicious hanging around the parking lot?”

  Cameron draped his jacket over his arm. “No.”

  “You see, we figure whoever stole the equipment must have had a vehicle to transport it, right?”

  “That makes sense.” He shifted his weight uneasily. “But the police asked me all this the other night. Like I told them, there were a lot of cars in the parking lot and none of them stood out as suspicious. If someone saw me loading the last of the equipment into the truck, I didn’t see them.”

  “The equipment’s probably gone for good then. JT hasn’t had any luck finding it online and there don’t seem to be any leads to follow.”

  As I spoke, I studied Cameron carefully. He had yet to meet my eyes and I thought I detected a shimmer of perspiration along his hairline. Was he nervous or did he simply feel bad about accidentally giving the thieves an easy opportunity to take off with JT’s equipment?

  I couldn’t be sure, and Hamish—the last member of the band to arrive—walked into the kitchen at that moment, distracting me from my study of Cameron.

  “What are you two talking about?” Hamish asked with a waggle of his eyebrows.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Nothing,” Cameron mumbled. His eyes down, he slipped through the door and down the stairway, passing JT on his way to the basement.

  Hamish’s eyebrows had stopped waggling but remained raised. “You’re not going to scare off another drummer, are you, Midori? If you do, we’ll have to start calling you the black widow of bands or something.”

  I opened my mouth to retort, but JT beat me to it.

  “Cut it out, Hamish.”

  The sharp edge to JT’s voice took me by surprise. It seemed to have the same effect on Hamish. Looking more abashed than I’d ever seen him, Hamish muttered what I thought might have been an apology and escaped down the stairs to join Cameron and Rafael. Still surprised, I watched JT as he crossed the kitchen and opened the fridge with a jerk, grabbing a six-pack of cola.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked when I saw that he was still scowling. JT wasn’t one to get angry easily, and we were all used to Hamish’s dumb comments, so his reaction puzzled me.

  “Hamish,” he said by way of reply.

  He headed for the basement stairway with the soft drinks in hand, but I grabbed his arm to stop him.

  “Hamish was just being Hamish. That’s nothing new.”

  “No, but he crossed a line.”

  “With what he said about me? Forget about it. It didn’t bother me.”

  Maybe it would have in the days following my breakup with Aaron, the band’s previous drummer, but it didn’t faze me now. JT, on the other hand, was clearly still displeased. The muscles in his jaw were so tense I worried they might snap.

  “Seriously, JT. It’s fine.” I took his free hand and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t be mad at Hamish, okay? Just go have fun.”

  He let out a breath and some of his unfamiliar sternness fell away. He almost managed a smile as he gave my hand a squeeze in return. Instead of letting go as I expected, he kept hold of it.

  “Are you sticking around?” he asked.

  “Actually, I think I’ll head home,” I said, trying not to be distracted by the warmth of his hand around mine. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “All right.” He gave my hand another squeeze before letting go. “Have a good night.”

  “You too,” I said as he headed for the basement.

  I remained seated at the breakfast bar for another moment or two, lost in thought. I wanted to read between the lines of JT’s reaction to Hamish’s comments, but didn’t know if I should. Probably not, I decided. Maybe JT’s short temper stemmed only from low blood sugar or something similarly simple. That was far more likely than him having deeper feelings for me than I knew, wasn’t it?

  Not wanting to answer that question, I slid off the stool and returned to my studio to grab my violin. It was time to call it a day and head home.

  THE NEXT DAY passed without incident. I didn’t even have time to think about crimes or suspects since a long list of errands kept me busy all morning and my students occupied my entire afternoon. It wasn’t until the evening when I arrived at the theater that the subject of Pavlina’s murder crept out of the shadows to once again claim center stage in my head.

  On my way from the stage door to the musicians’ lounge, I spotted Ethan talking with Olivia, Sasha hovering behind them. The theater was otherwise quiet, but I knew that would soon change. I’d arrived fairly early, but the rest of the orchestra wouldn’t be far behind me.

  When I arrived at the musicians’ lounge, the only others present were Dongmei and Elena. Dongmei sat on one of the couches, picking at her fingernails, her nervousness glaringly obvious. In stark contrast, Elena sat casually in a chair on the opposite side of the room, her long legs crossed as she flipped through a magazine, all the while managing to maintain her usual haughty demeanor.

  I smiled at Dongmei as I entered the room, but I ignored Elena as much as she ignored me. Stashing my instrument case in my locker for the time being, I shed all my outerwear and rubbed my chilled hands together. I was about to join Dongmei over on the couch when two more people entered the room. For the first second or two I didn’t pay them much attention, assuming that more of my fellow musicians had arrived. But then I caught sight of the two men in my peripheral vision.

  Detectives Van den Broek and Chowdhury.

  Remaining by my locker, I watched as their glances skipped over me and Dongmei to settle on Elena. To my surprise, the two men strode over to the concertmaster and loomed over her.

  “Elena Vasilyeva?” Van den Broek asked.

  She raised her eyes up from the magazine, unfazed by the detectives’ presence.

  “Yes?” She wove the single word with threads of cool disinterest.

  “We’d like you to come with us to the police station to answer some questions.”

  While my eyes widened with surprise, Elena’s narrowed.

  “Questions?” She repeated the word as if it tasted foul. “What questions?”

  “About Pavlina Nicolova’s death,” Van den Broek replied.

  “I know nothing about her death.” Elena returned her attention to the magazine in her lap.

  Detective Chowdhury spoke this time. “You’re acquainted with one Igor Malakhov, aren’t you?”

  Elena raised her eyes again, and now they were like icy daggers. “He’s my cousin, as I’m sure you already know.”

  “And your cousin had a relationship with Ms. Nicolova, did he not?”

  Elena’s expression closed off, like shutters slammin
g across a window. “They knew each other in high school. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “That’s exactly what we’d like to determine,” Detective Van den Broek said. “Now, if you’d please come with us.” He took a step back, as if expecting Elena to get to her feet.

  Instead, she slapped the magazine shut and tossed it onto a neighboring chair. “Am I under arrest?” she asked without moving from her seat.

  “No, ma’am,” Chowdhury replied.

  Now she did get to her feet. “Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a rehearsal to attend.”

  A muscle in Detective Van den Broek’s jaw twitched. “We still need to ask you some questions.”

  Elena leveled her cold blue eyes at Van den Broek, somehow managing to appear just as imposing as him even though he had several inches of height on her. “I’ll come by the police station in the morning, if I must. Until then, I’m otherwise occupied.”

  She turned for the door, her pace unhurried, her head held high.

  “We’ll be expecting you,” Van den Broek called after her, his tone suggesting she’d better make good on her word.

  The detectives exchanged a weighty glance, and then Van den Broek’s eyes fell on me. A hint of a frown pulled at his mouth, but I didn’t avert my gaze. Maybe he thought I was a snoop for listening in, but it wasn’t my fault I’d overheard the exchange with Elena. The detectives hadn’t exactly chosen a private spot for it.

  After another second of attempting to stare me down, Van den Broek strode out of the room, his partner by his side. When they were gone I turned to face Dongmei, whose eyes were as wide as my own must have been.

  “What do you think that was all about?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I said.

  But I wanted to find out.

  Chapter Nine

  SEVERAL MUSICIANS TRICKLED into the lounge over the next few minutes. I hesitated by my locker, not sure if I should stick around and chat with my friends or go off in search of Elena. While part of me wanted to make sure she was okay after her encounter with the police—in case her unflappable demeanor was an act—I mostly wanted to know what the heck was going on. As usual, my curiosity got the upper hand, and I left all my belongings behind as I headed off on my search. Although I had trouble picturing Elena crying in a bathroom stall, I decided to check the nearest women’s washroom first, just in case. I wasn’t surprised when I didn’t find her there.

  Not wanting to linger in the spot where Mikayla and I had found Pavlina’s body, I quickly retreated from the washroom and set off down the hall toward the back of the building. As I reached the foot of the stairway leading to the second floor, my search came to an end. Elena descended the stairs toward me, as cool and collected as ever. Whether or not the imposing detectives had instilled any anxiety beneath her haughty façade, I didn’t know, but if anyone could remain completely undaunted by them, it was Elena.

  “Is everything all right?” I asked when she reached the foot of the stairs.

  Her blue eyes rested on me for a second or two before she responded. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Not waiting for a response, she brushed past me and continued on toward the lounge.

  I watched her go, wondering if I should follow her and see if I could get something more out of her. It only took me a fraction of a second to decide that would be a waste of time. Elena only ever shared what she wanted to share, and she wasn’t about to confide in me.

  That didn’t put an end to my quest for information though. It wasn’t hard to guess why she’d been up on the second floor.

  Jogging up the stairs, I turned to the left and followed another hallway until I reached Hans’s office. The door stood ajar, and the orchestra’s conductor was seated at his desk, his forehead furrowed and a frown on his face. He seemed lost in thought, and didn’t notice my presence until I tapped on the door frame.

  “Midori.” He sat up straighter. “Come in.”

  I stepped into the office and shut the door all but a crack behind me.

  “What’s going on with Elena?” I asked without preamble.

  Hans let out a sigh and sat back in his chair. “Nothing to worry about.”

  I plunked myself down in a spare chair. “You look worried.”

  He regarded me in silence for a moment or two before running a hand through his blond hair. “You’re right. I am worried. We can’t afford to lose our concertmaster, especially not right in the middle of the season.”

  “Are we in danger of losing her?”

  He hesitated, and I knew he was about to shut me out.

  I jumped in before he had a chance to do that. “I know the police want to question her. I was there when they talked to her a few minutes ago. Does she know something about Pavlina’s death?”

  Hans eyed the door, as if worried we might be overheard. He lowered his voice. “She swears she doesn’t.”

  “And you believe her?”

  “I do.”

  “The police were asking about her cousin. Apparently he knew Pavlina.”

  “Yes. Elena mentioned that.”

  “I saw her talking to a guy here at the theater on Friday night and again on Tuesday night. Was that her cousin?”

  “Probably. I never saw him, but Elena said he was here on the night of Pavlina’s death.”

  “So do the police suspect him of killing Pavlina?”

  “Perhaps. But even if they do suspect him, that doesn’t mean he’s the killer. It wouldn’t be the first time the police set their sights on the wrong person.”

  I knew he was referring to the time he’d become the prime suspect in the murder of a cellist.

  “If Elena does know something, if her cousin is the killer and she’s protecting him, the police will figure it out,” I said. “It would be better for her to come clean now. Better for her and for the orchestra.”

  “I told her that,” Hans said, a note of weariness in his voice. “But she says she and her cousin are innocent.”

  I mulled that over for a second or two. “Did she give any indication of why the police might suspect her cousin?”

  “Apparently he and Pavlina dated briefly when they were in high school together in Toronto. Igor—that’s Elena’s cousin—tried to impress Pavlina by stealing a Porsche while they were on a date. Pavlina turned him in to the police.”

  Ouch.

  “Okay,” I said as I absorbed that information. “I can see how that would make him mad, but that must have been years ago. Why wait all this time to kill her? Was he in jail for the past several years?”

  “Elena said he was a first offender and didn’t do much time. He’s been out for a good while.”

  “Is this the first time they’ve crossed paths since high school?”

  “I don’t know.” Hans ran a hand through his hair again. “The sooner we get this mess sorted out, the better.” He picked up a pen and tapped it against the desk, his eyes on me. “You have a knack for ferreting out information.”

  “And?” I said, sensing where he was headed.

  “Maybe you can get to the bottom of this, or at least hurry things along so we can get the police out from under our feet.”

  “And justice for Pavlina,” I added, not wanting the most important objective to be forgotten.

  “Of course,” Hans said quickly. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

  “I know.” After a pause, I said, “So you’re saying you want me to solve the case?” I was surprised, although somewhat flattered that he thought I was capable of doing so.

  “I’m saying maybe you can at least point the police in the right direction. You have an insider’s view of the behind-the-scenes workings of the orchestra and the competition. Plus, you’re observant.”

  I appreciated that descriptor. I knew a few people who would have used the word
“nosy” instead, perhaps not entirely unfairly.

  “Somebody must know something,” Hans went on. “Maybe you can find out who that someone is.”

  After considering that idea for a second or two, I replied, “I guess I can try.”

  I’d already planned to ask a few questions anyway, and if there was potential for the orchestra to suffer as a result of a prolonged investigation, one that focused on Elena, then I wanted to do all I could to help the police wrap things up quickly.

  “But if what I find out implicates Elena?” I asked, wondering how Hans would respond.

  He let out a deep breath. “Then you’ll have to share that with the police. But I doubt that will turn out to be the case.”

  I wanted to ask if he and Elena were back together after breaking things off in September, but I didn’t want Hans to think I was asking because I was still interested in him. Really, I only wanted to know out of curiosity. But this time my curiosity wasn’t enough to spur me on.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said instead. “I’d better go get my violin.”

  Leaving Hans in his office, I returned to the musicians’ lounge, wondering who I should set my investigative sights on first. As I unpacked my instrument from its case, I kept an eye on the room around me, noting who was present and who wasn’t. Most of the orchestra had now arrived, but Elena was nowhere to be seen. Dongmei was in conversation with a clarinet player and a cellist, and Ethan Rogerson was perched on the arm of one of the couches, his attention focused on his smart phone.

  Since I’d already spoken with Dongmei about the case, I decided to focus on Ethan for the moment. With my instrument case stashed back in my locker and my violin in hand, I crossed the room to stand next to him.

  “Feeling nervous at all?” I asked.

  “Huh?” He looked up from a game of Bejeweled Blitz.

  “About tomorrow night,” I clarified. “Are you nervous?”

  “Oh.” He exited the game. “Not really.”