Murder for Choir (14 page)

“Do you go on stakeouts a lot?” I asked.

Mike chuckled. “This isn’t a stakeout.”

“It’s not?” We were in a car watching a house currently occupied by suspects. It felt like a stakeout to me.

“No. You’re going to go home and take a shower.” He sniffed at the air and shook his head. “You smell like my grandmother. While you do that, I’m going to go knock on the door. Have a good night.”

He closed the passenger door, waved at me, and walked up to Dana’s oak door. A few seconds later, Dana opened the door and the detective disappeared inside.

I sniffed at my clothing and sighed. Driving with the windows open had helped air out the worst of the smell, but I needed a shower and a wardrobe change to get rid of the rest. Only, I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Now that Mike was in the house, things might get interesting.

Nope. Still boring. I watched a fly bang his head against the window in a futile effort to escape the heat. After what felt like hours—but my
clock had the nerve to claim was only fifteen minutes—Mike walked out the front door. His eyes narrowed as he spotted me.

He looked back at the house. Dana was watching from the doorway. He frowned at me, got in his Mustang, and pulled away. A minute later my phone rang.

“Wait until Dana goes back in the house, then drive away. I’ll meet you at McDonald’s in ten minutes.”

The call disconnected.

I watched the Mustang disappear down the street and waited for Dana to duck back inside. She didn’t. Instead, she glanced back inside the house, then stepped outside. Dana paced up and down the driveway, pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her back pocket, and lit up. Smoking and yoga. Huh.

My phone rang again.

“Where are you?”

Dana let out a puff of smoke and turned. Now she was facing my direction. Crap. I scooted down in my seat to make myself less noticeable.

“Paige. What are you doing?”

“Trying not to be seen,” I whispered.

“Dana’s still outside?”

I peered over my steering wheel. Dana was puffing hard on her cigarette. “She’s smoking. I’m keeping low so she can’t see me.”

There was a pause. “Is your car still running?”

“Yeah.” Air-conditioning required it.

“Don’t you think it looks suspicious for a car to be running without anyone sitting inside?” He disconnected.

Good point. Damn. I’d have to remember that for the next stakeout.

Thank goodness Dana didn’t seem to care. She puffed,
dropped the cigarette butt on the grass, and lit up another. I resisted the urge to run out and step on the cigarette butt. Dana clearly hadn’t paid attention to Smokey the Bear.

A few puffs into Dana’s second cigarette, a red-faced, heavy-breathing Larry darted out of the house as if a team of angry football players was chasing him. He dashed past Dana and opened his car door. Dana shut the door before he could get in and yelled something. I was too far away to hear what it was. Damn it. Next time I’d park closer.

Larry shook his head no. Dana yelled something else as Larry looked up and down the street. Clearly, he was worried someone would see them. I fought the urge to wave.

Arms flailing, Dana stomped around. She put her hands on her hips and stared Larry down. He hung his head, dug into his pocket, and handed something to her. Turning on her heel, Dana pocketed the item and stalked up to the house. She locked the front door, headed to her car, and zoomed away. Larry zipped off moments later.

I counted to twenty before leaving my parking space, just in case. Five minutes later, I pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot next to Detective Kaiser’s muscle car.

He was sitting at a table near the door. I smiled at him. He didn’t smile back, but he did hand me a supersized order of fries. I took that as a good sign and sat down.

The minute I had fries in my mouth, Mike said, “After the threatening note today, I would have thought you’d stay out of trouble.”

Clearly, he didn’t know me that well. As a matter of fact, I’d almost managed to forget about the threatening note. Watching the country club women in the middle of a cage match was distracting. Now that he’d reminded me, my stomach clenched and I put down the fries.

“The note was most likely a prank. Don’t you think?” I willed Mike to say yes. A killer sending me notes was definitely in the undesirable category.

“If you hadn’t been poking your nose into a murder investigation, I’d say yes.” He picked up some of my discarded fries and started munching. “I checked the Internet. The review isn’t easy to find, but it’s there. Anyone motivated enough to dig for dirt on you would have found it.”

Nice to know my failures would be on the Internet for decades to come. For some reason, I felt the need to say, “I got a lot of good reviews, too.”

He smiled. “Those were easier to find. I guess I should come hear you sing sometime. Most of the reviews say you’re fantastic. Which makes me wonder—why are you annoying me instead of singing onstage somewhere?”

Good question. One I’d love to know the answer to myself. “Just waiting for the right opportunity.” Now I was depressed and freaked. Time to change the subject. “So what did Dana say when you went inside?”

I didn’t really expect him to tell me, but I lived in hope. Besides, asking was better than talking about my performing career. Or lack of.

Mike grabbed a couple of fries and leaned back in the white-and-red chair. “Dana was surprised to see me.”

“I’ll bet. What about Larry?”

“I didn’t see him.”

“He was there.” We’d both watched him go in.

“Not according to Dana. She said a neighbor was parking his car in the driveway.”

Ha! I waited for Mike to tell me I was right. Dana had just lied to the police. Larry was hiding from a police detective. That had to make them both prime suspects. Eric was off the hook. I grinned. “And?”

Mike took a hit of his enormous soda. “She answered a couple questions and walked me to the door. End of story.”

I blinked. “But she lied to you. The car belongs to Larry. He was probably hiding in one of the closets so you wouldn’t catch them together. Why didn’t you arrest them?”

“For the same reason I haven’t arrested Eric Metz. I like to have real evidence before I charge someone with murder. So far, I know Dana Lucas and your boss have something to hide. Most people do. It’s my job to figure out what that something is.”

The something probably had to do with the item Larry handed over to Dana. Or maybe the e-mails and Larry’s lack of financial planning. There were lots of possibilities. Too bad I couldn’t share some of them without getting accessorized with handcuffs. This investigating gig was hard work.

Mike grabbed a few more fries and stood up. “Now, I want you to go home and stay there. Let me do my job. I promise I won’t lock up your student unless I’m certain he’s guilty. Fair enough?”

My mouth was full of fries. Politeness prevented me from answering, which was pretty handy since I wasn’t about to agree. I really wanted to know what Larry and Dana were up to. If Mike figured it out, the chances of him sharing that information were slim to none.

Mike started to walk away, then turned back. “Oh. I don’t have to tell you this, but I’m guessing you’re smart enough to figure it out. The house we were at today doesn’t belong to Dana Lucas. It belonged to her ex-husband, Greg.”

Pulling into Millie’s driveway, I realized I hadn’t asked Mike whether he’d checked out Coach Bennett. Not a surprise
considering the detective’s parting words. Knowing Larry and Dana were skulking around Greg’s house looking for God only knew what was creepy.

Bracing myself for the worst, I walked into Millie’s living room. All signs of the country club chaos had been removed, including the couch and love seat. Casualties of the cosmetics war. Millie, herself, was also missing. She wasn’t in her office, the den, or upstairs. I found a note from her on the kitchen counter:
I’m on a date. Don’t wait up. Love, Millie. P.S. Check the machine.

I grabbed a soda and an apple from the fridge before Killer showed up. Then, crunching into my dinner, I hit play on the machine.

“Hi, Paige.” The overly chipper voice of my manager, Rick, filled the room, and my heart gave a hopeful skip. “I just got a call about a part that is perfect for you. We have to act fast, but I think this might be the break we’ve been waiting for. With any luck you’ll be singing in Europe next week.”

I did a happy little dance in the middle of the kitchen floor. Even Killer’s appearance couldn’t deter my elation. My career was going to take off, and show choir would soon be a thing of the past. I felt a tug of disappointment at not being able to show the kids, especially Chessie, the fabulous choreography Devlyn and I came up with. Maybe I’d have time to attend one or two rehearsals next week and help get the ball rolling.

I hopped up on a kitchen stool and took a swig of soda as Killer glared at me from his place in front of the fridge. I stuck my tongue out at him, and he growled. Fingers shaking, I pulled my phone out of my purse and hit Rick’s number.

“Hey, Paige. I was hoping you got my message. What do you think?”

“I think Europe sounds great. What’s the gig?”

Silence.

Uh-oh. My heart dropped into my intestines. When there
was good news to be had, Rick loved the sound of his own voice.

“Here’s the thing. An artistic director in Germany is looking for a Musetta for his
La Bohème
. I told him you’d be perfect, and he’s willing to take a look. Auditions are next week in Berlin. You’ll have to pay your own travel, but the exposure you’d get from the role would more than make up for it.”

I’d heard that before. “Why can’t we just send them a tape?” The fortune I’d paid for a professionally constructed video was part of the reason I was bunking at my aunt’s house.

“The director’s seen your tape. He thinks you’re wonderful, and he wants to see you and a few other girls live before he casts the role.”

“How many other girls?”

More silence. I waited for the other shoe to drop.

“Fifteen that I know of. But you’re the only American on the list.” Like that was supposed to make me feel better. I had a one in fifteen chance or worse of getting the role.

“How much does the role pay?”

“This isn’t about the money. Reviewers from across Europe will see this show. You can’t pay for this kind of exposure.”

Actually, I’d paid for this kind of exposure before. Every time I was promised a low-paying but high-profile gig would put me on the road to success. The only success thus far had been on my credit card company’s side.

I rested my head on the kitchen counter and asked, “When’s the audition?”

The audition was in ten days, but I had to let Rick know if I was attending in four. My aunt would lend me the money if I asked, but if I didn’t get the role, my job, as crappy
as it was, would be gone. At twenty-five I would have jumped at this chance. At thirty I was hard-pressed to find the same kind of enthusiasm for a potential lost cause. Feeling incredibly adult and more than a little depressed, I said, “I can’t afford the trip. Could you try and get them to keep me in the running based on my tape?”

“I had a feeling you’d say that.” Rick gave a dramatic sigh. “I’ll see what I can do, and don’t worry. If this doesn’t work out, I’ll come up with something else. You’re too talented to sit on the shelf for long.”

He hung up, and I headed to the freezer. I needed chocolate ice cream. Now.

“Grrr.” Killer stood up. I reached for the door, and he bared his teeth. Ice cream wasn’t worth losing a limb for.

“You win,” I told him. “But you’re sleeping in the hallway tonight.”

I went upstairs and took a hot shower, hoping to ease the tension knotted in my shoulders. It didn’t work, but at least I lost the lingering smell of dying orchids. That was something. I sat on the edge of my bed and called a few friends, hoping they could make my conversation with Rick less depressing. Each call went directly to voice mail. What else could I expect? It was Friday night. My friends were either performing in a show or at one. Knowing I wasn’t made me feel worse.

I’m not the type that does depression well. I don’t like watching copious amounts of television. I don’t drink alone, and currently I couldn’t get to the fridge to consume empty calories. Without Aunt Millie around, I was going to go stir crazy with only my own company to entertain me. What I needed was a distraction.