Murder for Choir (3 page)

Of course, for him to use my shoulder, I’d have to find him first. The lights were off in the choir room, and everything seemed to be exactly where we left it when we locked up last night. Larry’s adjoining office was equally dark. I tried the handle. Locked.

I walked down to the hallway of practice rooms. They were strategically placed between the band and the choir rooms so that neither side could claim any more right to them than the other. A light was shining in one of the rooms at the end of the hall. I pushed open the door and watched two passionately kissing teenagers jump apart.

“Miss Marshall—” A diminutive, dark-haired girl sprang off the piano bench. “We were just practicing a duet. Mr. DeWeese said it would be okay if we skipped the master class.”

This probably wasn’t the duet Larry had green-lighted, but I had to give the girl credit. She lied like a champ. Her fair-haired duet partner, however, had turned three shades
of red and looked ready to throw up. I recognized them both as kids from my choir, but I couldn’t remember their names.

I gave the brunette a knowing look and then smiled. “I was trying to find Mr. DeWeese. Do you know where he went?”

The boy shook his head. The girl shrugged.

“You two should probably head over to the master class before your teammates wonder where you are.”

The girl looked ready to fight me, but the boy said, “Chessie and I were just about to head over. Right, Chessie?”

Now I remembered. The boy was Eric Metz. He was good-looking in a gawky, boy-next-door kind of way and seemed friendly enough.

The girl was Chessie Bock. Senior. Star of the show choir and a girl Larry described as a huge pain in the ass. The confrontational glare she was giving me made me understand why. Big talent often equaled an even bigger ego.

Eric scrambled out of the practice room, giving me a big smile as he passed. Chessie’s eyes narrowed, and her mouth curled into a smug smile before she strutted out the door. Lovely.

The rest of the practice rooms were empty, so I headed off to the one other place I figured Larry might be hiding. Prospect Glen’s newly built auditorium had more bells and whistles than most of the professional theaters I’d worked in. The one-thousand-seat theater came equipped with four enormous dressing rooms, a state-of-the-art soundboard, and a fly system. It was a dream space. One I’d be performing in today.

Everything was quiet as I walked through the door that led to the back of the theater. The houselights were dark, but the work lights illuminated the grand piano on the stage. The lid was up on the piano, making it hard to tell if someone was seated behind it.

I walked down the steps toward the stage. Sure enough, I could see feet. Someone was sitting at the piano. I climbed up the escape stairs, walked around the piano, and felt the world tilt on its axis.

A backstage door slammed and echoed in the theater. On a normal day, the sound might have made me jump. Only, my feet were rooted to the floor. Slouched over the piano, head resting on the keys, was North Shore High’s choir director, Greg Lucas. A microphone sat on the piano keys a few inches from Greg’s mouth. I doubted he’d be speaking into the microphone any time soon, seeing as how the microphone’s cord was wrapped tightly around his throat.

I sucked in air and choked back a scream. Legs shaking, I crossed the ten feet between me and the piano. The ashen color of Greg’s skin didn’t give me much hope, but I had to check to see if he was still alive. Now that I was closer, I could see blood matting the back of his hair and a thick streak of blood on his shirt. He’d been whacked with something—probably the microphone. And he wasn’t breathing.

Holy crap.

I reached for his wrist to take a pulse. My soul cringed as my warm fingers touched cold skin.

Nothing.

Oh God. Greg was dead.

Not sure what else to do, I dove into my bag and pulled out my cell. No bars. Slightly dizzy, I walked around the auditorium looking for a signal. I found one at the very back of the theater, underneath the sound booth, and dialed 911. I told the dispatcher what I was seeing and promised to stay
put until help arrived. Then I called Larry. I would have called the school principal, but Larry’s was the only number I had stored in my phone. Cheesy synthesized music played in the background when Larry answered. He must be in the field house for the group dance class. I told him about Greg and braced myself for hyperventilation.

Larry told me to stay where I was. He’d inform the principal and the other teachers, and then come help me deal with the police. No freaking-out. Well, that made one of us. I stood in the back of the auditorium trying to pretend a dead man wasn’t giving a recital on stage. Every time I caught a glimpse of the piano, the coffee I drank for breakfast started to roll.

A few minutes later, Larry hustled into the back of the theater. He spotted me holding up a wall and trotted over. “The teachers are making sure the kids stay in the field house instead of coming down here for the assembly. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” No.

Larry patted me on the arm. “Do you mind if I go take a look before the police arrive?”

Before I could object, Larry trotted down the steps. He walked along the front of the stage and came to a stop a couple of feet from the piano. The way he studied Greg was creepy. Or maybe I was just impressed that he could remain so calm while I was ready to hurl. Still, I was relieved when Larry had his fill and started back up the stairs toward me.

Larry reached down to pick something up off the floor as the cops walked in the door. In the movies, the cops arrive within moments. In real life, they took twenty-three minutes. The two male officers were wearing blue uniforms and serious expressions. One was lanky; the other looked as though he personally kept the local bakery in business. I looked
behind them to see if the rest of the cavalry was bringing up the rear.

Nothing.

Huh. I would have expected a man strangled with a microphone cord to warrant a bit more attention than just these two.
Law & Order
would have sent a team of people. Maybe murder was a bigger deal on TV than it was in real life?

“Are you Paige Marshall?” The skinny cop asked, walking toward me.

I nodded.

“You reported a dead body?”

Another nod. I pointed down to the stage. “He’s seated behind the piano.”

Prospect Glen PD’s answer to the Pillsbury Doughboy blinked. “You mean there really is a dead body?”

Both men looked down at the stage with expressions of horror. I tried not to be offended that they thought I had placed a crank call. After all, this was a high school. The police department probably fielded calls about phantom murders and mayhem all the time.

“Please remain here,” the lanky cop instructed, and the two of them trucked down to the stage. I heard one of them yelp “holy crap” while the other called a request for backup into his walkie-talkie phone. Five minutes later, I felt a small stab of satisfaction as two paramedics, four cops, and two men in suits came through the door.

The paramedics confirmed what I already knew. Greg was dead. I shivered remembering how cold he was to the touch. Larry patted me on the shoulder. After the two paramedics stepped to the side, one of the cops took out a camera and began clicking away. The men in suits circled the scene several times.

Finally, after the scene was recorded, a large, wide-shouldered cop in a light gray suit trotted up to the back of the auditorium. He raked a hand through his curly black hair, pulled out his badge, and nodded at Larry and me. “I’m Detective Michael Kaiser. The two of you found the body?”

“Larry was in the field house,” I explained. “I was alone when I found Greg.”

The detective pulled out a notebook and scribbled something. He glanced at Larry. “Could you please wait over there while I interview Miss…” Another glance at his book. “Marshall?” He pointed at the back row of seats at the far right of the room.

“I’m Paige’s boss, Larry DeWeese. I feel it’s my responsibility to stay and support her.” Larry sounded more authoritative than I’d ever heard him. “She’s been through a lot already.”

The detective didn’t look impressed.

“I’ll be okay. They need to take our statements separately. Right, Officer?” I asked, pleased that my television-viewing preferences finally came in handy. Detective Kaiser explained that yes, I was right, and a dejected Larry trudged off to take a seat.

Once we were alone, the detective asked for my full name and contact info. I then walked him through my search for Larry, which led me to the auditorium and the events leading up to the arrival of the police.

“Did you know the victim well?” Detective Kaiser’s dark eyes studied me with an intensity that made me jumpy.

“I met Greg three days ago. He’s the director of North Shore High School’s show choir program.” I explained how Prospect Glen was this year’s host of the camp in an effort to promote education, cooperation, and friendship among the programs. We both looked down at the body being
moved from the stage. Cooperation and friendship were clearly not high on the list this year.

“Do you know of anyone who might have had a conflict with the victim?”

“Well…” My eyes roamed over to Larry, who was watching the floor show with a mixture of horror, sadness, and fascination on his face. He sniffled loudly. In three days, I’d learned that Larry was an uncoordinated dancer and a man who refused to kill wayward bugs that wandered into his classroom. The man was meek, nonconfrontational, and the only person I’d witnessed having a problem with Greg.

Yikes.

Fingering the boss as a murder suspect was a sure way to get fired, but I had to be honest. The detective was sure to hear about yesterday’s run-in from someone. “From what I’ve heard, a lot of people had personality conflicts with Greg. Larry and I even had a confrontation with him yesterday afternoon.” That sounded non-accusatorial, right?

The detective raised one bushy eyebrow. “What kind of confrontation?”

I explained the incident.

The detective wrote something down in his book. “Was that the last time you saw the victim?”

I started to nod my head yes, then stopped. “Greg was in the faculty parking lot when I got in my car to go home. He was leaning against a blue PT Cruiser.”

“Did you see him get into the car?”

Nope. “He was still standing there when I pulled out of the lot.” He even waved.

Larry’s interview took a lot longer than mine. Probably because Larry had a lot to say. I couldn’t hear what he said,
but his mouth kept moving. And Detective Kaiser let him talk. By the time the detective waved me over, Greg’s body had been photographed, processed, and removed by the paramedics.

“Miss Marshall, I was just telling your boss that I’ll need you both to come down to the station and sign statements. I’m also going to need to talk to the rest of the faculty and some of the students who were here. Do you think you can arrange that?”

Larry puffed out his chest. “I’ll have to inform Principal Logan.” He pulled a bright green cell phone out of his pocket, pushed three buttons, then shook his head.

The detective gave him a puzzled look. “Can’t remember the number?”

“Not my phone.” Larry laughed. I could see why. The phone’s case was decorated with pink and powder blue butterflies. Not something a male high school teacher would carry around. He shrugged. “I found it down there on one of the steps. One of the girls must have lost it during yesterday’s assembly.” He looked at Detective Kaiser’s frown and stopped laughing. “Do you think the phone might be important?”

Detective Kaiser held out his hand, and Larry slowly dropped the phone into it. Red-faced, he dug into his other pocket, came up with a black cell phone, and stalked to the back of the theater looking for a signal.

“I thought you should know that your boss mentioned
your
confrontation with the victim.” The detective’s dark eyes held mine.

“
My
confrontation? As in just me?”

Detective Kaiser nodded.

“As in I had a reason to murder Greg?” I squeaked.

Another nod.

My fingers closed into a fist as I watched Larry talk on his phone. So much for trying to protect the boss. The man I thought was harmless was shoving me head first under the bus. Then again, cops were known to stretch the truth. Crossing my arms, I asked, “Why are you telling me this?”