A Chorus Lineup (A Glee Club Mystery) (24 page)

Like Killer, they had all been champions on the dog show circuit. Unlike Killer, their teeth could no longer do damage since the animals in question had passed to the great beyond some time ago. Determined to keep their spirits, if not their bodies, alive, Millie had had the dogs taxidermied. Millie thought the dead dogs were adorable. Killer thought they were creepy. On this point, Killer and I were in complete accord. Still, the dogs made a respectful audience as I hit the high B-flat, portamentoed down to the final note, and flipped to the next song.

By the time I went to bed, I had sung my pieces twice, eaten the leftover manicotti Aldo had made for Sunday dinner, and picked out my audition attire. I had also talked to Millie, who swore the kids were all tucked in their rooms despite the earlier excitement.

“Excitement?” I asked. “What kind of excitement?”

“I probably shouldn’t have mentioned anything. I don’t want you to worry.” Uh-oh. “The hotel staff interrupted the very end of rehearsal because housekeeping found the door to your room unlocked and the room trashed.”

“Someone trashed my hotel room?”

“Well, technically nothing was destroyed. Just thrown around a bit.”

Oh. That’s all.

“Larry and Jim think the kids in the band had something to do with it since they were the last ones to have your extra key. They swear they left it in on the drum case in our staging room, but when Larry and I drove over there to check, we couldn’t find it.”

“You’re not convinced that the kids were behind this.”

Millie paused. I could tell she was weighing her need to gossip with my need to focus on tomorrow’s audition. Gossip won out every time. “Let’s just say I think lots of people stopped by the staging room before we came back to the hotel.”

“But why would they take a hotel room key out of the room and how would they even know which room it went to?” The hotel key cards were all identical.

“Larry and Jim spent a long time debating whether the instruments should be stored in the staging room or go back to your room at the hotel. Someone could have overheard them.”

If Larry and Jim used their normal decibel level to discuss the matter, I’m certain everyone within twenty square blocks heard them.

“Do you remember who you saw around while that was going on?” I had no idea what would cause anyone to toss my hotel room. It was easier to think a bunch of rowdy high school boys had done it as a prank, but just because I wanted to believe something didn’t make it true.

“The handsome coach with the tan face stopped by with Donna Hilty. I was going to ask for Donna’s autograph, but she didn’t look like she was in the mood. Although she looked pretty happy when she heard you’d left town.”

I wasn’t surprised. Scott and Donna would probably be happy never to see me again.

“Who else?”

“Nikki dropped by with another director whose team made it to the finals. Larry and Devlyn also talked to a couple of people who are involved in running the competition. The head honcho looked annoyed to hear you’d gone back to Chicago. If I had to put money down, I’d say she was the one who broke into your room.”

Christine? “Why?”

“She asked a whole lot of questions about where you were going, when you’d be back, and what you took with you when you left. She was intense, and the questions felt a little strange. From the look on her face, I’d say the other competition official she was with thought so, too. I bet if I talked to her, she’d give me the scoop on her boss.”

“That’s not necessary,” I said.

“I know, but I can’t help being curious.”

“Well, keep your curiosity in check until the competition is over,” I warned. “Christine McCann has already threatened to have the team blackballed once. I’d rather not give her reason to do it again.”

“Don’t worry. Nothing is going to happen. Trust me. I won’t give Christine McCann a reason to penalize these kids. Now, get off this phone and get some rest so you can knock the Lyric Opera’s artistic director off his feet.”

Despite the travel and show fatigue, sleep was slow to come. My mind was too revved from my encounter with Mike and the mystery of the glass jar boxes to settle down. Why would LuAnn bring boxes marked as belonging to her team’s high school to this competition and store them in the loading dock only to have them picked up and taken away?

Huh. Maybe it wasn’t just this competition she brought boxes to. I hit the lights and walked over to the ornate desk where my laptop was sitting to call up the same search I’d done on LuAnn down in Nashville.

From what Nikki said, despite Nikki’s assurances that the team did not need the help, LuAnn had traveled to all six regional competitions this year. Two were located in Tennessee. The others took place in Kentucky, Ohio, North Carolina, and Texas. Feeling like I was on to something, I did a search for the other activities with which LuAnn’s children had been associated. All the sporting teams and social organizations her kids participated in required a high amount of in-state and out-of-state travel. And from the lists I found on various websites, LuAnn always appeared to volunteer as chaperone. Either she was parent of the year or she had an ulterior motive. I knew which one I was betting on.

If I had to wager a guess, I’d say LuAnn had a side business. One that required her to transport boxes like the ones Marshall saw from Memphis to various places around the country. Normal people used FedEx. Unless, of course, the shipment contained something illegal that the shipper didn’t want being searched. Then it would make sense to transport the items yourself. And what better cover for lugging boxes around the country than traveling with a show choir or sporting team. If my speculation was correct, it would explain why LuAnn was desperate to snag the Central Memphis High School assistant coaching gig. Her daughter would be graduating, taking with her the excuse for the travel. Being a coach was the only way to continue with business as usual.

My brain told me this explanation was far-fetched, but deep in my gut I thought I was right. If so, the next question was what was the clear liquid in the jars? Millie used to drink homemade wine out of those kinds of containers, but homemade wine wasn’t illegal. However, a quick Google search told me that while brewing homemade alcohol wasn’t necessarily illegal, selling it without the proper federal and state permits was. Doing so could result in hefty fines and jail time. Transporting it across state lines could raise the penalties a whole lot higher. LuAnn could be using the show choir and her kids’ other travel teams to do both. If so, she must be doing pretty well at it considering she was able to quit her social work job and still afford her impressive home.

Assuming I was correct, I had to ask myself whether someone could have learned about LuAnn’s illegal transport and sale of the alcohol and killed her to put a stop to it. Or could she have been run down by one of her alcohol operation associates? Nikki’s conversation with the young man who knew LuAnn seemed to suggest that she might know about the business and that she might even want a cut of the action. But Nikki had been onstage when the light bar dropped. Could someone else be behind the falling beam? And what did any of this have to do with LuAnn blackmailing Donna and Scott or my hotel room getting ransacked? Sadly, I didn’t have any of the answers, but I was determined that after I finished my audition tomorrow and got back to Nashville, I would help the police find them before a murderer had the chance to strike again.

Somehow I managed to get enough sleep. Either that or I was so caffeinated and filled with nervous energy that I wasn’t feeling fatigued as I hopped into the shower to wash my hair and do my vocal warm-ups. The old saying that everyone sounded good when they sang in the shower was true. With all the tile and glass, bathrooms were acoustically ideal for singing. Where carpet soaked in sound, tile and other hard surfaces reflected it, making every note sound rich and full and fabulous. Bathroom singing was the ultimate confidence builder. I just had to hold on to that confidence until I finished singing for Sir Andrew David and I’d be set.

Mike rang the door at seven fifteen on the dot. The appreciative look he gave me when I walked out wearing an electric blue dress with a cinched waist, cap sleeves, and a slightly flared skirt made my confidence level rise again. Classical singers often wore black or other subdued colors for auditions. I’d originally chosen a dress in a deep gray for that reason, but changed my mind at the last minute. Maybe all those sparkly show choir outfits had rubbed off on me. For years I’d gone to auditions looking like everyone else. This time, if I was going down in flames, I was doing it my way.

Mike scored more points by having an extra-large vanilla latte and a cinnamon bagel waiting for me in the car. I tried to stay calm as his Mustang ate up the miles between Millie’s house and downtown Chicago. For a while it was working as Mike regaled me with funny details of the most recent case he’d closed. But that changed when the skyline rose into view. I clutched my black repertoire binder to my chest as the buildings grew larger with every passing mile. Mike kept talking. I made sounds like I was listening, but Mike could have been reciting the Gettysburg Address and I wouldn’t have known it. Yep. It was official. I was starting to panic.

Strike that. I was way beyond panicked as Mike came to a stop in front of the Lyric’s main entrance. Near the door, tapping buttons in his phone, was my manager, Alan Held. This was it. I was going to be ill.

“I’m going to find a place to park. Text me when you’re done and I’ll come back to get you. Okay?”

I saw Alan squint at the car and smile as he spotted me inside. “What?” I asked, feeling my mind go in and out of focus. “Oh. Yeah. That sounds great.” Witty was my middle name.

“Hey.” Mike flipped on his cop lights to stop the honking from the car behind us and turned toward me. “This guy you’re auditioning for is supposed to be good, right?”

“The best.”

Mike gave me a crooked smile and reached out to brush my cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Then you don’t have anything to worry about. He’s going to know how special you are the minute you sing the first note.” Leaning in, he brushed his lips against mine and said, “That was for luck. Not that you need any. Now go show the Lyric Opera what you’re made of.”

He unlatched my seat belt, and I did the only thing I could. I got out, straightened my shoulders, and smiled up at my manager, who had walked to the curb to meet me.

“You made it.” Alan leaned down, gave me a peck on the cheek, and watched Mike’s Mustang as it pulled away.

I shivered in the cool spring breeze. “I’d have to be crazy to miss this opportunity.”

“Yes, you would.” A lock of ash blond hair fell over Alan’s forehead as he put his hand on my back and ushered me toward the door. “Sir Andrew is waiting for us upstairs. He’d like you to run through the pieces you prepared. Once you’re finished, he’ll probably have you sing your selections again with different acting choices. Sir Andrew likes performers who are willing to take risks. Since you’re not afraid to take on a murderer or two, you should be exactly what he is looking for.”

My heels clicked against the tile as Alan led me across the enormous lobby. The chandeliers overhead glistened. This building never failed to inspire amazement and hope. “Did you fly into Chicago just to tell me that?” If so, the man really went above and beyond the call of duty.

“No. That’s just a bonus.” He stopped walking. “I want Sir Andrew to see me here with you. He’ll understand what that means.”

“What does that mean?” That Alan didn’t trust me to meet Sir Andrew on my own?

“That you aren’t just another client. You’re the real deal. I’m here to make sure he doesn’t assume any different. Got it?” His deep blue eyes twinkled, and my heart soared.

“Got it.”

“Good. Now get in there and show him that you’re the next Lyric star.”

I sang. I strutted. I sneered. I sighed. Then Sir Andrew asked in his fabulous British accent for me to do it all over again.

He was just as debonair and dashing up close as he appeared when he was at the conductor’s podium. I tried not to let my awe of his standing in the music community overwhelm me as I turned tragic songs into parodies and pretended to seduce my accompanist. When it was over, Sir Andrew complimented me on my singing, thanked me for my time, and escorted me to the door. That was that. An actress dreamed of the moment when a director would point to her during an audition and tell her the part was hers. Maybe that had happened in real life, but never to me. Today was the same. The proverbial “don’t call us; we’ll call you.”

Alan wasn’t concerned by the lack of conversation after the audition. He gave me the typical lines. Sir Andrew had a flight to catch. He’d heard everything he needed to. I had performed flawlessly, and no matter what came of this audition, he was certain Sir Andrew would keep me on the radar for future roles.

I smiled like a pro, sent a text to Mike that I was ready to leave, and assured Alan I wasn’t disappointed by the lack of star treatment. After all, I wasn’t a star. I was Paige Marshall, show choir director. Still, as much as I had grown calluses over the rejections that had piled up over the years, I felt the ache that came with wondering whether I was good enough for Sir Andrew. Self-doubt was just as much a part of the business as the applause. Sometimes more.

“My ride’s here,” I said as Mike’s Mustang roared to the curb.

Alan nodded. “Have a safe trip. I’m going to go back inside and see if Sir Andrew is willing to share his limo to the airport. That’ll give me a chance to talk to him about the roles you’re appropriate for not only now but in future productions.” He kissed my cheek again as Mike got out of the car and waved. “I’ll call you later to give you the news and find out how your choir performed in the finals.”

This time my smile was real. “How do you know my team made the finals?”

“A good manager knows all.” With that he disappeared behind the large gold and glass Lyric Opera House doors. Taking a deep breath, I walked to Mike’s car and climbed in.

To his credit, Mike didn’t ask any questions. He just drove. Which was good because I wasn’t sure what to tell him. If Devlyn had been sitting beside me, the two of us could have talked about the agony that came with waiting for news after an audition. We could grab a drink and compare war stories and I’d know I was talking to someone who understood exactly how I felt.

I wasn’t sure how to explain the emotions that I felt after an audition. Pride. Despair. Hope. Angst. Just because the audition went well didn’t mean I’d get a contract. It was impossible to know what a director was looking for when casting a part. Once a decision was made, Alan would be able to get some feedback about why I was or wasn’t chosen. Until then, I would do my best to forget that I’d even had an audition or that I’d wanted this opportunity more than anything I’d wanted before in my life.

We were halfway to O’Hare when I finally said, “Thanks for giving me time to decompress.”

Mike glanced at me. “I figured you needed to go over the audition piece by piece in your mind. That’s what I do after I visit a crime scene. I sit and mentally walk through everything I saw and every word I heard spoken, making sure I covered all the angles. No matter how hard I try to be perfect, I always wonder if I used the right tone to make a witness feel comfortable or nervous enough to share what they know or if I could have looked harder to find more evidence.”

Weird. I’d never thought of Mike as the questioning-himself-or-his-abilities type. “The only difference about the self-doubt is that your job deals with life and death. In the grand scheme of things, singing and dancing are trivial.”

Mike shook his head. “It’s your work. There’s nothing trivial about that. And I’m betting everyone in the audience of
The Messiah
still remembers how you made them feel. You provide inspiration and an escape from everyday worries. If that isn’t important, I don’t know what is.”

If Mike was looking to score points, he did. Big-time. My heart turned over as he took one hand off the wheel and held it out for mine.

How strange, I thought, looking at the way our hands fit together. Devlyn seemed so perfect for me on paper.

Theater background. Check.

Love of music and dance. Check.

Attractive and intelligent. Check. Check.

Yet, here I was with Mike, contemplating the possibility of a real future together. It just went to show that you never knew how life was going to turn out. That shouldn’t have surprised me. Nothing about this week had gone as I’d suspected. I mean, who would have thought there would be a potential alcohol-smuggling ring and murder at the performing arts center?

Since I wasn’t interested in regaling Mike with more of my audition neurosis, I opted to use the last leg of our journey to the airport to tell him about the past couple of days. Mike rolled his eyes when I told him about Millie bringing Killer to the hotel. He frowned when I talked about the damaged costumes and fallen light bar, and almost growled when I described my attempt and failure to save LuAnn’s life.

“Whatever possessed you to go to a meeting at night with a person whose identity you didn’t know?”

Out of everything, that was what he’d chosen to focus on? “I wasn’t—”

“And why were you examining the loading dock and questioning a potential witness when the police were already investigating the crime?” Mike’s cheeks turned red and shiny. It had been months since I’d last seen the expression on his face, but I recognized it immediately. Mike was ready to blow.

Well, he wasn’t the only one. Part of me had forgotten the reason why Mike and I clashed so frequently during our encounters. I remembered now. Pulling my hand away, I said, “I’ll have you know that if I hadn’t, the witness would never have known to talk to the police or told me about the boxes.”

“The boxes you
think
were filled with an unknown type of illegal alcohol that the victim was selling to some guy who might or might not have been a college kid.”

When he put it that way, my deductive reasoning didn’t sound so fabulous.

“Tell me this, Ms. Marple.” Mike’s sarcasm made me ball my hands into fists. “How would your Memphis stage mom have the kind of connections to run an illegal liquor ring? From what it sounds like, she was the white-picket-fence and bake-sale type. Most people like that don’t run around with criminals, and it isn’t like they’re posting for black market partners on craigslist.”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. But when Mike gave me a smug grin, I came up with something. “The victim used to be a social worker for the city of Memphis. Most likely, she met a number of people who were used to breaking the law. It doesn’t take a huge leap of logic to believe she was enlisted by one of them to help with their enterprise.”

“It’s a good thing you aren’t a cop.” Mike rolled his eyes. “Your would’ves and could-bes would make the courts toss you on your ass. Cops need pesky things like evidence and facts and the chance to investigate without well-meaning but misguided women with an unhealthy curiosity level poking their attractive but unnecessary noses in their cases.”

“I wasn’t—” The sound of my phone made me stop talking. Thank God, I thought, fishing my cell out of my purse. This argument was good for taking my mind off waiting for my manager to contact me, but it was making me seriously rethink the possibility of a future with Mike. I looked down at the screen. Aunt Millie was calling to get an update on my audition.

“Hi, Aunt Millie.” I glared at Mike. “I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. The audition went well and—”