A Chorus Lineup (A Glee Club Mystery) (6 page)

Jim frowned.

My smile dissolved.

Jim crossed his arms.

My lower lip trembled in what I hoped looked like sorrow instead of hours of practicing being able to isolate those muscles while killing time in my college dorm room.

Finally, Jim shook his head and sighed. “The acoustics are different now that we’re on the stage. Okay. Let’s rein in the volume and see what it sounds like.”

Huzzah! Score one for my lack of a social life my sophomore year. “Thanks. If you have them play at mezzo piano while the team is singing, you’ll really impress the judges when you bump up to forte during the dance breaks. The control they have over dynamics is quite possibly the thing that is going to put us over the top.”

Turning, I heard Jim say to the players, “If technique is going to help win this thing, then let’s show them everything we got. Mike, we might need to mute your bass drum if you can’t bring down the sound.”

Once Larry and Devlyn finished repositioning the singers, I signaled for Jim to start the music, and the opening notes of the first song in our set began again. The spacing was better, although I noticed Breanna and Franco bump into Chessie and Eric during the number. Thank God it wasn’t before a lift or who knows what might have happened.

The kids struck their final pose. The brass performed the final hit. Jim looked across the room to where I was standing and lifted a brow in question. Continue? Or did I want to stop and fix?

My nod made Jim raise his hands. He cued the drummer, who played a rousing eight-bar solo as the singers took their next positions. The bass player was cued. The horns played a riff, and Megan opened her mouth to sing.

Crap.

Chessie was right about Megan’s scratchy voice. I hadn’t noticed during the last number because the sopranos as a whole were a strong section. But now that she was solo, I could hear the fatigue in Megan’s tone. The way her shoulders raised as she took a breath told its own story. Whatever strain Megan was feeling was causing her to panic and change her singing technique instead of relying on it. Megan wasn’t one of my voice students. Under normal circumstances, I would make a few minor suggestions and ask her instructor to work on it with her during their next lesson. But her teacher wasn’t here, and the preliminaries began in less than two days. If I needed to replace her in the number, I’d have to make that decision soon.

I made notes about a shaky harmony and the final lift (the synchronization was slightly off), ignored the vibrating of my phone—again—and signaled to Jim to keep going. We would go back and fix the problems once we’d run the last number. Then we’d time it all once more to make sure we fit the ten minutes we were allowed. For every second over we’d be penalized. Not on my watch.

The final number was the strongest of the three. Chessie sounded great during her feature. She’d worked hard to have power without losing pitch, and as of now that lesson seemed to be paying off. As long as the excitement of the competition didn’t throw her off her game, this number was going to make a great final impression. Especially if the kids danced and sang as strongly as they were doing today. Now I just had to whip the rest of the performance into shape and we’d be on track to do what we came to Nashville to do—make it to the finals and finish this year’s season with a win. If this was going to be my last experience as a coach, I wanted to go out with a bang.

Devlyn and I worked with the kids and the band for the next hour with Larry yelling helpful advice from his spot in the back. By the time rehearsal ended, everyone was dripping with sweat. But the harmonies were fixed, the lifts were polished, and we could hear every note sung by the team. Things were looking up.

As the team and band filed out to get ready for dinner, I walked over to Megan. “Do you have a minute?”

When she turned, her overly bright smile couldn’t mask the worry brimming in her eyes. “Sure, Ms. Marshall. What do you need?”

“Come with me.” I headed toward the keyboard as my phone vibrated again. Same number as the previous half dozen times. Oy. “Could you give me a second?” I asked as Megan took a seat in one of the band’s chairs. “I need to see who this is.”

When Megan nodded, I walked toward the center of the room and answered the call.

“Is this Paige Marshall?” a low, whispery voice asked.

“Yes, it is.” I turned to look at Megan. She swallowed hard, noticed me watching, and gave me a tenuous smile. The poor kid. “How can I help you?”

“You can meet me outside the performing arts center at nine o’clock. If you’re even one minute late, you and your team will be very, very sorry.”

“Who is this?” I asked. No answer. I looked at my phone. Call ended. Damn.

I punched up the call log and dialed. No answer. Whoever wanted me to come visit them tonight wasn’t interested in talking to me until then. Great. As if life wasn’t exciting enough.

Since Megan looked content sitting across the room, I let my fingers do the walking and punched the mysterious number into my phone’s Internet search feature. Unlisted caller. So much for that idea. Since I didn’t have another that would give me the identity of my new friend, I shoved my phone back in my pocket, walked over to the electric piano, and took a seat on the bench.

“Is everything okay, Ms. Marshall?” Megan asked. “Did you get bad news?”

“Everything’s fine.” Or it would be when I had time to perform a reverse call lookup. “I’m worried about you. How are you feeling?”

“I’m great.” Megan swallowed hard, winced, and gave me a very large smile. “This is all so exciting. It’s hard to believe the competition is almost here. Graduation will be here before we know it and then college and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate everything you did to help me get ready for my auditions.”

Between the high-pitched nervous giggle and the flush creeping into her cheeks, Megan was even worse at lying than Chessie. The two were going to need some serious acting classes if they planned to make a career out of performing.

“Megan.” I leaned my elbow on the piano. “How does your throat feel?”

The fake smile faded, and tears threatened. “It’s fine. A little tired.” Another hard swallow. Another flinch. “I know today wasn’t my best singing, but I’m going to rest my voice tonight and go to bed early. It’ll be better tomorrow.”

A tear fell.

My heart clenched.

I understood how important this week was to her. This was her final big performance of her high school career. She wanted this chance, and I wanted it for her.

“Tell me the truth,” I said, resting my arm on the electric piano. “Does your throat hurt?”

Megan started to shake her head no but then sighed. “A little. But it’s better than yesterday. It’ll be fine by the competition. I promise.”

Another tear fell. The despair in Megan’s voice made me want to cry, too. Being sick was hell on a performer, which is why we all had lots of tricks up our sleeves in order to get well. Or at least well enough so the show could go on. And we learned to carry our supplies with us.

“Here’s what we’re going to do.” I stood and motioned for Megan to follow me toward the ballroom’s exit. “I have some zinc lozenges in my room. Those will help with the swelling you have in your vocal cords. From now until tomorrow you’re on vocal rest. No singing. No talking. Who are you rooming with again?”

“Chessie, Breanna, and Claire.”

I smiled. Chessie would keep Megan quiet whether Megan wanted to be or not.

“We’ll talk to your roommates so they know you need quiet. Drink lots of water. Get sleep. Take the zinc, and we’ll see how you’re feeling tomorrow. If your voice is still feeling strained, we’ll have to let your understudy practice just in case your voice hasn’t come all the way back by Thursday. Okay?” I looked at Megan as we crossed the lobby.

She gave a small sigh and nodded. “Okay.”

On the way to my room I gave her a list of other tips that should keep her vocal cords from swelling further and aid in getting them back to normal. Armed with a fistful of strawberry-cream-flavored zinc cough drops and a warning to eat dinner before she consumed one—zinc never failed to seep into taste buds for a good long while and make everything immediately after taste like metal—I sent her out the door with a promise to check on her first thing in the morning. “And, Megan,” I said as she opened the door to her hotel room. “Remember that even if you can’t sing your feature on Thursday, there’s still a chance you’ll be able to do it on Friday. Take care of your voice. It’s going to get better.”

“Thanks, Ms. Marshall,” she whispered. “You’re the best.” Then she disappeared into her room before I could lecture her on how bad whispering is for the vocal cords.

Oh well. She’d heard it before. And if she needed a reminder, I could talk to her after dinner.

“She’s right, you know.” My aunt’s voice reached over my shoulder. “You’ve done a remarkable job with these students. I think they finally realize how lucky they are to work with someone like you. It’s amazing how much can change over the course of a year.”

Yeah. Back in August, I’d have never given a second thought to hopping on a plane and leaving Devlyn and Larry in charge of the team. I also would have never received a threatening phone call asking me to meet in front of a theater or else. Life had taken some strange turns.

“I’m not the only one who’s changed this year,” I said, closing my room door behind my aunt. “Look at you.”

“What about me?” Millie asked, smoothing her low-cut, lacy mauve shirt. My aunt had performed a wardrobe change. The white capris were gone. In their place was a gray tulip skirt that showed off Millie’s curvy hips and lots of leg. While Millie had upset Aldo by insisting that he book a separate hotel room, her outfit suggested she might not intend for him to stay there. Millie was sending mixed signals. No wonder poor Aldo was confused.

“You changed clothes,” I said, taking a seat on the bed.

Millie looked down at her shirt and shrugged. “I freshened up. It was a long car ride, and I wanted to be comfortable.”

Only someone who had undergone the Inquisition would consider four-inch heels, a figure-hugging skirt, and a shirt that was wrapped tight enough to be a tourniquet comfortable.

“Aunt Millie, I know you’ve always avoided serious relationships.”

“I’m married to my career.” Aunt Millie started to sit on the bed, tugged on the hemline of her skirt as it rose up toward her hips, and stood back up. “It takes a lot of focus and energy to stay at the top of my field. I might even beat out Immojean Harley this year for the best sales in the country.”

“Lots of people at the top of their fields get married.”

“Yes, but most of the time it is the man who’s at the top of his field, not the woman.” Millie shrugged. “In my experience, it doesn’t take long for a man to get tired of not being the center of attention.”

“Then why do you insist I need to get married?” Millie was constantly pushing me into blind dates. The last one was a dentist who claimed gold fillings would help me sing better and glared when I picked up the dessert menu. Denying me chocolate cake might prevent cavities, but it wasn’t going to score a second date. Much to Millie’s disappointment. “If my performing career starts to take off, I’ll have to travel.”

“Yes, but you’re on your way up,” Millie insisted. “If you find someone now, they’ll feel as if they’re a part of it. The right man will understand how important it is for him to be waiting in the wings after the applause stops.”

Maybe.

I thought about my earlier conversation with Devlyn. Would he be the type to build my career with me or get tired of not having me around all the time? I had no idea. But I was sure about Millie’s guy. “Aldo is a great accompanist. He understands that his talents are important and isn’t afraid to share the stage with someone who gets more attention than he does. I’ve tried to stay out of your relationship.” Because the last thing I wanted to do was encourage my aunt to take a more active role in matchmaking for me. “But I think you love Aldo and I’m certain he loves you. Maybe you should think about giving the two of you together a real shot. Who knows—with his support you might knock Immojean off her top salesperson perch for good.”

Millie tilted her head to the side. “I could use some help beating Immojean. And Aldo does have a way with the ladies. That accent makes women forget their budgets. You should have seen him last weekend when I held a party for the North Shore Garden Club. He wore this sexy black silk shirt and had those women eating out of his hand and buying product as if it was going out of style. I guess it goes to show that sex sells.”

As if my life wasn’t complicated enough, I now had the image of Millie, Aldo, and sex in my brain. Help.

“So, how did rehearsal go?” Millie asked. “I would have stayed but I wanted to get Killer settled. You know how nervous he gets when he’s left alone in the car for too long.”

“Killer is here?” The dog hated me. Okay, “hate” was maybe too strong a word since I often found him hogging my pillow in the middle of the night. “I thought you were going to leave him at the doggie spa.”

“I was, but he was unhappy when I tried to leave. He even bit the hostess to make sure he wasn’t left behind.”

Right. The bite had nothing to do with Killer’s disgruntled personality or his desire to do damage to anyone who wasn’t a dog show judge or Millie.

“And really,” Millie said, “now that I think about it, bringing Killer here is the best thing. He’ll help distract the team. I know how nervous they get before a competition.”

Running for their lives would certainly keep them diverted.

“Now.” Millie yanked her skirt down and perched on the edge of the bed. “Tell me what’s really going on down here. I know you’re trying to keep your students from panicking, but lights don’t fall from theater rafters without help.”

Since Millie was going to find out anyway, I quickly explained the events of the day, complete with costume confetti, falling canister lights, and LuAnn’s insistence that I was behind the problems. “I also got a strange call a little while ago from someone insisting I meet them outside the theater.” Needless to say, this competition wasn’t like any other I’d been to thus far.

Aunt Millie stood. “Well, if this LuAnn woman thinks she can make those kinds of accusations and get away with it, she has another thing coming. That woman doesn’t know who she’s dealing with. Just give me a couple of hours to track her down and she’ll—”

“No!”

My aunt blinked.

Okay, that had came out more forcefully than I’d intended. But Millie and her dog had a lot in common. Both were impeccably groomed, wore lots of pink, and could be very, very scary when motivated. Emotions were running high enough at this competition. The last thing I needed was my aunt adding to the drama.

In a gentler tone, I said, “As much as making LuAnn apologize for her behavior would be fun, I want to set a good example for the students on the team. They need to learn how to ignore the LuAnns of the world and keep their focus on the performance.”

“I guess you’re right,” Millie said. “But if that woman says anything about you around me, she’s going to get several samples of that magenta lipstick that caused the test subjects’ lips to swell.”

“I thought you got rid of those.” How my aunt had even gotten her hands on the defective product line of one of her competitors was beyond me. Changing subjects before Aunt Millie had a chance to educate me on the world of cosmetic warfare, I said, “I need to punch up the band’s uniforms. Would you like to go shopping?”

“Does a fish like to swim?”

Leaving Aldo to deal with Killer and Devlyn, and Larry and Jim to supervise dinner and relocate instruments to my room, Millie and I headed out to explore the retail side of Nashville. Three hours and dozens of stores later, I’d learned that a person could purchase cowboy hats in every shade of the rainbow and that feathers, sequins, and rhinestones weren’t just decorations—they were a way of life. Armed with a selection of sparkly ties and non-western-looking hats, I had just settled back in Millie’s pink Caddy for the trip back to the hotel when I noticed the time.

Eight forty five.

My mysterious caller had asked me to meet at nine. Between my chat with Megan and this shopping odyssey, I’d put the demand that I show up or be sorry out of my mind. Now that I’d remembered, I found myself curious enough to ask Millie to take a spin by the performing arts center. I wanted to know who’d called. More important, I wanted to know why.

Had I been alone, I wouldn’t have considered making the trek, especially now that night had fallen. But now that Millie was with me, I was mulling the idea. The performing arts center was in a well-lit and heavily traveled area of town. On top of that, I seriously doubted that whoever was waiting for me expected me to arrive in a pink convertible Cadillac, so I’d have the element of surprise. Millie could do a quick lap of the building while I looked for whoever was lurking outside. Neither of us would ever step foot out of the car. This plan was as safe as safe could get.