Deadly Overtures: A Music Lover's Mystery (11 page)

“JT . . .”

He yanked open the basement door. “Just because I can’t give him an alibi for the entire time, that doesn’t mean he killed the girl.”

“Of course it doesn’t. But it does leave him on the suspect list.”

“Your suspect list.” JT descended the stairs to the basement. “The police don’t view him as a suspect, do they?”

“I have no idea.” As I followed him, I recalled the detectives’ interest in Elena and her cousin, and their attempt to follow that line of investigation. “But if they haven’t questioned him since that night, then probably not.”

“Likely for good reason.”

“Look,” I said when we reached the bottom of the stairs, “maybe Cameron had nothing to do with the murder, but he was acting jumpy that night.”

“I don’t remember him acting jumpy.” JT grabbed a couple of microphones and tucked his laptop under his arm.

“Is that everything?” I asked.

“Should be.” He headed for the stairs again, pausing to let Finnegan dash up ahead of him.

“I remember him acting jumpy,” I said as we made our way back up to the kitchen.

“Are you sure you weren’t imagining things?”

“Positive.”

JT stopped in the middle of the kitchen and let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, fine. But even if he was acting jumpy, that could mean anything.”

“Sure it could, including the possibility that he planned the theft ahead of time—probably with someone’s help—and was nervous about getting caught.”

“Cameron’s not a killer, Dori.”

“Maybe not,” I conceded. “But even you think he’s a thief.”

He clearly wanted to deny it, but although the muscles in his jaw moved, he said nothing.

“I don’t want him to be guilty, JT. But I can’t ignore the possibility that he is, especially when it comes to the theft.”

“But we can’t prove it. We can’t prove anything.”

“Not yet,” I admitted.

“Then it’s better left alone. My equipment’s probably long gone and the police will catch the killer. We should leave it at that.”

“Should, maybe,” I said. “But you know me better than that.”

“Yes,” he said with another sigh. “Yes, I do.”

Chapter Twelve

A
FTER
I
’D CHANGED
into my black concert clothes and had said goodbye to Finnegan, I set off in my car for the theater, JT right behind me in his truck. Once we’d both parked in the theater’s lot, JT assured me that he didn’t need help moving his equipment inside, so I headed straight for the musicians’ lounge. Since I had some time to spare, I tucked my violin away in my locker and looked around for someone to chat with. I spotted Dongmei on one of the couches, her eyes darting here and there, her fingers picking at the nails on her opposite hand.

When I claimed the seat next to her, she gave me a wavering smile.

“Nervous?” I asked, even though the answer was obvious.

“Nervous. Excited. Terrified.” She swallowed. “What if everyone hates my piece?”

“No one’s going to hate it,” I assured her.

My words seemed to bounce off of her without reaching her ears.

“What if everyone thinks I’m a terrible composer?”

“Dongmei,” I said firmly, “you didn’t get to be a finalist in this competition by being a terrible composer.”

She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re right. It’s just . . . This is the first time such a large crowd will hear one of my works.”

“And they’re going to love it. You’ll see.”

Another tremulous smile appeared on her face for half a second. “I hope you’re right.” She closed her eyes briefly and took another deep breath. “I need to think about something else. Have you heard anything new about the police investigation?”

“Not much.”

“Who do you think did it?”

“It could have been one of a number of people.” I lowered my voice before continuing. “But I’m more than a little suspicious of Ethan.”

“Me too.” She glanced around before adding in a hushed voice, “You’d think he and Pavlina would have bonded over what happened in the past, but instead it only seemed to divide them.”

“What did happen?” I asked, my curiosity perking up.

“Remember how I told you that the first time I met Pavlina was at a music and composition retreat in Banff a few years ago?”

I nodded.

“Ethan and another girl, Tiffany Alphonse, were also on the trip. All three of them were longtime friends. On the last morning of the retreat, Tiffany was found in a nearby lake. She’d drowned.”

“That’s terrible.”

“It really was. But then things got even worse. Her death was ruled accidental—apparently she’d been drunk—but Pavlina, Tiffany, and Ethan had all been up for a prestigious scholarship that was going to be awarded at the end of the retreat. Tiffany wasn’t much of a drinker and Ethan accused Pavlina of getting her drunk on purpose so she’d look bad to the scholarship committee. Pavlina accused him of the same thing.”

“Who won the scholarship in the end?”

“Pavlina.”

No doubt that had given Ethan’s dislike of Pavlina a firm footing to build upon.

“So they’ve hated each other ever since?” I said.

“Yes. At first I thought it was just the shock of Tiffany’s death that made them accuse each other of getting her drunk, and I figured maybe they’d get over it. But they never did. Of course, there was other stress after Tiffany’s death, so that probably didn’t help.”

“Other stress?”

“I heard that Pavlina and Ethan were both harassed by Tiffany’s brother, Alexander, for a while.”

I absorbed that information. “He thought both of them got her drunk on purpose?”

“Maybe. He claimed that Tiffany was so terrified of water that she never would have gone in the lake voluntarily. I guess he thought someone got her drunk to make it easier to get her in the water and drown her. The rumor was that he accused both Ethan and Pavlina of murdering Tiffany because they thought she was their toughest competition for the scholarship. But for that to make sense, I guess maybe he thought one or the other was responsible, but didn’t know which so he tried pointing the finger at both of them.”

“And nothing came of that?” I asked, wondering if killing Pavlina wasn’t the first time Ethan had committed murder, if indeed he had killed her.

“I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure they both had alibis for that night. As far as I know, the police always considered Tiffany’s death an accident. I don’t think that ever changed. All I know for certain is that Pavlina and Ethan ended up despising each other.”

That had been more than evident, and their animosity toward each other made more sense now. But did the past have anything to do with recent events? Had Ethan doubted Pavlina’s alibi and the official ruling on Tiffany’s death? By finding themselves in close competition again, had their acrimony boiled over, driving Ethan to seek delayed revenge for Tiffany’s death while also eliminating his fiercest competition?

It was something to consider, and it strengthened his motive. He’d already been my prime suspect, but now I figured he deserved to have his name underlined and highlighted on the suspect list. While Cameron was still my number one suspect in relation to the theft, it seemed more likely now that he wasn’t the killer.

“Do you think the police know about any of this?” I asked Dongmei.

“I told them about it the other night when they talked to me, but they didn’t seem all that interested.” She considered her words for a moment. “Well, Detective Chowdhury took notes, so at least he was paying attention, but the big one—what’s his name?”

“Detective Van den Broek,” I supplied.

“Right. He didn’t seem all that interested in anything I said. He just wanted to know if I had a reason to want Pavlina dead.” She resumed picking at her fingernails, her anxiety evident on her face again.

I rested a hand on her arm. “I wouldn’t worry about that. You have an alibi, remember.”

She switched to rubbing her cuticles instead of picking at them.

“And Detective Van den Broek was the same with me interest-wise. I hope he’s more keen on solving the case than he lets on, because he didn’t seem to care one whit about anything I told him.”

“I hope so too,” Dongmei said. “If they don’t find the killer . . . That would be horrible. I don’t want it to be someone like Ethan, someone I know, but I’d rather he be arrested if he’s guilty than have him in our midst. I mean, if he’s killed once, what’s to stop him from killing again?”

That was a valid concern.

I searched the room, wondering if Ethan was present. He wasn’t, but a shiver still traveled up my spine. If he was determined to win this competition, and if he was as uncertain about the outcome as I believed him to be, were the other finalists in danger?

“Dongmei,” I said in little more than a whisper, “I think you should make sure you’re never alone here in the theater.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you think Ethan might want to kill me?”

“If he’s desperate enough to win this competition, who knows what he might do. I think you and Sherwin should both be careful.”

“I’ll tell Sherwin,” she said. “But, Midori, I’m terrified.”

That was clearly written on her face, and I realized I’d only added to her jitters, but I wanted her to be on alert.

“Just stick close to other people,” I advised. “Then you’ll be fine.”

I hoped that was true. But the only way to truly ensure Dongmei’s safety was to find definitive evidence against Ethan—or whoever the killer was—so the police could lock him away.

“I need to talk to the maestro,” I said as I got up from the couch.

Dongmei grabbed my arm, fear practically radiating off of her. “Don’t leave me alone.”

“You’re not alone.” I gestured at all the musicians gathered in the lounge. “You’ve got all these people with you. And I’ll be back soon.”

She let go of my arm with reluctance and I gave her what I hoped was a confident, reassuring smile.

“Everything will be okay,” I said.

As I left the lounge, I fervently hoped those words wouldn’t come back to haunt me.

I
DIDN’T FIND
Hans out on the stage where JT had already set up the microphones, nor did I find him in the back hallways. Knowing that likely meant he was in his second-floor office, I headed up the carpeted stairway. At the top of the stairs I turned left, my destination the third door down. I didn’t end up going straight to Hans’s office, however, because the first room I passed drew my attention and brought me to a stop.

The door stood open, revealing a room with a long table surrounded by numerous chairs. I knew it was the room the symphony’s board of directors used for meetings but, according to a sign taped to the door, it was currently being used as a lounge for the judges. A platter of fresh fruit sat in the middle of the table, with plates of other finger foods set out around it. Although I wouldn’t have minded a snack, the food wasn’t what caught my attention.

The only person in the room was Ethan. Since he wasn’t a judge, his presence piqued my curiosity, especially since he was leaning over one corner of the table, clicking sounds emanating from his general location. When he turned his body a few degrees to the left, I realized that the clicking was coming from his phone as he snapped pictures of another cell phone lying on the tabletop. That sent my curiosity skyrocketing.

He took a step back and I hurried out of view, resuming my journey down the hallway. Before I reached the door to Hans’s office, I glanced over my shoulder. Ethan was on his way out of the judges’ lounge, slipping his phone into his pocket. Pausing, he looked up and down the hallway and spotted me. I smiled at him, hoping I appeared completely natural and unsuspicious, but he only glowered in my direction before disappearing down the stairway. Once he was gone, a trickle of relief washed through me. Being in close proximity to someone I suspected of murder wasn’t exactly my idea of fun, especially when no one else was in sight.

Alone in the hallway now, my eyes drifted back to the open door of the judges’ lounge. Tugging on my left earlobe, I wondered if I dared to do a little snooping. It only took me a second or two to decide.

As quietly as I could, I hastened back to the judges’ lounge and slipped inside. Tiny sparks of excitement ran up my spine when I saw that the phone Ethan had been snapping pictures of still sat on the table. After a quick glance over my shoulder told me I was still alone, I picked up the device and brought the screen to life.

There was no immediate indication of who owned the phone so I accessed the photos and scrolled through them. It only took a few pictures for me to conclude that the device belonged to Jeb Hartson. The selfies were a dead giveaway. Somehow it didn’t surprise me that he regularly took photos of himself. It also didn’t surprise me that Pavlina appeared in some of the photos, sometimes on her own and other times with Jeb, but that was only because I’d already known about their relationship.

After scrolling past a few photos of Pavlina that could only be described as suggestive, I paused, wondering if the pictures were what had grabbed Ethan’s interest.

It was very possible.

But if he’d snapped pictures of these photos, why had he done so? Not for any good reason, that was for sure. Since Pavlina was already dead, he couldn’t use them to get her ousted from the competition, but maybe he was hoping to use them against Jeb. Maybe he was planning to blackmail the judge to secure his vote.

That thought sent an icy chill through me. If he really was so devious, then that only made him an even better murder suspect. While being a blackmailer—if he really was one—didn’t automatically make Ethan a murderer, it did say a lot about his character and the level he was willing to sink to in order to improve his chances in the competition.

The sound of approaching footsteps reached my ears and I spun around, my heartbeat upping its tempo. If Ethan was returning and he caught me snooping into what he’d been doing earlier, my life could be in danger. I hurriedly returned the cell phone to the table, but a shadow loomed in the doorway while my fingers still touched the device.

“What are you doing?”

The demanding voice didn’t belong to Ethan, but that didn’t calm my racing heart.

Jeb stood a foot or two inside the room, his face devoid of its usual self-assured smile. His brown eyes drilled into me and I struggled to find my voice.

“Nothing,” I managed to say in response to his question. “I noticed that someone had left their cell phone behind and I was trying to figure out who it belonged to.”

Jeb stepped forward and snatched the phone off the table. “It’s mine. Did you mess with it?” His phony, drawling accent had disappeared completely.

“No,” I lied as convincingly as I could. “I’d only picked it up when you arrived.”

I held my breath, hoping he would believe me.

“That had better be the truth.” He took a step closer to me and I had to force myself not to lean back. “I wouldn’t advise sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

I met his furious gaze with a steady one of my own, but a high-pitched note of alarm rang in my head and I couldn’t think clearly enough to come up with a retort.

“Everything all right here?”

Some of my tension whooshed out of me as Harold Dempsey stepped into the room, his eyes going from my face to Jeb’s.

Two seconds ticked by before Jeb relaxed his stance and produced his typical grin.

“Everything’s just fine,” he said, his drawl back in full force. “This young lady was returning my misplaced phone to me. Thank you for that,” he said to me.

Although his words were courteous, a dangerous glint showed in his eyes when he focused on me.

“You’re welcome,” I managed to say, even though every one of my nerves was practically screaming with tension.

I edged around Jeb, and Harold stepped aside to clear my path to the door. With a nod at Harold, I left the room as calmly as I could. When I was out of sight in the hallway, my muscles went weak with relief. Getting a glimpse of Jeb’s dark side had alarmed me. I didn’t want to think about what might have happened if he’d caught me in the act of studying the photos on his phone. The situation had been tense enough already, and I was immensely grateful for the fact that Harold had arrived on the scene when he did. Although I’d received only harsh words and angry glares from Jeb, the encounter had left me certain that he was capable of much more.