Deadly Overtures: A Music Lover's Mystery (8 page)

“Midori?”

Detective Salnikova had arrived at some point during my conversation with her colleagues and now stood next to her desk, only a stone’s throw from those of Detectives Chowdhury and Van den Broek.

“Detective Salnikova. It’s nice to see you again.” Although I managed to get the words out, my voice was still stiff with anger, my tone not matching my words. “I was just on my way out.”

“I’ll walk with you,” she said quickly, halting Detective Chowdhury, who was about to carry out the task.

My teeth gritting together, I walked briskly across the room and turned down the hallway that would take me to the reception area. It was only once we were out of sight of the other detectives that Salnikova put a hand on my arm to stop my progress.

“Is something wrong, Midori?”

I spent a second or two fighting against the storm of angry emotions raging inside of me. As I let out a breath, I tried to expel some of my frustration with it. It helped, although only slightly.

“I came here to share some information I thought might be pertinent to a murder investigation. I was only trying to be helpful, but Van den Broek seems to think I made everything up. Maybe he thinks I want attention or that I have a couple of screws loose. But when I overhear something that could be a clue, am I supposed to keep quiet? Is that really what they want me to do?”

Despite my attempt to calm down, the storm inside of me was back to gale force. I closed my eyes briefly, trying to regain my composure.

“Why don’t we sit down for a moment?” Salnikova opened a door and indicated that I should precede her through it.

Embarrassment now mingling with all my other emotions, I entered the small interview room and plunked my hat, gloves, and purse on the table before sitting down on one of the two chairs.

“I’m sorry,” I said as Salnikova took the other seat. “The suggestion that I’m an attention-seeking liar got me riled up.”

“I’m guessing this has to do with the Nicolova murder case.”

“Yes.” I told her about the conversation I’d overheard between Jeb and Olivia, as well as Jeb’s suspicious telephone conversation. “Should I really have kept that to myself?”

“No,” Salnikova replied. “You were right to share that information.”

“For all the good it’ll do,” I muttered. “If Detectives Chowdhury and Van den Broek think I made it all up, they might ignore everything I told them.”

“That won’t happen. Detective Van den Broek might not be the most personable man on the force, but he’s good at his job and he won’t leave any stone unturned, despite what he might have led you to believe. And Detective Chowdhury is a sharp investigator too. Everything you told them will be checked out, I can assure you of that.”

I was willing to believe what she’d said about Detective Chowdhury, but I wasn’t quite as convinced about Van den Broek. Still, her reassurances had at least snuffed out the dancing flames of my anger and frustration.

“How come you’re not working this case?” I asked.

“I was tied up with another investigation when the call came in.”

That was unfortunate.

“How’s Detective Bachman?” The last time I’d seen Salnikova’s older partner, he’d been off duty, recovering from surgery.

“He’s had an unfortunate health setback, but we’re hoping he’ll be back to work before long.”

“I’m sorry to hear about the setback.”

That was true, but part of me was also relieved he wasn’t present because he never shied away from suggesting I had a tendency to get mixed up in police investigations. Although Salnikova had been known to do the same. In fact, I was surprised she hadn’t already warned me about interfering with police business.

“I hope you’ll be careful, Midori.”

Maybe the thought had passed through my head too soon. “I’m always careful.”

I figured it was a good thing JT wasn’t there to hear me say that. Salnikova looked skeptical enough, and JT wouldn’t have held back any of his disbelief. The detective didn’t, however, lecture me about keeping my nose out of the official investigation, and I was grateful for that.

She might have decided I could do with a lecture if I’d told her about questioning Fred about his tools, but I didn’t need to go there. Actually, I didn’t think I needed to do anything more at the police station. As far as I was concerned, I’d done my duty by filling in Detectives Chowdhury and Van den Broek on what Jeb had said the other night, and—as long as Salnikova was right about their qualities as investigators—they’d likely track down the killer without any further input from me. In the meantime, I could focus on other matters, like the theft of JT’s equipment. Maybe that was a hopeless cause, but I wasn’t ready to give up on it yet.

Thanking Salnikova for her time, I parted ways with her and left the police station, hoping I’d be able to steer clear of Detective Van den Broek in the future.

Chapter Eight

I
MADE A
quick stop at home to eat an early lunch and pick up my violin. Then I set off to JT’s house, where my studio was located. For several years now I’d rented one of the front rooms of his house for teaching purposes, and I enjoyed the fact that I got to hang out with my best friend far more often than if I’d worked elsewhere. Some days I didn’t see JT at all if he was working long hours down in his recording studio or off at a meeting about the science fiction TV show he composed music for, but most days I got to spend at least some time with him.

Lately, however, spending time with him wasn’t always as easy as it had once been. In the past I’d been so at ease in his company, but now I sometimes found myself worrying that he’d catch on to the fact that my feelings for him had evolved. I knew there was only one way to erase that anxiety, but I wasn’t sure I was brave enough to do what was necessary. I was all too aware of what could go wrong.

Fortunately, I didn’t have time to dwell on such thoughts right at that moment. Since my first lesson of the day was scheduled for noon, I didn’t have a chance to say much more than hello to JT before I had to get ready to teach. But once my last student of the day had left, I wandered toward the kitchen at the back of the house. I didn’t find JT or Finnegan there, but the door to the basement was ajar and the light above the stairway was on. After helping myself to a drink of water and putting the empty glass in the dishwasher, I made my way down the stairs. Before I’d reached the last step, Finnegan bounded my way, his fluffy tail wagging with excitement.

“Hey, boy,” I greeted him, giving him a scratch on the head.

“Finished teaching for the day?” JT asked as he emerged from his recording studio.

“Yep. The rest of the day is mine. How about you?”

“I just wrapped things up. The guys are coming over soon for an extra band practice. We need to iron out a few wrinkles before our next gig on Saturday night.”

“Speaking of your band,” I said, “are you going to ask Cameron if he knows anything about the theft of your equipment?”

“No. Why would I? He was inside the theater when the thief was at work.”

“That’s what we assumed, and maybe he really was. But what if leaving the truck unlocked wasn’t an accident?”

“What are you suggesting? That he was involved?”

“It’s possible,” I said, recalling Cameron’s skittish behavior.

JT removed one of his acoustic guitars from its wall hanger. “Even if it’s a possibility—and I’m not saying it is—I’m not going to accuse him of anything when I don’t have any proof.”

“Okay, I get that, but aren’t you suspicious?”

JT strummed a random chord before hesitating.

“You are,” I said. “You don’t want to be, but you are.”

“All right. I’m suspicious,” he admitted with no shortage of reluctance. “But I really don’t want to believe he could have stolen from me.”

As JT sat down and worked away at tuning the guitar, I flopped down into a beanbag chair. When Finnegan sat down next to me, I scratched his head, thinking.

“You said Cameron lost his job recently and needs money, so that gives him motive. But what about opportunity? Did he have time to shift all the equipment from your truck to another vehicle when you weren’t around?”

JT frowned as he considered that. “I’m not so sure. It’s possible, but he would’ve had to work fast. But if he was working with someone else . . .”

I could tell he didn’t like saying those words.

“That’s probably the most likely possibility,” I agreed. “There had to be another vehicle to transport the equipment. And if he was in cahoots with someone, the timing wouldn’t be such an issue. His accomplice could have transferred the equipment from one vehicle to another while you and Cameron were both inside the theater. All Cameron had to do was leave the truck unlocked.”

“But we don’t know for sure that Cameron was involved,” JT reminded me. “And I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt. I have to.”

I understood that. If JT gave his suspicions too much power, that could affect his friendship with Cameron. And if his friendship with Cameron was strained, that could seriously mess with the band’s chemistry. I, however, didn’t have to worry about that, and I wondered if there was any way I could figure out for certain if Cameron was involved in the theft.

“Still no sign of your equipment online?” I asked as my thoughts simmered.

“No. I’ve checked twice a day every day and there’s no sign of it.”

I frowned at that, but didn’t pursue the topic any further. As footsteps sounded overhead, Finnegan jumped up with a bark and catapulted up the stairs. A moment later he came bounding back down with Rafael—one of JT’s bandmates—following in his wake.

After greeting Rafael, I left him and JT in the basement and returned to the kitchen, hoping I could intercept Cameron when he arrived. I didn’t have to wait long. Only a minute or two later he came in through the unlocked front door, shrugging out of his jacket as he arrived in the kitchen.

“Hey, Cameron,” I said, giving him what I hoped was a welcoming smile. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” he replied. “You?”

“Not bad.” I perched on one of the stools at the granite breakfast bar, my back to the counter. “But there was something I wanted to ask you.”

It might have been my imagination, but I thought I detected a hint of wariness in his eyes.

“What’s that?”

“The other night at the theater, did you happen to notice anyone suspicious hanging around the parking lot?”

Cameron draped his jacket over his arm. “No.”

“You see, we figure whoever stole the equipment must have had a vehicle to transport it, right?”

“That makes sense.” He shifted his weight uneasily. “But the police asked me all this the other night. Like I told them, there were a lot of cars in the parking lot and none of them stood out as suspicious. If someone saw me loading the last of the equipment into the truck, I didn’t see them.”

“The equipment’s probably gone for good then. JT hasn’t had any luck finding it online and there don’t seem to be any leads to follow.”

As I spoke, I studied Cameron carefully. He had yet to meet my eyes and I thought I detected a shimmer of perspiration along his hairline. Was he nervous or did he simply feel bad about accidentally giving the thieves an easy opportunity to take off with JT’s equipment?

I couldn’t be sure, and Hamish—the last member of the band to arrive—walked into the kitchen at that moment, distracting me from my study of Cameron.

“What are you two talking about?” Hamish asked with a waggle of his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes.

“Nothing,” Cameron mumbled. His eyes down, he slipped through the door and down the stairway, passing JT on his way to the basement.

Hamish’s eyebrows had stopped waggling but remained raised. “You’re not going to scare off another drummer, are you, Midori? If you do, we’ll have to start calling you the black widow of bands or something.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but JT beat me to it.

“Cut it out, Hamish.”

The sharp edge to JT’s voice took me by surprise. It seemed to have the same effect on Hamish. Looking more abashed than I’d ever seen him, Hamish muttered what I thought might have been an apology and escaped down the stairs to join Cameron and Rafael. Still surprised, I watched JT as he crossed the kitchen and opened the fridge with a jerk, grabbing a six-pack of cola.

“What’s wrong?” I asked when I saw that he was still scowling. JT wasn’t one to get angry easily, and we were all used to Hamish’s dumb comments, so his reaction puzzled me.

“Hamish,” he said by way of reply.

He headed for the basement stairway with the soft drinks in hand, but I grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Hamish was just being Hamish. That’s nothing new.”

“No, but he crossed a line.”

“With what he said about me? Forget about it. It didn’t bother me.”

Maybe it would have in the days following my breakup with Aaron, the band’s previous drummer, but it didn’t faze me now. JT, on the other hand, was clearly still displeased. The muscles in his jaw were so tense I worried they might snap.

“Seriously, JT. It’s fine.” I took his free hand and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t be mad at Hamish, okay? Just go have fun.”

He let out a breath and some of his unfamiliar sternness fell away. He almost managed a smile as he gave my hand a squeeze in return. Instead of letting go as I expected, he kept hold of it.

“Are you sticking around?” he asked.

“Actually, I think I’ll head home,” I said, trying not to be distracted by the warmth of his hand around mine. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“All right.” He gave my hand another squeeze before letting go. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” I said as he headed for the basement.

I remained seated at the breakfast bar for another moment or two, lost in thought. I wanted to read between the lines of JT’s reaction to Hamish’s comments, but didn’t know if I should. Probably not, I decided. Maybe JT’s short temper stemmed only from low blood sugar or something similarly simple. That was far more likely than him having deeper feelings for me than I knew, wasn’t it?

Not wanting to answer that question, I slid off the stool and returned to my studio to grab my violin. It was time to call it a day and head home.

T
HE NEXT DAY
passed without incident. I didn’t even have time to think about crimes or suspects since a long list of errands kept me busy all morning and my students occupied my entire afternoon. It wasn’t until the evening when I arrived at the theater that the subject of Pavlina’s murder crept out of the shadows to once again claim center stage in my head.

On my way from the stage door to the musicians’ lounge, I spotted Ethan talking with Olivia, Sasha hovering behind them. The theater was otherwise quiet, but I knew that would soon change. I’d arrived fairly early, but the rest of the orchestra wouldn’t be far behind me.

When I arrived at the musicians’ lounge, the only others present were Dongmei and Elena. Dongmei sat on one of the couches, picking at her fingernails, her nervousness glaringly obvious. In stark contrast, Elena sat casually in a chair on the opposite side of the room, her long legs crossed as she flipped through a magazine, all the while managing to maintain her usual haughty demeanor.

I smiled at Dongmei as I entered the room, but I ignored Elena as much as she ignored me. Stashing my instrument case in my locker for the time being, I shed all my outerwear and rubbed my chilled hands together. I was about to join Dongmei over on the couch when two more people entered the room. For the first second or two I didn’t pay them much attention, assuming that more of my fellow musicians had arrived. But then I caught sight of the two men in my peripheral vision.

Detectives Van den Broek and Chowdhury.

Remaining by my locker, I watched as their glances skipped over me and Dongmei to settle on Elena. To my surprise, the two men strode over to the concertmaster and loomed over her.

“Elena Vasilyeva?” Van den Broek asked.

She raised her eyes up from the magazine, unfazed by the detectives’ presence.

“Yes?” She wove the single word with threads of cool disinterest.

“We’d like you to come with us to the police station to answer some questions.”

While my eyes widened with surprise, Elena’s narrowed.

“Questions?” She repeated the word as if it tasted foul. “What questions?”

“About Pavlina Nicolova’s death,” Van den Broek replied.

“I know nothing about her death.” Elena returned her attention to the magazine in her lap.

Detective Chowdhury spoke this time. “You’re acquainted with one Igor Malakhov, aren’t you?”

Elena raised her eyes again, and now they were like icy daggers. “He’s my cousin, as I’m sure you already know.”

“And your cousin had a relationship with Ms. Nicolova, did he not?”

Elena’s expression closed off, like shutters slamming across a window. “They knew each other in high school. What does that have to do with anything?”

“That’s exactly what we’d like to determine,” Detective Van den Broek said. “Now, if you’d please come with us.” He took a step back, as if expecting Elena to get to her feet.

Instead, she slapped the magazine shut and tossed it onto a neighboring chair. “Am I under arrest?” she asked without moving from her seat.

“No, ma’am,” Chowdhury replied.

Now she did get to her feet. “Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a rehearsal to attend.”

A muscle in Detective Van den Broek’s jaw twitched. “We still need to ask you some questions.”

Elena leveled her cold blue eyes at Van den Broek, somehow managing to appear just as imposing as him even though he had several inches of height on her. “I’ll come by the police station in the morning, if I must. Until then, I’m otherwise occupied.”

She turned for the door, her pace unhurried, her head held high.

“We’ll be expecting you,” Van den Broek called after her, his tone suggesting she’d better make good on her word.

The detectives exchanged a weighty glance, and then Van den Broek’s eyes fell on me. A hint of a frown pulled at his mouth, but I didn’t avert my gaze. Maybe he thought I was a snoop for listening in, but it wasn’t my fault I’d overheard the exchange with Elena. The detectives hadn’t exactly chosen a private spot for it.

After another second of attempting to stare me down, Van den Broek strode out of the room, his partner by his side. When they were gone I turned to face Dongmei, whose eyes were as wide as my own must have been.

“What do you think that was all about?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” I said.

But I wanted to find out.