Death in a Major (16 page)

“Hey, Midori.” He jogged up to meet me, dodging around the taxi as it backed slowly down the driveway. “I just ran to the store. I really needed some sugar.” He held up an empty candy bar wrapper before crumpling it and shoving it in the pocket of his jeans.

“I know that feeling,” I said.

Jordan dug a key out of his other pocket and unlocked the front door for us.

“So what did you find?” I asked once we were in the spacious foyer, unable to contain my curiosity any longer.

“A letter.” He shut and locked the front door behind us. “I left it in the living room.”

He led the way along the main hallway toward the back of the house. As we approached the living room where my first confrontation with Kevin had occurred, Andrea Duffy's voice floated down the hallway toward us.

“I think I should come clean,” she said, worry straining her voice. “They're going to find out sooner or later.”

Ahead of me, Jordan slowed his steps, his back stiff.

After a short pause, Mrs. Duffy spoke again. “But the guilt is killing me. I don't know how long I can keep quiet.”

Jordan and I reached the living room and my heels clicked against the hardwood floors. Mrs. Duffy spun around, her eyes wide and startled.

“I have to go,” she said into the phone at her ear. She ended her call and gripped the phone with both of her hands, holding it to her chest. “Midori . . . hello. Jordan, I didn't realize you were back already.”

“Hi, Mrs. Duffy,” I said, keeping my voice light. That wasn't an easy task, considering the tension humming through the room.

“Midori came by to . . .” Jordan faltered, glancing my way.

“To deliver a new music book,” I finished for him, retrieving the book from my bag and holding it up.

“Right. How nice. Well . . .” Mrs. Duffy glanced down at the phone in her hands and loosened her death grip on the device. “I'll set your suit out for you, Jordan. Be sure you're ready to leave for the church on time. Thanks for stopping by, Midori.”

Even though I'd found Mrs. Duffy's phone call suspicious, or at least curious, I made sure not to let on to Jordan that I felt anything was amiss. His face was already troubled and I didn't want to upset him further.

“So,” I said to him as I gave him the music book, “what kind of letter did you find?”

Jordan retrieved a piece of paper from an antique desk and handed it to me. It was a handwritten letter, signed at the bottom by Archibald Major.

As I scanned the slanted writing, Jordan asked me, “Do you think it might be what the guy was looking for in my grandfather's study?”

“Yes,” I said as I finished reading the last line. “I think it very well could be.”

 

Chapter Seventeen

A
S
I
ROD
E
home in another taxi, I read the letter through for a second time. Addressed to Mr. Hollingsworth, the chair of the PGP's executive committee, the handwritten letter set out an ultimatum. The first of the two paragraphs was a reminder to Hollingsworth of Major's support, financial and otherwise, of the orchestra over the years. The second paragraph contained the ultimatum and was the one that interested me the most.

I recently became privy to some rather disturbing information about Dr. Daniel Beaufort, the vice chair of the symphony's executive committee. Although I have been a staunch supporter of the Point Grey Philharmonic for almost two decades now, I regret that I cannot continue with my support if Dr. Beaufort is to remain on the board of directors. I do not wish to go into details as I believe that discretion is important for the sake of everyone involved. However, I hope you will accept that I would not have written this letter if my concerns were not well-­founded. If Dr. Beaufort were to no longer be involved with the orchestra, I would of course reinstate my funding without hesitation.

Yours sincerely,

Archibald S. Major

Staring at the piece of paper in my hands, I realized that Jordan might well have uncovered a reason for Beaufort to want Major dead. With the elderly man out of the picture, Beaufort no longer had to worry about his secret coming to light and costing him his place on the board of directors. Except, if Major had threatened to send the letter if Beaufort didn't accede to his demands, then Beaufort would have known of its existence. He would have known there was still a chance that whatever he didn't want the world to know could be revealed if someone stumbled upon the letter.

This letter had to be what Beaufort was searching for in Major's study when I interrupted him. Whatever this disturbing information was that Major had become privy to, no doubt Dr. Beaufort didn't want anyone else finding out about it.

I recalled the snippet of conversation I'd overheard between Major and Beaufort at the PGP's reception. Perhaps Mr. Major had given Beaufort the opportunity to resign to avoid any fuss. Maybe he'd told him about the letter and the fact that it was all ready to send to Hollingsworth if Beaufort didn't resign.

If that was the case, Daniel Beaufort—­acclaimed surgeon and well-­respected member of the community—­might have committed more than a break and enter. He might have committed murder as well.

That meant I needed to deliver the letter to Detective Salnikova. It would probably be a good idea to tell her about Beaufort's attempt to get me to recant my witness statement too. Maybe I should have done that already, but I'd had so much on my mind lately that it hadn't occurred to me.

I didn't have time to take the letter to the police station right then, however. Not if I wanted to make it to Mr. Major's funeral on time. Before parting with Jordan, he'd given me the address of the church where the funeral would be held and the time of the ser­vice. Although the start time of one o'clock gave me a chance to go home and change, it didn't leave room for any other excursions.

Besides, I figured there was a good chance that Salnikova would make an appearance at the funeral, probably for the very same reason that I wanted to go. There was always a possibility that the killer would show up. While I didn't expect the murderer to declare his or her guilt to everyone present, the gathering would provide a chance to watch for anything suspicious.

The taxi turned onto my street and I pointed out my building to the driver. As I paid my fare, I hoped the police would get Kevin off the streets sooner rather than later. Otherwise all the taxi fares would do some damage to my bank account.

On my way up the stairs to my third-­floor apartment, my phone rang in my purse. I fished it out and saw JT's name on the display.

“Hi,” I said into my phone as I reached the top of the stairs.

“Are you free today?” JT asked. “I thought maybe we could hang out and take Finnegan down to Spanish Banks.”

I dug around in my purse for my keys with my free hand. “I was thinking of the beach today too, but I don't have time now. I'm going to Mr. Major's funeral at one o'clock.”

“Alone?”

“I'll take a taxi,” I said as I unlocked and opened my door. “There's no need to worry.”

“Dori, this is the funeral for Kevin Major's father.”

“Yes, but he probably knows the police are on the lookout for him and there's a good chance that a detective or two will be there. I doubt he'd want to show his face.”

“Maybe not, but that doesn't mean he won't be lurking about somewhere nearby. And if he sees you, who's to say that he won't decide to come after you as you're coming or going?”

Okay, he had a point there.

I shoved the door shut behind me and dropped my purse on the kitchen table. “Are you saying I shouldn't go?”

“I'm saying I'm coming with you.”

“You're choosing to go to a funeral for someone you've never met instead of the beach?”

“So are you.”

I sank down onto one of my kitchen chairs and unzipped my left boot. “I met him. Once.”

“Okay, but that's not why you're going, is it?”

I made a face as I kicked my foot free of my boot. JT knew me too well. “Don't try to talk me out of it,” I said as I moved on to the zipper on my right boot.

“I won't. I know that's pointless. And it would also be pointless for you to try to talk me out of coming with you.”

With a wiggle, my right foot came free of its boot. “I'm always happy for your company.”

“Good. I'll pick you up in half an hour.”

He hung up and I set my phone on the table next to my purse. It was time to find something to wear to Archibald Major's funeral.

F
ROM THE CHOICES
in my closet, I selected a black dress and black tights. I switched my tall brown boots from earlier in the day for a pair of black ankle boots and fastened my hair in a twist at the back of my head. After touching up my makeup, I scrutinized myself in the mirror. So much black. Yes, I was on my way to a funeral, but I needed a little something to break up the drabness.

I searched through my belts and decided on a skinny silver one to add to my dress. Next, I chose a silver necklace with a small pendant in the shape of a treble clef. As I pulled it out of my jewelry box, my apartment's buzzer sounded. JT was right on time.

I buzzed him into the building and waited for him at my door, my necklace still in one hand. When he appeared before me, my breath caught in my throat for a beat or two of my heart. Handsome wasn't sufficient to describe JT. He always looked great but today, clean shaven and dressed in a dark suit, he could have been a movie star on the red carpet.

“Hey,” he greeted. “Ready?”

I struggled to find my voice. “Almost.”

On my way to retrieve my cell phone from the kitchen table, I tried to fasten my necklace around my neck. As I fumbled with the clasp, JT came up behind me.

“Here, let me.” He took the necklace from my fingers.

My breathing nearly stopped as his hands brushed my neck. Despite the fact that I could hardly draw air into my lungs, I was disappointed when it only took him a few seconds to fasten the chain.

“There you go.”

“Thanks.” My voice came out only a notch or two above a whisper.

A sudden buzz of excess energy ran through me, accompanied by a desperate need to move. I turned around but JT was still in the same spot, and I found myself mere inches away from his face.

For the third time in the last few minutes, I had trouble breathing. I wanted to kiss him. Badly. I also wanted to run away. But I didn't do either because I couldn't seem to move.

A smile tugged at JT's mouth and my nerves almost short-­circuited. Could he sense my nervousness? Did he know I wanted to kiss him?

Oh God. That would be humiliating.

Finally remembering how to move, I reached up to fiddle with JT's tie, even though it didn't need straightening. I didn't dare meet his eyes.

“That's better,” I managed to say as I gave his tie a final pat.

Stepping away from him, I busied myself with slipping my cell phone into my purse, wishing I'd left my hair loose so it could hide my face.

JT held the apartment door open and I preceded him through it. As I locked the door behind us, I took a second or two to compose myself. I needed to get a grip. JT knew me so well that I couldn't afford to let my feelings show, even in the slightest. Somehow I needed to find a way to immunize myself against everything that attracted me to him.

Otherwise I risked messing up what was most important to me—­our friendship.

W
HEN
JT
AND
I arrived at the downtown church, those who had arrived earlier than us had already filled two-­thirds of the pews. We found a seat near the back and settled in with a few minutes to spare. The number of ­people present surprised me, considering that Mr. Major wasn't exactly the nicest of men. Perhaps they weren't all there to mourn him. It wouldn't have surprised me if many of the attendees were simply there for show, wanting to be respectful more for the sake of appearances than any real warmth of feeling toward the deceased.

In fact, it didn't seem as though anyone in the church was particularly distraught. I couldn't see many faces from my vantage point, but I also couldn't see any obvious sobbing or other signs of distress. My eyes roamed over the crowd during the ser­vice, hunting for familiar forms and searching for anything of interest.

I spotted the back of Salnikova's head several pews forward. If the man and woman sitting on either side of her were also with the police, I didn't recognize them. Jordan sat up at the front with his mother and another woman I assumed was his paternal aunt. Nobody else sat in their pew with them.

Poor Jordan. It had to be a tough day for him, even if he hadn't been bursting at the seams with love for his grandfather. It appeared that his father hadn't shown up to provide support. Although if his separation from Jordan's mother had been particularly acrimonious, perhaps that was for the best.

As I scanned the rest of the crowd, I picked out the familiar faces of Mr. Hollingsworth and a ­couple of other members of the PGP's board of directors. Dr. Beaufort, however, wasn't among them. I didn't count that as overly surprising, though. There was always a good chance that he was busy working.

I paused in my examination of the attendees as my eyes settled upon a blond head across the aisle and five rows up.

Hans.

It wasn't surprising that he was there. In fact, I probably would have expected his presence if I'd taken a moment to think about it beforehand. He was, after all, the face of the Point Grey Philharmonic. Since Mr. Major, despite his flaws, had been generous to the PGP during his life, it only seemed right that there were a few representatives of the orchestra in attendance.

As the ser­vice droned on, I shifted in my seat, growing bored with the prayers and dry stories about Major's primarily business-­related life achievements. My attention wandered and found its way to JT. I became acutely aware of how close he was to me, the light touch of his arm against mine. His hand was mere inches from my own, and I itched to intertwine my fingers with his.

My gaze drifted up to his face and once there I couldn't seem to tear it away. He must have sensed my eyes on him because he looked my way. My cheeks suddenly warm, I refocused on the front of the church.

JT leaned closer. “Everything okay?” he asked in a whisper.

I nodded, trying to give him a hint of a smile. That was the best I could do, considering how distracted I was by his nearness.

From that point on, I kept my eyes straight ahead. A few minutes later, everyone stood for a final hymn and, thankfully, the ser­vice drew to an end.

JT and I were among the first ­people out of the nave, but I claimed a spot out in the narthex and watched as everyone filed past me. My foot nearly got crushed when a muscular woman in an ill-­fitting pantsuit came dangerously close to stepping on me, so I inched back, closer to the wall, where I could watch the flow of ­people more safely. It took several minutes for everyone to clear out of the nave, but I was able to confirm two things I'd suspected during the ser­vice—­everyone other than Andrea Duffy was dry-­eyed and Marjorie was absent.

Maybe her absence wasn't so strange, though. Jordan had said that she had a new job, so maybe she hadn't been able to get the time off to attend the ser­vice.

As the crowd thinned out, leaving only a few ­people lingering in the narthex to chat with one another, JT nudged me in the arm.

“Are we done here?”

“Here, yes,” I said, leading him out of the church. “But I want to go to the graveside ser­vice.”

“Really?” He sounded less than thrilled by the idea.

I couldn't blame him. We'd already sat through a rather dull ser­vice in the church, and the thought of more prayers while watching Major's coffin get lowered into the ground wasn't overly appealing. Still, I didn't want to miss out on a chance to pick up a potential clue, and the graveside ser­vice would likely give me more of an opportunity to observe the faces of those in attendance than the church ser­vice had.

“You don't have to come if you don't want to,” I said, even though I knew he wouldn't leave me to go on my own.

“I'm coming,” he said, as I'd known he would.

We set off down the street to the spot where he'd parked his truck.

“Tell you what,” I said as I buckled myself into the passenger seat, “I'll buy you dinner tonight to make up for your dreary afternoon.”

“That's an offer I won't turn down.” JT put his truck into gear and moved out into the street.