Death in a Major (18 page)

 

Chapter Nineteen

“
W
HA
T DO YOU
want for dinner?” I asked, deciding to turn the conversation in a more pleasant direction.

JT thought about the question. “I could go for a good lasagna.”

“Mmm.” I liked his answer. “Minerva's?”

“Sounds like a plan.” He paused the truck at a stop sign. “But I'll need to stop off at home first. Finnegan will need a chance to get outside.”

“Not a problem.”

“What's this letter about, anyway?” JT asked as he eased the truck into motion again.

“It's addressed to Mr. Hollingsworth, the guy who was making out with Jordan's mother.”

“The chair of the symphony's executive committee?”

“Exactly.”

“So?”

“So, it's not whom it's addressed to that's interesting. What is interesting is the fact that the letter says Mr. Major will withdraw his funding if Dr. Beaufort doesn't resign as vice chair of the executive committee. Apparently, Major was privy to some disturbing information about Beaufort. The annoying thing is he doesn't get any more specific than that.” I frowned, itching to know the doctor's secret. It really was annoying that Mr. Major hadn't left more clues in his letter.

“Okay,” JT said. “So that's interesting. Sort of. But I'm assuming you meant the letter could be Dr. Beaufort's motive for murder. Was he even aware that Major knew . . . whatever it was he knew?”

“Definitely.” I told him about the brief exchange I'd overheard at the symphony's reception. “And I think Beaufort either knew or suspected that Mr. Major had written a letter but hadn't yet sent it to Mr. Hollingsworth. I'm sure that's why Beaufort broke into Major's study.”

“What? When did that happen?” He cast a sharp glance my way. “And how do you know about it?”

“I caught him in the act.”

Before JT could become too alarmed, I gave him a quick, condensed version of the events that had transpired at Major's house the other night prior to Kevin's arrival.

JT pulled into a parking spot around the corner from the police station. “I don't know how you manage it,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Manage what?” I asked.

“To find trouble whichever way you turn.”

“It's not like I go looking for trouble. It just . . . happens.”

He shut off the engine. “Are you sure about that?”

I thought about my tendency to let my curiosity guide me and decided I didn't want to answer the question. “This shouldn't take too long,” I said instead as I unbuckled my seat belt.

Rather than sitting back to wait as I'd expected, JT undid his own seat belt and reached for the door.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Coming with you.”

I may have let out a quiet sigh as I climbed out of the truck. As much as I loved JT—­as a friend and otherwise—­and as much as I appreciated the fact that he cared about my safety, it was getting a bit annoying to have him thinking he needed to accompany me everywhere. But I bit my tongue and didn't complain, instead dashing through the rain to the front door of the station.

We only had to wait a minute or two before Salnikova appeared in the reception area to lead us back to a small room with a table and chairs. She offered us coffee, but we declined. I figured that was the safest way to go, in case real police station coffee was anything like it was described in books and on television.

We all settled into chairs and Salnikova folded her hands on the tabletop. “What was it you wanted to show me?”

I unzipped my purse and fished out the letter Jordan had found. As I slid it across the table to Salnikova, I said, “This might be what Dr. Beaufort was searching for when he broke into Mr. Major's house.”

Detective Salnikova's eyes scanned over the handwritten letter. “Where did you get this?” she asked once she was done reading.

“From Jordan. He found it among his grandfather's belongings.”

I thought I detected a hint of suspicion in the detective's eyes, but, to my relief, she didn't ask if I'd put my student up to searching for clues.

“Oh, and Dr. Beaufort approached me before my concert last night. He wanted me to tell you I was mistaken about seeing him at Mr. Major's house.”

“He what?” JT stared at me.

Salnikova reacted as well, her gaze sharpening. “Did he threaten you in any way?”

“No, but it was . . . uncomfortable. And confusing.” I repeated what Beaufort had said to me about doing what he'd done—­or not done, according to him—­for the sake of the PGP. “But it makes more sense now that I've seen that letter. Sort of, anyway. Maybe he was trying to avoid a scandal that would, by association, reflect badly on the orchestra?”

A muscle in JT's jaw twitched “Why didn't you tell me about this?”

“It didn't occur to me to mention it earlier.”

JT wanted to say more, but Salnikova jumped in before he had the chance.

“If Dr. Beaufort approaches you again, contact me immediately,” she said. “But please do your best to avoid him for the time being.”

“Do you think he might be dangerous?” I asked. “Could he be the murderer?”

“I'll look into this letter,” Salnikova said. “And I'll look into whatever is behind it, if anything.”

I was far from shocked that she stayed true to form and avoided answering my questions.

“I'm kind of surprised that you didn't arrest him for breaking and entering,” I said.

“We couldn't. He had a solid alibi.”

I couldn't believe it. “How is that possible? I saw him there and I know I wasn't mistaken.”

“I understand that,” Salnikova said, “but we didn't have enough evidence to charge him. He left no fingerprints and his presence elsewhere at the time was confirmed by three others.”

That was frustrating. Whoever those three ­people were, they'd lied. I knew that for certain.

“But now you've got the letter,” I pointed out. “And doesn't the fact that he wanted me to take back my statement seem suspicious to you?”

“It does. And as I said, I'll look into it.”

“There's something else you should probably know.” I hesitated, remembering what Hans had said about hoping to keep the theft quiet.

JT nudged my foot under the table. “Spill it.”

I hesitated only a second longer, believing that Salnikova really should have the information. “There was a bit of a situation at the theater. Another situation in addition to Major's death, I mean. A brooch was stolen during the season's opening reception and I believe my friend was framed for the theft. I thought the real thief was another violinist, but now I'm not so sure. And after reading Mr. Major's letter I thought I should bring it up because I can't help but wonder if Dr. Beaufort is the real thief.”

“Is the letter the only thing that makes you think that?” Salnikova asked.

“No,” I replied. “Remember how I told you before that I'd overheard part of a conversation between Mr. Major and Dr. Beaufort at the reception? At the time it didn't really mean much to me, but now I'm sure it was related to whatever Mr. Major was referring to in the letter.”

“What did they say?” JT asked.

I took a moment to think, wanting to be as accurate as possible. “Mr. Major asked if Dr. Beaufort had thought about what they'd discussed. Beaufort said that threats would be ineffective, but then Mr. Major said he thought Beaufort would change his mind about things if his career and the orchestra were to suffer because he wouldn't listen to reason. That's what makes me think the letter is related.” I gave my left earlobe a tug before continuing. “After Dr. Beaufort said he had nothing to hide, Mr. Major said he wondered what the police would find if he called them in. I didn't hear much more, but Dr. Beaufort definitely wasn't pleased. And now that I think about it, maybe Mr. Major thought the police would find stolen items on Beaufort if they searched him.”

Three ticks of silence went by before Detective Salnikova spoke. “It does sound as though that conversation and the letter are related, but tying both to the theft is really just speculation.”

“Oh! I should have started out by mentioning the charity benefit.”

“What charity benefit?” JT asked.

“There was a charity benefit a ­couple of weeks before the PGP's reception. Apparently, some jewelry was stolen there as well. The violinist I mentioned was playing in a quartet at the benefit, and that's one of the reasons why she was on my suspect list. But Mr. Major and Dr. Beaufort were there as well. That could be how Major discovered that Beaufort is a thief, if he is one. Maybe Major saw him stealing at the benefit and guessed that he might have done the same at the reception.”

It made a lot of sense, now that I thought about it.

If Beaufort had indeed stolen the brooch, and had done so before his conversation with Mr. Major that night, maybe Major's threat to contact the police frightened Beaufort into getting rid of the stolen item. Bronwyn had her large shoulder bag with her, at least in the moments before she left the theater. Had a desperate Beaufort slipped the jewelry into her bag in case Mr. Major made good on his threat?

That theory made so much sense that I was convinced it was correct. But was Beaufort a murderer as well as a thief?

“I'll look into it,” Salnikova said, pulling me out of my thoughts.

Before she had a chance to bring our meeting to an end, I jumped in with another question. “Who gave Dr. Beaufort his alibi for the night of the break-­in at Mr. Major's house?” I couldn't help but be suspicious about that since I knew for a fact that it was false.

“I'm not at liberty to say.”

Of course she wasn't.

I slumped back in my chair, frustrated.

“What about Kevin Major?” JT asked. “Any sign of him?”

“Not yet,” Salnikova replied. “But he'll turn up.”

“Hopefully before he has a chance to hurt Midori again,” JT said.

Salnikova nodded her agreement with that statement. “If either of you see him, call 911.”

She pushed back her chair and I knew our meeting was about to end. I wasn't ready for that to happen.

“Jordan and his family were sure surprised to find out that Mr. Major had another daughter,” I said.

“Yes,” Salnikova agreed as she stood up, “it must have been quite a shock.”

“Did she know Mr. Major was her father? Because if she did and she also knew he'd decided to leave money to her, that makes her a suspect.”

Salnikova tucked her chair under the table and rested her hands on its back rail. “Ms. Bishop, I've been on the police force for almost fifteen years now. Trust me when I say that I know how to do my job.”

Next to me, JT fought back a smirk. My arm twitched, I wanted so badly to elbow him in the ribs.

“So you've tracked her down and spoken to her?” I guessed.

“I've followed that avenue of investigation, yes.”

Her answer was far more informative than I'd expected.

“Did you know that Archibald Major was Ernest's father as well?”

“I'm aware of that, yes.”

“How many kids did this guy father?” JT asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I said, before getting back on course. “I'm sure Ernest didn't kill Major, even though he's harbored a lot of anger toward him. He told me he didn't and I believe him. Maybe that sounds silly, but he seemed so sincere.”

Salnikova blinked at me. Obviously my opinion didn't make much of an impression. I wondered if I should push my luck by asking another question.

JT didn't give me a chance. He got up from his chair and said, “We'll let you get back to work now, Detective.”

As Salnikova nodded in acknowledgment, I swallowed a sigh and got to my feet as well.

Out in the corridor, a uniformed officer approached us.

“Detective,” he hailed Salnikova. She met him halfway along the hall.

“We just got a call in from Surrey.” The officer kept his voice low, but not quite low enough to keep his words from my ears. “They've got a preliminary ID on a body they found this morning. They thought you'd want to know about it right away.”

“Why's that?” Salnikova asked.

“Because,” the officer said, “the dead guy is Kevin Major.”

 

Chapter Twenty

I
HEARD TH
E
words clearly enough but it took a second for them to register in my brain.

“Kevin Major is dead?” I joined Salnikova and her colleague in the middle of the hallway.

JT followed me. “Is that for real?” he asked.

“Who are you?” The uniformed officer looked from me to JT. He didn't seem impressed that I'd overheard, but it wasn't my fault he hadn't been more discreet about delivering his news.

“They're with me,” Salnikova told him, with what I thought was a hint of a sigh behind her words.

The uniformed officer hesitated, but Salnikova nodded at him and he took a step back.

“I'll leave you to it, then,” he said.

“Thanks for the heads-­up,” Salnikova said as he retreated down the hall.

“How did he die?” I asked, unable to suppress the questions bubbling up in the wake of the officer's news. “Was he killed or did something else happen?”

“At this point, I know as much as you do.”

“I wouldn't wish death on anyone, including him,” JT said, resting a hand on my shoulder, “but at least we don't have to worry about him coming after you anymore.”

That was true.

“But remember what I said about Dr. Beaufort,” Salnikova said to me.

“I will.”

She nodded at the two of us. “If you'll excuse me, I have some things I need to attend to.”

As much as I wanted to pester her with more questions about Kevin, I knew it would be pointless. She didn't have any answers and even if she did, she wouldn't share them with me. So instead, JT and I thanked the detective and went on our way.

A
FTER A BRIEF
stop at JT's house to let Finnegan out in the yard for a few minutes, we continued on to Minerva's restaurant, only a short drive away. We both ordered lasagna and dug in as soon as our steaming hot meals arrived.

“Kevin's death is probably enough to get his name off the list of suspects,” I said as I waited for a forkful of lasagna to cool enough to eat.

“Not necessarily.”

“Because the two deaths could be unrelated?”

JT nodded as he chewed and swallowed. “Kevin was a criminal, right? He probably had all kinds of unsavory associations. Even if his death wasn't natural or accidental, it might not have anything to do with his father's death.”

“It might not,” I conceded, although not without a generous dose of doubt. “But don't you think that's too coincidental?”

JT shrugged. “Not if he had a lot of enemies as a result of his criminal lifestyle.”

“I suppose.” Despite my words, he didn't have me convinced.

The timing really did seem too coincidental to me. Sure, it was possible that his death was unrelated, but I also thought it was highly unlikely.

If his death had indeed involved foul play, the question was why had someone killed him? Did he know who killed his father?

I wouldn't have put it past him to attempt to blackmail the murderer instead of turning them in. But there was really no way for me to know what had happened. Not yet, at least.

A plan took shape in my head, but didn't have the chance to fully form.

“Can we talk about something else?” JT asked, distracting me.

I didn't really want to change topics, but he'd put up with me and my investigating all day so I figured it was the least I could do. For a second I considered bringing up the recent annoyance of Elena and the gorgeous boots I'd drooled over, but I quickly changed my mind. Since he was a guy, I doubted JT would understand why such a thing would matter so much to me, even though he knew I had good reason not to like Elena.

While I savored another forkful of lasagna, I cast around for another subject that had nothing to do with crime or fashion. Before I could come up with one, JT took the lead.

“I talked to my mom yesterday. She and my stepdad definitely want to come to one of your concerts soon.”

My face lit up. “Cool. There's one in mid-­October I think they'd really like. We'll be playing some Mozart, Dvořák, and Prokofiev.”

“Sounds good.”

“And you'll come too?” I checked, hopeful.

“Of course.”

My smile brightened. “Perfect. I'll get tickets for you guys.” I enjoyed some more lasagna before saying, “Oh, I should talk to your mom about the
Absolute Zero
party.”

JT regarded me with suspicion. “I thought we agreed to keep it small.”

“We did. And it will be. But we'll still need food.”

“We can just order some pizza.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, fine. But we should also have cake.”

“I'll never say no to cake.”

“What kind?”

“Three guesses,” he said. “First two don't count.”

I grinned. “Chocolate, chocolate, and chocolate.”

“You got it.”

Still smiling, I refocused on my lasagna. Although I knew that thoughts of murder and secrets still lingered at the back of my mind, waiting for a chance to return to my mental spotlight, for the time being I was determined to concentrate on only one thing—­enjoying dinner with my best friend.

B
Y MORNING THE
rain had stopped and the sky had partially cleared. I spent the first half hour of my day talking on the phone with my parents, and the second eating a breakfast of toast and tea while reading the Richard Castle book I'd checked out of the library. Once I'd washed and dried my breakfast dishes, however, I had to admit defeat. I couldn't laze around and enjoy a quiet Sunday. I had to look into Kevin Major's death. As much as I wished I could focus on something else, my brain wasn't about to cooperate.

Using my phone to access the Internet, I searched through local news stories until I found a short piece on a body discovered in Surrey the day before. The article contained very little information, but it did state that a woman had found the body while walking her dog at the edge of a wooded area in her neighborhood. The article also mentioned the location of her neighborhood, and that was exactly what I needed.

As soon as I had my hair and makeup done, I grabbed my coat, stuffed my library book into my tote bag, and set off for the bus stop. Soon I boarded a bus that would take me on the first leg of my journey to Surrey, a suburb of Vancouver. The trip would require several transfers and a fair bit of time spent sitting on buses and the Skytrain, but with my book to keep me occupied, I didn't mind too much.

Although my thoughts did stray several times to the purpose for my trip, the fictional mystery set in New York City kept me distracted for good chunks of time. About two hours after I'd left my apartment, I put the book away, disembarked from the bus I was riding, and glanced down at the map displayed on my phone.

As soon as I had my bearings I set off on foot, heading for the neighborhood where Kevin's body had been found. While I walked, I took in deep breaths of the damp fall air, enjoying its freshness. A gentle breeze brushed against my face and played with the ends of my hair, lifting and twirling them in a subdued dance.

It was nice to be outdoors, even if I was heading for the scene of a possible murder. While I was sorry that Jordan's uncle had died, JT wasn't the only one relieved that he was no longer roaming the streets. I now had the freedom to walk around on my own without any out-­of-­the-­ordinary dangers. That knowledge released tension from my shoulders that I hadn't realized was there.

After several minutes of walking, I silently thanked myself for having the forethought to wear flats. The on-­foot portion of my journey had turned out to be longer than I'd predicted. If I'd worn heels my feet would have been killing me, but in flats I was able to enjoy the journey. Another minute or two later I spotted a wooded area at the end of a residential street and felt certain I'd found the right place.

I slowed my pace and followed the street to its dead end. A wide dirt path ran along the edge of the woods, providing the neighborhood's residents with a place to jog or walk their dogs. When I reached the path, I paused, not knowing whether to go left or right. The news article hadn't provided a more detailed location so I was on my own from there on out.

Unable to know which would be the correct direction, I decided to start by heading right. Less than two minutes later, I knew I'd chosen correctly. Up ahead, a piece of torn police tape dangled from a huckleberry bush, a sad and bedraggled marker of the place where Kevin's body had been discovered. I slowed my steps and stopped when I reached the bush. I stood facing the woods, noting all the details before me.

Deciduous trees with leaves in the process of changing color stood mixed in with conifers. Beneath the trees, numerous feet had trampled the underbrush, creating something of a pathway into the woods. From my vantage point, I could see that it didn't lead too far in, ending in a larger trampled area about twenty feet from the path.

If Kevin's body had been dumped, his killer hadn't gone to a whole lot of trouble to hide him. No wonder someone had discovered his corpse before too much time had passed.

I hesitated on the pathway, a battle brewing inside of me. On the one hand, my curiosity encouraged me to proceed into the woods, to check out the site where Kevin had been found. On the other hand, the knowledge that a dead body had been discovered mere feet away from me creeped me out and made me want to hightail it out of there.

But of course my curiosity won out. It nearly always did.

Glancing around to make sure I was unobserved, I drew in a deep breath to steady my nerves and stepped off the path. I picked my way through the trampled underbrush until I reached the small man-­made clearing. Once there, I stood still and let my eyes do the work.

Although I spent several minutes looking at the ground and the surrounding bushes, there wasn't much to see. The footprints, smooshed wet leaves, and crushed underbrush only told me what I already knew—­that several ­people had traipsed over the area recently.

A crow took flight from a branch over my head and I jumped at the sudden movement. I wrapped my arms around myself as a chill ran through my body, leaving me with goose bumps beneath my sleeves. The scene held nothing of interest for me to see and I found myself relieved by that. It gave me an excuse to turn around and get the heck out of the woods, away from the creepy vibes working their way into my bones.

Seconds later I emerged from the trees and returned to the pathway. A slight movement caught my eye and drew my gaze to the nearest house with its faded purple siding and graying trim. A side window looked out over the pathway where I stood, and I could have sworn that the curtain had twitched. I stared hard at the window but noticed no further movement.

If someone had watched me out of curiosity, I couldn't really blame them. After all, I had just emerged from what until very recently was the site of a police investigation. Still, the thought of someone keeping an eye on me only unnerved me further.

I shivered and rubbed my arms. It seemed as though my trip had been for nothing. I didn't know anything more than I'd known last night, and nothing about the neighborhood gave me a clue as to why Kevin might have gone there. If indeed he'd gone there of his own accord.

Some of the houses—­like the faded purple one—­could have used some TLC, but for the most part the neighborhood was well kept. It didn't strike me as a hive of criminality or a place where someone like Kevin would easily blend in, but who knew what lurked beneath the surface? There was always the possibility that one or more of the homes was a drug house or had rooms filled with stolen goods, but any secrets of that sort would remain hidden from me, along with the reason for Kevin's presence in the area, whether he'd arrived there alive or already dead.

In any event, I had no reason to stick around and no particular desire to either. I turned away from the purple house and headed for the nearest street. I'd only taken three steps when a woman's voice called out from behind me.

“Halloo!”

I paused and checked over my shoulder, wondering if the hail was aimed at me.

Apparently, it was.

A sixty-­something woman with curly gray hair power-­walked down the path toward me. She wore a pink and white sweat suit, and a little Yorkshire terrier trotted along at the end of a retractable leash. As soon as I looked in the woman's direction, she waved at me with great enthusiasm and kicked her already swift pace up another notch.

I retraced my three steps back to the path and waited as she approached, wondering what I was in for.

“Good morning,” the woman called out in a cheery voice as she drew closer.

“Morning,” I returned.

“I couldn't help but notice that you came out of the woods right where they found that body yesterday.”

“Er . . . that's right.” I waited for the interrogation to begin, expecting that the woman harbored suspicions about me and my presence near the woods.

“You're not from the neighborhood.” It was a statement rather than a question. I had a feeling she probably knew every single one of the local residents, at least by sight.

“No,” I said. “I was just taking a look around.”

Contrary to what I expected, she nodded with understanding, a gleam of excitement in her hazel eyes. “I expected the body to draw some curious souls. It's rather thrilling, isn't it? A dead body in the woods.”

“I suppose so.”

“Thrilling” wasn't quite the word I would have used, but I wasn't about to contradict her. I was relieved that she seemed far more interested in gossiping than interrogating me, and I didn't want to risk changing that.

“All the police and media hoopla,” she went on. “You should have seen all the officers and technicians that were here yesterday.”

“It must have been quite a scene.”