Death in a Major (6 page)

That traitorous voice spoke up again.

You like him, but it doesn't go much beyond that.

I didn't want to believe the voice in my head. Aaron was an amazing guy and I wanted to think that our relationship had a chance to go somewhere incredible.

I tugged on my left earlobe as the guys tackled a second song. I wouldn't make any firm decisions yet, I resolved. Maybe we simply needed to spend more time together. We'd been apart so long, and I desperately wanted to believe the answer was as simple as that.

Somehow I managed to make it through the rehearsal without being lost in my thoughts the entire time. Afterward, Aaron offered to drive me home and I accepted, hoping some time alone with him would put my worries to rest.

But when he walked me from his car to my apartment building and kissed me goodbye, all my hopes for our relationship fluttered away like sheets of music scattered by a strong gust of wind. I had to work hard to keep my emotions off my face as we exchanged some parting words, but as soon as I was inside the lobby of my building with my back to Aaron, I closed my eyes with despair.

The truth rang clearly in my head. I could no longer ignore it, no matter how much I wanted to.

Even though Aaron was an amazing, gorgeous guy, whatever spark I'd felt between us in the beginning was now gone.

 

Chapter Six

W
HEN
I
AWOKE
the next morning it took me a moment to remember why my stomach was tied in a tight knot of unhappiness. As I left sleep farther behind me, it all came rushing back with the fury of a sudden, violent storm. With a groan, I rolled onto my stomach and pulled my pillow over my head. I didn't want to face reality. Unfortunately, my pillow wasn't enough to keep it at bay.

I let out another groan and threw off my covers, heading straight for the bathroom as soon as my feet hit the floor. As I showered and dressed, I hummed to myself, making my way through several tunes. That helped to keep my mind off of Aaron and the state of my feelings for him. I couldn't hum to myself all day though. Not unless I wanted ­people to think I was nuts. So when I left my apartment to shop for some groceries, my earbuds fed the music of Vivaldi's Four Seasons into my ears, providing me with the same distracting and calming effect.

On my way to the store I walked along at a leisurely pace, checking out the displays in the shop windows. When I reached a shoe store, I stopped, my eyes riveted on a pair of gray high-­heeled boots in the window. I had a weakness for high-­heeled boots and already owned a few pairs in different colors and styles. But I didn't have a tall gray pair like the one on display.

The boots were so beautiful that I didn't want to look away. Eventually, however, I stopped gawking at them long enough to step inside the store and ask the price. It was fairly hefty, as I'd expected, but not unaffordable. Still, I didn't want to spend that much money on a whim, no matter how much I wanted the gorgeous boots.

I decided to think about it for a while. If I still wanted them desperately in a ­couple of days, then I might treat myself to the purchase. After all, maybe some retail therapy was exactly what I needed. Although I doubted that even boots that beautiful could make me feel better about the state of my relationship with Aaron.

Leaving the shoe store behind, I continued on my way. Thoughts of Aaron still haunted me, but the music carried me through the morning as I stocked up on groceries and took care of some other errands. By the time I arrived at my studio shortly after noon, I only had fifteen minutes to kill before my first student of the day was scheduled to arrive.

After stowing my belongings in the small front room, I spent a minute or two greeting Finnegan. Once I'd given him a big hug and had received a sloppy kiss in exchange, I made my way toward the kitchen at the back of the house.

Several voices floated up the stairwell that led from the kitchen to the basement, and I figured JT was probably busy working. That was fine. If I'd had a chance to talk to him, he no doubt would have guessed that something was bothering me. That would have led to questions I didn't want to answer. Plus I had no desire to talk to JT about my romantic feelings (or lack thereof) for his friend and fellow band member.

So I didn't bother to interrupt him and stayed on the main floor, using his fancy coffee machine to make myself a vanilla latte. While I waited for my drink, I tried not to think about the first time Aaron had asked me out. He'd asked me right there in JT's kitchen, and at the time his interest had left me giddy with happiness. I wished I knew why those feelings had disappeared. Maybe knowing what had happened would help me find them again.

Pushing those thoughts aside and with my hot drink in hand, I returned to my studio and prepared for the arrival of my first student of the day.

Teaching was something I normally enjoyed, but that day I was extra eager to dive into several hours of lessons. While focused on my students, I didn't have time to dwell on other things. Like Aaron. Or deaths that might have been murder. Because of that, I managed to teach five students without having to deal with unwanted thoughts. But that respite wasn't to last.

As I waved goodbye to my last student of the day, Jordan Duffy walked up the concrete path to the house. For a second I thought he must have mistakenly believed it was Tuesday—­one of his usual lesson days—­but then I realized he didn't have his violin with him. His normally cheerful face seemed pulled down by what I guessed was grief, and he lacked the usual spring to his step.

I waited on the front porch as he approached. “Hey, Jordan,” I said when he reached the bottom of the steps. “What's going on?”

“My mom's over on Dunbar Street buying some groceries. She sent me to ask if you could come to our place for my lessons this week. My grandfather died a few days ago and my mom says she's got too much going on to be driving me around town. I told her I could take the bus, but she wouldn't listen.” When I didn't answer right away, he added, “She'll pay extra.”

“I'm sorry about your grandfather,” I said. “I was at the reception when he collapsed—­I'm sure this is a tough time for your family. I can come to your place for a week or two. We'll just have to change the time of your lessons, because I can't be late for orchestra rehearsals.”

“Can we keep them on Tuesday and Thursday? I have sports after school every other day of the week.”

I considered that request. “That might be tricky. I'd have to come by after rehearsals and that would mean starting your lesson around nine p.m.”

“Is that too late?”

“I suppose not, on a temporary basis, at least. That's not too late for you?”

“Nah. I never go to bed before eleven. Nine is fine.”

I wasn't sure if his mom would be so agreeable. “Tell you what, run that by your mom and she can e-­mail me with her final answer. All right?”

Jordan nodded, but he made no move to leave.

“How are you holding up?” I asked.

“All right.”

Despite his response, he looked so sad that I didn't have the heart to send him away right then.

So instead I sat down on the top step and patted the spot next to me.

“Why don't we sit for a minute?”

Jordan climbed the steps and sank down next to me. “Did you know my grandfather was murdered?”

The question took me by surprise and a second or two ticked by before I responded. “I heard that foul play was suspected.”

Jordan stared off toward the tree-­lined street. “The police told us this morning that it's officially a murder investigation. My grandfather was poisoned.”

Salnikova must have received the results she was waiting for.

I swallowed back a welling of sympathy for my student. It was bad enough that he'd lost his grandfather, but knowing someone had deliberately killed him must have made it worse.

“That's terrible, Jordan. I'm sorry.”

His shoulders rose and dropped in a lifeless shrug. “It's not surprising, really. My grandfather was a total a—­” He glanced at me and revised his description. “He wasn't a very nice guy.”

Even though I'd gathered as much from Friday night's reception, I found it incredibly sad that Mr. Major's grandson held such an opinion of him. Did that mean the old codger hadn't had enough kindness in him to cultivate a positive relationship with Jordan? As sad as it made me to acknowledge it, I knew the answer was most likely yes.

“Did your grandfather have any enemies that you know of?” As soon as I asked the question I wanted to kick myself. Switching into amateur sleuth mode wasn't what Jordan needed from me.

He didn't bat an eye at the question, though. “Plenty. Not that I could name any of them, but I know he pissed ­people off on a regular basis, including my uncle Kevin.”

My eyebrows rose an inch or two with his last words. “You think your uncle might have killed your grandfather?”

“No.” Fierce intensity replaced the dullness in Jordan's blue eyes. “I don't
think
he did it. I
know
he did.”

Surprise stuck my tongue to the bottom of my mouth. The little I knew about Kevin Major—­gleaned from his conversation with his sister on Friday night—­didn't give me any reason to doubt that he belonged on the suspect list. Clearly he harbored anger toward his father, and his final words before he stormed out of the theater that night could easily have been construed as ominous, if not threatening, but what startled me was Jordan's intense certainty about his uncle's guilt.

After several seconds I managed to shake off enough of my surprise to wiggle my tongue loose. “How do you know?”

Jordan glared out toward the street. “My uncle's a criminal. He's been in and out of jail my whole life and he always wanted money from my grandfather, but my grandfather refused to give him any. They had a huge fight a few days ago and I heard my uncle threaten to kill my grandfather.”

Yikes. Maybe Jordan really had fingered the killer.

“Have you told this to the police?”

“I told them but I don't know if they took me seriously. I mean, who's going to listen to a fourteen-­year-­old?”

“Did you talk to a female detective? Detective Salnikova?”

“Yeah. You know her?”

“Sort of. I'm sure she'll consider everything you told her.”

He shrugged again, clearly unconvinced. He sat up straighter and focused his eyes on me. “Maybe if you talk to her. She'll probably take you more seriously.”

“I don't know . . .”

“Please, Midori. My uncle should be in jail.”

It was hard to ignore the desperate plea in his blue eyes.

“I don't know what I could tell her that would do any good.”

“Just make sure she investigates my uncle.”

I tugged on my left ear as I thought over his request. There really wasn't any reason to say no. Salnikova might not listen to me, but I could at least talk to her to appease Jordan. There was no harm in that.

“All right,” I said. “I can't promise that it will make any difference, but I'll talk to her.”

Jordan's shoulders relaxed. “Thanks, Midori.” He stood up. “I'd better go find my mom.”

“See you tomorrow,” I said as he headed for the sidewalk.

Once he'd disappeared from sight, I returned to my studio and checked my phone. Aaron had texted me, wanting to know when he could see me next. A big lump of dread lodged itself in my stomach. What was I supposed to say?

With relief I realized I wouldn't have a chance to see him for two days. I had another concert that night, and the next night we'd both be busy—­Aaron with band practice and me with a rehearsal at the theater. That meant Wednesday was the earliest option. Guilt adding to the weight of the dread in my stomach, I sent him a quick reply to tell him that.

As I slipped my phone into my purse, JT tapped on the open door of my studio.

“Hey, do you have a few minutes?”

“Sure. Why?”

“I've got a pot of chili cooking. I thought you might want a bite to eat before your concert.”

My stomach rumbled, reminding me of the fact that I hadn't eaten for hours. “Yum. Sounds good.”

I followed JT down the hall to the kitchen, giving Finnegan a scratch on the head as the happy canine trotted along beside me. While JT ladled the chili into bowls, I perched on one of the stools at the granite breakfast bar.

“Thanks,” I said when he set a bowl in front of me.

JT sat down next to me and Finnegan settled at our feet, watching with hopeful eyes for any tidbits of food that might tumble down to his level.

“I was thinking I should come to one of your concerts later this month.”

I brightened. “Really? That would be nice. It's been a while since you last came to one.”

“Almost a year, I think. Too long. My mom and stepdad would probably like to come too.”

“Cool.”

“Has Aaron been to one of your concerts yet?”

Despite the delicious smell of the chili, my appetite slipped away. “No, not yet.”

“I bet he'd like to.”

“You think so?”

“Of course. Like I said before, he's really into you.”

I was so busy fighting my unpleasant feelings that I wasn't sure if I'd detected something odd in JT's voice.

“Something wrong?” he asked as I slid off my stool.

I shook my head and made my way around the breakfast bar. “Just getting a glass of water. Want one?”

“Sure.”

I could sense his eyes on me as I filled two glasses with cold water. Sure enough, when I turned back to the counter, his brown eyes were focused on my face.

“Something is wrong.”

Hiding things from him was next to impossible, but I really didn't want to discuss Aaron. I set down our drinks and slid back onto my stool, buying myself some time.

“You know my student Jordan?” Yes, I was deflecting his attention away from the subject of Aaron, but that was something I really needed to do at the moment.

JT thought for a second. “Blond hair? Teenager?”

“That's him. He was just here to ask about rearranging his lesson schedule. His grandfather was the guy who died at the reception on Friday night.”

“Really? That's rough.”

I chewed on a mouthful of chili and nodded. Once I'd swallowed, I said, “And it turns out he was definitely murdered. Poisoned.”

Although I hadn't seen Jordan's uncle set foot inside the reception room at the theater, I wondered if Jordan could be right, if his uncle really had killed his grandfather. It wasn't something I could rule out, even though Kevin Major hadn't had access to Mr. Major's coffee that night. There was always the possibility that he'd had access to the flask.

“I can see why you're preoccupied then,” JT said as he scooped more chili onto his spoon. “But you're still not launching an investigation of your own, right?”

“Of course not.” I hopped down from my stool and took my dishes to the sink, trying to ignore the tiny voice in my head that questioned the veracity of that statement. But I really didn't have any intention of launching a full-­scale amateur investigation. Although I decided it probably would be best not to mention the fact that I'd agreed to talk to Detective Salnikova on Jordan's behalf. JT might not take that the right way. If there was a right way to take it.