Requiem Murder [Book 2 of the Katherine Miller Mysteries] (8 page)

Finally she spoke. “Is it possible to be happy, sad, angry and pleased at the same time?"

"Sounds about normal. They're all very human emotions. Do you want to talk about something in particular?"

"Maybe.” She cupped her hands around the mug. “I think Mom hates me."

Hatred wasn't what I'd call Judith's attitude toward her daughter. Jealousy and envy was my reading. “Why do you say that?"

She released the mug and propped her elbows on the table. “It's like...I'm taking voice lessons with Roger. He's pleased with my progress and he told Mom. She was absolutely cold."

I held back a groan. Judith believes she's the only one worthy of praise. Someone should warn Roger.

"When I practice she makes awful remarks. My voice hurts her ears. I sound like a cat on the back fence. She doesn't like sopranos. Their voices are thin, not rich like hers. She's not fair. I've kept quiet, but someday, I'm going to tell her just how I feel."

Though I agreed with Marcie, I feared Judith's reaction if the child expressed her anger. “Will it help if you speak up?"

"I don't know, but her attitude hurts. When I'm at my lessons I put myself down. Roger yells at me for doing that.” She sighed. “I hate to disappoint him. He's showing me how to tap my inner creative power. He's so wonderful.” Her voice trailed away.

Having been affected by Roger's magic, her sighs were understood. I'm sure his effect on her had twice the potency as I felt. “Could you practice when she's not home?"

"I tried and she jumped all over me. ‘If you think I'm paying good money for you to goof off, think again. I want to hear what I'm paying for.’”

Judith's strident tones invaded Marcie's lighter voice. Something had to be done, but what?

"Sounds like you're in a bind."

"She wants me to quit the Julliard program. She and Dad argued about how much it costs. I feel guilty. What if I'm not as good as I think?"

"You're very, very good."

"I hope so. Poor Dad. He always ends up being wrong. He apologizes. She sulks. Then she starts drinking. She has an alcohol problem, but she won't get help. How can she admit to being less than perfect?"

Tears filled her eyes. I rose and put my hands on her shoulders. “It's not forever."

"Sure seems that way. Sometimes I don't like my parents."

Though I understood her pain, her revelation made me uncomfortable. I didn't know what to say and I felt grateful she had music as an escape.

"Dad's not so bad when she's not around. You know, the other day she overheard him complimenting me. She was totally nasty to him. Do you think she acts that way with Roger?"

"I doubt it. Not when she wants to impress him."

"She sure does. She's taking voice lessons and he's picked her as the alto soloist for the Evensong."

A groan escaped.
Judith!
She has a great sense of timing and she reads music well, but her voice is flat. Not in pitch but in tonal quality and there's a harshness that carries over from her speaking voice.

"Maybe the lessons will help."

Marcie shook her head. “If she practiced, but she doesn't think she needs lessons. She only takes them to spend time with him. She's such a prima donna. I think she expects us to bow."

To Judith, please
. For the first time since Roger had asked, I regretted my decision to assist with the Evensong. Spending time with the choir and the emotionally draining dynamics of the group would take a toll.

"She makes me play when she decides to practice. Her voice hurts my ears. I don't think she likes music. Dad's the one who wanted to join the choir. She tagged along because she didn't want him to have friends she didn't pick.” Marcie pushed the mug away. “Thanks for listening. I used to talk to Beth about Mom, but she doesn't ask me to sit as often. Why is everything such a mess?"

"Haven't the slightest idea, but you must do what's best for you. Right now that's finishing high school and finding a good college. You have a talent for making music. Don't let her steal your joy. In two years you'll be able to leave."

"If she lets me go."

"Your father will insist."

She shrugged. “He's as mixed up as I am. I love Mom, but I don't like her."

What could I say in response to such a statement? “Set a practice schedule and give it to her. Then, no matter what she says, follow it."

"That's exactly what Roger said. He's so wonderful and so totally understanding."

Once again her expression became dreamy. Anger drained away; her mouth lost the tight line. She had a crush on Roger and she hadn't the social skills or the emotional maturity to handle her feelings.

"Don't mix your love of music with his person. When you work extensively with someone that's easy to do. Andrew calls it transference, and it's a kind of love easily mistaken for something deeper."

"I'll be careful.” The wall clock chimed the hour. She jumped up. “I've got to go. Roger's coming to dinner and Mom'll want everything perfect. Less than two years. You're right, I can do it."

After she left I decided I'd have to speak to Martin and maybe Roger. Finding the right words would be hard and even then, would either of them do a thing to change the situation? Especially Martin. His protectiveness of his wife seemed to be the ruling force of his life.

The next day as often happens in September, a steady drizzle fell. As I started dinner preparations, the doorbell rang. Robespierre and I reached the door at the same time. Beth and Robby, clad in identical yellow slickers, stood on the stairs.

"Hope you don't mind,” Beth said. “I need to talk to someone."

Her voice was tight and controlled, but her eyes made me think she was about to cry.

"Glad to see you. Can Robby have some milk and cookies?"

"Mommy, please, her cookies are sooo good."

"Two and a small glass of milk. Then you can play with Robespierre."

After Robby was settled at the table with his snack and

Robespierre as his companion, Beth followed me to the living room. I switched the radio to my favorite classical station so the music would blur our conversation.

"I guess you've heard."

"I hear a lot of things. Just which bit of gossip do you mean?"

"About Roger and me."

"That you're a couple."

She made a face. “Not any more. Last evening, after he had dinner at the Simpsons, he dropped by. I'm not to wait after choir for him. I'm too possessive. He needs breathing room. When I told him that was fine with me, he accused me of sulking."

The hurt in her voice troubled me. She and Roger had been a couple since June. “I can't imagine you being possessive. I thought the two of you were just friends."

"It went a little further than that. Sure I had hopes, but I didn't push. He's the one who calls or just drops by. He's been coming to the house for dinner several nights a week, including Thursdays and then we go to choir and the Pub together. I thought I was being nice."

"You were."

And what about Roger, I wondered. What kind of game was he playing?

"Any problems before this?” I asked.

She nodded. “After the choir picnic I took Robby home and stayed there. I just couldn't stand people's curiosity or chance another encounter with Judith. He thought Pete stayed. I'm sure Judith will gloat. She brags about seeing him."

"For voice lessons. She's the alto soloist for the Requiem."

Her eyes widened. “Why her?"

"Who knows. It's not that she's incompetent. She'll know her part. Her timing will be perfect, but there won't be an ounce of emotion in her delivery."

"I don't understand him."

"He seems to enjoy stirring the pot."

"What do you mean?"

"Marcie stopped by. She has a crush on him. He gives her advice on how to handle her mother and he's helping her with a college search. Then he plays up to Judith.” I sighed. “I wish he didn't make such beautiful music. It may not be worth all the trouble he's causing."

She straightened. “It's not his fault. It's hers. Why does she want him when she's married?"

My thoughts filled with Judith's drunken ramblings. “Maybe she has him confused with someone else. I've never seen her act like she does with Roger during one of her flirtations. She was always content to tease."

"She's sick."

Indeed she was and I'd begun to think alcohol was an attempt to escape inner demons.
A poor choice
. But I wasn't sure of Roger's innocence either. He was a vain creature who liked to be stroked, in some ways like the cats he feared.

"I guess you're free again."

Her face flushed. “Looks that way. Pete asked me out. We're going to dinner Saturday night and taking Robby. It's not a real date."

"At least he recognizes you're a mom. I think Roger resents Robby."

"Maybe.” She smiled. “I'll stop by and let you know how things go.” She entered the kitchen. “Robby, put Robespierre down. Time to go home and make dinner."

After they left I wondered if I should speak to Roger when he came for lunch. Was he manipulating people and enjoying the animosity he stirred? Not that Judith needed any help to make misery for others.

The leaves on the trees outside my windows had just begun to change colors. From the window seat where Robespierre and I sat, I watched sunlight sparkle on the Hudson River. The clock chimed the half hour. Roger was due at noon. I lifted the cat and carried him downstairs. Maria had agreed to keep him for the afternoon.

I trudged across the lawn and rang the bell. Maria answered. Robespierre leaped from my arms and trotted upstairs.

Maria smiled. “Mrs. Miller, you must come and see. El nino sleeps but soon he will wake."

In the nursery Robespierre sat on the floor in front of the crib. As soon as Carlos stirred, the cat began to talk. The baby gurgled and Robespierre answered.

"That's the most I've ever heard him talk."

"They do this much. Paul laugh when he hear them. Soon he will come home for lunch and there will be much laughter. I wish you could be here to see."

"I'm having a guest so today's not a good time."

"We will have the lunch or dinner soon. I will tell you when."

At home I put the finishing touches on lunch. Today I was serving open face turkey and ham sandwiches with a piquant cheddar sauce, salad and fudge brownie ice cream balls.

Roger was prompt. As we ate, we talked about the weather, the arrival of autumn and the town. There were no openings for the subjects that troubled me and I didn't want to be rude.

After lunch, we went to the living room. I opened the desk and spread my copy of Mozart's Requiem. Roger sat at the piano. As we reviewed the score and marked dynamics, he played segments to illustrate his intentions. His musicality seduced me from thoughts of other matters.

"I'd like you to start sitting in on rehearsals soon,” he said.

How long could I postpone becoming part of the erratic emotions of the group? “Mid-October should be soon enough. You'll have time to beat your interpretation into their vocal cords."

He laughed. “I'll give you a reprieve, but you're right that I'll need to smooth the rough spots. They are an excellent group."

"What about the soloists?"

"I'm working privately with them. They'll be ready by rehearsal week."

Though I wanted to ask about Judith's progress, I refrained, especially since my inclination would be to tell him to find someone else. If he reduced the emotional flatness of her voice, he'd be a miracle worker.

When Beth arrived to pick me up for my first rehearsal of the Mozart, the sparkle that had been missing from her eyes for weeks had returned. She wore jeans and a white sweater that made her look like a teenager.

"You look happy."

"I guess I am.” She smiled.

"Just guess."

"Roger stopped by last evening to borrow my car, except he didn't. He stayed for dinner and after Robby went to bed, we talked. He apologized for his neglect and explained what had happened. Since Judith is one of the soloists, he has to keep her happy. To do that he had to spend some time with the Simpsons."

"There are other altos in the choir who are more capable than Judith of making the concert a success."

"Then why did he pick her? We all know what a purist he is."

"To keep her from making trouble is my guess. If he spends time with her, maybe he'll diffuse her attacks on his virtue."

Beth laughed. “Sometimes you're wicked. He said she called him after the picnic. He didn't tell me what she said, but I think he's afraid of her."

"Maybe, maybe not.” I shook my head. “I'm beginning to see him as her male counterpart."

Her eyes widened. “How can you say that? He's a special person and wonderful. He stayed after Robby went to bed and...well...I think I'm in love."

I waited until she parked the car in front of the church. “Don't just think. Be careful and be sure."

"I will."

As we walked toward the church, we heard Judith before we saw her. “Come on, Shadow. You're mine. No one else cares."

We rounded the corner and watched Judith's attempts to entice the cat from its hiding place. Our arrival startled her and she dropped the food she held. The cat darted from the hedges, grabbed the morsel and vanished before Judith could act.

She glared. “Look what you did. I nearly had him.” She laughed. “I was taking him to rehearsal. Wouldn't Roger have had a fit."

"It's not funny,” Beth said. “You shouldn't tease him so."

I wondered if she meant Roger or the cat.

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Beth and I hurried to the door and left a sputtering Judith behind. When the oak door closed, the laughter I'd stifled burst free. “I can't believe you criticized her. Are you prepared for her reaction? She doesn't get mad, she gets even."

"Not really. The words were out before I thought.” Beth's blue eyes looked troubled. “I was right. Roger told me why he's afraid of cats. He was savaged and he had to have the rabies series. You know how gruesome they used to be."