The Cin Fin-Lathen Mysteries 1-3 (36 page)

“How did he react to her?”

“Professionally.  Calm, cool. He just got red and gave his
attention to other members of the band.  Basically, he blew her off.  Oh, but
he did ask her not to play.  She may have complained, but she didn’t play.  Now
Carl would play.  He wouldn’t let a conductor get in the way of his
public
.”

“Ego.”

“Bigger than mine.”

“I can see that you have definite feelings.  You want to be
in a good band not a bad one.  Tell me, who else in the band do you have
problems with?” Sergeant Dave leaned forward.

“Problems.”  I had to wade through the possibilities that
flooded my thoughts.  “We have horrible bassoons.  I like the guys, but they
are nasty players.”  I could tell that the Sergeant didn’t have a clue what a
bassoon was.  Tony was keeping quiet, probably to hide his ignorance.  “A
bassoon is a large wood, double reed instrument, looks like a small telephone
pole.  It’s used in bands and orchestras.  It plays the lower end.  Low notes
mostly, but I have heard solos that were written quite high.  It’s a very
difficult instrument to play.  So you either have an excellent player or a bad
player, nothing in-between.

“In a band you can have marginal clarinet players, but other
good players support them, giving the section a good sound.  One bad bassoon
sticks out, and two - let’s say, honking geese.  Manfred and Tobias are retired
cronies from up north.  They ride together to rehearsals. Their wives are
friends.  They come to band for the social aspect.  I don’t think either of
them practices.  I know a lot of players don’t, but these two should.  Happy
guys that love punch and cookies.  If you give a tea party, they are there! 
They aren’t mooches.  They have been known to pick up a check or two at a
restaurant get-together after a performance.  They talk to each other during
rehearsal, during concerts, basically all the time.  They aren’t distracting
exactly, but the conductor has to tell them to be quiet frequently.”

“Anyone else?” Tony asked.

“I know each section of the band has problem people but
nothing overt.  Community bands are volunteer bands that anyone can join
because some of the operating money comes from the city, county and state.  We
aren’t a professional group.  We don’t get paid individually, but the band does
get paid.  The money we raise from tickets goes into operations and a
scholarship fund.  We do have retired professionals in the band.  There are
music educators that come to play with us also.  I’ve learned a lot from this
group.  The conductors, the people...”

“You said conductors, plural,” Sergeant Dave interrupted. 
“How many conductors do you have?”

“One right now.  What I meant is that we have had a few
conductors since I joined the band.  A community band doesn’t pay that well,
and we tend to burn out these guys.  Our band is a stress machine at times,” I
explained.

“Ever fire a conductor?”

“Not since I have been in the band.  But I think they have
before.  You would have to ask someone that has been in the band longer.  All
the conductors have quit in the last ten years, far as I know.  Doctor Sanders
has been here, let me see, about two years now.”

“How would you rate him?”

“Okay.  Better than average.  There’s a young guy in a north
county band that I sure wish we had.  I played under him before and wow.  I
hear he’s thinking of moving down here and may be interested in us.  But we can
only afford one conductor.”

“Is anyone thinking of firing Doctor Sanders?”

“That I don’t know.  You would have to ask the board
members.  However, I do think that Doctor Sanders is aware that this guy
exists.”

“Tony, I think that your killer is probably a pissed off
individual that shares the same critical opinion of the band as Ms. Fin-Lathen
does, although I wouldn’t rule Miles out.  Something about him doesn’t click. I
would advise you to look into the conductor’s background also.”

“The department has been working overtime on the background
checks.   Hopefully we will be able to narrow this search down.”

“Sergeant, in your opinion, do you think that I’m in
danger?” I asked seriously.

“I wouldn’t go out of your way to be near any of these guys,
but I think with Harry around you aren’t in any danger.  But don’t eat anything
unless you personally made it.”

“Can I add something?” Tony asked.

“Don’t say it.”

“Don’t touch anything.”  He smiled and walked into the
kitchen.

“If you need anything call,” Sergeant Dave said getting up.

I escorted the sheriff out the door.  I was very pleased to
see all of the oleander gone.  The deputy was pouting by the Sergeant’s car.

“Thank you!”  I called over to him. 

He nodded and looked a little less glum.  I wondered if he
knew that all that police training was going to get him a four-hour morning
spent washing down my sidewalks and driveway.  Poor kid.  Speaking of kids, I
had left Harry alone with the village police and Tony.  I went in to rescue the
police.

There are times in everyone’s life when something wonderful
happens.  It could be your first kiss, your wedding, the birth of your babies,
or if you’re really lucky you get to meet a woman like Bernice.  Bernice was
eighty-six years old, eighty-seven in November.  She was a fabulous, big band
tenor saxophone player and a great Bb clarinet player.  Her mind was very
sharp, and she was so very beautiful.  She stood five feet and change, her
beautiful soft white hair setting off the sharp blue eyes.  She was a redhead
in her youth, and she must have set the world afire with her looks, talent and
brains.

Bernice intended to live to be one hundred years old.  She
also intended to live in her home till she left this earth to grace God with
her presence.  She had been my mentor, my muse and my friend.  You have to be a
brave person to tangle with me.  I am aware of my faults and eccentricities. 
I’m also a snob.  I don’t want to talk about children, dogs, pantyhose and the
rot that amuses most women my age.  Bernice was a living novel.  She was also
the unofficial historian of the musicians of the area.  She has played with the
greatest, and the greatest feel honored to know her. 

Bernice had a full social calendar and to be able to get in
to see her on such short notice was a miracle in itself.  After the remainder
of the police cleared out of Harry’s diner, Tony came in and told me he was
going to interview Bernice about the suspects in the band.

“She’s eighty-six years old, you be careful,” I warned him. 

“What if you were there?”

“At the police station?  I don’t think she’s going to feel
any better being interrogated if I’m with her.”

“Interrogated?  No, I’d just like to get information on your
little community group.  I thought since she was old.”

My raised eyebrow said, “Watch it.”

“Since she has been there from the early days.”

My eyebrow returned to base.  “Could you do it at her home?”

He thought a moment. “Sure, why not.”

I said that he would have to ask her.  I grabbed the phone,
dialed her number and handed it to him. Harry and I stayed in the room.  I was
doing dishes, and Harry was eavesdropping while he finished the crossword
puzzle someone had started.  So they did find the paper. 

Bernice was home and agreed to be interviewed if I came
along with the detective.  I asked if Harry would be welcomed.  She didn’t know
who or what a Harry was but, sure, bring him along.

I put the phone down and yelled, “Car Trip!”  Harry was in
my car before I found my second sandal.  “Get out.”  He was in the driver’s
seat.

“Ah, Mom!”

“I am not your mother.”  I smiled at the thought.  At least
at the end of the week I could give him back to his mother.  Gee, this must be
what a grandparent feels like.

Bernice lived in a beautiful older area of West Palm Beach. 
Her immaculately trimmed lawn curved around the end of a quiet street.  I gave
Harry instructions on the way over on what kind of manners I expected of him.  Don’t
swear, don’t ask for cookies, and just because she is old don’t assume she is
baking all day long.  There were a lot of don’ts.  He gave me an argument for every
one of them.  I think he was pulling my chain most of the time.  Anyway, it
made the car trip interesting.

Detective Curtis was already parked and headed up the
driveway as we rounded the curve.

“Bet he sped,” Harry started.

“Don’t antagonize the cop.”

“That is thirty-six don’ts.  How am I going to remember all
of them?” he whined.

We caught up with Tony at the door.  Bernice waved us in.  I
introduced her to Harry and reacquainted her with Detective Curtis. 

“You’re the head cheese, I’m told,” Bernice smiled.  “Well
let’s not waste time on small talk.  What do you want to know?”  She sat down
on the sofa, and Tony sat down beside her, plopping his folders on the coffee
table.  Harry positioned himself next to Tony, and I sat down in the chair next
to Harry.  I wanted to be able to wallop him if he forgot any of his don’ts.

“I don’t know how much you know about what happened to Carl
and Cheryl,” began Tony.  “So if I cover ground you already know about, I
apologize in advance.”  He pulled out the list of people who were suspects in
the case.  “First, these aren’t all suspects.  They were just available at the
time of the murders to move a piece of evidence.”

“That is quite a list there.  What are you looking for?”
Bernice asked.

“We know that Carl was poisoned by curare and Cheryl by oleander. 
Can you look down this list and see anyone that would have access to these
poisons?”

“Oleander is a common ornamental shrub down here.  Curare,
I’m not quite sure, but isn’t that a poison that the South American Indians put
on darts and arrows?”

Tony nodded.  “It’s also found in Mexico according to my
source.”

“Well, Gus Miller is a retired pharmacist.  I assume curare
may have another use besides poisoning. Manfred Tuttle, he was a professor of
South American Studies at Duke.  Tobias Green taught at the same school, and
he’s an avid gardener.  Billy Sands works for the botanical gardens on Military
Trail.  Miles Feinstein was a Peace Corps volunteer in Central America when he
got out of college.  Didn’t want to be drafted I think.  Doctor Edmond Sanders
is a doctor of Botany.”

“I thought he was a doctor of music?”  I questioned.

“You would think so the way he acts.  He might have minored
in music, but he didn’t conduct till he stepped in and helped out at University
of Michigan when so and so had a heart attack.”

“Why did we hire a professor of botany to conduct the band?”
I asked incredulously.

“Those fools on the board took one look at a U of M
conductor and never looked any further.  I, however, read his whole resume.  He
played the French horn in the local symphony.  Quiet guy, not one to chit
chat.”  Bernice looked at the list again. “Let’s see, engineers, school
teachers, ah, Brian Harrison, he is an Occultist.”

“Like in Devil worship?” Harry asked in awe.

“Well, I don’t know if he worships Satan young man, but he
dabbles in white magic.  Healing with herbs.  He might know about poisons.”

I was very familiar with the Harrisons, more correctly,
Dorothy Harrison.  She had sent me on an errand that inadvertently saved my
life.  She had asked me to purchase a pagan necklace for her.  It was this
fabled necklace, the
Kernow Daa,
I was wearing when I was tossed
unconscious into a peat bog in Cornwall.  The chain had gotten caught up in the
branches of a fallen tree.  This held my head above water.  The stone reflected
the searchers lights and acted as a beacon for them to find me in the dark.  Was
it magical?  I’d like to think so, but I was going to keep this to myself. 
Tony already thought I was a loon, and I didn’t want to confirm his suspicions.

“Bernice, how would you know about Brian?” Tony asked while
jotting down a few notes.

“He told me.  We were talking about that rash on my arm that
wouldn’t let up.  And one thing led to another, and well anyway, he is an
Occultist.”

“Bernice, is there anyone else?”  Tony asked.

“No, I think that’s about it.”

“Okay, out of these seven, who didn’t like Carl?”

“All of them.  I don’t think anyone liked Carl, especially
Billy.  He sat second chair to him.”

“How about Cheryl?”

“That I don’t know.  Doctor Sanders wasn’t happy with her. 
Miles said she was a loud mouth phony.  Manfred and Tobias didn’t seem to mind
her, but she criticized them very nastily every chance she got, like she is
queen of all music.  Gus Miller didn’t really have much exposure to her.  She
made fun of Brian’s wife being so much older than him at the last banquet, and
he has been cool ever since.”

“Outside of these gentlemen, do you have any gut feeling on
who would want to kill Carl and Cheryl?”

Bernice looked over at me.  I nodded that it was okay.

“Cin thinks she hates them enough to do them in.  I don’t
think she’s capable though.  Art can’t stand either of them, but he was with me
the whole time.”

“Unless he had an accomplice,” Harry offered.

“Art drives me to and from.  He never left my side, Harry.”

“What about accomplices?” I asked Tony.

“A serial killer usually acts alone, but I won’t rule it
out.”

“Could you see Manfred and Tobias plotting a murder?” 
Bernice was laughing. “Those old farts can barely navigate around Palm Beach
County.”

I broke into a smile.  It was pretty ridiculous.  Manfred
was a large, heavyset soft man with long, silver hair and horn-rimmed glasses. 
Tobias’ hair was styled similar to Manfred’s, but he was smallish and plump. 
If I squinted my eyes, I could have imagined a cartoon hedgehog and a prairie
dog standing there instead of those two.  Harmless but interesting.  I pushed
the daydream away and got back to business.

“Detective Tony, I don’t know if you have this information,
but Gus Miller has a prosthetic leg.  I don’t know if he would have the agility
to move Carl around,” Harry piped in.

“How do you know?” I stopped, fearing some long drawn out
explanation.

“Saw him take it off in the men’s room once,” he said simply.
 “He does a mean pirate impression, but I don’t think he’s a killer.”

“I see your point,” Tony said to end the conversation more
than agree with Harry.  “I will have to get back and compare our notes with the
ones my aides are working on.  Oh, and I think that audience canvas should be
finished.”

“Audience canvas?” Bernice asked interested.

“I had a team calling the season ticket list.  Basically, to
see if anyone that was there noticed anyone doing anything suspicious before
the performance.  Did anyone see who took Cheryl’s water bottle, for example,”
Tony listed.

“Smart man, smart man.”  Harry patted Tony on the back.

“You don’t get taught that in performance arts,” Tony said
as he snapped shut his notebook. 

Bernice looked puzzled.

I leaned in.  “Ongoing joke.  I’ll fill you in later.”

She got up and walked us out to the cars.  I heard the phone
just as we were leaving, and she said that the answering machine would pick it
up.  Detective Curtis left, and Harry and I chatted with Bernice for a few minutes
before leaving ourselves.  Bernice and Harry seemed to get along very well.  Of
course this was the abridged Harry, but still something made me think that the
real Harry was no match for Bernice.

~

“Where are you going?”  Harry asked as we pulled out of
Bernice’s neighborhood.

“Home.  Why?”

“I have to pick up my paycheck at the theater.”

“You get paid for that?”  I asked.

“Duh.  It’s hard work.”

“Sorry, I thought it was a class or something,” I
apologized, and at the next intersection I turned north.  “Harry, what do you
think about Miles?”

“You mean, do I think he could kill those people?”

I nodded.

“He’s smart enough.  But Miles is lazy.  He only does half
his job.  We students end up with all the dirty work.  I guess I need to think
about it some.  Bernice said he was a Peace Corps volunteer?”

“Yes, I thought that was pretty odd.  I guess you never
really know anyone, do you?” 

“People change, look at me for instance.”

I glanced at him and, yes, he was serious.  “Go on.”

“I was so full of hate for my dad running out on my mother
and me when she was diagnosed with cancer.  There she was in the hospital, and
the bastard was cleaning out the bank accounts as fast as his closet.  When I
found out about it, I confronted him and all I got was...”

“A black eye and four stitches.  I remember that, Harry,” I
said sadly.  I turned west on Okeechobee to catch the turnpike north.

“I remember you and Alex picked me up and took me to the
hospital.  I think I still owe you for the emergency room.”

“You don’t owe me anything, ever.”  I turned onto the
turnpike, and after receiving my ticket, I let the BMW loose on the road.

“You’re a strange bird, Ms. Fin-Lathen.  Nope, I will call
you Cin.  Back to me, I think that he was so scared that she was going to die
and he would be stuck with me.  I don’t think he knew how to be a father, just
a husband.  So, I decided that I would take care of my mother.  She was so sick
with the Chemo, she couldn’t handle the bills.  I called my Grandpa Joe, Dad’s
dad.  And he came down from Washington and found Dad.  He then met with me and
talked.  We talked like adults.  I mean, he treated me like one.  Between the
two of us, we decided that Dad owed her half.  So he strong-armed Dad and got
my mother a lawyer, and, presto change-o, Dad was free and we weren’t destitute
anymore.  Grandpa Joe is also paying for my college.  I’m supposed to pay him
back on what he calls the twenty year plan.”