End Me a Tenor

by Joelle Charbonneau

  Swallowing down a couple of ibuprofen, I put the car in gear and caught a glimpse of a woman inside Mark’s house walking past the picture window.

  Mark’s wife. And since the car was gone, I could surmise she was inside alone.

  Before I could second-guess myself, I pulled into the drive and hoofed it up to the front door. If Mrs. Mark could alibi her husband for last night, I could cross him off the list of suspects. A man curled up with his wife and dog couldn’t have chased me down a hall or bashed me over the head.

  Penelope’s barking started the second my finger hit the doorbell. If I were a burglar, I wouldn’t think twice. I’d hear that sound, turn tail, and run. Thank goodness I knew the dog was more mischievous than maniacal, so I wasn’t worried about a canine attack when the door swung open.

  An attractive woman with a cap of wavy red hair, a dusting of freckles on her cheeks, and a fabulous figure frowned at Penelope. Immediately, the dog stopped barking and plopped on its butt at her feet. “Can I help you?”

  “My name is Paige Marshall. I’m performing in the Messiah with your husband this weekend.”

  The woman smiled. “I’m Nora, Mark’s wife. I wish Mark was here, but he went out to do some Christmas shopping.” Her green eyes sparkled with humor. “Mark normally waits until the last minute to get gifts, which means I end up with whatever sweaters or perfume no sane person would buy. I’m holding out hope that this year will be different.”

  Since Mark was currently stuffing his face instead of maxing out his credit cards, I was betting Mrs. Krauss was doomed to disappointment.

  Since the woman was already being deceived, I opted to take the honest route. “I didn’t come here to see Mark. I wanted to talk to you. Do you mind if I come in?” If not, my eyelashes and nose hairs were going to freeze during the time it took to have this conversation. It was that cold.

  Nora pursed her lips and studied me for a moment then opened the door the rest of the way. I stepped into the warmth of a comfortable living room, albeit one laden with action figures and Matchbox cars. “I hope this won’t take long. The kids will be home soon.”

  Penelope bumped her head against my hand for a pet and then trotted over to the corner and curled up in a massive pile of blankets. I waited for Mark’s wife to offer me a seat. Nope. She just crossed her arms and waited. Her previous friendliness had been replaced by what I could only assume was suspicion.

  Taking a deep breath, I said, “I don’t know if your husband mentioned me to you. I’m one of the soloists.”

  “I know who you are.”

  The edge in her voice made me wonder whether Mark had made a disparaging remark about my singing. Pushing aside performer’s paranoia, I forced myself to focus. “This show is important to me. If things go well, it could be the break I’ve been working for. Only things have been a little . . . scary.”

  “Because of the murders.” Sympathy replaced the suspicion in her eyes.

  “The murders are scary. The fact that someone tried to run me off the road on Wednesday and attacked me last night is even scarier.”

  “Someone attacked you?” Nora took a step forward. Penelope barked.

  I nodded. “The police think whoever killed David and Bill also attacked me. Since I’m relatively new to the opera scene, I don’t know the cast members very well. I don’t know who I can trust. That’s why I’m here. I heard Mark had problems with David Richard. I don’t know what those problems are exactly . . .” And I didn’t figure there was a shot in hell of Nora telling me about them now. “But I’m hoping you can tell me if Mark was home last night.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation. A flush of the cheeks. A quickening of Nora’s breath. Her jaw tensed, and her hands clenched for just a fraction of a second. Her eyes darted to the left, and she bit her lip before looking back at me. “Mark was here with me and the boys watching movies all night. I hope knowing that makes you feel better.”

  Right.

  I got back in my car. Mark’s wife watched me from the picture window while wringing her hands as I pulled away. She had lied to me. Mark was out of the house last night. Worse, she was worried about the lie. That meant Mark’s wife thought not only that he had reason to kill David and Bill but also that he might actually have done it. Yikes.

  Between the silver car, the lack of alibi, and a serious amount of dislike for the first victim, Mark had to be one of the killers. If this were a movie, I’d confront the guy, point my gun at him, and force him to confess. Since I wanted to keep breathing, I punched Mike’s speed-dial number and waited for him to answer.

  “I hope you’re staying out of trouble.”

  Not exactly an auspicious opening. “No one’s smacked me over the head today,” I said.

  “The day’s still young.”

  Sad, but true.

  “What’s up? Dare I hope you’re calling to tell me Millie has let me off the hook for tomorrow night?”

  Yep, that was the sound of my ego deflating. Mike needed a serious course in tactfulness. “Hearing me sing isn’t a fate worse than death, you know.”

  “No, but hearing a lecture on some dead guy and his music might be.”

  A valid point. Even I, who loved Handel’s music, wouldn’t be interested in sitting through a lecture on the subject. I’d done enough of that in college. “The restaurant is supposed to have excellent wine,” I said. When Mike didn’t answer, I caved. “Maybe I can convince my aunt to let you meet her and Aldo at the theater.”

  “I’m holding you to that.” I could hear Mike’s grin through the phone. “So, what did you call about?”

  “I know who the killer is, and I want you to arrest him.”

  Everything went silent.

  “Mike? Are you still there?”

  A loud sigh told me the call hadn’t been dropped. “I’ll meet you at your aunt’s house in twenty minutes. For God’s sake, don’t do anything until I get there.”

  I pulled into Millie’s garage with six minutes to spare on Mike’s deadline. Millie and Aldo were nowhere to be found. I nuked a cup of tea and took it with me to the living room to wait. The minute I sat down, I heard the telltale sound of Killer’s claws against the hallway floor.

  A puffy white head appeared in the living room doorway. Killer looked at me, glanced over at Millie’s taxidermied canine carolers, and whined. I smiled and took a sip of my drink as Killer hovered in the doorway, too disturbed by a glimpse into his future life as a stuffed art piece to step foot across the threshold. Between the gun in my pocket and the dead dogs near my feet, I was as safe as I was going to get.

  By the time the doorbell rang, Killer had abandoned his perch in the doorway. Mike walked through the front door with a frown and a large take-out bag. My nose twitched at the aroma of grilled meat and French fries.

  “I figured you were probably too busy causing problems to eat lunch, so I got enough for two.” Mike walked past me on his way to the kitchen. “We can eat while we talk.”

  Two double-decker burgers and two enormous orders of fries came out of the bag. Mike passed a wrapped sandwich to me, popped the top on his soda, and took a seat. “So, how did a woman who was home all day recovering from a concussion learn the identity of a multi-murderer?”

  Why did I have the feeling this conversation wasn’t going to go well?

  Stalling, I unwrapped my burger and sighed with pleasure. Bacon, cheese, and lots of ketchup. Mike had earned a reprieve from opera lecture hell. I’d just have to find a way to convince Millie.

  I took a bite of my sandwich for courage. Then, in between scarfing French fries, I gave a rundown of my day. Mike didn’t say anything as I spoke. He took bites of his burger. He ate his fries. No yelling when I told him about my conversation with Jonathan and my decision to do a drive-by of Mark’s house. Of course, that might have been because I skipped over the part where I posed
as Magdalena’s Yoga instructor and broke into her hotel room. No need to make Mike decide between eating and throwing his sandwich. Considerate was my middle name.

  When I was done, Mike took a sip of soda and asked, “The working theory is whoever killed the tenor and the stage manager whacked you over the head last night?”

  I shook extra salt on my fries and nodded.

  “So whoever has an alibi for last night can be eliminated as a suspect?”

  I nodded again.

  Mike leaned forward. “You said Mark has an alibi.”

  “His wife was lying.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “Before she answered, she looked to the side and bit her lip.” Those were the signs of a liar caught in the act. It was Acting 101. “Mark’s wife was worried. She thinks her husband might be a killer.”

  “For your sake, I hope you’re wrong.”

  I stopped mid-chew. “Why?”

  “Because believing someone is lying and proving it are two very different things. Cops need proof.”

  I knew that, but I’d been hoping Mike would be impressed by my reasoning and go find the proof that was needed.

  “Let’s put aside proof for the moment.” Mike leaned back in his chair. “What’s this Krauss guy’s motive for killing the tenor and the stage manager?”

  “Mark Krauss was campaigning to keep David Richard from getting a full-time job at Northwestern. The two of them got into a physical altercation not too long ago.”

  “Why?”

  “Mark mentioned that David made a pass at his wife. That could have prompted the fight.”

  “So you think Mark offed David because the guy was a crappy teacher and flirted with Mark’s wife? When do we get to the part where you convince me that your guy is the killer? I can’t just go around throwing people behind bars because you have a feeling they might be guilty. Besides, I checked in with Detective Frewen today to tell him about last night’s attack at the school. Mark Krauss is low on the suspect list. You’re not going to convince anyone to arrest him. At least, not yet.”

  This wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

  I shoved the rest of my fries away and sat back in my chair. “So now what?”

  Mike took another slurp of his soda, pushed back from the table, and shrugged into his coat. “Now you stay inside where you’ll be safe and let the cops do their jobs.”

  No can do. “I have to go out later. I have rehearsal.” I stood to emphasize my point.

  Mike raked a hand though his hair. “Then get someone to drive with you.” Tying his scarf, he stalked around to my side of the table. “I wish I could say that the killer will be arrested today and that you don’t have a thing to worry about. But I can’t. Investigations like this take time, and every time you go off investigating on your own, you give the perp a shot at hurting you.” His fingers brushed the bump on the back of my head. “I don’t have time to deal with you getting hurt again. Got it?”

  The words were clipped, but his eyes were filled with tenderness and concern. The combination made my stomach flutter. Not good. Devlyn was the guy I was interested in. Not Mike.

  Trying to keep it light, I quipped, “Watch out, Detective. If I didn’t know you, I’d say you almost care what happens to me.”

  Mike’s frowned. “I guess you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

  “Right.” I wasn’t insane enough to think Mike had real feelings toward me. Was he attracted? Yes. But emotional involvement was a whole different level. Assuring myself the hollow feeling in my stomach wasn’t disappointment, I said, “I know you have to keep an emotional detachment from your cases.”

  “You’re not one of my cases.”

  “Aren’t you in charge of the assault from last night?”

  “I passed the case to Detective Knight. You should be getting a call from Keith in the next couple of days.”

  Okay, that stung. Mike might be a jerk, but he was a jerk I trusted to find the person who attacked me. That he didn’t care enough to do his job hurt. A lot.

  “I look forward to talking to Detective Knight. You probably have a huge caseload. It’s good you passed my case to someone who’ll dedicate more time.”

  “Ha! Keith has a heavier caseload than I do. But he’s got something I don’t have.”

  “What?”

  “Distance.” Mike moved closer and ran a finger down my cheek. “A cop is a lot like a doctor. You can’t think clearly enough to perform surgery when you think you might be falling in love with the person you’re operating on.”

  The whole brain injury thing had me hallucinating. “Love?”

  Mike gave me a cocky smile and moved closer. “I’m a good enough cop to understand the real deal when I find it. You’re it.”

  His mouth touched mine, and all thoughts of murder disappeared. Mike’s lips were warm. One of his hands snaked down my back, pulling me closer. The other hand laced fingers with mine. My nerves jangled at his touch. Warmth spread through my body. I felt desired, protected, and scared as hell. Mike had kissed me before. Those kisses had had the fire of physical attraction and the skill of a man who’d kissed more than his fair share of women. This kiss had just as much passion, but there was something deeper. Kinder. More intimate than if we were both naked and doing the horizontal tarantella. This wasn’t a kiss designed to maneuver me into bed. This kiss had the potential to steal my heart.

  And it terrified me.

  “Wait.” I took a step back, caught my foot on the kitchen chair, and almost went flying. Mike’s quick reflexes saved me. He then jammed his hands in his pockets and waited for me to speak.

  Great. The one time he listened, I had no idea what to say. So I went with the most obvious. “You can’t possibly think you’re falling in love with me. We haven’t even gone on a date.” Wasn’t there a rule that you had to date someone to fall in love? If not, there should be. At least then a person would be prepared for moments like these.

  Mike laughed. “That’s something I plan to remedy next week. And if you’re good, I’ll even buy you a Christmas present. That means stay inside and out of trouble. Got it?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he turned and strolled out the door.

  Why did the man always get the last word? I hated that. Next time, I’d be the one taking the last verbal shot. Maybe by then the shock would have worn off.

  Detective Michael Kaiser had said he loved me. Strike that—he thought he might be in love with me. Which was almost the same thing. This was probably just some kind of reaction to my being in danger. Still, I was almost positive he meant what he said. How weird was that? Part of me was flattered. Another part was wigged out. Despite the strong jawline and the broad shoulders, Mike was not my type. He was loud, domineering, and hated classical music.

  Okay, technically he’d never said he hated classical music, but he’d had to be cornered into coming to my performance tomorrow night. That didn’t imply a love of all things theater. In his free time, Mike was the type who kicked back with a beer and the game of the week while I went to the theater or listened to music. A relationship between the two of us would be a train wreck. I knew that. Mike had to know that, too.

  But Mike was right about one thing—staying home was the smart choice. I flipped the deadbolt on the front door, made sure the other doors were locked up tight, and went upstairs to change into clothes that didn’t make me feel guilty for sitting on the couch instead of working up a sweat. I ignored Killer’s growl from the middle of my bed as I pulled on a pair of charcoal pants, a white sweater, and the fuzziest socks I owned in preparation for a relaxing afternoon inside.

  My phone buzzed. A text message from Devlyn asking if I wanted company. In its infinite wisdom, the school board had declared a half-day of school today. The thought was that teachers needed time to catch up on paperwork and me
etings before the upcoming winter break. Most teachers I knew were using the time to finish their holiday shopping. An example of education at its finest.

  My heart did a happy skip as I sent a “Join me at Millie’s” text back. This was the guy I wanted to date. Devlyn was kind, fun, and understood theater and music. Not to mention the fact that he was sexy as hell. What more could a girl want?

  The doorbell rang, and my heart skipped again. Devlyn couldn’t have gotten here that fast, and I wasn’t expecting anyone else. Clutching Millie’s gun, I slowly walked to the door and peered through the peephole in time to watch the FedEx truck drive off.

  I opened the door and smiled at the enormous box on the stoop. More Christmas presents. Millie didn’t have kids or grandkids of her own, so she sent gifts to all of my cousins’ families. In return, they sent her boxes of homemade fudge, cookies, brownies, and the occasional unfortunate fruitcake. The boxes had been arriving all week with instructions to open before Christmas.

  Hoping for homemade caramels, I dropped the box on the kitchen table, opened the flaps, and fished through the packing peanuts for the tin of sweets. I froze as my fingers touched something sticky and wet. Ewww. A jar must have broken. Pulling my hand out, I almost fainted. The red substance on my fingers looked very much like blood.

  Chapter 20

  To my credit I didn’t lose consciousness, and while on the inside I was screaming bloody murder, not a squeak passed my lips. Possibly I was just too terrified to make a sound. Or maybe I’d seen so many horrible things that I’d hit my saturation point. Hard to tell.

  Since I wasn’t in the mood to flip out, I took a closer look at the substance on my hand. It was red and gloppy and smelled like . . . ketchup.

  Curiosity warred with caution as I took a step back and stared at the present. Curiosity won, and I pulled fistfuls of packing peanuts out of the box. Inside was a note and three items: a water bottle, a rope, and the source of the red substance—a satin gown-wearing Barbie stained with ketchup. Minus her head.