End Me a Tenor

by Joelle Charbonneau

  A water bottle had been used to poison David.

  A rope had been used to kill Bill.

  I could only guess that the headless Barbie represented whatever was planned for me.

  Okay, now I was creeped out.

  My fingers were unsteady as I reached into the envelope, pulled out the note, and gave myself a paper cut. Ow. Sucking on my index finger, I fumbled with the paper and read: You’re next.

  The bloody Barbie was juvenile, but I gave the killer points for brevity. And as silly as the gift from hell was, it had scored a direct hit. I was freaked. The killer had tailed me here, called the house, and now sent a direct threat to Millie’s front door. According to Mike, Detective Frewen and company weren’t planning on making an arrest anytime soon. Call me crazy, but I didn’t want the killer to complete the Barbie portion of his little project. I wanted the lunatic caught—now.

  First things first—I put the Barbie, noose, and water bottle back in the box and then got a Band-Aid and antibiotic ointment for my paper cut. The way things were going, an untreated cut would lead to the bubonic plague or worse.

  Infection avoided, I grabbed my phone and tapped out a text to Mike. Killer sent package to house via FedEx. Do you want to take a look? I hit send and congratulated myself on how well I was handling all of this. That’s when the sound of the doorbell made me jump. The phone crashed to the ground, sending the cover in one direction and the battery in another.

  The doorbell rang again as I collected the pieces of my phone. Crap.

  Killer started barking his head off, which for the first and probably only time made me happy. If the murderer was at the door, he’d think twice about coming in.

  Fumbling to put my phone back together, I dodged a still-barking Killer and checked the peephole. Devlyn.

  He walked through the door, took one look at my face, and opened his arms. I stepped into them and began to shake. Okay, maybe I wasn’t taking the whole Barbie doll thing as well as I thought.

  When the shaking subsided, Devlyn put his hands on my shoulders and asked, “What’s wrong?”

  Words wouldn’t do the situation justice. I dragged Devlyn into the kitchen for show-and-tell and stopped in my tracks. Lying in the middle of the kitchen floor next to the overturned box was Killer. A smudge of ketchup was on his snout and a wet, slobbered-on Barbie rested in between his feet. Barbie had gone from American icon to headless rawhide in no time flat. Barbie was having a bad day.

  Devlyn put the box back on the table, read the note, and took several deep breaths. “I really hate to ask this, but have you called Detective Kaiser?”

  “I sent a text before I dropped my phone.” I slid the pieces back together and waited for the phone to boot. When it did, a return text was waiting.

  Out on a call. Will come by in a couple hours. Stay home. Don’t do anything stupid.

  Charming.

  I flipped the phone shut. “Mike will be by later.”

  “And you’re going to wait around for him to deal with this?”

  That had been my plan until I got his most recent message. Mike’s dictates made my common sense fly out the window. If he said stop, I felt morally obliged to hit the gas. But in this case, I still might have followed his instructions had the murderers’ gift not given me a new lead.

  After today, I was fairly certain Mark Krauss was one of the two people behind last night’s attack. Since he and Jonathan were close friends, I’d assumed Jonathan was the other half of the murderous duo. Chew-toy Barbie had me rethinking that deduction. Jonathan’s bio said he had two sons who lived with their mother somewhere in the burbs. And Mark had all boys in his house. I saw trucks and trains and action figures scattered around the living room. No Barbies.

  While the feminist movement wanted Barbie to lose the unrealistic proportions and become a gender-neutral toy, Barbie was always going to be something mothers bought for their daughters. Girls understood Barbie. Boys—not so much. With male progeny, Mark or Jonathan wouldn’t exactly have Barbie on his radar.

  Put that information together with LaVon’s description of the photograph buyer and I was almost certain Mark’s partner was a woman. Since my gut eliminated Magdalena from the suspect list, I was left with two possible choices: Vanessa Moulton or Ruth Jordan.

  Turning to Devlyn, I asked, “Do you think I should wait for the cops to figure out who’s behind this?”

  “Would you wait if I asked you to?”

  Good question. I bit my lip as I considered the answer.

  Devlyn laughed. “If I believed for one second that telling you to wait for the professionals to do their jobs would help, I would. But I know you. I figure the best I can do is make sure you don’t get killed while doing whatever it is you’re going to do.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing I have you to keep me safe.”

  The light tone made it easier to ignore that we were both deadly serious. Good thing my goal was to avoid anything dangerous or illegal. I just needed to find information for the cops so I could step back and let them do the heavy lifting.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Devlyn asked as he put his arm around my shoulders.

  “We’re going on a scavenger hunt,” I said. “For Barbie’s head.”

  Devlyn removed Barbie from Killer’s clutches, and I returned the doll to the box and placed it on top of the fridge where the dog couldn’t reach it. Then we headed for the first stop on my scavenger hunt. A stop that was totally safe—my bedroom. I fired up the computer and took a seat at the desk while Devlyn perched on my bed.

  First things first, I ran a search on the FedEx tracking number I’d copied off the top of the box. If I was lucky, the killer had shipped the box from a place down the street from her house.

  Drat. The shipping location was right around the corner from the theater. Every one of my suspects had cause to be in that location. The tracking number was a bust.

  On to the next search.

  Before Killer had sharpened his teeth on Barbie’s body, she’d been wearing a shiny hot pink dress with a lighter pink ruffle around the waist and hips. The look wasn’t one of Barbie’s better choices even without the ketchup stains. I clicked on the Barbie website and scrolled through the dolls until I found the one that matched Killer’s snack. The doll was brand-new this holiday season, which meant the toy had to be a recent purchase.

  A few keystrokes later and I had printouts of both women’s photos as well as the names and addresses of the toy stores closest to Ruth’s and Vanessa’s apartments. I was betting neither woman was the type to overexert herself by shopping outside her known territory. If not—well, there was no way I could scope out all the toy stores in the Chicagoland area. I would visit these stores, flash Ruth’s and Vanessa’s photos at the sales clerks, and hope someone would remember one of them buying the doll. Was I smart or what?

  I turned to reveal my brilliance to Devlyn, but the words died on my lips. Devlyn was stretched out on the bed. His eyes were filled with concern, which for some reason I found to be a huge turn on. Maybe the bedroom wasn’t a safe place after all.

  For a moment, I considered ditching the great Barbie hunt for some extracurricular getting-to-know-you time, but Devlyn was up and off the bed before I had a chance to put my plan into action. Which was good. Things were confused enough without adding an extra complication, no matter how desirable, to the mix.

  “So,” Devlyn asked, “where to?”

  In a Hollywood action flick, the answer to that question would probably involve a darkened parking garage or a prison armed with snipers and barbed wire. My answer was, “Toys ‘R’ Us.”

  We took Devlyn’s car. He drove while I made phone calls to the specialty toy stores in Vanessa’s neighborhood. By the time we’d turned into the parking lot of the Toys ‘R’ Us closest to Ruth’s address, I knew where I could purchase “Learn to dress�
� Kitty and “Fishes to Loaves” Jesus action figures. No Barbies were stocked at either specialty location. That meant Devlyn and I were currently walking into the Barbie-selling toy store closest to both Ruth and Vanessa. If they shopped at Target or Walmart, well, I was screwed.

  I pulled the two women’s headshots from my purse as we walked through the automated doors.

  Devlyn dodged a woman with a blue shopping cart. “You do realize that even if Vanessa or Ruth bought the Barbie doll here, the chances of an employee recognizing them from a photo is slim to none, right?”

  Devlyn was right. With Christmas less than two weeks away, the place had to be a zoo. My only hope was that the perp had bought Barbie sometime this week. And that, if the perp was Ruth or Vanessa, her artistic personality had made her stick out despite the sea of holiday shoppers.

  The store looked as though the Tazmanian Devil had decided to help Santa shop. Shelves were half empty. Sale signs hung precariously from the walls. And boxes of whatever board games the store was featuring were scattered across the floor. Someone definitely needed to clean up Aisle Two.

  The Barbie aisle was as bad if not worse. I pitied any girl whose parent hadn’t shopped early. Something told me those kids were going to end up with the “Ken Goes to Hawaii” fashion accessory set. And unless something had changed since my day—aside from the stamped-on tighty whities—dressing up Ken was lame.

  Next to the picked-through accessories, most of the shelf space where Barbie dolls normally stood was empty. But two Barbies with gowns resembling the one in the FedEx box remained. Since the store looked like it had last restocked around Easter, chances were good the dolls had also been available for purchase earlier this week.

  Time to canvass the staff.

  I handed one set of photographs to Devlyn. Then the two of us headed to different parts of the store, looking for employees to show them to. I located my first potential eyewitness in the bicycle/skateboard and motorized car department. He had gray hair and glasses as thick as the jelly jars my mother used every summer. I showed him the photos and felt a burst of excitement as recognition dawned in the sales associate’s eyes. Smiling, the man told me that the photo of Vanessa was of Marilyn Monroe and that Ruth was his ex-wife. According to him, neither had been in the store buying Barbie dolls on his watch.

  The two other employees I found restocking shelves didn’t recognize the women, either. Devlyn fared no better on his side of the store. That left the seven employees manning the check-out lanes, who in all probability were the most likely to recognize a past customer. Only something told me the customers waiting weren’t going to let me cut in line. Good thing I still had Christmas shopping to do.

  After standing in seven lines, I had purchased a fistful of videos, a set of Platypus walkie-talkies for my cousin’s twins, two video games for my brother, and a disco light karaoke machine for Aunt Millie. In case Aldo and Millie got engaged before the holiday, I purchased a CD of love songs for them to perform together. If not, well, I had a CD of Don’t Worry, Be Happy at the ready. Sadly, other than the gifts, I had nothing to show for my visit. Not a single clerk recognized either photograph.

  Devlyn helped me stuff the bags into his trunk and asked, “Where to next?”

  “I have no idea.” In power shopping, I’d gotten an “A.” In private detecting, I’d totally flunked. “If the killer does turn out to be the concert master or one of the soloists, the producers will have no choice but to cancel the show. I don’t want to disappoint your mother. I did promise you I’d give her an autograph tomorrow night.”

  “About that.” Devlyn shifted in his seat. “I’m thinking it would be better if you met Mom another day. Larry and a couple Music in Motion kids said they’re planning on coming to tomorrow’s performance. That might make things more difficult.”

  I was about to ask what one thing had to do with the other when the truth slammed home: Devlyn couldn’t introduce me to his mother because she might reveal our almost-relationship to people from Prospect Glen High School. Devlyn’s secret would be out.

  Which made me wonder. “What happens if we actually start dating?”

  “What do you mean?” His hands tensed on the wheel.

  “Everyone thinks you date men. What’s going to happen when they realize you and I are dating? We won’t be able to hide a relationship for very long.”

  Especially since dating often lead to love, marriage, and all that jazz. People tend to notice when you start wearing a wedding ring.

  Devlyn didn’t seem concerned. “If we go places where students aren’t likely to turn up, we should be okay.”

  I understood Devlyn wanted to protect his job, but his words made me queasy. They implied I wasn’t good enough to be seen with him in public.

  Was I being irrational? Maybe. Devlyn’s desire to hide his true sexual preference was something I’d known about for months. But at this moment, his solution to unwanted attention from female students seemed like a huge problem. I was tired. The headache had returned. My emotions were churning from everything that had happened this week. Now was not the time to have a rational discussion about what might happen if we officially started dating.

  I told myself to stay quiet, but found myself saying, “Do you ever plan on coming out of the closet? What happens if you fall in love? You’d have to tell people you were only pretending to be gay, right?”

  Devlyn shrugged. “Gay men fall in love and get married to people of the opposite sex all the time. It just means they’re more interested in the soul of the person than her sexual persuasion.”

  Better than being called a liar, liar pants on fire, but still . . .

  “Look.” Devlyn pulled into a parking lot and stopped the car. Reaching over, he laced his fingers through mine. Despite my annoyance, the contact made my body hum. “I know this isn’t an ideal situation, and I wouldn’t blame you for feeling put out or unhappy with the public limitations of a relationship with me. But I promise I’ll make every moment we spend together in private worthwhile. Deal?”

  The kiss Devlyn gave me then made me sure he would make good on that bargain. Hot and demanding, his lips made all my doubts vanish. Who needed public displays of affection? Private was good. We’d get to know each other better. No teasing from the students. No pressure from the outside world. Just me and Devlyn. What could possibly be wrong with that?

  Of course, when the kiss ended and the haze of attraction dissipated, I had a hard time ignoring the flaws in his plan. I also had a hard time not comparing his kiss with the one I’d received from Mike earlier. Devlyn’s was hot and sexy. Mike’s was strangely sweet and filled with promises. Both made me feel safe and incredibly attractive. Both came with serious complications. No wonder I was off-balance.

  My cell rang, cutting off any further comparisons of the two men. I answered my phone and was grateful I wasn’t driving when I heard the voice on the other end say, “Paige, this is Ruth Jordan. The two of us need to talk. Now.”

  Chapter 21

  Devlyn insisted on coming to my meeting with Ruth. Which was good. It saved me from begging him to tag along. Stupid I wasn’t. The woman might have had a hand in killing David, Bill, and Barbie. I wasn’t about to let her take me out, too.

  Ruth insisted we meet at her condo in thirty minutes. Lucky for us, our search for witnesses put us only blocks away. We’d be at her place well before the appointed time. Ruth would have home turf advantage, but we’d have the element of surprise.

  The principle violinist lived on the top floor of a gray stone building. I pushed the call button. Without inquiry as to who was waiting below, the door buzzed.

  Devlyn gave me a tense smile as I knocked on Ruth’s door.

  “I told you to come alone.” Ruth’s lips pinched together, and her nostrils flared. Flaring nostrils was not a good look for Ruth.

  “You hung up before I co
uld tell you that Devlyn and I were out shopping. Since the two of you met the other night, I assumed you wouldn’t mind if he joined me.” My wide-eyed smile was innocence personified.

  The smile Ruth gave Devlyn tried for pleasant but came off pissed. “Paige must not have understood. The conversation she and I need to have is of a private nature. Would you mind waiting out here? I promise this won’t take long.”

  Devlyn looked at me and raised his eyebrows, silently asking what I wanted him to do. The idea of talking to Ruth alone made me want to throw up. Not only was she potentially half of a killing duo, she hated vocalists. Neither personality trait made me think this conversation was going to be pleasant. But I couldn’t see Ruth doing more than hurling snide comments with Devlyn stationed outside the door.

  Knowing that one yelp from me would have him dialing 911, I told Devlyn to stay put and followed Ruth inside.

  “I’d like this conversation to be quick since we both have rehearsal to get to.” Ruth led me into a living room that could have come out of the pages of a magazine.

  The walls were painted a warm brown. The carpet was a rich cream, as were the couch and chairs. Light blue and yellow accent pillows were propped on the couch. A deep blue vase filled with daisies sat on the coffee table. On the other side of the room was a perfectly polished ebony grand piano. A violin and bow were resting on a stand next to the piano. An open violin case sat on the floor nearby. No Barbie heads or ketchup bottles in sight.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.

  Hmmm . . . let me think about that. I had a flash of David drinking from his water bottle and said, “No, thanks.”

  Ruth frowned and settled on the sofa, indicating for me to do the same. Next to the cream-colored sofa her trim black sweater and tight black ski pants commanded attention. “Nora Krauss called. She said you’d been by to see her.”