by Alexie Aaron
“Mrs. Fin-Lathen, Detective Curtis here. If you could call me when you get in. My cell number is 555-0103.” Click. Eleven zero five P M.
I looked at the clock. Eleven fifteen. He could wait. I took another sip and toasted the phone.
“Cindy, Miles here. The band left all of the music folders here at the theater.”
So what did I care? I took another sip.
“I talked to Doctor Sanders and he wants you to bring them to practice tomorrow night.” Click. Eleven zero nine PM.
I took a long sip before questioning the flashing light, “Why me, why not the present band librarian?” Even tipsy, I knew it was futile to ask the machine. I had given up the position after my return from England. I was bored with the job, and the alimony payments would be sufficient for a while. Maybe I could take in a boarder. After all, I had a full apartment adjacent to the pool house that was just sitting there. When Luke and I built this house we had pictured one of our sets of parents eventually moving in with us, at least during the winter. It didn’t happen but for a few weeks a year. They could stay in the guest room or take over Noelle’s room. She had all but moved her books to England as it was. I picked up the phone and dialed Bernice’s number.
“Hello?” Bernice answered on the first ring.
“Bernice, it’s Cindy. I’m returning your call.”
“Are you okay? Art and I lost track of you.”
“I’m fine. I’m sorry, I was detained or I would have been sipping coffee with the rest of you.”
“Is it true?”
“What did you hear?”
“That Carl is dead.” she whispered his name as if somehow we could be overheard.
“Yes, officially he’s dead. How are you doing?”
“Never mind me. What happened to Carl?”
“I think someone killed him.”
“Bout time.”
I drained my glass.
“You’re drinking.”
“You can hear that can you?”
“Sure, I can hear the ice. Nothing wrong with my hearing.”
“You didn’t hear anything tonight, did you?”
“Well, as I told the nice young man. I was playing, and I heard a scream that made me lose my spot. Art had to point out to me where we were. Then that nice Sally screamed, and I lost my place again. I don’t know why Art never loses his place. Can’t keep in tune worth a darn but he sure knows where he is.”
“Art is special that way. Tell me what went on in the coffee room?”
“Hang on, I think I will pour myself a drink and join you.”
“Fine.” I put down the phone and sprinted into the kitchen and came back with the bottle. The ice was melting, but I would just have to slum it. I picked up the phone with one hand and poured with the other.
“Cindy, you there?” Bernice asked.
“Yes.” I yawned. “Oh, sorry about that, I’m here. So tell me what went on in the coffee room.”
“Well, Art and I had just got our coffee and cookies. I think Burt Davis’ wife made them. Chocolate chip with nuts, pecans.”
“And.”
“Oh, then one of the ushers, no, security men came in and talked to Doctor Sanders. Another one brought in that Thebes fellow and sat him down and told him to stay there. Doctor Sanders made an announcement that there had been an accident and the theater security people had asked that everyone remain in the coffee room till further notice. Art gripped my arm and whispered in my ear that there was blood on the floor. I told him to be quiet. We didn’t need to alarm anyone.”
“So what did you do?”
“Sat there and drank coffee. Art pocketed a couple more cookies. I talked to Sharon about her father’s colon. That’s about it.”
“No one was acting funny?” I asked.
“We’re musicians, we all act funny.”
“Now, Bernice.”
“Let me think. People started to get restless and a couple of people wanted to talk to their wives or husbands. Cheryl let them use her cell phone. Do you know she has a phone just like yours?”
“Really,” I said, drawing out the word to let my feelings about the twin cell phone be known.
“Tom was flirting with Debbie.”
“Debbie?” I knew Tom played trumpet, but who was Debbie?
“Debbie Feldman, the trombone player, and she’s married!”
“Tom flirts with everyone. Anything else?” I remembered that he had flirted with Cheryl before her separation. I wondered if that was still going on.
“Well, that big police officer came in and asked if we could all move to one side of the room. He stood there in the middle of the room, big as an ox. This nice young man came in, Pete, I think he said, and asked us to be patient. He told us that some officers would be asking us some questions. No. He said taking our statements. Then Mr. Thebes got up and started to dial his cell phone. That big guy reached over and took it from him. Thebes was very mad and said some wash-your-mouth-out-with-soap words. Then this Pete talked to Doctor Sanders, and he made an announcement. We needed to group together in our sections. Three policemen came in and sat down at the tables and Doctor Sanders called the tubas over. We waited till our turn.”
“What did they ask you?”
“Did I know Carl? Did I like Carl? Did I notice anything wrong tonight? I told him about the two screams and the wet stuff on the floor. I told him you went behind the curtain and told Art to take me into the coffee room. Very unusual for you to not want any coffee. Did you get any coffee?”
“Yes, someone brought me some. Did he ask you anything else?”
“Oh, did I know if anyone would like to harm Carl?”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him to get a lot more paper because the list would be a long one.”
I nearly choked on my last sip. “You said that?”
“Yes I did. Well, it’s the truth.”
“Truth. Yes, you’re correct there.”
“Cindy, he did ask if you liked Carl.”
“And.”
“I told him we didn’t like Carl.”
“Well, that’s the true. I think it’s always better to tell the truth.”
“Sure beats trying to remember the lies,” Bernice laughed into the phone. “What happened to you?”
“After you and Art left, Miles came over, took one look at Carl and fainted right on top of me! I was covered in blood. They took my clothes! I had to go home in a choir gown.”
Bernice started laughing and, sufficiently loosened by the whiskey, I laughed for the first time at my adventures of the evening.
“What do you think is going to happen?”
“I think some of us are in for another series of questions. I have a message on the machine from the Detective to call him when I get home.”
“Did you call him?”
“No, I’m not home yet, wink, wink.”
“Have you told Alex?”
“No, he’s either asleep after studying or more likely out with his friends. I don’t want to worry Alex, and really I don’t know anything yet. I just want to deal with this myself.”
“Like you did when you fell from the ladder?”
“Exactly. See, you know me.” I clinked the phone with my glass. “Cheers!”
“Cheers. Well, call me if you hear anything. Do you think we will have practice tomorrow night?”
“Don’t see why not. I have to pick up the music folders. I don’t think Doctor Sanders is going to let us have a vacation on Carl’s account.”
“Try to get some sleep, Cindy.”
“Night, Bernice.”
“Goodnight, dear.”
I hung up the phone and reran the answering machine till I got to Detective Curtis’ message. I copied down the phone number and took another drink before I called. He picked up on the forth ring.
“Curtis here.”
“You rang?” I didn’t volunteer my name, but his caller ID must have ratted me out.
“I had another call to make. What’s up?”
“Gee, you’re cheery.”
“Whiskey makes me a very nice person.” Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Oh well.
“We need to talk.”
“So talk.”
“In person, although I can hear that you’re in no condition to drive. Should I send a car?”
“What’s the bloody rush? Can it wait till tomorrow?”
“Maybe yes, maybe no.”
“You’re a very decisive man, Detective Curtis.” I drummed my fingers on the handset of the phone. “Something occurred to me while I was taking a shower,” I blurted out.
“Go on.”
“It was Carl’s face, his eyes. I think he recognized who killed him.”
“Go on.”
“The backstage is normally pitch-black behind the curtain during a performance. If he was killed behind that sound curtain, how could he recognize his killer if he couldn’t see him?” I asked. “No one heard him, except for the one scream. Detective Curtis, I don’t think he was killed there.”
“That is a very interesting observation Ms. Fin-Lathen.”
“Cindy, er, Cin would be fine.” I was abashed because my voice had taken on a flirty tone. I pushed the whiskey haze away and asked, “Why was he blue?”
“Blue? He wasn’t blue when I saw him.”
“Yep, he was blue. Maybe the lights?”
“Cin, tell you what. Why don’t you come up here tomorrow? I may have the coroner’s prelim by then.”
“You’re in luck Detective. I have to return to the theater and pick up the band music folders, and I am going to need a copy of the Phantom you took.”
“Why don’t we meet at the theater at one? I’ll let the theater manager know so he can have the doors open.”
“One is fine. Night, Detective.”
“Goodbye, Cindy Fin-Lathen.”
I hung up the phone. I stared at it awhile and was in the process of standing, which was very difficult due to the lack of ice and abundance of whiskey, when it rung.
“Hello?”
“Curtis, here,” I heard him breathe deep before continuing, “Cin, are you going to remember this in the morning?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Whiskey seems to be flowing at your place.”
“Unfortunately, Detective, I remember everything very vividly when I drink.”
“Sorry about that. Try to get some sleep. I will be at theater at one with your music and some aspirin.”
“What a guy. Night,” I hung up the phone, and it stayed quiet. He didn’t seem so bad after a couple of drinks. I rolled the remaining fluid in the bottle. Maybe I had had more than a couple drinks. I think I was going to need that aspirin.
Chapter Five
The September weather was splendid that morning in Palm Beach County. Not too warm, and an ocean breeze brought movement to the palm trees, which tempted me to put the top down on the roadster, but I knew my curls wouldn’t take the high speed of the turnpike, so I left it up. I arrived ten minutes early and was surprised to see an unmarked cruiser already there.
Detective Curtis met me at the stage door with a cup of Starbucks coffee.
“Black.”
“Yes, good memory.” I greedily grabbed the brew.
“It’s a prerequisite for brain trusts.” He smiled. This morning he didn’t seem as imposing. He was clean-shaven, and I could hear the starch of his shirt crackle as he moved. “I wanted to check into your idea this afternoon, but first I have some questions that came up while I was watching the video last night.”
“So there was a video?”
“Yes, it was still taping when Miles and I went to get it out of the machine.” He looked rather sheepish. “I want to first apologize for the way you were treated last evening. I don’t think that Officer Dudley will have another homicide detail anytime soon.”
“It was a rather ghoulish evening, no hard feelings.”
“That’s pretty charitable of you.” He led me to the stage manager’s cue monitor.
I stopped as we crossed the middle of the stage. Something didn’t seem right.
“Problem?”
“I just can’t put my finger on it.” I turned slowly and closed my eyes. Memories of the evening before haunted me as they fell into place. In the light of day I could feel the ordinary wood beneath my feet. My eyes snapped open to see the detective looking at me - scrutinizing, judging, writing reports in his head. “Why me?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m not a police officer. I suspect I’m, well, a suspect. Why am I here? Why did you call me?”
The man shifted his weight from foot to foot as he formed his carefully chosen words. “I had you checked out. This isn’t your first murder.”
“I was cleared of their deaths,” I protested.
He put up a hand to stop me. “Ms. Fin-Lathen, I had several interesting phone calls this morning. Chief Superintendent Browning finds you a very capable investigator and tells me you are way too smart to dispatch a person on your turf.”
I didn’t know whether to thank the man or kill him. I remembered fondly how he had stood up in court and professed my innocence of any premeditation.
“However the Met wasn’t so pleased with you.”
“Not surprised there.”
“What I gleaned from the conversations was that this isn’t your first dance, and you can be relied upon to provide, to the best of your knowledge, a truthful account.” His face hardened. “I don’t have to tell you that I will not put up with any amateur detection on your part in my town.”
It was my turn to put up a hand. “I have no intention of doing anything but gathering all these music folders and getting the hell out of here as fast as possible.” I narrowed my eyes and said acidly, “I came here on your request.”
He nodded. “Well, let’s get this over with.” He turned and walked over to the front of the stage.
The college theater was a new, state of the art facility. Just inside the left side of the stage was a desk with a monitor showing the performance area. There was a video tape player on top of the monitor.
“I want to run the beginning of the tape. If you could give me a rolling commentary as you view the tape as to what’s going on, this may answer some of my questions. But I may need to interrupt you.”
“Do you know how to use this thing?” I said as I pulled a stool over. I offered it to the Detective and he declined.
“No, but there’s a student around here somewhere that the college has at our disposal,” he explained.
“I guess that’s my cue,” said an excited voice behind me. I turned around and looked into the eyes of a very familiar face.
“Harry, so good to see you!”
“Alex’s mother! So you’re suspect number one. Always knew that hanging around with the community band was going to get you into trouble.”
“How’s your mom?” I said reaching forward and pushing the errant blue-black lock out of his eyes. His nearly black eyes held mine for a moment. Ignoring my question, he put himself between Detective Curtis and me.
“Detective Curtis, hold off the handcuffs, I can vouch for this lady,” Harry said, putting a bit too much acting into the role. “She ran the best flop house in town.”
“What he means is, my son Alex’s friends were always welcome to use the guest room when things got a bit heavy at home.”
“No, she did more than that. One night she overheard that I was going to sleep in the park because I was too upset to go home. She made Alex tell her what was going on. Then she drove over and demanded I get into the car. Remember that?”
“I remember you singing ‘Mrs. Robinson’ all the way home.” I glanced over at an amused Detective. “Harry, let’s get on with this before I get arrested for kidnapping and child abuse.”
“Sure thing.”
> Harry started the tape and showed Curtis how to start and stop it. He offered to hang around in case we got into trouble. The tape started with the band entering the stage.
“This is about ten minutes before we start. Prior to this we would have set up the stage. We bring in the equipment we don’t keep here from the back loading dock. See that large, Lord, garage door thingy? It rises and the band president pulls the trailer up outside, and we move in the equipment through there. Then we put our instrument stands up. The stage manager drops the appropriate curtains once the setup is finished. The band is scheduled to warm up half an hour before the audience is let in. Last night it was 6:30. The band reassembles in the coffee room and continues to tune. The conductor may or may not run through the program highlights with us.”
“Did he last night?”
“No, he came in just before it was time to go out and asked the concert master, first clarinet Gus , to give us a Bb concert note, and we tuned to his note.”
“Is that unusual?”
“Tuning?”
“No, the conductor waiting to the last minute to tune the band?”
“I don’t know. I would have to think about it.”
“Was Carl in the coffee room?”
“Not that I remember, but there were fifty-five people in that room. I was pretty absorbed in warming up my instrument.”
“I notice that you aren’t on the stage yet.”
“No, see, there I am.” I pointed to the screen. “I’m guiding Bernice over the cables in the back by the percussion. She had a fall once, and I didn’t want it to happen again. We walk around the back of the band to avoid getting bumped. See, I just sat her down and squeezed between the stands to get to my seat.”
The screen showed the band adjusting their stands and seats. The French horns were begging for more room, the second row adjusted their chairs accordingly. Detective Curtis stopped the tape. He pulled out of the pile of papers a concert program from last night.
“Can you go down this list and show me who is who?”
“No problem.”
We worked back and forth from the paper to the screen. Four people were missing: Carl, Doctor Sanders, Tim Warring (trombone player) and Edith Baker (3rd clarinet player).
