Downbeat (Biting Love)

by Hughes, Mary

  The detective told me his name but in the middle of reciting my address and phone number I realized it had skidded out of my brain as though my neurons were coated in butter, so I asked for a card.

  It was the shock of seeing my first dead body outside a coffin, but more—I think even then I knew. Vilyn, a man I’d played alongside for years, had died a violent death. I glanced several times at the detective’s card, curled between my damp palms, during that interview. I still didn’t remember the man’s name.

  After I’d told him what I’d seen and heard, he said, “Tell me about Luke Steel.”

  “Luke? He’s a friend of a friend. Plays viola.”

  “And he just showed up tonight? Don’t you find that odd?”

  “He plays viola,” I repeated. When that earned me a blank look I added, “Would you turn away a ninth for baseball? A cash rebate? We always need violas.”

  “I see. Well, what about Nixie and Julian Emerson? Why did they happen to join your group tonight?”

  Apparently the fraus had been gossiping with more than each other. Sure, I’d thought Nixie and Julian’s showing up tonight was suspicious, but they hadn’t hurt Dr. Vilyn. I gave the detective the excuse Nixie had given me, hoping it didn’t sound quite so manufactured (aka lame) coming from my mouth.

  “Mmm.” The detective scribbled in his notebook. “Is there anyone who might have wanted the decedent dead?”

  “Of course not.”

  He stopped scribbling to stare me in the eye. “Are you sure?”

  Good grief. The way he lengthened the word and the lift he gave to the last part, shooo-er, said he thought I was covering something up. Damn the gossip. One or both of the fraus had spilled about Wendy wanting Walter’s position. But soaping Walter’s bow was a long way from shooting him or strangling him, or whatever had happened that he’d come to lay there, broken and bloodstained and pale. I closed my eyes and shuddered. This was horrific. Bad enough Hugo was in the hospital, and then Kevin too…

  My eyes snapped open. I jerked my head left-right, an agitated no. “I can’t imagine anyone’s life would be that much better that they would…no, there’s no one.”

  “Hmm. Who had access to the sanctuary?”

  “Everyone in the orchestra. But no one comes up here.” I suddenly remembered I’d seen Luke head into the stairwell at break, and cringed.

  “What?” The detective looked up sharply, pen paused above his notebook.

  My breath froze in my chest. My eyes must have been wide as headlights. I deliberately pressed a double whole note’s worth of air out, using the time to relax my face. “Nothing.”

  He stared so hard he practically punched a hole through my skull. But one of my friends is a detective and I’d been on the receiving end of a cop glare before, so I managed to wait him out. With a final disgusted growl he flicked eyes back to his notebook. “Tell me about this new conductor. Zadge-ih-seck.”

  “Zy-check. He’s…” The burr of wheels on the aisle carpet distracted me.

  Technicians steered a gurney past us. Luke, Julian and Nixie followed, Julian’s hand on his wife’s shoulders.

  The bag wasn’t fully zipped. I got one good look at Dr. Vilyn’s face. White, bloodless features like a wax model stamped themselves into my memory.

  Then the technicians stopped and zipped and wheeled him out.

  My stomach heaved. I tried to swallow but my distress stuck in my throat. I buried my face in my hands. “I don’t feel so good.”

  “A few more questions. Tell me about this Zy-check fellow—”

  “What, exactly, is going on here?” The deep male voice was softly dangerous.

  I raised my head. Seared into my retinas was the sight of Dragan striding through the center doors. His firm muscular step was far more forceful than his usual elegant glide. I squeezed my eyes shut against another wave of nausea and blinked out moisture, then wiped the tiny trickles away. I was stupidly glad he was here.

  “Can you not see how you’re distressing her?” He came to me and sat at my left, careless of the fact that the detective was already wedged there. Dragan was sitting and the detective was moving or becoming pew pâté. Dragan circled my shoulders with an arm that was hot and heavy with muscle, and pressed me to his side. The heat and force of him ate through my shock. I warmed in his embrace.

  “Who’s this?” If the detective had glared holes into me, his gaze on Dragan was gunshots.

  Dragan turned a contemptuous head and glared back with equal temper. The detective flinched.

  I tried to inject a note of civility, and warning. “Detective, this is international conductor, Dragan Zajicek. Dragan, this is the detective investigating Dr. Vilyn’s death.” I blinked. “He’s dead, Dragan. Dr. Vilyn’s dead.”

  Dragan turned back to me, instantly solicitous. “It will be all right, Raquel.” He stroked my hair until I relaxed again.

  “You’re Zajicek?” The detective clipped the name; he was in full cop-mode now. “I understand you’re conducting here. Just started this week. How’d that happen?”

  Dragan looked down his long elegant nose at the detective. “Hugo Banger is a personal friend. Ask him. Now I’m taking Raquel home. She is tired from a long day and has a sensitive nature, and this has distressed her.” He stood. “Come, Raquel.” Directed at me his tone softened, was almost caressing.

  “Hey! I’m not done with her,” the detective said.

  “Oh, but you are.” Dragan’s words echoed with both anger and vampire compulsion. He helped me to my feet and steered me solicitously out of the pew and through the broken door. We left the church via the front door.

  Where we nearly ran into my friend, Elena O’Rourke Strongwell, coming in.

  Elena is five-nine of Irish-Latina grit, intelligence and spirit; her long curly hair rivals her in the grit and spirit department. Elena is a police detective, employed by the city of Meiers Corners. She had no jurisdiction here.

  She gave me a nod but didn’t stop, disappearing through the door into the church.

  On the sidewalk, Dragan turned to me, grasping me by both arms. “What happened in there?”

  “It was Walter.” My voice hitched. “Dr. Vilyn. He was laying on the chancel steps…he may have been killed.”

  Dragan didn’t say a word; he simply crushed me to him as if he could infuse me with his strength.

  I sighed and burrowed into him. Yes, maybe he was light-years beyond me in class and sophistication, but at this moment I needed him and he was here and that was enough.

  “Zajicek!” Julian’s shout brought my head up. He was running toward us, carrying his wife, moving so fast he shimmered. He stopped just before he rammed Dragan. “Let Rocky go. She’s under our protection. You’re not doing anything to her.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” All Dragan’s old-world civility fell away, displaced by his sheer disgust. “I’m not endangering her. Raquel has had a long day and a shock on top of it. I am merely providing support.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Julian growled.

  “You don’t have to,” Dragan shot back. “Use your eyes. She’s gray and trembling.”

  Julian’s violet glare shifted to me. His bared teeth dissolved into a grimace. “You’re right, much as it pains me to admit it. Rocky, come with us. We’ll take you home.”

  “I have my car,” I said.

  “You’re not driving in your condition.” Dragan didn’t release me. “You have a limousine here, Emerson?”

  “Around the corner.” Julian pointed.

  “Very well. You will take her and I will accompany you.”

  I said, “Don’t I have a say in this?”

  “No,” all three of them said at once.

  “Remind me why you guys are my friends?” But they were my friends so I only grumbled when Dragan slipped my flute bag from my shoulder and slung it over his own.

  “I’ll see that your car is returned to your flat.” He wrapped his free arm around me and propelled me
into motion. Julian followed with Nixie.

  “Thanks. Thanks for getting it last night too. But I don’t need a dozen roses every time.” Last night’s were pink, although after our conversation he’d started getting miniature roses and rosebuds instead of the penis-envy size.

  “You’re most welcome.” Dragan didn’t say anything about no more roses. As he guided me surely along the uneven sidewalk he tossed back at Julian, “Who murdered Vilyn?”

  “We don’t know he was murdered,” Julian said. “He might have had a stroke and hemorrhaged after. Or a heart attack.”

  Nixie added, “Most likely natural causes.”

  “Really?” Dragan arched a black brow at her. “With the level of fear I smelled in the air?”

  I slanted a look up at him. “Fear has a smell?”

  He switched his gaze to me. “More a strong taste. Acrid.”

  “You can taste air?”

  “I have a rather—extended—sense of smell.”

  Silence. I caught Nixie and Julian exchanging a telling look.

  I turned front. “Aaaand another call to Iowa is in my future.”

  The limo was double parked near the end of the block. As we approached, Mr. Hinz from the Emerson townhouses jumped out of the driver’s side and skimmed around to open the rear passenger door. Dragan nodded to him and packed me inside, sliding in after me. Julian gave Mr. Hinz my address before he climbed in with Nixie, taking the seat facing us. He settled Nixie next to him and fussed with her seat belt.

  “All right.” Dragan lounged against the black leather. “What really happened back there?”

  Julian scowled at him, making a mess of the seat belt. Nixie pushed his hands away. “Why should we tell you anything?”

  “Because I can help.”

  “You?” Julian laughed contemptuously. “Why would you help us?”

  Dragan shrugged. “Must I have a reason?”

  “You’re seriously annoying me, Zajicek. You always have a reason, and it always involves personal gain. And if you won’t come clean…” Julian rapped at the privacy glass. “Mr. Hinz, please stop. Mr. Zajicek is leaving.”

  “Wait.” Dragan held up a hand. “Very well. I’ll try to convince you I’m serious. The reason I wish to know is because Hugo is my friend. When I agreed to take his orchestra, the members became my responsibility.”

  “You? Responsible?” Julian waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t make me laugh.”

  Dragan’s jaw tightened. But his tone was mild when he said, “Think what you will. Just tell me if my musicians are in danger. I would be…grateful.”

  Julian stared at Dragan long enough to weigh his soul. My stomach tightened as if I was playing a twelve bar phrase on one breath. Finally Julian said, “I don’t know. Elena will find out.”

  “Thank you. I would appreciate knowing as soon as possible.”

  Julian nodded. I released my breath.

  When the limo pulled up outside my flat, before Mr. Hinz could pop out, Dragan pushed open the back door, unfolded boldly onto the sidewalk and then, the epitome of well-heeled male, turned and offered me his hand.

  Great. This never went well. But he wasn’t giving me much choice so I took his hand and prepared for the awkward scootch across the seat and the hilarious stumble onto the sidewalk.

  He drew me out so smoothly it was sensual, his strength depositing me on my feet with ease.

  Wow. I could get used to that.

  Stuff me in a tuba and blast me into outer space. I gave myself a stern scolding as he walked me to my door. I could not get used to that, because he was an international conductor while the farthest I’d gotten from home was Chicago.

  Although he was in Meiers Corners now. On my stoop. Pulling me into his arms… His brilliant black eyes were focused on my lips.

  “Ahem.”

  I turned my head, still in his arms. Julian and Nixie glared from the walkway, Julian not bothering to hide his elongated fangs or the fact that his eyes glowed red. Oh yeah, I’d be talking to Elias again, sooner rather than later.

  As if that wasn’t bad enough, the scrape of metal on metal, like a door opening, caught my attention. Jaws music played in my brain.

  Slowly, I turned my head the other way.

  My mother stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over a smock that read “Artists Do It With Feather-Light Strokes”.

  Her stare was actually scarier that Nixie’s or even Julian’s. Instead of a black scowl or a blood-red glare, her eyes twinkled with maternal delight. “Mr. Lambo man! What are you doing standing there with your arms around my daughter like a mummy’s bandages? Come in, come in!”

  With a blare of horns, the shark strikes. “Mom! Hi. Um, I know what this looks like but it isn’t really what it looks like—”

  “Of course it is. And I’m delighted you’ve finally met someone.”

  “No! I mean, yes, I met Maestro Zajicek but not in that way, and he’s only dropping me off and can’t stay.”

  “Of course he can. It’s late and you’ve both had a hard night at musical practice, haven’t you? I bet Maestro Zajicek could use a drink. Who can say no to a refreshing drink?”

  With the pricey stuff Dragan had turned his nose up at? Him. Then I thought of my mother’s best cooking sherry—one for the pot, two for Trudi—and winced.

  Dragan brushed my cheek with elegant fingertips. “It will be all right.”

  “Said so much fresh mother meat,” I muttered.

  He took my chin in his fingers and turned my face gently to him. “It would be rude of me to refuse.” His brilliant eyes held a gentle twinkle. He’d apparently dealt with mothers before.

  But he hadn’t dealt with my mother, who was five parts artist and one part nuts, which made her all pistachios. I tried one last time. “We don’t have anything to drink, not up to your standards. We don’t have cognac, period, just my cheap beer and hard cider and Mom’s sherry.” The Hrbek women were as trendy as pantaloons and waistcoats-pronounced-weskits…I got momentarily distracted as a swirl of harpsichord music spiraled through my head; not only Mom was six parts artist-pronounced-nuts.

  “Sherry?” To my surprise Dragan brightened. “An enlightened soul.” He released me. “Mrs. Hrbek, I’d be delighted to accept your invitation.”

  “Call me Trudi.” She threw the screen open as wide as her answering grin.

  Showing more guts than sense, Dragan glided inside.

  Nixie cleared her throat behind me.

  I turned and gave her a what-you-gonna-do shrug. “After-rehearsal drinks?”

  “We’d love to!” She grabbed Julian’s hand and towed him toward the stoop.

  I stood aside and simply watched; it’s always humbling to witness the kind of love that lets a hundred pounds soaking wet drag around six plus of pure muscle. Then I shook my head. “I thought you had to get back to Jaxxie.”

  “Plenty of time.” She motored onto the stoop, Julian still in tow. “Lots of people to fuss over her at home. You, on the other hand…” She grabbed my wrist and muscled me into my own apartment. Okay, maybe it wasn’t just love. Maybe she was a pretty strong cookie. “You and yours need protection.” She released me to point at Dragan, towering over my mother.

  Nixie had a point. The tall, elegant male would be intimidating as a mere human; as a vampire, he was overwhelming. Maybe even strong enough to hold his own with Mom.

  Julian gazed slowly around the room. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here.”

  “Does it look different?” I remembered Nixie had once lived in this flat, before marrying Julian. It was before Liese Schmetterling had lived here (before she married Logan Steel) but after Elena O’Rourke (before she married Bo Strongwell). Come to think, a lot of my friends had lived here—right before they’d met the guy of their dreams and gotten married. I frowned. Quite a coincidence.

  I looked at Dragan. Oh well. Nothing I’d have to worry about.

  Then my mother crooked a finger at Dragan and lured…I
mean, led him into the kitchen. Shark music thumped in my head.

  Nope. Nothing to worry about. Probably. Hopefully.

  “The hats are a nice touch.” Julian fingered the deerstalker of a mouse in full Sherlock.

  Trying to see the place from Julian’s perspective distracted me from Dragan. Mom’s moving in with me had meant finding room for her crafty animal dependents, including a collection of small animals with felt hats. Even a rat. Normally rats are yucky but Mom had glued a cute little bonnet and ruffly apron on her. Mommy Rat. Eh, art is an imprecise thing and only needs to make us look at our world in a different way. They all don’t have to be winners.

  “My fave’s the moose,” Nixie said. “Speaking of, do you think Trudi would take a commission?”

  “Probably.” I’d just realized we had new additions to the family—a shadowbox of tiny frogs on thimbles. I sighed. Either Mom was slowly bringing her entire corpus over here, or they were reproducing. I really hoped the moose didn’t crossbreed with any of the indoor animals. “What kind of commission?”

  “Jaxxie would love a lawn pony. We’d pay, of course, although with the economy I wouldn’t say no to the friends-and-family discount.”

  “For Jaxxie? She’d do it for free. I’d better brave the kitchen. Do you want beer or cider?”

  “I’m nursing.” Nixie grimaced. “I’d better stick with water. Give me a glass for Mr. Hinz out in the limo too, okay?”

  “Sure. Julian?”

  “I’ll try the cider.”

  “Got it. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll help,” Nixie said.

  “I’ll come too,” Julian said.

  I raised palms. “It’ll be too crowded in the kitchen. Mom and Dragan are already there…oh.” Julian didn’t want Nixie there with Dragan without him. Julian really did not like Dragan. “Okay. Try to stay out of the way.”

  In the kitchen, Dragan stood watching my mom fill two of our best jelly-jar glasses from her gallon jug of sherry. My face heated ten degrees. I could just imagine what international artist Dragan Zajicek thought of backyard artist Ermintrude Hrbek’s height-of-chic stemware.

  As we crowded through the door her laugh rang out, but not as I’d ever heard it before. The peal was almost…girlish. “Why, Mr. Zajicek.” She tapped a playful hand on his arm. “That’s naughty.”