A Chorus Lineup (A Glee Club Mystery)

by Charbonneau, Joelle

  “We want to talk about the things that happened yesterday,” I said before Larry could answer. For a guy who had worked with teens for twenty years, he was bad at subterfuge.

  “Oh.” Chessie stopped petting Killer’s head. “Well, I guess I should get some fruit before everyone else arrives.”

  “Fresh fruit sounds like a wonderful idea,” Millie said. “Paige, would you take Killer’s leash? I don’t want to take him too close to the buffet. You know how excited he gets when there’s bacon around.”

  Before I could object, Millie shoved a pink, rhinestone-encrusted strap into my hand and followed Chessie to the breakfast display. With a lusty sigh, Aldo followed, leaving Killer and me to fend for ourselves. Killer walked to the table, sniffed my baconless plate, and bared his teeth. Yep, this was bad.

  Thank goodness Larry either thought my stories about Killer’s personality disorder were exaggerated or was too distracted by LuAnn’s death to care about missing digits as he held out a link of sausage. In Killer’s world, pork took precedence over torturing me. Hurray.

  By the time Larry ran out of sausage links, Millie had returned to retrieve Killer so he could snack off of her plate. Millie and Aldo scored a table across the room, which meant I didn’t have to worry about canine intimidation tactics as I considered how best to break the news of LuAnn’s death to the team.

  My heart skipped when Devlyn walked into the room. For a minute, he just stood in the doorway. His head turned in my direction and his eyes met mine for a moment before he sauntered over to the buffet. I waited for him to join Larry and me at our table. Instead, he took a seat with Jim and some of the band kids.

  Hurt bloomed in my chest. Yes, I’d asked him to leave last night, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want him to be concerned about me today. A contradiction? Perhaps, but I’d tried and failed to keep a woman from dying last night. A little latitude might be in order.

  Ignoring Larry’s curious look and the queasy turning of my stomach, I smiled and tried to be cheerful as I greeted the rest of the kids who staggered into the breakfast area.

  Chessie was seated at a table for two. When her boyfriend walked in, I waited for her to wave Eric over to join her. Instead, she feigned intense interest in her yogurt cup as he piled eggs, pancakes, and bacon onto his plate and sat on the other side of the room.

  Uh-oh. This wasn’t good.

  I thought it was an even worse sign that, while Chessie pretended nothing was wrong, Eric didn’t bother to hide his concern as he watched her while shoveling in food. Meanwhile, the rest of their friends looked baffled to see the two sitting apart. In my experience, teenage couples didn’t just break up. They imploded. Breakup drama typically involved Facebook posts, text messages, and phone calls to their closest friends. The fact that no one seemed to understand what was happening told me Chessie and Eric had either managed to avoid the drama (which, considering Chessie’s nature, seemed highly unlikely) or they hadn’t broken up.

  My speculation on which scenario had occurred was cut short when Breanna slid into the seat across from Chessie. The room grew strangely quiet as the petite strawberry blonde asked, “Is everything . . . you know . . .” She looked across the room to where Eric was sitting, then back at Chessie. “Okay?”

  “What?” Chessie’s eyes widened for a moment. Then she laughed. “Oh, it’s fine. I asked to be left alone this morning so I could save my voice.” As if to prove the point, she smiled at Eric and gave him a wiggly finger wave.

  Eric looked startled. After a moment, he waved back.

  Taking that as a sign that everything was normal, the group went back to their chatter. But the nervous glances Eric gave Chessie made me pretty sure more was going on here than met the eye. And when I thought back on the strange way Chessie had behaved after the discovery of the damaged costume, I couldn’t help but be worried at the reason why.

  Larry nudged me and raised an eyebrow. I did a quick count of the students scattered throughout the room. Everyone was here. If we were going to break the news about LuAnn, this was as good a time as any to do it.

  Standing, I brushed some wayward crumbs off my gray slacks and said, “I’d like to have your attention for a few minutes. The theater was inspected after yesterday’s accident. According to the head of the competition, the theater has been cleared. Classes and rehearsals will go forward as scheduled. So, please make sure that you’re ready to go when it’s our time to take the stage. We only have today’s rehearsal to make sure we are ready for the preliminary competition. After what happened yesterday, I’ve also decided to keep our costumes and instruments here at the hotel until tomorrow. If there are any costuming problems, we’ll deal with it then.”

  A couple of the boys threw bits of bacon toward Killer. The dog barked his gratitude and sucked them off the floor as fast as they fell. If I didn’t hurry things up, I was going to be seriously upstaged by a dog.

  “Also,” I said a little louder, “last night, there was an accident outside the theater. One of the parents with the team from Memphis was hit by a car. She didn’t survive.” Bacon stopped flying. The teens’ expressions turned from amused to dismayed. Killer whined and played the starved, pathetic card, but he’d lost his audience. Even Millie ignored his pleas for more as I continued. “There are going to be a lot of kids who knew or worked with LuAnn Freeman. I ask that you all be extra sensitive as you attend master class and share the theater today.”

  Larry stood. “The buses will be ready in ten minutes. So eat fast.”

  No one seemed to be interested in finishing breakfast. Killer was able to beg several more pieces of bacon and sausage from the kids before it was time to leave. It was a good thing Killer didn’t travel with this team often or he’d gain too much weight to compete at the dog shows he and Millie both loved. Although, judging from his happy dog yips, I doubted Killer would agree.

  I walked back to my room to get my purse and my audition book, just in case I found time to squeeze some practice in for myself. With the Lyric Opera appointment forty-eight hours away, I needed to pick audition songs and give them a little polishing. No matter how many times I’d sung a piece, there was always something to be tweaked or acting choices to rethink.

  After shoving my purse in my blue duffel bag, I swung the strap over my shoulder and checked the time. The bus would be leaving in four minutes.

  I double-checked to make sure the door was latched, then turned and almost bumped into Devlyn.

  “Hey.” He shoved his hands in his back pockets. “I wanted to apologize. You had a rough night. I was surprised and overreacted. Which is pretty pathetic when you think about it. I mean, I should be able to deal with situations with more maturity than the students I teach. Don’t you think?”

  The apology combined with Devlyn’s humor about his own shortcomings made me smile. “Maturity?” I teased. “I didn’t know that your gender understood the definition of that word.”

  “Oh, we understand it.” He smiled back. “We just have trouble putting it into practice. Especially when we had a plan about how the night would go and it doesn’t turn out the way we’d hoped.” He looked to make sure the coast was clear and then reached for my hand. “I really am sorry. Did you get any sleep? You look tired.”

  I laughed. “Thanks. That’s exactly what a girl wants to hear.”

  Devlyn grinned. “You’re always beautiful, but I’ve looked into those blue eyes enough to know when they’re tired. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  A door opened down the hall, and Devlyn stepped back. Sigh. “I’m fine. Honest. But Larry might change that if we don’t make it to the bus on time.”

  “You’re right,” Devlyn said as an older couple walked past. “Let’s go.”

  The atmosphere in the theater’s lobby was subdued. Gone was the high energy of yesterday. Kids stood in groups. Some were talking in hushed tones. Others were crying. Ne
ws of LuAnn Freeman’s death had spread. Larry, Devlyn, and I herded our kids through the red-carpeted space toward the doors that led to our staging room.

  “Ms. Marshall.” Christine McCann waved and hurried over on tan heels that made her stand four inches taller than my five-foot-seven. “Do you have a minute? I’d like to have a word.”

  I had no idea what she wanted to talk about, but the steely look in her eyes said she wasn’t about to take no for an answer. After sending Devlyn and Larry off to supervise the team and give them the room assignments for the master classes, I followed the head of the competition back through the lobby. She led me to the theater and asked me to take a seat.

  After sliding into the one next to me, she turned toward me and said, “The competition is in trouble.”

  Whatever I expected her to say—that wasn’t it. “Trouble? Did the police rule LuAnn’s death a murder? Are the students in danger?”

  The idea of my kids being at risk made my pulse spike.

  “The last I heard, the police are still leaning toward accidental causes.”

  For some reason that didn’t make me feel any better.

  “The thing is . . .” Christine shifted in her chair. “I have some doubts about whether or not LuAnn’s death was truly an accident. LuAnn was a forceful personality. She helped me keep this competition afloat when I first took the helm. But while her tactics were successful, they often rubbed people the wrong way.”

  “I got that impression.”

  “Yes.” Christine looked toward the empty stage. The risers and piano must have been moved to the wings while the techs and police looked for the reason the lights fell. “I hope LuAnn’s behavior yesterday won’t deter you from helping me now. She took issue with the publicity angle I pitched to the press. She thought the attention you might receive could give your team an unfair advantage in the preliminary round.”

  I could see why that would set LuAnn and the leaders of the other teams on edge. After all, the story wouldn’t exactly be a story if my team didn’t make it past the first phase.

  “It’s due to what I learned while researching the publicity angle that we’re having this conversation.” Christine turned away from the stage and focused her attention on me. “Our biggest sponsors have learned about the damaged costumes, the lighting mishap, and LuAnn’s death. Several are talking about pulling their sponsorship. They don’t want to be associated with a program that is unsafe for the participants. Which is where you come in.”

  “Me? You want me to talk to the sponsors?” If I was the opera star I hoped one day to be, that might make some kind of sense. But something told me the moneymen wouldn’t be impressed by a woman who currently taught kids how to do jazz squares.

  “Of course not.”

  Oh good.

  “I want you to track down the person who’s behind the destroyed costumes and turn them in to the authorities. Once you do, the sponsors will have no concerns about safety, and the financial future of the competition will be saved.”

  Wait. I must have just hallucinated. Because Christine couldn’t possibly have said what I’d thought I’d heard.

  “I’m not a private investigator.” Or an investigator of any kind. My foray into murder investigations was a fluke and, despite Devlyn’s concern, not something I wanted to do again anytime soon. “If you want to find the person behind the damaged costumes and lights, you should hire a professional.” Someone who had a clue what they were doing might be a good place to start.

  Christine shook her head. “A stranger asking questions could cause a panic. You, however, belong here. And since everyone knows you helped the police catch Greg Lucas’s murderer, they won’t be surprised when you ask questions about the costumes or LuAnn’s death now.”

  “But I have a master class to teach and students to supervise. I don’t have time—”

  “Donna Hilty was able to return sooner than expected. She’ll be teaching the master class with Scott as was originally planned. Which gives you time to help me get to the bottom of this.” Christine stood, smoothed down her gray skirt, and started up the aisle toward the exit. “The directors of the team LuAnn’s daughter belongs to are in their staging room right now. I’d suggest you talk to them first.”

  “Wait.” I jumped up and hurried after Christine. “I can’t do this.”

  Christine stopped, turned, and gave me an unfriendly smile. “Unless you want the judges to send your team home after the first round, I strongly suggest you find a way that you can.”

  Chapter 10

  What the hell had just happened?

  I watched the theater doors close and shook my head. Had the head of the National Show Choir Championships just blackmailed me? I wanted to believe I’d misunderstood, but I was pretty sure I hadn’t. If I didn’t discover the person or persons behind the damaged costumes and instruments and turn them in to Christine or the authorities, my team was going to get cut in the first round.

  Yep. This officially sucked.

  And while I was pretty sure what she was doing was wrong, there was very little I could do about it. If I told anyone about this conversation, it would be Christine’s word against mine. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who people would believe.

  Well, the joke was on Christine, because I had no idea how to go about finding the identity of the saboteur. Despite what the papers had written about my involvement in the murders I’d had the misfortune to be involved with, I didn’t have an innate skill for pointing to a killer. Hell, my lack of understanding as to who the killer was had actually gotten me a bullet in the arm. I had the scar and the wound to my ego to prove it.

  The one difference between those cases and this one was that I had some idea of who the players were. None of the teachers or the students here was familiar to me. It would be almost impossible to pinpoint the perpetrator before tomorrow when my team took the stage for the preliminary round. Which meant my team was going to get eliminated through no fault of their own.

  This wasn’t fair.

  In a small corner of my mind, I realized that though this scenario totally gypped my team, it could potentially solve one of my problems. If Music in Motion was eliminated in the first round, I could go back to Chicago for my audition without worrying that my departure would hurt my students’ chances in the final round. Yet, while that was true, I wasn’t willing to let my team take a hit just so I didn’t have to feel bad for focusing on my career. They deserved the chance to perform and be judged based on the same criteria as everyone else. If after that they didn’t make it to the final round, well, that was the way it was meant to be. Performing didn’t always reward the ones you thought were the most talented or prepared. Personal taste and vision had a lot to do with who got cast and who didn’t. As did who you knew and what you’d done in the past. Which was probably why LuAnn had felt threatened by Christine’s push for publicity using my story.

  I knew it was wrong to think ill of the dead, but when the woman was alive she’d been a menace. Between her reaction to the ripped costumes and her anger at me before the light beam fell, one would think those things had happened just so she could draw negative attention to me and my team.

  That was crazy. Right?

  Or maybe not. Eliminating the competition was a tried and true method of coming out on top. LuAnn’s first reaction after finding the costumes was to call for my team’s ejection. She’d reinforced that sentiment when she’d yelled at me in the theater. And LuAnn now might get what she had been campaigning for. Unless, of course, I found a way to track down enough evidence to convince the sponsors not to bail.

  The idea that LuAnn might be behind those events at least gave me a place to start asking questions. Even though the thought of doing so made me a little queasy. I might not have liked LuAnn, but hadn’t she already been through enough? She was dead. The only factor that made me feel better ab
out attempting to prove LuAnn was behind the incidents was the possibility that her demise wasn’t an accident. If that was the case, there was a murderer on the loose and the students, including LuAnn’s daughter, could be in danger. Asking questions could be a good way to help them avoid potential danger.

  Rationalization complete, I headed for the exit, looking for people who would talk to me about LuAnn Freeman. Christine had suggested I start with people from LuAnn’s school. Logical, but not something with which I felt comfortable. At least, not now. Though they were the ones who knew LuAnn the best, they’d also be mourning her loss the hardest. I wasn’t going to go to their staging room and ask them a bunch of questions. For now, I’d take another tack and hope it would give me the answers I needed.

  I checked my watch. Twenty minutes until master classes were scheduled to begin. Teams were still arriving. The lobby and staging room hallways were filled with activity. Which was why I headed downstairs, hoping to chat up my former master class partner and longtime show choir coach, Scott Paris.

  Taking a shot that Scott liked to be prompt to his teaching engagements, I headed to the greenroom. The sounds of “Don’t Stop Believing” accompanied my descent down the stairs, telling me someone was early enough to be playing the piano. When I turned the corner, I was surprised to see a woman with bright red hair seated at the baby grand. Scott was nowhere in sight. Bummer.

  I was about to head upstairs when the woman looked up from the piano keys. “You wouldn’t be Paige Marshall, would you?”

  I wouldn’t? Smiling, I said, “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  The woman’s expression went from happy to horrified in less than a second. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. Christine told me that she’d let you know I’d returned in time to run this class with Scott. She promised you’d be okay with changing back to the original schedule. Knowing you came to teach and found me here just breaks my heart.”