A Chorus Lineup (A Glee Club Mystery)

by Charbonneau, Joelle

  “Donna and I have been worried about the threats LuAnn was making. This program means too much to both of us to see it go down because of LuAnn’s demands, which is why we’ve lined up several new potential sponsors. They’ll be at the final round of the competition on Friday evening. As long as the competing teams perform well, the program won’t experience any ill effects from losing LuAnn or her influence.”

  Wow. That was cold.

  Despite my shock at Scott’s insensitivity, I couldn’t help wondering why he was telling me this. We weren’t friends, and I wasn’t a long-standing member of the show choir community. So what was up?

  “Have you told Christine about the new sponsor opportunities?” That would make more sense than sharing with me.

  “Donna and I are going to tell Christine this afternoon. I trust you’ll keep it confidential until then. I wouldn’t want anyone thinking we’re doing this to give our teams an unfair boost. That kind of talk could hurt both our students’ feelings and their performance scores. You can understand not wanting to have your students penalized for something that’s out of their control, can’t you?” Before I could answer, Scott headed for the door. Hand on the knob, he looked over his shoulder and added, “And I’m sure your students will appreciate having your full time and attention on them instead of on other matters that have nothing to do with you.”

  As Scott disappeared out the door, I realized that not only did Scott know I was asking questions about the sabotaged costumes; he wanted me to stop. The question was—why?

  Chapter 13

  “That’s great news,” Devlyn said as we walked out of the theater to find lunch. “If new sponsors are already lined up, Christine won’t need you to act like Sherlock Holmes and our team will get a fair shake from the judges. End of story.”

  “Maybe. Unfortunately, there’s no guarantee those sponsors will sign on. Especially not if whoever was behind yesterday’s incidents strikes again.”

  “There haven’t been any other problems today,” Devlyn argued.

  No. But the day was only half over.

  “Besides.” Devlyn gave me a smile. “If whoever was behind the sabotage wanted to ruin Central Memphis’s chances in the competition, they’ve already gotten their wish. According to their assistant director, most of their costumes are beyond repair. The school was going to next-day ship a bunch of their other costumes, but so far they haven’t arrived. They’re hoping they’ll be here by tomorrow.”

  And what then? Would the new costumes get targeted or would the person responsible for the chaos be content now that LuAnn was dead? And what about the other teams who’d had their belongings ruined? Were they making sure someone was watching their staging room at all times? Or would Christine frown on those kinds of security precautions since they could attract the notice of both the old and potentially new sponsors and raise questions she might not want to answer?

  More than that, I couldn’t help but still wonder whether these issues and LuAnn’s death were connected. If so, someone capable of killing was on the loose and my students could be in danger.

  I stopped walking and looked across the parking lot at the performing arts center.

  “What’s wrong?” Devlyn asked.

  I thought about confessing my worries, but remembered our fight last night and instead said, “I forgot that I told Millie to meet me here with the new hats we bought for the band. I want to use them during rehearsal today. Would you mind bringing me a sandwich when you come back from lunch? If I ask Millie, she’ll bring an entire buffet.”

  While most of what I’d said was pure fabrication, the part about Millie and the food was the truth. The last time I’d asked her to drop off a sandwich was when I was helping out with musical rehearsals. She brought not only the requisite bread and lunch meat but also three kids of pasta salad, two liters of water (sparkling and flat), a spring mix salad with several selections of nonfat dressing, and a chocolate torte, all packed in an enormous white wicker picnic basket. What Millie lacked in culinary skills she more than made up for with style and a caterer on speed dial.

  “I could stay—”

  “No,” I said, hoping I sounded casual instead of desperate to get Devlyn off the premises. Smiling, I added, “At least one of us should get out of this building and recharge for a while. If the rehearsals run over, we’ll be here for a whole lot longer than we originally planned.”

  Devlyn sighed. “Okay. I’ll be back in an hour with extra salt for your French fries. If you need anything before then, call.”

  He glanced around and then leaned toward me. I waited for his lips to brush mine. Instead they touched my cheek. Then Devlyn turned and headed toward the street.

  For a minute, I watched him go. The light breeze blew his hair, which had gotten longer than he normally wore it. He’d been too busy to get it cut. Personally, I liked it better this way. It looked freer, sexier, and slightly more rugged than his usual style. That was probably why he’d already made an appointment to have it trimmed. He had to keep up appearances.

  Not for the first time, Devlyn’s need to pretend to be what he wasn’t chafed. As much as I understood why he’d created the pretense when he’d started at Prospect Glen, he had tenure now. More than that, he had a reputation as a talented, engaged, and dedicated teacher never accused of even a whisper of impropriety. With the right explanation—heck, probably with no explanation at all—the two of us could date in public. Especially since I had no plans of teaching at Prospect Glen next year. According to Larry, the school board was known to frown on teachers getting involved with each other. However, even with that known, two Prospect Glen teachers had gotten married last year. So even with Devlyn not knowing about my Lyric audition and my plans to leave teaching behind, there shouldn’t be a problem. So why was there? He’d given me his explanation, but the longer I was a part of his teaching world, the less it made sense.

  Since standing here wasn’t going to give me any insight into that problem, I walked back across the asphalt determined to find answers to the other questions I had. After a quick call to Aunt Millie to request she bring the hats for the band—because while that excuse to Devlyn was polite fiction, it was also a good idea—I opened the door of the performing arts center and strolled back inside.

  Devoid of teenagers hopped up on sugar and caffeine, the lobby was eerily quiet. Huh. Now that I was here with no one around to see what I was up to, I had no idea what I should be doing. Yes, I wanted to talk to Christine, but I wasn’t sure where to find her. On top of that, with almost everyone gone, this seemed like a good opportunity to snoop around for other information.

  But what?

  Devlyn had confirmed that the majority of costumes for Central Memphis High School’s team were damaged beyond repair. But how about the others? Remembering the fabric strewn around the staging room for Scott’s team, I veered toward the stage-right hallway. It was empty, but I could hear the murmur of voices from an open door nearest the backstage entrance.

  I looked at the names of the schools on the closed staging room doors as I walked down the corridor with my shoulders straight and my head held high. The best way to look as if you weren’t doing something covert was to look as if you belonged where you were. At least, that was what my acting coaches always told me. Since the technique had worked well in the past, I decided to use it again to check out Scott’s staging room. Scott and I had been together when LuAnn screamed her discovery of the ruined costumes. Because of that, I assumed he wasn’t involved. But that wasn’t necessarily true. He and I had run into each other as I was leaving the greenroom master class. He had just come downstairs. Where he had been and what he’d been doing just before that was anyone’s guess.

  Someone laughed in the staging room next to Scott’s. To keep up impressions, I knocked. No one answered. Scott and his team weren’t inside. Or if they were, they weren’t answering.


  I knocked one more time, wrapped my fingers around the handle, and turned the knob. Eureka. The door was open.

  Poking my head in, I called, “Scott?” as if I was fully expecting him to be here. When he didn’t answer, I opened the door the rest of the way and took a step inside.

  As expected, no one was there. On one side of the room were two long racks filled with sparkly costumes. On the other were tables with mirrors surrounded by lights. Along the back wall, instruments were neatly stacked. Cleary, the band members in Scott’s group were better at playing Jenga with the black cases than mine were.

  “Huh,” I said aloud, hoping to add authenticity to the moment. “I wonder if there’s anything to write with around here.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at the open doorway behind me. No one was there, but whoever had been laughing and talking until moments ago was quiet. My little monologue had probably bought me a few minutes before they came to see what I was up to. Time to get moving.

  Since the costumes were in plain view and the main thing I was curious about, I made a beeline for the racks. The red and gold satins and silver and blue lamé dresses were hung with care. I examined three of each. If I looked closely, I could see where the seam on one of the skirts had been repaired. But other than that, the dresses looked great.

  I glanced at the doorway behind me to make sure no one was coming and hurried to the back rack where the pink tulle skirts were hung. Of all the pieces I saw on the floor yesterday, the tulle ones were shredded the worst.

  Or maybe I’d hallucinated that. Because the ones I was currently looking at were in perfect condition. No tears. No rips. No shredded anything. Which shouldn’t have been possible. The only way these costumes could look this pristine was if they had never been damaged in the first place.

  The sound of footsteps had me turning toward the door. Plastering a smile on my face, I called, “Scott?” When no one answered, I stepped out into the hallway and almost ran smack into a woman with deep brown skin and an unhappy expression.

  “This isn’t your staging room,” the woman said.

  Putting on the wide-eyed ingénue expression I’d had to use in dozens of shows, I said, “I was looking for Scott. He and I . . .” I looked down at the floor as if embarrassed. “Well, he asked me to come by to talk to him.”

  In the nine months I’d been a part of the competitive show choir world, most of the teachers I’d met had been hardworking and good role models for their students. But here and there a few of the male teachers I’d encountered made it clear they would be interested in sharing choreography ideas in a private setting. From the overly flattering language he used when we first met, I thought Scott might be one of them. If I was right, I was banking on his reputation to help me get out of here.

  After several long moments, the woman’s frown curved into a knowing smile. “Don’t feel bad, honey. Scott’s not known for being the most reliable man around. He probably got caught up with another . . . meeting.”

  The innuendo in her voice and the knowing gleam in her eyes made my cheeks burn. Wanting this woman to believe I was a Scott groupie and being made to feel like one were two totally different things. Note to self—next time come up with a better cover story. Either that or get better at hiding the blush I could feel heating my face.

  Giving the woman a weak smile, I said, “Would you do me a favor and not mention that I was here? I mean . . . or if you do . . .”

  “Don’t worry, honey.” She patted me on the arm and then walked to the door of the staging room and peered in. When she saw everything was as it should be, she closed the door and nodded. “I won’t tell anyone, but if you don’t want your heart broken, steer clear of Scott and his flattery. Word on the street is that he’s taken. Only he doesn’t always remember that.”

  Huh. Back in the lobby, I thought about what I’d just learned. Unless Scott and his team had created and brought with them an entire duplicate set of costumes for the team, it was impossible to think they’d be ready to go today. The idea that they’d whipped up a second group of identical outfits “just in case” seemed far-fetched at best. Finding the perfectly repaired costumes was the most damning evidence I’d found thus far and strongly suggested Scott’s involvement in the costume caper. Unless, of course, something like yesterday’s sabotage had happened in the past. Then he’d have a reason to bring a set of duplicate costumes. If that were the case, I’d be back to square one. I guessed I’d better find out.

  Since I wasn’t sure how many of the coaches had a long history of attending this competition, I decided to go to the source I knew would have the answer—Christine McCann. Of course, to talk to her, I’d first have to find her. A task that was easier said than done.

  None of the three older ladies in the registration room had seen her recently. Drat. Worse, none of them seemed to know when she’d be back because she wasn’t answering her cell phone. Double drat.

  I was about to leave when I saw a familiar dark-haired woman in the corner lift her hand. The large, very sparkly rings she wore caught the light and made me stop in my tracks.

  “Can I help you with something else?” she asked when she caught me staring.

  I smiled and held out my hand. “I just realized how rude I’ve been. We’ve never officially met. My name is Paige Marshall. I’m the coach for the Prospect Glen Music in Motion choir.”

  Since I’d given the woman no choice, she put her hand in mine, which gave me a closer look at the rings on her hand.

  “Kelly Jensen. I’m the school liaison and assistant director for this competition.”

  I remembered getting e-mails from a Kelly Jensen. Most of them involved local hotel information, rehearsal schedules, or lists of restaurants within walking distance of the performing arts center. Others contained releases that had to be signed in order for the competition to be filmed and the media to take photographs. The messages were fun and chatty and made me conjure up images of a blond, fresh-faced college girl with wide-eyed enthusiasm and a cheerful smile.

  Boy, was I wrong. The black dye job and shocking blue eye shadow made it hard to gauge the woman’s age, but I was guessing it was somewhere around sixty. Of course, I could be mistaken. The neon orange flowers decorating the maxi-dress she wore made it hard to concentrate.

  “Thanks for all your work. Christine and the rest of the organization are lucky to have you on their team,” I said, trying not to look obvious as I studied the jewelry on her manicured, pink-polished left hand. Except for her thumb, every finger was decorated. The largest ring was on the middle finger—edged with shiny clear gems was an enormous blue stone. I’d seen only the bedazzled hand of the mysterious eavesdropper outside my team’s staging room for a few seconds, but I was pretty sure that this was the same jewelry.

  After Kelly finished giving me a song and dance about how pleased she was to serve such a worthwhile organization and help today’s students prepare for tomorrow, I said, “I really liked your outfit yesterday.” I gave her what I hoped was my most vapid smile. “I have a thing for pink. You were wearing pink, right?” At least, that was the color of clothing I saw when I tried to learn the identity of the mysterious lurker.

  “Why, yes.” She let out a laugh that sounded more confused than lighthearted. “Pink is very popular at this competition.”

  So the signage indicated.

  But while show choir kids and staff alike gravitated to shades on the fuchsia side of the color wheel, not everyone had glitters like the ones Kelly was sporting. I’d bet the money in my checking account (not a lot, but all I had) that Kelly had been hovering outside our team’s staging room doorway yesterday, listening to what we were saying.

  While that was suspicious, it was the vanishing act she’d performed immediately afterward that really raised my interest. What had Kelly hoped to achieve by eavesdropping? It wasn’t like she was coaching a team and was going to s
teal choreography secrets. Hell, even if she was coaching, she wasn’t going to learn anything she couldn’t find on YouTube. Our competition numbers had been videoed and posted online at least a dozen or more times that I was aware of. So what would Kelly have to gain by the intrigue? And since Kelly was an employee of the competition, was Christine aware of the extracurricular activities? While I was thinking about it, I couldn’t help wondering whether Kelly was aware of Christine’s less than professional blackmail behavior.

  “Do you know if LuAnn’s death is going to affect the sponsors?” I asked. “I overheard her telling someone that she was close personal friends with the people who helped finance this competition. She was worried they were going to bail and the competition would come to an end.”

  Kelly’s eyes flared, and her cheeks flushed with anger. “This competition will live on long beyond LuAnn Freeman. My husband and I were on the board that founded this organization. As terrible as the tragedy of her death is, I can honestly say that alive or dead, it would take a whole lot more than a woman like LuAnn Freeman to bring it down.”

  Yikes.

  My phone buzzed before I could come up with any other questions to ask. Aunt Millie had texted. She was in the lobby with a load of sparkly hats, ready for me to show her where they belonged. Fun times.

  Unfortunately, Millie wasn’t the only one waiting. The minute I stepped through the double doors onto the lobby’s plush red carpet, my hair stood on end at the sound of a low, angry growl.

  Killer.

  “There you are, Paige.” Millie waved and hurried over as fast as her four-inch strappy sandal heels would allow. Decked out in a rhinestone collar and sparkly leash, Killer trotted along beside her with his mouth open and his tail wagging. Some people would probably say that he looked adorable. I thought he looked scary. Especially when he plopped his pompon butt down on the carpet and let out a loud bark.