Murder of the Maestro

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “At least she didn’t steal it.” Ella not only has a fondness for shiny things, but a propensity to claim them and squirrel them away to play with later.

  “I’m wise to our little cat burglar who has a ‘tell’—a special gurgle when she’s found a priceless treasure. Anyway, once I retrieved it from her, I recognized Connie Forsythe right away. Pat’s standing nearby so I called her and asked her if she could remember the younger woman next to Connie. The one who appears fixated on that pin Connie’s wearing. See?” I explained that the younger woman was Connie’s niece, filled him in on what Pat and I suspected about her fascination with Connie’s pin, and Pat’s recollection that both women were swept outside with Dave as he left the gala.

  “That’s interesting. Pat hasn’t seen this yet, has she?”

  “No, but I’m sure she’s correct. Also, I didn’t notice it the first time, but check out the woman standing off to the side behind Emily. Does that earring look familiar to you?” Jack sat up straighter in his chair.

  “It sure does, doesn’t it?”

  “Have you heard anything from the lab investigators about it?”

  “Nothing yet. If we’re lucky, they might be able to get DNA from it. Hank asked them to make it a priority, but that won’t happen overnight even if they expedite the process. It’s one of the few pieces of evidence from the crime scene that could be used to place a specific woman at his house that night. What do you want to bet we’ve found the owner of that missing earring?”

  “I’m not a betting woman, but I’d say it’s no coincidence. It’s too bad we can’t see her face.”

  “Carol must have other photos from the gala. Do you think she can find one where the woman’s face is visible?”

  “I’ll ask. Maybe Pat can tell us who it is. The woman must have been milling about in the crowd of people surrounding Dave. If Pat bumped into her, maybe she can remember who she is.” Just then, the doorbell rang.

  “Stay put. I’ll get it!” When Jack returned moments later, Pat was with him. Two curious Siamese cats trailed behind them. When Jack and Pat joined me on the veranda, Miles and Ella settled down into Sphinx-like poses inside. My hunch about her dinner appointment being a date was correct, judging by her appearance. She was stunning in the pricy little black dress she wore. Her hair and makeup were flawless, too.

  “You look gorgeous!” I exclaimed. That got a big smile from Pat.

  “I do clean up nicely, don’t I?” She was beaming. “I only have a few minutes. Maybe this doesn’t mean anything, but when I saw it I thought Charlie might not be as off base as he sounded about his wolfman claim.”

  Pat placed a photo on the table near the file folder Carol had given me. In the photo Dave and several other people were all dressed in period outfits with one notable exception in their garb. What struck me immediately, was a sea of white hair. Not a gathering of elders with snowy white hair like Santa or Max Marley, but a group of men sporting powdered wigs. Had the wolfman been wearing one under his hoodie?

  In addition to his wig, Dave was adorned in a long, gold brocade frock coat, a pair of black knee breeches, a black vest with an attached jabot, and a pair of cuffs. Dave and a couple of the other fellows had opened their jackets and vests to reveal a popular modern-day undergarment—a t-shirt. Bold gold letters stood out against a black background: Wolf Gang.

  “Where was this taken?” I asked.

  “When?” Jack added.

  “I’m almost certain Dave and his pals are in a room at the City Club. Dave belonged to the club for years, so I’m not sure I can pinpoint a date for you, Jack. It’s well before they moved the club to LA’s Financial District. That’s where you’ll have to go to track someone down who might be able to help you determine when this event took place.”

  “Did Dave ever tell you anything about the Wolf Gang. Do you recognize anyone with him in this photo?” Jack asked.

  “I thought you might ask me that. Yes, I believe he mentioned the Wolf Gang, but only in passing. Honestly, I can’t even recall what he said except that it had something to do with the time he spent in music school. The two I’ve seen before are Dave’s friends from his college days at USC. The tall one with the infectious grin, is James Bellagio. The last I heard, he was teaching music at Vanderbilt. A real prankster as I recall. Next to him is Gerald Pratt who’s no longer with us. That older man behind Dave is the professor who mentored him at USC—Dr. Francis Kendall. I looked him up. He died, too, in 1997 so that’ll give you an even better idea of how old this picture must be.”

  “That doesn’t leave us with many options when it comes to finding out more about the Wolf Gang, does it?”

  “I’m afraid not. I went through that box of stuff hoping I’d find more information about the group, but no luck. That’s odd because I’m sure there was more in there. It didn’t mean much to me before now, but Dave was pawing through it a couple of weeks ago. When I asked what he was doing he said someone wanted him to create a Mozart fan club to mentor talented high school musicians. He hoped to get members from an old group involved. He didn’t call it the Wolf Gang and I let it go without asking more questions, although I glimpsed this picture, or one like it among the items on his desk. I’m sure the Wolf Gang must be what they were referring to as the Mozart fan club.”

  “No red t-shirt, either, like Charlie claimed the guy he spoke to was wearing.”

  “Maybe the group members had more than one version of their shirts,” Pat suggested. “The Wolf Gang must have been active during the period in which Dave and I had gone our separate ways.”

  “There are a couple of young men in this photo.” I stared at the faces of two young men dressed in different outfits.

  “Yes. The two guys standing by the door like footmen might only be in their twenties,” Jack commented. “They’re not sporting tees of any color.” Jack handed that photo to Pat.

  “They look like servers hired to wait on the Wolf Gang members to me. If you take this with you to the club, someone might be able to answer that question for you,” she said placing the photo back on the table.

  “First, too many Margarets and now, too many Mozarts,” I muttered. Jack and Pat both stared at me. “Oh, you know what I mean. I thought there were three women named Margaret in Dave’s life when there really are only two. What I’m talking about now is not just all these guys dressed like Mozart, but all the encounters with Mozart—presuming the t-shirt Charlie saw said Wolf Gang not wolfman. It can’t be a coincidence given the fact that whoever broke into Dave’s home took the time to mess with items related to the now defunct Wolf Gang. Skip also mentioned that Dave had been harassed by some crazed Mozart fan, right?”

  “He received notes, off and on, from that character for years. Nothing recent.” Her eyes widened. “I never made any connection between the Wolf Gang and the writer of those notes. Maybe Dave did, because I’m sure they were in that box, too. They’re gone now.”

  “Did the writing in those notes look like the same script used in the lettering on the banner and t-shirts in these photos?”

  “Not identical,” she responded after peering at the photo. “Darn close, though. I never asked Dave about a link between the notes and the Wolf Gang. He was so odd about those incidents. Sometimes he laughed at the content of the notes. At other times, he seemed troubled and got edgy if I urged him to send them to his legal team.”

  “Maybe he knew who was behind them all along and that’s why he wouldn’t take legal action,” I suggested.

  “Another of Dave’s many secrets, if that’s the case. One he didn’t share with me. Those letters don’t have any cash value. Should I report the fact that they’re missing to the Lost Hills police department?”

  “Yes. Do that tomorrow so they get into the official record. I’ll give Hank Bardot a call and tell him about the missing letters and the Wolf Gang, so he doesn’t blow you off when you call. All this wolfman stuff is out there.”

  “Not too far out there if it�
��s tied to a delusional fan who wanted to destroy Dave and his work. He wouldn’t be the first celebrity to face something like that.”

  “While we’re pondering Mozart-related incidents, I have another one for you. Do you remember Hank telling us the vandal had left a little night music blaring from Dave’s house?” Pat and I both nodded our heads yes. “At the time, I thought he was referring to the Broadway musical or trying to be flippant about the neighbors’ complaints. As it turns out, the loud music was a jazz recording Dave had made.” Jack paused. I held my breath waiting to hear the punch line.

  “When Hank said A Little Night Music, he meant a piece Mozart wrote that Dave and his friends performed years ago in a jazz tribute to the classic composer.” Pat must have been holding her breath, too, because we both responded with audible gasps.

  “I know the track well. It was on a Mozart Meets Jazz album. The whole album combined jazz with classical music honoring his jazz roots and his training in music school at USC.”

  “Does that mean his bandmates in the Windy City Jazz Quartet performed on the recording?”

  “Yes, along with a couple of his college pals, so maybe a member or two of the Wolf Gang.” Pat glanced at her watch. “Shoot! This is fascinating, but I’ve got to run. If I remember anything else, I’ll call you, Georgie.” I stood up to walk with her to the front door.

  “You’ve been a big help already,” Jack added. I studied his face wondering if Pat’s visit had set to rest his earlier concerns that she’d been holding out on us.

  “There sure are plenty of puzzle pieces about Mozart, but they don’t seem to fit together, do they? And then there are the women…so many women.” When Pat said that about the women, I suddenly remembered the women in the photo Carol had found.

  “Hang on, Pat. Can you take a quick look at this photo I told you about?” I slid the picture out of the folder.

  “No doubt about it, that’s Connie and her niece Emily, just minutes before Dave left the building.”

  “What about this one?” I asked pointing to the woman wearing the gold earring.

  “That sure looks like the earring, but I can’t tell who’s wearing it from this angle. I can’t even see her dress. Unlike those pins the maestro handed out, the earrings weren’t very distinctive or memorable. I’m sorry.” Pat shrugged and apologized again as I walked her to the door. “You could be on the right track. You won’t give up, will you?”

  “No,” I said, as my mind whirred with plans. Pat’s visit had energized and intrigued me. I wanted Carol to find me more photos of the woman wearing the earrings. I also wanted to speak to Teddy Austin again about what went on during the production of that Mozart Meets Jazz recording. And, I planned to call Maggie Knight and invite myself over for a visit with Margaret Landry. When I returned to the kitchen, I proclaimed my renewed determination to find Dave’s killer.

  “I’m on a crusade until this case is solved. Men aren’t the only ones who can be knights in shining armor. Take Joan of Arc, for example,” I asserted swishing the air with an imaginary sword.

  “On my honor as a knight, I’ll be there every step of the way, St. Georgie of Crystal Cove,” Jack said bowing from the waist and then kissing my hand! “Promise me if I’m not at your side, you won’t do anything that’s going to get you burned at the stake or harmed in any other way, okay?” I gulped.

  “That is how St. Joan ended up, isn’t it?” I gave my worried knight a reassuring peck on the cheek. “I’m not any more interested in ending up as kindling for a bonfire than I was in being buried under a pile of rocks and dirt. You must know by now that I’m tough as rock on the outside to protect the chicken that dwells within. Speaking of chicken, let’s go fix dinner.”

  “Is it Chicken Marsala with those creamy mashed potatoes?”

  “Linguini, tonight. I won’t deprive you of your favorite mashed potatoes, though. I’m using them as a topping for Shepherd’s Pie with a pastry crust. I’ll need your expert opinion on whether it makes the cut as a new menu item for the Arielle’s Cottage restaurant in Arcadia Park.”

  “I’ll do my best, but it could take more than one pie to make a decision like that without a rush to judgement.” Jack grinned. He’s almost as big a fan of Shepherd’s Pie as he is of dessert pies.

  “I wouldn’t expect any less of the legendary lawman Max regards so highly.”

  “Please, let’s not spoil my appetite by bringing him up. That you hold me in high regard is all that I ask, St. Joan.” I pulled him close and did my wifely best to show him a little of the regard I hold for him. Not all that saintly, but what the heck?

  The Chicken Marsala was delicious. I would have enjoyed it more if the flattened pieces of chicken hadn’t reminded me of our close call on the stairway to Dave’s cliff house. After dinner, Jack and I settled into the great room with decaf coffee making notes about all the discoveries of the day.

  The blessed quiet in which Jack and I tackled our tasks was suddenly interrupted. First, by a trumpet blast from mighty mouth Miles, only seconds before Jack’s phone rang. Deep in thought when our domestic bliss screeched to an end, he took off to retrieve his phone from where he’d left it on the kitchen island. Jack had rolled up his sleeves to help me prepare dinner having become quite adept at assisting me in the kitchen. I hoped I’d learn to be as much help to him in my apprenticeship as a sleuth. When he returned, it was easy to see he had news and it wasn’t good.

  “What’s up? Do I want to know?” Jack’s expression told me the answer to that question was a big, fat, “no!”

  16 A Sad Reprise

  “Charlie’s dead,” Jack replied. “The first responders say there was drug paraphernalia at the scene. If he died from an accidental overdose, I’ll give up dessert for a month.” I jumped to my feet. Cats flew in opposite directions.

  “Why Charlie?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the wolfman didn’t want Charlie talking to the police. That’s too bad because I hoped if we showed Charlie that picture he could tell us if Wolf Gang was what was written on the red t-shirt, or if the wolfman’s white hair looked like one of those wigs,” Jack responded.

  “Charlie had already spoken to the police. Why kill him now?” I asked.

  “Charlie wasn’t the best witness, I’ll give you that. Still, the wolfman may have reached a different conclusion about Charlie’s value to us.”

  “I suppose if you ever managed to track the guy down, Charlie might have been able to identify him.”

  “He was more than willing to try. Talking to the police could have been enough for the killer to be out for blood even if he had nothing to gain.”

  “Any progress figuring out how the wolfman knew we were going to be on those stairs Sunday?”

  “We’re still putting together a timeline from the round robin of interviews with all the people at Dave’s estate when we were attacked.” Jack chewed his bottom lip—a sure sign my husband was unhappy about the information he’d just shared with me.

  “Come on, Detective. What’s the rest of the story?”

  “I’m not sure how much more progress we can make on that front. Everyone heard we were on our way. I don’t care how much time we spend trying to piece together who was where when, there were just too many people at that house to be sure about their whereabouts. With so many people doing tasks in different locations, we may not be able to figure out who disappeared long enough to try to kill us or scare us off.”

  “It didn’t work.” I added, shrugging since I couldn’t see what difference scaring us off would have made anyway.

  “I know, but it did delay our arrival. Maybe that was the intention.”

  “Why bother with us?”

  “Not us. You, Georgie. I don’t have any history with Dave Rollins, but you do.”

  “Me? I’ve told you what kind of history I’ve had with Dave. Our relationship was strictly collegial and not even as close as those I’ve had with lots of other coworkers.”

  “If this
is about payback for Dave’s indiscretions with women, maybe the wolfman doesn’t know that. Or one of the women you’ve spoken to the past couple of days didn’t believe you and sicced the wolfman on us to punish you.”

  “Who? You can’t mean Pat, can you? She couldn’t care less about the other women in Dave’s life. If I didn’t believe it before today, I do now.” Jack stood there staring at me. Clueless. “Wasn’t it obvious by the spring in her step? The makeup, hair, and dress? Pat was on her way to a romantic rendezvous. She’s not holding the torch for Dave or a grudge if there’s someone waiting who can put a spark like that into a dinner date.”

  “She was wearing a nice fragrance.” Jack still didn’t appear to be completely convinced. He moved on anyway. “What about Marla?”

  “Marla might send an assassin after me if I stood to inherit money from Dave. I wouldn’t trust her completely even if I were one of her kids. Maybe there’s an old score to be settled at Marvelous Marley World and it’s a matter of guilt by association since I’m in management.”

  “I hadn’t considered the workplace angle. You can check it out if you’d like, but if this is about an old workplace dispute, that could potentially involve lots more people. That’s all we need. We not only have too many Margarets and too many Mozarts, but way too many people altogether, don’t we? I’d like to believe this loosey goosey wolfman Charlie met is behind all the recent incidents, but we don’t have a lick of evidence tying him to Dave Rollins’ murder. We can’t be sure the wolfman and the Mozart-obsessed fan who hassled Dave are one and the same, nor do we know without any doubt he’s the man with a bucket of rocks. Besides, who knows how much we can trust the word of a down and out guy like Charlie? Charlie had a police record.”

  “For drugs?” I asked. “Charlie’s police record—was it for drug-related offenses?”

  “No. Panhandling, loitering, and public nuisance complaints. Minor offenses, like that but lots of them. That’s a clear indication to me of a guy who was unwilling or unable to learn from his mistakes.” Jack shook his head.