End Me a Tenor (14 page)

My heart skipped into my throat. My voice broadcast beyond this theater into people’s cars and homes was a dream come true. The publicity surrounding the broadcast could potentially launch my career into the stratosphere. This was everything I ever wanted. Too bad I was finding it hard to be happy. Knowing two people had died in order for my dream to come true made it impossible to celebrate. I wanted to earn my success, not walk across the memories of the dead to achieve it. A glance to my left told me Vanessa wasn’t having the same moral dilemma. She looked thrilled.

“Andre Napoletano has agreed not only to sing the tenor role but also to perform a number I composed in David’s, and now Bill’s honor. Together, we will make sure that those we have lost are remembered around the world.”

Magdalena’s final words drew applause and sniffles. The minute she raised her baton, both ended and rehearsal began. Another member of Northwestern University’s voice faculty stepped in to sing the tenor role for the night. His voice was strong and beautiful, but it didn’t hold a candle to the memory of David Richard’s final performance.

My muscles tightened as I waited for my first aria. The French fries from earlier rolled in my stomach, and I made a mental note not to eat before Saturday’s performance. Finally, my turn came. My legs trembled as I stood. My heart thundered in my chest as I reminded myself to take deep, controlled breaths. The orchestra hit a chord, and I started to sing.

The opening line was just my voice over the held note in the orchestra. I could hear a slight quaver. Nerves. The quaver disappeared as I finished the opening line and the strings played a series of moving notes. By the time I sang the next line the nerves were gone, and I lost myself in the joy of making music. Magdalena cued the chorus as I finished the last note of my opening salvo and smiled. For the first time in days, I felt a spurt of joy. With so much recent unhappiness and stress, it was easy to forget why I was here. Why I struggled day after day to make it as a performer. It was this feeling—the giddy happiness at being able to create something magical out of notes on a page. These moments made all the auditions and the inevitable slew of rejections worthwhile.

The chorus sat down. The orchestra played the opening to my aria, and I concentrated on the music. The long passes of running notes in this aria tripped up a lot of singers. I’d practiced this aria for weeks so I could execute it with precision, passion, and flair. My goal was to make the vocal gymnastics of the aria sound and look easy. In Millie’s living room, I’d accomplished all of the above. Now it was time to see whether my practice had paid off.

The music was fast. I reminded myself to breathe slow and low. While I wanted to hit every note just right, the only way to do that was to trust the prep work I’d done and relax. The opening notes sounded strong and clear. The first passage of fast, running notes was dead on. So was the next. I stopped thinking and let the music flow out of me until Magdalena directed the orchestra into the tempo change.

While the opening section of the song was light and happy, this part of the music required a tone infused with warmth and compassion. The audience needed to feel the peace and kindness I was singing about.

The music returned to the bright, effervescent tempo and I worked to sound buoyant and effortless. When I finished the final notes and the orchestra played the last section of the piece, Magdalena smiled up at me. Sitting down, I basked in the unspoken praise. And when I caught Jonathan’s nodding approval, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I had nailed it. For the first time since my manager had called to tell me I’d landed this part, I felt as though I belonged.

The rest of rehearsal flew by. I lost myself in the joy of the production until the end of my last solo. As I finished singing the final measure, I looked away from Magdalena and spotted Detective Frewen. He was seated on the aisle near the back of the theater. His arms rested on the seat in front of him as he studied the players on stage. Not just players; suspects. For the last two hours, I’d forgotten that I was more than likely sharing the stage with a murderer. Now reality came crashing back, and I struggled to eke out the notes of the last ensemble number.

When the last chord was sung, Magdalena put down her baton and smiled. “Very good. Friday night’s rehearsal will be even better with a couple of changes.” She gave notes to the orchestra and asked the chorus master to work with the ensemble on a few sections. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Detective Frewen rise, walk down the aisle, and fold his arms across his chest as he watched us.

No. Not us.

Detective Frewen’s attention was focused squarely on one person. Not one of the soloists or Maestro Tebar, but a person seated in the orchestra pit immediately to the left of the conductor. A person I had never formally met and only knew by her stunning red hair and intimidating reputation—principal violinist and concert master Ruth Jordan.

Ruth shifted and fingered the bow resting across her lap, making it clear she was aware of Detective Frewen’s scrutiny. Since the violinist was known equally for her playing and her spectacular beauty, there was a chance the detective was just being a guy and admiring the view. But I didn’t think so. His eyes were too steely. His jaw was clenched. No, this wasn’t a man hoping to bag a date. This was a guy looking to catch a killer.

Which had me baffled. Why would Ruth Jordan be a suspect in David’s and Bill’s deaths? Despite his illustrious career and ability to turn on the charm, David Richard was a vocalist. For most people that wouldn’t be a negative, but Ruth Jordan had a reputation in the musical community for avoiding personal encounters with singers. Several of my friends warned me to steer clear of Ruth when they learned she’d be playing this show. While it wasn’t unusual for instrumentalists to crack jokes about their superior talent, Ruth Jordan wasn’t laughing when she claimed singers impersonated real musicians. Still, while her attitude might not rate the Woman of the Year trophy, I doubted it rated high on the motive for murder scale. And Bill? Well, Bill had been a stage manager. In performer terms, that was like being Switzerland: neutral and interested in everyone getting along.

I was so busy watching the bi-play between Ruth and Detective Frewen, I almost missed Jenny announcing the end of rehearsal. Grabbing my water and my book, I stood up and almost walked smack into Jonathan.

“You sounded great tonight.”

My cheeks warmed with pleasure. “Thanks. That means a lot coming from you.”

“A few of us are going out to raise a glass to David and Bill. I’d love if you could come along.”

For a second, I felt like I was back in high school, only this time the cool kids weren’t ignoring me. They were asking me to sit at their lunch table. Too bad one of them might be a stone-cold killer.

When I didn’t answer right away, Jonathan lowered his voice and asked, “Are you worried about Vanessa? I know she can be a little abrupt around people she doesn’t know well. You’ll like her once you get to know her better.”

Something told me Vanessa and I were never going to exchange beauty tips and swap clothes. And to be honest, I wasn’t certain I wanted to go out drinking with a couple of murder suspects. “I’m not sure if I should go. Tonight is a school night.”

“I didn’t realize you had kids.”

“I have fourteen of them.” I laughed at his confused expression. “I coach the show choir at Prospect Glen High School.”

Jonathan smiled. “I didn’t know you were a fellow teacher. I’d love to compare notes, and I promise I’ll make sure you get home in plenty of time to get your beauty sleep. Although you certainly don’t need it.”

My heart skipped several beats at the compliment. Not only was the guy handsome, he knew how to flirt. If several people hadn’t died, I would have jumped at his offer. As it stood, I was still tempted. Having drinks with a group of accomplished professional performers was appealing. And Jonathan had looked genuinely shocked to hear I taught at a high school. That made me feel marginally better, since my sadistic Secret Santa knew exactly where I worked. Desire to network and be accepted by the Chicago music community warred with my sense of self-preservation. Turning down a chance to schmooze with people who could help my career seemed like a really bad idea. Going into a potentially dangerous situation without someone watching my back seemed even worse.

While Jonathan gave directions to the after-party location to a couple of chorus members, I pulled out my phone, waved it around to find a signal, and dialed. Twenty minutes later, I’d followed Jonathan’s directions to a local sports bar and found Devlyn waiting for me out front.

I hurried as fast as I dared across the icy parking lot to meet him. “Thanks for coming.”

“I should thank you,” Devlyn said as I made it safely to the sidewalk. “Playing Watson to your Sherlock is more entertaining than reading my sophomores’ thoughts on
Hamlet
. And getting to do this makes it even better.” Before I could ask what
this
was, Devlyn kissed me.

Devlyn’s lips were warm despite the cold temperature. When his arms pulled me up against him, I forgot about the biting wind as the rest of me heated up. Too bad we were here to mingle.

Classic rock blared as Devlyn and I walked into the bar. The place was dimly lit by florescent signs hawking a variety of beers and other spirits. A dozen televisions broadcasted whatever sporting events were happening around the world. Chandeliers hung low over high-top tables filled with patrons. A couple of jean-clad guys were playing pool to my right. Clustered around the tables to the left were at least a dozen people I recognized from rehearsal, including Jonathan and Vanessa.

We walked over to the bar and placed our orders. While we waited for our drinks, Devlyn asked, “Do you want me to stick to your side or mingle and pump people for information?”

I was about to tell him to stay nearby when the front door opened and Ruth Jordan strolled in, accompanied by a sandy-haired man. She wore an emerald green coat and an angry expression. The man took her jacket and went off to a table, leaving her hovering near the entrance on her own. “Why don’t you make nice with the woman who just walked through the door?” I suggested. “I think the lead detective has her on his suspect list, and I haven’t a clue why.”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“She doesn’t like singers.” Besides, I was supposed to be convincing the murderer that I had backed off and was letting the cops do the investigating. “I’ll be over there if you need me.” I pointed in the direction of an empty high-top table in the corner and grabbed my diet soda with lime. Weaving through the crowd, I said hello to a couple of cast-mates then perched on a stool and watched Devlyn work his charm on the principle violinist.

After a couple of words from Devlyn, Ruth’s scowl disappeared. He bought her a drink, and her mouth spread into a sultry smile. A few minutes later, they were seated at the end of the bar talking as though they were old friends.

“Your friend seems to have deserted you.” Jonathan’s voice reached over my shoulder.

I turned and smiled. “Devlyn will come back at some point. We have some school stuff to discuss.”

Jonathan slid onto the stool next to mine. “He teaches with you?”

“He’s the drama teacher and helps with the show choir choreography.”

Jonathan’s eyes swept over the lilac shirt and turquoise blue scarf that Devlyn had worn to work today. “Is your friend a good dancer?”

Translation: Is your friend gay?

I assured Jonathan that Devlyn was an exceptional dancer, and Jonathan slid his stool closer, saying, “I meant what I said about your singing tonight. It’s an honor to share the stage with you.”

Huh. From the way he was acting, I’d guess Jonathan would be honored to share more than a stage. According to the articles I’d read, Jonathan had settled permanently in Chicago just after a divorce that left his ex-wife living in the suburbs with custody of their two sons. Since then, he’d been photographed escorting a number of beautiful women to charity events and opera openings. So far he hadn’t been interested enough in any of them to take a second plunge into the matrimonial pool. I had no illusions that he was interested in taking more than a dip with me. That being said, I couldn’t help being flattered.